birds of a feather

by herewelie

Summary:

The pack is having a week from hell as their cycles wreak havoc on their bodies. Seungmin tries to help.

Notes:

written for slickfest prompt E724

shoutout to Kim “I don’t believe in forever, but I want to believe in eternity with you” Seungmin, he's a cool dude <3

"Changbin's going to be so annoyed he missed this."

Hyunjin shifts his weight on his knees, hands balanced at either side of Seungmin's head, caging him in. It's an unflattering angle to look up at him from. Laying flat under him like a deflated balloon, Seungmin can see inside his nostrils. Still, he's so unbearably beautiful. His lips, curled into a smug smirk that makes Seungmin go cross-eyed, are so close he can feel his breath against his own lips, warm and minty.

Seungmin could kiss him right now, wipe the triumph of a successful catch right off his haughty mouth. He doesn't.

"You look so cute. I should send the guys a picture."

The tiny, disgruntled noises Seungmin makes don't help pick his dignity up off the floor. He feels like dough, kneaded and moulded into submission, breathless with want. Hyunjin's hands and face and scent, the treasured weight of him straddling Seungmin like this — they've turned off whatever part of his brain connects it to his mouth. He has to fight his way through the thick fog to get his vocal cords to produce something coherent.

"I'll stop answering your calls," he threatens — he tries, anyway. It comes out a meek, slurred thing, his tongue too heavy in his mouth, sticking to his palate.

Hyunjin gasps dramatically, clutching at his chest with a hand. The pillow dips further on the left of Seungmin's head as he pushes harder there, keeping himself up with a single hand. His arm doesn't even shake. It's effortless. It makes Seungmin's mouth go dry.

"You wouldn't."

Seungmin wouldn't. He'd be too anxious about missing a serious call. But maybe he'd ignore one just for the hell of it and then call him back. "Try me."

"No. I don't believe you. You're a consummate liar."

"Ooh, big word."

Hyunjin rolls his eyes, still smiling. "I've really missed this," he sighs, wistful.

"Being bullied?"

"Mhh — yeah." He pouts cutely, tilting his head. "That's how you express your love."

Seungmin can't help himself. He reaches up for him, cups Hyunjin's precious face and pulls him close. The tender, unguarded way he looks down at Seungmin steals his breath away, and for a moment all he can do is close his eyes and breathe against the ache in his chest. He's holding a piece of his heart right in the palms of his hands.

Hyunjin hums at him, fingers wrapping around his shoulders, pads digging indents into soft skin, claiming. Seungmin's hands tremble as he thumbs over the tiny scars of his rejected piercing, concealed by his eyebrow, and the little spot under his eye where his mole used to be, and his plump lower lip, slightly chapped but still so soft.

He's the most beautiful person in the world and Seungmin will never know what he did to deserve having him like this, but he's too greedy to think of ever letting him go. They'd have to pry him out of his dead hands.

"You're so pretty," he says. It comes off wholly inadequate to express the storm of emotions brewing in him. Hyunjin smiles like he knows anyway.

"I think you're prettier."

He snorts lightly, dismissing the compliment. Hyunjin frowns at him, scent wilting a little. Seungmin doesn't catch it. His hands tingle as they slide down, down until he takes hold of Hyunjin's shoulders and pulls him into his arms.

They lay just like that, chest to chest, Hyunjin's body blanketing his own, Seungmin's arms wrapped tight around Hyunjin's back, a hand running through his long, black hair. Hyunjin traces patterns on whatever part of him he can reach, talented fingers drawing shapes Seungmin can't keep up with, mind growing sluggish, coaxed into a sort of lethargic state by Hyunjin's presence.

He's hyper-aware of his pack gland as Hyunjin teases it with light touches, going over and around in concentric circles. Seungmin tilts his head obediently when Hyunjin starts mouthing at it, peppering gentle, wet kisses all over where it's the most sensitive, stimulating it until Seungmin's usually mild scent blooms light and eager.

"Can I?" Hyunjin asks, teeth scraping over the tender skin, and Seungmin nods, all too easily convinced.

Being nipped by Hyunjin always feels like stepping into a warm bath. He's so gentle with it, the pressure steady and even, and it slowly melts Seungmin into a puddle of blissed-out beta goo. His head goes floppy on the pillow, all of his muscles relaxing at once, and he's out for the count. Hyunjin keeps petting and caressing him, humming some kind of tune under his breath. He kisses Seungmin's closed eyelids, the tip of his nose, his Adam's apple, and Seungmin's skin breaks out in goosebumps, but he registers this with a delay, like it's really happening to someone else.

Seungmin's awareness of the world begins and ends with Hyunjin's mouth and hands. Time and space cease to exist as a heavy sleep closes in on him and the last coherent thought he can manage is — if this isn't what heaven feels like, he'll find a way to make them immortal.

He wakes up drowsy and just a touch too warm. Hyunjin's half hard against his hip, exhaling quiet breaths into his collarbone. Seungmin rubs a hand over his eyes, mouth stretching into a yawn. He sticks his leg out of the blanket Hyunjin must've laid over them and enjoys the air cooling him down a little.

His neck is sore where Hyunjin nipped him. The ache feels stupidly good when he presses down on it, feeling over the imprint of Hyunjin's teeth on his skin.

Someone is puttering around the house, making too much noise. Hyunjin snuffles in his sleep, pretty nose twitching, and Seungmin has the urge to squeeze his face in his hands again until he pops like a balloon. He caresses him instead, pushing his hair out of his eyes and behind his pierced ear. He counts all the piercings. One of the studs is brand new. He'd noticed it weeks ago, but he hadn't really been sure.

Changbin's booming voice assaulting his ears is what knocks the last dregs of sleep right off of Seungmin. "Is my wife cheating on me?"

He freezes just past the doorway, staring wide-eyed between Hyunjin and Seungmin as the omega stirs on top of him, turning to look at Changbin. "Sorry!" The alpha whisper-yells at them, bringing both hands out in an apologetic gesture.

"Where were you?" Hyunjin asks, husky with sleep, right against Seungmin's ear, and he shivers, feeling it zip down his spine.

"At the gym," he says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "With Channie."

Hyunjin pulls his hand out of the blanket, beckoning him over with a curl of his fingers, and Changbin goes. He smells like sweaty and worked up alpha, musky and heavy, but not particularly unpleasant. He smells like arousal too, his and Chan's scents mixed together in a very particular way. Seungmin looks at him like he knows all of his secrets and Changbin ducks his head, refusing to meet his eyes.

Seungmin doesn't press it. He wouldn't on general principle, it's not his business what his pack mates get up to with each other, but it matters now especially. He recognizes the beginnings of pre-rut in Chan's scent, and that's never a pleasant time for him. He should get to have whatever comforts he needs — a pliant, sensitive, sweaty Changbin in his tight-fitting gym shirt and shorts included. He understands Chan intimately for that one, he thinks, eyeing up Changbin's biceps and quads, not sure where to look first. He's a feast.

It's only when he leans down to kiss Hyunjin, that Seungmin — trapped in between the two of them, disgustingly in love as they are — gets a proper whiff of his scent. There's something else there, unfamiliar and decidedly beta. He can tell from how light it is, unassuming, and yet it clings to him like it's trying to seep into his skin and make its home there. He can't imagine what kind of beta would be stupid enough to do that, with so many different pack scents layered over him, Chan's and Hyunjin's especially strong among them, loud and proprietary.

But they're alpha and omega scents. He carries no beta ones, except for the stranger's. Seungmin can't remember the last time he gave any of the alphas a real scenting. He has no one else to blame but himself. Changbin's a fucking catch and a half. Any interested, unattached beta would take the opportunity to fill that seemingly vacant spot within his pack structure.

Seungmin can accept this, logically. It doesn't make the crater in his stomach feel any less wide, an ugly, blended pit of misplaced jealousy and resentment. "New spotter today?" He asks casually, the words pressing on his tongue like a loaded gun.

Changbin pulls away from Hyunjin and just stares at him. "How do you and Minho-hyung always just know shit?"

Sharp noses and sharper minds, he thinks. Possibly, the same flavor of neurodivergence. "Witchcraft," he says instead. "We do yearly human sacrifices to gain the gift of foresight and —"

He yelps when Changbin lunges for him. Hyunjin moves out of the way so they don't butt heads and the alpha plants one knee on the bed, propping himself up to loom over Seungmin.

"You have been cheating on me," he exclaims giddily, fighting off Seungmin's hands by pinning his wrists down, completely unbothered by his squirming and kicking.

The way his blood rushes to his face would've made him feel faint if he wasn't already laying down. As it is, Seungmin has to surrender to Changbin's superior strength and go limp. He can't embarrass himself any further, and Changbin will flatten him like a pancake if he decides Seungmin's fighting too much. He doesn't think he could take being teased like that right now, no matter how good natured.

Hyunjin makes an offended noise. "With my beta?"

Seungmin's stomach swoops. Changbin laughs, sticking his nose right against Seungmin's bruised gland. "You smell so good, Seungminnie."

"You stink," Seungmin bites out, fingers twitching with the need to grab a fistful of Changbin's damp hair and shake him until that stranger's scent is knocked off of him. "Go take a shower."

His grip on Seungmin's wrists tightens just enough. "You should invite me next time. I'll give you a real nip."

"Yah!" Hyunjin protests, hitting his broad back. The smacking sounds absurd from how drenched in sweat he is. "My nip was perfect. Look at him!"

"I'm always looking," Changbin says, smooth like silk, and presses a kiss to Seungmin's forehead.

Seungmin fakes a gag, squirming while the butterflies riot in his stomach. Changbin keeps him there, relentless, nosing at his temple. "I thought you said you were going to sleep in today."

"I asked him to hang out."

"And mong-mongie got out of bed for you like a good puppy, didn't he?"

"Look who's talking," Hyunjin scoffs. Changbin giggles, winking at Seungmin, whose face feels like it's been set on fire, his skin peeled back and his nerve endings exposed to the flames.

He manages to wriggle out of Changbin's slackened grip, shoving at his chest with all of his strength. Changbin laughs, delighted, barely budging at all. Seungmin sticks his tongue out at him and hastily sits up, putting some distance between them before Changbin decides he's not quite done torturing him and goes for a round two.

"Do you have vocal training today?" Changbin's sculpted pecs strain against his shirt as he scratches a spot on his shoulder, oblivious to the way Seungmin's heart stutters at the sight.

Seungmin fixes the collar of his shirt, smoothing down the wrinkled fabric. "After lunch."

"Can you come by the company after?"

"Why?" Hyunjin demands, immediately wrapping a protective arm around Seungmin.

Changbin sighs, running a hand through his hair. He smirks slightly when he catches Seungmin staring at his flexed bicep. He's not worried about that one, though. They all ogle Changbin's arms.

"Hyung needs him to record some stuff."

"We finished rehearsing yesterday. Next week is packed. Why is he —"

Changbin's expression clouds, mouth working over several words he discards before he settles for a small, bruised, "It's important."

