Accidentally In Love

by minimeanie

Summary:

When Wonwoo reunites with his former high school crush—Kim Mingyu, the charming and untouchable alpha who never even knew he existed—he doesn’t expect anything more than a passing interaction. After all, it’s been years, and the quiet, unspoken love he harbored as a teenager was something he buried long ago… or so he thought. But when one drunken night leads to an accident neither of them can undo, everything changes.

Chapter 1

Wonwoo wasn't as excited as his friends about his high school graduation's tenth anniversary reunion. While they talked animatedly in the group chat about who might show up and which old drama would resurface, Wonwoo scrolled through the messages with little more than mild curiosity. A lot had changed since then—more than anyone could probably imagine.

For starters, Wonwoo had experienced a late gender revelation—something that was both rare and, in his case, deeply disorienting. During his teenage years, he had watched from the sidelines as his peers one by one discovered their secondary genders. Some found out early, during puberty, while others had their revelations a bit later, but always within what was considered the “normal window.” Alpha, omega, alpha, omega, alpha—it had been like a routine roll call, one that never included him.

By the time high school ended, Wonwoo had stopped waiting. He hadn’t presented like an alpha or omega, hadn’t gone through any heat or rut symptoms, and never released pheromones. So, he gave up on the possibility. He accepted the idea that he was a beta, plain and simple. He started introducing himself that way—to his friends, to school administration, and to the university he enrolled in just months after graduating. It felt easier that way, like fitting into a mold that didn’t quite belong to him but at least gave him something to hold onto.

Everything was fine. Or at least it seemed fine. He settled into college life with the quiet comfort of someone who’d defined themselves and moved forward. But only a week after the semester began, everything changed—unexpectedly, overwhelmingly, and without warning.

That morning, he woke up groggy, having slept far longer than usual. The sunlight filtering through the blinds felt too bright, his sheets were tangled from restless tossing, and his entire room was filled with a thick, cloying scent—sweet and sharp at once, like vanilla steeped in tea leaves. The fragrance was almost dizzying in its intensity. It was everywhere: clinging to his clothes, the walls, the bedsheets. His nose wrinkled instinctively, and panic started to rise in his chest. He scrambled out of bed, his heart pounding, and rushed into the bathroom. The first thing he did was shove the window open, gulping in the crisp air outside.

When he caught his reflection in the mirror, it stunned him. His skin was flushed a deep pink, his eyes glassy with fever, lips parted slightly as he tried to breathe through the overwhelming scent. He looked sick—feverish, dazed, and on the verge of something he didn’t understand. His body ached in places that had never felt this kind of pressure before. Heat radiated from his core, pulsing low in his abdomen in waves that felt both painful and... something else.

He couldn’t stay in the room. Still half-dressed and trembling, he ran across campus to the infirmary, ignoring the stares that followed him. A few students turned their heads as he passed by, visibly sniffing the air with expressions of mild confusion or curiosity. He kept going. His priority was to get help, not to worry about the questions people would whisper after he was gone.

Inside the infirmary, Nurse Hwang raised her head the moment he walked in. She narrowed her eyes slightly, then immediately stood up from behind her desk. She didn't need to ask much; the scent in the air told her everything.

"Did you take suppressants some time ago?" she asked sharply as she helped him sit on the exam table.

"No," Wonwoo replied, his voice cracking under the strain. "I've never taken suppressants." Her voice trembled, unfamiliar in his own ears, and a sharp pang stabbed through his lower belly, making him wince.

"Oh? When was your last heat?" she asked, already flipping through the digital records on her screen.

"I've... I've never been in heat," Wonu stammered, the words barely forming on his lips. His hands were clenched in his lap, knuckles pale from the grip.

The nurse looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and professional concern. "You're releasing a lot of pheromones. Do you realize that?" she said, stepping back slightly. He could only shake his head, shame washing over him like a second fever. "Why does your record say you're beta?" she asked, frowning at the screen.

"Because I thought I was..." he whispered, almost apologetically. “Hm-hm… I never had a second-gender revelation during adolescence.”

The pain was making it harder to speak, his whole body tensing as he tried to hold himself together. He wanted answers. He wanted relief. And the nurse didn’t seem to be rushing toward either.

“Ah, I see...” she said finally, her expression softening with understanding. “So it’s a late revelation. Your body’s going to need time to adjust. It’ll be difficult at first, but it’s not unheard of.”

She stood up, typing rapidly. “I’m calling your family. You need to go home, see your primary care doctor, and rest. I’ll print out your release form and email you a digital copy. Make sure to forward it to all your professors.”

Two hours later, Wonwoo found himself seated stiffly in the office of Dr. Lee, his family’s physician. His mother sat beside him, worry etched into every line of her face. She’d driven all the way to campus and held his hand the entire ride to the clinic. She didn’t say much, but the way she looked at him—so gentle, so deeply concerned—made him feel even guiltier for worrying her.

Dr. Lee reviewed the case carefully, nodding with the calm of someone who had seen everything at least once before. "It's rare, but it happens. Late revelations can be sudden and intense, just like what you experienced. But don't panic. You're not the first, and you won't be the last. Your body will adjust, even if it feels overwhelming now."

Wonwoo listened, swallowing back the knot in his throat. He understood, at least on a logical level, but emotionally? It was like starting over. He had missed out on crucial experiences and information, and now he had to catch up quickly.

He remembered how in school, sex education classes had been divided by secondary gender. There were sessions just for omegas—ones he hadn’t attended. Others were designed for alphas. Betas, on the other hand, were lumped into general wellness seminars that barely skimmed over any in-depth topics. He’d never been taught what a heat would feel like, what it meant to bond, how scent and biology intertwined. And now here he was, an omega in the making, armed with nothing but confusion and a growing list of symptoms he didn’t fully understand.

Back then, he’d felt it was a kind of discrimination, how little they told betas. He never questioned it deeply—never needed to. But now, standing at this strange and uncertain beginning, everything felt unfairly stacked against him.

At least he was grateful that the doctor had given him a thorough checkup, brief but attentive, and that his mother had offered her help and support at any time—after all, she was an omega too and understood this world far better than he did. She’d been gentle with him, careful not to overwhelm him with advice, but still ready to answer whatever questions he dared to ask. And if he ever felt too embarrassed to bring something up aloud, well… there was always the internet. He could always Google whatever he needed. That made things feel a little less daunting, a little more manageable. Maybe it wouldn’t be as difficult as it first seemed.

The first few days after that incident, Wonwoo stayed home and rested as much as he could. His body was exhausted, adjusting to the shift in hormones and rhythms he’d never anticipated. He lay in bed, napping often, sometimes waking up drenched in sweat or disturbed by unfamiliar dreams. But in between those moments of confusion and discomfort, he began to learn. He started to notice how his emotions weren’t just internal anymore—they were starting to manifest outside of him, through his scent.

That scared him more than anything. He’d always been so private with his feelings, someone who liked to keep things under control. And now, if he was anxious, or happy, or embarrassed, the scent would betray him. It flowed from him without permission, exposing him in ways he wasn’t prepared for. The scent of vanilla and tea leaves—once unfamiliar—had become a signature of his biology, and now he had to learn to live with it, monitor it, even manipulate it if necessary.

He wasn't used to being careful. He had always moved through the world a little more freely, casually, without much to worry about when it came to pheromones or second-gender dynamics. But now, the rules had shifted, and he had to catch up fast. He had never planned for a life as an omega. It hadn’t even been in the back of his mind.

His omega friends, like Jun and Soonyoung, had always known who they were. They had grown into their roles with an ease that made it seem natural. They talked openly about their dreams of starting families one day, about the desire to become parents, and occasionally even joked about their “motherly sides”—something Wonwoo had never really understood. It wasn't that he looked down on it. It just didn’t feel like something he could relate to.

Now, he had to learn to navigate the world with new boundaries. He had to be careful around alphas, learn to read the subtle signs when they were reacting to him—especially when they started to lose control because of his scent. Some moments made him feel powerful. Others, deeply uncomfortable. It was all so much. He couldn’t help but curse his body a little for being so late, for throwing him into this chaos when he thought he already knew who he was.

But in the end, step by step, slowly and painfully, he managed to get used to it. Even to the heat. It was strange, though. He kind of hated how needy his body became during those periods. The waves of desire that overtook him made him feel like a stranger in his own skin. He could barely focus, barely think straight. But that was his biology now. That was part of who he was. Sometimes it embarrassed him—how desperate and vulnerable he felt. Other times, it just felt lonely.

Many alphas and omegas, he learned, preferred to have steady partners to help them through those times—people they could trust, who could offer comfort and physical relief without awkwardness or hesitation. And he agreed with that mindset, more or less.

There were also others—alphas and omegas alike—who chose a more casual approach, keeping several rotating partners and treating it like a transaction. That didn’t appeal to him. He didn’t want multiple people in and out of his life, but he didn’t want anything too emotionally entangled either. What he needed was something in between.

And eventually, he found it in Baekho. It wasn’t a romantic relationship, and there were no complicated feelings attached to it. They simply saw each other when they needed to relieve their bodies’ needs, and that was it. There was a sense of mutual understanding and unspoken respect. They were exclusive in a way, though nothing had ever been officially stated. It was a clean arrangement, free from drama, and it worked for them. Wonwoo appreciated the stability of it, even if it felt a little hollow sometimes.

That was life at university. Quiet. Predictable. Peaceful, despite the monumental changes Wonu had been forced to go through. And when he graduated, he still had the same dream as always: he didn’t want to get married or have children—not yet. What he wanted was to work hard, carve out a meaningful career, and feel genuinely successful on his own terms.

He still couldn’t believe that on the very day of his graduation, some of his friends had invited him to their weddings. Weddings! The idea was almost surreal. But then again, maybe it wasn’t so strange. It was more common than people admitted—graduation, then courtship, then settling down. That seemed to be the natural next step for many of his peers. Just not for him.

And now, back in the present, the memories came rushing in as he prepared for the reunion. Ten years. It had been ten whole years, and he was nervous about running into people he hadn’t seen since high school. People who probably still remembered him as someone else—someone quieter, more withdrawn, and most of all, still unidentified.

Perhaps most of his middle and high school classmates had faded from memory over time. He didn’t keep in touch with many of them. The bonds that had lasted were rare—Jun, Hao, Woozi, and Soonyoung remained his constants. They had grown together, matured together, stood by one another through life’s messiness.

But there was one more name. One more person who had never left his mind, no matter how much time had passed. Kim Mingyu. Wonwoo remembered and sighed.

He had been in love with Mingyu for years—longer than he ever admitted to anyone. It had always been unrequited, of course. Just a quiet affection he carried in his heart, something tender and painful all at once.

Wonwoo remembered clearly the day they first met. The Kims had just moved into a house on the same street, only a few blocks away. His mother had decided to welcome the new neighbors with a gift, and she brought Wonwoo along to deliver it.

Wonwoo had always been a shy child, hiding behind his mother’s skirt and speaking only when spoken to. But Mingyu had been the complete opposite. Bright, energetic, affectionate. The very first time they met, Min had thrown his arms around him like they’d been friends for years, then grabbed his hand without hesitation and pulled him into his new room, where toys were scattered in colorful chaos across the floor.

Wonwoo never forgot that day. That bold, warm energy. That smile. But life had a way of pulling people apart. Mingyu started spending more time with his cousins, who were always together in a loud, tight-knit group, and eventually transferred to the only private elementary school in the neighborhood. Their paths diverged before they ever really crossed.

It wasn’t until middle school that they reunited again. By then, Mingyu had shot up in height, already a couple of inches taller than Wonwoo. He looked more mature, more confident, and he carried himself like someone who belonged everywhere. Everyone knew him—teachers, students, even the janitors. He was the kind of person you noticed without trying.

Wonwoo, on the other hand, stayed in the background. Quiet, observant, invisible. He never had the chance to speak to Mingyu, not really. If Mingyu wasn’t laughing with his friends, he was handling student council responsibilities, and if not that, he was leading the school basketball team. Always busy. Always surrounded.

That’s when the crush started. It bloomed slowly but surely, deepening with each passing day. But Wonwoo never confessed. He never even hinted at it. Still, it didn’t go unnoticed by his closest friends—especially Jihoon.

Jihoon was the first to catch on. It was during their first semester of high school. Wonu spent nearly every lunch break gazing out the classroom window, eyes fixed on the basketball court where the team trained. His face flushed whenever someone mentioned Mingyu. He fidgeted nervously if Mingyu walked by.

It all became even more obvious when Mingyu had his second-gender revelation and presented as an alpha. After that, Wonwoo started wearing a subtle vanilla perfume. It was his way of feeling... seen. Or maybe desired. Maybe he just wanted to be noticed.

"Why are you wearing perfume today, Won?" Jihoon asked one afternoon, raising a skeptical eyebrow. The question caught Wonu completely off guard.

"Oh—I don't remember," he stammered. "I think this perfume is my mom’s, and I… I mistook it for something else." His words tumbled out awkwardly, and his cheeks turned bright red. Jihoon stared at him for a second, unconvinced but unwilling to push too hard.

Still, Jihoon mentioned it to the others, and they quietly agreed to set a small trap for Wonwoo.

“Mingyu invited me to a party,” Soonyoung said once, completely out of the blue. And absolutely everyone noticed the way Wonwoo’s eyes widened in response. His expression, already naturally soft and observant, transformed with genuine surprise, and his widened eyes looked even larger behind the lenses of his glasses, which caught the light and reflected it like a camera flash.

“Did Mingyu tell you to go to a party with him?” Wonwoo was the first to ask, his voice rising a little, obviously thrown off.

“Well, he didn’t say, ‘Soonyoung, do you want to come to a party?’ or anything like that,” Soonyoung replied with a careless shrug, though he and Jihoon exchanged a glance only Wonwoo missed. “I was just hanging out with some friends near the lockers, and he came by and said, ‘I’m having a party at my house, everyone’s invited.’ That’s it.”

“So… you’re going?” Wonwoo asked, still surprised, blinking quickly as if trying to keep up with the conversation—or maybe hide how flustered he was. But of course, it was all a carefully staged lie. Soonyoung and Jihoon had come up with the plan together, having grown tired of watching Wonwoo pine silently from afar. Their mission: get him to confess his feelings for Min.

“I don’t know,” Soonyoung replied, feigning uncertainty, dragging out the answer as he crossed his arms. “It’s not like… I really like Mingyu, honestly.”

“Yeah, I don’t see the appeal,” Jihoon added smoothly, nodding in agreement. “He’s so conceited just because he’s popular, right?”

They both watched closely, gauging every little twitch in Wonwoo’s expression. The reaction came immediately.

“Huh? But... Mingyu has never been rude to you, has he, Hoon? Not even to you, Soonyoung. He… Never…” Wonwoo’s voice was quieter now, hesitant, but he was clearly trying to defend Mingyu—and failing to hide it.

“Maybe he’s never said anything mean to our faces,” Jihoon said, leaning back slightly, pretending to think it over. “But he ignores our existence most of the time. Isn’t that a little rude in itself? He doesn’t even come near us just because he’s in the student council. I bet he doesn’t even know our names. And we’ve known him since middle school.”

Wonwoo’s ears turned red. Bright red. Jihoon noticed it immediately and held back a grin. “But… but that doesn’t make him conceited,” Wonwoo insisted, stammering a little now, clearly flustered. “I think Mingyu is just busy all the time. He’s got responsibilities, and… and he can’t possibly know everyone at school, right? Like… even you or I don’t talk to everyone. It’s… It just happens. It’s a big school…”

“Are you… defending Mingyu?” Soonyoung asked, tilting his head to the side, his voice laced with amusement, and a hint of mockery just to push the moment.

Wonwoo opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. He paused, lips slightly parted, then shut his mouth again like a door clicking quietly shut.

“ Got yah ,” Soonyoung said with a satisfied smirk.

And that was how it happened. That was how Wonwoo ended up telling his friends about his secret, long-standing crush on Kim Mingyu. It started with Jihoon and Soonyoung that day, and later it reached Jun and Minghao, too. Slowly, carefully, but truthfully—he let it out.

But to their credit, all of them respected Wonwoo’s decision: to do nothing. He didn’t want to confess his feelings to Mingyu. Not now, not ever. He was sure he—well, he—would reject him. And maybe that was fine. Maybe it was better that way.

Although, deep down, Wonwoo liked to believe that Mingyu did know who he was. Maybe he remembered him from that one time they played together as children, back when the Kims had just moved to the neighborhood and Wonwoo’s mother brought him along to deliver a welcome basket. They had played in Mingyu’s room, surrounded by toy cars and action figures, and for a few hours, they’d laughed and connected like old friends meeting for the first time.

Or maybe Mingyu remembered him from that time in middle school when he accidentally bumped into Wonwoo in the hallway, sending all his books crashing to the floor. Mingyu had crouched down immediately to help him pick them up, apologizing with that friendly smile of his. There hadn’t been a dramatic romantic-movie moment where their eyes met and time stopped, but… it had still meant something to Won.

Or maybe—and this was the most likely option—Mingyu remembered nothing at all. Maybe he didn’t recognize the boy who had handed him a bottle of water after basketball practice, too nervous to speak, too shy to meet his eyes.

Ah… maybe their interactions were never truly special to Mingyu. Maybe they weren’t even worth remembering. Wonu had always kept a low profile, not because he lacked anything, but because it was simply who he was. Quiet. Private. Careful with his heart.

So perhaps it made sense that his feelings remained unrequited. It was okay, in a way, to have loved someone silently. Someone who represented something beautiful and far away. Kim Mingyu—the ideal alpha, admired and adored by practically every student in the entire school. Tall, athletic, kind. He was everything people dreamed of, and Wonu? He was just… there.

Now, years later, Wonwoo found himself wondering what had become of Mingyu. He still remembered everything about that boy, the one he fell in love with for reasons that had nothing to do with second genders or alpha biology. Back then, he couldn’t even smell Mingyu’s scent—his own body hadn’t awakened yet, hadn’t crossed that threshold. They had been too far apart, in every way.

Maybe at the reunion, it would be the same. Mingyu wouldn’t notice him. He would be one of many faces in the crowd. A ghost from a past that Mingyu no longer remembered.

In the end, it didn’t matter much what Wonwoo wanted. His friends dragged him to the reunion anyway, gently but insistently, saying it would be good for him, that it would be fun to catch up.

And so, back in the present, there he was—standing inside the decorated hotel hall, music playing softly through the speakers, lights casting nostalgic shadows on familiar walls.

There were so many familiar faces. Classmates he hadn’t seen in a decade, now older, more polished, some a little more tired-looking. Most of them had come with their partners, chatting in groups and laughing with glasses of champagne in their hands. A few had visible bond marks on their necks—proof that they had sealed their connection with their alpha or omega for life.

Oh. They had found their forever. And Wonwoo? He was still quietly waiting for something—or someone—he never dared to chase.

Wonu greeted most of his former classmates with polite smiles and brief small talk, offering warm hellos and the occasional half-hug before retreating to the comfort of his closest circle of friends—those who had truly stayed with him through the years. His people. Jihoon and Soonyoung. Jun and Minghao. To Wonwoo, these two couples were the closest thing to fairy tales made real—high school sweethearts who had somehow defied the odds, grown up together, and ended up happily married.

They were the kind of couples who finished each other’s sentences without realizing it, who knew one another’s coffee orders by heart and still flirted like it was their first week dating. And then there was Wonwoo—the single friend in the group. The one who sat beside their affection but didn’t feel excluded by it. He was okay with that. Truly. Most of the time.

Everything about the evening seemed normal, expected. The reunion dinner was held in the hotel hall, but it had been transformed into something elegant for the night. Strings of soft golden lights hung from the ceiling beams, and the smell of fresh flowers mixed with perfume and cologne. The long tables were covered in white cloth and adorned with centerpieces—too formal for a casual reunion, but typical for an event like this.

Still, Wonwoo knew the evening wouldn’t stay so polished for long. It was only a matter of time before the wine and cocktails started flowing, loosening tongues and lowering inhibitions. Classmates would go from reminiscing to oversharing. Stories would grow exaggerated, secrets would slip, and inevitably someone would cry on the dance floor. He almost looked forward to that part—the chaotic, human mess of it all.

But at the moment, something much more nerve-wracking occupied his mind. There was still one more person who hadn’t arrived, and Wonu could feel it like a pulse in the room: an empty space waiting to be filled. His stomach churned with anticipation and unease.

The tables around him buzzed with light conversation, laughter, clinking glasses. Alumni chatted about their jobs, families, and memories from school, but then a hush began to fall across the room—quiet, collective, and unplanned. Heads turned subtly toward the entrance. Eyes widened. The atmosphere shifted, like a ripple moving through water.

And then he walked in. Kim Mingyu. The most popular alpha in their entire high school history. The one who had been the subject of admiration, envy, and more than a few infatuated stares—including Wonwoo’s.

He hadn’t just remained attractive—he’d become something more. Refined. Striking. His features had matured into sharp, masculine elegance. His face was sculpted and symmetrical, his cheekbones more defined, his jaw stronger. His dark hair was slightly longer now, casually styled back to reveal a smooth, confident forehead. He wore a fitted black suit that clung perfectly to his broad shoulders and tapered waist. A crisp white shirt peeked beneath it, and a bold red tie gave a flash of color, confident and unashamed.

He looked like a man out of a magazine. Like someone untouchable. Someone who had lived a life of excellence and never stumbled. Wonwoo’s stomach fluttered, knotted, and dropped all at once. His breath caught in his throat, and for a split second, he hated his own heart. Stupid, he thought. Stupid, damned late luck—just like everything else in my life.

The only table with an open seat left in the room… was his. Of course it was. Of course it was. He hadn't brought a date, and the universe—ever cruel and ironic—seemed to revel in placing Mingyu right in front of him.

As their classmates looked on, whispering behind hands and nudging shoulders, one of the waiters approached Mingyu and gestured toward the table where Wonu sat. People smiled awkwardly or gave small nods as Mingyu passed, some even trying to strike up brief conversation. But he followed the waiter without pause. And then, to Wonwoo’s quiet horror, Mingyu sat down— right next to him .

He greeted the table casually, flashing that perfect smile. “Wow! It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” he said as another waiter placed his meal in front of him. His voice was smooth, deeper than Wonwoo remembered, with the kind of ease that came from being used to attention. “I remember you well, Jihoon. You helped me a lot with the music club. Soonyoung was in the dance club, right? So were you, Jun… and Minghao.”

Mingyu... Mingyu knew all of Won's friends… And Wonu had somehow never known.

Wait— Jihoon helped him with the music club? Since when? Wonwoo blinked rapidly, processing the words like static in his ears. He was part of the book club. The quiet, background, easily forgotten club. Of course Mingyu wouldn’t have known that. Did he not even know I existed?

“Yeah, it’s been a long time… What have you been doing, Mingyu?” Jihoon asked quickly, steering the conversation, preventing Mingyu from turning his head and saying anything directly to Wonwoo.

And just like that, the familiar pang settled deep in his chest—a dull ache of sadness and resignation. A strange, nostalgic melancholy. Still, he kept his expression neutral. He didn’t allow it to show in his scent either. If he lost control now, everyone at the table would smell it. He wasn’t going to humiliate himself. Not tonight.

So, Wonwoo ate in silence, focusing on his plate even though he wasn’t hungry. He picked at his food while listening to Mingyu speak. Apparently, he worked as the CEO of a pharmaceutical company his father had built—a powerful, lucrative business. Of course he did. That sounded exactly like something Mingyu would be doing: important, successful, respectable. Even the way he spoke carried a confidence that made everyone want to listen.

Most of the conversation remained between him and Jihoon, who kept throwing him more questions—either out of genuine curiosity or to keep Mingyu from turning toward Wonwoo again. It worked.

Maybe everyone assumed Wonwoo had gotten over his high school crush. Honestly, even he had believed that. He thought that chapter of his life was long closed. So it didn’t matter if they didn’t talk. It didn’t matter that Mingyu hadn’t looked his way or asked about him once.

And when the dinner finally wrapped up and the dance floor opened, the hall filled with soft lighting and romantic music, couples quickly began to drift onto the floor. Even Soonyoung, ever the mischief-maker, pulled Jihoon away from the table to dance, leaving only two chairs occupied.

Wonwoo and Mingyu. Alone. He was about to stand up and make a polite excuse—anything to escape—when he felt a soft breath near his neck. Mingyu’s voice, low and deliberate, came from just behind him.

“You smell so good. Did you come here alone?”

The words froze Wonwoo in place. He turned around slowly, awkwardly, discomfort written across his posture, and stared at the man who had just spoken so casually to him. There was a storm of emotions swirling behind his eyes—shock, confusion, embarrassment—but the one that broke through his voice was something else entirely.

“Don’t you remember me?” he asked, his tone restrained but tight, laced with a flicker of anger. No, not just anger— hurt. Sadness. Disappointment. A decade’s worth of unspoken feelings behind a single question.

Mingyu looked at him for a few seconds—long seconds that stretched into an unbearable eternity. His eyes scanned Wonwoo’s face carefully, as if searching for a memory long buried, and then he closed his eyes for a beat, exhaling softly.

“We studied together?” he asked, voice calm.

And Wonwoo—well, he wanted to laugh. He’s joking… right?

“Yes, during middle school and during high school,” he said, his voice calm but edged with restrained emotion. There was no sarcasm, no anger—just the weight of truth delivered with quiet conviction.

Mingyu turned to look at him again, brow furrowing slightly in thought, as if he was genuinely trying to place the face before him in the halls of his memory. The effort was visible in the way his gaze narrowed, the way he tilted his head ever so slightly to one side. But after a long pause, he simply shook his head.

“I can’t remember,” he admitted. “I’m sure I’d remember your scent at least.”

The words landed heavier than they should. Like a glass slipping from a hand—slow at first, then shattering on impact. Of course. Wonwoo didn’t react outwardly, but inside, something cracked. There was a cold rush of disappointment that seeped into the cracks like water freezing in stone. He couldn’t help but scoff internally, not at Mingyu’s words but at the cruel irony of it all.

No, that was never going to happen, he tought bitterly. Because Wonu didn’t reveal himself as an omega until after Mingyu’s era.

He had presented late. Long after the years where scent might’ve made him visible. Back in school, he had been invisible in every way that counted—quiet, introverted, too focused on books and notebooks and fleeting daydreams about boys like Mingyu who never looked his way. Boys like Mingyu didn’t look at people like Wonwoo. Not then. And certainly not now—at least not unless biology gave them a reason.

Wonwoo shook his head and lifted his glass to his lips, needing something to distract his mouth, needing something to occupy his trembling breath. He took a slow sip, feeling the cold drink trail down his throat, anchoring him in the present. He placed the glass back down with care, setting it on the tablecloth as if putting down a fragile part of himself.

“I’m Wonwoo,” he said, finally offering his name. Not because Mingyu earned it—but because holding it back now felt childish. His voice was soft, but not weak. There was a sadness to it, yes, but also a quiet pride—like he was reclaiming something long overlooked.

And he was sad. It was the kind of sadness that didn’t sting sharply but instead settled low in the chest. Heavy. Like it was raining inside him—light and constant, drizzling over his heart and pooling in the corners of his ribs. A slow, gray melancholy. Because Mingyu never noticed him. Never saw him. Never remembered him.

All those years they must have crossed paths—shared classrooms, passed each other in hallways, sat on opposite sides of school events. And still, nothing. Not even a flicker of memory in Mingyu’s eyes. And now, now that he was looking at him, it was only because of a scent—a trait Wonwoo couldn’t even control.

And Mingyu? He just smiled as if this was any other conversation. As if this wasn’t a devastating moment for someone else. “I’m Mingyu,” he replied smoothly, though of course that wasn’t necessary. “And it’s quite a coincidence that we came here alone, right?”

Wonwoo blinked. A coincidence? He wanted to say something—anything—to undo the way that made him feel. To call out the absurdity, the indifference. But the words stuck to his throat like wet paper, too fragile to be pushed out. So instead, he let the silence between them stretch thin and uneasy. He offered nothing more. Not yet. Not when the weight of everything unsaid was still crashing down on him.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Hours passed, and Wonwoo grew more and more nervous. He knew he shouldn’t have been, not really, but Mingyu’s presence made him feel uneasy in a way that wasn’t unpleasant—just unfamiliar. The kind of nervousness that stirred in his chest and tangled itself around his throat, making it harder to breathe with every glance Mingyu threw his way. The cocktails and drinks went down his throat like water, smooth and fast, one after another until he realized, a little too late, that he was drunker than usual.

Mingyu didn’t know why he felt the same. Why his hands were a little clammy, why he kept laughing too loudly or leaning in too close. Something about Won made his stomach tighten and flip. Maybe it was that scent—sweet and subtle, like vanilla and tea leaves—that clung to the air around him. It was addicting. He had been drinking just as much, too, and by now, they were both hovering on that same hazy level of drunkenness—just past tipsy, emotions rising to the surface like bubbles in a champagne glass.

“Oh, Min—Mingyu... I was so in love with you, all those years... I—I swear,” Wonwoo confessed suddenly, his words tumbling out in slurred, heavy syllables, his eyes narrowed and glassy. The sentence cracked in the middle, like a fault line splitting open after too much pressure.

“What? What did you just say?” Mingyu asked, his stomach fluttering with a drunken heat that spread down his chest. His words came out slow, dragged and fuzzy, but somehow Wonwoo understood them perfectly. What he didn’t understand—what made no sense—was why Mingyu had rejected every high school classmate who had approached him that night to talk, why he kept brushing them off with polite nods or distracted smiles. It almost seemed like he had been watching him only. But Wonwoo didn’t want to let himself believe that. He didn’t want to get his hopes up.

“That. I. Was. Always. In. Love. With. You. With. You. Kim. Mingyu.” Wonwoo repeated, slower this time, each word falling heavy and strange from his mouth, like he was trying to make them land, really land, in Mingyu’s brain despite the alcohol clouding them both.

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu murmured, shifting closer, guilt washing over his face in a dim glow from the bar’s overhead lights. “Now I feel even more guilty for not remembering you, bu—but... I can... we can...” He trailed off, breath warming as he leaned in closer to Wonwoo, voice softening into something intimate, something secret. He tilted his head toward Wonwoo’s ear and whispered, catching a stronger wave of that blessed scent, so close now he could almost taste it. “We can remember this night forever.”

His voice came out suggestive, yet clumsy and soaked in liquor, and Wonwoo couldn’t help it—he let out a laugh that burst from his chest and rippled through his entire body. His shoulders shook, his head tilted back, and the drink in his hand trembled so much a little of it splashed over his fingers.

“Oh! Mingyu, is that like... a way to flirt? Because...” Wonwoo tried to stop himself, but the connection between his brain and mouth had long since been compromised. What he meant to think stayed in his head. What he actually said slipped out, like water from cracked glass. “It’s working.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mingyu laughed too, the sound light and delighted, and moved even closer, his body swaying slightly as he placed a warm, steady hand on Wonwoo’s thigh. His palm was large and comforting even through the fabric. “Actually, you’re not a normal omega.”

The words startled Wonwoo out of the fuzzy warmth, snapped him back just enough for his nerves to jolt. “What do you mean, a normal omega?” His voice was sharp, edged with something defensive that hadn’t been there before.

What did that mean? That he wasn’t someone an alpha would settle down with? That he wasn’t soft enough, cute enough, submissive enough? That he wasn’t the kind of omega someone dreamed of raising pups with? That he didn’t spend the night batting his lashes and clinging to Mingyu’s arm like the others had? It stung. It burned, and it made him angry. So he pulled away from Mingyu’s touch, tearing his leg out from under the weight of that hand like it had scorched him.

“You know what? I have to go...” he mumbled, voice still soaked in drunken haze, but firmer now, like he needed to create some kind of boundary, even if it was wobbly. He pushed himself off the seat too fast and lost his balance almost immediately, his legs too soft and too slow to catch up with the rest of him. Before he could fall, Mingyu’s arm slid around his waist in one smooth motion and caught him, pulling him in close against the solid warmth of his chest. The grip at his hips was gentle but firm, grounding him in place like a wall he hadn’t known he needed.

Almost hanging off Mingyu’s arm now, Wonwoo blinked slowly, scanning the room for his friends, but everything was too dark, too loud, and too blurry. The lights pulsed. The air buzzed.

“Can I walk with you? It seems like you can’t walk,” Mingyu offered, still holding him close, trying to sound composed. He wasn’t fooling anyone though—his words still slurred slightly, his usual deep voice softened by alcohol. His lisp, always just barely noticeable, now lingered a little longer on each syllable, and even though Wonwoo was annoyed with him, he still found it unbearably cute.

Wonwoo didn’t answer. He just nodded, slowly, reluctantly, letting his head drop forward for a moment as if agreeing took too much energy. Min straightened up then, careful but still swaying a little, and managed to straighten Wonwoo too, though the omega seemed more like a rag doll in his hands, limbs loose and head lolling slightly as they moved.

Together, they shuffled toward the elevator, leaving behind the muffled music and chatter. The hallway outside was quiet and dim, lined with patterned carpet and old wallpaper that seemed to vibrate gently in his vision. The elevator was older, too, its panel slightly scratched, its light flickering once as they stepped inside in silence.

A strange tension built between them almost immediately, heavier than before, as if the air had thickened and neither of them could quite breathe right anymore. The doors closed, and the elevator began its slow ascent. But when it stopped at the very next floor, it jolted too hard, rattling the frame, and Wonwoo lost his balance again. He instinctively reached out and clung tightly to Mingyu’s arm.

Even through the layers of clothing, he could feel the tension in the muscle beneath his hand. It flexed, strong and warm, and Wonwoo didn’t know why he found that attractive—but he did. He blamed it on his teenage self, that foolish 17-year-old version of him who still lived inside somewhere, thrilled just to be this close to Mingyu at all. Even if he didn’t remember much now, even if the details of high school had blurred away, that old excitement was still alive in his chest, thumping faster with every passing second.

Kim Mingyu didn’t remember him. They had talked about old school memories earlier in the night, and Mingyu had been surprised—truly surprised—that Wonwoo had been present at almost every single event he’d attended. And yet, he hadn’t remembered seeing him even once. Not even a flicker. It made Wonwoo feel gray. Invisible. Like he had spent years screaming from behind a wall no one could see through.

He cursed his late revelation again. If he had presented earlier, if that scent of vanilla and tea leaves had been there back then, maybe Min would have noticed him. Maybe it wouldn’t have been too late. But it was too late now, wasn’t it?

Wonwoo hadn’t asked Mingyu if he had a partner—he hadn’t dared—but he assumed from the way Mingyu had come alone to the reunion, the way he had hovered near him and no one else, that there wasn’t anyone. At least, not anyone important enough to be worth mentioning.

Still, he had promised himself he wouldn’t get his hopes up. But it got complicated. And it got worse when the elevator stopped on some random floor, and Mingyu suddenly grabbed his wrist, dragged him gently—without force, but without question—out of the elevator and into the hallway. Before Wonwoo could gather his thoughts or ask what was happening, Mingyu reached into his pocket, pulled out a key, and unlocked the door to a nearby room.

Wonwoo couldn’t even remember when that key had been handed out to the guests. But he didn’t resist. He simply let Mingyu keep guiding him forward, through the door and into the quiet, dimly lit room. Once Mingyu closed the door, he nearly let out a guttural growl, low and possessive, a rumble from the pit of his chest that made the air vibrate. Wonwoo flinched like prey caught in a trap. His heart jumped violently in his chest, and his muscles stiffened as Mingyu stalked closer.

"I can't help myself," Mingyu confessed, voice dipped in a dangerous whisper, raw, almost trembling. He leaned in, fully, unashamed, burying his face in the crook of Wonwoo’s neck and dragging in a deep, filthy inhale. His nose pressed against sweat-damp skin, right where the scent glands pulsed strongest, and he breathed so hard it was like he was trying to consume the omega whole.

Wonwoo’s body lit up like a struck match. He didn’t just feel it—he burned with it. Every inch of skin along his neck prickled with heat as Mingyu's nose dragged along it, slow, deliberate, like he was tasting with scent alone. It made Wonwoo whimper softly, head falling slightly to the side in a subconscious offer, exposing more of that sensitive stretch of skin.

And then Gyu pulled away. He looked at Wonwoo—eyes blown wide with heat, with hunger, but restrained just barely—like a wolf trying not to sink its teeth too soon. His gaze searched Won’s face, measuring every little twitch, every blink, waiting to see if he'd retreat, if he'd say no, if he’d bolt. He didn’t. He froze.

"Can I kiss you?" Mingyu asked, barely audible, his voice breaking into a shy whisper that didn’t match the feral heat glowing behind his eyes. Wonwoo pressed his lips tightly together, blood pounding in his ears. But then he nodded, short and trembling, his body aching with contradiction. His lips parted again, slicked lazily by a slow flick of his tongue, as if preparing them—inviting.

Mingyu closed the distance with a quiet hunger, one hand rising to cradle Wonwoo’s jaw, thumb brushing over the trembling line of his chin. Their lips met—just barely—a ghost of contact. Mingyu was giving him one last chance to run, to change his mind, but Wonwoo didn’t. He stood stock still, vibrating in place, burning up, and let it happen.

Gyu brushed their noses together in a soft nuzzle that made Won’s toes curl, breath catching. And then it hit him—that scent. Not just alpha. Not just dominant. Mingyu smelled like melted dark chocolate. Pure. Intoxicating. Like the expensive kind he used to sneak into his mouth in college, the kind that coated your tongue in deep, bitter heat before leaving a cloying sweetness behind. It was maddening. Unlike anything he’d ever smelled on another alpha—complex, bitter, syrupy, dangerous.

His mouth watered just as Mingyu’s tongue slipped between his lips. And then he was really kissing him. Min's tongue explored him slowly, lazily, as if savoring a rare delicacy. He licked into Wonwoo’s mouth, tasting him, mapping him. His lips pressed harder, teeth nipping at Won's lower lip in teasing little bites that made the omega shudder and gasp. Won’s arms came alive, slinking around Mingyu’s neck, pulling him close, crushing their bodies together, and it was like a circuit snapped into place—because the kiss exploded.

It burned. It was messy now, full of spit and breathless sounds and open-mouthed want. Mingyu moaned softly into him, hands roaming, gripping. He slid them lower, rough palms gliding over the curve of Wonwoo's ass, gripping his thighs, and then suddenly he was hoisting the omega up effortlessly. Won wrapped his legs around Mingyu’s hips with a desperate squeeze, the friction of their bodies sparking another groan from deep in Gyu’s throat.

They didn’t stop kissing, not for a second, lips fused as Mingyu carried him across the room. His strong arms didn’t waver, guiding them to the edge of the bed. Wonwoo clung to him, moaning, nibbling his bottom lip, tasting the alcohol they’d both downed earlier.

Min climbed onto the bed with him still wrapped around him like a second skin, and then gently, carefully, laid him down against the mattress. Only then did their lips part. Silence. Just panting, staring, heat. Gyu hovered over him, eyes roving, unsure, afraid. He didn’t ask, he just watched, waiting to be denied. And Wonwoo... he stared back.

His heart was beating too fast, a thunderous hammer against his ribs. It was sobering. The alcohol buzz from earlier had nearly vanished, chased away by adrenaline and pheromones. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing, but his body was screaming for more. He sat up suddenly, escaping the gravity of Mingyu’s body, and padded barefoot across the room to the minibar.

He cracked open a beer and took a long swig, standing there in nothing but a fevered daze, skin flushed, lips kiss-swollen. Mingyu watched him like a man possessed.

"I wanted to keep drinking," Wonwoo said casually, shrugging. But his voice cracked at the end, betraying him. Mingyu smirked.

Wonwoo slid to the floor, back against the minibar, one arm thrown over his bent knee. Gyu soon joined him there, sitting close enough to radiate warmth, and uncapped a bottle of his own.

"You're a great kisser," Mingyu said, eyes hooded. Wonwoo threw his head back and chugged half the bottle in response. Then another. Then another.

"Wasn't that enough?" Min asked, almost hurt, almost pleading.

Wonwoo didn’t meet his eyes. "I want to stop thinking. I want to numb my heart." His voice was soft, but sharp. It hurt. Mingyu frowned, confused, but didn't push. He remembered that moment from earlier—when Wonwoo had confessed years of unspoken love, and the shame of it. The heartbreak.

So Min drank to match him. One. Two. Three. Four. Soon, the world was swaying. Wonwoo started laughing—something stupid, maybe a joke in his head, maybe just the absurdity of it all. And Mingyu laughed too, drunk and wrecked and dazed.

Then they were kissing again. Sloppier this time. Less coordinated. Teeth clashing, mouths too wet, but so fucking hungry. Wonwoo grabbed Mingyu’s hair, yanking a little too hard. Gyu moaned from the pain, eyes rolling back, his cock throbbing visibly through his pants.

"Fuck," he gasped.

Wonwoo grinned devilishly. But it vanished when Mingyu’s hand slid down and cupped his crotch, fingers pressing firmly against the hard outline there.

"A-ah—!" Won gasped, hips twitching as Gyu rubbed slow, steady circles over his bulge.

And then it unraveled. Mingyu stripped him down, piece by clumsy piece, hands all over, greedy, fast, but still somehow reverent. He kissed everything—shoulders, ribs, hipbones, thighs—like Wonwoo’s body was sacred and filthy at once. His nose was buried between every limb, drinking in the potent scent of omega heat, of slick beginning to pool and stain the rug beneath them.

Wonwoo was leaking. Not just a little—soaking. The musky sweetness of his arousal filled the room, thick and intoxicating. Mingyu groaned deep and guttural, eyes almost black, his alpha instincts rising in waves.

He mouthed over Wonwoo’s belly, over the flat, trembling plane of it, kissing lower, lower—until his mouth hovered just above that glistening mess between his thighs. And he licked once. Slow. Deep.

