Archive of Our Own

Work Text

Normally, Yangyang's heats don't bother him.

They are only a minor inconvenience. Sure, tracking them is a pain, but what else can he do? Sheep hybrids, unlucky as they are, receive theirs every two weeks during the breeding season. It is not the worst thing on the planet. And, unlike cat or dog hybrids, they only last a day but are equally intense.

Normally, Yangyang loves it.

He’s always been the type to get off on rough sex—fucked three ways from morning, stuffed full, and ass dripping with cum from whoever he’s been with. He likes the feeling of a huge knot inside him, riding the high until his body feels like it's completely fucked out. There’s something primal about it, the submission, of being pinned down and owned by a strong Alpha. It taps into his hybrid instincts—prey, whatever.

But right now? It’s not hitting like it usually does.

Maybe it's the end-of-semester stress with finals looming, or the summer itself making everything feel more suffocating than usual. Or maybe it's the fact that he’s currently fucking himself open on Hendery’s long fingers in the middle of the living room. Renjun’s not going to be home anytime soon—he never is during Yangyang’s heats anymore, and honestly, that's probably for the best.

Whatever the reason, though, it just feels... off.

He's supposed to be enjoying it, but the whole thing is pissing him off. The burning ache in his core? Annoying. The way his body’s supposed to be reacting? Annoying. The fact that this isn’t feeling as good as it should? Even more annoying. And Hendery just keeps making it worse.

This isn’t what he fucking signed up for.

Yangyang groans, frustration boiling inside him as he tries to focus on anything but the overpowering desire coursing through him.

“Poor little sheep,” Hendery grunts out, and Yangyang’s cheeks flare red, his mind immediately irritated.

Great, just what I need. He curses under his breath, mentally noting to make Hendery regret that comment later.

“You’re already so wet for me, aren’t you?” Hendery adds, and Yangyang hates how true it is. His body reacts before he can control it, slick everywhere on the towel under him, no resistance when Hendery pushes his four fingers inside again. It has Yangyang arching off the couch, but it's still not enough.

It’s never enough, he thinks bitterly.

He’s not going to beg. He won’t do it, even if his body’s betraying him and following along with Hendery’s lead. There’s no way he’s going to grovel for Hendery to fuck him—he’d rather be left alone to deal with his heat by himself than to give the husky hybrid that satisfaction. The last thing he wants right now is to make himself look weak…er.

But then Hendery’s fingers curl just right, brushing against his prostate, and a moan slips out before he can stop it. He curses himself for it, but it only seems to make Hendery smile more.

"Get on with it, Hendery. Just fuck me already," Yangyang snaps, coming out more whiny than he intended. Hendery just grins wider, digging his fingers deeper, faster, making Yangyang wince from the pressure.

The sensation is too much—pain and pleasure blur together until all he feels is bitterness. His body’s giving him no choice, though, slick rushing out of him, and he just wants it to end.

This is ridiculous. There’s no way this should feel so overwhelming, but here he is, drenched with slick and fuming. It has nothing to do with Hendery, of course—it’s just the heat, that’s all.

But Hendery’s smug, idiotic expression is enough to make Yangyang want to throw him out the window.

"You’re practically begging for my Alpha knot with how wet you already are," Hendery teases, that damn grin on his face, and Yangyang swears he’s about to lose it. He’ll kill him another time, he promises himself.

Hendery’s voice turns sickeningly sweet, “I’ll take care of you, little lamb, don’t worry.”

He sounds so patronizing, like Yangyang’s just some helpless little thing. It makes his stomach churn in annoyance.

What really grates on him, though, is the way Hendery doesn’t even bother to undress fully. Instead, he just shimmies his pants down enough to get his hard cock out, leaving the rest of his clothes on.

Power play, Yangyang thinks bitterly.

Hendery’s doing it on purpose—trying to make him feel exposed like he’s some kind of cheap fuck toy to be used. When Hendery positions him on his back, forcing him to look at him the entire time, Yangyang’s face burns with humiliation, and he looks away.

This isn’t even about the sex anymore. It’s about control, and Yangyang’s sick of it.

Yangyang tries to block out everything except the feeling of Hendery’s cock pressing into him. Hendery doesn’t give him a moment to adjust—of course not—but honestly, Yangyang doesn’t need it.

He’s been through this enough times.

Hendery sets a brutal pace, hips thrusting forward, pounding his cock into him without hesitation, and Yangyang can feel the arrogance radiating off of him. Neither of them is fooling anyone—this isn’t about caring for him. Hendery’s clearly enjoying the power, the Alpha urge to dominate, more than he’s letting on.

Small hands grip his hips, pushing him upward against the cushions to find a better angle. Yangyang's breath catches in his throat as Hendery drives his cock deeper, hitting a spot inside him that makes his body stiffen. A noise escapes him before he can stop it—somewhere between a moan and a scream, but he doesn't care enough to be embarrassed.

"Fuck," Yangyang mutters, as the pressure builds inside him, finally getting what he wants.

He wishes he could just forget how much he truly hates Hendery, but it’s impossible when his body keeps betraying him like this. He doesn’t have to like the guy, but right now, that’s the least of his concerns—he just needs to get off.

The heat pooling inside him is suffocating, making his skin burn, forcing him to keep going, even though every part of him screams to pull away. He’s trapped, both in his body’s desperation and the mounting irritation tearing at his insides.

His mind can barely keep up with Hendery. Each thrust, each movement, is like a jolt of electricity, burning up his nerves until they feel ready to snap. His breath catches with every push, and the more Hendery pounds into him, the more it all feels like it’s wavering on the border of too much.

Why does it feel so much worse today? Yangyang wonders, his thoughts spiraling, dizzy from it all.

“Good boy,” Hendery’s voice is strained, bordering on too sweet, and it makes Yangyang’s stomach twist.

No. The praise hits him harder than it should.

He knows Hendery’s barely holding it together, but that just makes it worse. His chest tightens, making him feel more like an object than anything else. He doesn’t want to hear that fucking condescension right now, doesn’t want to feel like he’s being rewarded for this.

"Tell me you’re a slut," Hendery demands, trying to sound low and rough, but the words come out softer than he means them to be.

Yangyang’s teeth grind together. He’s not going to beg, not going to say it. He’s not going to let Hendery think he has that much control over him.

With a sudden move, Yangyang flips their positions before Hendery can even process it. He’s not going to lie here and take it, not when he can use Hendery just as much as Hendery’s using him. He feels Hendery’s groan vibrate through his body as his back slams against the couch, his grip tightening on Yangyang’s hips, but Hendery doesn’t try to push him off.

Good. Yangyang doesn’t care about the power dynamics anymore—he’s done with being passive, done with letting Hendery make all the moves.

“Yangyang! Sl-Slow down,” Hendery stammers, strained and pitiful, and it grinds on Yangyang’s gears.

He smirks, enjoying the way Hendery sounds so thrown off, rolling his hips down just to tease, to drag it out longer than necessary. But he can’t stop. He needs more, to regain some control, to drown out the resentment coursing through his veins.

He quickens his pace, his movements urgent, grinding against Hendery as if it is the only way to quell the noise in his head. Hendery’s moans only fuel the fire in him, and it makes his stomach tighten with raw, unbridled frustration.

“Too good?” Yangyang scoffs, his tone heavy with mockery.

“Too much…” Hendery gasps, struggling to keep pace with Yangyang’s rhythm.

Yangyang’s heard Alphas beg for more, but too much? That’s new. And yet, he understands. Every nerve in his body feels raw, consumed by this insufferable heat, teetering on overwhelming—but still, it’s never enough.

“You’ve got this,” Yangyang purrs, his hips snapping forward with precision, ensuring Hendery’s cock finds that perfect spot with every thrust.

Beneath him, Hendery is falling apart, a trembling, disheveled mess. Yangyang watches with a twisted sense of satisfaction. Seeing him like this—so undone, so desperate—almost makes him forget the disdain simmering beneath the surface. Almost.

“Faster, Yangs,” Hendery whines, his heels digging into the couch as he tries to match Yangyang’s pace, thrusting upward in a weak bid to regain control.

This was supposed to be the confident, cocky Hendery—the husky hybrid Alpha who couldn’t stop bragging about being irresistible, in demand, and always on top. But now, sprawled out on the leather couch, he’s anything but. His movements are frantic and erratic, a mess of wild attempts to meet Yangyang halfway, his composure unraveling with every passing second.

“You’re so needy,” Yangyang murmurs, a low, cutting taunt, each word deliberate and razor-sharp.