The quiet way he says it, like he's imploring them to listen to what's left unsaid, seems to appeal to some deep-seated instinct neither of them can resist. Hyunjin leans his head in between Seungmin's shoulder blades. He feels his tired exhale even over the cotton of his shirt.

Seungmin knows there's a previous discussion here between the two of them that he's missed. He's not sure it really matters. The request isn't coming from Changbin himself. He's always been good at this, acting as Chan's mirror, but Seungmin can sense his discomfort in the way his scent keeps wavering in intensity, muddled and confused. That's all Changbin, as unsure of where he stands in this situation as they are.

"What time?"

Changbin rubs at his chin, eyes flickering back and forth as he calculates the logistics in real time. "After dinner? Your dinner."

Because Seungmin is one of the only people in this pack who tries to keep normal human hours for things like eating and sleeping. "Fine," he says, rolling his eyes for good measure.

"Great. What are you doing for lunch?"

"Going out with Iyenie."

Hyunjin perks up immediately. "Can we come with?"

Seungmin flops back in bed with a groan. He should've just fucking stayed asleep.

Chan's name flashes on his phone screen, the notification from his last text — asking if Seungmin's coming after all — still sitting there unread. Seungmin holds the coffees in a precarious one-handed grip, sloshing back and forth as he opens the studio door with just three fingers, phone clutched between thumb and index finger.

The smell of alpha musk assaults him instantly, infused with a heavy dose of arousal, so thick he feels it clogging up his nose, leaving a strong after-taste in the back of his throat. He coughs after the first inhale, closing the door and turning an unimpressed frown to the rest of the room. Seungmin has seen them through the worst of their late teenage years, but he doesn't think they've ever looked more pitiful than this.

Jisung is knocked out on the couch, dead to the world, Chan's black beanie tucked under his chin. Chan is pacing in the vocal booth like a caged animal, head in his hands. Changbin is drooped over the table like a wilting flower, arms covering his head, the dip of his back exposed from where his t-shirt's ridden up. He slides a little further off the edge of his chair as he turns to look at Seungmin, cheek smushed into the table, his unstyled hair sticking straight out of his scalp from friction.

"Seungmin-ah. You've never looked more beautiful."

Seungmin looks down at himself for a moment, taking in his gray sweatpants and zip up hoodie, uninspiring and functional. He looks back at Changbin, broad back fighting to escape the fabric of his shirt, his whole face scrunched up in a brilliant, if a little loopy smile, and comes to the only plausible conclusion.

"Did you hit your head?"

Changbin laughs, bright and high-pitched. Seungmin puts the coffees down on the table, next to his head, then pulls them away again when Changbin reaches for one, still too slouched over for Seungmin's tastes. Choking on liquids is no joke. Changbin sighs, straightening himself up, and Seungmin's palms itch with the need to fix his hair.

"What's he doing in there?" He asks, slinking into the empty chair to Changbin's right.

"I'm giving it another try," Chan says, voice coming clear over the mic. Seungmin can tell he's not in his right mind just from the way he stresses his consonants, like he's overthinking the way he's speaking and over-correcting.

"Sure, hyung," Changbin chirps, mouth flat.

Seungmin drops his phone on the table. The screen turns on, shining a slight glow on Changbin's face as he leans in to snoop. He snorts when he sees Chan's text.

"What?" Chan asks, challenging, always a little rough around the edges when he's feeling emotionally vulnerable, too easy to provoke and to retaliate.

Changbin doesn't rise to the bait, but his jaw clenches with the effort, strong frame coiled like a spring. "Seungmin did something funny."

"Seungmin, stop distracting him," Chan scolds halfheartedly, softer on him.

Seungmin points a finger at his own chest innocently, mouth dropping open in fake outrage, and Changbin cackles. He unwinds just like that, rolls his shoulders and focuses again, still smiling when he says, "Go ahead, hyung."

Chan grumbles something to himself, looking over the lyric sheet before he begins. Changbin reaches over for his coffee while they listen, squinting at Seungmin's hands like he's expecting them to interfere just to keep teasing him. He gets a solid hold on the cup and takes his first, furtive sip with half of his body twisting away from Seungmin. Seungmin didn't even think about messing with him again, taken as he is by Chan's singing, but he appreciates the sentiment nonetheless.

"How was that?"

The coffee must have made him bolder, because Changbin sighs openly. "As good as your last five tries, hyung."

Chan makes a frustrated noise, adjusting his headphones. The lyric sheet crinkles in his grip, the paper curling in on itself. "I don't like the tone."

"The tone works well." Changbin's all work mode here, more producer Changbin of 3Racha than Chan's annoyed dongsaeng who's done with his bullshit. "Lee Know-hyung's part is right after and he —"

"Just let me hear it again, Bin-ah."

Changbin breathes out from his nose, short and irritated. He scratches at the patch on his gland a little too roughly and puts down the coffee to do as asked.

By the eighth re-listen Seungmin knows exactly why Chan is struggling so much. Changbin still looks mystified, watching Chan resume his agitated pacing. "It just doesn't work," he groans, tugging harshly at his one of his earrings.

"You need to take a break," Changbin says firmly, swiveling his chair to catch Chan's eye from across the vocal booth's glass door. "It's fine if it doesn't work right now. You can come back to it with new ears later."

"I almost have it. I just need — I need to understand what the problem is."

Seungmin thinks Chan understands what the problem just fine, he just doesn't know how to metabolize it. Jisung's part precedes his, and he's executed it perfectly, his vocal tone bright and intense, packed with emotion. Minho's soft falsetto is near orgasmic and it gives a particular, melancholy turn to the whole thing that works really well. Chan has to squeeze himself in the middle to bridge the two in a way that does justice to their work, but it feels more like he's really getting in the way.

Because they sound perfect. They sound like they're singing to each other. This isn't really about the song.

He flicks Changbin's arm to get his attention. "Is this one of Jisung's?"

Changbin flicks him back. Seungmin hisses like he was stabbed, rubbing at the sting. "Punk. No, not really. It's him and Chan's communal pet project. They've been torturing me with it for weeks."

"Did Jisung direct Minho's part?"

That makes him pause. He stares at his coffee for a second, rubbing at his chin in thought. Then he scoffs, exhaling in a forceful puff of air. "Son of a bitch."

Chan is still going, clueless to their realization, talking to himself under his breath like he really has lost his mind. "Hyung," Seungmin calls, cutting him off before he can spiral into actual psychosis. "Listen to me. You need to sing it to them."

"What do you mean?"

He sounds so cold. Seungmin is fascinated by it. He pushes harder, just to see if he'll break. "You know what I mean, Chan. Sing it to them."

Chan doesn't break, but he does bend.

He rips the headphones off and storms out. Out of the vocal booth and out of the studio altogether. Seungmin ducks out of the studio after him, breaking into a little run to catch up with him down the hallway. For someone shorter than him, Chan really has one hell of a long stride. Seungmin's feet hurt.

"I don't want to talk about it," Chan snaps, before Seungmin can get a word in.

Seungmin falls into step with him, wrinkling his nose at the way Chan's scent aggravated invades all of his senses. "Never said you had to."

"What the fuck was that, then?"

Seungmin shrugs. Chan is so handsome like this, barely holding onto the reins of his self-restraint, human to a fault. Seungmin looks at the curve of his nose, the swell of his plump lips, and feels a desperate urge to kiss him. Instead, he tucks his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, keeping them occupied while he works over that urge in his head, trying to banish it to a dusty, forgotten corner.

"You wanted help fixing the problem. Now you know how to do it."

Chan barks out a laugh, somewhere between disbelieving and delirious. "Jesus, Seungmin."

They walk aimlessly, in complete silence, bowing in greeting to various random employees passing by with curious eyes and tongues. Chan gets sick of the gawking very fast, and they correct course, turning back in the direction of the studio. Seungmin's glad, because if he had to walk another five minutes he would've had to turn back around on account of his knees not holding him up anymore and lose all credibility in the process.

"You're so …" Chan sighs, running a hand through his messy hair. His beanie probably still has Jisung's fist curled around it. "Why did you follow me?"

Seungmin wishes he didn't have to think too hard about his answer. But caring about Chan means always taking care to not show him that too openly. Seungmin has always struggled with toeing that line. He cares about his pack, he feels immensely responsible for them, just like Chan does. But Chan can't handle hearing that reflected back at him, because he can't bear the thought of being a burden — that is, being someone other people have to worry about. He makes no distinction between the two.

Seungmin has to do that for him. He pushes and pushes and keeps hoping it's going to work every time. It's the only thing he can do.

"You're in pre-rut. And I pissed you off. You never know."

Chan's scent grows stale, tasting spoiled by the time it reaches the back of Seungmin's throat. He wonders if he said the wrong thing, after all. He's great at doing that. "Right. Okay."

He turns to look at the alpha and finds him already looking. Seungmin can't read his face. It's disquieting. The rest of the walk back is spent in strained silence.

They find Changbin back at work and Jisung awake, coffee cup held between his teeth, tapping furiously on his phone. He smells like nothing but Chan, his own glands always covered up unless he's at home. He's the most traditional of the omegas in that.

Seungmin falls into the couch with a groan. He's going to feel this comeback's title track's choreography when he's eighty and suffering from raging osteoporosis, he knows it in his bones. Jisung makes a commiserating noise, reaching over to pat the part of Seungmin's body closest to him, which happens to be his face.

Seungmin bats his hand away and yanks the coffee cup right off his mouth. Jisung's teeth clank together, and cold coffee spills over Seungmin's hand.

"What was that for?" Jisung sputters indignantly, ditching his phone to chase after his coffee.

"We're shelving this track," Chan informs them, ignoring their squawking as Jisung tries to climb on top of Seungmin. He's taken back his throne — the other chair at the mixing desk.

Jisung makes a strangled sound, kneeing Seungmin's kidney in his haste to turn around and look at the alpha. "What? Why?"

"Thank fuck," Changbin blurts out, then grimaces. "No offense."

Seungmin doesn't laugh, but it's a near thing. He downs Jisung's cold, tasteless coffee in one go and raises the cup up to the heavens in a silent cheer. Jisung falls against him with a dramatic wail, clawing at Seungmin's hand until he takes hold of his wrist. Then he brings it up to his face and licks a long stripe up the back of his wrist, where the coffee was still dripping.

He recoils so hard he almost smacks Jisung in the face. "Gross, Jisung, what the fuck?"

"Serves you right, fucker." He sticks his tongue out at Seungmin and then scampers off his lap to avoid retaliation. He grabs at Chan's shoulders instead, giving him a light shake. "Hyung-ah, why are we shelving the song? Minho's verse is so good."

"Yeah, I don't know, I'm not really feeling it," Chan says, tapping his fingers on the desk. "Sorry, man."

Jisung's all misty-eyed when he turns to Changbin for help, his face doing that thing where he looks like a tiny, wounded critter, all big cheeks and pouty lips and sad eyes. Seungmin needs to know the science behind it. It makes all the alphas fold like lawn chairs.