"F-Fuck—Min," Wonwoo choked.

His back arched. Mingyu licked again. And again. Wonwoo bucked, fists clenching in the carpet, moaning uncontrollably as Min devoured him, tongue fucking deep between his hole, sliding through slick, tasting his heat like it was his last meal. His tongue was too long, too good, curling up inside and hitting every nerve.

Won was soaking, dripping, absolutely filthy, and Mingyu was loving it. The omega tried to reach for Mingyu’s clothes—grabbing blindly, dragging fingers down the buttons of that pristine white shirt.

"Gyu… I want it off," he panted.

Mingyu understood immediately. He sat up, ripped his shirt open, buttons popping, and shoved his pants down, cock springing free—thick, flushed, throbbing, already wet at the tip. Wonwoo gasped at the sight. Mingyu was huge. And ready.

They were both naked now, sprawled across the hotel carpet, slick puddling beneath Wonwoo’s thighs, their bodies flushed and slick with sweat.

Gyu kissed him again, feverishly. No more hesitation. Wonwoo wrapped his legs around Min’s hips, grinding up against him like a rutting animal, bodies sliding together in a hot, messy tangle.

And it was wild. improvised, desperate. Every sound was amplified—the wet kiss of their mouths, the obscene squelch of slick, the ragged moans, the whispered curses.

And Mingyu hadn’t even put it in yet. When Mingyu finally brought his hand down to Wonwoo’s slick, needy entrance, he groaned—deep, loud, primal—at the obscene wetness soaking his fingers, dripping down the cleft of Wonwoo’s ass in thick, clear ropes of slick.

“Ah, fuck—you’re so wet for me, aren’t you?” he teased, voice low and rough, almost growled into the shell of Wonwoo’s ear. His fingers spread the mess around instinctively, smearing the glistening heat-slick along the swollen hole before pressing in slow.

Wonwoo laughed—low and sultry, the kind of laugh that curled at the edges like smoke and made Mingyu’s cock throb painfully in his jeans.

“You had to be that kind of alpha—ah~” His voice cracked into a moan the moment Min plunged two fingers knuckle-deep into his slick, fluttering hole, the squelch lewd and wet, echoing between their bodies. The stretch should’ve been shocking, but Wonwoo was so soaked, so fucking ready, that he swallowed them down effortlessly, his tight ring of muscle twitching around the digits like it wanted more.

The way Mingyu dragged his fingers in and out—slow and firm, curling inside as if hunting for the softest part of him—made Wonwoo tremble, thighs spreading wider, back arching. He rolled his hips down into every thrust like he couldn’t get enough, like he wanted to be split open right there on the floor. His toes curled against the carpet. He was already losing his mind.

His body trembled with every pump of those thick fingers. The mingling of their scents—alpha dominance saturated in cocoa heat, omega need dripping thick and potent—was dizzying. Wonwoo’s head lolled back, mouth slack, moans steady and rising. Just thinking about being filled with Mingyu’s cock had him on the edge. He clenched around those fingers as if they were a substitute, but they weren’t. They weren’t nearly enough.

Mingyu, hovering above him, watched it all. Watched the way Wonwoo writhed, his pretty body spasming around just two fingers, his slick gushing, drenching his thighs and making a sticky mess on the carpet beneath him. It was delicious. The sound, the scent, the visual of Wonwoo—flushed and soaking, trembling and desperate—made Mingyu’s cock jerk hard in his pants.

He didn’t wait long to push in a third finger. Wonwoo’s gasp tore the air, body jolting—but he took it. His greedy little hole sucked it in, no resistance, just filthy, hot submission. The natural lubricant oozed out around Mingyu’s hand, thick and pearlescent, running down his wrist in warm trails. Wonwoo was leaking so much it dripped between his ass cheeks, pooling beneath him. The room stank of heat, sex, need—it was intoxicating.

“Min–Mingyu~ Please…~” Wonwoo’s voice went syrupy and high, a tremble on every syllable, desperate and sweet and so fucking needy that Mingyu swore out loud. That voice—two pitches higher than usual, breathy and broken—triggered something deep in him, something feral . His cock gave a painful throb, and a bead of precum dripped from the tip, soaking into the fabric of his briefs.

He groaned, shuddering, fingers still thrusting slow and steady into that stretched, dripping hole. He fumbled with his free hand, blindly reaching for his pants, ripping them open with trembling fingers. His wallet hit the floor with a soft thud, and he dragged out a condom, tearing the wrapper with his teeth. He didn't stop moving inside Wonwoo the whole time, didn't even think about pulling out his fingers—because he knew the second he did, that little hole would close around nothing, empty and twitching, and he couldn’t have that.

He rolled the condom on one-handed, cock aching and angry against his palm. And then, finally, finally, he positioned the head of his cock at Wonwoo’s ruined, slick-dripping entrance. His fingers withdrew with a wet squelch, and he barely had a second to breathe before he thrust forward.

His thick length sank in to the hilt. Wonwoo's mouth dropped open in a wordless scream, his head thrown back as he arched like a bow. His body took it—opened beautifully, instinctively, greedily, wrapped around Mingyu’s cock with heat and pressure that made the alpha’s head spin. He was tight, impossibly so, his body clamping down around the intrusion as if trying to milk the knot not even inside him yet.

Mingyu groaned, jaw clenched, fighting the urge to slam into him mercilessly from the start. But god, he barely held on. Wonwoo was sobbing already.

He had never felt this full. Not with any other alpha, not even with the biggest toys in his drawer. Mingyu’s cock filled him out so completely, he felt stretched, wrecked, ruined. He swore he could feel the shape of it curve inside, pressing against his guts. If he touched his belly, he was sure he’d feel the outline—but his hands weren’t steady enough. He just grabbed at the carpet, moaning, his hips rolling up to chase more friction.

And then Mingyu moved, slow at first—grinding thrusts, deep and dragging, that had them both gasping. But it didn’t stay slow. It couldn’t. Mingyu lost control. He fucked into him—sharp, hard thrusts that shook Wonwoo’s whole body, that made the slap of skin-on-skin echo through the room. Slick splattered with every movement, soaking Mingyu’s thighs, soaking the floor, spraying out around his cock with every thrust.

Wonwoo couldn't keep up. His brain short-circuited. He came so fast, so hard, he blacked out for a second. His hole clamped around Mingyu like a vice, milking him, and he screamed, high and loud, as cum shot from his cock untouched, painting his own stomach, the floor, Mingyu’s abs. He spasmed helplessly, voice cracking from the intensity.

But Mingyu didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He kept pounding into him, hips pistoning with alpha-fueled brutality, grunting low and rough against Wonwoo’s neck. Each thrust dragged another wail from the omega’s throat, overstimulating him, fucking him through orgasm after orgasm. Wonwoo came again, then again—ribbons of cum spurting from him every time his prostate got slammed into.

Mingyu was destroying him. Breaking him down into nothing but a sobbing, twitching fucktoy. And Wonwoo loved it. He begged. Cried. Screamed his name—“Mingyu! Ah! Gyu—please! F-Fuck! I can’t—!”

But he never told him to stop. Not once. At some point they ended up on the bed—he wasn’t even sure how. His body was limp, broken open, stuffed full, the mattress rocking beneath them as the headboard slammed into the wall. The rhythm was brutal, relentless.

Mingyu wasn’t loud—but the sound of his ragged breathing, the growls rumbling from his chest, the tight groans against Wonwoo’s skin told the whole story. Wonwoo was much louder—howling, sobbing, mewling with every slam of cock against his sweet spot.

Then it happened. Mingyu’s knot started to swell.

“W-Wait—Min— Gyu! —your knot—!” Wonwoo gasped, panic and need mixing violently in his throat. Mingyu didn’t stop. He gripped Wonwoo’s thighs tighter, pushed harder, forced it in.

The stretch was unbearable. So thick, so huge, and so slow . The base of his cock widened, flaring, locking into place, and Wonwoo screamed as he came again, violently, helplessly, cock spurting against his belly.

And then Mingyu roared.,His whole body jerked. He slammed in one final time, buried deep, locked in, and came . Thick ropes of cum exploded from him, gushing inside the condom, so much it felt like it might burst. His cock twitched violently, pulsing with every squirt, and he didn’t stop—his whole body shaking, muscles locked, jaw clenched tight as he emptied himself inside the omega.

Wonwoo sobbed—eyes rolling back, mouth slack, tears streaking down his face. His hole clenched rhythmically around the knot, desperate to hold onto it, to keep it inside. He felt like he was going to pass out. He wanted to pass out. And yet... he still wanted more.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

When Wonwoo woke up, the room was still quiet and dim, the only light spilling in through a narrow gap in the curtains. The air felt warm and still, filled with the familiar, slightly sweet scent of skin and sweat, of sex and something softer beneath it all—vanilla and tea leaves, clinging faintly to the sheets.

Mingyu was still asleep behind him, breathing slow and deep, his long arm draped over Wonwoo’s waist like a protective barrier, his chest pressed firmly against Wonwoo’s back. Their bodies fit together naturally, as if they had done this countless times before, even though they hadn’t. Mingyu’s now-soft, deflated cock was still nestled inside of him, the sensation oddly comforting despite the physical discomfort that lingered. And god... Oh no.

This—this very thing—was one of Wonwoo’s quiet little fetishes. Not that he ever said it out loud. The feeling of being held like this, kept full and close even after everything was over... It made something flutter deep in his chest, stirred something almost romantic and stupid. He had never expected it to happen, but it seemed Mingyu had unknowingly fulfilled it. Perfectly, even.

Still, Wonwoo didn’t say a word. He lay there a few more seconds, eyes wide open now, heart beating too fast in his chest, taking in every small sound: the soft rhythm of Min’s breath against his neck, the faint rustle of the sheets as he shifted slightly. Slowly, carefully, he reached behind himself and guided Mingyu’s member out of his body with delicate fingers, trying not to wake him. He winced a little at the emptiness that followed. Then, with practiced quiet, he slipped out from under the covers.

The air outside the bed was cold against his bare skin. He stood there for a moment, completely nude, looking around the room with eyes that were still blurry with sleep and memories he couldn’t yet organize. The room smelled like the night they had just shared—alcohol, cologne, sweat, and the unmistakable musk of sex. It was almost surreal, standing in the middle of it all, like he had woken up inside a dream he didn’t want to admit he’d had.

He found his clothes scattered across the floor—his shirt crumpled near the desk, his underwear bunched beneath the foot of the bed, pants halfway under the chair, socks nowhere to be seen. He dressed slowly, methodically, not bothering to fix his hair or even glance at his reflection in the mirror by the dresser. He hadn’t even showered, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t want to wake Mingyu. He didn’t want to explain anything, or pretend that this morning was something other than what it was.

He didn’t think he’d tell anyone about this. Not Jun, not Hao, not even his journal. He didn’t think Mingyu would look for him, either. They had both been drinking—too much, maybe—and things blurred easily at the edges when you were drunk. Besides, Mingyu had always been forgetful when it came to him. If he hadn’t remembered him from years of shared school events, from years of brushing shoulders in hallways, from class photos where they stood just rows apart... then why would he remember this?

Min’s brain had always seemed to discard Wonwoo. This wouldn’t be any different. So he left. Without looking back, without saying anything, he stepped quietly out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him with a soft click that felt more like a full stop than a goodbye. The hallway outside was eerily silent, carpeted and dim, and every step he took away from the room felt heavier, like something was pulling him back but he refused to listen.

He walked through the hotel lobby like a ghost, ignoring the receptionist’s distracted glance, the smell of brewed coffee, the sound of someone wheeling their suitcase across the marble floor. Outside, the morning air was brisk against his cheeks, and for a moment he stopped on the sidewalk, breathing in deeply, grounding himself.

He had to meet up with Jun soon. His phone had already buzzed with more than twenty unread messages—some of them probably angry, some of them probably worried. Jun had always been like that. Reliable, annoying, impossible to shake off.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“What do you mean I can't be mad at you? You knew Mingyu, and you never helped me approaching him?” Wonwoo complained, his voice rising slightly with frustration as he stabbed at his salad with a little too much force. The café around them buzzed with soft conversations and clinking cutlery, but his irritation was loud enough to cut through the hum of the afternoon.

Jun, sitting across from him with his iced coffee in hand, let out a laugh, light and amused as he stirred the drink with his straw. His eyes crinkled at the corners, clearly unbothered.

“Won, when you said you were in love with Mingyu,” Jun began, lifting his drink to take a casual sip, “you also said you didn’t want to do anything about it. You were very clear. You said you wouldn't approach him, that you were going to keep it to yourself. Do you know how nervous you got around him? Just hearing his name made you start sweating. I’m serious— sweating , like a cartoon character in a sauna. Every time his name came up, you practically had a meltdown. You chose to stay in the background, and we respected that. None of us wanted to pressure you.”

He paused, setting the drink down before finishing his point with a little smirk.

“It was your canonical event, Wonwoo. Your epic, tragic love story. The untouchable alpha, the silent beta. We were just background characters to the drama,” Jun added with a teasing laugh, clearly enjoying the trip down memory lane.

Wonwoo sat back in his chair, jaw tight, arms crossed. He wanted to argue—but he couldn’t. He knew Jun was right. Completely right. It was true.

He had said he wouldn’t approach Mingyu. He had sworn he would never confess. He’d been so sure he would never get the chance—or that Mingyu would never care enough to listen. And honestly, he thought he hadn’t confessed yet. At least not sober. But now... now he wasn’t sure. His drunken brain had taken liberties last night, and parts of it were fuzzy, blurred like fogged-up glass. He had a creeping feeling that he’d said too much—or done too much.

“But... we made up for it a little last night, didn’t we?” Jun said suddenly, eyes narrowing playfully as he leaned forward on his elbows. “You were with Mingyu the whole time. But then, there was a moment—just a little window—when we lost sight of you. Where did you go?”

His tone was casual, but the lifted eyebrow said otherwise. Jun was fishing. Wonwoo remained calm. Or tried to. He forced his face into a placid expression and focused on his coffee. No way in hell was he letting Jun find out. No one could know.

“Oh, I went to sleep,” he said simply, giving a shrug that looked a little too rehearsed. “I got drunk enough, and I was tired. It was late.”

Jun gave him a look that said, really? He leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed, lips pursed.

“Oh, so tired that you were late for our date today and I had to leave you twenty messages?” Jun replied with mock offense, tapping his nails against the table. His tone was biting but playful.

Wonwoo nodded, face still calm, tone even. He wasn't going to flinch. “Mingyu didn’t even remember me,” he said flatly after a pause. The words came out cold—too cold—carrying a weight he couldn’t fully hide. “He never knew I existed.”

Jun’s playful energy immediately shifted. His teasing dropped away, and a furrow creased his brow. The concern in his eyes was genuine now. “I’m sorry, Wonu,” he said quietly, voice softened, almost careful. “I didn’t think he really didn’t remember you.”

But the truth was—Jun sensed something else. Something didn’t add up. Something was off . As another omega, he knew. Wonwoo’s scent was... different today. Muted in some places, sharper in others. And there was no mistaking that faint trace of alpha pheromones clinging to him, just barely masked. Mingyu's scent. It was subtle, but it was there—woven into his skin like a secret only another omega could smell.

Jun tilted his head slightly, watching him. “And he said you weren’t a normal omega?” he asked, tone shifting again. More skeptical now. “See? Selective memory. How can he not remember you but say something like that? He’s full of shit.”

Wonwoo gave a little smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Ah, he’s a bastard,” Jun continued, growing heated. “You should’ve come back to us the second he said that crap. What were we expecting from him anyway? He was always so conceited. Remember how every idiot in school paraded by our table just to get a nod from that jerk? Like they were lined up for a blessing.” Jun rolled his eyes hard, crossing his arms again with a loud sigh.

“He’s an idiot.”

But Wonwoo was already shaking his head, slowly, thoughtfully, eyes cast downward at the rim of his cup. “I don’t think he meant it like that,” he murmured. “I just think... sometimes people don’t know what they’re saying. I mean... it wasn’t so bad, meeting him now. It was... different. Like seeing a side of the Mingyu I used to be obsessed with, but... from a new angle. It’s not the same version of him I used to dream about.”

Jun groaned dramatically. “Oh god, you’re doing it again. Defending him. Just like when we were teenagers,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger across the table. “Some things never change.” Then he grinned. “But hey. You did close the Mingyu chapter, right? A long time ago, if I remember correctly. Honestly, I still think about that alpha you used to see back then. What was his name? The one with the motorcycle and the thighs for days? He was ridiculously hot.”

“Baekho?” Wonwoo asked, blinking. His mind briefly conjured the image—Baekho, all muscle and confidence, with warm hands and a deep voice. Yes, he had been hot. But not like Mingyu. Not even close.

Wonwoo’s thoughts slipped back, unbidden, to the night before. The weight of Mingyu’s body over his own. The strength in the alpha’s arms when he had picked him up and carried him like he weighed nothing. The heat of his mouth, the sound of his voice, the way his scent had wrapped around him like a drug...

“Ah, yeah...” he muttered, trailing off as he blinked back into the present. “I closed the Mingyu chapter. Yesterday was just the final seal. One last page before forgetting Kim Mingyu altogether.”

“Yeah, well,” Jun scoffed, still unconvinced, “how could he not remember you? He’s such a jerk. Of course he had to be an alpha. It figures.”

He rolled his eyes again, completely unaware that, across the city, Kim Mingyu was awake in a hotel room, staring at the ceiling with a head full of scattered memories and a scent he couldn’t forget. And right now, he was already thinking of ways to find Wonwoo again.

Chapter 2

Wonwoo was an exceptional scientist—brilliant, meticulous, and deeply passionate about his field. Like Mingyu, he also worked in the pharmaceutical industry, though their positions were vastly different. While Mingyu held the powerful role of CEO in his own company, Wonwoo worked as a dedicated employee at Moon Pharmaceuticals, a firm known for its innovation and ambition. He wasn’t in charge of the corporation, but he played a vital role behind the scenes, working with a wide range of assets and contributing to the development of new, life-changing medicines. His intelligence had always set him apart, and he had earned the respect of many in his field.

On that particular day, he had a significant task ahead of him—one he had been preparing for tirelessly. He was scheduled to present a proposal for a groundbreaking new migraine medication, one designed to eliminate pain within seconds of administration. The concept alone had the potential to revolutionize treatment for millions of sufferers, and he and his team had spent weeks fine-tuning every detail of the presentation. Everything had been moving smoothly, and the final review of the material had gone off without a hitch.

But just minutes before he was meant to walk into the boardroom and deliver his pitch, something shifted. A sharp, twisting sensation curled in the pit of his stomach, sudden and nauseating. He froze for a moment, trying to breathe through it, hoping it was just a wave of nerves. But the discomfort surged stronger, heavier. His mouth filled with saliva, and the next thing he knew, he was rushing down the hallway toward the nearest bathroom, clutching his stomach.

Inside, he barely made it to the toilet before vomiting violently. He emptied the entire contents of his stomach in one long, miserable episode, gripping the edge of the bowl as his body convulsed. His skin broke out in a cold sweat, and a horrible taste clung to his tongue. When it finally passed, he sat back on his heels, breathless and shaky, the room spinning slightly around him.

Forcing himself to stand, he stumbled to the sink, turned on the cold water, and splashed his face several times. He looked up, catching his reflection in the mirror, and was startled by how pale he looked—almost ghostlike. His cheeks were hollow, lips colorless, and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He took a deep breath and wiped his face with a paper towel, trying to gather himself.

A knock came at the bathroom door—firm but hesitant. “Wonwoo, are you okay?” Eunbin’s voice filtered through the wood, muffled by the barrier, but still full of concern.

He hesitated, then walked over and opened the door slowly, pasting on a faint, strained smile. “Yeah… I think my breakfast didn’t sit well,” he said with a soft chuckle, trying to sound casual. His voice cracked slightly, but he hoped she wouldn’t notice.

Eunbin frowned as she looked him over. “You don’t look great,” she said, her brow furrowed with worry.

He gave a weak shrug. “I’ll be fine.”

“The new director is waiting for us,” she reminded him, glancing toward the hallway with a tense expression. Eunbin and Wonwoo had worked side by side on this project from the start, spending long hours refining their proposal, running endless tests, adjusting formulas. They had been a great team, complementing each other’s strengths. She was a beta—sharp, focused, and determined—and she had worked just as hard as he had to reach this point. Today’s presentation was supposed to be a shared triumph for both of them.

Moon Pharmaceuticals had recently undergone a major change in leadership. The previous director, Mr. Moon Jaewook, had led the company for decades but had finally stepped down to enjoy his retirement. He had handed the reins to his granddaughter, Moon Kayoung—a young, fiercely intelligent alpha with a reputation for being cold, calculating, and unapologetically ambitious. That was the gossip circulating through the company halls, anyway. Neither Eunbin nor Wonwoo had met her in person until now.

Together, they walked into the sleek, minimalist conference room where Director Kayoung and her assistant were already seated. The air inside was noticeably colder, both in temperature and atmosphere. As soon as the two entered and stood before the woman, her sharp eyes flicked up to meet theirs—and narrowed almost immediately.

“Are omegas allowed to work here?” she asked coolly, her voice like a blade sliding across glass.

Wonwoo’s practiced smile faltered, the words hitting him square in the chest.

“This is Jeon Wonwoo,” Myeong quickly interjected, stepping forward with a professional, almost defensive tone. He had been Mr. Moon Jaewook’s assistant for years and now managed many affairs on behalf of the new director. “He’s excellent at his job. Mr. Moon always trusted him a great deal. He’s an incredibly skilled pharmacobiologist and—”

“And he’s a pregnant omega,” Kayoung cut her off sharply, raising her voice enough to make the room fall even more silent.

“I’m not pregnant,” Wonwoo said quickly, denying it with as much calm as he could muster. His heart pounded in his chest.

The director laughed dryly, her mouth twisting into a wry, mocking smile. “That’s what you say… but I can smell you from here.” She pointed directly at him, her words laced with contempt and challenge.

Wonwoo froze. He didn’t know what to say. He looked to Eunbin for support, but she only met his gaze with wide, nervous eyes. She wouldn’t be able to detect any change in his scent if there had been one. Betas didn’t have that kind of sensitivity. But Kayoung was an alpha. If there was something new in the air—some shift in his pheromones, some subtle chemical signal—maybe she really could smell it.

“I need your test results to prove you're not pregnant,” the director said flatly, brushing imaginary lint off her blazer. “Until then, I’ll hear about your project.” With that, she stood abruptly from her chair, gathering her things as if she had something far more important to attend to, and walked swiftly out of the room.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Wonwoo was sure—absolutely sure—that he wasn’t pregnant. There was no way. He had calculated everything, double-checked the dates, and convinced himself that whatever symptoms he’d been feeling must’ve been stress, a stomach bug, or maybe food poisoning. Still, with Director Kayoung’s words ringing in his ears and her demand for proof looming over him like a shadow, he knew he had to be certain. He couldn’t afford to leave even the smallest doubt.

So, early the next morning, just as the sun was beginning to rise and the streets were still half asleep, Wonwoo made his way to the lab. The air outside was cool and still, and the city felt quiet in a way that made him feel even more alone. He hadn’t told anyone—not even Eunbin—that he was coming. He just needed to get it done, get the results, and prove to himself and everyone else that Kayoung was wrong.

When he entered the small waiting room of the lab, he noticed that he wasn’t alone. There were other omegas there too, most of them visibly pregnant, their hands resting gently on swollen bellies. They all had partners with them—alphas and betas sitting close, holding hands, rubbing backs, murmuring reassurances in low voices. The room buzzed softly with the quiet hum of comfort and shared expectation. Wonwoo sat by himself, folding his hands in his lap, trying to ignore the way the happiness around him made his chest ache.

When his name was finally called, he followed a nurse into the blood collection room. She greeted him with a warm, professional smile and gently gestured for him to sit in the chair. He offered his arm without a word.

The blood draw was quick but thorough. They took several vials—more than usual—which only increased his unease. He stared at the ceiling, trying not to flinch as the needle pierced his skin. His thoughts kept circling in a dizzy loop.

“We’ll have the results in thirty minutes, Mr. Wonwoo,” the nurse said kindly once the last vial was sealed and labeled. She gave him a gentle smile, and he nodded wordlessly before walking back to the waiting area, his steps slow and stiff.

He sank into the same uncomfortable plastic chair, but this time it felt even worse. The cushion was too firm, the armrests too cold, the air too dry. A heavy weight settled low in his stomach again, and it wasn’t nerves—it was dread, creeping and suffocating. His skin prickled, his mouth went dry, and then, just like the day before, the nausea returned with a vengeance.

He barely managed to make it to the lab’s bathroom before he doubled over the toilet, emptying his stomach in violent heaves. This time it was his dinner—he hadn’t eaten anything since the night before, and now even that was gone. His whole body trembled, and when it was over, he gripped the edge of the sink, trying to breathe. Cold sweat dripped from his forehead. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, heart pounding, mind spinning with unwanted thoughts.

He couldn’t be pregnant. He wasn’t. But if he was… how far along would he be? The nurse had said the test would detect everything, even the earliest stages. He squeezed his eyes shut. Then, suddenly, the memory hit him with terrifying clarity.

The high school reunion. Him and Mingyu. The drinks, the laughter, the flirting—the way it all got out of hand, so fast and so hazy. He remembered waking up, naked, sore, tangled in Mingyu’s sheets. He remembered withdrawing the alpha’s still-semi-hard cock from his body, slow and careful. He hadn’t seen any protection. No wrapper. No condom. No nothing. Oh no.

His stomach twisted again, but there was nothing left to vomit. He stood at the sink and slapped himself lightly across the face, once, then again—trying to snap himself out of the rising panic. Then, with shaking legs and a deep breath, he returned to the waiting room.

Time slowed to a crawl. Every minute felt like ten. Every second stretched long and unbearable. He stared at the wall. At the floor. At the clock. At his shoes. He couldn’t stop bouncing his knee. Every time a nurse walked by, he straightened in his seat. And then finally—finally—the one who had drawn his blood reappeared, holding a clipboard in one hand.

“Jeon Wonwoo!” she called, her voice cheerful and clear.

He stood up immediately, heart thundering in his chest, and followed her down the hall to a small consultation office. A doctor was already seated at the desk, flipping through the papers clipped together—his results.

Wonwoo hadn’t even managed to sit down when the news hit him like a brick.

“Congratulations, Wonwoo! You’re pregnant! The test shows you’re four weeks along.”

The words slammed into him. His ears rang. His throat went dry. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The doctor smiled, expecting a response, but none came. Wonwoo blinked, his vision blurring at the edges. Then everything went black as his body swayed—and he fainted.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“You are what?” Jun and Soonyoung shouted in perfect unison, drawing startled glances from nearby tables in the busy cafeteria. It was noisy and full of students and office workers grabbing a quick bite, but even amid the hum of conversation and clattering dishes, their voices stood out. Wonwoo winced as he stood awkwardly by the window where he had asked them to meet. In hindsight, it was a terrible idea to break this kind of news in public, but he hadn’t known where else to go. Everything had happened so fast, and he needed to talk to someone—anyone—before he lost his mind completely.

“Shhh!” Wonwoo hissed urgently, placing his index finger over his lips and glancing around nervously. “I’m pregnant…” he whispered again, this time quieter, his voice barely audible and heavy with emotion. There was no joy in his tone—only anxiety, disbelief, and the weight of something far too big for him to carry alone. His eyes were red-rimmed, and there were dark circles beneath them from the sleepless night he’d just endured.

Jun blinked at him, trying to process what he had just heard, while Soonyoung’s jaw dropped open in utter shock.

“But… how did that happen? You’re seeing an alpha and didn’t tell us?” Jun demanded, half-scolding, half-panicking as he leaned across the table. “God, Wonwoo! Why didn’t you take care of yourself?”

“I’m not seeing an alpha,” Wonwoo replied, shaking his head and glancing down at the floor as if ashamed. “It’s just…” He hesitated for a second, then leaned in slightly and whispered again, his voice so soft it almost vanished under the buzz of the cafeteria. “At the high school reunion…”

Jun and Soonyoung looked at him, puzzled, waiting for him to continue.

“...Mingyu and I…” he added, almost inaudibly.

“MINGYU AND YOU!?” both of them shouted in unison again, completely failing to contain their shock, their voices practically echoing across the cafeteria walls.

“Shhh! Please! ” Wonwoo begged, gesturing frantically with both hands for them to lower their voices. He slouched down in his seat, wishing he could disappear. A few people had already turned to look at their table curiously, sensing drama.

“It was a mistake,” he continued, swallowing hard. “It’s a mistake… and I—I don’t plan on having children right now. So the safest thing is that…”

“No, Wonwoo! Please don’t say it,” Soonyoung interrupted, immediately covering his ears as if refusing to hear the rest of the sentence. His voice cracked slightly, and he sighed deeply, suddenly reminded of his own children at home. “Even though it’s your body, and therefore, it’s your decision… Uhm…” He trailed off, clearly torn. “If you make that decision… you have to tell Mingyu anyway.”

“Yeah…” Jun agreed, nodding slowly. “You know abortion clinics always keep records of omegas, and if he finds out… as the alpha and the father of the baby you’re carrying right now… uhm… he has rights and all that. He could sue you.”

And it was true. Everyone knew the law. Abortions were legal—of course they were—but there were regulations. A record was always kept. Clinics were required to verify the omega’s identity with official documentation, and fake names or forged IDs weren’t accepted. The system didn’t leave much room for anonymity, especially not for omegas.

“It’s also known that some abortion clinics sell their data,” Soonyoung added in a lower voice, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “Like, to pharmaceutical companies. And didn’t Mingyu say he worked at one?” He turned to Wonwoo again, eyebrows raised. “Just like you, Won! Wow! You two were meant to be.” Then he made a face and added, “Or maybe not…”

Wonwoo groaned quietly, burying his face in his hands for a moment. Everything felt like a cruel joke that had spiraled too far.

“So… I should warn Mingyu about it. Not consult with him, right?” Wonwoo asked, his voice uncertain, eyes darting from Jun to Soonyoung as he searched for answers in their faces.

They looked at him for a moment, sharing a brief glance with each other before Jun answered.

“Well… if you’ve already made the decision, then maybe it’s best to just warn him, yeah…” he said, his tone careful, deliberate. “You just need to make it clear that you’re going to do it. Because the crime—the legal issue—happens when the other party doesn’t know . That’s the line. Anyway, Mingyu couldn’t force you into anything. It’s still your body and your choice.”

“But if you still haven’t really decided,” Soonyoung added, “you can also… I don’t know, consult with him. Who knows? That day, he said he was single, right?”

Then, without waiting for an answer, he pulled out his phone and started typing quickly. After a few seconds, he looked up with a little triumphant smile.

“Yeah. Jihoon says he did say he was single,” he confirmed, looking pointedly at Wonwoo with a not-so-subtle nudge in his expression.

“I don’t even know how to get in touch with him,” Wonwoo muttered helplessly, shrugging his shoulders and slumping back in his chair.

Soonyoung tapped rapidly on his phone again and then held up the screen a moment later, grinning. “Hoon has his contact info,” he said. “I’ll forward it to you.”

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Wonwoo felt mentally exhausted. His thoughts had been tangled and heavy ever since his conversation with Jun and Soonyoung. Their words replayed in his head over and over—some of them comforting, others more unsettling—but he knew deep down that everything they had said were just suggestions, not instructions. They were only trying to help, trying to be supportive in the best way they knew how. But at the end of the day, it was his decision. Only his.

And no matter how much he turned the situation over in his mind, no matter how many angles he tried to examine it from, the conclusion remained the same: he hadn’t planned for this. He had never seriously thought about starting a family—not now, not even in the near future. His life was stable but not necessarily prepared for a child. He had ambitions, responsibilities, and a fragile balance he was just barely maintaining. A baby wasn’t something he could just fold into his schedule like an extra meeting.

And then there was Mingyu. The truth was… he didn’t even know Mingyu. Not really. That night at the reunion had been impulsive, emotional, a collision of memories and pheromones and unresolved feelings from a past that felt almost like a dream now. They had shared a bed, but they hadn’t shared their lives. Mingyu didn’t know who Wonwoo had become, and Wonwoo didn’t know who Mingyu really was beyond the polished CEO persona he saw that day. Maybe Mingyu was single, like he’d said that night, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be a father. Maybe he didn’t want this kind of entanglement at all.

So, maybe it was better to do this alone. Maybe it was best to make a decision and follow through quietly. But still… maybe it was also necessary to talk to him, whether Wonwoo liked the idea or not. Not because he wanted Mingyu’s input or approval—but because, legally and ethically, it might be the right thing to do. To inform him. To give him the chance to respond.

After pacing around his apartment for a while, Wonwoo finally sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at his phone. His thumb hovered uncertainly over the contact Soonyoung had sent earlier that afternoon. Mingyu’s name stared back at him from the screen, so simple and casual—but it carried so much weight now. So much complication.

He hesitated for a few long seconds, biting his lip, before finally pressing down and initiating the call. The line rang once. Then twice. Then a third time.

“Hi, this is Kim Mingyu.” The voice that came through was cheerful, warm, familiar. Wonwoo could hear the smile in his tone—it hadn’t changed. That unmistakable brightness was still there, and something about it sent a strange little flutter through his chest.

“Hi, Mingyu, this is Wonwoo.”

“Wonwoo?” Mingyu sounded surprised—pleasantly so. “I’ve been looking for your contact this whole time! How are you?”

Wonwoo could practically feel the smile through the phone, and for a moment, just a brief moment, he forgot why he had called. That soft, boyish enthusiasm in Mingyu’s voice made something inside him loosen. It felt comforting. Familiar. Almost… sweet.

“I’m okay, thanks for asking, Mingyu…” he said quietly, then added with a more serious tone, “I need to talk to you urgently. Do you have a day off?”

“Huh? Well… I don’t have many days off,” Mingyu replied, his tone shifting slightly, more attentive now. “But is it okay if I see you at my office tomorrow? You can send me your location and I’ll send someone to bring you.”

“No,” Wonwoo said, quickly shaking his head even though Mingyu couldn’t see him. “Just send me your office location, and I’ll be there myself. What time is okay?”

“I’m free at noon and—”

“Fair enough,” Wonwoo cut in, his voice tight. He didn’t want to stretch the conversation any longer than necessary. He wasn’t ready to slip into familiarity with Mingyu. Not yet. “Then send me your location in the morning, and I’ll be there at noon. See you, Mingyu.”

Without giving the alpha a chance to respond, he hung up quickly and let the phone fall onto the bed beside him with a soft thud.

He sat still for a moment, staring at the wall in front of him. A strange mix of nerves and residual excitement churned in his stomach. He hated it. Even now, even with everything happening, part of him—the foolish, sentimental part shaped by his teenage years—felt a flicker of thrill at the thought of seeing Mingyu again. He blamed his fifteen-year-old self for that, the version of him who had admired Mingyu from afar in the school hallways, who had once perhaps quietly longed for him completely. But that version of himself was gone. The current Wonwoo wasn’t in love with Mingyu—not even a little bit. So… everything would be fine. It had to be.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

At exactly 10 a.m., Wonwoo received a message on his phone—it was from Mingyu. Attached to the short and polite text was the location of his office. Wonwoo stared at the screen for a moment, his thumb hovering above the map link, before finally tapping it open. His stomach fluttered with nerves the moment he saw the destination. Of course it would be there.

Mingyu’s office was located in none other than the towering, state-of-the-art Sunrise Pharmaceutics building—one of the most well-known pharmaceutical companies in the country, and a direct competitor to Moon Pharmaceuticals, where Wonwoo worked. The sight of the name alone made his pulse quicken. The irony of it all didn’t escape him.

He was going to step into the headquarters of a rival company—something that would normally raise questions, maybe even spark suspicion, especially in an industry as cutthroat and paranoid as theirs. But this wasn’t about work. This visit had nothing to do with his career, his research, or his now-stalled migraine project. It was personal. Painfully personal. He reminded himself of that repeatedly as he got ready.

Technically, he was still on vacation. After Director Kayoung had refused to hear his proposal—even after Eunbin had offered to present it in his place—Wonwoo had requested a few days off. He had needed space to breathe, to think, and now, apparently, to deal with something much more overwhelming than a rejected project.

Wonwoo dressed a little nicer than usual, telling himself it was just because he wanted to make a good impression—it had nothing to do with Mingyu. His shirt was pressed, his slacks were tailored, though he barely noticed himself doing it. He tried to ignore how much he had checked his reflection in the mirror before leaving his apartment.

He didn’t feel like driving, not in his current state of mind. So he called a taxi and sat in the backseat the entire ride in silence, watching the city blur by as they made their way across town. When they arrived, the driver pulled up to the wide, polished glass doors of Sunrise Pharmaceutics. The building was tall and imposing, with reflective windows and a modern design that screamed power and success.

Wonwoo stepped out, heart thudding, and walked into the sleek lobby. The floors were spotless, the lighting soft and clinical, and the scent of antiseptic mixed with fresh orchids from the arrangement near the reception desk.

The receptionist looked up as he approached, already smiling.

“Jeon Wonwoo?” she asked brightly.

He nodded, surprised she already knew him.

“Oh, sure. Mr. Kim Mingyu is expecting you. He’s in his office—go ahead.” She handed him a visitor’s badge with his name already printed on it and gestured toward the elevators. Everything felt too easy, too smooth, like Mingyu had cleared the path for him in advance.

Wonwoo clipped the badge to his shirt and walked deeper into the building, keeping his gaze straight ahead and trying not to focus on any of the details that might remind him of work. He wasn’t here to study the competition. He wasn’t here to analyze their structure, their layout, or the technology humming around him. This was personal. He repeated it like a mantra in his head as he stepped into the elevator.

When the doors opened on the executive floor, he was immediately struck by how spacious it was. The hallway alone was wide enough to fit a small showroom, with floor-to-ceiling windows and soft, ambient lighting that made the polished floors gleam. There were minimalistic paintings on the walls and a faint, soothing instrumental soundtrack playing somewhere in the background.

As soon as he reached the glass double doors at the end of the corridor, Mingyu’s secretary stood up from behind her desk and bowed politely.

“Mr. Kim Mingyu is waiting for you,” she said with a warm smile, her voice gentle but clear.

Wonwoo nodded in return, murmured a soft "thank you," and stepped inside.

The office was even more impressive—modern, clean, and flooded with natural light from the enormous windows behind Mingyu’s desk. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with thick volumes, awards, and framed photos. There was a sitting area in one corner with a dark leather sofa and a low coffee table, and the whole space smelled faintly of cedarwood and mint.

Mingyu sat behind his desk, looking effortlessly composed. His left hand rested on the mouse, scrolling through something on the monitor, while his right hand supported his chin, fingers curled lightly against his cheek. He looked devastatingly handsome in a tailored gray suit, with a navy tie that brought out the warm tone of his skin. His dark hair was swept back neatly, and even though he appeared focused on his screen, he noticed Wonwoo the moment he walked in.

“Good afternoon, Wonwoo,” he greeted cheerfully, standing up with a smile. “Have you had lunch yet? Can we order something?”

He was casual, easy, as if they were old friends meeting again instead of two people about to discuss something life-altering. But even through his pleasant tone, something shifted in his expression. He sensed it. The subtle change in Wonwoo’s scent—something familiar yet unfamiliar—told him exactly what this was about. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but his intuition was already whispering truths.

Wonwoo gave a polite nod and took the seat across from him. He remained calm, his face unreadable. He didn’t let any of his emotions surface in his scent. He had trained himself well.

“Good afternoon, Mingyu… I… I’m fine. I just want to talk,” he replied seriously, keeping his tone neutral.

Mingyu paused, then slowly pushed the mouse aside and turned to face him fully, giving him his full attention. “Okay… You know?” he asked, his voice a little softer now. “I… I’ve been trying to contact you since the graduation anniversary dinner, but I couldn’t find you, and… I don’t know, I was really glad you found me.” He smiled, and it was so genuine that Wonwoo couldn’t stop the faint blush that warmed his cheeks. Still, he just nodded, not letting himself get distracted.

“Mingyu… At the graduation dinner… when the two of us were together…” Wonwoo began slowly, carefully, feeling his words catch in his throat. “Uhm… We didn’t use protection.”

Mingyu blinked, and something fluttered in his stomach. His heart jumped a little, as if his body had already reached the conclusion his mind was trying to resist. This was just the beginning—he knew what was coming next.

He shook his head slightly, lips curling into a faint smile. “No. We didn’t.”

“Well, uh… You were the last person I had sex with, and… I’ve been feeling sick this week. I vomited this morning, so I went to the lab. And the results show I’ve been pregnant for four weeks. Exactly… the time that has passed since we saw each other.” Wonwoo’s voice was measured and composed. He tried to sound clinical, distant, like he was simply stating facts in a presentation. It was the only way he could keep his composure.

Mingyu’s smile widened slightly. His heart swelled with something he didn’t quite understand yet, but he just nodded, listening.

“But starting a family isn’t in my plans right now, and…” Wonwoo continued, and Mingyu’s expression faltered. The smile faded, replaced by concern.

“Actually, I don’t know you well enough, and neither do you know me… So, I made the decision to legally terminate the pregnancy.” Wonwoo exhaled slowly, glancing around the office to avoid his gaze. “Maybe it’s not something you’re planning either, and I wouldn’t want to interfere with your life in any way, so…”

“No, Wonwoo, don’t do it, please.” Mingyu’s voice was low but urgent. He leaned forward, reaching out instinctively and placing his hand over Wonwoo’s where it rested on the desk. “It’s not good for you. Abortions don’t just bring psychological consequences for omegas. The damage caused by the sudden drop in hormones—the abrupt interruption of pheromone production during an active pregnancy—it can be really harsh on your body… Please…”

Wonwoo blinked, surprised by the knowledge in Mingyu’s voice. For a moment, he wondered how Mingyu knew all that. He frowned faintly at the unexpected concern, at the weight in Mingyu’s words that felt more personal than professional. Then, without a word, he pulled his hand away.