He isn’t sure what he wants to achieve—maybe it’s payback for all of Hendery’s arrogance, the relentless boasts about how everyone wanted him.

But now? Here he is, begging for Yangyang to move faster, to take him harder. Is this really the same Hendery? Yangyang smirks, reveling in the irony as the façade crumbles.

“You’re the one soaked for me,” Hendery shoots back, but his voice is shaky and weak—more plea than retort.

Yangyang can hear him choking on his pride, struggling to find something to say to make him sound in control, but it isn’t working. Hendery’s words start to lose their bite, his usual swagger replaced with breathless groans and gasps. Yangyang can tell it won’t be long before the Alpha is completely gone, unraveling under his touch.

That realization makes Yangyang’s pulse quicken. He clenches around Hendery’s cock, just to hear him cry out again, feeling the Alpha’s hips jerk against him, broken and feeble. Yangyang smirks again, and the satisfaction grows.

He isn’t just taking back control—he is breaking Hendery. And it feels so good.

“Fucking knot me,” Yangyang demands, his eyes are dark with a twisted amusement.

He is done letting Hendery have the upper hand.

Hendery acts like he’s untouchable—like everyone wants him, but no one can have him. It’s so goddamn annoying. The smirks, the cocky attitude, the constant aura of self-assuredness. Yangyang had been itching to wipe that look off his face for weeks.

Now, here Hendery is, sprawled beneath him, breathless and whining, his cock twitching helplessly as Yangyang grinds down on him. It’s pathetic, actually. Yangyang presses his palms firmly against Hendery’s chest to hold him down, relishing the way the husky hybrid’s muscles tense under his touch.

“You’re full of shit, you know that?” Yangyang huffs, rolling his hips in a deliberate, punishing rhythm. Each motion draws a sharp gasp from Hendery, and Yangyang’s lips curl in irritation. “All that talk about how irresistible you are. How you’ve got everyone falling at your feet. Is this how you act when you’ve got something real?”

Hendery growls low, trying to claw back some semblance of control, but Yangyang can see right through him. That growl isn’t dominance—it’s desperation.

The knot at the base of Hendery’s cock starts to swell, pressing insistently against him, but Yangyang doesn’t rush. He takes his time, rolling his hips just enough to feel it grow, just enough to watch Hendery’s composure crumble piece by piece. The husky hybrid is panting now, gripping Yangyang’s thighs like he’s afraid to let go.

Yangyang feels a jolt of satisfaction at the sight.

“What’s the matter? Not as tough as you thought?” he snaps, grinding down harder, pulling a whimper from Hendery that makes Yangyang’s ears flick in triumph.

Hendery tries to respond—muttering about control, probably—but the words die in his throat, replaced by a low groan as the pressure between them mounts.

The knot grows larger, locking them together, and Hendery’s entire body shudders beneath him as he comes. Yangyang can feel the strain in Hendery’s muscles, the way his hips twitch upward in helpless little jerks as he tries to keep some shred of pride intact.

It’s enough to make Yangyang laugh.

Hendery doesn’t say anything. He can’t. The only sounds he makes now are soft whines that send a thrill of triumph through Yangyang’s chest.

This isn’t just about the knot, or the sex, or the power. This is about showing Hendery that he’s not as untouchable as he thinks. And judging by the look on his face—the flushed cheeks, the glassy eyes, the trembling lips—Yangyang knows he’s won.

Hendery trembles beneath him now, his head tipped back, throat exposed as another pathetic groan tears from his lips. Yangyang’s patience is wearing thin, but the sight of Hendery like this—so undone, so utterly at his mercy—makes it worth it.

Somewhat.

Hendery claws at Yangyang’s thighs again, his nails leaving marks against the soft flesh, but Yangyang doesn’t let up. He presses his hands harder against Hendery’s chest, pinning him down like he’s some unruly animal.

“Stay,” he snaps, harsh enough to make Hendery’s ears flick back in compliance.

Yangyang can feel his own climax building, coiling low in his stomach, tight and insistent. But he doesn’t rush. Not yet. He leans forward, pressing Hendery deeper into the couch, and watches the way the husky hybrid’s lips part in a soundless gasp.

Yangyang’s climax hits him hard, sudden and intense. He shudders, his body tensing as thick ropes of cum spill across Hendery’s chest, painting his ridiculous band t-shirt with hot, sticky streaks. His thighs tremble as he rides it out, milking every ounce of satisfaction from the moment, his breaths coming in sharp, uneven pants.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is their breathing—Hendery’s ragged and unsteady, Yangyang’s low and steady.

Yangyang lets out a long, satisfied sigh as he finally collapses forward, his body draping over Hendery’s chest. The weight of him makes Hendery grunt softly, but Yangyang doesn’t care. His limbs feel heavy, his breaths still coming in slow, uneven pants, and the knot between them throbs with every beat of Hendery’s pulse.

It’ll be a while before the damn thing goes down, and for now, Yangyang is content to just lie there, his cheek pressed against Hendery’s chest, sticky and damp from his release.

“So,” Hendery starts, hoarse but trying to sound casual. Hendery shifts beneath him, his hands tentatively resting on Yangyang’s waist. “Was it… good for you?”

Yangyang groans, not bothering to lift his head. “Shut up.”

Hendery huffs, the sound half annoyed, half amused. “I’m just saying—”

“I said shut up.” Yangyang’s voice is muffled against Hendery’s chest, but the irritation cuts through loud and clear. “I’m tired, and you’re irritating. Just let me rest.”

Hendery falls silent, though Yangyang can feel him shifting a little, clearly uncomfortable with the awkward silence. It doesn’t matter. Yangyang closes his eyes, letting the rise and fall of Hendery’s chest lull him into something resembling peace.

Minutes pass, exhaustion pressing down on both of them. The knot still holds them together, but Yangyang doesn’t mind as much as he thought he would. At least Hendery is finally quiet.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Yangyang mutters, barely audible as sleep tugs at his consciousness. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

Hendery doesn’t answer this time, and Yangyang drifts in and out of a hazy, annoyed half-sleep. The knot between them is still holding firm, an uncomfortable reminder of the way they’re stuck together.

He exhales, trying not to think about it. The moments drag on, each one making him more aware of Hendery’s warmth, his pheromones, and the way his hands rest possessively on Yangyang’s waist as if they belong there.

It’s suffocating.

Finally—finally—Yangyang feels the knot begin to shrink, the pressure easing bit by bit. His body shifts instinctively, and he can feel it slip free with a wet, obscene noise that makes his ears twitch in embarrassment.

Relief floods him like a breath of fresh air. Without a word, Yangyang pushes himself off Hendery and stands up, not bothering with the mess of slick and cum dripping down his legs. The rush of coolness against his skin is a welcome contrast to the oppressive feeling of Hendery’s body.

“Thank fuck,” Yangyang mutters under his breath, dragging a hand over his face as he lets out a long sigh.

Hendery chuckles softly, propping himself up on one elbow to look over at him. “You know, you could at least pretend you didn’t hate every second of that.”

Yangyang snorts, not bothering to look at him. “I don’t have to pretend anything. You’re still annoying.”

“Right,” Hendery, still catching his breath, glances at him with a flicker of confusion as he reaches for him. “Well, you’re welcome.”

Yangyang pulls away, his expression neutral, though his mind is already shifting to the aftermath. He can feel the stickiness of cum and slick on his body, the sweat, the residual mess—and all he wants is to get rid of it.

“Do you… want me to stick around?” Hendery asks, his voice hesitant, like he’s unsure of what’s expected now that the intensity has passed.

“No,” Yangyang says, his tone firm, final. He doesn’t meet his gaze, grabbing the towel to wipe at his chest with brisk, precise movements. “I’ll handle the rest myself. The worst of my heat is over. I’ll be fine with a sleeve and my toys.”

Hendery pauses, caught between lingering concern and the growing realization that he’s being dismissed.

“Right,” he says finally, sitting up and buttoning up his pants. His uncertainty is obvious, but he doesn’t press further.

Yangyang doesn’t wait for him to leave. He turns on his heel, heading straight for the bathroom. The need for space is unbearable—space to clean up, to clear his head, to reset.

Once inside, he closes the door and steps into the shower, turning the water on as hot as he can. The steady stream pours over him, washing away the remains of the day. He stands motionless for a moment, eyes closed, letting the pressure work on the grime and tension clinging to him.