"But — Bin-ah, tell him the song's good."

Seungmin gets up to throw the coffee cup away and catches Chan's eye. 'Coward', he mouths. 'Evil cunt', Chan mouths back in English. His eyes are crinkled at the corners, dimples stretched in a stupid, secret smile. Seungmin doesn't know if he finds the insult or his own relief at being insulted funnier. The balance of the world's forces is restored every time Chan fights back. It's probably written in a book somewhere.

"It is good, Jisungie. It's really good." Changbin reassures him, taking the omega's hand and kissing his palm. "It's just … not the right timing for it, you know?"

Seungmin picks up Jisung's phone from the floor and snorts loudly. Five missed calls and over twenty unread messages. "Guys, I think Minho-hyung's going to show up with a machine gun."

"Fuck," Jisung curses. "Shit, give me that."

Hyunjin sits down next to him, holding a sad bowl with a brownish, vaguely oatmeal-looking clump and a plastic spoon. His scent is prickly, almost frenzied, charged with the unmistakable beginnings of pre-heat. Seungmin's stomach rolls with anticipatory anxiety.

"I didn't sleep well last night."

Chan lets out a ragged sigh from where he's sitting on the other couch, his eyes closed, supposedly just to rest his eyes. Not one, but three different betas from the makeup staff today have taken a look at his deep eye bags and made increasingly more worried faces. He's been here for ten minutes. Seungmin's been keeping count, equally amused and concerned. After the third one he considered making a joke about Chan being sick of seeing the pack, but he kept his mouth shut, sure that it would land pretty badly today.

"Yeah?" Jeongin asks, scrolling on his phone but still engaging.

"My pillow was lumpy. And my sheets felt weird. I think I'm sick."

"That sucks," Jeongin says emphatically, not one thought to be had in that pretty head of his.

Chan brings his hands to his face and sighs again, broad shoulders jumping in his stupid, black tank top. Seungmin should burn all the ones he owns. He's tired of being distracted by Chan's slutty shoulders at work. It averts his attention from the more important stuff, like figuring out why Chan's acting like that in the first place, pre-rut ickiness aside.

"I think I'm coming down with something too," Jisung says.

Minho caresses his head like one would a spooked cat's, gentle and tentative. "That's pre-heat, jagi."

"No, it's not."

Minho blinks at him. Jisung scratches the back of his neck. "But I slept great."

"In my bed," Minho says patiently. Jisung's expressions change so rapidly in an even three seconds that Seungmin can practically read his entire thought process off of him.

"Well yeah, but — oh," Jisung blushes, touching the side of his neck. Seungmin just knows they were up to some freaky shit last night. He wants to asks for the details, but the staff doesn't need to know Jisung like that. "That's what that was?"

Hyunjin stabs at his food with the spoon, the clash of plastic on plastic making a noise that has Seungmin suppressing a full body shiver. Chan opens his eyes and stares very intensely at the bowl, like he's trying to explode the bowl with the sole force of his will — or to get Hyunjin to eat. He's taken maybe two bites and a half.

"Why was no one in my bed last night?"

"You — didn't ask?" Jeongin tries, tone wavering.

Hyunjin seems to feed off of his fear, glaring daggers at him. "Jisung never asks."

"Him and hyung have a telepathic bond, I'm pretty sure," Seungmin says, briefly glancing over at Minho, who's making cow eyes at Jisung, completely unprompted. Jisung hasn't even noticed. He's trying to finish the Sudoku game on Minho's phone.

Hyunjin's lips curl in something akin to disgust, his scent growing even more restless. "Whatever."

"Hyunjin-ah, we can't just read your mind. If you need —"

"I said whatever," Hyunjin snaps, voice thin.

Changbin rubs at his eyes, sighing in defeat. "Okay. Just eat your … breakfast mush."

"Don't tell me what to do."

Changbin looks at him for one, two breaths, and decides to disengage. He leans back into the couch, legs spread lazily, arms crossed over his chest, and starts talking to Chan. Something about a song. Seungmin tunes them out immediately. He's done with their producing bullshit for the week.

Hyunjin's scent is making Seungmin's nose itch, expanding and contracting around them like his entire being is heaving with the sting of Changbin could-shouldering him. It tugs at his heartstrings like nothing else, as it's supposed to.

"Do you want me to spoon-feed you, hyung? Is that okay?" Jeongin asks, so quiet Seungmin barely hears it.

"Uh —" Hyunjin stammers, wide-eyed, visibly taken off guard. "Yeah. Okay."

Jeongin takes the bowl and the spoon and actually starts feeding him. One mouthful at a time, eyebrows furrowed cutely in concentration, filling the spoon just right, careful of any spillover, and then bringing it to Hyunjin's lips. Hyunjin eats happily, scent sweet, fingers toying with the lapels of Jeongin's jacket.

It's pure madness to Seungmin. He doesn't understand it, what presenting does to people. He feels like he's always playing catch up with them. Like there was a lesson he missed somewhere along the way about the fundamentals of the subject that everyone else attended, and now he has to study university level Math without knowing how fractions work. But he could re-learn fractions, embarrassing as it would be.

Instincts, he can't learn. Thought patterns and behaviors so different to his own — he could read every book and article ever written on the subject and it still wouldn't be enough. That's too sad a thought for four in the morning.

"Where's Felix?" He asks no one in particular, after doing a quick head count.

"Bathroom," Chan says, checking his phone. He frowns. "He's been gone a while."

"I'll go check on him."

He breathes better when he's away from the miasma of the pack's headache-inducing scents. Most of them are right on the cusp of their cycles and it's making all of their scents, like their moods, volatile and unpredictable. And Seungmin can't do anything but keep track of their symptoms and hope everything goes according to schedule. Otherwise, he's suing someone.

He waddles around like a newborn fawn, mentally praying for the downfall of his shoes, the stylists and the fashion industry. They took ten minutes and a lot of cursing through clenched teeth to put on, through all sorts of laces and straps. Jeongin took one look at them earlier and called him cool and Seungmin is riding that high for as long as he can. Still, he has no idea how he's going to dance like this.

He does find Felix in the restroom. It's just that he's sitting on the floor, pinching his nose to breathe through his mouth and cringing up at him. Seungmin doesn't need to do a double take, because no one else in this building could possibly be that blond, but it does give him pause. Felix isn't the most hygiene-minded in their pack, but Seungmin would've thought he'd draw a line at sitting on a bathroom floor that's not their home one.

"Sorry," he says, voice funnily nasal. "Just needed some space."

Seungmin soundlessly gestures at himself with a hand, not sure how exactly to ask if his presence is bothersome. Felix squints at him like he doesn't know how to kindly tell him to fuck off. He sounds even smaller when he apologizes the second time around, shaking his head. The tear tracks on his face look so stark over his freckles.

"Do you have your phone with you?"

Felix nods slowly, the corner of his mouth curling into a tiny smile. "Yeah."

Seungmin feels a phantom stitch in his side at the prospect of leaving him alone like this. But that's what Felix wants. Seungmin will respect that. He gives him a thumbs up, clears his throat against the lump lodged there, trying to suffocate him, and waddles back to the break room in defeat.

His calves ache when he sinks into the first available spot on the couch. Wedged between its arm and Jisung, but far away from any of the alphas, he thinks he will find five minutes of peace. Instead, he immediately has one of the staff members towering over him, so broad he casts a shadow over both him and Jisung. Seungmin can't remember his name at the moment, but he holds himself like an alpha and so Seungmin faces him like one, relaxed and unruffled.

"Did you find Felix?"

"Bathroom," Seungmin says, pointedly aloof. Maybe even a bit rude. "Omega stuff, I don't know. I didn't ask."

He makes a disgusted face and walks off, shaking his head at another staff member. Seungmin immediately schools his face into a more neutral expression, not wanting Jisung to overthink the interaction.

"Fucker," Jisung hisses under his breath. "What the hell is up with all of these staff changes? I don't even know who that guy is."

Seungmin doesn't really know why they've been cycling through managers like this lately. Half of them are practically unknown faces. He's not sure if it's a wider company issue or something with their own management, but it's becoming a problem. One they can't fix right now, because they have ten thousand other things to do.

"Yeah, it's not great. We'll get to it when we can."

Jisung makes an annoyed noise. Then he throws both legs over Seungmin's lap like it's his right, wriggling around until he's comfortable. "Do you think I can get away with another tattoo?"

Seungmin picks at the hole on Jisung jeans, twirling the extra strings of fabric in his fingers. His knee twitches when Seungmin grazes the skin, but he doesn't move away. "I think you should do whatever you want with your body."

"Hell yeah. You're so cool, Seungminnie."

Seungmin wrinkles his nose at the awe in his voice. Jisung laughs in staccatos, stupidly deep and attractive. He leans even closer, toned chest pressing up against Seungmin's shoulder.

His scent is refreshingly sedate, even with that telltale, spicy pre-heat hint to it. Seungmin takes a peek at his neck, and finds the fresh outline of Minho's teeth there, two perfect, neat rows. A settling nip on his mating gland, of the kind the others only ever actually want when they're already deep in the throes of heat. It's supposed to help omegas with the discomfort of a heat, and that's how most of them like it. There's a deliberate choice in keeping it uncovered — until the make-up staff covers it for him, anyway.

"Does it not make you loopy? The nip?"

"Nah." He shakes his head like it's going to clear his thoughts. "It's — it makes my brain go quiet, but in a … focused way, not a high way. You know what I mean?"

Seungmin doesn't, in fact, know, but he nods anyway, taking Jisung's words at face value. It sounds much more similar to what he understands to be the beta experience of mating gland nips. But he's never experienced that himself and, really, who is he to tell Jisung what he feels? As much he thinks he knows his pack mates, he's always deeply aware of the fact that they're their own people, with their own unique brains and nervous systems. But he'll look that up later, just to see.

"Makes sense, then."

Jisung smiles at him, mouth stretching into a pretty, heart-shaped thing. He's so lovely Seungmin's own heart clenches in his chest. He pinches one of his cheeks, gently, and the soft flesh gives away so easily. Jisung bats his hand away, but he's not overly fazed by the random gesture. His cheeks are popular pinching targets.

"Anyway, I was thinking — a womb tattoo."

Seungmin nods immediately. "I see the vision."

The filming goes as expected. Chan is on his very last legs and no one buys his relaxed, easygoing leader bit for a second. Minho goes non verbal after lunch and flays them alive with his eyes every time they fuck up the choreo. Changbin reaches his limit by mid-afternoon and doesn't crack a single joke for the rest of the day. Hyunjin and Felix are an active minefield, and the only ones who can stand them are each other. Jeongin eventually stops smiling altogether and the staff starts giving him a very wide berth.

Jisung acts completely normal, singing and dancing and ribbing them without a care in the world, unperturbed by the general rotten mood in the pack. Seungmin is deeply disturbed by it. He really hopes it's just Minho's bedroom magic carrying over stunningly well, and not a very good performance that's going to blow up in his face as soon as the adrenaline drops.