"I'm sorry, Mingyu... I really didn’t think this was the best thing right now. I had so many other things to focus on... This couldn’t work out." Wonwoo's voice trembled slightly as he looked down, avoiding Mingyu’s eyes.

"I'll make it work, Wonwoo. Y-You're wrong. I do want to start a family. I want children," Mingyu insisted, his voice thick with emotion. "It’s been in my plans for years. I just haven’t found the right person to do it with yet." He paused only briefly before stepping around his desk and coming closer. "Please... give me a chance."

Wonwoo blinked, surprised when Mingyu suddenly dropped to his knees beside him, clasping his hands together in a rare and completely unexpected gesture of desperation. He looked up at him from the floor, eyes glossy and filled with something raw, something real.

"I know it’s your body, I know it’s entirely your decision, and I respect that. I really do," he went on, his tone quieter now, but no less intense. "But just give me a chance to show you we could work out. That maybe... maybe this wasn’t a mistake after all."

"Mingyu, it’s just... We haven’t even got to know each other, not properly. How can it work out between us?" Wonwoo’s heart clenched as he said it. The words came out firm, but his chest ached, his throat tightening as he watched this powerful, composed alpha fall to his knees for someone like him. It didn’t make sense. They’d had sex, yes—drunk, impulsive, raw—but that was it. That night had bonded them in ways they hadn’t even imagined at the time, but surely that wasn’t enough to build a future on.

"Yes, but we can get to know each other now. We can go on dates, we can talk, get to know each other like we should have back then," Mingyu said, hope filling his voice again like air rushing into deflated lungs. "You still had eight weeks before the legal termination deadline. Give me that time. Just give me these few days, Wonwoo, and I promise— I swear —it’ll work."

Mingyu’s eyes burned into his. “Even though I don’t remember you from before, the moment I saw you again at that dinner... I was completely smitten. You were all I could see. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since.”

It was nearly a confession of love from someone who technically didn’t even know him, and that alone made it more dangerous. Too intense. Too uncertain.

Wonwoo stood up from his seat suddenly, the scrape of the chair legs against the floor startling in the quiet tension. Mingyu instinctively moved back a little to give him space.

"I have to go, Mingyu..." Wonwoo said quietly, trying to steel himself.

"But will you think about it? Please, Wonwoo." Mingyu’s voice cracked as tears began to spill down his cheeks, his face still tilted upward from the floor where he remained. He looked completely undone, vulnerable in a way most alphas never allowed themselves to be. It unsettled Wonwoo—how could someone like him, successful and respected, be reduced to this? An alpha... crying? Begging? It didn’t make sense. But maybe Mingyu wasn’t a normal alpha either.

“I’ll think about it, Mingyu,” Wonwoo said softly, his words gentle, but lacking conviction.

“When can I call you? Let’s not waste time,” Mingyu said, hurriedly wiping at his eyes as he finally stood up, towering slightly as he moved closer to Wonwoo again. “I’m serious. I want to get to know you. I want you to know me . I want us to build something together, even if it didn’t start the way it should have.”

He sniffled and added, “Things don’t just happen by chance. Even accidents... Even mistakes can bring good things.”

His voice broke near the end, and he looked ready to fall apart again, his eyes pleading, red-rimmed and watery. Wonwoo didn’t know what to say. Mingyu wasn’t wrong.

It was like a pharmacist’s advice—how many life-saving drugs had been discovered entirely by mistake? How many formulas had come out of accidents, failed experiments, or random trials? Maybe, just maybe... this was something like that. Something unplanned, but not necessarily bad.

Wonwoo reached up slowly and placed his hand gently on Mingyu’s cheek, brushing away a tear with his thumb.

"I’ll get back to you soon, Mingyu, okay?" he said, offering the smallest, softest smile—one that barely formed but still held truth behind it. It was real. And in that moment, Mingyu leaned slightly into his touch, holding onto that sliver of hope like it could change everything.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Then Mingyu understood. It hit him all at once, sharp and undeniable. Ever since he had first laid eyes on Wonwoo, something inside him had shifted. He had really liked him from the very beginning, drawn not just to his beauty or his calm demeanor, but to the gentle pull he couldn't quite explain. And then, there was that scent—soft and alluring—vanilla intertwined with subtle notes of tea leaves. It had captivated him completely, lingering in his senses long after Wonwoo had left.

When Mingyu discovered that Won had run away the very next morning after they had spent the night together, his heart had sunk. He remembered waking up alone, the sheets still warm on the side where Wonwoo had been, the room filled with the fading trace of his scent. Mingyu had waited, thinking maybe he had just stepped out, but as the minutes turned into hours, and then into the rest of the day, he had realized—he was gone.

He had felt so sad. Confused. Empty. Min had wondered endlessly if he had done something wrong. Maybe he had been too rough, too fast, or too careless. Maybe he hadn’t said the right things. Maybe he hadn’t held him the right way. That was the only explanation he could come up with—Wonwoo had left without a word because he regretted it, or worse, because he had been hurt by it. That thought had tormented him.

He had tried everything he could think of to find his contact information. He searched through names, asked a few people in vague terms, and even tried reaching out through the person who had invited him to that dinner in the first place. But it was like Wonwoo had vanished. And just this past week, something inside Mingyu had begun to change, subtly at first, but then with increasing urgency.

He had started feeling off—more sensitive than usual, emotionally raw, like something was pulling at him from the inside. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t sleep properly. Every passing day left him more restless, more desperate to find Wonwoo. He didn’t know why at first, didn’t understand the reason behind this sudden ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away. But now... now he knew.

The baby. That was it. That explained everything. It was the baby who had brought them together in a way neither of them had expected. A silent, invisible thread had been tying them closer, creating a stronger and deeper bond without them even realizing it. The child, small and still forming, already had the power to change everything.

Mingyu had been so happy when Wonwoo called him. His heart had jumped in his chest at the sound of his voice, that soft tone he remembered so clearly. But he hid his excitement because he could tell Wonwoo was serious, maybe even upset or conflicted. He didn’t want to scare him away again. If things had been different, if they had met under normal circumstances, if there had been no confusion or fear between them, he would have asked him out right then and there. Taken him somewhere quiet and safe to talk and get to know each other.

But for now, he had to be patient. Careful. At least Wonwoo had said he would think about it. And that was enough to give Mingyu hope—genuine hope—that maybe, just maybe, the answer would eventually be yes.

And what he had told Wonwoo wasn’t a lie. Every word had come from the most honest place in his heart. He truly wanted to start a family. It had been in his mind for a long time, not just as an abstract dream but as something he pictured in detail—waking up beside someone he loved, hearing the soft sound of a child’s laughter echoing through his home, building something meaningful and lasting with a partner who cherished him for who he was, not what he had.

It was also true that he hadn’t been able to find the right person. He had tried. He had dated, gone to events, met people through friends, apps, even chance encounters—but every time, there was something missing. Something that didn’t feel real. Many people were drawn to him for the wrong reasons. Some only saw the title—CEO of Sunrise Pharmaceuticals—and what came with it. Money, influence, power. And that, above all, repulsed him.

He didn’t want a relationship built on appearances or expectations. He longed for something genuine. Something sincere and natural, something that would unfold slowly, beautifully, without force. Something that would surprise him. He wanted to fall in love in a way that felt like breathing—not a performance, not a transaction.

Now, he started to believe that maybe Wonwoo was that miracle. That unexpected turn in his life that could shift everything and finally bring him the kind of happiness he had been waiting for. He was so excited about the possibility of it, about what they could become together. He was ready to do whatever it took to make Wonwoo stay. To convince him that this wasn’t just a mistake or a mess—they had something real here.

Mingyu knew he had a lot to offer, not in material things, but in love. In care. In sincerity. He had so much love to give, and he wanted to give it all exclusively to Wonwoo. He was already planning, in his mind, a hundred different ways to show him how deeply he felt.

He thought about using every love language—words of affirmation, acts of service, quality time, physical touch, and thoughtful gifts. He wanted to cover every possible way to reach Wonwoo’s heart, to make him feel safe, cherished, chosen. Mingyu wasn’t just thinking about being a father. He was thinking about being a partner. A real one.And he couldn’t wait to prove it.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Wonwoo needed to de-stress and meditate deeply on the decision he was about to make. It wasn’t something he could just rush through or treat lightly. He knew the weight of it, the possible consequences, the irreversible nature of what lay ahead. Everything about it demanded careful thought, quiet reflection, and emotional clarity.

If someone had told fifteen-year-old Wonwoo—back when he had the biggest, most hopeless crush on Mingyu—that one day he’d be asked whether he’d give Min a chance to go on a date and maybe, just maybe, build a family together... well, that version of Wonu wouldn’t have hesitated even for a second. He wouldn’t have paused to think, he wouldn’t have played it cool or rationalized it—no. He would have screamed YES! at the top of his lungs, most likely with a bright red blush on his cheeks and a goofy smile on his face. He would have done three cartwheels and five clumsy somersaults across the lawn, even if he wasn’t good at them, just out of sheer joy and disbelief. He would have written it down in his journal and gone to bed convinced his life had just turned into a fairytale.

But now... things were different. Life was different. Wonwoo wasn’t that idealistic boy anymore, and he had responsibilities, fears, scars. He had to think about his current self—his present, his body, his future. So, he took a step back from his spiraling thoughts and did what he always did when he needed to ground himself: he prepared a bath.

He filled the tub with steaming hot water, added a generous amount of his favorite essential oils—lavender and chamomile—and poured in bubble bath until the water was frothy and fragrant. The scent alone helped calm him. He undressed slowly, folded his clothes neatly to the side, and slid into the warmth. As the hot water surrounded his body, Wonwoo felt the tension in his muscles begin to melt away. The heat soaked into his skin, his bones, his very nerves, and he allowed himself to let go—if only for a while.

He leaned his head back against the edge of the tub, the scent of the oils filling his lungs with every deep breath. The foam clung to his arms, his chest, rising like a comforting blanket, and he closed his eyes, willing his mind to empty. To stop overthinking. To be present.

When the water eventually began to cool, and his fingers wrinkled slightly from the soak, he finally got out. He dried himself gently with his softest towel—the one reserved for nights like this—and changed into his favorite pajamas. They were lilac-colored, soft as clouds, and made of the smoothest cotton. He loved how they felt against his skin, and the color always brought him peace. Lilac was his favorite. It reminded him of twilight skies and calm endings.

Still focused on staying in the now, he prepared a light dinner—just a simple soup and a piece of toast—and ate slowly, savoring each bite. Then, before going to bed, he walked quietly to the center of his room, climbed into bed, and sat cross-legged right in the middle of the mattress. The sheets were cool, the air quiet.

Wonwoo took several deep breaths, closing his eyes again. He waited patiently, allowing his thoughts to settle and his body to still. With time, the static in his brain began to fade, and he slipped into a meditative state, letting his breathing guide him.

Eventually, a vision formed in his mind—not forced, not imagined, but natural, as if rising from his subconscious. He saw himself... and he had a large, round belly. He was heavily pregnant, and the baby was almost ready to be born. There wasn’t fear in that vision, but there wasn’t exactly peace either. No panic, no dread—just a neutral stillness. Something uncertain, but not alarming. Okay , he told himself silently. He could work with that.

Then, the vision shifted. Wonwoo saw Mingyu. He saw him cradling a baby— their baby—wrapped in a soft, white blanket. Mingyu was smiling, and it wasn’t the polished, public kind of smile he wore at business events. No, this was different. It was wide, warm, honest. His eyes were glowing with joy, and his large, strong arms held the baby with so much care, as if the child were the most precious thing he had ever touched. Wonwoo’s heart skipped a beat. The image was so beautiful, so raw, it made his eyes sting.

The happiness inside him expanded, too large to contain, when his imagination showed him Mingyu crouching down to take the baby’s hand—tiny and fragile—and help him take his first wobbly steps. Gyu’s face lit up with encouragement, his grip secure but gentle. The baby laughed, and in the background, Wonwoo saw himself watching them, hands clasped over his chest, tears streaming down his cheeks. His heart swelled, pounding wildly in his chest. In that moment, his heart knew the answer—even if his mind wasn’t sure yet.

Slowly, deliberately, Wonwoo tried to dissolve those images. He wasn’t ready to make a decision based solely on emotion, and he needed to calm himself again. He inhaled deeply and pushed the image away.

He then allowed his thoughts to drift to his work—the grounded reality of his day-to-day life. But instead of calm, he felt anxiety creeping in. His inner vision showed the stern face of Director Moon Kayoung, visibly displeased, flipping through his proposals and shaking her head in rejection. Wonwoo’s stomach twisted at the thought. He felt the sting of disappointment again, the dread of failure. His heart sank.

But even then, he pulled himself back. Breathed in again. He reminded himself not to spiral, not to give into imaginary scenarios that hadn’t even happened. He centered himself again and brought his mind back to the present, slowly quieting everything until all that remained was his breath. In and out. Steady and slow.

Eventually, his mind returned to a peaceful blankness. The world inside his head was still once more. Then, with gentle awareness, he opened his eyes. The room felt quiet, settled. Grounded.

Wonwoo breathed deeply a few more times, letting each exhale release the last traces of tension from his chest. He had come to a conclusion, even if it wasn’t entirely final. He would give Mingyu a chance. He would open that door—but only if they started from zero. From scratch. Clean slate, fresh beginning. Nothing rushed. Nothing assumed.

And before anything else, he would need to do some extra research about Mingyu’s work. He had to know who he was really dealing with. If there was going to be a future, he needed to understand the present first.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Mingyu had to wait three painfully long, dragging days before his phone finally lit up with a message from Wonwoo. Each hour had passed like molasses, slow and frustrating, filled with uncertainty and questions he couldn't answer. Every time his phone buzzed, his heart jumped, only to sink when it wasn’t Won. He’d spent those days checking his messages obsessively. wondering if he had said something wrong, if he had been too hopeful or not hopeful enough. He’d barely been able to concentrate on work, pacing his office like a restless animal, waiting for any sign.

And then—finally—it arrived. A single message. Simple. Quiet. But it changed everything.

Hey, Mingyu... I decided I want to give us that chance.

Min gasped when he saw the words. His heart skipped a beat, then slammed against his ribcage in a thunderous rhythm. He dropped what he was doing without a second thought and rushed to type a response, his fingers trembling with a mixture of disbelief and excitement. He read the message over and over again, almost afraid it would disappear if he blinked.

Hey, Won, really? he typed quickly, barely able to contain his emotions. When can we see each other? I'll ask for my vacation time and we can go wherever you want. I'll take you on trips and show you we can work. Just say the word and I’ll make it happen.

He sent it without overthinking, already imagining all the places he could take him—somewhere quiet, somewhere beautiful, somewhere far from the chaos of their lives. Somewhere they could talk, rebuild, fall into step with each other again.

But Wonwoo’s reply didn’t come right away. Minutes passed, long and silent. Mingyu sat staring at the screen, breath held, until the dots appeared. Then they vanished. Then they came back. Finally, a message appeared.

No, Mingyu... I want us to start from scratch. Don’t see me as the omega carrying your child. I want it to be natural. We can’t always have vacations or be wherever we want.

Mingyu stared at the text, the weight of it slowly settling over him like a warm, honest truth. He read it again, and this time, it made perfect sense. Wonwoo wasn’t asking for a dream—he was asking for reality. He was asking for something grounded, something stable, something real. And Mingyu understood. Deeply. He respected him even more for it.

Wonwoo was right. They couldn't build something lasting on fantasy. Not if they were serious about each other. Not if they wanted this to work for the long run.

Okay, he replied, slower this time, more thoughtful. But when can we go out then?

Again, a pause. Not as long as the last, but long enough for Mingyu’s anticipation to return in waves. Then, the response came.

I'm free tomorrow, is that okay with you?

Mingyu exhaled all at once, the tension finally breaking. It was perfect. It was better than perfect. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

He smiled at the screen, heart fluttering wildly. It didn’t matter where they went or what they did. What mattered was that Wonwoo was giving him this chance—a real one—and Mingyu was ready to make the most of it.

He already knew he wouldn’t spare any expense. He would take him to the best place he could find—a restaurant that wasn’t just beautiful, but peaceful, intimate, special. Somewhere that felt meaningful. He wanted to show Won that he was serious, that he could be trusted, that the connection between them was worth nurturing. That whatever had brought them together—fate, the baby, or both—was only the beginning.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Wonwoo had almost forgotten what it felt like to go on a date. It had been so long since he’d last experienced that flutter of nervous anticipation mixed with excitement. The butterflies in his stomach, the restless energy, the tiny, hopeful doubts—everything about it was unfamiliar again, like stepping into a world he had once known but had since drifted away from. Yet despite the nerves twisting inside him, he still put a lot of effort into looking his best for Mingyu.

He carefully chose a suit that was just a notch more elegant than casual—not too formal, but polished enough to show that he cared. The fabric was smooth and fit him well, the color a subtle dark gray that complimented his complexion. He even styled his hair differently from his usual straight, relaxed look; this time, he made it appear a bit brittle, with more texture and volume, as if each strand had been deliberately set to catch the light. It was a small change, but he knew Mingyu would notice. He wanted to look sharp, but not overdone. Confident, but approachable.

Mingyu had said he would pick him up at seven in the evening. At precisely 6:50 PM, Wonwoo was already ready and waiting in his living room, sitting on the edge of the sofa, glancing at the clock every few minutes. He didn’t know exactly what to expect from Min—not sure how casual or formal the evening would be, or what Mingyu’s mood might be like after everything that had happened. His heart pounded softly, a steady rhythm of nervous hopefulness.

Still, Wonwoo had already made up his mind about this first date. It was a test, a trial run. If things didn’t work out, if the chemistry wasn’t there or if the conversation felt forced, he would quietly step back and wouldn’t try again. No second chances, no awkward follow-ups. But if everything went well, if Mingyu made him smile and feel safe and maybe even a little spark of excitement, then Wonwoo knew what he would do next.

He would begin to officially inform everyone about his pregnancy. First, at his own workplace. According to the terms of his contract, any pregnant employee was allowed to continue working up to the sixth month of pregnancy. After that, the company would have to grant paternity leave without hesitation. Wonwoo was prepared for this. He was ready to face Director Kayoung and hand over the project he and Eunbin had been developing—he trusted his colleague to take it on and keep it moving forward while he focused on what lay ahead.

His thoughts were precise, almost coldly calculated, every step carefully planned. He had to be practical—he couldn’t afford to let his personal life jeopardize his career, especially not now. Then the doorbell rang.

Wonwoo stood up and walked over to the door, and the moment he opened it, he was taken aback. Mingyu stood there, looking absolutely stunning. His hair was perfectly combed back, his forehead clear and smooth as always, giving him a sharp, sophisticated look. Tonight, he wore a navy-blue suit that complemented his strong build and confident stance. And that smile—the one that always made him look irresistible—was there, lighting up his entire face.

Wonwoo couldn’t deny how handsome Mingyu looked. But deep down, he knew that appearances weren’t everything. Just because Gyu looked amazing didn’t mean the date would be a success. Chemistry, connection, trust—those things mattered far more.

“Shall we go?” Mingyu asked, stepping forward and offering his hand.

Wonwoo hesitated only for a moment before taking it, feeling the warmth and strength of the alpha’s grasp. Together, they stepped out into the evening, the night full of possibilities.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“So, we’re starting from scratch, right?” Mingyu asked as they both settled into their seats at the restaurant he had carefully chosen for their evening out. The place was cozy but elegant, with soft lighting that cast a warm glow over the polished wooden tables and flickering candles that danced gently in the slight breeze coming from the open windows. The quiet murmur of other diners surrounded them, creating a comfortable atmosphere for what felt like an important conversation.

Wonwoo simply nodded in response, feeling a mixture of anticipation and cautious hope bubbling quietly inside him.

“Okay then,” Mingyu said with a confident smile, reaching out his hand across the table. “I’m Kim Mingyu, nice to meet you.” His eyes gleamed with sincerity and a hint of playful warmth.

“Jeon Wonwoo, it’s a pleasure too,” Won replied, a trace of sarcasm threading through his voice, as he took Mingyu’s hand firmly to shake it. The small gesture somehow felt both formal and intimate, like the opening line of a story neither of them fully knew how to tell yet.

At that moment, a waiter approached, clipboard in hand, ready to take their orders. Wonwoo declined any alcoholic beverages due to the pregnancy, so Mingyu kindly chose a soft drink as well, wanting to match Wonu’s choice and keep the evening light.

“I’m the CEO of Sunrise Pharmaceuticals,” Mingyu began as they waited for their food, eager to share a bit about himself. “I like to exercise, ride my bike, and play basketball.” He chuckled softly, a nostalgic smile playing at his lips.

Wonwoo giggled quietly in response. It struck him how familiar that sounded—like the Mingyu he’d known years ago, the boy who had enjoyed biking through the neighborhood and shooting hoops until sunset.

“I’m a pharmacobiological chemist at Moon Pharmaceuticals,” Wonwoo said, shrugging his shoulders with a casual air as he took a careful sip of his orange juice. “I like to read, play video games, and sleep.” His tone was light, but there was pride hidden beneath his simple words.

Mingyu’s eyes widened in surprise. “You work for a rival company!” he exclaimed, half amused and half impressed. Then, breaking into a happy grin, he added, “Well, my contract doesn’t say I can’t marry someone who works for a competing company.”

Wonwoo blinked, caught off guard by the mention of marriage. Did Mingyu really say marriage? It was unexpected, but maybe that was a good thing. At least, he thought, his own contract didn’t forbid having romantic relationships with people from rival companies. So perhaps this was not as complicated as it seemed.

“No, that’s part of your personal life; work is quite separate, I guess...” Wonwoo answered carefully, trying to keep things light while mentally filing away the possibility.

Mingyu smiled widely, as if Wonwoo’s words were an unspoken acceptance of something far bigger than either of them was ready to discuss. But he held back from pushing the topic further, not wanting to overwhelm Wonu so early in their renewed connection.

Their food arrived soon after, and the conversation shifted naturally to a variety of topics. They both spoke passionately about their work, exchanging ideas and stories about the challenges they faced and the solutions they hoped to find—each fascinated by the other’s knowledge and dedication.

“So what are you working on now?” Mingyu asked, stirring his drink while keeping his gaze fixed on Wonwoo.

Wonwoo took a bite of his food before answering, wiping the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “We just finished a project for migraine, but we're thinking about the nect one already. We’re researching a new delivery method for long-term immunotherapy. The current injections are too painful and not as effective for certain patient profiles. If we can stabilize the compound with a protein buffer, it could be taken orally.”

“Orally? That would be revolutionary,” Mingyu said, eyebrows raised. “That would also cut costs in production and eliminate a ton of clinical limitations.”

Wonwoo looked at him, amused. “You sound more excited than some of the researchers on my team.”

“I probably am,” Min admitted, leaning forward slightly. “Most CEOs only care about quarterly profits. But if you improve someone’s quality of life, they trust your brand for life. Besides... I like understanding the science. I studied in secret for years just to understand half of what people like you say in meetings.”

“Seriously?” Won tilted his head in interest. “Why secretly?”

“My father,” Mingyu replied with a half-smile. “He always said, ‘Businessmen don’t waste time in labs.’ But I knew I couldn’t run a pharmaceutical company without knowing the basics, at least. I used to stay up after meetings and read your journals—some of them with your name in the authorship, by the way.”

“Wait, you’ve read my papers?” Won’s eyes widened slightly, surprised.

Mingyu grinned. “I’ve quoted your papers in executive reports.”

Wonwoo looked away for a moment, visibly flustered. “I didn’t think anyone outside our field ever read them.”

“I did. And I remembered your name even before we—well, before we reconnected.” Mingyu’s voice lowered just slightly, his tone softer. “You impressed me long before that night.”

There was a silence between them, but it wasn’t awkward. It was full—of meaning, unspoken memories, and maybe a touch of hope.

Wonwoo cleared his throat. “So... what about you? What’s keeping you busy these days, CEO?”

Mingyu chuckled. “Board meetings, mostly. And regulatory nonsense. Oh, and trying to convince the board that investing in ethical research is still profitable.”

“That’s a losing battle,” Wonwoo muttered, rolling his eyes. “Ethics and capitalism don’t get along very well.”

“I know,” Mingyu said, nodding. “But I’m stubborn. I told them if we focused on genuine wellness instead of quick sales, the long-term gains would be bigger. Some days I think they’re starting to believe me. Other days I just want to burn it all down and start a wellness co-op.”

Won laughed at that, and for a second, Mingyu forgot how much tension had existed between them just days ago.

“You’d hate that,” Wonu teased. “You’d last a week without your suits and your corner office before going crazy.”

“I’d have to keep one suit,” Mingyu said, grinning. “For date nights.”

Wonwoo snorted into his drink. “One date and you're already planning wardrobes?”

“You're not denying it’s a date,” Mingyu said smugly.

Wonwoo gave him a sharp look but smiled nonetheless. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

They both paused, and in that quiet moment, something subtle shifted between them—like a door creaking open, just wide enough for something warmer to enter.

Wonwoo impressed Mingyu with his broad expertise, which wasn’t surprising since Min frequently worked with pharmacobiological chemists despite not having studied the same field himself.

“I used to sit in on research presentations, pretending I understood everything, then run back to my office and Google all the terms you people threw around,” Mingyu said with a chuckle.

Won tilted his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “You mean terms like ‘monoclonal antibody therapy’ and ‘recombinant DNA technology’?”

Mingyu groaned dramatically. “Exactly. I swear, someone once said ‘immunomodulatory cascade’ and I blacked out for a second.”

Wonwoo laughed out loud this time. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But determined,” Mingyu added with a wink. “And I get the feeling I’ll need both of those things if I want a second date.”

When Mingyu finally drove Wonwoo home, the night air was cool, and the city lights blurred gently in the windshield. Inside the car, a quiet tension hung between them, filled with unspoken hopes and questions.

“So, can we go out tomorrow too? And the day after? Can we go out every day?” Gyu asked insistently, breaking the silence, his voice hopeful and a little teasing.

Wonwoo smiled, the warmth of Mingyu’s eagerness melting away some of his lingering doubts.

“Maybe so, but I’ll be busy too, so…” Wonwoo replied cautiously, biting his lower lip as he considered the demands of his schedule. Work still loomed large in his mind, and he wasn’t sure how much time he could really spare, even if he wanted to.

Mingyu smiled gently, his eyes sparkling with determination. “We can have dinner every night,” he said earnestly. “I don’t want to interfere with your work or overwhelm you. Is dinner okay? Just dinner. That way, I’ll see you every night, and you’ll get to know me better, little by little.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “And we can go to your favorite restaurant, or try new places you like. I want to share that with you.”

Wonwoo didn’t have time to respond before Mingyu leaned in even closer and Won pressed his lips against his. The kiss was sudden and sweet, tender yet full of promise, and it finally silenced Mingyu’s endless talking.

Mingyu kissed him quickly back, his arm wrapping around Wonwoo’s hips, pulling him flush against his body. The warmth of the contact sent a rush through Wonu’s veins. Their kiss deepened, lasting a little longer this time—a quiet moment of connection amidst the uncertainty.

Finally, Wonwoo pulled away, his breath a little uneven. “I’ll let you know when we can go out, okay?” he said softly, reaching hastily for his keys on the table.

Mingyu nodded, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Hurry up,” he teased, sliding his arm away smoothly to give Wonwoo room to open the door. “Because I don’t have much time to win your heart.”

Wonwoo smiled in return, stepping out into the cool night air. Before closing the door behind him, he paused in the doorway and called out, “See you soon, Mingyu.”

From inside, he leaned out the window just in time to watch Mingyu slip back into his car, the streetlights reflecting on the sleek metal as the engine roared to life and the car pulled away into the distance.

Despite how different they were, despite the doubts and the unknowns, Wonwoo felt something quietly hopeful bloom in his chest. Maybe Mingyu didn’t need any more time to win his heart after all. Mingyu’s confidence, his warmth, and the way he looked at him made Wonwoo believe they could create something real—something good—together.

Notes:

Okay! So now I can add a little more TMI, haha, here comes the real accident, heh. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting the first chapter to receive so much support, I was seriously surprised :’) Thank you so much for all your kind comments! It truly meant a lot to me to read through them! :D

Now, well... I think it’s pretty clear how much I love sub!alpha Mingyu, haha. He’s actually going to cry more than Wonwoo in this fic, you’ll see more of that soon, heh. Wonwoo, on the other hand, is a bit more independent. Sometimes I forget the A/B/O dynamics while writing this story, but as I’m translating it, I’m also revamping it, so I hope I can make it even better for you all ^^

I’ll also try to add more details about Wonwoo’s pregnancy, I didn’t exactly forget about it when I was writing, but I definitely feel like I could’ve developed it more, so I’ll work on improving that too ~ Thank you so much for giving this story a chance.

Also! I was wondering if posting two chapters per week would be okay. I think it might be a good pace so you don’t have to wait too long for the ending :)

Chapter 3

“So... you have decided? Are you going to start a family with Mingyu and everything?” Jun asked, his eyes wide open with surprise. His expression hovered somewhere between excitement and disbelief, as though he couldn’t quite tell if this was real or just some elaborate joke. He, Soonyoung, and Wonwoo were reunited once again, like they did almost every week without fail, gathered around their usual corner table at a cozy café they had claimed as their own over time. The place smelled faintly of cinnamon and roasted coffee beans, and outside, the late afternoon sun filtered softly through the windows. Wonwoo had just told them the news.

"Well, I didn’t say that ‘everything’," Wonwoo began, rubbing the back of his neck, his tone measured but his ears slightly red. "We've only been dating for a week, and things are going well. He's very nice and attentive." He paused, as if sifting through memories. “Although at first, he didn’t understand that I need my space. But little by little, he’s started to learn. He sees now that I’m not very sentimental, especially not in public.”

Soonyoung clapped his hands, a wide smile stretching across his face, practically beaming. He looked like he might bounce in his seat at any second. “He’s the one for you, he always was.”

Wonwoo wanted to believe that—he really did. The words wrapped around something soft inside his chest, a quiet wish that he hadn’t let himself name out loud. But he had been a coward as a teenager. He hadn’t known how to be brave about love back then, how to take risks. So he didn’t know if Mingyu had really always been the one, or if he was simply the one who had waited long enough for Wonwoo to stop running from himself.

“Well, we’re trying, I guess,” Wonwoo said, downplaying the whole situation with a shrug. He lifted his coffee cup and took a small sip, more for the distraction than the taste.

“But it’s serious, Won…” Jun said, voice gentler now, almost cautious. He leaned forward a little, resting his elbows on the table. “He’s the person you’ll share your whole life with, if things work out. And a baby will unite you. So it’s not something to take lightly.”

Soonyoung immediately nudged Jun’s arm with his elbow, giving him a disapproving look. “Don’t scare him.” Then he turned back to Wonwoo, smiling again. “It’s fine with me, Won. It’s not like you to do things this way, but I think you’re handling it well. And maybe this is just fate, you know?”

Wonwoo tilted his head, puzzled. “Like me? How come it’s not like me?”

“Uhm...” Soonyoung hesitated, then gave a small chuckle. “I just mean, you like to have everything under control. You plan almost every step you take. Like these weekly meetups—we always do them on the same day, at the same time, and at the same café according to the plan you made six months ago.” He grinned fondly. “But I think you’re just improvising with Mingyu. And that’s something new for you. So I think things won’t go badly between you two if you just keep getting to know each other properly.”

Wonwoo sat quietly for a moment, letting his friend’s words sink in. He realized, slowly, that Soonyoung was absolutely right. He really did need to plan everything to feel comfortable. To feel like he could handle things. That was just who he was. Structure, routine, predictability—they calmed him. Gave him space to breathe. But with Mingyu? Nothing had been planned. Not their reunion, not the baby, not even their dates.

Everything had been spontaneous. They hadn’t followed any kind of structure. Mingyu would show up at his workplace when he got off, greeting him with that huge grin and always asking what he wanted to do. Sometimes he took him to a quiet restaurant—places where the lighting was warm and the food always tasted better because of the company. Other times they ordered takeout and stayed in, the TV playing in the background as they shared food and slipped into easy conversation.

They had stayed one night at Mingyu’s apartment and the next at Wonwoo’s, switching without needing to talk about it. No checklists. No rules. Just doing whatever felt right in the moment. So it was true—he was improvising with Mingyu. And until that exact moment, sitting across from his two oldest friends, he hadn’t even realized it.

The realization made his chest tighten a little with nerves. He wasn’t used to live like this. He didn’t know where it would lead. He couldn’t predict the outcome, and that was terrifying. But before he could spiral too far into those thoughts, Jun shifted the topic with perfect timing.

“By the way,” Jun asked, raising an eyebrow, “what happened with your mean boss?”

“Oh,” Wonwoo said, blinking and sitting up a little straighter, grateful for the change in subject. “We’ll present the project again on Monday, and maybe she’ll approve it this time. That way, I’ll have enough time for everything before I go on paternity leave.”

“Wow! You’ve even planned that ,” Soonyoung said with a laugh, and the three of them burst into easy, familiar laughter that filled the air like sunlight. For a moment, everything felt right. Not perfect, not certain—but right.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Wonwoo didn’t know if it was too early to call his mom and break the news. His thumb hovered over the call button a few seconds longer than necessary as he sat on the edge of his couch, the apartment quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the distant murmur of traffic outside. He felt really fine with Mingyu. Better than fine, actually. Mingyu was… too doting on him. It was overwhelming in the best way, the kind that made him both grateful and a little off-balance. Whatever Won asked for, Mingyu gave it to him.

Did he want time alone to decompress after a long day? Mingyu gave it to him, with a soft message later that evening asking if he was resting. “Are you resting?” the message read. “You don’t have to reply. Just wanted you to know I’m thinking about you.”

Wonwoo had stared at the screen for a long moment, his thumb hovering over the keyboard before finally typing back: “Trying to. Thanks for giving me space today.”

Mingyu’s reply came not even a minute later. “Always. Let me know if you want company—even if it’s just silent.”

Did he want two orders of wings because the stress had made him crave greasy comfort food? Mingyu ordered them, arrived with extra napkins and the kind of wide smile that made Won’s stomach flutter even though he pretended it didn’t.

“I brought napkins because I know how you are about sauce on your fingers,” Mingyu grinned, holding up a ridiculous stack.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes, but there was no heat in it. “You’re a menace.”

“A considerate menace,” Mingyu said, already setting up the food between them.

“You didn’t have to—”

 “I wanted to.”

Did he mention, almost jokingly, that his feet hurt and he could use a new massager? That afternoon, a text thread popped up with tracking information and a “Thought this would help <3” from Mingyu.

“You really bought it?” Wonwoo asked later, staring at the screen.

“Of course I did. You said your feet hurt.”

“I was joking.”

“I wasn’t.” There was a pause before Mingyu added, “Let me spoil you a little.”

Won knew that love wasn’t only shown with gifts, that it wasn’t transactional, and he also knew he wasn’t a self-serving man. He didn’t want to take without giving, but Mingyu never made him feel like he owed anything—he just showed up in the ways Won needed, even the small ones.

Mingyu was also very understanding. He didn’t pressure him for explanations, for plans, for labeling things before Wonwoo felt ready.

“We don’t have to name this, you know,” Mingyu had said once, while they lay side by side, watching the ceiling in shared silence. “Not until you want to.”

“Thank you,” Wonwoo murmured. “I... need time. Not because I’m unsure, but because it matters.”

 “I know. That’s why I’m not going anywhere.”

He talked about his own interests without making it seem like he was trying to impress, and he listened—really listened—when Wonwoo spoke. He remembered details Wonwoo had mentioned once and asked about them days later, like the quiet way Wonwoo described an experimental setback or how a certain strain of data always made him feel frustrated.

“Did the cultures from last week finally stabilize?” Mingyu asked over coffee one morning.

Wonwoo blinked at him, surprised. “You remembered that?”

“Of course I did. You said it was driving you crazy.”

“It still is.”

“Then I officially hate that strain, too.”

Mingyu’s attention wasn’t invasive; it was a gentle insistence that Wonwoo existed fully to him. Mingyu was, in every visible way, perfect.

So far, things had flowed very well between them. Nothing had felt forced. There was a pleasant, easy rhythm to their interactions that Wonwoo had never expected to feel in something so new. When they were together, the space between them softened, and ordinary moments—eating takeout on the couch, watching a show with the volume low, or simply sitting in comfortable silence—felt like anchors.

 “I like this,” Mingyu had whispered one night, head resting on the back of the couch, one arm slung lazily across the cushions between them.

 “What?”

“Just… this. Being near you like this.”

Wonwoo’s lips curled at the edges. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Me too.”

He believed everything would be fine with Mingyu because he had seen how naturally they fit, even without any of the “had to be planned” elements that defined the rest of his life.

That was why Wonwoo finally called his mother that Sunday afternoon. He pictured her at home—probably in the kitchen, pulling something warm and familiar out of the oven for his father and younger siblings, or maybe kneeling beside the little patch of soil by the window, pruning the plants she had been nurturing for years. He would have preferred to tell her in person, to see the expression on her face and feel the warmth of her arms around him, but he was back at work now and the timeline was tight. He had to rush to get everything in order so that Kayoung would accept his project; once that was approved, he could take the next steps without the gnawing pressure of unfinished business.

After a couple of rings, Mrs. Jeon picked up the phone.

“Wonwoo! It feels like a miracle you are calling! How are you, darling?” his mom said as soon as she answered, her voice sounding cheerful and effusive, just like always. There was a small background noise of dishes clinking and someone moving, proof that the household was bustling even if she claimed she was taking a break from cooking.

“Hi, Mom! I am fine. How are you all? I have something important to tell you.” Wonwoo’s voice shook just a fraction; he was nervous, but he tried to keep it steady so he wouldn’t scare her.

“Oh, we are fine, you know? I got tired of cooking for everyone on Sundays, so your dad and your brothers go out to buy something to eat. They probably brought fried chicken and ice cream again like every week.” She paused and sighed, the kind of tired breath that carried both relief and habitual complaint. “But at least I don’t have to cook. I hope you can come visit us soon. But what is this important thing you have to tell me?”

“I promise to go soon, Mom,” Wonwoo said. “I wanted to tell you in person what I am going to tell you now, but I think I cannot visit for at least another month, and I don’t want to delay this any longer.” It was true. He wanted to finish everything on his project before taking another break and then applying for paternity leave. He needed Kayoung to approve his work quickly. “You are sitting down, right?”

He was afraid she would faint when she heard the news, so he hoped she was at least comfortable and somewhere she wouldn’t fall or hit herself.

“Uh-huh,” his mom said, sounding small and quiet for a second, as if bracing herself with the exact same care he was trying to give her.

He took a deep breath. “I am expecting a baby.”

The line went silent for a few seconds that felt like an eternity. He could almost hear her breathing, the delay in her response stretching his nerves taut.

“Uh... Are you kidding, Wonwoo?” Mrs. Jeon finally answered, speaking so seriously that his whole body went cold with nerves.

“No, Mom, I am serious. I am pregnant.” Her gasp came through the speaker like a physical jolt, sharp and audible.

"But how? You had an alpha and you didn’t introduce him to me? How did it happen? I don’t understand, Wonu. I knew it was time for you to start a family. I love the idea, but I thought that when you told me, it would be different. This isn’t like you."

Oh. There it was again—that phrase. The one that always tightened something in his chest.

“W-Why isn’t this like me?”

“I don’t know, Wonwoo. You like to plan absolutely everything, so when I thought about this moment, I always imagined you’d introduce us to your alpha first. Then you’d tell me: ‘In six months we’ll get engaged, in a year we’ll get married, in two years we’ll have our first baby, and in four years maybe we’ll have a second one…’ But I don’t know… This is so sudden. Did you get married in secret? Who is the lucky one?”

“Do you remember Mingyu?” Wonwoo asked, his voice softer now, uncertain. A faint note of discouragement leaked into it, a reflection of how unsure he felt at that moment. His mind briefly raced with doubts, wondering if he had rushed things, if he was handling any of this the right way.

“Oh! The grandson of the Kim family, the ones who lived on the same street as us? How did you meet him again?” Her voice sounded surprised, but not disapproving. Mingyu and his parents had moved to Seoul some years ago, and his maternal grandparents had taken over the house they used to live in, the one just a few doors down from Wonwoo’s childhood home. Mrs. Jeon knew that very well—she also knew about the quiet, awkward crush her son had harbored for years on that handsome boy with the easy smile and warm eyes.

“Yeah, well… We ran into each other at the tenth anniversary reunion, and I was nervous and… there was alcohol…” Wonwoo lowered his voice toward the end, his eyes dropping to the floor as though even just recounting it embarrassed him. “…and things happened.”

His mom gasped so loudly on the other end of the line that he had to pull the phone slightly away from his ear.

“Wonwoo! Oh my God, you do know you have to use protection, right? I can’t believe things happened like this! And don’t get me wrong… If this is what you wanted, fine... But when are you going to introduce us to the alpha?” Her tone had shifted now—no longer surprised, but deeply serious.

“I don’t know yet, Mom, and… Please don’t say anything about this to Mr. and Mrs. Kim. I don’t know if Mingyu told them yet, but I wanted to tell you first.”

There was a soft snort through the receiver, but not a dismissive one—more like a sigh filled with affection and resignation.

“Won, I love you with all my heart. You are my son, my oldest baby. I am really happy that you are taking this step in your life… and I am really excited about this. I want to go to Seoul to take care of you and see you during this process… Even though it is unexpected for me, and I don’t want to be invasive… But when can I go?”