The water carries away the burden of it all, leaving him with nothing but the hum of the droplets hitting tile. He doesn’t want to dwell—not on Hendery, not on his heat, not on how it all ended. Compartmentalization has always been his skill, and now he hangs on to it like a lifeline.

He scrubs at his body methodically, making sure to rinse every inch thoroughly. The water feels like a reset button, clearing him physically and mentally. For a moment, he lets himself just exist in the rhythm of the shower. It’s the only peace he can find right now, and he takes it, breath by breath.

A faint knock on the bathroom door pulls Yangyang out of his thoughts. Hendery’s voice follows, softer than usual, tentative. “Yangyang? Just… wanted to say goodbye and, uh, thanks for letting me help.”

Yangyang doesn’t answer immediately. The steady spray of water masks his silence as he finishes rinsing off, letting the sounds of Hendery’s footsteps outside the door drift into the background. He exhales slowly, tilting his head under the stream one last time before shutting the water off.

Reaching for a towel, he dries off with deliberate movements, the quiet between them stretching thin. The door creaks open just enough for Hendery to peek his head in, his expression cautious. “If you change your mind about—”

“I won’t.” Yangyang cuts him off. His gaze flicks up, locking onto Hendery’s for a brief, frozen moment. Then, just as quickly, he looks away, stepping out of the bathroom.

Hendery loiters in the doorway, a thousand unsaid words weighing down between them. But Yangyang doesn’t pause. He brushes past him, already pulling on clothes in the peaceful sanctuary of his room.

The front door clicks shut minutes later. Yangyang lies back on the couch, staring at the ceiling as the stillness of the apartment finally swallows him whole.

