Chapter Text
Prologue
Typhoon
"Phoon! Let go!"
"No! I can't.. Fun.. No! Don't let go!" I reach for her desperately, my fingers slipping against her wrist. The water thrashes around us, pulling and dragging, the river's current stronger than my arms, stronger than my fear.
"Leave me, Phoon. Live life for me.."
Her voice breaks between the waves. She pries my fingers off, one by one, until her touch is gone.
"No Fun! NO!"
The river swallows her name. The world blurs into soundless blue....
==
My body is drenched in sweat, the sheets tangled around my legs like vines. I clutch the blanket tightly, trying to steady my breathing. The room is dark, only the faint glow of the streetlight filtering through the thin dorm curtains.
For a moment, I can still taste river water in my throat.
There's a rustle from across the room. "Phoon."
Ter's gentle voice cuts through the pounding in my ears. He pushes himself up from his bed, hair messy, eyes half-open but full of concern. "You had the same dream again?"
I nod, unable to speak.
He sighs softly, the kind that sounds like he's carrying my pain with me. Then he stands, crossing the short space between our beds, and sits beside me. His hand reaches out, hesitant at first, before he pats my head gently.
"Oh, Phoon." His tone is full of warmth. The kind that makes the walls stop closing in.
He wraps his arms around me, and I let myself lean into him. It took me months to get here. Months before I could let anyone touch me again. Ter knows that. He never rushes me, never asks for explanations. He just stays.
"You need to forgive yourself." Ter murmurs, as he rubs my back. "What happened to your sister was an accident." He is the few who knows. Him, North and Daotok. The other family God blessed me with after I left.
"I know... It is just.. All those years, he said it was my fault.."
Ter's hand stills for a moment before tightening around me. His voice hardens. "Don't listen to that gaslighting bastard. If I ever see that man, who calls himself your father, I will get North to punch him."
I can't help but chuckle lightly. "North is indeed hot-headed, for a Beta."
Ter pulls back, smiling softly. "Do you want me to stay beside you tonight again?"
I bite my lip, hesitating, then nod.
"Okay." He says simply, with that gentle certainty that makes him who he is. He lies down beside me, pulling the thin dorm blanket over both of us. His fingers find mine under the sheets, warm and steady.
For the first time in hours, my heart starts to slow.
Ter's warmth reminds me of my childhood, of the nights when someone else used to climb into my bed after Fun's death. He would never say a word, just hold me until I fell asleep. His presence had felt like sunlight back then.
But I force myself not to think about him.
Because it's over.
Because I'll never see him again.
I close my eyes and let the memory fade, sinking into Ter's quiet breathing beside me.
And somewhere between wake and sleep, I hear her voice again... Live life for me, Phoon.
I want to tell her I'm trying.
I really am.
Three years later
Tonfah
The music is too loud. The bass pounds through the floor, each beat rattling my bones. Laughter spills over from every corner of the club, mixing with the heavy scent of alcohol and pheromones that cling to the air like smoke.
It grates on my nerves.
All I can think about is going home, crawling into bed and not waking up until noon. Especially after pulling two double shifts back to back at the hospital. Along with planning the new campaign. My body aches in that familiar, hollow way, the kind that no amount of caffeine can fix.
Beside me, Hill and Johan look just as unimpressed.
We're only here because of Arthit. It's his birthday and another win in his racing career so of course his father had to throw him a massive celebration at one of their family-owned clubs. The whole place is packed with his fans, friends, and sponsors. Neon lights flash across faces I don't recognize, bodies pressed too close together, the air thick with desire and expensive perfume.
Not exactly my scene.
Not Hill's either though he wears his disinterest like a quiet wall. Johan might usually thrive in this kind of chaos, but tonight even he seems detached, idly stirring his drink and ignoring the pair of omegas stealing glances his way.
So the three of us huddle together at a corner booth, silent observers in a room full of noise.
Across the floor, Arthit is surrounded, laughing, hugging, soaking in the attention like he was made for it. He knows better than to drag us into the spotlight. It's enough that we showed up.
Sometimes, I wonder how the four of us have managed to stay friends this long.
We met in university, all med students, though only Hill and I actually graduated. Johan and Arthit called it quits right before the final year.
Johan, at his father's insistence, took over the family business, a sprawling empire that operates in both the light and the shadows. Arthit chased the thrill of speed, his late mother's memory fueling every race he runs. Hill refused to inherit his family's pharmaceutical company; he wanted to be a doctor, and now he's one of the best trauma surgeons at the hospital my family owns.