It looks unlikely, but Seungmin has no mental energy to spare on it. The hours and the takes and his body all blur into one. He's hounded by a persistent nausea that no amount of breathing exercises wards off. It makes him want to crawl into a corner and die. But he does his job and he does it well — and when he's done he wanders off aimlessly and zones out staring at a wall until he hears his name being called.

The sky is darkening and he's just walking — thinking of too long shifts and labor laws and if 3Racha's pockets are deep enough for a lawsuit — when he finds Hyunjin curled up into a ball on the ground. He's sure it's Felix on the first glance, stuck out of time, his mind buffering and superimposing the two scenarios. Realization hits him like a bucket of ice cold water.

"Hyunjin-ah?" He calls gently, squatting down in front of him, hands reaching out to touch him, make sure he's okay. "What's wrong? Are you sick?"

Hyunjin sniffles loudly, lifting his head from his knees to look up at Seungmin. "I don't know," he croaks, face scrunching up. "Whoa, your scent went funny. Like an alpha's."

Seungmin winces a little, chastised, but Hyunjin just laughs, bright and fond, hands searching for Seungmin's, squeezing them tight. "My protective beta," he teases, and Seungmin huffs at him, hoping his cheeks aren't as red as they feel.

He's clearly been crying for a while already. His cheeks are a deep, rosy pink, wet tear tracks glimmering as the setting sun's last rays caress his face just at the right angle. Physically, he seems fine. His clothes are a little ruffled, but he's sitting in a position that would easily cause that. His hair is artfully messy, untouched from the last time it had been styled. He's all in one piece and it doesn't look like anyone's tried to change that. But there's a foreign scent on him that worries Seungmin, faint and already fading, probably hours old. Still, it clings to his wrists and neck and hair.

"Did someone scent you?"

Hyunjin's eyes water again, chin trembling, and Seungmin's stomach sinks to his feet. "One of the managers tried to help," he says, wobbly and brittle.

Seungmin drops to his knees fully, heart in his throat, mind racing. He imagines a million different scenarios, one uglier than the other. "Help — how?"

"Not like that," he says quickly, shaking his head. "Not — just hugged me a bit, tried to talk."

"Okay," Seungmin says, trying for a smile. The relief is so sharp he could puke, arms shaking with it. "That's — okay. Come here."

They hug like that, knees on the hard ground, Hyunjin's face burrowed in his neck. "I fucking hate this," Hyunjin rasps, holding him so tight Seungmin's ribs hurt, fingers clenching around his shirt.

"Do you need — anything? Anyone?" Seungmin has the presence of mind to ask, feeling hot tears trickle down the hollow of his throat. He doesn't know what else to do, how to stop the way his chest spasms with hurt for him. His vision is blurry. "One of the alphas?"

"Just you." Hyunjin kisses under his ear, wet and sweet. "Just you is okay, Seungmin."

They stay like that until Minho comes to collect them, holding two choco pies.

"Yongbok yelled at me yesterday."

Seungmin makes a sympathetic noise he doesn't really mean, picking up more popcorn. "I'm sure that was hard for you."

"It was," Jeongin whines. "He's never raised his voice at me before."

People are dying on his laptop screen and Jeongin wants to talk about Felix. Unbelievable. Seungmin makes a shushing gesture at him, chewing slowly as the actress screams and wails over her husband's body.

"Seungmin, this is serious."

"I know. He's dying."

Jeongin hits the space bar and the drama pauses. Seungmin turns to him, balancing his weight on his elbow, murder on his mind. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"Yongbok raised his voice at me," he says pitifully, hands raised to cover his face, protecting himself from Seungmin's rage. He's not completely stupid.

"Okay? Who cares?"

He turns back around and hits the space bar again. The actress' sobbing resumes. She's putting in the performance of a lifetime. Seungmin couldn't fake cry like that in front of a whole crew of people and still make it look believable. He doesn't know how they do it.

"But he's never done that."

Seungmin groans in frustration, hitting pause. "Jeongin. What do you want from me?"

"Just — can we talk?"

He looks small and pathetic, broad shoulders tucked in like a shyly, hands twisting in his lap. Seungmin's twice as pathetic as him, because it works. He sighs, weary of what horrors this conversation is going to unearth, and pushes the laptop and the popcorn bowl away. He sits up like it pains him to do so — it does, actually, his feet feel like they've been put through a blender — and faces Jeongin.

"Talk."

Jeongin toys nervously with his rosary ring, put on the spot. He exhales through his nose, fixing his posture to mirror Seungmin, legs crossed under him. Their knees kiss.

His chest looks broader than the last time Seungmin had time to pay close attention to it. The bare dip of his sternum does something to Seungmin, but he can't arrange those feelings into anything remotely coherent. He reaches over to squeeze his biceps just because, enjoying how firm they are to the touch. He's really put work into building muscle. Seungmin's never not impressed by it.

"I think this schedule is going to kill us," he says, cheeks pink as he stares down at Seungmin's hands, still kneading his arms.

Seungmin lets go of him to scratch at the arch of his foot, wiggling his toes against the weird itch there. "It's mostly your cycles making it impossible to get through."

"It's never been this bad, though."

"It's the first time you're all in sync."

Jeongin makes a surprised noise, mouth dropping open with a wet little sound that's strangely charming. "Wait. I didn't — all of us?"

"Mh, yeah, I think so." He changes position, pulling a knee up and propping his chin up on it. "The omegas and Chan are almost in the thick of it."

Jeongin picks a long strand of hair off of Seungmin's sweatpants. It's very blond and a little coarse. "Was that planned, do you think?"

Seungmin takes the strand from him, thinks of his sister's long hair. He wraps it around his index finger, close to the nail bed, just like she used to do.

He thinks carefully on how to handle Jeongin's question without making him feel like he's been oblivious. He has, but alphas and omegas are always a little stupid when it comes to their cycles. It has to be a biological thing, having a hard time keeping track of it. Like their brain tries to protect them from being reminded of it until it's right there and they can't physically ignore it anymore. It doesn't look helpful at all from the outside looking in.

"Kind of. You kept getting closer and closer to it, so it was going to happen soon."

His skin turns a bloodless white, constricted under Felix's hair. But the tip of his finger, all around the nail, as well as the pad, goes bright pink instead. When he pulls it off it leaves behind red lines, crisscrossing each other.

"I fucking hate when they do that. Just plan around us without telling us." Jeongin breathes into his hands, shoulders slumping. He holds his face on the heels of his palms, elbows perched up on his thighs. "How do you even keep track of that stuff? You always know what's going on."

"I don't know," Seungmin shrugs, tying the strand around his finger again. "It's my thing. I pay attention."

Jeongin's brilliant smile dims a little. Seungmin's too distracted to really register it. "Yeah. You do."

The hair breaks off. Jeongin picks up another one from his shoulder, a little shorter. Seungmin takes this one too. He can't believe that living with Felix has him finding hair everywhere again on his person. He'd never thought of that.

"I should give noona a call."

"Call her now," Jeongin says immediately, always eager to connect with their families. Seungmin thinks it's something to do with him being a middle child, but he still has to elaborate on that theory. "She's probably off work at this hour, right?"

Seungmin makes grabby hands in his phone's direction. Jeongin rolls his eyes at him, stretching out all the way to the other side of the bed to pick it up.

They spend an hour on the phone with his sister, finishing their popcorn while she carries them around with her for all of her evening tasks — loading the dishwasher, putting on a load of laundry, reading through work emails and giving them the latest on her shitty coworkers. Jeongin is ecstatic to talk with her, easily exchanging work horror stories and joining her in ganging up on Seungmin every chance they get.

Seungmin pretends to be offended by this. She looks at him like she can see right through him. Seungmin pretends to not know this. It's a familiar dance. He's missed her so much.

"She's a beta, right?" Jeongin asks after, scrolling through her Instagram account at her request.

Seungmin nods up at his bedroom ceiling, turning Jeongin's ring in his hand. He'd taken it off earlier, playing with it while talking to his sister, always so nervous to open up with people he doesn't know well. He'd forgotten it on the bed once he warmed up to her and Seungmin snatched it before he could put it back on. It's maybe a little worn with age, but still pretty. It fits Seungmin perfectly.

"You guys don't really do packs, huh?"

"Don't really need them."

Jeongin makes an unidentifiable sound. "Right."

Seungmin turns his head to look at him. Jeongin's phone is right in his line of vision, Felix smiling brightly on the wallpaper, all cute teeth and crinkled eyes. It completely derails Seungmin's thoughts.

"For what it's worth, I think Felix yelling at you is a good thing."

"How do you mean?" He asks, head tilted in confusion.

He's leaning on his elbow, practically offering his neck to Seungmin on a silver platter. The muscles there are all tense from the position, the cut of his jawline as sharp as glass. Seungmin wants to sink his teeth into him.

"I mean — I guess he's starting to see you as Jeongin, his grown up alpha, instead of Jeongin, his pack's maknae. You're someone he can yell at now."

Jeongin opens his mouth to speak, face scrunched up in thought.

"Don't fucking 'Felix 'me!"

Seungmin and Jeongin stare at each other, wide-eyed, scrambling to sit up.

"What the fuck do you want me to call you then?" Chan grits out. He sounds farther away, like he's just barely walked through the front door.

Felix lets out a frustrated groan. "Get out."

A pause. Shoes scuff on the foor. "You're serious."

"Get the fuck out of my house, Chris!"

Seungmin climbs out of bed as soon as the front door slams closed, carefully toeing into the hallway. The scent of a truly angry alpha in pre-rut is pungent and pervasive. Seungmin has always hated the dread it wrenches out of him, keeping him on the edge, waiting for disaster to strike at any moment. It being attached to, admittedly, one of his favorite alphas on the planet only makes it marginally easier to tolerate.

"Can you believe he called me a cunt?" Felix demands, turning to him as soon as he steps into the living room. He looks like he should be breathing out flames, blond hair all over the place, eyes wild.

The smell of an angry omega in pre-heat is, impossibly, even worse than an alpha's. Sniffing cocaine would probably not make his nostrils burn half as much as Felix's scent does when he makes the mistake of taking a too deep breath.

Seungmin coughs, trying to keep a straight face as his eyes water. "Did he?"

"He did. Fucking dickhead."

Felix paces around, head in his hands, muttering to himself. Seungmin feels like he's having a deja vu. Him and Chan are a match made in heaven, clearly. Seungmin needs a course on the uses of the word 'cunt'. It seems too arbitrary. Felix stops just as suddenly, grabbing a throw pillow and screaming into it. It comes out in a shrill, prolonged sound that has Seungmin draw his head so far back he feels like a turtle trying to curl back into his shell.

"What the fuck is his problem?" He scream-yells, throwing away the pillow.

Seungmin flops down on the couch with a drawn-out sigh. He can't wait for this hellish loop of stupidity to end. They're all running in circles around the problem and somehow never meeting each other. It stopped being funny a week ago. He's never needed them to get their shit together more.