And that was it. That was the moment that hit him like a wave. That was when Wonwoo wanted to cry, when he felt the heavy knot of tension in his chest finally loosen. Because even though there had been surprise, even though there had been doubt, he knew— he knew —he would have his mother’s full support.

“Thanks, Mom…” he whispered, and then he couldn’t hold it in anymore. Tears welled up in his eyes and slipped down his cheeks, and his next words came out clipped, caught between quiet sobs. “I… I will be working on my new project until the sixth month, and then I’ll ask for paternity leave to take care of myself and prepare for the birth.”

Wonwoo had done his research. That was the time limit for them to approve his leave—he had everything figured out, everything planned in his quiet, meticulous way. He would be able to handle it.

“Okay, wow,” his mom said after a pause. “ That plan sounds more like ‘Wonwoo’... So… how many months do I have left before I need to move to Seoul near you?”

“In four and a half more months, Mom,” he answered, a laugh breaking through the remnants of his tears.

“Perfect! I will be calling you very, very frequently, and I hope that before then… we all can meet Mingyu properly, okay?” Her tone had changed again, lighter, cheerful, more like her usual self—and it helped. It helped a lot. It steadied him.

“Yes! I promise, I’ll talk to him soon.”

They said goodbye after that, with her reminding him again to eat well and not overwork himself, and him thanking her for understanding—over and over, in small, cracked words. When they finally hung up, Wonwoo felt a little better. Not entirely sure of everything, not completely at ease, but definitely steadier. He finally had his mom’s unconditional support.

But even so, a bit of worry still lingered in his chest, stubborn and unshakable. Was he doing things right? Was this really what he wanted? Or was he being carried along by emotions that would fade?

Just as those thoughts began to spiral into an increasingly dark direction, the doorbell rang. The sharp chime cut through the silence like a lifeline, and without even thinking to check the peephole, Wonwoo rushed to open the door.

Mingyu greeted him outside the door with both arms full—bags stuffed with food containers and several brightly colored packets of candy peeking out from the top. The soft rustling of the plastic mixed with the sound of his breathless voice as he smiled almost sheepishly.

"Hi, I wanted to surprise you," he said, his smile nearly dazzling in its warmth, all teeth and dimples, and just the right amount of boyish charm to make Wonwoo’s heart skip a beat. It was the kind of smile that disarmed people, the kind that made it impossible to stay annoyed—or skeptical—for long.

Wonwoo couldn’t help but laugh, caught somewhere between amused and touched. His brows lifted for a second in surprise, but then his expression melted into something more affectionate. Without saying a word, he simply stepped to the side, opening the door wider in a quiet invitation.

Mingyu stepped in without hesitation, carrying the bags like they weighed nothing, and he immediately made himself at home in the kind of way that should have felt intrusive, but didn’t. He walked toward the living room with ease, as if he’d been there hundreds of times before—even though it had only been a handful. He placed the bags gently on the coffee table and reached for the TV remote, turning it on with a few quick clicks, and the soft hum of the screen filled the silence in the room.

Meanwhile, Wonwoo rushed off toward the kitchen, grabbing plates and glasses in a small flurry of movement. He moved quickly, instinctively knowing what size bowls would be good for the fried chicken, where he’d put the serving tongs from the last time they ordered takeout. His fingers were slightly shaky—not out of nervousness, exactly, but more from the fluttering of his thoughts as he tried to wrap his head around how natural everything with Mingyu already felt.

By the time he returned, Mingyu was already cross-legged on the rug, taking out the contents of the bags one by one like it was a picnic. Chicken wings, rice rolls, soft drinks, several kinds of gummy candies, and even a little package of mango slices. He arranged it all neatly, with a kind of focus that made Wonwoo pause for a second, just watching him.

"Well, you really surprised me," Wonwoo finally said, his voice a little hesitant as he placed the plates down and sat beside him. "But… I think we're improvising too much." His gaze flicked toward the food, then to Mingyu’s hands still unpacking the bags, and then back to his face. There was a wrinkle between his brows, a sign of the quiet worry blooming in his chest.

"Is that something bad?" Mingyu asked quickly, his tone suddenly more cautious. The excitement in his posture faltered just slightly, as if he was afraid he had done something wrong. But before the concern could settle too deeply in him, Wonwoo threw himself down beside him on the rug. Without needing to ask, Mingyu opened his arms, and Wonwoo leaned easily into his chest, tucking himself against the familiar warmth of Mingyu’s embrace.

"I don’t know..." Wonwoo murmured, almost more to himself than to Min. "Everyone’s telling me this isn’t like me... I... I always plan everything. From my work to my personal life, I have schedules, lists, dates. That’s why it’s surprising to my friends and my mom that I’m making this decision now, skipping a few steps with you." His voice trembled at the edges—not quite crying, but heavy with the kind of honesty that made his heart beat louder.

"Have you told your mom yet?" Mingyu’s voice sounded incredibly soft, so gentle it barely rose above a whisper. It didn’t match his tall, broad frame at all—he sounded smaller than he looked, his words careful and delicate, like he didn’t want to push.

Wonwoo just nodded against his chest.

Mingyu reached up and gently stroked his hair, running his fingers through the strands in slow, soothing motions that made Wonwoo close his eyes for a moment.

"That’s good," he said. "I wanted to tell my mom too, but..." He hesitated for a second, then continued, "I wanted to ask your permission first." His tone carried something close to reverence, almost as if asking him had been a deeply important step.

His voice was calm and warm, and with it came that sweet scent Wonwoo had come to associate with him—dark chocolate, with something faintly spicy underneath. It always helped him relax, always reminded him that Mingyu wasn’t just a whirlwind of surprises and affection—he was also a grounding presence.

"And... about the steps we skipped, huh..." Mingyu continued, his words slow but thoughtful. "Can we do them? Even if they’re not in order, maybe the order of the products doesn’t affect the results."

Wonwoo let out a laugh, soft and surprised. The corners of his lips lifted in a small, amused smile, and he turned to look at Mingyu’s face.

"Maybe..." he said, shaking his head a little. "Anyway, we already did it. I mean, we already did things in a haphazard way..." He trailed off for a moment, searching for the words. "First it was... unprotected sex, then our first dates, and I guess we’ll have to meet each other’s families soon."

Mingyu’s smile widened. It wasn’t just a happy expression—it was as if the joy he felt reached through his whole body, radiating from his eyes and into the room itself. Wonwoo could feel it in the way Mingyu’s arm tightened gently around his shoulder, in the faint tremble of his chest as he chuckled.

"Yeah," Mingyu said eagerly. "I can take you to dinner with my parents whenever you want. Do you want to visit your family too? Do they still live in Changwon? We can go one weekend and also go to the beach. You can sunbathe, and we can—"

Maybe Mingyu likes planning things too, so Wonu is happy with this. Wonwoo looked up at him, his voice a little smaller now. "Sure... I’m just still nervous. Can we do it in a couple more weeks?" he asked, almost shyly, as he leaned further into Mingyu’s body.

Mingyu didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms more tightly around him and rested his cheek on top of Wonwoo’s head.

"Yeah," he whispered. "We can take it slow. It doesn’t matter if you fall in love with me after our baby is born; the order of the factors doesn’t alter the outcome."

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Kayoung didn’t show up for Wonwoo again in the following weeks. Not even once. She only spoke to Eunbin, and only through brief, curt conversations that often happened when Wonwoo wasn’t around. He noticed it immediately—her absence, the silence, the avoidance—but he never mentioned it aloud. Instead, he accepted it with quiet resignation. The message was clear: the director didn’t like him. She hadn’t liked him before, and now she didn’t even try to hide it.

But that was okay, he told himself. He wasn’t here to be liked. He was here to do his job—and he would continue doing it, no matter how many times she ignored him in meetings, no matter how often she left his messages unread or reassigned his responsibilities to others.

His belly hadn’t grown much yet, not in a way that was really obvious unless someone was looking for it. But there were small changes. His shirts fit a bit tighter around the middle, and sometimes, when he sat down too fast, he felt the pressure in a way that reminded him his body was changing.

He had started gaining weight, slowly but surely, and he couldn’t deny who was mostly responsible. He blamed Mingyu a little, not seriously, but enough to tease him in his mind. Mingyu fed him constantly—like it was his personal mission to keep him full and spoiled. He brought food all the time, always with some excuse, always acting like it was no big deal. A little something from the bakery down the street, some soup he’d made himself, a couple of mangoes because Wonwoo had mentioned once that he liked them.

And even though Wonwoo thought he should be annoyed by the constant food—by the way his fridge was always full of leftovers and the way he now craved snacks in the middle of his shifts—he never really was. Not deep down. He always ended up accepting everything Mingyu brought, pretending to protest before giving in with a smile.

Min even took time during lunch hours to drive over and drop something off. Sometimes it was a bento box from a high-end restaurant, other times it was a homemade lunch with neatly labeled sides and a handwritten note tucked under the lid.

"Your alpha is so thoughtful. It's so sweet of him to send you all this," Eunbin said one afternoon after they finished devouring a generous lunch Mingyu had sent over. There were rice balls shaped like little animals, grilled vegetables arranged in perfect rows, and small containers of fruit cut into hearts and stars. Wonwoo hadn’t even realized he was smiling at the box until Eunbin elbowed him playfully.

"When will you introduce me to him?" she asked, her tone light and teasing.

Wonwoo stiffened just slightly, the muscles in his shoulders tensing as the question hung in the air. He didn’t answer right away.

He was still afraid of retaliation—afraid of what might happen if he said too much. If she found out that his sweet, thoughtful alpha wasn’t just some doting boyfriend, but the CEO of a direct competitor... Would she still look at him the same way? Would she trust him? Or would she report it to someone? Maybe even to Kayoung?

And Eunbin had grown closer to Director Kayoung lately. He had noticed that too—the way they lingered in conversation after meetings, the way Eunbin seemed to echo the director’s opinions more and more. Maybe it was innocent. Or maybe, at any moment, he could bring up Mingyu’s name, not even realizing the danger it might put him in.

"Maybe soon," he said finally, choosing his words with care. "Let’s focus on presenting the project first; it’s almost finished."

"Oh, yes..." Eunbin agreed, but her next words sent a cold knot to the pit of Wonwoo’s stomach. "But Miss Moon Kayoung said she doesn’t want us to present it together."

Wonwoo blinked, stunned for a moment, the air seeming thicker around him. That wasn’t just a casual decision—it was a calculated move. If he couldn’t present the project, then they could make deals without him. They could go forward with patents, credits, recognition... all of it without his involvement. It was something he’d worked on for months, something he had poured his time, energy, and mind into—and they could shut him out completely.

"I need to talk to her," he said sharply, the anger in his voice slipping out before he could filter it. "I understand he doesn’t like me as a person, but she has to know how to separate the personal from the professional..." His eyes narrowed slightly, not at Eunbin, but at the situation itself. "I can’t not be there when the project is presented."

He made a mental note, firm and urgent, to talk to the director as soon as he finished his tasks for the day. After that, the lab fell into a tense, uncomfortable silence. The hum of machines and the soft clatter of glass instruments were the only sounds that filled the room as they both turned back to their respective stations.

Wonwoo tried to focus, tried to tune out the spiral of thoughts in his mind—but they kept coming. Did he do the right thing by not trusting Eunbin? Would she understand, or was she already turning her back on him? A darker thought crept in, uninvited and persistent. Did she want to get rid of him too?

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

When work hours ended, Wonwoo walked to the bathroom first, splashing some cold water on his face, hoping it would calm the nervous fluttering in his chest. He took a deep breath, wiped his hands on the scratchy paper towel, and adjusted the hem of his shirt as he checked his reflection. The conversation with Eunbin had left him uneasy, and he needed answers—now.

With his heart pounding in his chest, he stepped out into the hallway, heading toward the principal’s office with determined strides. The building had quieted down after most staff had left, and only the distant hum of equipment and soft footsteps echoed through the corridors.

But just before he reached the small reception area in front of Kayoung’s office, he heard voices. Familiar voices. He slowed down instinctively, then stopped altogether when he recognized them.

There, a few steps ahead, Kayoung and Eunbin were standing in the hallway, deep in conversation. They hadn’t noticed him yet. He ducked back around a corner, pressing himself lightly against the wall, ears straining.

"I don't want to talk to the pregnant omega. You have to find something so I can get rid of him," the director said flatly, her tone dripping with disdain. Wonwoo’s breath caught in his throat, and he froze in place.

Eunbin hesitated, visibly uncomfortable. "Well... well..."

Wonwoo wanted to believe that pause meant something good. Maybe she would defend him. Maybe she would protect him. After all, she had eaten lunch with him almost every day, shared long hours in the lab, laughed with him during late-night experiments. Maybe she was someone he could still trust.

But Kayoung's voice cut sharply through the air before Eunbin could find her words.

"Nothing!" she snapped, teeth clenched in growing irritation. "You can take all the credit for that patent, and that means more money for you, understand? So bring me something... anything... I just want to get him out of the way."

Wonwoo’s stomach turned. Her words sounded unreal. Cold. Calculated. Like she had never seen him as more than a nuisance to dispose of.

“W-Well…” Eunbin began again, her voice wavering. “Wonwoo has a boyfriend, bu-but… I don’t know him. He hasn’t told me his name. I don’t know anything else. The guy sends him food here all the time, and I-I also know he’s an alpha… I guess he’s the alpha who got him pregnant.”

Oh, no. The words hit Wonwoo like a punch to the chest. Eunbin sold him out so easily. So effortlessly. There wasn’t even much pressure. She just gave him away. Like all those moments they shared meant nothing. He clutched his hands into fists, feeling the sting of betrayal settling deep in his chest.

"Isn't it a little suspicious that he's hiding his alpha's name from you?" Kayoung's voice sounded cold, controlled, and thoroughly annoyed. “Uhm… We’ll have to find out more about that.”

Wonwoo’s back pressed harder into the wall, heart racing in his ears. He wished he hadn’t heard any of this. He wished he had gone straight home instead of coming here to face her. But now he knew. It was clear—Kayoung hated him. Not just dislike, not just irritation—true, deep, dismissive hatred. But why?

Was it really just because he was an omega? Did Moon Kayoung see omegas as inherently lesser? Did she feel superior to him just because of his biology?

It didn’t make sense. Mr. Moon—her grandfather, the original director—had never treated him this way. He had always trusted Wonwoo’s work, always supported him through hard projects and defended him in tough meetings. This… this cruelty, this disregard… it wasn’t what he had been prepared for. And now, it was clear that she didn’t just want him out of the project—she wanted him gone entirely.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Wonwoo felt deeply discouraged about the whole situation with Eunbin and Kayoung. He had believed—really believed—that he could trust his colleague. After all, they had worked together for years. They had shared late nights in the lab, hurried meetings, and the stressful pressure of deadlines. They had seen each other through successes and failures alike. The thought that Eunbin might be quietly siding with Kayoung, or worse, betraying him, left a heavy ache in his chest.

Sitting at his desk, he stared at his phone for a long moment, his fingers hovering uncertainly over the screen. Then, with a shaky breath, he typed a message.

Min, please don’t send me food at work anymore.

He hit send before he could change his mind, then stared down at the tiny glowing screen, heart thudding louder than it should. Almost immediately, a reply popped up.

What? Why? Didn’t you like the last thing I sent you? 

Mingyu’s words were quick and full of concern, and a little teasing, too—like he was trying to lighten the mood.

Wonwoo felt a pang of guilt. He hated disappointing Mingyu, who had been so thoughtful and attentive since the very beginning of their relationship. But he also didn’t want to burden him with work troubles—especially not with Kayoung involved. He wanted to protect Mingyu from the stress, from the tangled mess that was unfolding at the office. So he lied.

Oh, it’s because they banned it he typed carefully. Reception won’t be able to look after my package until lunch.

It was a half-truth at best, but he felt it was better to keep the work issues hidden for now. He’d figure out how to fix things later. There was a brief pause, then another message from Mingyu appeared.

So, will you send me a picture of you eating at work? I need it because otherwise I’ll be anxious and worried all afternoon

Ah, Mingyu… He was so cute. So caring. The way he worried about him, even over something as small as lunch, made Wonwoo smile despite the weight pressing down on him.

Yes, I promise to send you a picture, okay? Don’t worry so much about me.

Almost instantly, Mingyu’s reply came through.

I have to worry about you and the baby. I’d like to take care of both of you all the time… But I can’t do it yet, right?

Wonwoo’s chest tightened with emotion. Mingyu’s words weren’t just about food or pictures—they were about love, protection, and the future they were beginning to build together. Even when everything felt uncertain, Mingyu’s concern was a steady light in the darkness.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

The next day, Wonwoo arrived at work earlier than usual, the morning light still soft and pale as he made his way through the quiet halls of the research building. He had made up his mind—no more waiting, no more avoiding the confrontation that had been hanging over him like a dark cloud. His footsteps echoed lightly on the polished floors as he headed straight to Director Moon Kayoung’s office.

At the small reception area just outside her door stood Myeong, the friendly assistant who had always greeted him with a warm smile whenever he stopped by. Today, she noticed his early arrival and offered the same cheerful expression.

"Good morning, Wonwoo. Can I help you with anything?" she asked, her voice light and familiar.

Wonwoo returned her smile, though it was somewhat forced. "I want to talk to the director, that’s why I arrived early."

Myeong nodded knowingly, her eyes briefly flickering with something like sympathy or understanding. "She’s not here yet, but she shouldn’t be long. Do you want some coffee, Won?"

He shook his head quickly, feeling wary. He couldn’t really trust Myeong either, not completely. There was something guarded about the way she spoke, the way she seemed to know more than she let on.

"I heard someone sends you food to reception. Is your alpha the one who sends it?" she asked casually, a teasing tone in her voice that made Wonwoo’s heart sink.

Oh, there it is… he thought, realizing instantly that he couldn’t tell Myeong the truth.

Wonwoo forced a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and shook his head. "No, he’s just a friend who cares about me."

Myeong’s smile faltered, replaced by a hint of judgment. "Oh, how inconsiderate your alpha is then… He left you with the baby and doesn’t care about you," she said, her tone losing its friendliness and growing sharp and cold.

Wonwoo felt a rush of protectiveness and sadness. "It’s not like that," he replied quickly. "He worries, but… sometimes he’s as busy as I am, so he can’t always be there. But as soon as I get my paternity leave, we can get through this together."

Before Myeong could answer, the office door opened, and Director Kayoung walked in, her sharp eyes immediately fixing on Wonwoo.

"Good morning, Myeong… Wonwoo," she said, her voice clipped but polite.

Wonwoo stood up straight, his shoulders squared despite the knot of tension in his stomach. "Good morning, Director Kayoung. I wanted to talk to you because I don’t know why you’ve been avoiding me. The project is ready for submission and patent registration, but you keep putting us off."

Kayoung’s gaze remained cold and calculating as she looked him over. "I need to read all the tests and studies first. There could be an error in the medication, and it would be unacceptable for Moon Pharmaceuticals to launch something like that on the market. You know that, right, Wonwoo?"

Wonwoo nodded firmly. "Yes, I completely understand. All the tests have been handed over to you, and Eunbin told me she read them to you, so I don’t see why I should keep delaying it,” Wonwoo said firmly, his voice steady and unwavering despite the sharp fury simmering in Kayoung’s expression. Her glare was so intense it seemed to crackle in the air around her, reflecting her deep frustration and disdain.

“Honestly, Wonwoo,” Kayoung began, a cold, bitter laugh escaping her lips, “I don’t want to work with omegas. Omegas shouldn’t be accepted in the pharmacobiology chemistry program; omegas shouldn’t be accepted in this company.”

Her words struck like a slap, sharp and heavy.

“Do you know that’s discrimination?” Wonwoo responded quickly, his voice rising slightly, a flicker of righteous anger in his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with being an omega. We can do any job and hold any position properly.”

Kayoung scoffed, folding her arms across her chest, her tone dripping with condescension. “Not when they’re pregnant. You’ve already planned your paternity leave and everything. Do you think I have paternity leave? Do you think Eunbin has it? No... And that’s fair? I think it would be good if you started thinking about resigning instead of taking paternity leave.”

A cold wave of threat washed over Wonwoo, but he swallowed hard and grounded himself in everything he had accomplished so far. He could not, would not, let himself be intimidated by her prejudice and power.

“Mr. Moon always trusted me, even if I was an omega and…” he began, his voice quieter now, but still defiant.

“So?” Kayoung cut him off sharply. “Mr. Moon is no longer the director. I’m in charge now, and if I want, I can fire all the omegas who work here. Do you understand, Wonwoo? I honestly don’t want to see you. I don’t want you in my company. Just hand in your resignation.”

The words hit him like a blow, but anger surged through Wonwoo’s veins, fueling his courage.

“Then I can’t give you the project I worked on,” he snapped, his voice trembling with fury and disbelief. Even Myeong, who stood quietly nearby, looked startled by his outburst. But the director remained unmoved, her cold eyes watching him with cruel satisfaction.

“Your contract says that everything you do in the company belongs to the company... So, Wonwoo... will you do me a favor and sign your resignation?”

“No. If you fire me, it will be unjustifiable,” Wonwoo said firmly, turning on his heel and starting to walk toward his lab, his steps heavy but determined.

“We’ll see!” Kayoung shouted after him, her voice echoing down the hallway with sharp finality.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

It was the day Wonwoo and Mingyu had their first doctor’s appointment, and Min was visibly excited. His usual bright smile shone even more than usual, and his eyes sparkled with anticipation. Wonwoo, on the other hand, felt a tight knot of nerves twisting inside his stomach. The past few weeks had been difficult—his mind often wandered back to the threats from Kayoung, the coldness from Eunbin, and the growing uncertainty at work. He hadn’t been able to concentrate properly, no matter how hard he tried.

Though he hoped Mingyu wouldn’t notice his anxiety, Wonwoo knew it was written all over his face and maybe his scent too. They hadn’t been able to see each other all week until now, when they finally agreed to go together to check on the pregnancy.

“You’re very tense,” Gyu commented softly as he slipped his arm around Wonwoo’s shoulders, pulling him closer.

“Shall I give you a massage?” he asked, already starting to run his hands gently over Wonwoo’s tight muscles without waiting for an answer.

As they walked side by side toward Dr. Taeoh’s office, Mingyu carefully rubbed Wonwoo’s shoulders and neck, trying to soothe the stiffness there.

“Work stresses me out a little,” Wonwoo admitted quietly, his voice low and a little shaky.

“You should take your paternity leave right away,” Mingyu said with genuine concern. “Can’t it coincide with your vacation? When was the last time you asked for a vacation?” Mingyu’s worry deepened as he watched Wonwoo’s face.

But Wonwoo didn’t want to tell him everything—not yet. Instead, his eyes suddenly welled up with tears, and they began to fall down his cheeks.

“Won, why are you crying? What’s wrong?” Mingyu’s voice softened, his hands pausing as he turned to face him.

“It—It must be the baby… B-Because I don’t really feel bad,” Wonwoo stammered, lying to keep Mingyu from worrying more than he already did.

Mingyu immediately stopped touching his shoulders and wiped the tears gently from Wonwoo’s cheeks, his expression tender and protective.

Just then, they arrived at the waiting room, where the doctor’s assistant called their names. The two of them stood and followed her inside.

Mingyu had wanted his mother to be the one to take care of Wonwoo’s pregnancy, but since she hadn’t met Wonwoo yet, he thought it might feel strange. Instead, they trusted Dr. Taeoh—one of Mingyu’s closest friends. Taeoh was young but highly professional, and Mingyu felt more comfortable with him than with the doctors his mother usually recommended, who were often connected socially to her and specialized in omegas and obstetrics.

“So, this is your first appointment since you found out about the pregnancy, right?” Dr. Taeoh asked as soon as they were both inside the small, bright examination room.

“Yes, it’s my first appointment,” Wonwoo replied quietly.

“Wonwoo,” the doctor said gently as he began his examination, giving a quick, general checkup—listening to the heartbeat, checking blood pressure, and noting everything carefully. “Your blood pressure’s a little high,” Dr. Taeoh noted, not unkindly. “Nothing dangerous right now, but we’ll keep an eye on it, alright? Are you sleeping well?”

Wonwoo hesitated before answering. Mingyu, sitting close by, shifted forward in his seat with quiet attention, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to speak for him.

“Not really,” Wonwoo admitted in a small voice. “I’ve been… anxious.”

Dr. Taeoh offered him a nod of understanding. “That’s normal, especially with everything going on. Hormones, stress, first pregnancy—your body’s doing a lot. Just remember you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Mingyu’s eyes flicked toward Wonwoo briefly, his gaze soft, but he still didn’t speak. It wasn’t the time to push, but he wanted him to know he was here.

Dr. Taeoh continued with his notes, then asked, “Any nausea? Appetite changes? Fatigue?”

Wonwoo let out a small, embarrassed laugh and nodded. “I can’t even look at kimchi stew anymore, which used to be my favorite…”

Mingyu chuckled under his breath. “You didn’t tell me that.”

Wonwoo gave him a little side glance. “You sent me kimchi stew for three days.”

“Oh my god,” Mingyu whispered, half-laughing and half-horrified. “I’m so sorry.”

Dr. Taeoh smiled at their interaction as he pressed gently on Wonwoo’s abdomen, examining the area carefully. “Well, let’s do a quick ultrasound, just to make sure everything is progressing the way it should. You ready?”

Wonwoo nodded, swallowing hard.

“You can lie back for me,” the doctor said. “Shirt up a bit… There you go.”

Wonwoo obeyed, his fingers trembling slightly as he adjusted the hem of his shirt. His belly wasn’t even showing much yet, just the faintest curve if one looked closely. Still, seeing the gel container in the doctor’s hand made his breath catch.

“It’s cold,” Dr. Taeoh warned, before squirting the gel onto his skin and pressing the handheld ultrasound device lightly against him. Wonwoo winced at the chill, but said nothing. Mingyu leaned forward, eyes fixed on the screen.

“Can we see the baby?” Mingyu asked eagerly, his eyes bright with excitement.

Dr. Taeoh laughed softly. “We can see, but if we look right now, it won’t really be in the shape of a baby yet.”

Mingyu understood the explanation, but the eagerness didn’t fade. He wanted to see anyway, to catch the first glimpse of the tiny life growing inside Wonwoo.

Now, on the screen in front of them, everything appeared in shades of gray, with two distinct black areas standing out like tiny windows into a secret world.

“Ah,” the doctor said with a smile that grew wider, “it seems you should stop calling it ‘the baby’ because there are actually two coming, Mingyu. You’re having the babies.”

Mingyu’s eyes nearly sparkled as he almost screamed with pure happiness, his voice full of disbelief and joy. He stared at the screen, utterly mesmerized by what must be his two little miracles.

Wonwoo sat up so suddenly that Mingyu had to steady him. “The babies?” Wonwoo repeated, his voice a mix of shock and awe as he tried to make sense of the blurry shapes on the screen. The doctor nodded reassuringly.

“Yes, Wonwoo. We can see one right here,” he said, pointing carefully at the screen, “and the other right here.” His finger hovered over the two small gray dots nestled between the dark areas.

“Oh my God” Wonwoo said, his voice cracking as tears began to spill down his cheeks again. The emotions overwhelmed him suddenly, and he felt like his heart might burst.

Mingyu immediately moved closer, concern etched across his face. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly as he wiped the tears from Wonwoo’s face with the back of his hand, his touch tender and full of love.

“I wasn’t ready for one,” Wonwoo sobbed bitterly, “let alone two.”

Hearing those words, Mingyu’s heart twisted painfully. Was he being too selfish? Had he pushed too hard? Maybe he should have let Wonwoo come to terms with everything in his own time. The guilt crept in quietly, making Mingyu’s words fail him. Instead, he simply held Wonwoo close, gently brushing away his tears and letting him release every ounce of emotion.

The room grew quiet except for Wonwoo’s soft, shaky breaths until Dr. Taeoh cleared his throat gently. Both men turned to look at him.

“Both babies look very healthy so far,” the doctor said almost in a whisper, his voice calm and comforting. He understood the gravity of the moment, having been filled in by Mingyu earlier, but he hesitated before mentioning that there was still plenty of time to prepare and adjust to the news.

But Wonwoo didn’t want to hear any of that right now. Instead, he buried his face in Mingyu’s chest, crying even harder.

“Min, that’s what matters,” he whispered between tears, pulling the taller man into a tight hug.

The babies were fine now—and would be fine in the future—and for Wonwoo, that was all that truly mattered.

Chapter 4

Notes:

Sorry I didn't update this on time, but I was too busy the other day so now I'll share the chapters today and tomorrow, so I don't lose track, I guess, heh. Thank you for reading.

“Wonwoo, Miss Moon Kayoung wants to see you in her office right now.” That was the first thing Eunbin said to Wonwoo as soon as he stepped into the lab on Monday morning.

The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, casting a sterile glow over the stainless steel counters and glass containers neatly arranged on the shelves. Wonwoo, who had barely had time to take off his coat, froze in place, his fingers still curled around the strap of his bag. He looked at Eunbin, trying to read her expression, but she had a poker face, unreadable, if not slightly uncomfortable.

Wonwoo didn’t say a word. He gave a slow nod, then turned on his heel and walked out of the lab, his footsteps echoing softly through the long, polished corridor. A strange sensation weighed in his chest—not quite fear, but a heavy, quiet unease. He tried to brush it off, but the silence of the building only amplified the pounding of his heart.

When he reached the director’s office, he noticed the door was slightly ajar. A sliver of warm light spilled out into the hallway, outlining the polished floor. Even so, he stopped at the threshold and knocked, unwilling to step in without permission. He knew better than to seem too confident in front of someone like Moon Kayoung.

“Come in.” Her voice floated from inside—calm, measured, unmistakably hers.

Wonwoo opened the door fully and stepped inside. The office, with its sleek furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows, looked exactly as he remembered it, though it felt more imposing than usual today. The faint scent of coffee mingled with something floral—perhaps a candle burning out of sight. He stood still for a moment, taking it all in.

“Sit down, Wonwoo.” Moon Kayoung gestured to the chair in front of her desk, her tone uncharacteristically gentle. She was even smiling—a small, tight-lipped expression that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Wonwoo lowered himself into the chair cautiously, his back stiff. Beside the director, her assistant, Myeong, moved with robotic efficiency, placing two steaming cups of coffee on the desk. One slid in front of Kayoung, the other before Wonwoo. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, but it did nothing to calm his nerves.

“Eunbin told me you requested my presence here,” Wonwoo said seriously as he sat across from Moon Kayoung.

She nodded, still wearing that strange smile, and took a slow sip of her coffee. “I have good news for you, Wonwoo... You’re fired,” she said calmly, pausing only to take another sip from her cup.

“Huh? Tha-That’s not good news,” Wonwoo replied, his voice tight with confusion as he narrowed his eyes at her.

“It is for me, and... it should be for you too. You’ll soon be a father and you’ll have to dedicate yourself to the house and your children, right? Besides, you have your alpha—congratulations! But he’s the main reason for your dismissal.” Her voice was lighter now, even cheery, as though she were sharing good news over lunch.

“Why would he be the reason for my layoff? If so, it’s actually an unfair layoffl, Miss Moon Kayoung.”

The director laughed—an elegant, dismissive sound—and placed her coffee cup gently on the table, as if her amusement deserved a moment of attention. Without a word, she opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out a small stack of glossy, letter-sized photographs. She laid them out like playing cards.

Wonwoo stared at them in disbelief. There they were—him and Mingyu, walking hand in hand through a park. Another photo captured them mid-laughter while seated at a modest burger joint downtown, heads tilted close, eyes soft and content. Every image seemed to have been taken without their knowledge, stolen moments now splayed across Kayoung’s desk like evidence.

“Kim Mingyu, right? CEO of Sunrise Pharmaceutics, which is our direct competition, isn’t it?” Kayoung said smoothly, sliding a final sheet across the desk. This one contained a detailed profile of Mingyu—his full name, current position, academic background, and a comprehensive list of professional achievements. “Practically, Wonwoo... you can’t have a relationship with someone from that company.”

“That’s part of my personal life. The company doesn’t care who I’m dating or who the father of my babies is,” Wonwoo responded angrily, his voice trembling slightly, his hands tightening around the arms of the chair.

Miss Kayoung chuckled, a slow, deliberate sound. “It’s just common sense, Wonwoo... You can’t date someone from your competition. It’s extremely suspicious and could even jeopardize your confidentiality agreement with Moon Pharmaceuticals. Anyway... your dismissal from the company is already in place, and there’s nothing you can do but grab your things and walk away.”

Her tone was falsely sweet, feigning innocence. The sharpness behind her words only made the blow feel colder. Wonwoo’s chest burned with helpless fury.

“I’m not leaving, Kayoung! They haven’t even approved my last project—this is unfair!” Wonwoo shouted, the words escaping before he could stop them. His voice cracked slightly with the intensity of his emotion.

The director laughed again, this time with full condescension. “Don’t worry, Eunbin will hand in the project.”

“Eunbin didn’t just work on the drug; this is still unfair, Director.” Wonwoo’s voice dropped low, almost growling. His fists clenched tightly on the table, trembling with restrained rage. Kayoung watched him with visible disdain, her lips curling in faint distaste.

“Oh, Wonwoo... You signed a contract with the company. Didn’t I tell you that last time? Did you ever read it?” Her voice turned mocking now. “Everything you do at the company, um... it doesn’t belong to you . It belongs to Moon Pharmaceuticals... So, we can’t do anything. Eunbin hands over the project, and you take your things and leave, okay? Don’t make me call security and have a pregnant omega get hurt.”

The threat landed like a slap. Wonwoo sat frozen for a moment. The words echoed in his mind, cruel and deliberate. He felt them settle somewhere deep in his chest, heavy and painful. His throat tightened as tears welled in his eyes, spilling over before he could blink them back. He couldn’t stop them. The betrayal, the fear, the rage—all of it finally cracked through.

“Come on, Wonwoo... Let’s get your things.” Myeong’s voice was gentle, almost whisper-like. She placed a hand on his back, stroking softly in a calming rhythm. Though her touch was meant to comfort, it only made everything feel more real. She stood beside him like a silent witness to his humiliation, speaking softly as she tried to coax him out of the office.

"Play it cool, Wonwoo… Seriously, I don’t want things to get worse here," Moon Kayoung said as she calmly slid the photos of Min and Wonwoo back into her desk drawer, her movements precise, unhurried, almost smug. The air in the room felt thick with tension, and Wonwoo, filled with helpless rage, got up from his chair without another word. He didn’t look at her again.

Myeong, the director’s assistant, waited quietly by the door and began to guide him out. Wonwoo followed, numb and silent, his steps slow and reluctant as if each one pulled him further away from everything he had built.

When he returned to the lab, it was empty. Eunbin—cowardly, opportunistic Eunbin—wasn’t there. Good. Perfect, actually. It was exactly what Wonwoo needed. He took a deep breath and walked with more purpose this time. The tension in his body remained, but it was now mixed with a sharp sense of determination.

Without wasting a second, he went to the locked drawer where he kept some private files. He knew exactly what he was looking for—an old flash drive with crucial data, a version of the compound formulas and test notes that only he had access to. Information that hadn’t yet been uploaded to the company's internal system. He slipped it into his pocket and made sure to secure it tightly, pushing it deep into the lining of his coat. He didn’t know if Kayoung might try to search his belongings or demand an audit before he left, but just in case, he didn’t take any chances.

He then gathered the rest of his personal items. A few framed photos, notebooks, pens, and loose documents—all of it went into a simple cardboard box. The same kind that people always carried when they were fired. The image of it alone stung.

Myeong escorted him out, just as silently as she had before. At the front reception, two uniformed security guards waited to check his box. They glanced through his belongings briefly, lifting a folder here and there, flipping through one of his notebooks. But they didn’t check him. They didn’t search his pockets or pat him down. A careless oversight. A big mistake.

And that was how he left Moon Pharmaceuticals. With a stolen flash drive in his coat pocket, a cardboard box in his hands, and his heart crushed beneath the weight of everything he had just lost. The moment he stepped outside, the tears came. He couldn’t hold them back. They spilled over uncontrollably, warm and bitter, cutting trails down his cheeks as he walked aimlessly through the streets.

He didn’t know where he was going. His legs moved on their own, and eventually, he ended up at the small park closest to the company’s massive building. It was quiet there—no one around at this hour. He sat down on a weathered bench beneath a tree and cradled his face in one hand, sobbing as the grief washed over him in waves.

Then his phone rang. The screen lit up with Mingyu’s name, and Wonwoo stared at it through blurry eyes. He didn’t answer. He didn’t feel ready. His throat ached from holding back sobs, and he didn’t know how to explain any of this. But Mingyu called again. And again. Over and over. The buzzing wouldn’t stop.

For a second, he thought about turning off the phone altogether. But he knew Mingyu. If he didn’t pick up, he might actually leave his office and come looking for him. That would only make things worse.

So, finally, with trembling fingers and tear-streaked cheeks, he took the call.

“Won, are you okay?” Mingyu’s voice came through immediately, breathless and concerned, as if he had been pacing or rushing around.

“No,” Wonwoo replied, voice cracking as more tears poured out. He choked back a sob and pressed the phone tighter to his ear.

“What’s wrong? Do you want me to come get you? I was having a bad feeling and was afraid something might happen to you.” Mingyu's voice trembled with worry, and that alone made Wonwoo’s heart ache even more. He didn’t doubt Min’s feelings—not for a second.

“Shall we meet outside your office?” Wonwoo asked, hesitant. He wasn’t sure how much work Min had, or if he was asking too much already. The last thing he wanted was to burden him more than necessary.

“Yeah, where do you want me to meet you?” Mingyu spoke quickly, urgency in every syllable. Wonwoo still hadn’t stopped crying.

“At my house, Mingyu… At home.” They agreed, and the call ended. Wonwoo wiped his face with his sleeve and flagged down a taxi. The ride felt like an eternity. He couldn’t stop replaying everything in his head—Kayoung’s voice, the threat, the humiliation, the feeling of being powerless.

When the cab finally pulled up outside his house, Mingyu was already there, standing beside his car. He looked worried, searching the taxi with anxious eyes the moment it arrived. As soon as Wonwoo got out, Min rushed over to take the box from him without a word. He didn’t ask anything. He just helped him up the steps and waited patiently while Wonwoo unlocked the door.

“What happened?” Mingyu asked quietly as soon as they stepped inside. The box now rested on the living room sofa.

“I got fired from work,” Wonwoo said, trying hard to keep his voice steady. But the words barely left his mouth before he broke down again, his shoulders trembling.

Mingyu walked over and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close without hesitation.

“Why did they fire you? Did something go wrong with your project?” Min’s voice was calm, but his concern was clear.

And though Wonwoo didn’t want to tell him the truth, he knew he had to. He couldn’t hide it—not from Mingyu.

“Because of our relationship,” he admitted, voice low. “Moon Kayoung knows you’re the CEO of Sunrise Pharmaceutics and—and she said it wasn’t right for me to go out with you.”

Mingyu didn’t hesitate. As soon as the tears started flowing again, he gently wiped them away with his thumb, his expression unreadable but his touch endlessly gentle.

“That doesn’t make sense, you said it yourself. Your work life has nothing to do with your personal life. It’s an unfair dismissal. There must be something we can do. I’ll talk to Dad—he can help us,” Mingyu said, his voice full of determination. And just like that, a bit of Wonwoo’s anxiety eased.

“Do you think he can help us?” he asked, though part of him already believed it just because Mingyu sounded so sure.

“Yes,” Min said without missing a beat. “But… are you hungry? I’ll make you something to eat before I go talk to him, okay?”

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Mingyu paused all his corporate activities that day and made time to visit his father—a rare decision, given how packed his schedule usually was. His father lived on the outskirts of Seoul, in an expansive, luxury estate nestled among sloping hills and tall pine trees. The mansion stood like a monument to wealth and ego, surrounded by high walls, perfectly manicured hedges, and a private driveway long enough to feel like a road of its own.

Mr. Kim had always lived in excess. He changed partners frequently, never settling down for too long. It was no surprise to anyone when he and Mingyu’s mother finalized their divorce right after Mingyu’s graduation from college. Even though he had already been an adult by then, with a degree in hand and a career ahead of him, the separation had affected him more than he had expected. It had been one of those moments where everything in his world subtly shifted, and nothing ever quite felt the same again.

When Mingyu arrived at the estate, the security guards at the gate recognized his vehicle instantly. They greeted him with rehearsed professionalism and allowed him to drive up to the front entrance without delay. As soon as he stepped out, one of the butlers approached and offered to park the car for him. Mingyu handed over the keys with a nod, tucking his hands into the pockets of his tailored coat as he followed another servant through the vast marble-floored halls of the mansion.

The house hadn’t changed since the last time he visited. Expensive artwork hung on the cream-colored walls, chandeliers sparkled overhead, and the scent of imported wood polish and old wine lingered in the air. What did surprise Mingyu, however, was the lack of company. His father was often surrounded by guests, business partners, or new romantic interests, and yet today, the house felt oddly quiet—emptier than usual.

He was led into the grand dining room, a space as extravagant as the rest of the house, with a long, dark mahogany table that could easily seat twenty. At the far end of it sat Mr. Kim, dressed immaculately as always, sipping from a tall glass of red wine. Mingyu’s footsteps echoed slightly as he walked in.

“Mingyu! How surprising that you're coming to visit your old father,” the man said, his tone amused but vaguely condescending. He gestured toward the chair across from him, and Mingyu sat down without protest.

“Sorry, Dad. I’ve been busy with the company... And with life,” Mingyu replied, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. He avoided his father’s sharp gaze, letting his eyes wander briefly to the silver cutlery and untouched plates arranged neatly on the table.