Renjun comes home later in the day, earlier than Yangyang expects. The door opens with a soft thud, followed by the sound of shoes scuffing against the entryway floor. Normally, Renjun’s return is quiet, nearly unnoticeable, but this time there’s a quick inhale, an audible pause, and then—“Ugh. Seriously?”Yangyang hears him before he sees him. Renjun’s voice carries, lined with irritation. By the time he steps into view, Renjun’s face is already twisted in a grimace, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose.“You reek,” Renjun announces, his wolf-hybrid senses clearly assaulted. His sensitive nose wrinkles further as he waves a hand in front of his face as if it’ll help block out the scent. “How is it this bad after a whole shower? Did you even try?”Yangyang groans from where he’s sprawled on the couch, barely lifting his head to acknowledge him. “It’s the heat. It sticks, okay? Not like I can help it.”Renjun glares at him, his expression fluctuating between disgust and exhaustion. “Yeah, well, could you try harder? Open a window before I pass out.”He mutters something else under his breath, probably unflattering, but Yangyang doesn’t bother asking for clarification.Instead, Yangyang rolls over, burying his face in a throw pillow. “I’ll deal with it.”“You should’ve dealt with it hours ago,” Renjun snaps back. He sets his bag down with more force than necessary, sighing audibly. “Let me guess—Hendery was here?”The tenseness in the room spikes, but Yangyang doesn’t take the bait. He’s too tired, too drained to argue. “Yeah,” he admits, muffled into the pillow.Renjun makes a noise halfway between disbelief and disgust. “Figures. I could smell him the second I opened the door. Do you have to make this my problem every time?”Yangyang doesn’t answer, doesn’t even move, and after a beat, Renjun lets out another sigh. “Whatever. I’m lighting a candle, because if I have to smell this any longer, I’ll pass out from the stench.”He disappears into the kitchen, rummaging through drawers with an efficiency born of irritation. Yangyang listens to the sounds of clinking jars and the flick of a match, all while sinking further into the couch cushions.When Renjun reemerges, the soft fragrance of eucalyptus and cedarwood follows him. He places the lit candle on the coffee table, standing back like he’s performed a small act of heroism.“There. At least now it’s bearable.”Yangyang lifts his head just enough to glance at him. “You’re so dramatic.”Renjun rolls his eyes. “And you’re so gross. Maybe next time try not to make the entire apartment smell like your heat and Hendery’s desperation.”Yangyang huffs a muted laugh despite himself but doesn’t argue. Renjun heads to his room, leaving Yangyang alone with the soft crackle of the candle and the slow, steady clearing of the room.Yangyang watches the door to Renjun’s room click shut, leaving him alone in the living room with the faint aroma of eucalyptus replacing the heavier, muskier aroma of sex. He lets out a slow breath, the weight of the day pressing down on him again.It’s funny—ironic, in fact—how he and Renjun end up here in the first place.The university housing office didn’t care when Yangyang protested the assignment. Pairing a sheep hybrid with a wolf hybrid? A prey species sharing a dorm with a predator? It was practically begging for trouble.But apparently, “We prioritize availability, not compatibility” is the official stance.He tried to fight it, of course. He even showed up to the housing office in person, armed with a detailed argument about how the arrangement was bound to fail. But the bored clerk behind the desk just handed him a copy of the rules, highlighting the section that said hybrids are expected to “navigate interpersonal challenges as part of the college experience.”Interpersonal challenges.Right. Because being a sheep hybrid forced to room with a wolf hybrid is the same as, what, a minor disagreement over thermostat settings?At least Renjun turned out to be about as exciting as a rock. Yangyang braced himself for growls, posturing, maybe even thinly veiled threats. But Renjun? Renjun is a Beta.Mild-mannered, even-tempered, and—thankfully—completely uninterested in Yangyang.The irony isn’t lost on him.Renjun, the natural predator in their mismatched pairing, is the least threatening person Yangyang has ever met. He doesn’t care about Yangyang’s heats, his scent, or his vulnerable moments. If anything, Renjun seems more annoyed than anything else—like Yangyang’s hybrid instincts are just another chore he has to deal with.And honestly, Yangyang doesn’t mind that. He doesn’t want someone who looks at him like prey, someone whose Alpha instincts would flare up at the wrong moment. No, Renjun’s utter disinterest is almost refreshing.But the arrangement still annoys him sometimes. Every time Renjun wrinkles his nose at the remnants of Yangyang’s heats or mutters about candles or throws open a window with exaggerated irritation, it’s a reminder of how little thought went into their pairing.The housing office basically threw them together and said, “Good luck,” like Yangyang’s hybrid instincts—or Renjun’s, for that matter—don’t matter.Still, he supposes it could’ve been worse. Renjun might’ve been an Alpha, or worse, someone who cares enough to pry into Yangyang’s life. Instead, Yangyang gets stuck with a Beta who mostly ignores him unless the smell becomes impossible to avoid.And honestly? He’ll take that over the alternative any day.Yangyang flops onto his back, the pillow cushioning the back of his head as he stares at the ceiling. For a Beta, Renjun really is too sensitive. The dramatic pinching of his nose, the exaggerated sighs, the muttered complaints—all of it feels over the top. There’s no way the smell is actually that bad. Betas aren’t supposed to have noses keen enough to pick up on subtle pheromones, let alone be affected by them. That’s Alpha territory.Still, it’s not like Renjun doesn’t have his own scent, as weak as it is.Yangyang can smell it even now, hanging in the apartment like a ghost—clean, woodsy, and just a little sweet, like cedarwood and freshly fallen leaves. It clings to Renjun’s clothes and wafts by whenever he passes too close, subtle but grounding, and far more pleasant than Yangyang would ever admit to his face.That scent is too calming, honestly.For someone as uptight as Renjun, Yangyang would expect something acute and clinical, like disinfectant or lemon. Instead, Renjun smells like a tranquil forest after the rain, all soft earth and whispering leaves. Sometimes, when Yangyang is curled up in the throes of his heat, limbs heavy and mind foggy, the smell of Renjun cuts through the haze like a balm. It’s not overpowering, not demanding like an Alpha’s presence—it’s steady, anchoring. If Yangyang lets himself relax, lets his guard down for a moment, he can all but admit it’s soothing.That thought is dangerous, though, so he shoves it aside.Still, Yangyang can’t help but feel like Renjun is being hypocritical. He isn’t the only one leaving traces of himself in their shared space.Renjun’s scent is everywhere—in the blankets on the couch, the cushions of the chairs, even the small, neat pile of laundry he sometimes leaves on his bed before putting it away.Yangyang doesn’t mind it, though.In fact, he kind of likes it, even if he’d never say so. It makes the apartment feel a little more lived-in, a little less sterile.If he can deal with that, why can’t Renjun just deal with Yangyang’s heats? It’s not like Yangyang can control the way it sticks or how it makes him sluggish and irritable. He’s already showering twice a day, burning through cans of air freshener and incense, and cracking windows despite the chilly breeze. Short of scrubbing himself raw, there isn’t much else he can do.“Betas aren’t supposed to care,” Yangyang mutters, mostly to himself.But Renjun isn’t like most Betas.He isn’t oblivious or indifferent like Yangyang’s classmates. No, Renjun’s sensitivity extends beyond his unusually observant nose. It’s in the way he moves through the apartment, deliberate and precise, careful not to disturb Yangyang when he’s feeling too raw. It’s in the way he always has a candle ready to burn or some minor complaint on the tip of his tongue but rarely crosses the line into outright cruelty.Yangyang sighs, his body relaxing as the soft glow of candlelight fills the room. Perhaps Renjun is not as intolerable as he makes himself out to be. Hypocritical, yes. Definitely dramatic. But still—calming in a way Yangyang can’t quite explain, like how that scent of his is laced with something unspoken that makes sharing a space with him easier to bear.The living room is clearing now, lighter, fresher.Maybe Renjun is not so bad after all. Boring as a rock, for sure. But rocks don’t bite.“Whatever,” Yangyang grumbles, letting his eyes drift shut. Renjun will never hear any of this from him. It would only make his already enormous ego even bigger.
On the other side of the room, Renjun leans back against his closed door, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He lets out a low breath, willing himself to stay calm. The light fragrance of eucalyptus from the candle in the living room wafts through the thin walls of his room, but it does little to mask the trace of Yangyang’s heat that clings to the apartment.He hates it.Not just the smell—though that’s bad enough. No, what Renjun hates is how much it gets to him, how it crawls under his nerves and makes his Alpha instincts flare, no matter how much control he prides himself on.Control. That’s the key. Renjun isn’t like most Alphas. He isn’t ruled by impulse or instinct, and he certainly isn’t the type to let his biology dictate his behavior. That’s why everyone—including Yangyang—assumes he’s a Beta. Private, disciplined, a model of self-restraint.It’s easier that way. Safer.But God, sometimes it’s torture.When Renjun first agreed to share an apartment with Yangyang, he figured it would be fine. Yangyang was a bit of a wildcard and a sheep hybrid to boot, sure, but how bad could it be? Renjun figured they’d stick to their routines, split the chores evenly, and coexist peacefully. Simple, right?It didn’t take long for reality to crash down on him.For one thing, Yangyang immediately declared his bed a mere decoration. He preferred the couch—practically every night.“The couch has better energy,” he explained casually when Renjun asked why. Better energy? The thing was barely big enough to hold Yangyang’s sprawled-out form, and the thin throw blanket he insisted on using as a cover barely reached his knees.Renjun tried to reason with him at first, suggesting the benefits of a larger bed and better lumbar support. But Yangyang only waved him off with a nonchalant, “Vibes, Renjun, vibes,” and proceeded to pass out face-first on the couch like a content starfish.If that wasn’t enough, Yangyang has a special knack for driving Renjun insane in other ways.Renjun likes order. He likes predictability. He likes things where they belong—dishes neatly stacked, books arranged by genre, socks paired and folded.Yangyang, on the other hand, seems determined to completely disrupt any sense of order Renjun tries to maintain.The dishes, for example, are a never-ending battle. Renjun spends ages loading the dishwasher, placing every plate and utensil just so. Then Yangyang comes along, tosses a few mugs and bowls in haphazardly like he’s playing Tetris with his eyes closed, and wanders off.“It’s all going to get clean anyway,” he says breezily whenever Renjun confronts him.Even worse are Yangyang’s questionable clothing choices. Renjun walks into the living room one too many times to find Yangyang lounging shirtless or, on especially horrifying occasions, in just a pair of boxers.“Can you please put on some clothes?” Renjun snapped one morning, his patience nearing its breaking point as Yangyang sauntered into the kitchen, clad only in a wet towel.Yangyang gave him a lazy, confident smirk. “Why? It’s not like I’m naked.”Renjun felt his face burn, ears flicking in embarrassment.“That’s not the point,” he muttered, grabbing his mug from the drying rack and doing his best to avoid eye contact. “We have windows, Yangyang. What if the neighbors see?”Yangyang just shrugged.“Then they’ll get a free show,” he said with a wink. Renjun nearly dropped his mug.The worst part, though, is how easily Yangyang seems to enjoy life while Renjun is stuck cleaning up the aftermath. The mismatched socks abandoned under the coffee table. The half-eaten snacks left on the counter. The laundry that Yangyang promises to fold but somehow never gets around to.It feels like Yangyang exists solely to test Renjun’s patience.Renjun has gotten used to it, or at least he thinks he has. But Yangyang’s heat always makes it worse.Yangyang doesn’t know.He has no idea how much Renjun notices—the pheromones, the noises, the knowledge of exactly what is going on just a few feet away—all of which test his control. The constant parade of Alphas through their apartment does not help either. Each one leaves their own imprint behind, a blend of dominance and satisfaction that remains on the furniture long after they have left.And the jealousy? That’s the worst part of all. Renjun would never admit it, not even to himself most days, but it burns him up inside.But what really gnaws at him is the question that never leaves his mind: Why them?Why has Yangyang never bothered to ask him? He’s right here. Always has been. Always will be.Renjun clenches his jaw, running a hand through his hair as if the motion can shake off the thought. He knows why. Yangyang thinks he’s a Beta. Boring, harmless, reliable Renjun. Nothing threatening, nothing Alpha about him.And that’s his own fault, isn’t it? He’s spent years perfecting this persona, tucking away every instinct that might give him away. He can’t blame Yangyang for believing what Renjun has worked so hard to make true.But still.It isn’t like Renjun ever bothers Yangyang with his own ruts. He’s made sure of that from the very start. The second he learned he’d be rooming with a prey hybrid, he went straight to the clinic and got a prescription for suppressants.The pills aren’t perfect—they dull the edge, flatten the instincts, make it easier to function. But they don’t erase everything. Sometimes, late at night, when the apartment is silent and the world feels too still, the itch creeps back in.The urges. The hunger. It’s always there, buried deep, a part of him he can never fully suppress, no matter how many pills he swallows or how much control he practices.Still, the suppressants are non-negotiable.Renjun isn’t going to risk it. Not with Yangyang.He can’t stand the thought of accidentally triggering him—making him feel cornered, vulnerable, like prey. That’s the last thing Yangyang deserves, and the last thing Renjun wants to be.So he learned to keep himself in check. No posturing, no dominance displays, none of the typical Alpha behaviors that might set off Yangyang’s instincts. He worked hard to keep the balance, to make their living arrangement bearable.And it isn’t like Yangyang notices. Why would he? No one knows he’s an Alpha. Not Yangyang, not their classmates, not even the housing office that threw them together without a second thought.Other than his closest friends, no one knows the truth. And that’s fine. It’s better this way.Renjun doesn’t want to be like the other Alphas. The ones who take what they want, who use their pheromones and their strength to bend others to their will. He doesn’t want to be the reason Yangyang feels trapped or uneasy in his own space.But sometimes…Sometimes it gets to him.Like now, when the apartment is still thick with the reminder of Yangyang’s heat. Renjun can feel it clawing at the fringes of his control, his instincts whispering things he doesn’t want to hear. His jaw tightens, his hand gripping the door handle as he forces himself to focus.It isn’t like it matters. Yangyang will never see him that way, and Renjun doesn’t want him to.At least, that’s what he tells himself. Over and over, like a mantra.But there are nights when it’s harder to believe. Nights when the jealousy burns hotter than he cares to admit, when he wonders why Yangyang never looks at him like he does the other Alphas. Why, in all the time they’ve lived together, did Yangyang never even consider asking him for help?Renjun sighs, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He’s being ridiculous. Petty. Selfish.Yangyang doesn’t know. He can’t know. And Renjun has no right to feel like this.Renjun lets his head fall back against the door with a dull thud, his eyes closing as he tries to focus on his breathing. Slow, steady, controlled. The way it always has to be.It isn’t like he wants to be part of Yangyang’s conquests anyway. Not exactly. But every time he smells another Alpha on Yangyang—every time he hears the laughter, the teasing, the unmistakable noises spilling out from behind a closed door—it’s a reminder.A reminder that Yangyang has options. Choices. That he doesn’t see Renjun as one of them.Renjun inhales deeply, letting the delicate aroma of eucalyptus wafting under the door try to ground him. He’s chosen this. He’s chosen to be invisible, to keep his head down, to avoid the mess that comes with being an Alpha. It isn’t Yangyang’s fault that Renjun has trapped himself in his own carefully crafted image.But still, he can’t help but wonder. If Yangyang ever knew—if he ever asked—would things be different?The thought is fleeting, a moment of weakness that Renjun banishes as quickly as it comes. It doesn’t matter. Yangyang isn’t going to ask, and Renjun isn’t going to offer.
Control. That’s all that matters.
Renjun straightens, shaking off the haze of frustration that’s settled over him. He crosses the room to his desk, pulling out his laptop with practiced precision. He has work to do, and he’s not about to let his thoughts—his own weakness—get in the way.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

A few days later, Renjun finds himself at the campus café, crammed into a booth beside Jeno and Jaemin, who seem to have no concept of personal space. The café is alive with the soft hum of voices, the occasional clatter of cups, and the low hiss of the espresso machine behind the counter. Normally, this kind of atmosphere would settle his nerves.