"He's in pre-rut."

Felix gapes at him, both hands frozen on his head from where he'd resumed his disorientingly accurate Chan impression. He looks like the Munch paining, or a less tortured version of it. His scent does something weird Seungmin can't really interpret, a fluttering both violent and composed.

"You're serious."

"Yeah. Pretty deep into it too."

Another moment passes. Felix throws his hands up in defeat. "Whatever. I don't even care."

He falls into Seungmin like a puppet with its strings cut, nestled between his legs, head on his thigh. Even God couldn't manage to get Seungmin hard right now, he's that exhausted, so he's not too concerned with how close Felix's face is to his crotch.

"I'm so tired," Felix complains.

"I have multivitamins." Jeongin appears by the doorway like a benevolent spirit. "And supplements."

Felix nudges Seungmin's other leg. They both burst out laughing. It's identical right to the exact moment they draw breath again and where they peter off, wheezy and winded. Seungmin doesn't think he's ever laughed like that. Chan laughs like that. His stomach cramps up at the thought.

Felix makes an aggrieved sound, as if it just dawned on him too. He holds out a hand in Jeongin's direction, palm up, a silent invitation. "He's so — why didn't he tell me?"

Jeongin sits down next to them on the floor, crossing his arms on top of the couch and leaning his chin on them.

"Hyung tells you things?"

Felix hits Seungmin's aching thigh in chastisement and Seungmin pulls at his hair in retribution. It's so soft he can't help running his fingers through it immediately after, smoothing it out gently and making Felix laugh at him.

"Talk nice about our pack alpha."

"You just called him a fucking dickhead," Seungmin points out.

Felix groans. "He doesn't want me to go to Japan. What else am I supposed to call him?"

Jeongin makes an inquisitive noise, looking up at Felix with wide eyes. "What's in Japan?"

Felix reaches over to push his hair out of his face, tracing the shell of his ear. Jeongin shivers a little, wrinkling his nose at Felix but not pulling away yet. "Just a schedule I have in a couple of days."

"It's going to cut it close, right? To your heat."

"I'll manage," he says dismissively. "I always do."

Seungmin pets him a little harder so he doesn't call him a fucking idiot. Felix doesn't really deserve it, not right now. Almost absentmindedly, Felix starts caressing Jeongin's head again, scent syrupy sweet.

They stay like that, basking in the silence of their little chain of bodies, until Seungmin's jaw cracks with a mighty yawn. He reluctantly calls it a night, the whole month weighing down on his bones.

"Don't write this one in your diary," Felix calls out, already dragging Jeongin out by the arm as Seungmin fixes the pillows on the couch.

"Who said I write about you?"

Felix raises a middle finger at him. Seungmin raises one right back at him. Jeongin makes a strangled noise. "My ring!"

Seungmin looks down at his hand. He'd completely forgotten about the rosary ring. He usually never forgets he has rings on. "I'll give it back tomorrow."

"This job is going to kill me, hyung," Jeongin groans, voice growing distant as Felix keeps pulling him towards his bedroom. "He's going to fucking kill me."

Seungmin doesn't hear him. He's trying to figure out the most aesthetically pleasing placement for the pillows.

Jisung is dripping sadness like a leaky faucet. Seungmin can almost hear it meeting the white ceramic of the sink, a consistent drip … drip … drip.

He can't even blame Jisung for it. He dutifully took his scent suppressants just a few hours ago under his manager's hawk-like gaze. The stylists put industrial strength nude patches over all four of his surface glands and then settled them with a scent removal spray, just in case. Seungmin's just being waterboarded by his own fucking head.

"Han-ssi, can you turn your head towards Seungmin-ssi?"

The oily, heavy scent of Jisung's misery hits him right in the face, making his eyes water. Seungmin wants to crawl up and out of his own esophagus. Instead, he meets Jisung's big, wet eyes and they pose for the camera.

"Seungmin-ssi, can you — relax your posture?"

Seungmin leans further into the couch, an arm propped on the back of it, legs spreading just enough to straddle the line between suggestive and casual. The leather creaks under him. Sadness looks exquisitely alluring on Jisung's face, even from this angle. He's almost mirroring Seungmin's pose, head tilted just so, round cheek pressed against the palm of his hand. His pouty mouth and expressive eyebrows do a lot of the heavy lifting, sorrowful in a distressingly natural way.

The photographer makes an approving noise. "Yes, that's it! Han-ssi, can you put your hand on his thigh?" Jisung blinks. Someone coughs pointedly. Probably a manager. "Just above his knee!"

Jisung's small hand is warm on his thigh, its weight familiar. His fingers curl over the coarse fabric of Seungmin's pants, not quite gripping it. Seungmin uses the touch to ground himself, wishing he could hold his hand instead, maybe feel the delicate skin over his pulse point, count his heartbeats one by one. Anything to reassure him, to soothe both of their frazzled nervous systems.

"Perfect! Now lean in, please!"

They're almost nose to nose. Seungmin holds his breath until he feels lightheaded. Jisung's mouth purses, like he's caught on.

They finish their duo shots to a chorus of praise. Chan sends him an approving look from where he's standing with Jeongin, waiting for their turn under the lenses, and Seungmin considers his work done. He politely excuses himself to the restroom and only breaks into a run when he's out of sight.

He locks himself inside the stall furthest away from the door and empties the contents of his stomach into the toilet. It burns coming up, but the dry heaving that follows is the worst part, his stomach contracting uselessly, trying to force out what's not there anymore. It feels endless, his body reduced just to the path from his stomach to his mouth, until it suddenly stops. He falls back on his heels and closes his eyes. He doesn't know how long past the initial, crushing panic, it takes him to pull himself together, but he breathes and breathes and lucidity comes back to him in increments.

He can't stand the thought of touching his face with toilet paper that's been suffused with toilet air, so he has to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand and then hastily wipe that away. His hands can be washed. He grimaces at the aftertaste of vomit coating the back of his throat when he swallows — his tastebuds feel like they'll never recover — and just keeps breathing. His skin is clammy and the jacket he's wearing might be weighted with actual rocks. He doesn't dare touch his hair even as his scalp itches something fierce. His body has never felt more like a prison. His extremities are weirdly cold.

Still, he feels a strange sense of peace settle over him. Until it comes crashing down over his head like a cartoon piano.

"Seungmin-ah, get out, I don't have time." Minho knocks on the door once, just a tap of his knuckle. Seungmin stands there frozen, heart sinking. "C'mon. Out."

He debates stuffing his head down the toilet and flushing again. Maybe it would cleanse his brain, reaching it via all of the orifices on his head. Maybe it would successfully drown him in an ignominious, but quiet death. Both outcomes sound easier to face than his other option: facing Lee Minho's all-knowing eyes. But Seungmin faces hard things all the time, doesn't he?

He opens the door. Minho's veiny hands appear in his field of vision, holding a toothbrush and toothpaste respectively. Seungmin takes them both. A child being handed candy would have hesitated at least a second more than him.

"Where did you find these?" He asks, voice gravelly. His spit tastes like bile.

"Iyenie has mints," Minho says cryptically.

Seungmin blinks down at him. He looks just off the wrong side of perfect in his make-up, his face set in a serious frown, marble-like. The illusion cracks when he smiles at Seungmin, bunny teeth peeking out, nose wrinkling. He's never looked more handsome.

"Drink water. Eat something."

It's all delivered in his best business as usual tone, but he tugs at his earlobe and scratches his nose and neither are nervous habits he had at eighteen. Seungmin would know.

"Yes, alpha-nim," Seungmin says, only half mocking.

Minho snorts at him. He reaches up to cup Seungmin's face, brushing away his tears with tender hands. The touch is so light, so gentle Seungmin could think he's dreaming it. He allows himself to lean into it, just for a moment, the bridge of his nose tingling. He blinks rapidly, trying to keep the tears in. Minho catches the ones that fall anyway, mouth pinched in a frown.

He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing — opens his mouth and closes it again. "Be good," is what he settles on, squeezing the side of Seungmin's face like the words lost in the middle can travel through his hands to Seungmin's neurons.

"I'm always good."

"You are," he says, a delicate, quiet thing.

Seungmin sniffles, his waterline still blurry. Minho's hands slide down on instinct, headed for his neck, but he pulls away as soon as he realizes what he's doing, taking a step back and putting space between them. His eyes search Seungmin's, lingering, unreadable. His nod lacks any of the casual fluidity he always moves with. He's gone between one blink and the next, leaving behind a toothbrush and toothpaste and a Seungmin whose head doesn't itch anymore. Small victories.

He feels distinctly almost human by the time he's digging through Jeongin's stylish green bag for the mints. He takes two, offering one to Hyunjin.

He squints at his phone, distracted. "What is it?"

"Mint."

Hyunjin shakes his head. A lock of hair falls over his forehead, effortlessly stylish. He moves it away. "Why did you have a toothbrush?"

Seungmin sits down next to him with a deep sigh, chewing on Jeongin's two mints. They're not too minty. He's never liked those.

"It's Lee Know-hyung's." Hyunjin nods like that makes sense. Seungmin supposes it does.

He's playing some sort of game on his phone, probably the group obsession of the month. It's impressive he even noticed him putting the toothbrush and toothpaste in Minho's bag. Seungmin should have thrown the toothbrush away, but he's intrigued by the idea of Minho having it as leverage. Who knows what kind of dark magic one can do with things that have been in other people's mouths. Minho is wickedly inventive. He'll come up with something to keep Seungmin on his toes.

The lock of hair falls back over his forehead, obstinate. Hyunjin tugs at it again, annoyed. "I should chop it all off."

"Do it. You'll look hot."

"How do you know?"

Seungmin can't imagine a world where he doesn't find Hyunjin hot, no matter what his physical body looks like. He doesn't tell him this. He can't have his head grow ten sizes right before he goes bald. Seungmin might still love him in his limited edition bald bobble-head version, but he doesn't think the fans would be equally as generous and open-minded.

"Witchcraft, foresight … Do you ever listen to me?"

Hyunjin pokes him with his socked foot. His shoes are nowhere Seungmin can see. "You're so annoying. Just tell me I'm hot."

"I just did?"

Seungmin's over the conversation already, his attention derailed. He stares down at his shoes, pensive. He didn't know they were allowed to take off their shoes. His are the same pair of chunky black monstrosities he wore for one of the music video outfits.

"That doesn't count. You said —"

"It's happened," Felix announces as he steps into the room, deep voice shutting Hyunjin up instantly.

Anything could follow that statement. The Earth spinning out of its axis, him passing bronze in his game. "What happened?" Seungmin humors him.

Felix squeezes himself right between Seungmin and Hyunjin on the couch, short legs sticking out cutely. The two of them share a look from over his head, acknowledging their shared insanity over Felix's small feet and too-big shoes.

"They had a fight," he says, resting his head on Hyunjin's shoulder.