“Okay, Mingyu... As long as you take care of the company, everything’s fine. But then, what do I owe your visit to?” Mr. Kim asked as one of the household staff arrived, placing a platter of snacks between them—delicate sandwiches, imported cheeses, and fruit laid out in meticulous arrangement.

Mingyu sighed, resting his forearms on the table. Talking to his father had always been like attending a business meeting—impersonal, agenda-driven, and often emotionally exhausting. Mr. Kim rarely deviated from discussions about business, market trends, or pharmaceutical advancements. Personal matters were not his area of interest—nor, usually, his concern.

Clearing his throat, Mingyu prepared himself. “I’m starting a family with my omega, but because of this... he got fired.”

Mr. Kim had just picked up a sandwich, but the moment Mingyu said those words, his hand froze mid-air. His expression shifted instantly, his mouth falling slightly open in disbelief. Slowly, he set the sandwich down, eyes fixed on his son.

“You’re starting a family and you didn’t tell me? Anyway... Having a relationship with an alpha isn’t grounds for dismissal; that’s unjustified... I’ll call the lawyer to help you. Where does your omega work?”

There was a brief flicker of relief in Mingyu’s chest. He hadn’t expected his father to offer help so quickly. Encouraged, he decided to tell him everything without holding back. “He’s a pharmacobiologist at Moon Pharmaceuticals,” he said, allowing a small smile to tug at his lips.

But his father’s face immediately darkened. The warmth in the room seemed to vanish in an instant.

“For the rival company?” Mr. Kim’s voice rose in disbelief. “You’re joking, aren’t you, Mingyu?” He chuckled, but it was humorless, forced. He reached for his wine and took a long sip, watching his son over the rim of his glass.

“No, Dad, my omega... he actually works at Moon Pharmaceuticals,” Mingyu admitted. His voice had lowered, as if he could already feel the weight of the fallout.

“Oh, Mingyu... Well, the new director of Moon Pharmaceuticals has more sense than you do then... Or this could be a trap. What if she sent that omega to trick you into bankrupting our company? Needless to say, I don’t approve of you starting a family with that person.”

And just like that, the fragile hope Mingyu had carried into the room shattered.

“It’s a little late for your approval anyway. I trust Wonwoo. I know he wouldn’t bankrupt our company. That’s ridiculous,” he replied firmly, anger rising in his throat as he stood from the table.

“The only ridiculous thing is your relationship, Mingyu. It’s nonsense. You have to separate from that omega or you’ll have to say goodbye to the Sunrise presidency.” Mr. Kim also stood, his towering figure looming over the table. His expression had turned cold and severe, and he looked at Mingyu with a warning in his eyes—a line drawn clearly in the sand.

"I prefer my omega, Dad. Thank you so much for the support."

That was all Mingyu said before turning away and leaving the mansion as quickly as possible. He didn’t look back. The echo of his footsteps followed him through the long marble halls, his father’s looming presence still heavy in the back of his mind. The tension clung to his shoulders like a second coat as he made his way to the front door, barely nodding at the butler who returned his car keys.

Once behind the wheel, with the gates of the estate slowly opening before him, Mingyu finally exhaled. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, and a frustrated sigh slipped from his lips. As he drove away, the city lights slowly replaced the dark silhouettes of trees and distant mountains.

Now, for the first time in years, Mingyu felt a creeping sense of desperation he couldn’t quite shake. Had he just resigned as president of Sunrise Pharmaceutics? Or had his father truly meant it when he threatened to take the company away from him? The lines were always blurred with Mr. Kim—he often played power games, mixing real consequences with vague threats just to see how far Mingyu would bend.

But this felt different. He kept one hand on the wheel and ran the other through his hair, tugging gently at the roots in frustration. Who was going to take over, then? Was his father grooming someone else? Or maybe it had all been a bluff meant to scare him back into obedience? Mingyu didn’t have answers—just a hundred thoughts swirling restlessly in his head.

What troubled him most wasn’t the loss of the presidency. Mingyu had built his own wealth over the years, separate from the family business. He had diverse investments—real estate, tech stocks, biotech startups—and his savings were more than enough to support him for a lifetime. Money wasn’t the problem.

What weighed on him was the absence of his father’s support, and worse, the words he had said about Wonwoo. The judgment. The suspicion. The disgust thinly veiled as business logic.

Mingyu clenched his jaw. He would never doubt Wonwoo—not for a second. Their relationship wasn’t something either of them had to defend. They didn’t even talk much about their work lives in detail; they respected each other’s boundaries. All Won had shared was how cruel Director Kayoung had been and how his project—his pride—had been left in someone else's hands. That alone had devastated him.

The whole thing was ridiculous. No one—neither his father nor Director Moon—had any right to judge them. Their relationship was private, deeply personal, and built on real trust, something those two people clearly knew nothing about.

Mingyu tightened his grip on the wheel and nodded to himself as the city unfolded ahead of him. Whatever happened, he preferred to be honest with Wonwoo. He deserved that much. And besides… well, now they were both unemployed.

The thought made him huff a short laugh under his breath. It should have felt like a disaster, but somehow, it didn’t. Maybe it was the adrenaline still pumping through his body, or maybe it was the fact that, despite everything, he still had Won. In fact, he figured it wasn’t a bad time at all to be off work. If they had to be jobless, at least they could be jobless together.

His optimistic mindset told him this was an unexpected break—a moment to rest, reset, and focus on something bigger than work. Something like… family. And now, a new idea bloomed in his mind. He wanted to go to Changwon—to visit Wonwoo’s family, to breathe new air, to see where Won had grown up. They could even visit his own maternal grandparents while they were there.

And then it struck him—his mother. Of course. His mom could definitely help. She wasn’t involved in the pharmaceutical empire that much, but she had influence, wisdom, and—most importantly—heart. She would understand. She would see Wonwoo the way he saw him.

By the time he reached Wonwoo’s house, night had fallen completely. The sky was dark, the streetlights buzzing faintly in the quiet neighborhood. He parked the car and approached the familiar door, heart hammering a little harder than usual.

He rang the doorbell, hoping Wonwoo was home. Hoping he’d answer. Hoping…

And finally, after a few moments, the door opened. Warm light spilled out from inside. Wonwoo stood there, a little surprised, but visibly relieved to see him. Mingyu stepped inside, and they both made their way to the cozy living room, the air between them already filled with unspoken comfort.

“I have bad news and good news,” Mingyu said with a small grin, his voice casual despite the storm of events he had just lived through. His expression was light, almost playful—so much so that Wonwoo immediately suspected that both pieces of news might actually be good.

“Uhm… Tell me the bad news first…” Wonwoo replied, sitting down on the couch, curling his legs beneath him as he waited. Mingyu joined him a second later, their knees brushing gently.

“My dad fired me from work,” Mingyu confessed, as if he were talking about something entirely mundane. He even smiled.

“Why?” Won asked, clearly stunned—not just by the news, but by Mingyu’s bizarre sense of joy.

“Unfair dismissal, just like you.”

Min gave a little shrug, completely unfazed. To him, it wasn’t the end of the world. But for Wonwoo, it was something else entirely. The idea that Mingyu had lost his job because of him —because of their relationship—cut deep. The guilt struck fast and hard, and before he could stop it, tears filled his eyes.

Mingyu immediately reached out and wrapped his arms around him. He held him tightly, letting Wonwoo cry against his chest.

“We still have time,” Wonwoo murmured, his voice muffled as he buried his face deeper into Mingyu’s embrace. It wasn’t something he had thought about recently. The past few days, he’d been adjusting to the idea of two babies—two lives that depended entirely on them. He had been planning, hoping, preparing… He hadn’t thought about giving up. But this—this felt like a setback. Now both he and Min were out of work.

“Mhm? Do you still want to…? Don’t be sad.” Mingyu's voice was gentle, lips brushing Wonwoo’s temple as he spoke. “There’s still someone who can help us—my mom… I haven’t talked to her yet, but I can tomorrow. We can go together now that… well, we’re unemployed against our will.”

He tried to keep his tone light, to tease a smile from Wonwoo. Deep down, he was sure— certain —his mother would help. And even more than that, he believed she could help Won feel a little more at peace again.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Mingyu was doing everything he could to take a weight off Wonwoo’s shoulders. He could read his omega as easily as he could read his own reflection. Even without a mark yet—something he intended to change as soon as the time was right—in his mind, Wonwoo was already his, bound to him in a way that went deeper than scent or skin. He had said it before, half-joking yet completely sincere: the order of the products didn’t alter the outcome. They would end up together for life, no matter what sequence things happened in. It was a certainty, not a hope.

Still, the tension in Wonwoo was impossible to miss. Mingyu could sense it not only in the subtle lines of his face or the way his shoulders sometimes curled in on themselves, but in his scent—an undercurrent of unease that clung to the air around them no matter how serene Wonwoo tried to appear. The omega carried himself with composure, always finding ways to keep busy with activities he claimed to enjoy, but Mingyu knew the truth. Beneath that quiet exterior, his heart felt frayed at the edges, hovering dangerously close to breaking.

Wonwoo no longer had a job, and it cut deeper than simply losing an income. He loved his work—no, more than that, he was passionate about it. Being a pharmacobiological chemist wasn’t just an occupation; it was an identity, a calling. Human genetics and the complexities of second genders fascinated him in a way that had always made his eyes light up when he talked about them. His dream had been to keep developing better and better medicines, to push the boundaries of what was possible.

But now, he was adrift. Moon Kayoung had taken that from him—not only his job, but his passion. And even though days had passed, Wonwoo hadn’t applied to any other pharmaceutical company. There were reasons, and none of them were simple. Firstly, he was an omega, and in their world, it was still painfully difficult for someone of his gender to be taken seriously in the pharmaceutical field. Secondly, there was his pregnancy—he was carrying two children, a fact that would make any employer wary. No one wanted to hire someone who would inevitably take paternity leave for weeks, maybe months. And thirdly, applying for a position in a company that competed with Mingyu’s family’s business was unthinkable. He couldn’t put himself—or Mingyu—in that position.

The irony was that things had changed. Mingyu’s cousin now ran Sunrise Pharmaceutics, and Mingyu himself felt more at ease with the company’s state than he had in years. After all, the company still belonged to his father, who ultimately made the decisions. Mingyu had always known he was there only to gain experience and strengthen his resume. He had never pictured himself as the heir to that empire. In truth, he had always assumed his father would eventually have another child with one of his casual partners, and that child would inherit the company.

So Mingyu was calm, confident that his own future was not chained to the family business. But Wonwoo wasn’t. His thoughts seemed heavier every day, his silences a little longer, his smiles slightly dimmer. And Mingyu—ever determined to protect and comfort him—kept coming up with ideas to ease his worries, even if only for a little while.

That evening, when Wonwoo returned from a short walk, Mingyu met him at his house with a soft smile. “You’re not doing anything else tonight,” he declared gently but firmly. He led Wonwoo to the bathroom, where a warm bath was already running, steam rising in curling ribbons from the water. Lavender-scented salts mingled with the air, sweet and calming.

“Come on, Wonu,” Mingyu coaxed, resting his hands on the omega’s tense shoulders. “Let me take care of you tonight.” Wonwoo hesitated, murmuring about wasting water, but Mingyu only chuckled and helped him out of his sweater, careful around the gentle swell of his stomach. Lowering himself into the tub, Wonwoo let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The heat wrapped around him, easing the light but persistent ache in his lower back and the faint, nagging tightness in his hips from carrying the twins. 

Mingyu knelt beside him, his large hands kneading the knots from his neck and shoulders, occasionally brushing against damp strands of hair. “You don’t have to think about anything right now,” Mingyu murmured, voice low and steady. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.” Wonwoo’s eyelids fluttered, his body instinctively leaning into the touch, and for the first time in days, the sharp edge of his stress dulled.

A few nights later, Mingyu coaxed him up to the building’s rooftop after dinner. The air was crisp, cool enough to make Wonwoo’s cheeks flush a deep rose. The city lights stretched below them like constellations scattered across the earth. Mingyu carried a thick blanket and a thermos of caffeine-free herbal tea, mindful of Wonwoo’s condition, and draped the blanket snugly over their shoulders. 

“You will love this view,” Mingyu told him as Wonwoo settled against him, the weight of the pregnancy making him naturally lean in for support. The quiet hum of the city mixed with the steady rhythm of Mingyu’s heartbeat beneath Wonwoo’s ear, a sound that always calmed him. 

“It’s so beautiful,” Wonwoo said softly, one hand instinctively resting over his still tiny stomach as if protecting the lives inside. 

Mingyu pressed a slow kiss into his hair. “So are you. Even when you’re stressed, even when you’re tired—you’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Wonwoo’s throat tightened, but this time, the emotion was softer—warm instead of heavy.

On a rainy Sunday, Mingyu woke before Wonwoo after spending the whole night cuddling with him. The steady drumming of rain against the windows filled the apartment with a cocoon-like stillness. In the kitchen, he moved quietly, making soft pancakes, scrambled eggs, and a small bowl of fresh fruit—everything light and easy for Wonwoo’s morning appetite. 

By the time the omega stirred awake, Mingyu was already by the bed with a tray. “Good morning, love,” he greeted with a grin that lit his whole face. They ate together in bed, warm under the blankets. Mingyu made sure to keep his knee touching Wonwoo’s, offering quiet contact, while Wonwoo occasionally shifted to ease the pressure in his lower back. Mingyu kept the conversation light—funny stories from his childhood, silly observations, gentle teasing—punctuated by casual brushes of his hand over Wonwoo’s stomach, as if silently greeting the twins. 

For that hour, the heaviness that had been clinging to Wonwoo seemed to fade, replaced by the quiet certainty that, no matter how uncertain the future was, Mingyu’s presence was as steady as the heartbeat beneath his hand.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Mrs. Kim Jungeun was Kim Mingyu’s mother. She had never needed to change her last name, even after her divorce, because—by coincidence or fate—her maiden name had also been Kim. She was a well-respected doctor, an omega and baby specialist, working in Busan, just a convenient 45-minute drive from Changwon. The short distance allowed her to keep close to her roots and to care for her aging parents whenever necessary.

Mingyu had always kept in touch with her. They were close, and she had always supported him unconditionally. As a fellow omega, she understood things about him that even his father never cared to acknowledge. She had been his anchor during many difficult phases of life—his childhood, his college years, and the complicated beginning of his career.

But recently, communication between them had slipped. It wasn't because they had drifted apart emotionally—far from it. It was simply because Mingyu had been overwhelmed. His life had become a whirlwind of responsibilities: running the company, pursuing Wonwoo, pouring time and energy into gaining his trust, writing up reports for his demanding father—sometimes seven detailed emails a day just to satisfy the man’s control over the business. All of it left him exhausted, and although Jungeun understood, she had missed her son dearly.

So when she glanced out of her clinic window that morning and saw Mingyu’s familiar car pulling into the lot, her eyes widened with surprise. A bright smile spread across her face.

Not only did her son step out of the vehicle, tall and well-dressed as usual, but another boy exited as well—slightly shorter, with dark, slightly brittle hair that brushed across his forehead and nearly covered his eyes beneath his glasses. There was something delicate in his movements, something gentle in the way he stood just a step behind Mingyu.

Jungeun beamed the moment she recognized him through the glass. She walked quickly to the entrance, opening the sliding door of her clinic before they could even knock.

“Mingyu! How are you?” she called out, her voice full of affection as she approached him and threw her arms around her son. Despite his height, she stood on her tiptoes and hugged him tightly, as if trying to make up for all the time they hadn’t seen each other.

“Fine, Mom,” Mingyu replied with a soft sigh, his arms wrapping around her. There was something deeply reassuring about being held by his mother again. For a moment, the weight on his shoulders seemed to lessen.

Once they stepped back, Mingyu gestured toward his companion. “This is Wonwoo, my…” He hesitated, unsure of how to label something that felt too big for a single word. “Boyfriend? Omega? Future husband?” None of them felt quite right or complete. “Partner,” he finally exhaled.

“Oh, Wonwoo! Yes, I remember you. You were always a very smart boy in class, and I know your mother. Mrs. Jeon was always very kind to us when we moved to Changwon,” Mrs. Jungeun said warmly, stepping forward to embrace Wonu as well. Like with her son, she stood on tiptoes to reach him, and her arms were full of gentle affection.

Her voice held warmth and familiarity, and her touch was comforting. It was clear that she wasn’t just being polite—she truly remembered him.

Mingyu felt a subtle ache in his chest as he watched. His mother remembered Wonwoo, remembered those days, but he hadn’t. Not until recently. Still, that didn’t matter now. The past was the past. What truly mattered was the present—the story he and Wonwoo were building together, one chapter at a time.

When the brief hug ended, Jungeun stepped aside and gestured for them to enter. “Please come in,” she said, already having a good sense of what they wanted to tell her. As soon as she got close to them, she had picked up the scent. She could smell Wonwoo clearly. He was pregnant. And being an expert, she could already make a very good guess at how far along he might be.

Still, she waited for them to speak first. She preferred not to overwhelm her patients—especially when one of them was her son and the other was carrying her future grandchildren.

They followed her inside, stepping into the clean, calming space of her private office. The smell of lavender lingered faintly in the air. Framed certificates lined the walls, and baby-themed decor softened the clinical atmosphere. Jungeun moved behind her desk and sat down in her white coat, folding her hands patiently in front of her. Mingyu and Wonwoo took the two seats reserved for patients, side by side.

“Mom, I’m here to give you some news…” Mingyu began, his voice slow and careful. “Well, first, Wonwoo and I are together and intend to get married, although… before that, our babies might be born. Won is expecting our children.” He looked at her cautiously, bracing himself for her reaction.

Jungeun blinked, her expression flickering for just a moment with surprise before softening again. “Oh, so they’re babies, and not just one baby.” She nodded with a bright smile. “Well, it’s about time... I was actually thinking you were taking too long, I couldn’t wait for this news.”

Her voice carried a joyful energy, and then her attention turned to Wonwoo. Her maternal instincts—and her professional ones—immediately took over.

“Is he treating you well? Have you had your checkups? I can check you right now, if you like. Are you eating properly? Any nausea or food aversions? How’s your sleep? Are you taking enough folic acid? Have you started omega-safe prenatal vitamins? Do you have any cramping or discomfort when you wake up? How many weeks are you? Have you had any ultrasounds? How are your hormone levels?”

She leaned forward slightly, her tone still warm but full of concern. The doctor side of her was clearly on alert. She looked at Wonwoo with eyes that missed nothing.

“Mom! Don’t overwhelm him right now,” Mingyu interjected, clearly exasperated.

"Yeah, everything's fine. Min takes care of feeding me, we go to my appointments with Dr. Taeoh, and everything has been going well with the pregnancy... But..." Wonu looked down, and Gyu immediately remembered that not everything had been good news.

Sensing the shift in his partner’s mood, Mingyu took a breath and decided to explain. "Well, Wonwoo and I were currently unemployed," he began, carefully choosing his words. His mother’s expression changed instantly—she looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes, already preparing herself for more unexpected news.

"First, they fired Won from his job," Min explained, clearly upset as he recalled the situation. "It was completely unjustified. He worked at Moon Pharmaceuticals, and his boss told him he couldn’t have a relationship with the CEO of the competitor company."

Jungeun furrowed her brows in confusion and disbelief. She listened carefully, arms folded, the lines around her mouth tightening as she processed her son’s words.

"Oh, that seemed a little ridiculous to me," she finally said with a shake of her head, her tone a mix of disappointment and indignation. "You’d think his work and personal lives wouldn’t have anything to do with each other. Love doesn’t have those kinds of restrictions."

Min nodded slowly, appreciative of her reaction, and continued with a sigh. "When I told Dad about what happened... well, he didn’t think the same as you. He actually agreed with Wonu’s boss. He told me he didn’t approve of me having a relationship with a competitor and then took away my position at Sunrise Pharmaceutics."

He paused for a second as the bitterness of his father’s actions returned to his thoughts. He hadn’t expected support, necessarily, but losing both the position and the trust he once believed existed between them had been a blow.

Jungeun’s expression darkened further. Her jaw tightened, and she slowly reached out to place a comforting hand on her son’s. Her palm was warm, reassuring, and filled with a quiet, motherly strength.

"I can't believe your dad did those things," she said in a softer voice, rubbing Mingyu’s hand with her thumb. "Who's in charge of the company now?"

"My cousin, Jinhwan. I don’t even know if he was expecting that. But he was the one my dad gave the position to," Min answered, the disappointment clear in his voice. "I decided to take a vacation, for now. I’ve saved enough to survive comfortably for a while, but what they did to Wonwoo seemed so unfair... and I want to help."

He didn’t say it out loud, but the truth was that he would never, ever abandon Wonu. No matter what happened or what anyone thought, they were in this together—especially now, with babies on the way.

Jungeun nodded firmly, her doctor instincts kicking in alongside her protective instinct as a mother and soon-to-be grandmother. “The first thing is to contact a lawyer who specialized in labor law, and we’d see if there was a way to sue Moon Pharmaceuticals for wrongful termination. That way, we could help Wonwoo, okay?”

Her tone left no room for debate. She was serious, already mentally preparing herself to handle the situation. If there was anything she hated more than workplace injustice, it was seeing someone take advantage of her child or their loved ones.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to keep talking just then. As a professional, she had responsibilities she couldn’t postpone, and her first patients of the day were already arriving. The sounds of quiet voices and soft knocks came from the waiting room.

Won and Min understood and stood up almost at the same time, both bowing slightly as they prepared to leave.

“We need to be in touch, okay? I need more updates from you both now that I know I am going to be a grandmother,” Jungeun told them warmly as she walked them toward the door, her calm voice hiding how emotional she really felt. Inside, she was on the verge of tears—happy tears—but she held them in for now.

Wonwoo and Mingyu smiled at her words and nodded in unison, a shared, unspoken gratitude in their expressions. It meant the world to them to have at least one person in their corner, especially someone as capable, loving, and proactive as Mrs. Kim.

Now, they both planned to keep Grandma Kim updated on everything about the pregnancy—every milestone, every checkup, every craving, every worry. She had proven to be the only one so far who genuinely wanted to help them, who didn’t judge them or make them feel like they were doing something wrong. Her presence alone had been enough to lighten the burden they were carrying.

But they still had one more stop to make that day. In just forty-five minutes, they’d meet with Wonwoo’s family. Their hearts were full of hope and fear in equal measure. Hopefully, they too would stand by them—unconditionally.

Chapter 5

Mingyu parked in front of one of the first houses on the street where he had once lived. The sight alone was enough to pull at something deep in his chest. The soft afternoon light bathed the quiet neighborhood in gold, and for a moment, he simply sat there, letting the memories stir. Nostalgia washed over him in a slow, overwhelming wave, leaving him still and thoughtful, staring at the familiar surroundings without moving.

“Do you want to go see your grandparents first?” Wonwoo asked, his voice gentle as his hand came to rest on Mingyu’s arm, the warmth of his touch grounding him in the present.

Mingyu quickly shook his head, the motion firm yet calm. “No, I want to meet your parents first.”

They both stepped out of the car, the air crisp and faintly carrying the scent of blooming flowers from nearby gardens. Wonwoo walked ahead, unlocking his parents’ front door with a well-worn key that fit into the lock without hesitation, like a gesture he had repeated countless times.

Once inside, Mingyu’s eyes were immediately drawn to the large, meticulously kept garden that greeted them. Rows of vibrant flowers framed a smooth stone path, each petal and leaf speaking of careful hands and daily dedication. It was obvious Wonwoo’s mother tended to it with love.

The stone path guided them toward the entrance, where the door stood ajar. From inside, the rich aroma of homemade food drifted out to meet them, warm and inviting. Mingyu’s mouth watered as his thoughts wandered to what his mother-in-law might be preparing for dinner—something comforting, no doubt, the kind of food that wrapped you in its embrace before you even took a bite.

Wonwoo stepped into the house first, his movements familiar and unhurried as he headed toward the kitchen. Mingyu followed closely, his eyes tracing the small, homey details along the way—the framed family photos lining the hallway, the faint sound of a simmering pot in the distance, the muted hum of a ceiling fan.

From behind, he saw Mrs. Jeon at the stove, busy with whatever dish she was making. Wonwoo was doing something mischievous—approaching her quietly, almost as if planning to surprise her. Mingyu slowed his steps, curious to watch how the moment would play out.

Just before Wonwoo could say anything, the woman turned around. It was Wonwoo who ended up startled.

“Ah! My pregnant son thinks I can’t detect his scent,” Mrs. Jeon teased with a knowing smile. Wonwoo’s laughter bubbled out naturally, filling the kitchen with warmth. “From the moment you opened the door, I knew you were here,” she said, pulling him into a hug.

Wonwoo’s arms slid around his mother in return, his posture softening, making himself smaller as though he wanted to melt into the familiar comfort of her embrace.

Mingyu stood quietly, watching the scene with tenderness. The resemblance between mother and son was striking—both wore glasses, their hair equally dark and sleek, both with neat bangs that framed their faces. Even their smiles carried the same warmth.

When they finally separated, their attention shifted to Mingyu. Wonwoo didn’t even need to make introductions.

“Mingyu! Look at you, you’ve grown so much. I still remember when you were so little.” She laughed, her tone rich with fondness. “And then in high school, when everyone liked you, right, Wonwoo?” she added, a teasing lilt in her voice.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes. “I still have to introduce you, right? Mom, this is Mingyu… my partner.”

Mingyu bowed politely, but Mrs. Jeon chuckled, waving off the formality.

“Oh, calm down. Why all the formality? I already knew Mingyu. I know his mom—she’s a wonderful doctor. I also know Mr. and Mrs. Kim. The other day, when we were organizing an event, Mingyu’s grandmother made the most delicious cake and even shared the recipe with me. Mingyu, you were like family even before today.”

Her words wrapped around Mingyu like a blanket, leaving him feeling welcome and unexpectedly happy. Still, an unease lingered deep inside him. He had no memory of Wonwoo back then, and that absence stung. Mrs. Jeon, on the other hand, not only remembered him but shared a warm connection with his family—his mother, his grandparents—while he knew nothing about her.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Jeon, but I… I can’t remember Wonwoo going to school with me.” His voice carried a trace of guilt.

The woman simply shook her head, her expression patient and kind. “That’s all right,” she assured him. “I can help you remember. As soon as the food is ready, the three of us will take a trip back in time, okay?”

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

But this was not the trip back in time Wonwoo had been expecting. Mrs. Jeon sat between him and Mingyu on the couch, the large, slightly worn family album resting on her lap. She didn’t linger on the opening pages but went straight to Wonwoo’s section, flipping with the ease of someone who had memorized the order of every photograph.

This was going to be awkward. While it wasn’t truly embarrassing, Wonwoo had always been a decent, quiet, and cute kid—never the type to get into trouble. Still, he knew exactly which stage in his life made him feel the most self-conscious: his middle and high school years. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe because those were the years where he had been figuring himself out, awkwardly growing into his own skin.

And it wasn’t as if Mingyu was seeing him for the first time at that stage. He must have given him at least a glance back then—passed him in a hallway, seen him in class photos. Only, Mingyu didn’t remember. Not a single flicker of recognition.

“Oh! I even have the yearbook,” Wonwoo’s mom exclaimed suddenly, standing and disappearing briefly into another room before returning with another thick book tucked under her arm. She placed it on the table beside the album with a small, triumphant smile. “Look! There are pictures of Mingyu in here too.”

She opened the high school yearbook first, the crisp pages making a soft sound as she flipped through them. Wonwoo felt his stomach twist. There it was—his younger self, frozen in time.

He was thinner back then, his school uniform hanging a little loosely over his narrow frame. His glasses, he always said, didn’t suit him; they made his eyes look too big. His hair had been kept neat but plain, falling in a way that framed his face awkwardly. Still, there was an innocence to the way he smiled at the camera, one corner of his mouth lifting a little higher than the other.

When Mingyu saw him, there was still no spark of memory—no sudden rush of recognition. It felt, to Mingyu, like looking at a stranger. But it was a stranger who was small and sweet, and that made something in his chest ache.

He studied the picture longer than expected, his lips curling into a soft smile. “Oh… how cute Won was,” he murmured at last, his voice warm and unhurried, and for a moment, he didn’t want to turn the page.

“Do you still not remember him? He was that cute all through middle school. And look—there you are.” Mrs. Jeon pointed across the page, to a group photo on the opposite side. There was Mingyu, taller even then, standing near the back with an easy smile.

As Mingyu scanned the image, he recognized several of his old classmates, their faces a mix of familiar and distant. He still wondered why he couldn’t seem to spot Wonwoo in those mental snapshots of his past.

Then Mrs. Jeon paused on a page that wasn’t part of the official yearbook portraits—a photo clearly taken during a school event. In it, a younger Wonwoo was sitting on the grass during a sports day, his knees drawn up, a half-empty bottle of water beside him. His hair was messily pushed back, his cheeks flushed from running. Behind him, under the shade of a tree, Mingyu himself could be seen in the background, looking in another direction, holding a soccer ball.

Wonwoo blinked at the image, as if seeing it for the first time. “Oh… that day,” he murmured. Mingyu leaned closer, his eyes tracing every detail of Wonwoo’s younger expression, the way the sunlight lit the side of his face. Something about the candidness of the photo made Mingyu’s chest tighten. It wasn’t staged, wasn’t posed—just a moment that had existed without either of them realizing it had been captured.

But Mingyu’s heart wasn’t prepared for what came next. Mrs. Jeon turned to the main section of the high school portraits, and there he was again—Wonwoo in his neatly pressed uniform, smiling straight at the camera. The glasses made him look slightly different, but to Mingyu, he was still so endearing.

The wave of tenderness that hit him was overwhelming. It broke down every wall he had unconsciously kept up, filling him with guilt and affection all at once. How could he have forgotten Wonwoo? Why had he wasted so much time?

Before he could stop himself, Mingyu’s eyes blurred. The tears came quickly, spilling down his cheeks as he held the yearbook page with Wonwoo’s photo, his fingers pressing lightly against the glossy paper as if afraid it would vanish if he let go.

“My Wonwoo…” His voice cracked, and Mrs. Jeon reached out, her hand gently rubbing circles on his back while letting him cry without interruption. She and Wonwoo both knew that Mingyu’s tears weren’t from sadness alone. His scent told the truth—it was filled with happiness, tenderness, and something achingly warm. There was no bitterness in it, so neither of them felt alarmed.

“Why were you so cute?” Mingyu asked, as though there could be an answer. Wonwoo only laughed softly, the sound low and fond.

He had never considered himself cute; adolescence had felt strange and unbalanced to him. But watching Mingyu cry out of sheer tenderness for the person he had been—his awkward, glasses-wearing teenage self—was unexpectedly beautiful. It warmed something deep inside him.

Maybe, he thought, if his high school self could have known that his quiet crush on Mingyu would one day turn into a love so strong it could make him cry, he wouldn’t have believed it. And yet… here they were.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

After a while, the once-quiet house began to fill with noise and movement. Wonwoo’s siblings arrived one by one—his younger brother still in middle school, his sister in high school, and Bohyuk, the eldest of the younger three, already attending the local university. Bohyuk had just come back from classes and settled into the familiar rhythm of being home, tossing his bag on the couch before heading straight to the dining table. The atmosphere grew warmer and livelier with each new voice joining in.

Everyone seemed to know Mingyu already, and it was almost amusing how naturally they welcomed him. He didn’t even have to try—his tall frame, polite manner, and easy smile made him instantly likable. It was as if their approval came by default, as though being with Wonwoo had already granted him honorary family status.

“Oh, I remember Mingyu!” Bohyuk said suddenly, his voice bright with recognition. “Hyung had a picture of him in his bedroom, right?”

Wonwoo had just taken a sip of the lemonade his mother had served him, and he almost choked. The cold, tangy sweetness caught in his throat as he tried not to spill it, coughing lightly into his hand. Mingyu’s elbow nudged him in quiet amusement, his lips curling into a teasing smile.

“Really? What picture was it?” Mingyu asked, tilting his head toward Wonwoo with a look that was equal parts curiosity and mischief.

“No, I never had a picture of Mingyu in my bedroom,” Wonwoo replied quickly, his tone quiet but firm. Still, his earlier reaction had been enough for everyone at the table to notice.

Bohyuk bit his lip, clearly holding back laughter before continuing. “No? I remember it very well. He was wearing a… an American football uniform?”

“Oh?” Mingyu’s brow furrowed. That uniform had only been worn once—on Halloween years ago. He didn’t even have a photo from that day; his parents hadn’t been home, and he had gone out of his way to avoid his friends’ cameras. How could Wonwoo have had one?

“No, no, no…” Wonwoo cut in quickly, his words tumbling out in a rush. He honestly wasn’t sure whether Mingyu remembered that day, and he certainly didn’t know about Mingyu’s deliberate avoidance of photos. The truth was… a little questionable. He had taken the picture from a distance, using the zoom on the professional camera his cousin had lent him.

That day, Wonwoo had felt like a full-fledged Mingyu fan—watching him from afar, heart pounding, unable to resist pressing the shutter. But it wasn’t the kind of story he wanted shared over a family dinner.

“No, really… I don’t have… I didn’t have that photo, Bohyuk… You must be misremembering.”

But it had been thirteen years ago, and Bohyuk had been about eight. His memory wasn’t failing him. Still, when he saw the pink flush spreading across his brother’s cheeks and caught the way Mingyu was looking at Wonwoo with that amused, knowing smile, he decided not to push the subject.

Mingyu thought, with a small swell of confidence, that there was only one more person left to win over: the final boss of the Jeon family—Wonwoo’s father. He would be home from work any minute now, and then they would all sit together for the family meal.

The Jeon household itself reminded Mingyu of his own childhood—back when his family still shared a similar routine. He remembered the comfort of familiar voices filling the air, the smell of food drifting from the kitchen, the sound of laughter echoing through the house. But those days had slowly faded.

When his father began working long overtime hours, everything had changed. Mingyu remembered how, little by little, his father gained the trust of his bosses and started buying shares in Sunrise Pharmaceutics. The process had taken years, but eventually, when the elderly owners were ready to step back, they entrusted the company to him completely.

Mingyu knew the owners hadn’t pressured their own children to take over the business—perhaps because they genuinely trusted his father more. His father had worked tirelessly, learning the trade from the ground up, and had become a man respected by everyone in the company.

But with that success came absence. Once his father became busier, so did his mother. She might not have been away as much as his father, but her workload grew heavier too. That meant fewer family meals, fewer evenings spent together at home.

As an only child, Mingyu had filled that gap with time spent at friends’ houses, joining cousins for dinner, or staying late after school. Family gatherings like this—everyone crowded around a table—had become rare for him.

Now, sitting here with Wonwoo’s entire family, he felt the warmth of something he had missed deeply. This was what he wanted in his future—a life built with Wonwoo, filled with the same closeness and comfort he felt in this very moment.

And the thought of Wonwoo carrying twins only made that dream sweeter. The idea that their children would always have each other, sharing moments and growing up side by side, felt like a blessing.

The sound of the front door opening pulled Mingyu from his thoughts. Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall, and then Mr. Jeon appeared, his presence commanding without effort. Mingyu straightened slightly in his seat as the man entered.

Wonwoo rose to greet him, smiling warmly. “Hi, Dad, how are you?”

Mr. Jeon turned his head toward the voice, his expression shifting as recognition set in. He wasn’t as instantly perceptive as Mrs. Jeon, who could identify her son by scent alone, but the smile that spread across his face was genuine.

“Wonwoo!” he said with a laugh, stepping forward. “You deigned to visit your parents, huh?” His tone carried a playful mockery as he reached out to pull his son into a hug.

When they parted, his gaze shifted, landing on the tall young man seated nearby. His eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity before widening in recognition. “The Kims’ grandson?” he asked.

Mr. Jeon, as it turned out, also knew Mingyu. The moment their eyes met, Mingyu rose politely from his seat, his long frame unfolding with ease. He reached out, offering his hand with a firm but respectful grip.

“That’s right, I’m Kim Mingyu,” he clarified, his tone polite and steady. The two men shared a handshake, the kind that was both a greeting and an unspoken measure of character.

“Your grandparents have a large photo of your graduation in the living room,” Mr. Jeon remarked, his voice tinged with familiarity. “Sometimes I go with your grandpa to watch baseball.”

Mingyu nodded, smiling faintly at the thought of his grandfather and Wonwoo’s father sitting together at a game.

“I didn’t know you two were good friends,” Mr. Jeon added as he released Mingyu’s hand.

“We’re not friends, Dad…” Wonwoo sighed softly. There was something about his father’s demeanor—was it exhaustion? Perhaps even a slight cold? As an alpha, Mr. Jeon should have already picked up on his scent.

“Mingyu is my boyfriend,” Wonwoo clarified, the words firm but calm.

Mr. Jeon’s eyes widened, surprise flickering across his features. But it wasn’t the kind of surprise that hinted at disapproval—if anything, it seemed to carry a spark of curiosity and unexpected joy. “Oh, okay… I thought you’d be single for a while longer. We needed to expand this family,” he said, easing himself back into his seat with a faint smile.

“Yes, that’s exactly what we’re doing. The family’s going to get bigger in a few months.”

Again, Mr. Jeon turned to his son, his eyes widening further. “Wonwoo… You…?”

Before he could finish, Mrs. Jeon appeared from the kitchen, a saucepan in her hands. The rich, savory aroma of the meal followed her into the dining room as she placed it carefully in the center of the table.

“I heard you’re here, and I also heard that Wonwoo already gave you the news…” She cleared her throat meaningfully, noticing the scene—her husband and their children staring at Wonwoo with open surprise. “…He gave you all the news…”

Mr. Jeon let out a low whistle, shaking his head with a sigh. “Wow! I didn’t see that coming… I mean, really, I want you to live your life, but—”

“But this isn’t “like me”, right?” Wonwoo finished for him, his voice calm but reflective. “Yes, I know everyone sees me as a control freak who can’t do anything without planning it perfectly… But with Mingyu, I’ve been improvising. I know that.”

The room went quiet for a beat, everyone simply absorbing his words.

“So… Are you expecting a baby?”

“Babies. We’re going to have two babies,” Wonwoo said without hesitation, his voice carrying both pride and certainty.

His father’s lips broke into a wide smile, the joy in his expression unmistakable. The glow in his eyes was matched only by the slight tremor of happiness in his laugh. His siblings, however, seemed momentarily frozen in surprise, their expressions caught somewhere between shock and wonder.

“Congratulations, Wonwoo!” Bohyuk spoke first, his voice breaking the silence.

Wonwoo blinked, genuinely surprised.

“I could tell, but I wasn’t sure when I got here because I don’t have much experience with those kinds of scents,” Bohyuk explained, his tone unusually sincere. “But you smell happy and loving. Sometimes, when you came to visit us before, your scent was filled with stress and tiredness. Now, with Mingyu here, it’s not like that. Even if you’re just winging it, maybe it’s the best thing for you.”

Wonwoo hadn’t expected his younger brother to say all that—not in front of everyone, at least. He felt an unfamiliar warmth at Bohyuk’s observation, though he also knew that being an alpha meant his brother couldn’t fully understand every part of his life as an omega.

“Thank you, Bohyuk,” was all Wonwoo said for now, though he made a mental note to have a deeper conversation with him later.

Mrs. Jeon began setting out the rest of the dishes, the soft clink of ceramic and the rising steam of freshly cooked food filling the air. She moved around the table with practiced ease, passing each plate in turn until everyone had what they needed.

Mr. Jeon cleared his throat, his voice drawing the room’s attention again. “Congratulations, Wonwoo and Mingyu… I suppose you’re now welcome to the family. I’m counting on you to take care of my son and my grandchildren.” His smile this time was wide and approving.

Mingyu’s chest felt warm—no, glowing—with a rush of excitement and happiness. The acceptance in Mr. Jeon’s words settled deep inside him, solid and reassuring.

“I won’t let you down, Mr. Jeon. Count on me.” And it was a promise he had no intention of ever breaking.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Wonwoo’s parents insisted they stay the night. His old room had been kept almost exactly as he had left it years ago—the same furniture, the same pale curtains with faint sun-faded edges, even the faint scent of his old cologne lingering in the air. It felt like a time capsule.

Mingyu, curious and restless, found himself quietly searching everywhere for the photo Bohyuk had mentioned earlier. Wonwoo excused himself to the bathroom, so Mingyu took the opportunity to snoop around before his mate returned. The drawers creaked softly as he opened them, the wooden desk was coated in a thin layer of dust, and the bookshelf still held neatly arranged novels with faded spines.

On the desk, he discovered a small stack of framed photographs. There were pictures of Wonwoo with Jihoon and Soonyoung, laughing under cherry blossoms; snapshots with Minghao and Jun, their arms thrown over each other’s shoulders; and group shots from the book club, with Wonwoo sitting near the back but always smiling faintly.

It stung Mingyu more than he wanted to admit that he had never paid attention to him back then. They had crossed paths so many times without truly seeing each other. If he had noticed him, if he had cared enough to ask his name or to remember his face, maybe things would have happened differently.

In his mind, he imagined the steps they would have taken: dating and getting to know each other, slowly falling in love, starting a real relationship… and then, without hesitation, Mingyu knew he would have asked Wonwoo to marry him. Then, someday, the babies would have come—not like now, in this whirlwind of unexpected turns, but in a perfect order.

He sighed when his eyes fell on Wonwoo’s college graduation photo. Wonu looked so handsome and impossibly put-together in the black gown and blue-trimmed sash, holding his diploma with that small, proud smile. If only Mingyu had known him then… But there was no use mourning the past.

Still, his search didn’t stop. His gaze drifted upward, to the top shelf of the wardrobe, where a dusty cardboard box was tucked behind an old winter coat. He pulled it down and opened it, coughing lightly as a cloud of dust rose. Inside were more photographs, old yearbooks, and a collection of mismatched memorabilia.