Today, though, it grates on them.

Every scrape of a chair and burst of laughter feels amplified, clawing at the edges of his already frayed patience. Renjun’s wolf ears twitch involuntarily, swiveling toward each new sound like they have a mind of their own. He flattens them against his head in frustration, but it does little to muffle the noise—or his thoughts.

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to shake the memory of Yangyang’s pheromones clinging to the dorm, thick and overwhelming, leaving him restless and on edge.

“Seriously, though, Injunnie,” Jaemin says, cutting through Renjun’s spiraling thoughts. He’s lazily picking at the crumbs of a croissant, his oversized, floppy white ears twitching with curiosity. “How are you not losing your shit in there? Yangyang’s been on a mating spree lately, hasn’t he?”

Renjun stiffens, his fork freezing midair. He keeps his eyes down, pretending to focus on the half-eaten plate in front of him. His tail, neatly tucked along the back of the booth, gives an involuntary twitch.

“Oh, he definitely has,” Jeno chimes in, his voice a warm, easy drawl that manages to sound amused and knowing all at once. He leans forward, resting his chin in his hand, his round eyes gleaming. The thick white fluff of his tail sways lazily behind him, a perfect mirror of his mood.

“Even I caught a whiff of it the other day, and I don’t even have your nose. Guess breeding season really brings out the worst in some people.”

Renjun grits his teeth, shoving a piece of food into his mouth to avoid saying anything he might regret.

“Come on,” Jaemin presses, his grin honing in as he watches Renjun. He leans in conspiratorially, his ears flicking in sync with his rising amusement. “We’re just looking out for you. You’ve been stuck in that dorm with an Omega in heat for months now, and it’s only getting worse as the season goes on. It’s what, four more cycles of this, tops?”

Renjun’s fork clatters against his plate, the sound harsh enough to make Jeno’s ears perk slightly. “Four?” he echoes, his voice low and dangerous.

Jaemin doesn’t flinch, though his nose scrunches—just enough to give away his nerves. “Yeah, genius. Breeding season isn’t over until midsummer. That’s, what, two months away? About four more cycles for sheep hybrids, right?”

The reminder makes Renjun’s stomach twist unpleasantly. He’s barely made it through the past few months, and the idea of enduring yet another two months—another four cycles of Yangyang’s heats—is almost enough to make him snap.

“Ugh, you’re not helping,” he mutters, his tail flicking sharply against the seat. The words come out more exhausted than angry, lacking their usual bite.

“Hey, I’m just stating facts,” Jaemin says, raising his hands in mock innocence. His floppy ears twitch dramatically as if to underline his point. “Honestly, I’m impressed you haven’t gone feral yet. With how much he’s been… busy.”

Jeno snickers, his tail thumping softly against the booth. “Yeah, I’d have cracked by now. No shame in it, though.”

Renjun exhales bitterly as he glares at the two of them. “You’re both insufferable.”

“We know,” Jaemin replies, his grin wide and unapologetic, the picture of smug satisfaction. “It’s part of our charm. But seriously, why not just let us help? Next time Yangyang’s in heat, crash at one of our places for the night. Problem solved.”

Renjun hesitates, his fork poised over his plate.

It’s not like Jaemin’s suggestion is new. He’s done it before—plenty of times, in fact. Whenever Yangyang’s heats get to be too much, Renjun makes a point of retreating. Whether it’s holing up at a study café overnight or crashing on Chenle’s couch, it’s a routine that usually works.

Usually. But this time feels… different.

The idea of leaving—of putting distance between himself and Yangyang—should be a relief. It always has been before. Yangyang doesn’t need him there. He knows that. But the idea of walking away feels wrong in a way he can’t explain.

“I already do that,” Renjun mutters, stabbing at his food without appetite.

“Not enough,” Jaemin counters immediately, his perceptiveness as irritating as ever. “You leave, sure, but you’re still there mentally. You’re torturing yourself with this whole pretending-you-don’t-care thing. It’s exhausting just watching you.”

Renjun shoots him a penetrating glare, the warning in his amber eyes unmistakable. “Jaemin.”

“What?” Jaemin says, all feigned innocence. He shrugs, but his grin doesn’t falter. “I’m just saying.”

“What he’s saying is—you’ve got options,” Jeno interjects, his tone steadier, more grounded. The teasing edge in his voice has softened, replaced with a calming sincerity. His blue gaze locks on Renjun’s, uncharacteristically serious. “You don’t have to sit there and suffer through it. And you mentioned the suppressants aren’t working as well these days, right? It might be for the best.”

Renjun exhales heavily, his grip clenching around his fork. He knows they’re right. He knows it’s stupid to keep pretending it doesn’t get to him. But admitting it out loud feels like crossing a line he’s not ready to face.

“I’ll think about it,” he mutters finally, the words low and reluctant, but still a concession.

“That’s all we’re asking,” Jaemin says, his grin growing almost kind. His floppy ears quiver faintly like they’re nodding in agreement. “Well, that and maybe stop acting like you don’t care about him. Just a suggestion.”

Renjun gives him a narrowed look. “Jaemin.”

The growl in his voice is unmistakable. Jaemin only laughs, leaning back in his seat.

“Fine, fine,” he says, his cottontail flicking lazily. “I’ll stop. For now.”

The conversation shifts to lighter topics—campus gossip, soccer matches, and the latest drama in their friend group—but Jaemin and Jeno's words linger in Renjun's mind, a persistent echo he can’t quite shake.

As he glances out the café window, watching sunlight spill across the tiled floor, the ache in his chest refuses to ease.

Two months, four more cycles. Renjun’s fingers tighten on the edge of his plate. It’s not just the season that feels unbearable anymore—it’s everything Yangyang leaves in his wake.

Yangyang flops onto Ten’s couch with a heavy groan, sprawling out like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. His horns thud against the back of the couch, and he lets out an annoyed huff, reaching up to rub at one of them absentmindedly. His woolly tail flicks against the cushions in a restless rhythm, an unintentional soundtrack to his irritation.

Normally, Ten’s apartment feels like a cozy retreat—small but warm, with its soft lighting and that ever-present lavender smell that clings to everything.

But today? Today, it feels stifling. Like the walls are creeping closer, the whole place conspiring against his already frazzled nerves.

“You’re unusually quiet,” Ten calls from the kitchen, laid-back but cutting just enough to let Yangyang know he’s being watched.

“I’m just tired,” Yangyang mumbles, tilting his head back until he’s staring at the ceiling. “Breeding season is exhausting.”

Ten snorts—loud and fully unsympathetic. The fridge door shuts with a soft thud, and there’s a familiar clink of bottles. A moment later, Ten strides into the living room, two beers in hand and a smirk that practically screams trouble.

“Exhausting?” he echoes, passing one of the bottles to Yangyang.

Yangyang grabs it from him, the cold glass a small relief in his palm. He twists it open with a faint hiss, taking a long gulp before replying. “Yeah, exhausting. You wouldn’t get it.”

Ten plops down on the couch across from him, sprawling out with the confidence of someone who owns the place—which, of course, he does. Stretching his legs over the coffee table, he crosses one ankle over the other, his black tail swishing back and forth lazily like he’s got nothing but time.

“Please,” Ten says, taking a leisurely sip from his own beer. “You look like you’re having the time of your life. What? Running out of people to keep you entertained already? I can lend you one of mine if you want. Johnny takes really good care of me during my heats.”

Yangyang groans, dragging a hand down his face.

“Can you not?” His voice is muffled by his hand, but Ten hears him perfectly. He always does.

“What? I’m just saying.” Ten’s voice drips with faux innocence as he swirls his drink in lazy circles. “Not my fault you’ve been… very public about your extracurriculars.”