Seungmin stops chewing, gears turning in his head. No fucking wonder Jisung's scent almost took him out. Still, he asks, "Who?"

"Jisung and Minho-hyung."

Hyunjin gasps. He loses his game and curses, throwing his phone away. It falls on the floor with a dull clatter. No one even twitches.

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't know hyung was capable of that," Seungmin says honestly.

Minho has a soft spot and a blind spot and all the other spots for Jisung, and they're all the size of China and then some. They've never actually fought, as far as Seungmin knows. The two of them fighting has to be some sort of signal of the apocalypse — a symptom of a worldwide catastrophe knocking at their door, something the likes of which they've never seen before.

"Jisung couldn't even talk to me about it without crying," Felix says, his own voice wobbling.

"Where is he?"

"With the hyungs and some managers. They're betas, they said they'll help him calm down."

Hyunjin makes a wounded little noise, anxiously playing with one of Felix's pretty, thin braids. "He should be here with us."

"I know," Felix says sadly, letting the silence settle.

Seungmin doesn't understand what the point of sequestering him like that would be. For a moment, he has to wonder if it was Minho's decision, after seeing the state he was in earlier. The omegas are all over the place with their pre-heats and Seungmin … he hasn't been exactly a pillar of strength for the pack recently. Maybe Minho decided that Seungmin didn't really have it in him to do his job as the pack beta — that he couldn't be what Jisung needs.

Or maybe it was Chan. He's their pack alpha, everyone will always defer to his decisions. It's been touch and go between them these past few weeks. Seungmin has tried to not read too much into it, thinking it would just pass, like it always has — maybe he's just been blind to something deeper going on. Chan would have talked to him about it if it was that serious, wouldn't he?

Changbin too. Changbin never keeps things from them. Seungmin doesn't understand. His phone vibrates in his pocket and he fishes it out with some difficulty. He almost sighs in relief when he reads Changbin's text.

"Where are you going?" Hyunjin asks, watching him get on his feet.

"To Jisung. Where else?"

Jisung is easy to find. He just has to follow the scent of misery. It permeates the air like nothing Seungmin has ever smelled before, even actual heat and rut scents. He has to pinch his nose closed and think happy thoughts — like Jisung getting a womb tattoo and pissing off their entire management team. What a glorious day that would be.

He's surrounded by anxious staff members, packless betas who don't know the first thing about omega physiology, going by the way they're all uselessly shuffling on their feet, hemming and hawing. Changbin sits on his heels next to him, whispering softly, hands caressing his face and hair. There is neither hair nor scent of the two oldest alphas, or the youngest one. Seungmin takes back all of his mean thoughts about them.

The nausea returns with a vengeance. Seungmin sinks down to the floor and embraces one of his pack mates — for the second time that week. Changbin moves so he's hugging him too, strong arms steady and warm, wrapping them in their own little bubble.

"You okay?"

"What?" He eyes Changbin, eyebrows drawn. "Yeah."

He runs a hand up Seungmin's back, until he's cupping the base of his skull. "You look … peaky."

"I'm fine," Seungmin brushes him off, gently pulling Jisung's head towards his chest, clutching him impossibly closer. "Hi, Jisung-ah."

Jisung thumps his head against Seungmin's shoulder, inhaling shakily. "Seungminnie," he whispers against his collarbone, voice wrecked. "You're here."

"I'm here," Seungmin echoes him, nosing at his temple. He smells like shampoo, but mostly Minho, even here.

Jisung sniffles, breathing in. "You smell like Minho."

He laughs, presses his cheek against the top of Jisung's head. He's damp. They've both sweated right through their clothes. "He gave me a toothbrush."

Jisung smiles, closes his eyes. His eyelashes tickle Seungmin's neck. "He's so fucking weird," he sighs dreamily.

Seungmin tugs him a little tighter against his own body, holding back his laughter as he catches Changbin's eye. They both look away immediately. Changbin lets out a little involuntary snort and Seungmin has to bite his tongue. Yeah, they'll be just fine.

"Why do you smell like Minho?" He asks, just to be funny.

Jisung huffs. He leans up, pressing his mouth to Seungmin's ear. So soft Seungmin almost doesn't catch it, he says, "He fucked me this morning."

Seungmin did know that. Sex has a strong scent, and so does cum. It's just that he's usually too polite to bring that up to people. Minho and Jisung especially. But now that Jisung's pointed it out, he feels entitled to say something about it.

"What the hell are you so sad for, then?"

"Can't a boy just be a little sad?"

"The boy —" Seungmin lowers his voice, eyeing the staff. They're doing a pretty bad job of looking like they're not listening. "Needs to suck his alpha's dick less and talk to him more," he hisses.

Changbin's cackle is outrageously loud. Jisung shrugs. "Eh. I'll think about it."

"Minho-hyung's coming over, by the way."

Seungmin stares down at his coffee. "Tell him to reverse, back out and fuck off."

"I don't do car speak, sorry," Felix says, so earnestly Seungmin can't even laugh. "And it's about Jisung anyway."

Seungmin resents the implication that he wouldn't care if it was a Minho-only problem. It being a Jisung problem, or — as is more likely, considering recent events — a Jisung-and-Minho problem, doesn't make him any more eager to have a stinky alpha in his home at seven in the morning. But that's too many words to say right now, so Seungmin just sighs into his mug.

"When is he coming over?"

Felix checks his phone, frowning. "Soon, I don't know."

He watches Felix eat while he finishes his coffee, and then does the dishes while Felix runs around looking for this and that item. He helps retrieve a beanie, a phone charger and a pair of earrings before he gets bored and decides he needs to get ahead of the piles of laundry they've neglected all week.

And he would've done that, except the laundry sits neatly, washed and folded, on top of the dryer. Seungmin thinks he's hallucinating it. He walks out of the room and walks back in and it's still sitting there. Then he picks up the first shirt on the first stacked pile. It smells like their laundry detergent and fabric softener — and also their pack alpha.

"Felix!"

"What?" He yells out, muffled.

"Come look at this!"

"What?" He asks again, closer now.

Seungmin moves out of the way to let him see the clothes in all of their glory. Felix stops in his tracks, eyebrows rising up to his hairline. "What the fuck."

"Your alpha, that's what the fuck."

He pushes the shirt towards Felix, who picks it up and immediately gives it a sniff. "I can't smell him."

"I can. He came here at, like, four in the morning to do your laundry."

Four a.m. is probably a generous estimate. Washing and drying and folding two full loads takes time. Seungmin can't even fathom it. Going to someone else's house to wash their clothes in the dead of night. Not just that, but drying them, folding them, and then leaving again. No warning, no text, no note, only the clean clothes having to speak for themselves. Seungmin's convinced Chan would've put them all in back their closets too if he could've managed it without waking them up. That particular brand of insanity is right up his alley.

Felix hands the shirt back and scratches at the top of his head, giving the clothes another once-over. "I mean — yours too."

Seungmin exhales, rubs at his nose in frustration. It's too fucking early in the morning to fight losing battles. He can act stupid too if Felix wants to play that game. "Right. They're my clothes too."

"No, I meant the alpha."

He grins at a stunned Seungmin and walks out. Seungmin stares at the shirt for a moment. The implication of that wording, paired with that knowing grin, doesn't compute. Chan is his alpha, in the sense that Seungmin's part of his pack and he's an alpha in said pack — in fact, he's the pack alpha of said pack. But he's not his alpha in the way that he's Felix's alpha.

"Wait, what does that mean?" He protests, nipping at Felix's heels as he follows him back into the hallway. "That's not even —"

"Why is there a suitcase?"

Felix jumps a decent two meters in the air, letting out a shrill scream. Serves him fucking right. Seungmin, on the other hand, turns towards Minho with his dignity fully intact. Nevermind the way his pulse is thundering in his ears.

"Oh, did Channie do your laundry?"

Seungmin looks at the shirt still gripped in his hand and lobs it at Minho's head. It's a perfect throw, but it's lost to Minho's reflexes. He just catches it midair and throws it on the opposite couch between one blink and the rest. Felix's competence kink has his face doing crazy expressions, even as he's still recovering from the jumpscare. Seungmin fake gags just to annoy him.

Felix kicks at his leg. He misses. "How did you know that?"

"Human sacrifice," Minho says, squinting at Seungmin like he's asking if he's got it right.

Seungmin cracks up. There's something about the thought of either Hyunjin or Changbin asking Minho about their witchcraft practices just to beat Seungmin at his own game — and Minho, completely clueless to what they're talking about, bullshitting them just to keep the bit going, that just gets him going. He has to lean into the back of the couch for support, giggling into the upholstery. He feels a little delirious with it.

Felix coos, looking between them. "Is this one of your inside jokes?"

"We don't have inside jokes," Seungmin says, straightening up so quickly his head spins. The exact same words come out of Minho's mouth. Seungmin sticks his tongue out at him from across the room.

"You're so cute," Felix gushes, reaching over to pinch Seungmin's cheeks. Seungmin bats his hands away, scoffing st him.

"You are cute, Kim Seungmin. Where did you get the cat slippers?"

Seungmin's toes wriggle inside said cat slippers. They're insanely soft and fluffy. Originally a not-so-gag gift for Felix, but Felix has a weird thing with footwear shape and texture and Seungmin pretends to believe him when he says it's an omega thing. It's definitely a Felix thing. He still keeps the shoes Felix doesn't want when he likes them. Cat slippers included.

"I don't remember," Seungmin lies to his face.

Minho giggles at him, crossing his arms behind his head and leaning back, neck stretched out, a sliver of tummy peeking out where his shirt rides up. Seungmin doesn't look. He doesn't even have eyes to look with.

"Why are you in my house anyway?"

"Jisung wants to spend his heat with me."

Seungmin doesn't think the words register until a few seconds in. He stares at Minho and tries to rearrange the sentence in his head. He comes up with nothing. The meaning stays the same. Suddenly, the past few days make a lot more sense.

"That's going to ruin the world tour," Felix says in English.

Seungmin's left eye twitches. "Jisung getting knocked up?"

Minho coughs. Seungmin glares harder at him.

"No, that was a meme, you dinosaur. But, I mean, yeah —" His phone pings. He pulls it out of his pocket and groans. "Shit, I have to go. How do I look?"

Seungmin takes him in. He's decked out in Louis Vuitton, long hair falling elegantly over his shoulders, freckles stark against his skin without any of the usual make-up. He's a little unreal, like something supernatural is concealed in the perfection of all of his features.

"You'll knock them dead," Seungmin says.

He leaves with a smile on his face and a pep to his step, rolling the suitcase out with him and yelling out his goodbye from the door.

"Where's he going?"

"How did Chan tell you about the laundry but not about the trip?"

Minho pats the empty spot next to him on the couch. "Come sit."

Seungmin crosses his arms over his chest, chin jutting out defensively. He can feel it in his bones that this isn't just about Jisung somehow. That conversation would have happened in a different way, he just knows it. He wants to be the one with a leg up over Minho for once.