One photograph in particular froze him. It was taken at a community sports event—he recognized the field instantly—and there he was, younger, standing in the middle of a group of teammates. And just behind him, partially out of focus but unmistakably there, was Wonwoo. His hair was shorter then, his face a little rounder, but his eyes were the same.

Mingyu’s breath caught. He hadn’t even realized Wonwoo had been there that day. He stared at the image, trying to recall if they had spoken, if their eyes had met, if even a passing word had been exchanged. But his memory offered nothing. It was as though the universe had given them countless small intersections, and he had simply walked past each one.

The discovery settled heavy in his chest—not as regret, but as a strange kind of wonder. Even before they had truly met, Wonwoo had been there, close enough to touch. From now on, Mingyu thought, there would be no more missed moments.

Wonwoo’s voice startled him. “What are you doing, Mingyu?”

Mingyu quickly slid the photograph back into the box and pushed it onto the shelf, turning toward him with a faint smile. “Nothing. I was just admiring you. You look very handsome there. If I had known you then, we’d be married by now.”

But even as he said it, Mingyu didn’t know if Wonwoo wanted marriage at all. “I mean… if that’s what you want. If you’d like it, yeah…”

Wonwoo didn’t answer. He simply walked toward him, his gaze soft, and kissed him—barely brushing their lips together before pulling away with a quiet sigh. “Come on, bed,” he murmured, taking Mingyu’s hand. Mingyu followed him without protest.

Wonwoo’s bed at his parents’ house wasn’t as big as the one they shared at home, but they fit perfectly if they wrapped around each other. Anyone would expect it to be awkward for two men so tall, but it wasn’t. They settled into each other’s arms as though they were shaped for it. Wonwoo pulled the blanket up to their heads and pressed his forehead against Mingyu’s.

“I feel very happy with you. So happy that I forget my problems. Thanks, Min.” He didn’t give Mingyu a chance to reply—his lips brushed against Mingyu’s in a soft, lingering kiss that carried all the unspoken gratitude and love he felt. The moment they touched, Mingyu’s scent of warm dark chocolate wrapped around Wonwoo like a protective embrace, sinking deep into his senses and calming the faint tension in his shoulders.

Wonwoo’s own scent—sweet vanilla layered with the delicate freshness of tea leaves—rose warmly between them, richer now with the subtle undertones of pregnancy. Mingyu felt it settle into his chest like a promise, stirring his instincts in a way that made him want to shield and cherish the omega in his arms forever.

Their lips moved slowly, deliberately, without urgency. It was as if the night existed only for them, stretching out endlessly so they could savor each second. There was no tongue, no teeth—only the steady, unhurried rhythm of two people who had already found everything they needed.

Wonwoo caught Mingyu’s lower lip between his own, holding it gently before they switched, the motion so perfectly in sync that it felt as natural as breathing. The kiss was lazy, drenched in affection, and each slow press of their mouths carried the weight of unspoken vows.

Mingyu’s hand instinctively slid to rest against the still tiny curve of Wonwoo’s stomach, the heat of his palm grounding the omega. He could feel the faint swell beneath his fingers, and his chest ached with a mix of pride and tenderness. Wonwoo exhaled softly into the kiss, leaning into the alpha’s touch as if it anchored him.

They stayed like that, lips brushing again and again, until the faintest sting of tenderness lingered. Wonwoo finally pulled away just enough to breathe, their noses still touching, his breath mingling with Mingyu’s. Almost every inch of his body pressed against the alpha’s broad frame—his legs tangling with Mingyu’s, his chest flush against him. It wasn’t suffocating; it was grounding, like being wrapped in the safest place in the world.

Mingyu, still lost in the warmth of his scent, tilted his head and brushed another feather-light kiss against the omega’s mouth. “You smell so perfect,” he murmured without meaning to, voice low and thick with emotion.

Wonwoo chuckled softly, the sound vibrating between them, and pressed his forehead to Mingyu’s. His scent deepened, sweeter now, carrying that subtle shift of happiness and love that only alphas could fully detect. Mingyu breathed it in like it was the only air he needed, his arms tightening protectively around him.

“Thank you, Mingyu,” he whispered, and Mingyu nodded so their noses brushed again.

“Thank you, Wonwoo. I am happy with you too.” Mingyu’s hands roamed gently over Wonwoo’s back.

“I love you, Mingyu.” His voice trembled just enough to make Mingyu’s chest ache.

“I love you, Wonwoo.” And in that quiet room, they both knew—truly knew—that as long as they were together, nothing could defeat them.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

After their visit to Wonwoo’s family home, the next day unfolded with a soft, slow kind of excitement. Mingyu and Wonwoo decided to visit Mingyu’s grandparents, who lived just a few houses down from Wonwoo’s parents—a comforting closeness that had always felt like a thread tying their two families together.

The morning air was crisp but gentle, with the sun filtering softly through the leaves that lined the quiet street. They walked hand in hand, the familiar neighborhood waking around them—neighbors tending their gardens, children’s laughter echoing from playgrounds nearby. Mingyu’s senses were alive to every detail: the faint scent of blooming jasmine carried on the breeze, the crunch of their footsteps on the sun-warmed pavement, and most notably, the comforting presence of Wonwoo’s steady hand in his own.

Their route wound past the houses where Wonwoo’s parents often spent time with Mingyu’s grandparents—little gatherings and weekend chats that had become something of a cherished tradition. The thought warmed Mingyu’s heart; it was as though these connections had quietly built a bridge between their pasts, even if he hadn’t realized it before.

As they approached the modest house, with its ivy crawling up the brick facade and windows framed by delicate lace curtains, Mingyu’s chest tightened with a mixture of nerves and fondness. The door opened almost before they knocked, and a smiling elderly woman greeted them with open arms.

“Min! Wonwoo! Come in, come in!” she beamed, her voice rich with warmth and the soft cadence of many years. Mingyu inhaled deeply—the scent of fresh-baked bread, lavender, and a subtle trace of his grandmother’s scent wrapped around them like a gentle embrace.

Inside, the living room was a tapestry of memories and love. Walls adorned with photographs captured decades of family stories—weddings, birthdays, quiet moments frozen in time. Mingyu’s gaze was immediately drawn to a large framed picture that hung prominently above the mantle: his own graduation portrait, sharp and proud, eyes shining with youthful promise.

He felt a surge of strange pride seeing it there, a silent testament to the years he had grown and changed, surrounded by the quiet support of these two people who had watched him from afar. The warmth of it was a balm to his soul, especially knowing Wonwoo had been close, even if he hadn’t truly seen Wonu back then.

His grandmother fussed lovingly over them both, offering tea brewed just right—warm, with hints of vanilla and honey that mingled effortlessly with Wonwoo’s natural scent of soothing tea leaves and vanilla itself. Mingyu’s grandfather soon joined them, his eyes crinkling in joyful greeting, his deep voice filled with gentle teasing as he addressed Wonwoo.

“Ah, the omega who stole our Mingyu’s heart,” he chuckled, though Mingyu caught the subtle teasing edge that belied his fondness. Wonwoo blushed but smiled, feeling the quiet acceptance of a family that had long welcomed Mingyu.

As the afternoon stretched lazily onward, Mingyu and Wonwoo sat surrounded by the quiet hum of shared stories and gentle laughter. Mingyu found himself looking at Wonwoo with new tenderness, aware of how their lives had intertwined in ways neither had fully grasped until now.

Wonwoo, for his part, couldn’t help but feel a soft ache for the years they had missed—not just in the big moments, but in the small ones, the everyday times when they had been neighbors, part of the same world, but somehow apart. Yet now, sitting here with Mingyu’s grandparents and the warm glow of family around them, that distance felt less important.

Mingyu reached out, fingers curling around Wonwoo’s, anchoring him in the present. “We’ve come a long way,” he murmured, his voice low but filled with hope.

Wonwoo nodded, leaning into the touch. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

The house, the photographs, the stories—they all felt like pieces of a puzzle finally coming together, weaving a future where past and present, memory and love, could coexist. In that quiet neighborhood, a few blocks from where it had all begun, Mingyu and Wonwoo found a moment of perfect peace—an affirmation that some connections, no matter how unseen, are always meant to be.

Even there, Mingyu searched through one of his grandparents’ old photo albums, his long fingers carefully turning the yellowed pages, as though the worn paper might crumble under too much pressure. The faint scent of dust and time clung to each page, and in every picture, there was a piece of a life lived before this moment. He wasn’t just looking for old memories of his family—he was hunting for something far more personal.

He wanted to see if there were any pictures of Wonwoo hidden among them. Not only because he was curious to know how many times their paths had unknowingly crossed before, but also because a quiet part of him ached to see the younger version of the omega he now loved so deeply. The thought of discovering pieces of Wonu’s life he had missed stirred a bittersweet longing in him. And then—there he was.

Wonwoo’s face was younger, softer, framed by shorter hair than he had now. He wore glasses that slipped ever so slightly down the bridge of his nose, giving him an air of studious charm. His clothes were a little loose on him—comfortable, but still neat—yet nothing could hide how adorable he looked in his school uniform. Mingyu’s lips curled into a faint smile without meaning to.

Gyu knew, deep in his bones, that if he had seen Wonwoo back then—really seen him—he would have been drawn to him instantly. The quiet, bookish boy would have caught his attention far more than any of the omegas he’d known at the time. But for some reason, that connection had been invisible back then, like a thread they hadn’t yet pulled taut.

He still wasn’t sure why Wonu—his now omega, his mate, the one who carried his children—had gone unnoticed for so long. In the album, right next to Wonwoo’s picture, because it was a group photo, were dozens of photos of himself: grinning with the soccer team, surrounded by friends from those days, posing with teachers, always in the center of the frame.

There he was with Jihoon, the president of the music club, both of them holding a certificate; with Soonyoung, the bright, energetic president of the dance club; even with the president of the robotics club during a school festival. He had been everywhere, it seemed—everywhere except where Wonwoo had been.

“You weren’t even a shadow passing by the book club,” Wonwoo said with a quiet laugh, breaking Mingyu from his thoughts. “I was right there, and you never noticed.” There was no bitterness in his tone—just amusement—but Mingyu’s chest still tightened.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, guilt threading through his voice. “I’m so sorry. If only I had known you were there… or—wait, were you the president?”

“Yes,” Wonu admitted, chuckling softly. “I was the president. Maybe I was such a good president, keeping the club running smoothly, that you never had to worry about visiting.”

“Aww, no… really, I should have gone looking for you sooner.” Mingyu’s regret was raw, heavier than he expected. He thought about all the time he’d spent giving his attention to other omegas—ones who treated him well not out of sincerity, but because he was a popular alpha, a CEO, someone who could give them status. All while Wonwoo, in his quiet innocence, had harbored feelings for him without ever making them known.

The omega who had only confessed his crush when intoxicated. The omega who had probably reached for alcohol to loosen his tongue because, even as an adult, he liked Mingyu just as much as he had as a teenager.

Gyu couldn’t hold back anymore. He pulled Wonwoo into his arms, cradling him as if afraid he might slip away. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispered against his hair. “I hope I can make up for all the lost time.”

He knew he couldn’t change the past. Those moments were sealed away, untouchable. But the future—that was his to shape. In the future, there would be their twins, their home, their quiet mornings and loud laughter. Every moment ahead of him would be with Wonwoo, and Mingyu swore to himself that he would never miss another chance to see him.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

The scent of fresh green tea drifted through the living room as Mingyu’s grandmother poured a steaming cup for Wonwoo. The older woman’s eyes softened as she glanced at the omega’s small, discreet baby bump—still barely noticeable under his loose sweater. “You should drink something warm, dear. It’s good for the little ones.”

Wonwoo accepted it with both hands, bowing his head slightly. “Thank you.” His voice was gentle, but there was a shy curve to his lips.

Mingyu sat beside him, close enough that his knee brushed against Wonwoo’s. His hand came to rest lightly over Wonu’s, guiding the cup toward him when he hesitated. “Careful, it’s hot,” he murmured, his thumb brushing along the back of Wonwoo’s hand without even thinking.

The moment felt simple, domestic—yet something in it struck Mingyu deeply. Maybe it was the way his grandmother’s house smelled faintly of pine and old paper, just like the album they had looked through earlier. Or maybe it was the realization that this was how he wanted their life to be—filled with these warm, unhurried moments, where the only thing that mattered was that Wonwoo was comfortable and safe.

When Wonwoo set the cup down, Mingyu leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his temple. “You fit here,” he whispered, not even sure if Wonu caught the words. But he meant them—meant them with all the certainty of an alpha who had finally found the home he didn’t know he’d been missing.

Chapter 6

“Excuse me, Your Honor, but without evidence that my client attempted to steal, or actually stole, any information from Moon Pharmaceuticals to pass it to his partner—who happens to work for the competitor, Sunrise Pharmaceutics—this is nothing more than speculation. Therefore, Wonwoo’s dismissal is unjustified. Furthermore, there is clear evidence that Ms. Moon Ka Young discriminated against him solely because of his second gender.” Wonwoo’s lawyer’s voice carried through the quiet courtroom, firm and precise, every syllable sharpened with conviction. He was a tall, broad-shouldered alpha, his presence filling the space with an authority that made even the opposing counsel shift uneasily. Mingyu’s mother had been the one to hire him, knowing his reputation for being relentless in labor disputes.

Attorney Park was an expert in labor law, a man who viewed unfair treatment as something personal to be dismantled piece by piece. He genuinely thought it was absurd that Wonwoo had been fired without any real proof of violating the confidentiality agreement he had signed. When Wonwoo told him about the discrimination, however, it became clear how uphill the battle would be—no one from the company was willing to testify in his favor.

But then came the break in the case: the company recordings. Audio where every word from Ms. Ka Young’s mouth was captured with unforgiving clarity—remarks dripping with prejudice, her disdain for Wonwoo’s omega status undeniable. The evidence tilted heavily in their favor, but Kayoung was determined to drag the trial on, her pride refusing to accept defeat.

When the session ended, Wonwoo slowly scanned the courtroom. Mingyu sat just a few rows back, tall enough to be spotted instantly, his dark eyes locked on him with quiet reassurance. In the background, however, stood an unexpected figure—Mr. Moon himself, the true owner of Moon Pharmaceutics, and Kayoung’s grandfather. His neatly combed white hair caught the light as he offered Wonwoo a small, knowing smile. He lingered patiently until Wonwoo stepped out of the courtroom.

“I want to talk to you two… in private,” Mr. Moon said once they were close enough to speak without raising his voice. His tone was polite, but carried a weight that made Mingyu’s shoulders stiffen. Wonwoo, however, felt none of that nervousness. He trusted this man—Mr. Moon had taught him a great deal during his internship years ago, eventually hiring him permanently. Unlike many others in the industry, the older man had never judged him for being an omega.

Without hesitation, Wonwoo reached for Mingyu’s hand, giving it a light squeeze before following Mr. Moon into a small, dimly lit room adjacent to the courtroom. The scent of polished wood and old paper hung in the air.

“I’m disappointed about what happened with Kayoung. I didn’t think my granddaughter would harbor such outdated and cruel thoughts. I’m so sorry, Wonwoo.” Those were the first words out of Mr. Moon’s mouth once the door closed. He even began to bow, leaning heavily on his cane as if ready to kneel, but Wonwoo quickly stepped forward, shaking his head.

“You don’t have to apologize, Mr. Moon… You never treated me poorly. You always acknowledged my work and supported me,” Wonwoo replied earnestly. His hand instinctively brushed over the curve of his stomach—a small but noticeable swell now that he was in his fifth month. The movement was subconscious, an absent reassurance both to himself and the life growing inside him.

The older man nodded, his expression softening. “Honestly, I see no point in dragging this lawsuit further. Let’s make a deal… between the three of us.” His gaze shifted to Mingyu. “I would like you, Kim Mingyu, to take over Moon Pharmaceuticals. Kayoung has proven herself unfit for leadership; her ideologies get in the way of business. And I don’t want to lose Wonwoo—he’s one of the best employees this company has ever had.”

Mingyu blinked, caught off guard. “Do you know my father owns Sunrise Pharmaceutics?” His voice was measured, wary.

“I know,” Mr. Moon replied calmly, “and I also know he removed you from your position, which means you’re free of those obligations. I know more about you than you realize, Mr. Kim Mingyu. You stood out for your leadership at Sunrise—your tenure saw them win ‘Great Place to Work’ in the pharmaceutical industry multiple times. I’ve read your resume, and I believe you could manage my company exceptionally well.” He then turned back to Wonwoo. “And you—I want you to stay. It would cost me more to lose you than to settle this lawsuit in your favor. I can promise your relationship will remain safe here.”

Mingyu’s eyes darted toward Wonwoo, silently asking for his thoughts. Wonwoo took a deep breath. “I truly appreciate your offer, Mr. Moon. I want to accept it—I’ve never wanted to leave Moon Pharmaceuticals. This job means everything to me. But… I’m pregnant, and I had planned to take paternity leave soon.” His tone softened at the admission, and his hand rested more firmly on his stomach, feeling a faint flutter—a quiet reminder of why this decision mattered so much.

Mr. Moon’s lips curved into a gentle smile. “Then take the time you need. I’ll keep the position open. Next week we have another court date, so I’ll present this as an alternative to the lawyers. And starting today, Kayoung’s role is suspended.” He straightened his cane with finality. “The proposal stands.”

Wonwoo felt relief bloom in his chest, though part of him still worried about Mingyu. Taking such a significant position in a rival company was not a decision to be made lightly.

As if sensing his unease, Mingyu leaned closer, speaking quietly enough for only him to hear. “Don’t worry about me when you make your choice, Wonu. Whatever you decide, we’ll handle it together.”

Later that evening, after they left the courthouse, Mingyu insisted they take the long way home. The city was settling into dusk, streetlights flickering on, their glow washing over the car’s interior. Wonwoo rested one hand on his stomach, the other intertwined with Mingyu’s on the center console. The gentle hum of the engine and the faint scent of Mingyu’s cologne calmed him, though his mind still whirled with possibilities.

When they stopped at a red light, Mingyu glanced at him, his voice warm. “You did amazing today.”

“I just stood there most of the time,” Wonwoo replied with a small laugh.

“You stood there with dignity,” Mingyu countered. “And that’s harder than it looks.” His thumb brushed over Wonwoo’s knuckles before dropping briefly to touch the swell of his belly. “Five months already… I swear you’re glowing more every day.”

Wonwoo rolled his eyes, but his lips curved. He didn’t feel glowing—more like tired and cautious—but with Mingyu’s steady presence beside him, the future didn’t feel quite as daunting.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Mingyu had been thinking carefully about Mr. Moon’s proposal ever since they left the courthouse. Wonwoo had not mentioned it again, and Min still wondered how the owner of Moon Pharmaceuticals knew so much about him. Although, when he thought about it, he remembered that his father also knew a lot about that man.

His father had known when Moon Pharmaceuticals replaced its director, and Moon Kayoung took the role, and Mingyu could still picture the industry magazines announcing the change. He remembered the glossy covers that listed the “Best Places to Work” in the pharmaceutical world. Sunrise Pharmaceutics had been among them several times under his leadership, and his father had congratulated him more than once for creating a work environment so good that employees themselves recommended it.

Still, Mingyu had never paid much attention to the competition. For him, the most important thing had always been to focus on his own work, to treat people with kindness, and to set clear goals for himself. That was why he had been a great CEO at Sunrise Pharmaceutics, despite being relatively young.

Now, he weighed all the advantages and disadvantages of Mr. Moon’s offer. He truly had enjoyed being part of the management at Sunrise, even though there had been countless rules his father had imposed—rules he had not always agreed with.

One thing stood out: Mr. Moon had promised that Wonwoo’s position and their relationship would be safe within the company. That mattered more than anything, because Wonwoo and their babies were his top priority. If his omega’s protection was guaranteed, the deal instantly seemed more appealing.

Besides, Mingyu needed a job. He might have had plenty of money saved, but he had always been thrifty and found purpose in working. The idea of simply sitting around and living off his fortune never appealed to him. The more he thought about it, the more the scale tipped toward the positive side.

But the negatives were not easy to ignore. He had no doubt that his father would be furious when he found out. It was also obvious his father already knew about Wonwoo’s lawsuit against Moon Pharmaceuticals—cases like this spread quickly in the industry. Yet Mr. Kim had not even approached his son to ask how things were going.

By now, his father must have known that Wonwoo was his omega and that he had worked for a competitor. Still, he showed no sign of caring. Unlike Mingyu’s mother, Jungeun, who had been calling him constantly, his father had remained silent.

That afternoon, after Mingyu had taken a shower and was lying stretched out on his couch, his phone lit up with his mother’s name. He answered with a sigh. “Hi, Mom…”

She laughed softly on the other end. “How was the trial today? Everything okay, Gyu?”

“Well… actually, everything is in Wonwoo’s favor, so he’s very likely to win the case. But it seems Mr. Moon wants him to drop the lawsuit and agree to a different settlement.”

Mrs. Jungeun listened intently while Mingyu explained the details of the proposal.

“Oh, that sounds like an interesting offer… How do you feel about it, Gyu?” she asked, her voice warm with genuine curiosity. She was ready to give advice if he needed it.

“Well, all things considered, I see many advantages to working as CEO of Moon Pharmaceuticals… but I’m scared about Dad. I know if I start working for the competition, he’ll get angry. He’ll probably disown me, maybe curse me, maybe even say I’m not his son anymore. And I hate thinking about that… but I have to be realistic.”

“I understand, Gyu… but it’s time for you to think about yourself. As time goes by, I realize your dad and I brought you into the world and cared for you, but that doesn’t make us your owners. You should do what your heart tells you. If your father doesn’t like it, then that will be his decision, not yours. That doesn’t make you ungrateful. We gave you wings, and what I want most is to see you fly.”

Her words settled deep in his chest. She was absolutely right, but the decision still weighed heavily on him.

Mingyu had not heard much about how his cousin was managing Sunrise since taking over, but it had not even been a month yet. His father had not contacted him about it, nor about anything else. Mingyu remembered too well how his father had forbidden his relationship with Wonwoo—how he had cared only about money and the company, never about his son’s happiness.

It was hard to accept, but maybe his mother was right. Maybe the best thing really was to fly. Later that night, Mingyu found himself sitting at the small desk in his study, the soft glow of the lamp casting warm light over scattered papers. Wonwoo was asleep on the couch in the living room, a blanket draped over him, one hand resting instinctively on his stomach as he slept.

Mingyu leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. The room was silent except for the faint ticking of the wall clock. He thought about the babies, about Wonwoo’s soft smile when he had first felt them move, about how fiercely he wanted to protect them. The thought of working for Mr. Moon didn’t just mean taking a new position—it meant stability, security, and proving to the industry that he was more than just his father’s son.

He rose quietly, padded into the living room, and crouched beside Wonwoo. Carefully, he brushed a stray strand of hair from his omega’s forehead, pressing a soft kiss there. Wonwoo stirred but didn’t wake.

“I’ll figure it out,” Mingyu whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’ll make sure you and the babies are safe… no matter what it takes.”

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

A few days later, Wonwoo, Mingyu, their lawyers, and Mr. Moon with his legal team gathered in the sleek conference room at Moon Pharmaceuticals to review the agreement and the newly drafted contracts for Wonwoo and Mingyu. The air was thick with anticipation, a mixture of professional tension and personal stakes. The documents spelled out everything with meticulous precision: their working relationship, though hierarchical, would not be restricted, acknowledging the blurred lines between employer and partner. Every payment schedule, bonus clause, and contractual term was carefully listed, leaving nothing to interpretation.

There was even a clause allowing Mingyu to keep his position confidential, presumably to shield him from his father’s scrutiny. Gyu understood the implication immediately: this would allow him to operate under an alias as CEO, keeping his involvement a secret. But Mingyu’s sense of integrity and pride flared. He didn’t want to hide; he didn’t want to play spy in his own life. He requested the clause’s removal, feeling the weight of the moment press against him like a physical force.

The potential scandal in the pharmaceutical industry was already electric in his mind: Sunrise Pharmaceutics’ son suddenly at the helm of Moon Pharmaceuticals. No one—no rival entrepreneur, no analyst—had anticipated this turn. It was the kind of headline that would make the boardrooms buzz and the press scramble.

Once the contracts were signed, Mr. Moon’s office seemed to breathe with satisfaction. Mingyu and Wonwoo exchanged smiles that were equal parts triumph and relief. Outside, the news broke like wildfire. Headlines flashed across screens and social media feeds: “Moon Pharmaceuticals Announces New CEO—Where Is the Granddaughter?” “Kim Mingyu, Sunrise Pharmaceutics’ Heir, Takes Over Moon Pharmaceuticals—A Bold Move?” Mingyu’s phone rang incessantly. Every buzz and ping was a reminder that the world was suddenly watching.

He wasn’t a celebrity, and most journalists had never paid attention to the pharmaceutical world. But now everyone wanted the inside story: why had he chosen to lead his father’s rival company? Why had he dared to step into the spotlight as both heir and competitor?

Mingyu ignored most calls, focused on the tasks ahead. But one call couldn’t be ignored. When the screen lit up with his father’s name, he felt a familiar tightening in his chest. He drew in a deep breath, bracing himself, and answered.

“Hello, Dad?” His voice carried the calm confidence he wanted to project, though his stomach knotted beneath his tailored suit.

Laughter crackled through the line. “May I ask why?” His father’s tone was sharp, layered with curiosity and a hint of menace.

“I needed a job, and I have experience as a CEO,” Mingyu replied evenly, forcing steadiness into his tone despite the dry lump in his throat. “My family will need me.” Inside, his heart thudded violently—he could feel the pulse in his temples—but his words remained firm.

“Family? Ah… So the omega succeeded, right? He destroyed Sunrise Pharmaceutics from within,” Mr. Kim said, laughter spilling over into a chuckle. “That was the plan, yes? That omega only sweet-talked you, got pregnant, and convinced you to work for his boss.”

Mingyu’s jaw tightened. No. Wonwoo had no way of predicting this. He could feel his Omega’s warmth beside him now, his hand brushing against Mingyu’s in silent support. The thought of Wonwoo’s rounded belly, small but undeniably there in his fifth month of pregnancy, made Mingyu’s chest ache with protectiveness. No scheme could account for the life they were building together.

“Well, now we can both be happy, Dad,” Mingyu interjected smoothly, voice firm and calm. “Moon and Sunrise Pharmaceutics aren’t the only pharmaceutical companies in Korea—or in the world. The competition isn’t just between us.”

Min’s words were measured but full of quiet conviction. The man on the other line laughed again, disbelief ringing through.

“It seems that omega really has you stupid. How can a… hole… be more important than your father’s company? Ungrateful, Mingyu.”

The insult stung, but Mingyu drew on his training in diplomacy—and on everything his mother had taught him. He straightened in his chair, thought of Wonwoo adjusting his back carefully as his belly pressed forward, and spoke with the precision of someone wielding kindness as a weapon.

“I’m not ungrateful, Dad. In the end, you gave me the wings, and now I can fly. I wish you much success. I will work hard to show you that you raised and taught your son well. We’ll talk later.”

Even as he spoke, he felt the subtle flutter of movement from Wonwoo, a small kick or nudge that reminded him why all of this—titles, contracts, industry rivalries—mattered far less than the life they were nurturing together. Mingyu hung up, fingers tightening around the phone, and glanced at Wonwoo, who smiled softly, resting a hand protectively over his rounded stomach.

It was in that quiet, shared moment that Mingyu realized: no contract, no scandal, no boardroom drama could ever outweigh the family he was building—and the Omega who had, against every expectation, completely undone him in the best possible way.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Mingyu’s role at Moon Pharmaceutics turned out to be… surprisingly comfortable and free for him. The pressure he had anticipated was there, of course, but it came with a level of autonomy and trust that he hadn’t expected. Mr. Moon had explicitly told him that he trusted Mingyu to steer the company in the right direction, and that assurance alone lifted a weight off his shoulders. The first thing Mingyu did was methodically review the company regulations, reading every clause with careful attention, noting where procedures could be streamlined or improved. Min explained that the best CEO was one who understood every corner of the company and sought improvement in all areas, no matter how small. Inspired, Mingyu began implementing subtle but effective changes—adjustments to workflow, clearer communication channels between departments, and new standards that encouraged innovation while respecting each employee’s individuality.

After addressing internal processes, Mingyu turned his attention to human resources. Under Kayoung’s orders, HR had been rejecting applications and resumes from omegas, a policy that excluded countless qualified candidates. Mingyu immediately rescinded this restriction. Eunbin fled Moon Pharmaceuticals in a panic once she realized Kayoung was no longer in charge. When Eunbin finally submitted her resignation, Wonwoo, who had been quietly observing the changes, felt no desire for revenge. Despite her past betrayals, he allowed her to leave without interference. He could have used his newfound authority to retaliate now that Mingyu was CEO, but Wonwoo preferred to let karma run its course. He had faith it would reach Eunbin eventually.

Still, he couldn’t ignore the pressing needs of the company. The express migraine medication project, delayed by Kayoung’s antics and the ongoing lawsuit, required immediate attention. Wonwoo felt the familiar tightness in his shoulders as he considered the backlog and the urgency. His mind raced through potential candidates to take over critical tasks, but few had the necessary experience. Most applicants were seeking their first jobs in the industry, leaving Wonwoo increasingly stressed. Then Mingyu’s mind lit up with an idea—Chan.

Chan, a young pharmacobiological chemist who had interned at Sunrise Pharmaceutics, was both intelligent and remarkably dedicated. He had proven himself early on with his meticulous research and creative problem-solving. Yet, when Mingyu’s father had considered hiring him, he was rejected purely because he was an omega. Mr. Kim had refused even to hear Mingyu’s arguments, a decision that had frustrated Min greatly at the time. Now, determined to correct the injustice, Mingyu sought out Chan, aware that the young man had probably left the industry entirely because of discrimination. The thought made Mingyu’s jaw tighten—he could not abide such unfairness, and he was determined to set it right.

Arrangements were made for Chan to visit Moon Pharmaceuticals. When Mingyu told him to go to the competitor’s building, the young chemist hesitated nervously. Chan had heard of the harsh treatment omegas had received under the previous director, and he found it hard to believe that Mingyu, someone he had always admired from a distance, was now running the company. Yet as soon as he arrived at the reception, received his visitor badge, and noticed the friendly demeanor of everyone around him, a small part of his anxiety eased.

By the time Chan entered Mingyu’s office, the nervous energy had largely shifted into cautious curiosity. Mingyu greeted him warmly, his presence commanding yet approachable. “Welcome. Director Kim is waiting for you,” the receptionist said.

“Director Kim?” Chan repeated, blinking in surprise. So it really wasn’t a joke.

Pushing the door open, Chan found Mingyu seated at his desk, the sunlight catching in his hair, casting him in a glow that seemed almost unreal. “Good morning, hyung,” Chan greeted softly, the word carrying both respect and familiarity. Mingyu looked up, his radiant smile instantly contagious. Chan felt an involuntary smile spread across his own face, heart quickening at the sight.

Before this, Chan had refused any opportunities that might bring him back into the pharmaceutical industry. But seeing Mingyu now—the man who had always been attentive, considerate, and genuinely invested in his ideas—made Chan feel the old spark of admiration and something more: a long-standing crush that had only deepened with time. His gaze lingered on Mingyu, sensing not only his confidence and authority but also the warmth and integrity in his essence. A pang of longing shot through him. Of course, Mingyu already had a partner.

“Chan! I’m so glad you could come. It may sound cruel, but it’s actually a relief that you’re not currently employed in the industry, because I want you to work for me,” Mingyu said as he gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. His tone was light, confident, and inviting, yet there was a quiet weight to it—an unspoken assurance that Chan would be valued here, protected, and respected.

Chan nodded slowly, his lips curving into a bittersweet smile. “Maybe it’s cruel, but I’m also glad to see you again,” he answered honestly. And it was true. He had always adored Gyu—not just as a boss, but as a figure he deeply respected.

“Excellent. When can you start? We’re a bit rushed with a project right now, but I know you can pick it up quickly,” Mingyu explained, his voice calm yet carrying that steady authority that always made people want to rise to his expectations.

Chan glanced down, thinking carefully. “Well… I didn’t bring my lab coat, but if you have one I can use, then I can start today.” His tone was firm, without hesitation. He was fully prepared to throw himself back into the lab.

Chan had always been passionate about his profession—burning with a drive that no one could ever dim. He had fought relentlessly to stay in school despite the prejudices and obstacles that came with being an omega. And even after that, he did everything within his power to carve a place for himself in the industry. He had earned an internship at one of the largest pharmaceutical companies in the country—an achievement most people in his field only dreamed of—though fate hadn’t allowed him to stay and continue there.

So if the opportunity was in front of him now, to start today, right this very moment, he would take it without looking back. And if it meant helping Mingyu at the same time, then he would gladly pour his energy into it.

That precise determination was what Mingyu liked. The alpha’s lips curved into one of his beautiful, easy smiles—the kind that lit up his features and seemed to make the whole room brighter. Chan’s chest tightened at the sight, his heart stuttering painfully, because he could smell it clearly now: the faint but undeniable scent of another omega lingering on Mingyu, intertwined with his alpha’s own. A bond scent.

Mingyu stood, the chair scraping softly against the floor. “Come on. There should be a lab coat for you. You can see the lab, too,” he said smoothly, already heading for the door.

Chan followed, and together they went downstairs. Mingyu guided him through the routine—proper clothing, protective gear, the materials he would need to start—and then finally, they arrived at the lab.

The moment Chan stepped inside, his sharp senses picked everything up at once. The faint whir of machines. The sterile tang of chemicals in the air. And then—the most striking thing—the presence of another omega. A scent, soft yet stressed, wound tightly with Mingyu’s alpha scent in a way that made Chan freeze. The bond was obvious. This wasn’t just a colleague. This omega belonged to Min.

“This is Wonwoo,” Mingyu introduced warmly. “He’s our star pharmacobiologist chemist.” He laughed lightly, and in the distance, Wonwoo rolled his eyes at the exaggeration, adjusting his glasses when they slipped down the bridge of his nose.

“Hi,” Wonwoo said, his voice calm and steady despite the tension Chan could feel coming from him. “I’m Wonwoo. Nice to meet you.” His hand went briefly to his middle, almost unconsciously, a protective gesture. At nearly six months pregnant, his body carried the quiet weight of life growing within him, though he carried it with a kind of natural grace. The faint curve beneath his loose shirt wasn’t hidden, and Chan noticed it immediately, the bond scent on Mingyu only intensifying around him because of it.

Mingyu had spoken about him before, Chan realized. The admiration in his voice when he had mentioned Wonwoo hadn’t been exaggerated. He had told Chan about his partner’s brilliance, about how precise and meticulous he was in his work. And looking at Wonwoo now, Chan understood why.

Chan bowed his head respectfully. “I’m here to work with you, Hyung. Count on me.” His voice was sincere. Because—even though Wonwoo was the omega who probably held Mingyu’s heart completely now, even though the bond scent between them was strong enough to make Chan ache—it was impossible to hate him. Wonwoo’s stress was evident in the slight crease of his brows, in the way his fingers lingered near his belly as though grounding himself, and Chan only felt the desire to help ease that burden.

“Thanks, Chan. Come, so I can explain the project to you,” Wonwoo said, gesturing for him to sit at the bench beside him. His tone softened as he turned his attention back to the computer screen, preparing to walk him through the files and data.

Mingyu lingered just long enough to see them settled before straightening to leave. “Then it’s time for me to go, Chan. It might be annoying, but please send your documents tonight to the HR email I’ll send you in a bit, just to officially sign you up with the company. Thank you for everything.” He gave them both a thumbs-up before heading toward the door.

The moment he stepped out, the atmosphere shifted. Without Mingyu’s grounding alpha presence, the lab felt quieter, more focused—though the bond-scent he left behind still hung gently in the air, wrapped around Wonwoo like an invisible cloak. Chan exhaled softly, turning toward Wonwoo. He had work to do, and though the circumstances stirred complicated feelings, he was determined to prove himself.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Wonwoo was impressed with Chan. Truly impressed. The younger omega was not only sweet and respectful in his manner, but also incredibly sharp-minded, grasping the nuances of the project far faster than he had expected. It wasn’t easy for anyone, not even seasoned researchers, to understand the intricacies of a pharmacobiological study on their first day, yet Chan had followed his explanations with bright eyes, nodding at the right moments, asking questions that showed he was already connecting pieces together in his mind.

It was refreshing. Wonwoo had worked with many colleagues before—alphas, betas—and while professionalism usually carried them through, there was something different about working beside another omega who shared the same unspoken struggles. Even though most of their conversations revolved strictly around work—discussing procedures, adjusting formulas, reviewing data—Wonwoo found himself slowly, almost unconsciously, uncovering more and more about his new lab partner with every hour they spent together.

There was a subtle ease in the way Chan moved around him, an understanding that didn’t need words. Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was empathy, but Wonwoo could feel it—Chan understood him in a way few did. And quietly, deep inside, he thanked Mingyu for choosing him. For bringing another omega into their circle. It wasn’t only about convenience or skill; it was about solidarity.

Because Wonwoo knew what it meant to carve a space for himself in a field dominated by alphas and betas, where every glance held doubt and every achievement had to be twice as sharp to be acknowledged. Chan, too, had walked that road. Maybe his beginning hadn’t been as fortunate—Mr. Kim hadn’t trusted him enough to hire him back then, a rejection that must have weighed heavily on his young shoulders. But Mingyu had trusted him. And that difference, that faith, had opened this new path.

They worked well together. Almost seamlessly. Both of them had a talent for concentration, slipping into long stretches of focused silence, broken only by the sound of machines humming or the tapping of keys on the computer.

At one point, Chan leaned over the bench, scanning the formula on the screen. “So this compound,” he began carefully, “it reacts in less than fifteen seconds once it enters the bloodstream?”

“Closer to ten,” Wonwoo corrected, adjusting his glasses and pointing at the molecular diagram. “The binding efficiency is unusually high. That’s why this drug is different—it doesn’t just mask the pain, it interrupts the pain pathway almost immediately.”

Chan’s eyes widened slightly, impressed. “That’s incredible… it’ll feel like a miracle to someone suffering.”

Wonwoo gave a faint, wry smile. “That’s the idea. Migraine pain is… debilitating. You can’t function when it hits. Seconds matter.”

Chan glanced at him, curiosity sparking. “Hyung… have you ever had one?”

“Many,” Wonwoo admitted, leaning back a little. His hand drifted unconsciously to his stomach, a habit these days. “Before pregnancy, I managed them with medication, but they were never instant. Sometimes I’d lose entire days. That’s why I wanted this project to succeed. If it helps me, it can help others too.”

Chan’s expression softened, his respect deepening. “It makes sense now. You’re not just researching—you’re fighting for something personal.”

Wonwoo didn’t respond right away. Instead, he clicked through the data files, then said quietly, “Every scientist is, in one way or another. You’ll find your reason too, Channie.”

The younger omega smiled at the nickname, warmth flickering in his chest. He nodded firmly. “I think I already have, Hyung.”

Wonwoo looked at him for a brief moment, caught by the sincerity in his eyes, before returning to the results in front of them.

The project itself was already nearing its conclusion—the formulas had been tested, the calculations refined, and most of the groundwork carefully laid out. All that remained was to assemble the final pieces, run the concluding tests, and prepare for the volunteer trials that would take place in the coming days.

On Chan’s very first day, they had managed to move forward with remarkable efficiency, ticking off tasks from the long list that had been weighing on Wonwoo for weeks. The last and most crucial experiment would be conducted in two more days, after tomorrow’s recruitment of volunteers. It was the kind of careful pacing that science demanded, where patience was as vital as precision.

Ah, Chan truly was a blessing for him. Wonwoo hadn’t realized how heavy the burden had become until he felt it begin to lighten. Having someone beside him who worked with such dedication, who respected his guidance and absorbed knowledge so quickly—it was almost like breathing easier after holding his breath for too long.

And the younger one was learning rapidly. Wonwoo could see it in his notes, in the way he adapted to each new instruction. Chan had probably heard of him before—after all, in their field, names circulated quickly. But theory and reputation were nothing compared to working side by side. Chan seemed genuinely astonished at his methods, at the meticulous way Wonwoo observed and recorded, how he dissected results with careful eyes and an almost obsessive organization. It wasn’t arrogance; it was simply the way he worked—precise, methodical, unwilling to let anything slip through the cracks.

Chan, for his part, looked almost relieved to be paired with someone who truly understood him—not just as a scientist, but as an omega navigating this world. There was a quiet camaraderie forming between them, built not on shared personal stories, but on the silent acknowledgment of their realities.

And yes, Chan was intelligent. Bright in a way that made Wonwoo see his own reflection in him, like a younger version of himself, hungry to prove and eager to grow. Even the faint, lingering crush he had once harbored for Mingyu seemed to fade in comparison to the new respect taking root in him. Standing shoulder to shoulder with another omega of such skill, Chan seemed to realize that admiration could shift—that it wasn’t only reserved for an alpha like Mingyu, but could also be given to someone like Wonwoo, who had carved his own path with quiet resilience.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

The hours stretched into the evening, the soft glow of the lab’s lights casting long shadows over the benches. Wonwoo shifted slightly in his chair, pressing a discreet hand to his lower back. At almost six months pregnant, his body had begun to protest against the long hours he insisted on working. The twins—he could feel them now, restless at times—shifted faintly within him, a subtle reminder that he was carrying more than just the weight of research.

Chan noticed. Out of the corner of his eye, while reviewing the latest data, he saw the way Wonwoo’s posture stiffened, the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw. He didn’t say anything immediately—respectful as always—but after a moment, he set down his pen.