Yangyang wants to fire back—something cutting to wipe that smug look off Ten’s face—but instead, he takes a long swig of his beer, using the bitter taste to steady himself. “You’re such an ass. You’re worse than Renjun.”

“Ah, yes, Renjun,” Ten says, leaning forward slightly, his dark ears flicking upward with interest. His grin grows dangerously wide. “Speaking of our favorite grump—”

“Don’t.”

Ten, predictably, ignores him. He’s too busy relishing the opportunity.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” he starts, eyes gleaming with mischief, “how much he complains about you these days. All that stuff about your scent, your noises, your whole existence. It’s almost like…”

He trails off dramatically, just to watch Yangyang squirm, then delivers the punchline: “...he likes you.”

Yangyang nearly chokes on his beer, sitting up so fast his horns almost clip the edge of the couch.

“He doesn’t like me,” he snaps, tail twitching behind him in short, agitated flicks. “He barely tolerates me. He’s always scowling or acting like I’ve ruined his day just by breathing.”

Ten raises a perfectly arched eyebrow, the picture of smug disbelief.

“Or,” he says, drawing the word out like he’s savoring it, “he scowls because he likes you and doesn’t know what to do about it.”

Yangyang stares at him, caught between the urge to laugh and the very real temptation to chuck a pillow at his head. “That’s ridiculous. Renjun’s a Beta. Even if he did—which he doesn’t—it wouldn’t matter.”

Ten’s pointed ears tilt slightly, his grin becoming more calculating.

“Wouldn’t it?” he asks, almost too casually, but there’s a bitterness underneath. “You’re acting like Betas can’t have feelings. Or, I don’t know, be attractive. Kind of rude and a little discriminatory, don’t you think?”

Yangyang’s ears flatten. A low growl bubbles up in his throat. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just… he’s so—”

“Proper?” Ten cuts in smoothly, ticking off an imaginary list on his fingers. “Controlled? Uptight? Scary when he’s mad? Oh, wait, let me guess—

intimidatingly pretty

?”

Yangyang freezes. He doesn’t say a word, but the blush creeping up his neck betrays him completely.

Ten’s grin goes razor-sharp. “Yeah, I thought so.”

This time, Yangyang doesn’t hesitate. He grabs a pillow and hurls it at Ten’s head. Ten dodges effortlessly, laughing as the pillow sails harmlessly past him.

“Don’t start,” Yangyang grumbles, his voice low and threatening, though there’s a hint of amusement in it.

“Oh, it’s already started.” Ten replies, leaning back against the couch like he’s settling in for a show. His smug smile softens just enough to be infuriating. “You know, for someone who claims to be annoyed by you, Renjun sure does keep tabs on you. Like, a lot. It’s kind of sweet.”

Yangyang scowls, gripping his beer like it’s the only thing tethering him to sanity. “That’s just because we’re roommates. He doesn’t have a choice.”

“If you really believe that, you’re even more clueless than I thought.” Ten hums, clearly unconvinced. “But hey—whatever. Don’t let me burst your little bubble.”

Yangyang exhales, sinking further into the couch with a frustrated groan. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re oblivious,” Ten shoots back, his voice slow and satisfied, like he’s just won a game Yangyang didn’t even know they were playing. “At least you’re cute. Maybe Renjun will finally notice.”

Yangyang chokes on his beer again, the burn in his throat only adding to the color flooding his face. His glare is deadly, but it does nothing to wipe the shit-eating smirk off Ten’s face. “You’re impossible.”

Ten laughs, loud and unapologetic, the sound echoing in the small apartment. Yangyang buries his face in his hands, too flustered to come up with a decent comeback.

His tail flicks behind him, a restless, irritated movement that only seems to amuse Ten further. As far as Ten is concerned, the match is over, and the victory is his.

A couple of weeks later, Yangyang finds himself tangled in the same hollow routine—his back pressed into the damp, crumpled sheets of his bed, his body moving in sync with the rhythm of someone else’s pleasure. This time, it’s Kun, a bear hybrid he’d met at the club the night before.

Kun is trying. His hands are steady, the feeling of his palms grounding against Yangyang’s bare skin as they settle firmly on his hips. There’s intention in the way Kun grinds into him—his thrusts are deliberate, paced, like he’s working to get it right, to leave some kind of lasting impression. But it doesn’t matter. None of it does.

Yangyang exhales, his chest rising and falling with mechanical precision. He lets his body react the way it’s supposed to, the way it always does. A soft, practiced moan escapes his lips, his back arching at just the right moment because it’s what’s expected of Omegas. He flushes under Kun’s touch, his muscles contracting reflexively, and Kun grunts in approval, the sound rough and guttural.

But Yangyang isn’t here mentally. Not really.

His mind is somewhere else, checked out, retreating from the intimacy he can’t bring himself to feel. The bed creaks beneath them, each rhythmic thrust punctuated by the sound of Kun’s thick breathing. The warmth of their bodies mingles, sweat slicking Yangyang’s skin and sticking the sheets to his thighs. Every sensation feels muted, distant, like he’s floating just out of reach of himself.

Kun’s hips snap forward, the movement precise as his cock dives deeper and hits that special spot just right, and Yangyang feels it—he always feels it. His body is too well-trained, too conditioned not to respond. Each motion sends little punches of sensation rippling up his spine, but they register like static, dulled by the thick fog of his thoughts.

How did it come to this?

Yangyang’s breath catches when Kun adjusts his angle, which makes his legs tremble. His body reacts instantly—a swift inhale, a flutter of his muscles, a rush of slick—and Kun’s low groan vibrates in the space between them with satisfaction. But Yangyang’s chest feels constricted by an ache no amount of touch can soothe.

He’s been here before, too many times to count. Different faces, different bodies, all of them blurring into the same hollow script. Strangers pressing into him, their mouths and hands roaming, their voices burdensome with lust and hunger. And every time, Yangyang lets it happen because it’s easier than admitting the truth.

He’s tired.

Tired of fleeting touches and hollow connections. Tired of letting his heats dictate his choices, of the way his biological instincts betray him, steering him toward something he knows won’t fill the void. He wants more than this—needs more than the trifling, momentary satisfaction that fizzles out as soon as the sex is over.

Kun’s pace quickens, his grip tightening on Yangyang’s waist, the sounds of skin on skin getting louder. The friction grows fiercer, hotter, and Yangyang forces himself to stay present, to keep up the act. He clenches around Kun’s cock reflexively, earning a groan of approval, but it feels like a performance—every sound, every movement rehearsed to perfection.

This isn’t enough.

It hasn’t been enough for a long time.

Yangyang’s thoughts spiral as Kun’s grunts become more vocal, his thrusts more erratic. He remembers a time when he thought this could be enough when the rush and thrill of someone else’s touch had felt like an answer, a balm for the emptiness creeping in around the edges. Back then, it was easy to ignore the cracks forming beneath the surface.

Now, though, those cracks have widened into chasms, and the emptiness inside him feels bottomless.

Kun’s movements stutter, and Yangyang knows it’s nearly over. Relief blooms in his chest, but it’s not the kind of relief he’s supposed to feel. It’s the kind that comes with escape. He just wants it to end.

When Kun finally shudders and moans against his neck, knotting him, Yangyang comes, streaks of white coating the space between them. Yet he feels nothing but the crushing exhaustion settling deep in his bones. He doesn’t flinch as Kun shifts, adjusting them slightly, just enough to pull Yangyang closer to his chest.

Kun whispers soothing words—words that might be apologies or reassurances. Yangyang isn’t sure. They’re low and almost tender, but Yangyang drowns them out, focusing instead on the dull thrum in his own head. His body aches, but it’s the weight in his chest that’s unbearable, sinking like a stone.

He stares blankly at the wall, the dim light from the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the room. Kun’s hands move gently over him, a thumb brushing absently over his hip, his nose nudging against the curve of Yangyang’s shoulder.

Kun’s voice comes again, soft and steady, murmuring about how good Yangyang was, how well he took it, and how he should rest now. The words might be meant to comfort, but they only grate at the edges of Yangyang’s resolve.

The pulsating knot stretches the minutes unbearablely slow, the feeling of Kun inside him a constant reminder of their entanglement—one Yangyang wants nothing more than to escape. He clenches his jaw, his fingers curling into the sheets beneath him, holding on to the fabric as though it might anchor him. Deep and steady, he breathes through his nose, willing himself to focus on anything but the man pressed against him.

When the knot finally begins to deflate, Yangyang feels the faintest relief, but it’s fleeting.