"Why?"

Minho narrows his eyes at him. They stare each other down. Minho breaks first. "So we can talk."

Just to be annoying, Seungmin rounds the couch in front of him and sits down on it. Minho rolls his eyes.

"Why didn't you know about Japan?"

Minho takes his black cap off, putting it down on the couch. "Because Chan's selective with the shit he tells me. As you know."

"He blew up on Felix about it the other day," Seungmin says, because he hadn't realized the others didn't know this yet.

The alpha runs a hand over his face, sighing loudly. "It is cutting it pretty close to his heat."

Seungmin waves a dismissive hand at him. He's tired of this argument. "It's still a few days off. And what's Felix supposed to do about it anyway? Just ditch work?"

"You're —" He pauses, thumbing over his bottom lip. Seungmin's gaze doesn't linger on his pretty mouth. "Chan and Yongbok can fight their own fights. You should fight yours."

"Sure." Seungmin nods mockingly. He's too distracted to actually process what's being said. He needs his brain to get back on track. "Whatever that means."

Minho tilts his head at him. It reminds him of the way his sister looked at him the other day when Jeongin was too distracted to catch it. He looks like he's gearing up to say something Seungmin wouldn't like to hear right now.

"You hadn't gone to the gym together in a while," he says to break the silence, eyeing Minho's shorts. They do great things for his thighs. The fabric is stretched taut on the thickest part of them.

"We've been busy. But he called me — you know, he came here at three last night." He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. "He's … he just doesn't know how to stop."

Not when, but how. Seungmin crosses his legs, needing to do something. This conversation is going right over his head. It's an ugly feeling.

"Yeah, I don't know what that was about. Felix doesn't really care about romantic gestures like that."

Minho fixes his shirt over his exposed stomach, mouth contracting in a sort of grimace. "It wasn't for Felix, no."

"Whatever helps hyung not beat himself up about being human, I guess."

"Right," Minho says, blinking hard. Seungmin feels like he's just missed his exit on the highway. They were talking about Chan, weren't they? Why does Minho have to be so damn cryptic so early in the morning? "Why haven't you been writing on Bubble?"

Seungmin blinks back at him, impressed by this non-sequitur. Even for Minho, who loves jumping topics in that strange way of his, this is an insanely weird one. Seungmin has been having a hard time keeping up with everything lately, but that not the sort of thing Minho usually cares to know about. If he does, he doesn't mention it to them.

"No way you're subscribed to my Bubble."

"Iyenie is."

Seungmin meets this statement with nothing but confused silence. Minho taps his fingers on the couch, but there's barely any sound to it.

"He likes getting your messages checking in on him."

Seungmin doesn't understand. He sees Jeongin all the time. Sometimes he thinks he sees far too much of Jeongin. He doesn't know how they haven't killed each other yet, the way they're all up in each other's space all the time, in and out of schedules. It's rare for Seungmin to not have at least a vague idea of what Jeongin is up to at any given time. He feels suffocating and for it when he thinks too hard about it, like he's doing something he shouldn't be doing.

"Why wouldn't he tell me that?"

"I don't know," Minho says, shrugging. "Just text him good night once in a while. I'm tired of hearing about it."

They also text all the time, is the thing. Jeongin would narrate his entire internal monologue to him over text if he could. He never lets the silence settle enough for Seungmin to consider it necessary to check up on him about anything. Subscribing to his Bubble is the kind of thing Jeongin would do just for the bit. Minho's not bringing it up like it's supposed to be funny, or like he's overly concerned about it. And yet, it mattered enough to mention it. Seungmin doesn't know what he's supposed to make of that.

"Fine." It's just one more thing he needs to worry about. He's already juggling ten thousand of those. He'll figure out this one too. "Why are you here?"

Minho sighs deeply, like he's answered the question a hundred times. It feels like he has. "I told you. Jisung wants to spend his heat with me. But I can't."

This is exactly what whiplash feels like. Seungmin didn't think he could get that via conversation. "So tell him you can't."

Minho gives him a look. Seungmin shrugs. This really is the least of his problems right now. They both know what Minho is supposed to do. "Then spend his heat with him."

"I can't do that."

Obviously. The company would kill him and dump the body in a landfill. Metaphorically. Still, "Why not?"

He swallows, glancing away. His ears are turning red. Seungmin's gaze traces the slope of his nose. He has such a good side profile. He looks good from all angles, actually, but there's something mysterious to him like this, both perfect and incomplete.

"I'd mark him," he admits, turning back to face him.

Seungmin meets his eyes. He thinks Minho's younger than he's ever been like this, waiting for Seungmin's judgment like a man on trial. Seungmin can't believe he even has to say this out loud for Minho to believe it.

"You wouldn't."

Minho works at his jaw, teeth clenching. He wets his lips before he asks, voice gone hoarse with emotion, "How do you know that?"

Seungmin doesn't mince his words. That wouldn't do either of them any good. Instead, he lays all of Minho's cards out on the table for him, because he might as well. This talking thing is giving him a headache. He needs it to be over already.

"I know you. You're not an idiot. You're just in love." Minho makes a bruised little sound. Seungmin's right temple throbs. "And this conversation is pointless anyway. You and Jisung need to stop talking in circles around each other.

They look at each other for what feels like an eternity. Seungmin doesn't know what Minho sees on his face, but he hopes his sincerity carries through. Maybe a but of his annoyance too, so Minho knows he means it, because he really does need them to start communicating with each other more. At some point, eventually, Minho comes to a decision. He gets up, groaning, and stretches his arms towards the ceiling, holding one of his wrists with his hand like he's warming up for something.

"Have you had breakfast yet Seungminnie?"

Jeongin stumbles again, tripping over his own feet and completely missing his cue. He doesn't apologize again — he learned his lesson after the fifth time a ticked off Minho told him to stop apologizing because it was only slowing them down — but he freezes on the spot, eyes wide, shoulders hunched.

Chan claps his hands, nodding at the other dancers. "We'll take fifteen."

Someone pauses the music. Seungmin makes a beeline for the couch, beaching himself on his stomach, his entire body buzzing with endorphins.

"Fuck, I'm beat," Changbin groans, sitting down next to his head.

Seungmin moves up enough to lay his cheek on Changbin's thigh, closing his eyes. Five minutes is all he would need. Not even a cat nap, just enough to play dead. Endless sleep. He can't even imagine it. It sounds like a pipe dream.

"Life is hard," Minho says sagely. He does one of his old man with creaky bones noises and Seungmin doesn't need to open his eyes to know he's just sat down on the floor.

"Fuck off," Jisung spits out, breathless, and Minho cackles at him.

"Water?" Chan calls out, a little warbled, breathing hard through his noise.

Someone makes an affirmative noise and a water bottle squeaks. Seungmin recoils when the wet, gulping noises of them swallowing move right next to his ear. He covers his ears tightly, so wiped out he can't even get his mouth to make the right sounds to get them to stop.

"Felix, quit doing that."

Changbin whistles lowly. Seungmin agrees. Chan's firmer tone always makes him go weak in the knees. In more ways than one. Or maybe he meant Chan being firm with Felix in the first place.

"Okay, daddy," Felix simpers, ridiculously high-pitched.

Seungmin can hear both the pout and the smirk in his voice. He cracks one eye open just to see it, and it's the exact expression Seungmin was imagining, all big innocent eyes, mouth curved into a coy smile. Chan glares at him, but there's no real strength to it.

Jeongin retches. "Please. Please don't."

"You're so boring," Felix complains.

He turns over to Minho, who's practically doing splits on the floor, legs stretched out at his sides to an insane degree. The alpha is cool as a cucumber, holding himself up on his elbows, looking down at his phone. Goosebumps rise up and down Seungmin's arms just at the thought of his legs bending like that. He closes his eyes again. He's seen enough.

Changbin skims over Seungmin's arm with his knuckles, so light it tickles. "Doing okay, Seungminnie?"

Seungmin pats his thigh in answer and Changbin laughs, squeezing at his fingers and palm. Seungmin keeps his hand there, lets him sequester it for a bit. It has nowhere better to go.

He drifts off a little, Changbin's free hand running through his hair, the others' chatter filtering in and out of his ears. Jisung moves next to him at some point, his voice a little louder from the proximity, but it's not unpleasant. Seungmin's always liked the timbre of his voice. It's just deep enough to never get under his skin. Not until he wants people to pay attention to him anyway.

“I think we need to have this conversation again. No one's taking it seriously. We should get a band tattoo.”

Seungmin makes a noise of protest when Changbin's hand stops petting him. The alpha pinches his cheek in annoyance, but his hand returns to Seungmin's head anyway.

“You stole the compass,” Hyunjin says immediately, baiting him. Seungmin opens his eyes. He wants to see this one go down.

Jisung sputters at the accusation, aiming an offended pout at Hyunjin. “I didn't steal it. You can get a compass. I’m not the gatekeeper of compasses. I’d never —”

“You got it without telling anyone." He shrugs, raising his hands up to be even more annoying about it. "Just showed up one day with it. What do you call that?"

"I knew," Minho quips. He looks very smug about it.

"You did?" Felix asks, frowning.

"It's a fucking compass tattoo, Hyunjin."

Hyunjin gapes at him, eyes the alphas. His lips twitch, almost breaking character. "Did you hear how he talks to me?"

"Hyunjin, cut the shit, please," a long-suffering Chan says, standing up. "I need to make a call. Don't kill each other."

"Whatever," Hyunjin huffs, turning his nose at him as Chan walks off. “I think it has to be identical, or it doesn't count. Something small too, if we want it to be private.”

"An eight," Jeongin suggests.

"Boring," Seungmin says immediately. He moves his leg out of the way before Jeongin can hit him, laughing at him when he hits the couch.

Changbin hits him upside the head in defense of Jeongin's honor. Seungmin whines like he's been mortally wounded, punishing him for his betrayal by sitting up and putting distance between them. Changbin grabs one of Seungmin's ankles instead, tightening his grip when he tries to kick the touch off. The dark, warning look he gives him is enough to make Seungmin's legs feel like jelly.

“What about the Stray Kids logo?”

Hyunjin makes a disgusted face, playful. “Kind of tacky, isn't it? Who wants Chan-hyung's handwriting on their body forever?”

Seungmin spent an afternoon looking it up when Jisung got his first tattoo, how they work and how the body reacts to them. The ink is injected into the dermis and it stays there, mostly untouched by the immune system's defenses. But the surface ink is engulfed by macrophages and transported into the lymphatic system, settling in the lymphatic nodes and other organs, including the liver. The ink particles are stuck there indefinitely, because the body can't break down the ink particles. He's thought about that ever since.

There's something so intimately, absurdly comforting about the thought of carrying a permanent reminder of Chan in his body, where nothing can ever reach it. His handwriting, but also his life's work — this pack.

"Well, I mean — " Felix hedges, pursing his lips. "When you put it like that ..."

They all look at one another like they've exhumed something that should've stayed buried. Then Chan comes back, oblivious to it all, and the moment passes.