“Hyung,” he said softly, hesitant but sincere, “maybe you should take a short break. I can organize the last results while you rest.”

Wonwoo blinked, caught off guard, and let out a small chuckle. “You noticed?”

Chan smiled sheepishly. “A little. My mother used to get back pain when she was pregnant… I just recognized it.” He quickly added, “I don’t mean to pry, Hyung, just… you’re working too hard.”

Wonwoo looked at him for a moment, then exhaled, leaning back in his chair. The truth was, it felt nice—to be seen, to be understood without judgment. “Thank you, Chan,” he murmured, adjusting his glasses. “Maybe just a few minutes.”

As Wonwoo leaned back to ease the tension, Chan quietly gathered their notes, straightening them into neat piles. The silence between them wasn’t heavy; it was comfortable, filled with the shared rhythm of work and a subtle bond of trust growing stronger with every hour. For the first time in a long while, Wonwoo didn’t feel so alone in the lab.

Chapter 7

Finally, Excelpain was released. The medicine that Wonwoo had poured his heart, mind, and every ounce of energy into was now available to the public. It had been his project, his responsibility, his pride, and the one thing that had kept him working late nights even when exhaustion weighed heavily on him. With Chan’s help, he had managed to perfect it, running the last rounds of tests and experiments with such precision that even the strictest evaluators could find no flaw. Everything went smoothly, and after months of effort and sacrifice, the drug was ready for people to buy.

“Can you believe it’s finally out there?” Chan had said when they received the official confirmation.

Wonwoo had smiled softly, his hand brushing over his belly. “Sometimes it feels unreal… but knowing how many people will benefit makes it worth everything. Thank you, Chan. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Chan’s grin had been bright, boyish. “No, hyung. You’re the genius here. I just followed your lead.”

With the project officially closed, Wonwoo submitted his request for paternity leave, which was approved without hesitation by the CEO of Moon Pharmaceuticals—who also happened to be his boyfriend, Kim Mingyu. A couple of days later, Wonwoo’s mother moved into his apartment. Not just to visit, but to truly settle in, making it her responsibility to take care of him and help him through the last stretch of his pregnancy.

For Mingyu, it was a bittersweet adjustment. He couldn’t deny that he felt a little sad about the timing. Sometimes he wondered if accepting this CEO position had been the wrong decision, because he wanted to be the one always caring for Wonwoo, especially now that he was in his eighth month and needed extra support. Mingyu longed to be the one cooking for him, massaging his swollen ankles, making sure he drank enough water, and simply keeping him company during the long afternoons. But work demanded his presence, and he couldn’t abandon his responsibilities either.

One evening, as he helped Wonwoo settle more comfortably on the couch, Mingyu sighed. “I hate not being here more. I feel like I’m missing so much.”

Wonwoo shook his head, resting his hand over Mingyu’s. “You’re not missing anything. You’re here every night, every appointment. And you’re working so hard… for us. For the babies. Don’t ever think you’re not doing enough.”

Mingyu leaned down, pressing his forehead against Wonwoo’s shoulder. “I just want to be your first call for everything.”

“You already are,” Wonwoo whispered, kissing the top of his head.

Still, Mingyu had arranged his schedule with meticulous care. Every single medical appointment was already marked in his calendar, and he made sure he had permission to leave work at any given moment should an emergency arise. He couldn’t risk being unavailable—not now, not when the babies could decide to come earlier than expected.

Thankfully, he wasn’t alone. Myeong, his assistant, had been an irreplaceable support. She knew every corner of the company, every file, and every process, and with her years of experience, she was always ready to step in whenever Mingyu needed to rush to Wonwoo’s side. Mr. Moon himself had placed great trust in Mingyu as the new director, and things seemed to be going smoothly. The company was thriving, Excelpain was already being praised by doctors and patients, and research for the next pharmaceutical projects had already begun under Chan’s initiative.

Meanwhile, Wonwoo’s pregnancy progressed beautifully. His belly had grown round and heavy, stretching the fabric of his loose shirts. His mother often fussed over him, making sure he ate well, and every day she prepared homemade meals filled with nutrition and warmth. Wonwoo ate them happily, comforted by her presence, though he never stopped craving Mingyu’s little surprises.

Every night, without fail, Mingyu came home carrying something—sometimes a bag of steaming take-out from Wonwoo’s favorite restaurant, other times a dessert he knew would make him smile. There were even nights when he showed up with strange combinations of food, ones that made no sense until Wonwoo tasted them and realized it was exactly what he had been wanting all day. Their bond was that strong; Mingyu often craved what Wonwoo craved, as if their instincts were deeply tied together.

“Did you… bring fried chicken with strawberry milk?” Wonwoo had asked one night, raising an eyebrow at the strange pairing.

Mingyu looked sheepish as he set the bag down. “Don’t laugh. I couldn’t stop thinking about it on the way home. And I swear it felt like… it wasn’t just me craving it.”

Wonwoo had chuckled, taking a bite and humming softly. “You’re ridiculous… but you’re right. This is exactly what I wanted.”

The sight of his alpha’s tall frame entering the apartment, tired yet still smiling warmly, filled him with peace. He wished Mingyu could stay overnight, but with his mother living there, things felt complicated. It wasn’t that she disapproved—after all, she knew exactly why her son was pregnant and who the father was. But Wonwoo’s shy nature made it hard for him to relax completely with his mother around, and Mingyu respected that.

Even so, they had already planned their future. When the babies were born, Wonwoo would move into Mingyu’s penthouse. The large apartment had more than enough space, and Mingyu had already dedicated an extra room to become the room for the babies. Together, they had chosen the furniture and discussed the colors, soft neutrals mixed with pastel accents, warm and soothing for the twins. Wonwoo couldn’t walk around too much now, so he hadn’t visited the penthouse personally, but Mingyu never failed to keep him updated. He sent photos and videos of every little change, sometimes even video-calling him while in the middle of painting a wall or assembling a crib. And when he visited, he showed Wonwoo the progress with such enthusiasm that it made him feel like he was there in person.

“Do you like the curtains?” Mingyu had asked through the screen once, holding them up awkwardly.

“They’re perfect,” Wonwoo answered, laughing softly. “But you should probably stop climbing ladders without someone holding them. I don’t need my alpha breaking a leg before the babies are born.”

“Noted,” Mingyu said, grinning. “I’ll be more careful—for you and for them.”

Everything was coming together perfectly. Wonwoo had already decided he would rent out his apartment once he moved in with Mingyu. It was cozy and well-kept, perfect for a single omega, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough for a family. His mother slept on the couch during her stay, though she insisted it was very comfortable.

With so much care and organization, it felt like nothing could go wrong.

One evening, after a particularly long day, Mingyu came home to find Wonwoo lying on the couch, one hand resting over his swollen belly. His mother had already gone to bed, leaving them in the soft quiet of the living room.

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo said softly, his eyes lighting up the moment he saw him.

Mingyu smiled, placing the take-out bags on the table before walking over to him. “How are my loves doing?” he asked, kneeling down so he could press his ear gently against Wonwoo’s belly. The faintest kick responded, and Mingyu laughed, looking up at Wonwoo with so much adoration it made his chest ache.

“They’ve been restless today,” Wonwoo admitted, stroking Mingyu’s hair. “I think they miss you when you’re gone.”

Mingyu kissed the side of his belly and then leaned up to press a tender kiss to Wonwoo’s lips. “I miss you too. Every second.”

Carefully, he sat beside him and began massaging his swollen ankles, his large hands warm and steady. Wonwoo sighed in relief, leaning back against the cushions. Mingyu never complained, never hesitated—he simply gave, and gave, and gave, as if caring for Wonwoo was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re amazing,” Wonwoo whispered.

“No,” Mingyu murmured, gazing at him with a soft smile, “ you are. You’re carrying our babies, enduring everything with so much strength. I can’t wait until they’re here, so I can finally see all three of you every day, together, in our home.”

Wonwoo’s eyes grew misty, but his smile was bright. He placed his hand over Mingyu’s and squeezed gently. In that moment, surrounded by quiet warmth, he felt safe—utterly and completely safe in his alpha’s love.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

It was September 6th, the long-awaited day of Wonwoo’s delivery. Everything had been carefully planned for weeks. Mrs. Jeon was there to stay and assist with the birth of her grandchildren, while Dr. Kang Taeoh, with a team of nurses, had prepared everything for the procedure. Mingyu’s mother had also wanted to be present, but she had been called back to Busan for an emergency with one of her patients and could not leave.

Mingyu spent the morning with Wonwoo in his hospital room, holding his hand, trying to keep him calm while they waited for the first contractions to begin. The omega looked pale but beautiful, his round belly heavy under the hospital gown. Mingyu stroked his hair, whispered reassurances, and helped him drink water in small sips.

“You’re doing amazing, Wonu,” he had said softly, squeezing his hand. “Just a little longer, and we’ll finally meet them.”

Wonwoo’s lips curved faintly, his voice thin but steady. “I’m scared, Gyu… but I want to see them more than anything.”

“I know,” Mingyu whispered, kissing his forehead. “And I’ll be right outside the whole time. Nothing will happen to you. I swear it.”

Soon after, Mingyu had to leave the room so the doctors could begin preparing the procedure. The alpha’s chest tightened as the door closed behind him. No matter how much he wanted to stay, to fight for the right to remain at Wonwoo’s side, he knew he had to trust Taeoh.

Still, he was nervous, unbearably so. Taeoh had reassured him before that Wonwoo’s dilation rate was good, that there was no reason to worry, but Mingyu couldn’t silence the storm in his chest. All the tests had shown that the babies were perfectly healthy, yet the only thing Mingyu could think of was their size. They were big babies—too big. And he couldn’t help but blame himself for it.

When Mingyu was born, he weighed 4.6 kilograms, the heaviest baby recorded at the hospital that year. He had often joked about it, but now the reality of genetics weighed heavily on him. Wonwoo had been so well-fed, cared for, and loved during the pregnancy that the twins had grown just as big as their father.

“Almost nine kilograms together,” Mingyu muttered to himself in the waiting room, running a hand over his face. “It’s too much for him…”

But maybe, he thought, Taeoh was exaggerating. Wonwoo’s belly was big but not impossibly so. He tried to hold onto that thought, but every glance at the clock chipped away at his patience. Four hours passed. Then five. Then six. The clock dragged slowly, and Mingyu’s anxiety twisted tighter and tighter in his stomach until it became unbearable.

He was just about to knock on the delivery room door, desperate for answers, when Taeoh finally emerged. The poor doctor was drenched in sweat, his mask pulled down, his surgical cap loose on his damp hair. His steps were heavy as he collapsed onto the bench across from Mingyu, letting out a long, exhausted sigh.

“Oh, Mingyu…” Taeoh murmured, closing his eyes. “It was complicated.”

Mingyu’s stomach dropped. His blood ran cold, and he shot to his feet in alarm, eyes wide with panic. “What? How—how did it get complicated? Is Won okay? Where are the babies? Tell me, Taeoh!” His voice cracked, his hands trembling as he reached for the doctor.

Taeoh leaned back, still catching his breath. “It was the hardest birth I’ve ever assisted, Mingyu. I won’t lie to you. But listen to me—” He opened his eyes and fixed them on the frantic alpha. “They’re all fine. Wonwoo is stable, and so are the babies. You don’t have to worry.”

Mingyu’s legs nearly gave out from the relief. He sank back onto the bench, burying his face in his hands as his whole body trembled. “God… thank you…”

The doctor continued, explaining the situation. The babies had weighed 3.8 kilograms each—big, strong babies. The delivery had become complicated because the first baby had taken longer than expected to descend. Wonwoo had been exhausted after pushing, his body nearly giving out, so they had to hurry to deliver the second before complications arose. In the end, they had no choice but to perform a C-section to bring the second baby out quickly.

“That’s why it was complicated,” Taeoh admitted, his voice gentle but firm. “Wonwoo’s body was only prepared for a natural birth. After pushing for so long, he was drained. But once we switched procedures, everything went smoothly. It was just… harder on him.”

Finally, the situation stabilized. Both babies were healthy and strong, and Wonwoo, though exhausted, was safe. They were in recovery now, sleeping soundly. Mrs. Jeon had been the one to hold the newborns first, carrying them to be checked and then placing them in warm bassinets near the stretcher area. Wonwoo hadn’t been able to see them yet; his body had given in to deep, heavy sleep.

Mingyu’s chest ached with guilt for not having been by his omega’s side in that moment of struggle, but he knew Mrs. Jeon had been there, comforting her son. At least Wonwoo hadn’t been alone.

Taeoh placed a hand on his shoulder. “Give him a few hours to rest. Then you’ll be able to see him—and your children.” Mingyu nodded silently, his throat too tight to speak.

When Mingyu was finally allowed into the room, the lights were dimmed. The scent of antiseptic lingered faintly in the air, mixed with the soft sweetness of Wonwoo’s omega pheromones. The omega lay on the hospital bed, pale and drained, his lips parted as he slept. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths, and Mingyu felt his heart ache at the sight.

He approached quietly, his large frame almost hesitant, as if he feared breaking the fragile stillness of the room. Gently, he lowered himself into the chair beside the bed and reached for Wonwoo’s hand. It was warm but limp, the skin slightly dry from the strain of the day. Mingyu lifted it to his lips and kissed it tenderly.

“You did so well, baby,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so proud of you. You gave me our family… I don’t deserve you.”

Wonwoo stirred faintly, his lashes fluttering, though he didn’t fully wake. His lips curved into the faintest of smiles as if he recognized Mingyu’s presence even in sleep.

Mingyu’s throat tightened again. He brushed a lock of damp hair away from Wonwoo’s forehead and leaned down to press a soft kiss there.

“I’ll never let you go through something like that alone again,” he vowed quietly. “Next time, I’ll be holding your hand, no matter what.”

He stayed like that for hours, simply watching over him. Occasionally, he got up to peek at the bassinets away from Wonwoo’s room, where the twins slept peacefully, their tiny chests rising and falling in sync.

When he returned to Wonwoo’s side, he whispered again, “They’re perfect, just like you. When you wake up, you’ll see them. And we’ll finally start our life together—all four of us.”

For the first time in days, Mingyu allowed himself to breathe fully, resting his head beside Wonwoo’s arm as exhaustion finally pulled him into a light sleep, still holding his omega’s hand tightly in his own.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

When Mingyu returned to Wonwoo’s room later, his heart pounded so hard it felt as though the sound echoed in his ears. This time, he wasn’t just coming in to sit by the bedside of his sleeping mate—Wonwoo was awake. The omega stirred faintly when the door opened, and his tired eyes lit up at the sight of Mingyu’s tall figure stepping inside.

Wonwoo tried to push himself up, but a sharp sting across his abdomen made him wince and fall back against the pillows. His lips were painfully dry, cracked from the hours he had gone without water, but still, he managed to smile—and for Mingyu, that was all that mattered.

The alpha rushed to his side, instantly reaching out. “Don’t move too much,” Mingyu said softly, lowering himself onto the chair beside the bed. His voice was thick with worry, but gentle. “How are you feeling, love?”

Wonwoo gave a weak laugh, though it trembled at the edges. “Sore and tired…” His hand instinctively rested over his belly, bandaged beneath the gown. His eyes searched Mingyu’s, filled with quiet fear and hope. “But… the babies are fine, right?”

Mingyu nodded quickly, almost too quickly, and clasped Wonwoo’s hand between his own. He raised it reverently to his lips and pressed the softest kiss against his knuckles. “They’re perfect, Wonu. Both of them. Strong, healthy… just like their daddy.” His eyes shone with unshed tears as he spoke, relief still fresh in his voice.

Wonwoo’s chest loosened at those words. He sighed, allowing his body to sink deeper into the mattress, comforted by the certainty in Mingyu’s tone.

A few minutes later, the door opened again, and two nurses entered, wheeling in bassinets and carrying the most precious cargo of all. Wonwoo’s breath caught. For months he had dreamed of this moment—meeting his babies, finally seeing their faces—and now it was real.

He and Mingyu had made the choice not to know the sex of their children until the birth. Even when Taeoh had explained everything about the delivery to Mingyu earlier, the doctor had withheld that detail, knowing how much it mattered for them to discover together. And now, here it was—the moment of truth.

The nurses carefully placed the swaddled infants into their parents’ arms. Mingyu cradled one close to his chest, his broad hands impossibly gentle as though afraid the little bundle might break. Wonwoo received the other, his arms trembling not from weakness but from overwhelming emotion.

Both of them stared, and the world seemed to fall silent. Wonwoo lowered his gaze to the bracelet around the baby’s tiny wrist. Pink. His heart constricted. A girl. His daughter.

She had the fairest skin, soft and luminous like Wonwoo’s own, but as he leaned closer, his breath hitched. There, on her nose, faint but undeniable, was the same small mole that Mingyu had. Wonwoo’s eyes filled instantly with tears. His little girl bore a piece of his alpha in her face, as if fate had marked her with proof of their bond.

“She’s…” Wonwoo whispered, his voice breaking. He swallowed hard and blinked rapidly, the tears slipping free anyway. “She’s perfect.”

Mingyu, meanwhile, was gazing at the bracelet on the baby in his arms. Blue. A boy. His son.

The baby’s skin was darker, a shade that mirrored Mingyu’s own from the photos his mother had shown him of his newborn days. His features were softer, more like Wonwoo’s, but then Mingyu noticed the tiny mole beneath the boy’s left eye—an exact reflection of Wonwoo’s. The alpha’s throat tightened as he realized their son carried his omega’s mark.

Mingyu stared down at him, his chest swelling with tenderness so fierce it almost hurt. His voice cracked as he whispered, “My son…”

After a long moment, Mingyu stood and walked toward Wonwoo. Carefully, he shifted so they could exchange. Wonwoo adjusted, wincing a little as he leaned to make space. With delicate movements, he placed his daughter into the arm opposite the one already holding their son. Mingyu, in turn, leaned close and settled the little boy into Wonwoo’s waiting embrace.

Now, together, they looked at their children. Mingyu gazed down at his daughter, the one who shared his mole, her tiny mouth opening in a soft yawn. He could have stared forever, entranced by how small she was, how real she was.

Wonwoo, his arms full of both children, felt as though his heart could no longer contain everything inside it. His lips trembled, but he smiled, tears glistening on his lashes. “They’re the most precious thing in life,” he whispered, his voice almost inaudible as he leaned down to kiss the crown of his son’s head.

Mingyu didn’t look away from his daughter, though he reached out to brush his hand gently over Wonwoo’s wrist. “They’re perfect,” he whispered back, his tone reverent, almost prayerful, as though saying the words too loudly might shatter the fragile beauty of the moment.

The babies stirred softly, shifting in their parents’ arms, and both omega and alpha fell silent again, content simply to breathe in the scent of their newborns, hearts overflowing.

A few minutes later, Mingyu noticed how cracked Wonwoo’s lips were, how dry his throat must feel. He frowned softly, then stood and crossed the room to fetch a small cup of water that the nurses had left on the tray. He poured some carefully, making sure it wasn’t too full, and returned to Wonwoo’s side.

“Here,” he said gently, sliding one arm beneath Wonwoo’s shoulders. “Slowly, okay? You can’t drink too fast yet.”

Wonwoo tilted his head back just enough as Mingyu lifted the cup to his lips. The first sip burned down his throat, but the relief of cool water was instant. His lashes fluttered as he swallowed, a faint sound escaping him that broke Mingyu’s heart in two.

“Better?” Mingyu whispered, wiping a stray drop from Wonwoo’s chin with his thumb.

Wonwoo nodded, his eyes shining. “Much better. Thank you, Gyu… you’re always taking care of me.”

Mingyu leaned closer, pressing a kiss against Wonwoo’s damp forehead. “Always. That’s what I’m here for.” His voice was quiet, but the promise in it was absolute. He held the cup steady as Wonwoo took another slow sip, then eased him back against the pillows with utmost care. For a moment, Mingyu simply stayed there, brushing his knuckles over Wonwoo’s jaw, overwhelmed by how fragile and strong he looked all at once.

The babies stirred softly, shifting in their parents’ arms. Wonwoo frowned slightly, then suddenly stiffened, a quiet gasp leaving his lips. Mingyu immediately looked at him, alarm flashing in his eyes.

“What is it? Does something hurt?”

Wonwoo shook his head quickly, his cheeks flushing. “N-no… it’s just…” His voice faltered, embarrassment coloring his tone. He glanced down at his gown, where a small dampness had spread across the fabric near his chest. His eyes widened, then filled with emotion he could hardly put into words. “Mingyu… I-I think I…” He swallowed hard. “I started lactating.”

Mingyu blinked, then his expression softened instantly, turning almost awed. “Wonu…” He whispered the name like a prayer, reaching to gently brush a thumb over the damp spot. “Your body’s ready. They can feed.”

Wonwoo bit his lip, overwhelmed. “I… I want to try.” His voice trembled, equal parts nervous and hopeful.

Mingyu helped him adjust carefully against the pillows, supporting his back and making sure he was comfortable. With delicate hands, he opened Wonwoo’s gown just enough, then guided the tiny girl closer to his mate’s chest. The baby’s instincts took over almost instantly, latching on with a soft sound that made Wonwoo gasp.

“Oh—” Wonwoo’s breath caught, his eyes flying wide as a flood of warmth coursed through him. His gaze darted to Mingyu, tears spilling freely now. “She’s… she’s really feeding.”

Mingyu pressed his forehead against Wonwoo’s temple, watching their daughter with a mixture of reverence and pride. “Of course she is. You’re giving her everything she needs. You’re incredible, Wonu.”

Wonwoo’s other arm tightened slightly around their son, who stirred and began to fuss. Mingyu smiled softly. “He’s hungry too.” Carefully, he lifted the boy and positioned him on Wonwoo’s other side. Within moments, both babies were nursing, their tiny sounds filling the quiet room.

Wonwoo wept silently, overwhelmed by the intimacy of the moment, by the reality of it. “I can’t believe this is real,” he whispered. “I’m really… their father.”

Mingyu kissed the tears from his cheeks, his own eyes wet. “You are. And you’re perfect. Look at them, Wonu… they already know you, they already love you.”

The twins nursed quietly, their tiny hands curling and uncurling against Wonwoo’s skin, their breaths soft and shallow. Wonwoo leaned back into the pillows, every muscle in his body trembling with exhaustion, yet his heart so full he felt he could never sleep again. His gaze never left their little faces, watching with awe the way their mouths moved, the way their eyes fluttered beneath delicate lids.

Mingyu stayed close, one hand cradling the back of Wonwoo’s head, the other lightly resting over his arm, steady and protective. He watched the way Wonwoo held their children, as though they were made of starlight and spun glass. His chest swelled with pride, his throat thick with a tenderness he could never put into words.

After a while, the babies slowed, their tiny mouths loosening as sleep overtook them. Mingyu noticed first, brushing his knuckle against their little cheeks to coax them to release. Wonwoo gave a small hum, almost a whimper, reluctant to let them go, but Mingyu kissed his temple softly.

“They need to rest, and so do you,” he whispered, carefully lifting their daughter from Wonwoo’s chest. The little girl made the faintest noise, but Mingyu tucked her gently against his broad shoulder, swaying just enough that her small body relaxed again. He turned, placing her back into the waiting bassinet, swaddling her anew with a tenderness that made Wonwoo’s chest ache.

Their son was next, fussing briefly until Mingyu hushed him in a low voice, his deep baritone soft as velvet. The alpha leaned down, pressing his lips against the crown of the boy’s head before laying him beside his sister. The twins shifted instinctively toward one another, tiny fists brushing as though already seeking comfort in each other’s presence.

Wonwoo stared at the sight, tears pricking at his eyes all over again. “They even sleep together,” he whispered, voice hushed in awe.

Mingyu returned to the bed, crouching beside Wonwoo and brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead. “Of course they do. They’ve never known anything else.” His smile was tender, and his gaze softened as he studied his mate’s pale, tired face. “And now… they’ll always have us too.”

Wonwoo exhaled shakily, leaning into the touch. His eyelids fluttered, heavy with fatigue, though he fought to keep them open. “I don’t… want to miss anything,” he murmured weakly.

“You won’t,” Mingyu promised, sliding onto the bed beside him, careful not to jostle him. He eased Wonwoo against his chest, wrapping an arm around him securely. “I’ll be here. Always.”

Wonwoo’s lips curved faintly, his breathing slow but uneven, caught between wakefulness and sleep.

Mingyu pressed a kiss against his hair, then glanced at the bassinet where their twins slept side by side. His heart tightened with an ache that was somehow sweet, the kind that came from love so overwhelming it almost hurt to hold it inside.

Quietly, he began to hum—a tune he remembered his grandmother using to soothe him when he was small. The deep, low vibration of his chest carried through to Wonwoo, whose lashes finally lowered for good, surrendering to rest. The babies, too, shifted softly, the melody wrapping around the room like a protective cocoon. The hospital faded into silence.

And there they were—the four of them. Wonwoo nestled against Mingyu’s chest, finally drifting into peaceful sleep; the twins sleeping together in their crib, safe and warm; Mingyu holding them all in his embrace, humming into the dim light with a heart fuller than he had ever known. For the first time, their family was complete.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Wonwoo somewhat hated changing his routine, but it was necessary. When he was finally discharged from the hospital, they went straight to Mingyu’s apartment—his penthouse—where all of Wonwoo’s belongings and his mother’s things had already been moved in. The space, once elegant but minimal, now looked fuller, warmer, touched by the traces of family life that Mingyu had never truly known until now.

Mrs. Jeon settled into the guest room, promising that she would stay to help her son during the babies’ first months. She had made it clear from the beginning that she would not be intrusive, that her presence would only be to support them and never to interfere. Still, her being there brought comfort to Wonwoo, who sometimes felt overwhelmed by the sheer newness of everything.

One evening, as she folded a small basket of freshly washed baby clothes, she looked up at Mingyu and Wonwoo sitting on the couch. “I know I said I wouldn’t meddle,” Mrs. Jeon said softly, smiling, “but you two are doing so well. I honestly didn’t expect you two to learn this fast.”

Mingyu laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll admit I panicked at first, but… well, I had good motivation. I don’t want Wonwoo to shoulder everything alone.”

Mrs. Jeon chuckled and shook her head. “You two will be fine.”

Mingyu, though, had only been able to take a few days off from Moon Pharmaceuticals. Soon, he had to return to work, but he reassured both Wonwoo and his mother-in-law that he would leave immediately if any emergency arose. Fortunately, it had not been necessary so far.

Meanwhile, for Wonwoo, it became an entirely new and real learning process. He had studied diligently during his pregnancy, taking countless online courses on breastfeeding, infant care, and the physical and emotional adjustments of being a new omega parent. His mother had also filled his ears with advice and stories, but theory and practice were two very different things. Now, with two babies in his arms instead of one, everything doubled—feeding, bathing, soothing, changing—and the fatigue seemed endless.

Every four hours, without fail, he had to nurse. Sometimes he was barely awake when he shifted his shirt open and guided one of the babies toward his chest. At first, it had been painful, his body adjusting to the new rhythm, but slowly it became easier, more natural. Then there were baths, where he learned to be quick yet gentle; diaper changes, where he tried not to panic at the sound of their cries; and the long, puzzling moments when all they did was cry, and he had to guess what they needed since words were impossible for them.

But at least Wonwoo was not alone. He was supported, not only by his mother but also by Mingyu, who was deeply involved despite his demanding position. While Mingyu could not feed the babies from his own body, he took responsibility in other ways. He monitored the feeding schedules, often sending Wonwoo reminders when he was at work:

Don’t forget, it’s almost time for their feeding.

Wonwoo had replied once with a sleepy picture of both babies curled up at his sides. When Mingyu called during his break, his voice was full of warmth.

“You’re doing so well, love. I wish I could be there right now.”

“You’ll be here tonight,” Wonwoo murmured back, rocking Moonsoo gently. “That’s enough. Besides, you’re the one who keeps reminding me. I think I’d lose track without your messages.”

“You’re stronger than you think,” Mingyu said firmly. “But even if you weren’t… I’d still remind you every single time.”

Wonwoo smiled faintly at the phone, his heart softening. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love with you, yes.”

Even through the exhaustion, Wonwoo couldn’t help but laugh quietly. “Go back to work before your employees start wondering why their CEO is acting like a lovesick teenager.”

Mingyu chuckled, lowering his voice. “Too late for that. They already know.”

And when he was home, Mingyu tried to do as much as possible. He learned to change diapers, to bathe the babies with hands steady enough to inspire trust, and to hold them in a way that made them instantly settle against his chest.

One night, when Mrs. Jeon started gathering the bottles to sterilize them again, Mingyu gently stopped her.
 

“Mrs. Jeon, please,” he said softly, taking them from her hands. “You’ve been helping all day. Go rest.”

She gave him a long look, half-amused and half-maternal. “Do you really think you can handle two crying infants at once?”

Mingyu grinned. “I don’t think—I know. And besides, Wonwoo is here. We’ll manage.”

From the couch, Wonwoo spoke up with a little smirk. “He’s just trying to prove himself again. You should let him.”

Mrs. Jeon shook her head but smiled, finally conceding. “Fine. Don’t come begging me for help at three in the morning.”

Of course, exhaustion still weighed heavily on both parents. Nights of interrupted sleep piled upon one another, the cries of the twins cutting through the quiet and forcing them awake.

One particularly restless night, Wonwoo leaned against the headboard, their baby boy in his arms while Heesun wailed in Mingyu’s. His eyes were bleary, his voice hoarse. “Do you think… they’re competing to see who can scream louder?”

Mingyu gave a tired chuckle as he rocked the baby. “If they are, our baby girl is definitely winning tonight.”

“Don’t say that,” Wonwoo muttered with a weak laugh. “He will hear you and try harder.”

Despite their fatigue, both broke into quiet laughter. Mingyu leaned forward, resting his forehead briefly against Wonwoo’s shoulder as the babies finally began to calm.

“Even like this,” Mingyu whispered, brushing his thumb over their baby’s tiny hand, “I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Wonwoo glanced at him, eyes soft even through exhaustion. “Me neither.”

Yet even when they were bone-tired, they found themselves smiling at the sight of their children, watching them grow stronger and healthier each day.

It was almost funny—though also a little embarrassing—that despite all the preparation, despite the arrival of their babies, one thing remained unresolved: the names. The twins had not yet been registered because neither Wonwoo nor Mingyu could agree. They had tossed ideas back and forth during the pregnancy, but none had felt quite right. Now, with their children in their arms, the urgency was greater, and Wonwoo often laughed at the thought that they were still calling them baby girl and baby boy.

One evening, Mingyu returned from work, his usual composure replaced by boyish excitement. He dropped his briefcase at the door, kicked off his shoes in a rush, and strode toward the living room where Wonwoo and Mrs. Jeon were sitting together, the babies cradled in their arms.

“I have an idea!” he announced, breathless.

Wonwoo tilted his head, already smiling at his alpha’s expression. “About what?”

“Baby names,” Mingyu said, beaming as he bent down to greet Wonwoo with a soft kiss and then politely bowed toward Mrs. Jeon, who chuckled at his enthusiasm.

Wonwoo adjusted the baby in his arms and raised a brow. “Alright then, let’s hear it.”

Mingyu’s ears flushed red as he scratched the back of his neck. “Well… I was thinking. Wonwoo, you’re like my whole world. And our babies… they’re my sun and my moon.” He spoke the words quickly, embarrassed at his own cheesiness, but sincere all the same.

Wonwoo’s cheeks warmed instantly, his lips twitching between amusement and affection. He thought it was probably the corniest thing he had ever heard, yet something about it also tugged deeply at his heart. “Go on,” he encouraged, eyes soft.

“So… I thought we could name our boy Moonsoo and our girl Heesun.” Mingyu’s voice dropped shyly, his gaze lowering as though afraid to meet Wonwoo’s eyes.

Wonwoo laughed quietly, shaking his head. “Moonsoo… from Moon Pharmaceuticals, and Heesun… from Sunrise Pharmaceutics, since their parents worked for competing companies?” He teased, and Mingyu groaned softly at the joke, covering his face with one hand. But behind the laughter, Wonwoo’s heart swelled. Corny or not, the names felt right. His alpha had thought of them with love, and that was what mattered most.

“I actually… really like it,” Wonwoo admitted finally, his voice gentle. He glanced down at their daughter and then at their son. “Moonsoo and Heesun… it suits them.”

Mingyu’s eyes lit up, relief and joy breaking across his face. “Really?”

“Really,” Wonwoo nodded, smiling warmly.

Mrs. Jeon placed a hand over her mouth, her eyes shimmering. “Beautiful,” she whispered, proud and touched by the moment.

And so, Kim Moonsoo and Kim Heesun officially became part of their family. Wonwoo still hadn’t decided if he would take Mingyu’s surname—if he would truly become Kim Wonwoo—but for the first time, the thought didn’t make him nervous. There was no rush. Their lives were already bound together by something deeper than a name.

Later that night, after Mrs. Jeon had gone to rest, Mingyu and Wonwoo sat together in the baby’s room, the twins finally asleep in their crib. The soft nightlight bathed the room in a golden glow, and the air was filled with the quiet hum of the baby monitor.

Wonwoo leaned into Mingyu’s side, head resting on his shoulder. “Do you think we’ll be good parents?” he asked quietly, almost hesitant.

Mingyu turned his head to press a kiss against Wonwoo’s hair. “We already are,” he replied. “Look at them. They’re healthy, they’re safe, and they’re loved more than anything in this world. That’s all that matters.”

Wonwoo exhaled, the tension in his chest loosening at Mingyu’s certainty. He reached for Mingyu’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

“They’ll grow so fast,” Wonwoo murmured, his gaze fixed on the twins. “One day they won’t even fit in our arms anymore.”

“Then I’ll build stronger arms,” Mingyu said with a grin, earning a soft laugh from Wonwoo.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

The day Wonwoo’s mother returned to Changwon, both Wonwoo and Mingyu felt a little sad. Life would not feel the same without Grandma Jeon, who had supported them so much during those first exhausting months. Yet, she had left her youngest children and husband alone for almost five months, so she had no choice but to return home.

At the train terminal, she hugged them tightly, her arms lingering as if reluctant to let go. “Take good care of Moonsoo and Heesun… Call me if you need anything, and be sure to take them to their pediatrician appointments,” she reminded them, her voice both stern and tender.

“Yes, Mom, don’t worry,” Wonwoo reassured her, though his voice betrayed a trace of nervousness. Mingyu also nodded firmly, promising silently that he would watch over their family.

Mrs. Jeon boarded the train slowly, turning to wave one last time before disappearing inside. She had refused to fly to Busan and then take the forty-five–minute bus ride to Changwon, insisting she would never set foot on a plane because of her fear of heights. They respected her decision, even if it made the trip longer.

On the way back, the car was unusually quiet, the only sound being the soft breaths of their children who had fallen asleep during the ride. When they arrived home, Mingyu carefully lifted Moonsoo, while Wonwoo carried Heesun. Together, they placed them in their cribs, watching as their tiny chests rose and fell in peaceful rhythm.

“I love our babies so much… but…” Wonwoo hesitated, biting his lip. He felt guilty for even thinking about it, but it was part of who he was. “I want to go back to work,” he confessed at last, pouting as he kept his gaze on his children sleeping so sweetly.

Mingyu, instead of being surprised, only smiled. But he wasn’t looking at the babies—he was looking at Wonwoo. “I have a surprise for you,” he said quietly, eyes gleaming.

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, curious. “A surprise? Should I be worried?”

“No,” Mingyu chuckled. “You’ll thank me.”

At Moon Pharmaceuticals, there had been a large room used almost as a warehouse. Sixty percent of that space had always been empty, filled with scattered items that were eventually relocated to the company’s actual storage facility. Mingyu had ordered the entire area disinfected, remodeled, and transformed into something completely different: a daycare center.

The idea had come to him soon after the birth of his children, but as he spoke with HR, he realized the benefit would extend far beyond his own family. There were other alphas and omegas in the company who were single parents, paying large sums of money for nannies to watch their children. Even a few betas had younger siblings to care for, often struggling to balance work and guardianship. Creating a safe, reliable daycare at Moon Pharmaceuticals would not only ease his life but also the lives of many employees.

Human Resources hired additional trained staff, child specialists, and even a counselor for young children. They decorated the space with bright murals, soft carpets, and warm lighting. Tiny chairs and tables filled one corner, while another was lined with cribs and cushioned mats. Everything was ready to open the following Monday.

Mingyu knew Wonwoo well enough by now to predict his desires. He understood that his omega longed to return to work—he had always been diligent and ambitious, even during pregnancy. Besides, Wonwoo’s recovery had been nothing short of astonishing. His body had healed quickly, his small scar fading faster than anyone expected. Wonwoo never wanted to take a prolonged break; it simply was not in his nature.

When Mingyu revealed the project, Wonwoo stood speechless. His eyes widened as he tried to process it all. “You… you really thought of this?”

“Of course,” Mingyu replied easily. “I didn’t want you to ever feel like you had to choose between your work and our children. You’re too incredible for that.”

Wonwoo’s lips parted in awe. He suddenly understood why Mingyu was considered one of the best CEOs in the pharmaceutical industry. Opening a daycare at the company was something he never would have imagined—even after their babies were born. For a moment, he had resigned himself to quitting his job, maybe waiting until Moonsoo and Heesun were in elementary school before returning. But now, everything changed. He could return far sooner, all while knowing his children were close and safe.

“But… will they really take good care of Moonsoo and Heesun?” Wonwoo’s voice trembled slightly despite his excitement. He was still a new parent, and worry was second nature.

“We hired good staff,” Mingyu assured him. “HR and I personally checked their work history and personal references. We also installed cameras to reinforce security, and Myeong and the HR team will monitor the daycare regularly, since they’re the ones who don’t enter the laboratories often.”

Wonwoo exhaled softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “So I can trust you completely, right?” he asked, his tone half-serious, half-playful.

Mingyu rolled his eyes, feigning exasperation. “Of course. Do you think I would leave my Sun and Moon with just anyone? Never. And besides…” He leaned closer, brushing his nose against Wonwoo’s cheek. “I wouldn’t want my whole world to feel guilty about leaving them with someone else while working—because he loves working too much.”

Wonwoo laughed, his heart fluttering. “Oh, Kim Mingyu… you’re so cute.”

Mingyu smirked, puffing his chest in mock pride. “I know.”

Overcome with affection, Wonwoo showered him with kisses all over his face, making Mingyu laugh until he had to hold his omega still. Wonwoo knew Mingyu had done all of this for him and for their children—for their family. And there was nothing more attractive than a man who showed that much love.

That evening, after they put the babies down, they sat together on the couch. The apartment felt strangely quiet without Mrs. Jeon bustling around, but the silence also felt intimate, belonging only to them now.

Wonwoo rested his head against Mingyu’s shoulder. “It feels… emptier without Mom here,” he admitted softly. “But at the same time, it’s like… our own family is really starting now.”

Mingyu stroked his hair gently. “I was thinking the same thing. It’s just us and the twins now. It feels… grown-up.”

Wonwoo chuckled at that. “You’re a CEO, a father of two, and you still say ‘grown-up’ like a teenager.”

Mingyu grinned, tilting his head to kiss the crown of Wonwoo’s hair. “That’s because you make me feel young. Even with all this responsibility, when I’m with you, it doesn’t feel heavy. It feels right.”

Wonwoo turned, looking at him with warm eyes. “You really mean that?”

“I do,” Mingyu said without hesitation. “You’re my balance, Wonwoo. You and the twins—you’re my reason for everything. Even this daycare wasn’t just about the company. It was about making sure you were happy.”

Wonwoo felt his eyes sting with sudden emotion. He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to Mingyu’s lips. “You always surprise me, Min. Always.”

Mingyu pulled him closer, his voice low but steady. “Good. Because I plan to keep doing it for the rest of our lives.”

They stayed there, curled against each other, listening to the faint breathing of their children from the nursery. And for the first time since Mrs. Jeon left, they no longer felt sad—they felt ready.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Now, Wonwoo was nervous about going back to work, and even more nervous about leaving the babies in daycare. Sun and Moon were already two months old, and technically they could be enrolled as early as forty-three days after birth. Still, the thought of handing them over to strangers, even for just a few hours, felt like tearing a piece of his own heart away. He couldn’t help but picture their tiny faces crumpling in confusion, their cries filling a sterile room without him there to comfort them.

What if I don’t go back to work? the thought haunted him. Would it be better to stay home with them, to be here until Min came back from the company every night?

The idea tempted him more than he wanted to admit. He could already imagine himself curled on the couch with the twins against his chest, afternoons filled with lullabies and soft naps, evenings where the apartment smelled faintly of baby powder and milk instead of rushing deadlines. There was safety in that thought, comfort even. And yet, another voice inside him whispered of everything he would lose.

Mingyu had gone through so much trouble to make this possible—the daycare, the staff, the cameras, the reassurances—and he had done it all with Wonwoo in mind. If Won suddenly said, “I changed my mind, I’d rather stay home,” how could he not feel like he was betraying him? It would be ungrateful, selfish even.

And still, there was the other part of him, the part that burned with restless passion for his work. That part had not died when he became a parent; it was still alive, pulsing, demanding to be heard. Wonwoo loved his babies with a devotion that shook him to the core, but he also loved his profession—the precision of the lab, the thrill of discovery, the knowledge that his mind could make a difference in the world.

As a pharmacobiological chemist, he believed—no, he knew —that he could create something greater than himself. He could develop medicines that could soothe pain, cure illnesses, and perhaps one day even save children like Sun and Moon if they ever needed it. That belief gave his life meaning long before he became a parent, and now, ironically, it gave him a reason to keep going back. To make the world a safer, kinder place for his own children.