Kun thankfully doesn’t linger. He zips up his jeans, mumbles something Yangyang doesn’t respond to, and slips out the door without a backward glance. The click of the latch echoes through the room, stark and final.

Yangyang slumps back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling as everything settles on him. His body feels wrung out, sticky with sweat and the remnants of a day he wishes he could forget. But his mind won’t stop racing.

Dragging himself out of bed, he stumbles toward the bathroom, his legs shaky, the ache in his muscles a physical manifestation of his mental fatigue. He needs the water. Needs to drown out the noise in his head.

The shower is piping hot, steam billowing around him in heavy clouds clinging to the walls. The temperature stings, but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to the cool tile as the water pounds against his back in a relentless rhythm.

Yangyang isn’t even sure what he’s looking for anymore.

For a moment, he closes his eyes and lets himself imagine a different time and place. Maybe it’s not sex at all—maybe it’s something simpler, softer. Someone different. Someone to lie next to him, fingers gently combing through his hair, their warmth chasing away the emptiness creeping in when he’s alone. He’s always struggled to connect with people. He still remembers the teasing girls, indifferent guys—the sting of it all still lingers.

He imagines hands touching him with intention rather than just desire. A constant and grounding presence, like a soft tether holding him in place. He imagines a warmth that doesn’t leave him hollow, a connection that doesn’t feel transactional.

The image enhances in his mind—a peaceful moment, the faint fragrance of pine after the rain. A touch that feels familiar, like safety wrapped in gentle edges and unspoken understanding.

The thought enters his mind unexpectedly, but it remains, settling into the corners of his consciousness. For a brief moment, it feels tangible, as if he could reach out and grab it.

But when Yangyang opens his eyes, the vision shatters, leaving only the stark reality of the empty bathroom.

Steam clogs the stall, thick and suffocating, curling in tendrils along the cold tiles. The water cascades over his body in unrelenting rivulets, scalding his skin but doing nothing to alleviate the heaviness in his chest.

He stands there for a moment longer, allowing the water to wash away the pain buried deep within him. It doesn’t. It never does.

When Yangyang finally shuts off the water, the hush that follows feels suffocating, pressing down on him with a burden he can’t shake. Droplets cling to his skin, trailing down his arms and back as the cold air creeps in, prickling against his overheated body. He grabs a towel and wraps it loosely around his waist, his steps slow and weighted, each one leaving damp footprints on the bathroom floor.

The fogged mirror provides a blurry reflection, but it is enough for him to see the exhaustion in his face. Strands of damp hair stuck to his forehead frame his bloodshot eyes as they gaze back at him.

He looks wrecked—not in a good way…like someone who is running on fumes.

As he trudges back into his room, fatigue settles over him, pulling on his limbs as he drags himself to his dresser. He puts on a pair of boxers, the towel slipping to the floor in a forgotten heap, and stands for a moment, his body feeling raw and too exposed.

He needs something—anything—to placate him and soothe his gnawing restlessness.

His gaze instinctively moves to the corner of the room where he usually keeps his favorite hoodie. It’s soft and worn, frayed at the cuffs—the kind of fabric that feels like a familiar embrace. Just holding or wearing it offers a sliver of relief, a small slice of normalcy that always helps.

But the corner is empty.

Yangyang frowns. He rifles through the pile of clothes on his bed, tugging at shirts and shaking out pants, but there’s no sign of the hoodie. A low hum of frustration begins to build in his chest, buzzing faintly like a warning.

He checks the laundry basket next, tipping it over and pawing through the crumpled mass of fabric. Still nothing. The back of the chair? Nada. Under the bed? Nothing he should admit.

“Where the hell is it?” He mutters under his breath, his voice rough and scratchy as he rakes a hand through his still-wet hair. It’s not just a hoodie. It’s

his

. Right now, after the mess of the afternoon, it feels like the one solid thing keeping him tethered.

Then it hits him.

Renjun.

A memory surfaces, unbidden: Renjun was standing in the kitchen after his last heat and
pretentiously
mentioned doing laundry. His tone had been clipped, perfunctory, the way Renjun always sounded when talking about chores.

Yangyang exhales sharply, his irritation intensifying as he walks out into the hallway.

Of course.

Renjun’s door is cracked open, just enough for Yangyang to see the edge of the neatly made bed. He hesitates on the threshold, his hand hovering midair. Renjun is notoriously possessive of his space—always territorial and precise—but this is not about crossing boundaries. This is about taking back what is his.

The door creaks softly as he pushes it open, the sound unusually loud in the quiet apartment. The room beyond is a perfect reflection of Renjun's personality, with precise corners and clean lines, and everything meticulously organized. Even the bed appears to have been ironed, with its edges neatly tucked.

Yangyang steps in carefully, his gaze sweeping over the room. His impatience mounts with every second that passes, his eyes darting from the chair by the window to the shelves lined with books and trinkets, but the hoodie remains out of sight.

He turns to leave when a flash of soft red catches his eye.

Half-hidden in the closet, buried under a stack of neatly folded sweaters, sits his hoodie. Relief rushes through him as he crouches down and pulls it free. The familiar texture of the fabric acts as a balm, pacifying him for the first time all day.

And then he notices the smell.

It begins faintly, like the whisper of a memory, but as Yangyang presses the hoodie closer, it hits him full force. It is not the sterile, artificial aroma of detergent he expected. It is warm and earthy, with the rich perfume of pine and rain intertwined with something softer—something sweet and undeniably

Renjun

.

Yangyang freezes.

The scent wraps around him, burrowing into his senses and stilling the frantic churn of his thoughts. It lingers in the fabric, layered and intimate, like Renjun had worn it, lived in it, before tucking it away. Yangyang grips the hoodie as he inhales deeper, the scent filling his lungs like the first breath of air after emerging from the depths.

The ache in his chest shifts, becoming more profound, something he can’t quite name.

It feels like home.

For a moment, Yangyang doesn’t move. He stays crouched in Renjun’s room, the hoodie clutched to his chest, and lets the gentle hum of warmth settle over him. It doesn’t fill the cracks or remove the reality of the afternoon, but it does soften the edges. Just enough.

When he finally stands, the scent lingers, and he doesn’t push it away. Yangyang instinctively pulls the hoodie over his head. The fabric clings to him and for a brief moment, it feels as if Renjun's presence is with him even with his absence.

It feels like his body goes into autopilot and moves on its own.

Yangyang is drawn to the bed before he realizes what is happening. Renjun's sheets are perfectly smoothed out, the pillows neatly arranged, but Yangyang barely notices the order as he flops down onto the soft mattress. The scent is stronger here, with pine, wood, and a faint hint of cologne.

Yangyang sinks deeper into the bed, making himself at home in someone else's bed, and lets out a long, tired sigh. The mattress feels different, softer than he is used to, bordering on indulgent. Typical college dorm beds are stiff and uncomfortable, designed for survival rather than comfort, but this feels completely different.

Renjun must have done something to make it bearable—perhaps added a mattress topper or chosen better sheets—something intentional made the space feel lived in and cared for. Everything here is unique—the coolness of the sheets, the fluff of the pillows, and, most importantly, the scent permeates every corner of Renjun's space. It is subtle but intoxicating, a faint blend of clean and warm that is distinctly Renjun.

Yangyang's body sinks into the softness, the faint crackle of exhaustion subsiding as the bed appears to cradle him. For the first time in days, he doesn’t feel like his limbs are fighting against him. It’s enough to lull him to sleep, but the aroma clinging to the sheets keeps his thoughts from quelling completely.

Yangyang has always thought Renjun smelled good, but he has never paid attention to it this much. Not until now.

He buries his face in the pillows and finds himself inhaling deeply. It smells far better than it should. For a Beta, Renjun’s scent lingers with an unexpected richness, soothing and calming yet somehow… inviting. Yangyang's thoughts blur as the warmth wraps around him, soothing him into a strange comfort he did not realize he needed.

A flutter of desire stirs low in his stomach, taking him off guard.

It is barely noticeable at first—a vague ache simmering low in his body, easy to ignore as he shifts and tries to settle into the sheets. But it doesn’t stay faint for long.

It spreads slowly, steadily, like an ember catching fire, spreading through him in little bursts. His breaths grow shallow, uneven, and before he even realizes what he’s doing, his hips press down against the mattress. Even though the friction is faint, it causes an immediate sensation—a sharp jolt causes his stomach to flutter.