It's a long day. It's one of the last ones they'll get before everyone hunkers down to deal with their bodies trying to kill them via horniness. Everyone is too tired to stay angry for long and everyone's wearing patches. Chan insists on frequent pauses and so they get them. Seungmin can't really complain.

He's sitting on the couch again after lunch, water bottle in hand, zoning out as he watches the omegas talk among each other. Minho's stretching again next to them, Jeongin staring at him like he can't look away. The other two alphas are a little further away. Their conversation involved too much gym talk to interest Seungmin.

Suddenly, Jisung cackles loudly, startling him. “Chan-hyung, you’re such a loser. What is this?"

"‘I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the guys’,” Felix reads, his thick English dripping with mocking affection.

"Hyung said that?" Hyunjin asks, all giddy. "Where? Let me see. That's so cute.

"‘I’m nothing without the kids’,” Felix keeps reading, tone even more affected.

“We should just marry him and put him out of his misery," Minho pipes up, all calm and conversational.

It's a perfectly reasonable thing for him to suggest at any given time. The omegas just giggle. Chan chokes on his water, hacking out half a lung as he coughs, face blooming a violent shade of red. They all turn to stare at him in silence like he's the one being weird — they're just that committed to making his life harder.

"Sorry," he coughs again, wiping at his eyes. Seungmin finds the defeat in the slump of his shoulders so endearing. "Went down the wrong way."

"They're so … unoriginal, though," Felix sighs, scrolling down his phone. "I mean, they call him the Leader more than they use his name."

Seungmin's noise wrinkles as he drinks. It is a trite, lazy thing to write, and it's also exactly how Chan presents himself to the world — always putting the group and the pack before himself. His interviews usually read like long expositions on all of their virtues. Seungmin has never been brave enough to ask him how deliberate it is on his part, crafting his public image around the pack itself.

Hyunjin squints down at the screen, head propped up on Felix's shoulder. "Minho-hyung's charming?"

The word activates Jisung and Jeongin like sleeper agents. They sing the chorus in perfect synchronization, doing all the right upper body movements for the choreo, complete with the abs reveal. Then they point at each other in recognition for their two shared brain cells doing their job for once.

Minho side-eyes them from his plank position. "Mess up the steps again today, I fucking dare you."

"Sorry, hyungnim," Jeongin apologizes. He doesn't sound very apologetic. Jisung just smiles in that cocky way of his.

"I like yours," Felix keeps going, lost in his own world. "Our romantic Hyunjinnie."

Hyunjin blushes pink, ducking his head. Jisung scoots closer to them, plastering himself to Felix's other side. Seungmin's stricken dumb by how perfect they look like that, all three of the pack omegas together side by side.

"The people want you to act in movies, Linoring."

"We're the people," Hyunjin clarifies. "I have a petition in the works, if anyone's interested."

Seungmin would readily add his signature to that petition. Minho's face is just made for the big screen. He still laughs like he thinks it's funny, because Minho doesn't need to know that.

"Seungmin's one is so shit, ew," Jisung comments, reaching over to tap on the screen. Seungmin snorts, unsurprised.

"A free agent? What does that mean?"

Seungmin wipes at his mouth, putting the bottle down. Chan catches his eye from where he's standing next to the omegas, stretching his arms.

"The only beta member of Stray Kids, Seungmin gives the impression of being something of a free agent. When we sit down to — what the fuck." Felix pauses, switching languages. "Did we send a cardboard cutout of Seungmin to do this interview?”

Chan laughs, but it comes off a little forced. "Don't waste your time on that crap."

Seungmin's mood is cloudy with a chance of thunderstorms, but they all get back to work. His heart isn't really in it but he manages to coast along, mostly avoiding Minho's ire. There's a heaviness to his limbs that hadn't been there before, no matter how tired he was.

On the next break, the very last one, hopefully, he checks out the article, worrying at his hangnails with his teeth until they sting. He looks up what 'free agent' means too, even though he already knows. Having the broader context only makes it worse.

He remembers the interview and the interviewer. It was an important one and he was nervous, but he gave it his best. The interviewer was a middle aged alpha, a bit dismissive, perfunctory. He'd thought it went fine then, nothing out of the ordinary. Seungmin's not the most interesting person in the group on a good day, and he's a beta as well. He's used to that sort of attitude towards him, especially from alphas. He doesn't mind it so much anymore.

But calling him a free agent … it's such a specific choice of term. He hasn't been free, contractually, since he was a kid. He's stuck by this group for nearly a third of his life now. He's sacrificing all of his best years to it and he's never wavered in that decision, not once. There is nothing else for him to give, and still, clearly, it's not enough.

"Seungmin, come on," Jisung calls. "You okay?"

He nods woodenly. Jisung squeezes his shoulder, eyebrows drawn. Seungmin thinks of the compass tattooed on his chest.

They finish for the day late in the evening. It's a Monday like many others.

Seungmin wakes up on Wednesday morning to an empty house.

He grabs Felix' shampoo and takes a shower. He smells like vanilla when he makes himself breakfast and unloads the dishwasher. Then he tidies up the living room and does the laundry. He has a vocal lesson before lunch, because he might as well. The vocal coach praises his improvements, but says he's distracted, flighty. His mouth tastes like ash when he leaves.

His mom calls. She doesn't tell him she knows, but he knows she does. They don't mention it. She keeps him company while he peruses the convenience store, and then while he makes lunch. He reads ten pages of the book he's had on his nightstand for two months before he calls it quits. He was reading every sentence twice and not understanding any of them.

He starts a new drama. It's a mindless distraction. The characters all look and sound the same. He can't keep any of the names straight. He dresses up again and goes for a walk. He pets two friendly dogs and buys an ice americano. It doesn't taste like anything. Someone recognizes him. He turns the other way before they can approach, takes the longer way home just in case.

He lays down in Felix's bed and closes his eyes, blanketed by his scent. It's the most peaceful he's felt all day. When he wakes up it's dark. His phone is ringing. Hyunjin's name on the screen blinds him. He turns the brightness down.

"Seungmin," Hyunjin half-whispers. Like he's surprised. "You answered."

"I always answer," Seungmin rasps, offended. He clears his throat, rubs the sleep from his eyes. "Is everything okay?"

"Can you bring some of your stuff? Scented?"

Seungmin blinks hard, scratching his nose. "Me? To your place?"

"Yes. Please." He's never talked so sweetly to Seungmin. A bit like he's appeasing another omega. "Now, if you can."

Felix took half of Seungmin's closet with him when he left yesterday evening. He doesn't know what else he could give them. The clothes he's wearing, maybe. He's still wearing what he left the house with.

"Are you sure?"

"It's okay if you don't want to," Hyunjin says, flat. Hurt.

"I'll call you back," Seungmin says, confused.

He calls Chan. He picks up on the second ring. Just the time to get to his phone.

"Seungmin-ah."

He doesn't like how they're saying his name. All full of amazement. Where would he go?

"Hyunjin says to bring him clothes." He stares at the wall. It's black. He should turn on the light. He doesn't know what's up and what's down right now. "Me, I mean. My clothes. To his place."

"Do you want to go?"

Seungmin blinks again. What the fuck does that mean? He doesn't scream this, but he almost thinks he does. "What?"

"Do you want to go?" Chan repeats.

"I don't —" He gnaws at his bottom lip. It stings where it's chapped a little. This doesn't feel like a dream. "Am I allowed to do that?"

The silence stretches. He turns on his phone screen. Chan ended the call.

Seungmin lays back down, looks at the ceiling. Time doesn't pass. He thinks he might have dreamed it all. He picks up his phone and turns on the light. Tidies up Felix's bed and turns the light off again. Closes the door behind him for good measure.

He takes off his clothes and puts on new ones. He scents them, sitting on his bed. Then folds them and brings them to the kitchen with him.

He sits at the kitchen table and watches the clock's hands turn. He must be waiting for something. He doesn't know what, exactly. It's past dinner time. He should get up and make something to eat. His stomach is growling. But he sits and stares at the clock, waiting.

Seungmin opens the door before the hour hand touches nine. It feels like the right time to open the door.

"Hi," Chan greets, winded.

He smells like rut. It's dizzying. It suits him. Seungmin lets him in. "You're in rut," he says.

Chan closes the door behind him. "I am."

Seungmin walks to the kitchen. The clothes are still warm. They smell like him. Seungmin presents them to Chan.

"What are these?"

"Clothes. Scented. For the omegas."

Chan smells sad. He takes the clothes. Seungmin waits for him to leave. He stares at Seungmin.

"I don't have more," Seungmin says. Maybe Chan doesn't know this.

"Okay. That's okay."

"Are you going now?"

He'd rather Chan stay. But Chan is in rut and the omegas want more clothes. Chan has to go.

Chan looks down at the clothes. "Seungmin, you're in heat."

Seungmin shakes his head. He'd laugh if his mouth could do that. "I'm a beta."

"Yes," Chan says, slowly. "Betas have pseudo-heats."

"Oh." Seungmin knows that. Pseudo-heats. They taught it in school. He remembers. "Okay. Thank you."

"You're alone."

He nods. Felix isn't home. He should make dinner. Chan is distracting him.

Chan keeps going. Seungmin can't follow. "You're my beta."

Seungmin nods again. Last week's laundry smelled like Chan. Felix took all of it. He said Chan was his alpha.

"Are you my alpha?" He asks.

Chan smells so sad. Like Jisung. Seungmin touches his cheek. It's warm.

"It's okay. You don't have to be."

"Don't say that," Chan breathes. It's shaky. His cheek trembles, wet now.

"I'm sorry," Seungmin says. He doesn't want Chan to cry. His tongue is too heavy for his mouth. "You can go now."

"Seungmin," Chan says. He takes his hand. He kisses it. "Baby. You're breaking my heart."

Seungmin doesn't understand. Chan sits him on the chair. Holds his face in his hands. Wipes away his tears.

"When you were seventeen," he starts. He puts a hand over Seungmin's neck. "I bit you here. Claimed you. And you've been mine since then."

"Pack," Seungmin says.

Chan smiles at him. It's blurry. "Pack. That's right. But I — I've been yours since the day I was born. Do you understand me?"

Seungmin shakes his head. Chan takes his hands, kisses both of them. "That's okay. I'll tell you again, when you can understand."

"Okay," he says. It sounds like a sob.

Chan hugs him. He smells like home. Seungmin cries and cries. Chan tells him he loves him, over and over.

"Do you promise?" Seungmin asks.

"I promise."

Seungmin puts a hand on Chan's jaw. He looks at him like it's the first time. Chan leans in and presses their lips together. It's wet and salty. It feels like coming home. It's enough.

Notes:

for my few loyal rereaders (ty for existing ily), i think i mostly fixed the formatting. i don't know why the spacing between the paragraphs was so big but i hated it. i also did some editing (like an extra 400 words, yikes). im still not satisfied with it but if i look at it any longer ill just delete the whole thing, so whatever