But when the nights grew quiet, and Mingyu was fast asleep beside him, that determination wavered. Wonwoo lay awake, his body exhausted but his mind churning. He missed things he hadn’t thought he would miss—the ability to go out for a coffee without worrying about bottles in the fridge, the careless mornings when his only responsibility was his own schedule, the silence of his small apartment where every object belonged solely to him. Back then, the world felt wide, waiting to be conquered. Now it felt smaller, tighter, and though it was filled with love, it was also filled with fear.

Perhaps he needed just one more night to think, one more quiet moment to weigh his choices properly. Maybe he should go to his old apartment, the one he still hadn’t managed to rent out. A night alone could clear his thoughts, let him breathe in solitude for the first time in months. The idea sounded almost intoxicating, though the guilt immediately followed.

But before he could even decide, Moonsoo and Heesun’s cries erupted at the same time, sharp and demanding, piercing through the night like bells. Wonwoo sighed, his heart aching with both weariness and affection. Of course—it was feeding time again.

Chapter 8

When Wonwoo walked toward the babies’ room, he found Mingyu already there, shuffling down the hallway like a half-asleep zombie. His hair was sticking up in every possible direction, his broad shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world—and perhaps the sleepless nights—rested there. Yet, despite his exhaustion, his feet still carried him toward the children’s bedroom, as though some invisible thread tied him to them.

Yes, they worked as a team. They were a couple. And even though Wonwoo didn’t really know what to do right now—his head a jumble of responsibilities, plans, and worries—he knew deep down that everything could be solved, somehow. Two heads were always better than one… unless, of course, both were drunk at a high school reunion. But since that wasn’t the case tonight, maybe things would be just fine.

Mingyu caught sight of him and, despite his heavy eyelids and sluggish steps, gave him a warm, sleepy smile. That simple smile was enough to soften the tightness in Wonwoo’s chest. Together, they entered Moonsoo and Heesun’s room, greeted by the soft glow of the nightlight.

Min moved first, his hands surprisingly gentle as he reached into the crib and lifted Moonsoo with the kind of care that never ceased to amaze Wonwoo. The baby fit so delicately in his arms, as though Mingyu had been born knowing how to hold his son. Wonwoo, without hesitation, took Heesun into his own arms, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before settling down to feed her.

Maybe it was possible to balance work and parenting after all. Maybe. Wonwoo knew he had more privileges than many. His position, his education, his stability—they were all things he often took for granted. And yet, they weighed on him too. His boss wasn’t just any boss; his boss was his alpha. His mate. His partner in every sense. And that same alpha had gone so far as to create a daycare at work, just so Wonwoo could stay close to his children without sacrificing his career. Mingyu was always finding ways to make things easier, to shield him from burdens before they grew too heavy.

So maybe it was just Wonwoo’s tendency to worry, to overthink every possible scenario, every “what if.” He worried about the future, about failing as a parent, about losing balance between his family and the work he had poured so many years into. But then, right now, watching Mingyu cradle Moonsoo, his tall frame bent protectively over their tiny son, Wonwoo felt a surge of relief so powerful it almost made him want to cry.

And maybe he would have, if Mingyu hadn’t looked at him in that moment—sharp even through the fog of sleep, eyes glinting as if he could sense the storm of thoughts swirling inside Wonwoo’s mind. He didn’t say anything, though. He didn’t press. Instead, he simply held Moonsoo close, swaying gently, keeping his focus on the fragile life in his arms.

The key to everything was here, in this room, wrapped in soft blankets and the steady rhythm of their breathing. Wonwoo thought maybe he could work part-time, that he could bring more of his research home, minimizing the time the babies spent away from them. It was a compromise, a middle ground.

“Mingyu…” Wonwoo whispered into the stillness, rocking Heesun as she drank quietly in his arms. His voice was soft, fragile, as though even the air could break it. Mingyu lifted his gaze at once, eyebrows arching slightly, and gave him that smile again—the one that never failed to reach his eyes.

“Will we always be a team?” Wonwoo asked, his voice trembling just a little, caught between doubt and hope.

Mingyu’s smile grew wider, so wide it softened every line of his tired face. He stepped closer, leaned in, and brushed his lips briefly against Wonwoo’s temple before answering, his voice steady and certain. “Yes. We’ll always be a team,” he assured him without hesitation.

And somehow, with those simple words, everything inside Wonwoo felt a little lighter, a little clearer. The future, once clouded with questions and fears, suddenly seemed bright. Maybe it wasn’t always necessary to have every detail planned. Maybe love, trust, and partnership were enough to fill in the gaps.

They still had a long way to go—both as parents and as partners. There would be sleepless nights, messy mornings, tantrums, and uncertainties. Moonsoo and Heesun had years of growing ahead of them, years in which their parents would stumble, learn, and stumble again. It was overwhelming if he thought too much about it, but Wonwoo also knew time would slip by faster than they expected.

And as long as he had Mingyu by his side, nothing could truly defeat him. Of course, a part of him couldn’t help but think they hadn’t even known each other for that long. It was reckless, maybe, to dive this deep, this fast. But then again, instinct and heart had never failed him before. What he shared with Mingyu wasn’t just infatuation—it wasn’t a fleeting crush.

Yes, Wonwoo still got butterflies every time Mingyu came home, still felt his stomach flutter like the boy he used to be, sneaking glances at the boy he thought he could never have. But there was more to it now. There was trust, calm, security. There was true love.

Love wasn’t a formula, he realized. It wasn’t a neat experiment where you followed exact steps and always got the same outcome. Love was unpredictable, messy, and human. It was risky, uncertain, and sometimes terrifying. And yet, that was what made it so extraordinary.

Because here was Mingyu, right in front of him, whispering softly to Moonsoo as he stroked his tiny back, pressing his nose against the baby’s soft hair, his big hands cradling him as though he was the most precious thing in the world. His eyes sparkled, warm and endless, and Wonwoo wished he could put into words the magic he saw there.

For a moment, Wonwoo just watched—the sight of his alpha, his everything—so tender, so patient, so unshakably present. He leaned against Mingyu’s shoulder, brushing his lips against the fabric of his shirt, and whispered, “Thank you… for all of this.”

Mingyu tilted his head, brushing his lips over Wonwoo’s hair, and whispered back, “Thank you too, Won.”

And in that moment, with the quiet of the night wrapping around them and their children safe in their arms, everything felt utterly, beautifully perfect.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Mingyu and Wonwoo got a lot of firsts thanks to Moonsoo and Heesun. Their babies filled their days with discoveries, with little milestones that seemed ordinary from the outside but felt like the most extraordinary miracles when they happened inside their home.

The first unforgettable one was their words. The living room was alive with babbles and laughter, the air warm with the sound of tiny voices experimenting with syllables. Moonsoo sat in his high chair, clutching a toy block like it was the most fascinating treasure in the world, while Heesun gnawed determinedly on the ear of her favorite stuffed bunny.

Wonwoo leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm as he watched them. “They’re close,” he whispered, his heart skipping with anticipation. Mingyu stretched out lazily on the carpet but nodded, his eyes sharp with excitement despite the exhaustion in his body.

“They’ll say it any day now,” Mingyu murmured, grinning. “I’m betting on ‘Appa.’”

But then it happened. Moonsoo looked up at Wonwoo with wide, curious eyes, opened his mouth, and said, clear and proud, “Daddy.”

For a moment, Wonwoo forgot how to breathe. His hands flew to his chest, and his throat closed with emotion. “Did you—did you hear that?” he asked in disbelief.

Mingyu was already on his feet, laughing loudly. “I heard it! I swear, I heard it!”

“Daa-ddy,” Moonsoo repeated, as if testing the word again, and Wonwoo’s tears finally fell as he swept his son into his arms, smothering his cheeks with kisses.

Not to be overshadowed, Heesun piped up from her high chair, clapping her hands together. “Dada!” she chirped, looking right at Mingyu.

That was it—Mingyu practically melted on the spot. He scooped her up and spun her around, his laughter booming and bright. “Yes, that’s right! Dada! My girl said Dada!”

Wonwoo could barely see through his tears as he hugged Moonsoo tighter. Their babies’ first words weren’t just sounds—they were proof that love had already taken root in the smallest hearts of their family.

Another milestone came one golden afternoon, when the sunlight poured through the living room curtains and painted the carpet in warm stripes. Moonsoo and Heesun were surrounded by their toys, but their eyes were fixed on their parents, as though something more important was waiting to unfold.

Wonwoo knelt on one side of the carpet, arms open, while Mingyu sat across from him, his wide smile steady and encouraging. “Let’s go, baby,” Wonwoo coaxed, his voice gentle.

Heesun, determined as always, pressed her tiny hands against the couch and pushed herself upright. She wobbled precariously, her chubby legs trembling, but then—miraculously—she took one step. Then another. Her arms reached out toward Mingyu, and with a squeal of triumph, she stumbled right into his arms.

Mingyu scooped her up instantly, spinning her around as she giggled wildly. “Hey! You walked to Dada!”

Wonwoo clapped his hands, laughing through the tears that pricked at his eyes. But Moonsoo, not wanting to fall behind his sister, let out a determined little grunt. He pulled himself up and, with sheer stubbornness, toddled forward on shaky legs until he collapsed into Wonwoo’s arms.

“You did it, Moon,” Wonwoo whispered, holding him tight. “You walked to Daddy.”

Mingyu leaned down, pressing a kiss against Wonwoo’s hair, his arms still full of their giggling daughter. “They’re going to run this house one day,” he said proudly.

Wonwoo laughed, resting his cheek against Moonsoo’s soft hair. “They already do.”

Of course, not all firsts were emotional—some were hilariously messy. Like their very first time trying real food. Wonwoo had been determined to feed them soft boiled carrots and plain rice porridge, carefully prepared in the kitchen. But as soon as he lifted the spoon toward Moonsoo’s mouth, the boy scrunched his nose, turned his head, and smacked the spoon with surprising strength. Carrot puree splattered across Wonwoo’s shirt like a badge of culinary defeat.

“Moonsoo!” Wonwoo gasped, staring at the orange streak down his chest.

Beside him, Heesun pressed her lips into a stubborn line, refusing to open her mouth at all. It was as if she had made a sacred vow never to taste her Daddy’s cooking again.

Mingyu nearly fell over laughing. “Babe, I think they’ve made their opinion very clear,” he teased, scooping up a spoonful of his own sweet potato mash. He leaned toward Heesun, and she opened her mouth instantly, humming happily as she devoured it.

Moonsoo banged his tray until Mingyu gave him a bite too. He gobbled it down with glee, cheeks round like a chipmunk.

Wonwoo narrowed his eyes dramatically. “So I’m just the rejected chef of this family now?”

Mingyu leaned over, planting a playful kiss on his cheek—smudging a bit of sweet potato in the process. “Not rejected. You’re the heart of this family. But maybe… leave the kitchen to me.”

Wonwoo sighed heavily, wiping carrot from his shirt. “Fine. But don’t blame me when one day they beg me for pizza instead of your fancy sweet potatoes.”

The twins banged their spoons in noisy approval of Mingyu’s food, giggling in delight, their little faces glowing. And though Wonwoo rolled his eyes, laughter spilled from his lips too. Because in the chaos, the mess, the triumphs, and the tears—life with Moonsoo, Heesun, and Mingyu was nothing short of perfect.

But time didn’t slow down, no matter how much Mingyu and Wonwoo wished it would. Moonsoo and Heesun grew like flowers after the rain, each day bringing something new, something that made them look at one another in awe and whisper, How are they already this big?

And as the months turned into years, more “firsts” came—each one carving itself into their hearts as memories they would never forget.

Like their first birthday. They filled their place with balloons—soft pastels that bobbed against the ceiling—and the faint scent of vanilla cake. Mingyu had insisted on baking it himself, claiming, “If I can cook for them, I can bake for them.” The result sat proudly on the kitchen table: a slightly lopsided, frosting-smeared creation with the words Happy 1st Birthday Moon & Sun scrawled across the top.

Wonwoo had decorated the living room with photos of their first year, from the wrinkly newborn days to their first wobbly steps. Each picture tugged at his heart, but the sight of Moonsoo and Heesun in their little party hats nearly undid him completely.

Family and a few close friends had gathered, but the moment that mattered most was the one where Mingyu and Wonwoo sat on the floor with their babies between them, a single candle glowing in the dimmed room.

“Ready, babies?” Mingyu whispered, holding Heesun’s chubby hand steady near the cake. Wonwoo guided Moonsoo’s. Together, they blew out the candle with the help of their parents leaning close.

Applause filled the room, but all Wonwoo could hear was Moonsoo’s delighted squeal and Heesun’s soft giggle as Mingyu kissed them both on the tops of their heads. “One year,” he whispered against their hair. “Our first year with you.”

Wonwoo caught his gaze across the flickering shadows, eyes glassy with emotion. They didn’t need words; both knew how sacred this milestone was.

By the time they turned four, Moonsoo and Heesun had grown into chatterboxes, their words tumbling out with the unstoppable energy of children discovering language and the world around them. But one night, in the quiet glow of their bedroom lamps, a new milestone bloomed—one that hit harder than all the others combined.

Wonwoo was tucking Moonsoo in, smoothing the blanket over his small body, when the boy grabbed his wrist and whispered, “Daddy.”

Wonwoo leaned closer, expecting another request for water or a stuffed toy. Instead, Moonsoo’s voice came soft, certain: “I love you.”

The words struck him like lightning—warm, overwhelming, and impossible to hold back. Tears sprang to his eyes as he bent down, kissing his son’s hair. “I love you too, Moon. So much.”

Across the room, Mingyu had just finished reading a bedtime story to Heesun. She wrapped her little arms around his neck and whispered into his ear, “I love you, Dada.”

Mingyu froze for a heartbeat, his breath caught in his chest. Then he hugged her so tightly she squealed, laughing as he whispered back, “I love you more than anything, Sun.”

When the twins finally drifted to sleep, Mingyu and Wonwoo stood in the doorway, side by side, watching their children’s peaceful faces.

“They said it,” Wonwoo whispered, voice breaking with wonder. “They love us.”

Mingyu slipped an arm around his waist, pressing a kiss against his temple. “We already knew,” he said softly. “But hearing it… it’s the best first of all.”

And in that still, glowing moment, they realized something: the milestones would never stop coming. The babies who had once spoken their first words, taken their first steps, and tasted their first spoonfuls of food were now children who could say I love you. And in every first—big or small—their family’s love only grew stronger.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Mingyu felt nervous for a moment. His five-year-old children had begun asking him questions he never imagined he would have to answer so soon. They wanted to know why they didn’t have some of those big wedding photos with their parents—the kind that Moonsoo and Heesun had seen at their classmates’ and friends’ houses.

Min had tried to explain it in the simplest way he could, telling them that the order of the factors doesn’t affect the product. In his mind, it made perfect sense—love had come first, their family second, and marriage could come last. But young children didn’t understand equations or metaphors; they only understood what they could see. And what they saw were glossy photographs of smiling parents in white suits and flowing gowns, surrounded by flowers and family.

They learned quickly from their friends that a wedding was the official union of two people before an institution, a day when families gathered to celebrate and take countless pictures. So why hadn’t their own parents gotten married sooner? They asked the question so innocently that Mingyu and Wonwoo sometimes froze, unable to give a real answer.

But maybe—just maybe—this was their chance. Because sometimes an idea bloomed from the smallest seed.

Hyein, one of Heesun’s friends, might have been the one to plant it.

“Oh, I wish I could go to my parents’ wedding, because my omega dad looked beautiful—look at him,” the little girl said one afternoon, proudly showing Heesun a small photo she carried. In it, Mr. Kang stood radiant, smiling under a crown of flowers, his eyes glowing with joy. Heesun had to agree—Mr. Kang truly looked very handsome. She nodded and smiled politely.

“Do you have any photos of your parents’ wedding?” Hyein asked, curiosity shining in her eyes.

“No… My parents aren’t married,” Heesun confessed with perfect honesty, without even a drop of shame.

Hyein gasped. “Oh! Why not?” She carefully tucked her own photo back into her little folder, still surprised by the answer.

“Ah… Because… because my parents were waiting for Moonsoo and me to be born, so we wouldn’t miss their wedding.” Heesun puffed her chest as she said it, her quick little mind coming up with the explanation on the spot.

And to her own surprise, it worked. Hyein blinked, her lips curling into a tiny pout of envy. The thought of seeing her parents’ wedding was something she would never have; it was a chapter she had missed. But little Heesun? She would be able to see hers in real time.

“That’s not fair,” Hyein muttered under her breath. But then her eyes lit up again. “But will you invite me to their wedding?”

“Of course!” Heesun promised, grinning widely.

The idea nestled itself into her mind like a spark waiting to grow into a flame. And when she got home, Heesun knew she had to bring up the subject with her parents. The problem was that her Daddy, Wonwoo, always found ways to avoid serious talks, circling around them until they faded into nothing. But her Dad—Mingyu—was different. With him, she had a special kind of power.

So, when the alpha of the family arrived home that evening, Heesun wasted no time. She ran straight to him, waiting until Wonwoo was busy in the kitchen before slipping into his room with him. Her timing was perfect, almost mischievous.

“Hey, Dada, when are you going to marry Daddy?” Heesun asked casually, as though she were simply asking about dinner or the weather.

Mingyu froze in place.

“What?” he stammered, blinking down at her. He had known this day would come ever since the children had started questioning him earlier, but facing the words out loud was something else entirely.

“Yeah, when’s your wedding with Daddy going to be? I want to go, and so does my friend Hyein,” she said firmly, her little hands resting on her hips. Mingyu stared at her in disbelief. His daughter was frighteningly smart for her age, far too sharp to be brushed off with easy answers.

“But… a wedding takes time to plan,” he tried to reason, his voice cautious. “And… it could also be another year from now.”

Heesun immediately shook her head and waved her hands with determination.

“It doesn’t matter. Right now we are five years old, and next year…” She held up her small fingers, carefully counting one by one. “Next year we’ll be six. That’s still plenty of time for the wedding.”

Her reasoning was so absolute, so innocent, that Mingyu couldn’t help but laugh. Her math might have been simple, but her conviction was unshakable.

And yet… maybe she was right. If Heesun wanted a wedding, perhaps it was time. He and Wonwoo hadn’t touched the subject in years, not since their relationship had settled into the steady, busy rhythm of work, children, and daily life. They had been so focused on nurturing their family that they had left the question of marriage for later, like an unopened gift waiting at the back of the shelf. But what if later was finally now? What if it was time to take that step?

“I’ll think about it, okay?” Mingyu said softly, crouching to meet her eyes.

Heesun studied him for a long moment, her little face suspicious, as though she could already see through his hesitation. But eventually, she nodded with satisfaction, accepting his answer for now. With that, she skipped away to join Moonsoo and her other dad, leaving Mingyu standing in the quiet room, his heart racing with thoughts he hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on in years.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Mingyu believed the best way to propose to Wonwoo was with a surprise, something carefully planned so that the omega would never expect it. He thought about it for weeks, replaying possible scenarios in his mind. For him, it felt right not to bring up the subject directly with Wonwoo; after all, he was certain his partner would never reject him, especially not if he asked in front of their children. Mingyu wanted the moment to feel natural yet unforgettable. With that in mind, he began to quietly plan things with his mother and his mother-in-law, two women who loved Wonwoo dearly and were more than willing to help make this moment perfect.

One Sunday afternoon, the two mothers stopped by Mingyu and Wonwoo’s house with warm smiles and a casual suggestion. They whisked Wonu away for a day of relaxation, insisting that he deserved time for himself after balancing the heavy demands of his career and fatherhood. Wonwoo, slightly hesitant at first, eventually gave in to their insistence. That left Mingyu at home with the children, Moonsoo and Heesun, who were more than excited to be part of their father’s big plan.

Jun and Soonyoung were also in on the secret. They couldn’t resist helping their friend set up something so meaningful. Together, they helped Mingyu prepare a lovely dinner and transform the house into a place glowing with warmth and elegance. Soonyoung, however, couldn’t hide his envy; his best friend was about to be proposed to, and he wouldn’t even be there to see it happen. He sulked dramatically while helping Mingyu adjust the candles, but deep down, he was happy for the couple.

Meanwhile, Wonwoo was spending his afternoon in a rare luxury. His mother and mother-in-law treated him to a high-end spa where he could finally let go of the constant tension in his shoulders. The warm baths, gentle massages, and quiet atmosphere were a welcome escape from his daily whirlwind of work as a pharmacobiological chemist and the never-ending responsibilities of being a father to two energetic five-year-olds. At brunch, with sparkling mimosas in hand, Wonwoo felt almost guilty for enjoying himself so much, but the radiant smiles of the women with him reminded him that he deserved it.

After the spa, the two women suggested a little shopping trip, which at first felt unnecessary to Wonwoo. But when he tried on a sleek, perfectly tailored suit, they both insisted—no, demanded—that he wear it home to surprise Mingyu. He protested weakly, cheeks turning pink at the thought, but in the end, he couldn’t resist their persuasion. Innocent as ever, he didn’t suspect a thing.

By the time he arrived home, it was already after 6 p.m. The quiet that greeted him at the door struck him immediately. The living room was still and spotless, as if carefully prepared for something. Wonwoo assumed his alpha and their children were curled up together in bed, perhaps watching a movie in their pajamas. A small wave of embarrassment passed over him—he was overdressed in such a sharp suit while his family was probably dressed comfortably, expecting nothing more than a simple evening.

But then another detail caught his attention: the scent. The house didn’t just smell clean; there was a rich aroma in the air, warm and savory, the kind that made his stomach grumble. This wasn’t just the lingering freshness of the carpet cleaner—it was food. Delicious food. His pulse quickened slightly. Had his family decided on a special dinner without telling him? If so, he had arrived just in time.

As he moved closer to the dining room, his steps slowed. There, standing near the table, were his beautiful five-year-old children, both dressed up in elegant little outfits that made them look like miniature adults. Heesun’s hair was neatly brushed and tied with a small ribbon, while Moonsoo’s shirt had clearly been buttoned with careful attention. The sight tugged at Wonwoo’s heart, and a wide smile immediately spread across his face.

“Dad’s here!” Heesun’s bright voice rang out, her excitement bubbling over.

That was Mingyu’s cue. The alpha emerged from the kitchen carrying a large pot of steaming pasta, grinning as he placed it at the center of the table.

“Surprise!” Mingyu said in a playful tone, his eyes shining as he leaned into the moment. Without missing a beat, he disappeared through the doorway again, returning moments later with a second pot and a basket of fresh bread.

Wonwoo, still a little overwhelmed, took a seat at the table. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the candles, the neatly arranged plates, the almost festive atmosphere that clung to the dining room. It looked like a celebration—but what exactly were they celebrating? He racked his brain. It wasn’t their anniversary. There wasn’t any birthday or special milestone for the children. The uncertainty gnawed at him.

A flicker of panic crossed his mind. Had he forgotten something important? Was he supposed to have brought gifts? Guilt settled uncomfortably in his chest. How selfish he must have seemed—spending the day at a spa, sipping mimosas, and then buying a suit for himself, while his precious children and his devoted alpha had been working on… whatever this was. His throat tightened at the thought. He should have brought something home. Something for the kids. Something for Mingyu.

When Mingyu returned with the second pot and the bread, his movements confident and almost glowing with energy, Wonwoo couldn’t hold his question back any longer. He had to ask.

"What are we celebrating?" Wonwoo asked softly, his voice tinged with hesitation. His cheeks warmed with embarrassment as the question slipped out. He didn’t want his children to hear him sounding confused, not when they clearly knew what was going on and had obviously prepared for this special dinner. The last thing he wanted was for Moonsoo and Heesun to think their papa was out of the loop.

"Uhm… We’re not celebrating anything yet," Mingyu replied with a small, nervous laugh. His smile was crooked, the kind that always gave him away. "We have to have dinner first."

Wonwoo tilted his head slightly. He knew Mingyu too well. That little twitch at the corner of his lips, the faint tremor in his voice—it meant he was hiding something. But what? Was he planning a trip, perhaps? Summer vacation was approaching, and it wouldn’t be unlike Mingyu to organize a surprise family outing. Maybe tonight he intended to reveal the destination. That would explain why everyone was dressed so neatly, as if for some announcement.

Feeling slightly more at ease, Wonwoo smiled and nodded. He allowed Mingyu to serve the food, watching as the alpha carefully placed pasta on each of the four plates, portioning it with a kind of tenderness that made his chest ache. The table looked beautiful in the soft glow of the candles, their light flickering over the silverware and the proud little faces of Moonsoo and Heesun, who sat upright as though they were attending some grand event.

Conversation during dinner flowed lightly, but Wonwoo found himself doing most of the talking. He had the fullest day, after all, being the only one who had gone outside the house. He recounted the spa with his mothers, the brunch, the unexpected suit-shopping, while Mingyu, Moonsoo, and Heesun listened with what seemed like unusually intense interest. Every so often, one of the children would ask him another question, their eyes sparkling with curiosity. It was almost too much. They weren’t usually this quiet or this focused, and Wonwoo noticed—but he chalked it up to his imagination. Surely they were just excited about the supposed trip Mingyu had in store.

When the plates were cleared, Wonwoo instinctively reached for them. "I’ll do the dishes," he offered quickly, wanting to ease the load on his family.

"I’ll do it tomorrow," Mingyu interjected firmly, smiling at him. "Let’s go to the living room."

Wonwoo blinked. The children were already on their feet, moving ahead like little soldiers following a script. Their steps were too coordinated, too deliberate, and Wonwoo narrowed his eyes slightly. Something was definitely wrong. His children didn’t behave like this unless there was a plan.

What are they hiding from me? he thought, but he swallowed the question, deciding to trust Mingyu. After all, surprises weren’t always bad. If his alpha was this nervous, it was probably something meaningful.

They stepped into the living room, which was oddly quiet. The space had been transformed subtly, almost magically. The coffee table stood at the center of the room, perfectly lit by a single candle. Its golden glow cast soft shadows on the walls, creating an intimate warmth. And there, on the polished wood, sat a small red box—innocuous at first glance, yet so striking it nearly made Wonwoo’s breath hitch.

Mingyu’s voice broke the silence. "I told you before that the order of the factors doesn’t affect the outcome…" His tone was soft, so close to Wonwoo’s ear that it made the omega’s heart leap. He already knew what was coming, and yet the moment still caught him off guard. His pulse quickened.

"I know we haven’t talked about this," Mingyu continued, his words careful, heartfelt. "But I want—I really want—to marry you, Wonwoo."

He stepped forward, lowering himself gracefully onto one knee beside the coffee table. His hands shook ever so slightly as he reached for the little red box, flipping it open to reveal a gleaming ring inside. His eyes never left Wonwoo’s.

"So… Will you marry me, Won?" Mingyu’s voice cracked, his nerves barely concealed beneath the weight of his sincerity.

Wonwoo didn’t even realize when the tears began falling. They streamed silently down his cheeks, blurring his vision. His chest felt too tight, his feet restless against the floor as though his body didn’t know how else to release the flood of emotions bursting within him. His heart pounded so hard he thought it might give out.

He nodded rapidly, almost desperately, his lips parting but no words escaping. His hand shot forward, trembling, eager, offering itself to Mingyu.

Mingyu’s fingers were steady when he slid the ring onto Wonwoo’s ring finger, though his own eyes glistened as he watched it settle into place.

And then, before either of them could speak, two little voices erupted from behind one of the sofas. "Hooray!" Heesun and Moonsoo shouted in unison, clapping their hands with unrestrained joy. They had been hiding there all along, tiny conspirators in their father’s grandest secret.

"Our parents are getting married!" Heesun declared proudly, her face glowing with triumph. "And we’ll be able to go to their wedding, just like I wanted!"

Wonwoo let out a breathless laugh, brushing at his wet cheeks. His children bounced in front of him, their excitement filling the room with so much light he thought his heart might burst.

Wonwoo had always wanted something simple, something genuine. And Mingyu, as always, wanted whatever would make Wonwoo happiest. But their daughter had her own demands—Heesun wanted the best photographer in the world at the wedding, and a photo where she stood right beside her now-married parents. Moonsoo, of course, chimed in with his agreement, insisting that there had to be proof that they, too, were present at the wedding.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Years later...

Alpha, Kim Heesun, had grown into her role with an elegance that often left people confused. She was an alpha, probably the prettiest anyone had seen in their circle, and she carried it with effortless grace. Some whispered that maybe that was why she was the captain of the cheerleading squad, as if her second gender alone had placed her there, as if her leadership and discipline didn’t matter. But how had the school even known she would turn out to be an alpha before her official second-gender reveal? That mystery lingered in the air for many who thought they could predict such things based on looks or family lineage.

Now, at sixteen, she carried with her a scent that was impossible to ignore—a delicious mocha fragrance, warm and inviting, like roasted coffee beans kissed by a hint of sweetness. It was strong, yes, undeniably alpha, but it was also soothing, almost addictive. The smell preceded her wherever she went, leaving traces in the hallways and making heads turn.

"She doesn’t look like an alpha." People still said it, as if alphas had a fixed mold they needed to fit into. What were they supposed to look like, anyway? Tall, broad, intimidating? Heesun was delicate. She had a soft, refined face, almost doll-like in its prettiness, framed by silky black hair that she often styled neatly for school or pulled into a high ponytail for cheer practice. She was feminine to the core, graceful, and fashionable. Maybe that was why she was so popular with everyone—boys, girls, alphas, betas, and omegas alike. It didn’t matter what someone’s second gender was; they wanted to be near her, to bask in her presence. Many wanted to court her, thinking they had a chance simply because she smiled easily and spoke kindly to everyone.

But the fact that she was an alpha made things more complicated. Some boys still adored her, but others hesitated, as if the revelation of her second gender had erected an invisible wall between them. It wasn’t her fault, but it was as if their perception of her shifted overnight. The comments were constant and frustrating: “Oh, but you know she’s an alpha. That means she couldn’t carry her children.” It was absurd, the ignorance she had to face. She grew tired of explaining, over and over, that alpha women could indeed carry children, even if many preferred finding fertile omegas or male partners. It wasn’t impossible; it was just biology with extra steps. But prejudice was a stubborn shadow.

Still, Kim Heesun didn’t let it break her spirit. At sixteen, she carried herself with pride. She stood tall, chin lifted, her mocha scent radiating confidence and authority, but her smile kept her approachable. She was determined not to let other people’s narrow views define her worth.

And then there was Kim Moonsoo—her brother. If the world had expected anyone in their family to be the alpha, it would have been him. Tall for his age, broad-shouldered, with a quiet but commanding presence, Moonsoo looked the part of a classic alpha from head to toe. He was captain of the basketball team, his build and stamina envied by many, his gentle but firm leadership respected. If anyone embodied the stereotype of an alpha male, it was him. So when Heesun’s reveal came and months rolled by with no signs from Moonsoo, whispers began. Surely, they thought, his turn would come next.

But nothing happened. Months became a year. Still nothing. Then, slowly, Moonsoo came to the same conclusion his father, Wonwoo, had reached when he was young: I’m a beta. He accepted it quietly, almost with relief, even though others still squinted at him with disbelief. He had everything people associated with an alpha—strength, height, charm—but his nature was calmer, less aggressive, more nurturing. He had a steady confidence, yes, but he also had a deep kindness, a patience that seemed to radiate from him, much like Wonwoo. Maybe that was what he had inherited: not the dominant second gender everyone had predicted, but the gentleness of his father.

One evening, after practice, Heesun had teased him, throwing her pom-poms on his bed.

“Honestly, Moon, people still think you’re hiding your reveal. Maybe you should just roar at them like a proper alpha.”

Moonsoo had laughed, leaning back in his chair. “And you want me to what? Growl in the middle of class? I’d rather let them think whatever they want. I’m fine as I am.”

“You’re too calm about this,” she pouted, though her smile betrayed her pride.

“Or maybe,” he said with a shrug, “I just know who I am better than they do.”

Despite society’s expectations, Moonsoo didn’t feel lesser. He was tall, he was capable, he was respected—and he knew who he was. He was Moonsoo, and that was enough.

Time flew, as it always did, and now both Heesun and Moonsoo were preparing to part ways for the first time in their lives. Childhood had kept them side by side, bound together in everything from playdates to sibling arguments, to family dinners filled with laughter and bickering. But now, their dreams tugged them in different directions.

Heesun had chosen medicine. Inspired by her grandmother Jungeun, who had been a brilliant doctor, she decided to follow the same path, even if she wasn’t sure what her specialization would be yet. The idea of healing, of being in control of life-saving knowledge, thrilled her. She wanted to make a difference, to prove that beauty and strength and intelligence could coexist in one girl, one alpha. Her acceptance letter had arrived weeks ago, and it had been a cause for celebration. She had been accepted into the very same medical school her grandmother once attended, a prestigious institution far from home. Everyone in the family was proud of her, even though the thought of her leaving left a heavy ache in their hearts.

Late at night, while packing one of her suitcases, Heesun had looked at her brother and sighed.

“Are you going to miss me, Moon?” she asked, holding up a sweater she wasn’t sure to take.

“Of course,” he replied instantly, without even lifting his eyes from his book. Then, after a beat, he looked up at her with a grin. “But you’ll probably call every day to complain about cafeteria food, so it won’t feel like you’re gone.”

“Hey!” she threw the sweater at him, laughing. “Maybe I’ll be too busy saving lives to call you at all.”

“Sure,” he teased. “I’ll believe that when it happens.”

Moonsoo, on the other hand, had decided on a quieter path. His joy came from teaching, from sharing knowledge and seeing others understand because of him. He had always been good at explaining things—whether it was math homework to his classmates or basketball drills to his teammates—and he had a natural patience that made him a born teacher. Language fascinated him most of all, so he decided to pursue a degree in education, specializing in languages. Luckily, the university near home offered the program he wanted, which meant he didn’t have to leave his parents yet. He could stay, close to the house that had always been filled with warmth, with Mingyu’s cooking, with Wonwoo’s steady encouragement.

When he told Heesun about his plans, she had tilted her head and smirked. “A teacher, huh? I can already picture you writing inspirational quotes on the blackboard.”

“Better than you slicing open cadavers,” he shot back playfully.

“Touché,” she laughed, nudging him. “Still… you’re going to be good at it. You’ve always been good at explaining things without making people feel dumb.”

Moonsoo smiled faintly. “Thanks, Sun. Coming from you, that means a lot.”

And while Moonsoo himself was convinced he was a beta, Wonwoo wasn’t entirely sure. He had a hunch, a quiet intuition that perhaps his son’s second gender story wasn’t quite finished yet. But for now, he kept that thought tucked close to his heart, letting Moonsoo live and grow at his own pace.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Moonsoo’s first week of university had been more eventful than he expected. Every day, people still mistook him for an alpha, and he found it endlessly amusing. He carried himself with a presence that could be intimidating—tall, broad-shouldered, and naturally confident—so it wasn’t strange that others assumed he belonged to that category. He didn’t mind the assumption, not really, but he did wonder if, once they knew his second gender, things would change. Would the omegas who giggled and flirted with him still act the same after discovering he was a beta? Or… was he even sure about that anymore?

It was Friday morning when things shifted. Moonsoo had overslept, his alarm blaring uselessly for almost half an hour while he remained tangled under the blankets. He startled awake when the sun was already far too high in the sky, panic setting in immediately. He rubbed his face, groggy and disoriented, expecting to jump out of bed and race to class. But then—

A smell. A thick, rich scent filled the air, so heavy it seemed to coat his lungs with every breath. Chocolate. Sweet, dark, almost bitter in its richness—and beneath it, a hint of cherries, tart and fresh. His brow furrowed. Had Dad Mingyu decided to bake something early in the morning? What day was it, again? He sat up abruptly, blinking around the room in confusion, only to realize the scent wasn’t wafting in from the kitchen. It was coming from him. His own skin.

Heat flushed across his body, his skin hot and prickling. He pressed a palm against his chest, feeling the irregular beat of his heart. He barely had time to register what was happening before his door opened.

“Moonsoo!” Mingyu’s voice rang through the room, sharp and alarmed. He stood in the doorway, wide-eyed and tense, as if bracing for something. At first, Moonsoo thought his father would scold him for oversleeping, but no—the expression on Mingyu’s face wasn’t anger. It was dismay. Shock. Concern.

“Moonsoo, your scent,” Mingyu breathed, his voice almost breaking. His gaze softened, though his jaw trembled, and in that instant Moonsoo understood.

The chocolate and cherry. The heat flooding his body. The undeniable shift in his nature.

“Am I… an omega?” Moonsoo whispered, his voice small, his hands clenching the blankets. He didn’t even recognize himself in that moment.

Mingyu’s throat tightened, his eyes burning, but he forced himself not to cry. His son wasn’t a baby anymore—he was grown, coming of age, stepping into the world. And yet, to Mingyu, he would always be his baby. He nodded, slow and careful, and crossed the room to sit at the edge of Moonsoo’s bed. He slipped his phone from his pocket, his hand trembling slightly.

“Don’t worry,” Mingyu said softly, forcing a steadiness he didn’t feel. “It’s okay, Moon. It’s all okay.” He pressed call and lifted the phone to his ear. “Wonwoo, love, are you still at the grocery store? There’s… a little situation here.”

Moonsoo shifted restlessly under the covers, the heat unbearable, his skin slick with sweat. He wanted to throw off the blanket, wanted to breathe properly, but he stayed still, trying to remain calm. At least Dad Mingyu was here with him. At least he wasn’t alone.

When Wonwoo arrived, the entire house reeked with the overpowering scent of an omega’s pheromones. For a moment, he nearly lost his balance, stunned. That scent wasn’t his, and it wasn’t Heesun’s. It was new. It was Moonsoo’s.

He rushed down the hall and burst into the bedroom, finding Mingyu sitting close and Moonsoo flushed, disoriented, a fan running desperately at full power.

“I knew it!” Wonwoo exclaimed, his face breaking into a mix of pride and relief. His suspicions had been right all along. He had always found it strange that Moonsoo felt like a beta, that his second gender had never revealed itself, especially when Heesun had turned out to be an alpha. Now everything made sense.

Mingyu let out a shaky laugh, relief flooding his chest. “You were right,” he admitted, glancing up at his husband.

Wonwoo crossed the room quickly, kneeling beside his son’s bed, brushing damp strands of hair away from Moonsoo’s forehead. “You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice gentle, reassuring. “I was late too, you know. It runs in the family.”

Later that night, after Moonsoo had finally calmed and was resting, Mingyu and Wonwoo sat together at the kitchen table, a cup of tea steaming between them. They didn’t speak for a long time, only listening to the soft hum of the fan still running upstairs. Finally, Mingyu let out a breathy chuckle.

“Do you ever think about it?” he asked quietly. “How this all started? That reunion. How I didn’t even remember you, and yet somehow… here we are.”

Wonwoo smiled faintly, his eyes softening as he reached across the table to take Mingyu’s hand. “All the time,” he admitted. “It was supposed to be a mistake, wasn’t it? An accident. And now… it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to us.”

Mingyu squeezed his hand, emotion catching in his throat. He glanced toward the hallway, where their children used to sleep.  “Yeah,” Mingyu whispered, his lips curling into a smile despite the tears in his eyes. “The very best thing.”

Notes:

Uploading the ending now since I’ll be busy tomorrow, and I’m not sure if I’ll get the chance to share the last chapter then. I really want to thank you all for the support you’ve given this story. While translating, I tried to improve it here and there (it was a bit lacking, heh), but I honestly ended up liking this new ending—and the whole English version—so much better.

Right now, I’m debating what I should translate and upload next. I have a few options, but I’m not sure if I should go with some older works or focus on my more recent ones in Spanish. Haha, I don’t want to take a break because I really want to push Minwon to the top! But of course, I’m not a robot—even if I’d love to write 10k words a day, that’s just impossible.

Still, I really hope you enjoyed this story. I’ve received so many wonderful comments, and I’m truly grateful. Honestly, I write because I love Minwon so much and want them to be happy in every universe, heh—and it makes me so happy when you appreciate my ideas. I think I’m best at writing lighter, fluffier things, the kind of stories you can relax with. I’m terrible at angst—it’s hard for me to even read it, and writing it feels even worse! I just can’t make them suffer for long, and if I do, I need to fix everything right after the storm, haha.

Anyway, thank you so much again. I’ll be thinking about what to translate next, so it might take a little time before I start something new. Or maybe I’ll write a fresh one-shot and share that first! I do have a few half-written pieces waiting, since I got caught up working on another story that I’ll translate later too.

Thank you again—for supporting me, but most of all, for supporting and loving Minwon. They truly deserve all the love in the world. T.T

Notes:

Did you see that AO3 ranking with Minwon at #70? YAAAAY! I’ve been thinking about that list since last year, and that’s actually one of the reasons I decided to write and share more of my stories here. Heh. I really, really wanted to help take them to the top. Even if we don’t see them together as much these days because of Wonwoo’s enlistment T-T, writing about them, imagining them, and making them happy in all these stories honestly makes me happy.

And now, about this story—yes, well… this was actually my first attempt at writing omegaverse, lol, so it’s kind of messy. In a lot of places, I totally forget about the omegaverse part and just let things happen haha. I think... well, I’m not sure how it turned out—I’ll let you be the judge—but I just wanted to say that yeah, it’s my first try, so maybe it’s missing some typical omegaverse elements here and there.

I don’t want to spoil anything yet—the second chapter will definitely have more going on! So maybe I’ll wait until then to give you more TMI about the plot hehe. I also have a bunch of tags I still need to add, so please be patient with me!

That’s all for now—just a short note this time. Thank you so much for giving my work a chance. And really, thank you for all your kudos, comments, and bookmarks—it means a lot to know that people are enjoying what I write. Let’s keep loving Minwon till the end of time! I’ll keep writing until we get them to #1 hehehe