As for me, I didn't have a choice. The hospital was always mine to inherit. I could've gone into any specialty, but I chose pediatrics. There's a reason for that... one I still don't talk about.
Four dominant alphas.
Four completely different worlds.
And yet somehow, we still orbit around each other, pulled together by something stronger than blood.
"I'm only staying another ten minutes," I mutter, swirling the ice in my glass.
Hill nods. "Me too."
"I'll leave with you guys. I've got work to do anyway." Johan adds casually.
None of us ask what kind of work he has at ten at night. We've learned not to.
That's when it hits, the sharp, sweet scent of pheromones flooding my senses. The air shifts, heavy and cloying, zeroing in on me. My body tenses automatically, instincts flaring beneath my calm exterior. But being a dominant Alpha, I have developed enough self-control to simply see it as annoyance.
I glance sideways and see an omega sliding into the empty seat beside me, all smooth skin, painted lips, and confidence. He is dressed provocatively too, clothes in silk. His eyes are wide, pupils dilated from the scent he's releasing. It's potent, seductive, too deliberate.
He's targeting me.
I sigh inwardly. Hill and Johan smirk, knowing how I would react.
"Hello." He purrs, leaning close enough that I can feel the heat of his body through the sleeve of my shirt. "Can I interest you in a drink... or a dance?" Dance is another way of saying he wants to climb into my bed.
The question hangs between us, light and teasing but I already know my answer.
The omega's perfume mixes with his pheromones, sweet, intoxicating, almost suffocating. Most alphas would be flattered. Some would take the bait.
But I'm not most.
I set my glass down quietly. "No, thank you."
He blinks, surprised. "Oh... maybe just a drink, then?"
I look at him properly this time. I won't deny he is pretty with soft eyes, lips glossed pink, hair falling into his face. He's exactly the kind of omega people expect me to want. The kind who tries too hard to be noticed.
"Really." I say, my tone even but firm. "You should save your scent for someone who'll appreciate it."
A flicker of hurt flashes across his face. He mumbles something under his breath before sliding off the seat and disappearing into the crowd, his scent fading with him.
I exhale slowly, running a hand through my hair. The air feels clearer already.
Hill glances over at me with his usual deadpan expression. "You're never going to find anyone if you keep scaring them away like that."
"You're one to talk." I scoff. I know Hill's heart is set on someone from his past. So he lets work drive his life. Like me, he has never touched anyone. Determined to only mate with one. "Also, I was polite."
"Polite and cold are the same thing to most people."
Johan chuckles, low and amused. "At this point, I think Fah's scent suppressants have suppressed his social life too."
I roll my eyes. "I'd rather be alone than fake interest."
They both smirk but let it go, and for a few moments, we sit in easy silence, the kind that only old friends can share. The crowd is still loud, but it fades into background noise, laughter, music, chatter blending into a distant hum.
I tilt my head back against the booth and close my eyes for just a second.
And that's when I feel it, a flicker.
Not strong, not near. Just a faint thread of scent drifting through the air. It's subtle, clean, tinged with something familiar, fresh rain and the sweetness of soap that is infused with green apple. My chest tightens before I can stop it.
That scent...
It shouldn't be here. It's impossible.
My eyes snap open, scanning the room, but all I see are strangers, shifting bodies, flashing lights, faces blurred by movement and haze. Still, my pulse stirs, an old instinct waking in my blood.
Hill's voice pulls me back. "You okay?"
"Yeah." I murmur, though I'm not sure I am.
For years, I thought I'd buried that memory, the faint, delicate scent that used to follow me everywhere, clinging to my shirt after afternoons spent under the mango trees. Or it surrounds me when I climbed the covers to hold him to sleep. The one that always reminded me of summer rain and laughter.
I take another slow sip of my drink, willing the ghost of that scent to fade.
It's just exhaustion. My mind playing tricks on me.
After all, Typhoon's been gone for years.
He left, and I never saw him again.
But the phantom smell lingers a little longer, soft, bittersweet, and cruelly familiar, before the music swallows it whole.
Typhoon
The bass is so loud it rattles through my ribs, but tonight, I don't care.
"Cheers!" North's voice rises above the music as he lifts his glass. "To our little photographer finally getting a big project!"
The others echo him, "Cheers!", and we clink our glasses together, the rim catching the light like tiny sparks.
I can't help grinning. The warmth of the alcohol slides down my throat, but the real buzz comes from their faces, my people. My only family now.
Ter, a fellow Omega, ever the model, looks effortlessly perfect even under neon lights, light brown hair, crisp shirt, that calm smile that always reaches his eyes. North, a Beta, with his messy hair and loud as ever, already has a crowd of fans in the corner snapping pictures; his popularity from the esports circuit makes him impossible to hide. But thankfully, they respect him to leave it alone. Daotok, or Dao, also an omega, sits quietly beside me, hair nearly styled and fingers stained faintly with ink from whatever he was sketching earlier.
And me? I'm just trying to soak it in.
My camera bag sits at my feet, still heavy with the lenses I haven't unpacked since the meeting. In two days, I start my first big photography project, an official shoot for a hospital foundation campaign for children. I should be nervous. Instead, all I feel is light.
"You're smiling like an idiot." North teases, bumping my shoulder.
"I'm happy," I say simply.
"You deserve to be." Ter leans closer, his voice warm. "You worked hard for this, Phoon."
Dao nods. "You really did. We're proud of you."
I laugh softly. "You're all saying that now, but wait until I make you model for me again."
"Not happening." Dao mutters, but his mouth twitches into a smile.
The music swells again, bright, dizzy, alive. My friends drink more. Ter drags North up to dance. Daotok bobs his head to his much. Lights flicker across faces and the crowd pulses with energy. I lean back in my seat, the edge of the booth pressing against my spine, and exhale slowly.
It's strange how different my life feels now.
A few years ago, I couldn't even imagine this, laughter, friendship, freedom. A home that didn't hurt to return to.
For a moment, I close my eyes, letting the sound and color wash over me.
Then it hits, faint but sharp.
A scent.
It cuts through the haze of perfume and sweat, hitting something deep inside me before I can name it. Clean, steady, with a quiet strength underneath, like petrichor after a storm, like the scent of pressed cotton and antiseptic.
Something about it freezes me.
My heart stutters once, twice. My fingers tighten around my glass.
No. It can't be.
"Phoon?" Dao's voice drifts in, faintly concerned. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I answer quickly, forcing a smile. "Just dizzy from the lights."
He doesn't look convinced, but he lets it go, reaching over to top off my drink.
The scent is gone as suddenly as it came, swallowed by the crowd. Maybe it was nothing, a trick of the mind, a memory surfacing from too deep.
Still, I can't shake the ache that settles in my chest.
Because for one impossible heartbeat, I could've sworn I smelled him.
The air feels thicker now, heavy with sweat and perfume. My skin prickles. Maybe it's the crowd, or maybe it's just my mind refusing to quiet down.
I drain the last of my drink and set the glass down. "I'm going to grab some water," I tell Dao. "Don't let North start a fight."
He rolls his eyes. "It's North. He'll flirt before he fights."
I laugh under my breath and push through the crowd. The floor trembles under the bass, and the flashing lights blur everything into streaks of color, silver, red, violet. My senses feel raw, stretched thin.
At the bar, I squeeze into a small gap between strangers, waving for the bartender. My heart's still uneven, beating to a rhythm I don't understand.
Maybe it's just the scent. Maybe I'm just tired.
The bartender slides a glass of water toward me. I take a sip, the coolness grounding me, until something brushes past my shoulder.
Warm. Solid. A faint trail of scent, sharp and clean, brushing against my senses like static.
I turn.
For half a second, I see the back of a man, tall, almost a head taller than me, straight posture, dark hair slicked neatly, the kind of quiet confidence that commands a room even without trying. His cologne is subtle, expensive. But beneath that, there's something else. Something raw, natural.
It is a Dominant Alpha.
I swallow hard, my throat tight.
The man glances over his shoulder, just a flicker of movement, eyes passing over me in the chaos of light and something in my chest twists violently. A flash of recognition without context. Like a name I used to know, lost to time.
But then someone bumps into me, spilling a drink, and the moment breaks.
When I look back, he's gone.
I stare at the empty spot for a long time, glass still in my hand. My reflection stares back faintly from the mirror behind the bar, wide eyes, hair falling into my face, the same lost look I used to have when I was sixteen.
The music swells again, and I force myself to turn away.
Maybe it's nothing. Maybe it's just the club getting to me.
But as I make my way back to our table, something stays with me, that scent, that presence. A feeling like the tide pulling at my ankles. And though I try to ignore it, deep down, I know.
Somewhere in this room, the past just brushed by me.