Yangyang freezes, startled by the unexpected surge of excitement coursing through him. His heart races as he processes the reaction, but the aroma—pine, faint cologne, and that unshakeable warmth—wraps around him like a tether, pulling him back under. His body moves before his mind does, reaching for one of the pillows. He shoves it between his thighs, the soft fabric brushing against his bare skin as his legs close around it.

His hips move again, this time more slowly, as if testing. The pillow beneath him gives easily under his body, and when he grinds down deliberately, a shiver runs up his spine. It feels too good, too much, and yet not enough. His movements turn more deliberate, seeking the need building inside him.

A low sound escapes his throat, and he quickly bites his lip, heat rushing to his face. The light hum of Renjun's cologne in the room becomes overwhelming, clinging and seeping into his senses. It makes no sense—Renjun is a Beta, and Yangyang has never reacted this way before. But the thought barely registers. His body isn’t listening to logic; it is pursuing something primal, which he doesn’t fully comprehend.

His hands clutch the sheets as he pushes harder into the pillow. His breathing stutters, shaky and uneven, and his mind shifts, becoming foggier by the second. The grind of the soft sheets feels so good, and the scent enveloping him only intensifies the sensations, and Yangyang can’t seem to stop himself.

A soft, needy moan escapes his lips, and his cheeks burn even hotter. He feels ridiculous, even pathetic, rubbing himself against the mattress, but the heat in his body is relentless and impossible to ignore. The slickness pooling between his thighs only makes matters worse, reminding him of how far gone he is already.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Yangyang's mind catches up to his body, and guilt strikes him like a sharp pang in the chest. This is Renjun’s bed. Renjun’s pillows. The person he’s been living with, the one person who has always been there for him. He can’t be doing this.

Yet, his body doesn’t listen. His hips twitch harder, a desperate need rising within him, and his breath quickens as he chases the last remnants of heat. The tension and pressure increase, but they aren’t the same as what he’s used to.

It’s different.

Yangyang moans softly, his fingers digging into the sheets as he keeps going. The guilt weighs heavily on him, but the heat in his body is louder than any thoughts he tries to ignore. And at this point, the only thing that matters is the hunger for satisfaction, to fill the void that always follows.

His hips falter, jerking unevenly as it hits him—what he is doing, where he is—but it is too late to stop. Not that he even wants to.

"Fuck," Yangyang mutters under his breath, his voice hoarse and muffled by the pillow. He shifts, grinding his cock down harder, trying to find just the right angle. His body moves instinctively, his hips rocking in a frantic rhythm as he clutches the sheets beneath him as if they are the only thing holding him to the bed.

It is ridiculous how far he is gone, but he can’t help himself. Yangyang lets out a shaky moan, his thighs clenching tighter around the pillow as he thrusts down even harder. He can practically hear Renjun gasping his name, his voice catching as he falls apart.

Yangyang lets out a broken, high-pitched, desperate cry. His mind is hazy, filled with images of Renjun's sharp jawline, deep amber eyes, and those hands gripping his waist, holding him down and leaving marks.

"Fuck me," Yangyang chokes out, his voice trembling. “Renjun, please. Please, just fuck me.”

His breath stutters as he rocks against the pillow, his body trembling with desperation. His boxers and the sheets beneath him are damp, sticky with sweat, slick, and precome, but he doesn’t care. All he can think about is the sensation, the heaviness in his stomach, and the fantasy playing out in his head.

Would Renjun take his time with him? Would he press soft kisses down his neck, whisper sweet things in his ear, and make him feel both cared for and completely wrecked at once? Or would he pin Yangyang down and destroy him, leaving him breathless and pleading for more? His cock presses into the wet patch on the pillowcase, the slick fabric rubbing against his sensitive head and making his head spin.

“Shit,” Yangyang groans, his voice cracking as he moves faster, chasing the edge. His hips snap forward, and he bites his lip so hard it draws blood, attempting to suppress another embarrassing moan. But it’s no use.

Every nerve in his body is on fire, and just thinking about Renjun—his lips, touch, and voice—is enough to send him over the edge.

Yangyang moans into his pillow, his movements becoming erratic as he loses himself in thought. The mattress creaks beneath him, and the humidity sticks to his skin, but none of it matters.

His body moves on instinct, hips grinding against the pillow as he chases friction, his movements desperate and erratic. As the intensity builds inside him, his breath stutters, and moans escape his lips. He can’t stop. Doesn’t want to stop. Renjun's smell seems to be stronger, drawing him in deeper, pushing him further, drowning his senses.

“Right there,” he pants, his voice strained. “Fuck, just like that. Please—please—Renjun—”

A soft thud of a backpack hitting the floor and a gentle click—the sound of a door shutting—can be heard somewhere in the haze. But Yangyang doesn’t notice. His concentration is razor-sharp, completely focused on the feel of the pillow beneath him, the dampness spreading as he presses harder into it, and the way Renjun's scent appears to surround him entirely.

His whole body trembles as the orgasm inside him teeters on the edge, sharp and overwhelming. The pillow beneath him is soaked now, but he doesn’t care. He’s too close, too desperate, too caught up in the feeling of release creeping closer with every thrust. His hair clings to his damp forehead, and his breaths come out in short, shaky gasps.

“Fuck,” Yangyang breathes, his voice muffled against the sheets. His hips tremble faster as the tension inside him curls sharp and hot in his stomach. Renjun's scent is both comforting and maddening, leaving him gasping for air and his mind clouded with need. He bites his lip, stifling another moan as his thoughts spiral:

Renjun's hands, Renjun's voice, Renjun's body pressed against his.

“Please,” he chokes out, barely recognizing his own voice. “Renjun, fuck—please.”

The head of his cock thrusts into the small puddle of precome soaking into the fabric of his boxers, the slick cotton rubbing the sensitive spot beneath the head of his dick. An embarrassingly high sound wrenches itself free from his dry throat. His breathing quickens, and his body trembles as the coil inside him snaps.

His orgasm hits all at once, leaving him gasping as his hips jerk uncontrollably as he comes across the pillow. His head tilts back, panting, and for one blissful moment, his mind is completely blank.

But the relief is short-lived.

As the aftershocks fade, the fog in Yangyang’s head begins to clear. The adrenaline wears off, his body becomes still, and he breathes in short, ragged bursts. Reality returns slowly, too slowly, and when his gaze finally drops, his chest strains painfully.

Shit. Fuck. Shit shit shit.

The pillow beneath him is a mess, white streaks and slick staining the soft fabric. Renjun’s pillow. The sight causes Yangyang's heart to drop into his stomach. His entire body goes taut, guilt and shame crashing over him in sharp, suffocating waves.

What the hell did I just do?

His hands tremble as he reaches out, fumbling to grab the pillow. His thoughts are a jumbled mess, and his heartbeat is loud and constant in his ears. He moves without thinking, yanking at the sheets like he can somehow erase what just happened.

His movements are rushed and frantic, and his fingers clumsy as he tries to gather everything into a jumbled pile. The agonizing sting of embarrassment burns in his chest, and each action adds to the guilt.

He throws the sheets into a heap on the bed, his breathing unsteady as his skin prickles with the heat of lingering humiliation. The smell of pine still clings to him, to the room, wrapping around him like a reminder he can’t escape. He clenches his jaw, frustration simmering beneath the surface as he wrestles with the mess, attempting to clean up the evidence of his weakness.

And then he hears it.

It is indistinct at first—a soft creak just outside the door. Yangyang freezes and his heart skips a beat. The floorboards groan, the sound slow and deliberate, followed by the unmistakable shuffle of footsteps. His blood runs cold.

No. No, no, no.

His gaze shifts to the door, and that is when he spots it. A bag—Renjun's bag—is propped against the floor near the entrance.

His heart sinks.

The door... The door had been closed, hadn’t it?

Yangyang's pulse roars in his ears as the realization hits him with a new surge of panic.

The click.

He’d heard the soft click earlier but hadn’t registered it. And now the bag, sitting there like an unspoken accusation. His stomach churns, dread settling deep within him as his gaze remains fixed on the door, wide-eyed and unmoving.

The room is now silent, except for the constant hum of the air conditioner and the frantic pounding of his heart. Yangyang doesn’t dare to move. If Renjun saw—

if he knows—

He swallows hard, panic gripping his throat. The room feels dense and suffocating, as if the walls are closing in on him. His mind races, desperate to think of something, anything, to fix this, but no coherent thoughts emerge. All he can do is sit there, frozen, hoping and praying it’s not as bad as it seems.

However, the sinking feeling in his gut tells him otherwise.

His hands shake as he tries to remove the pillowcase, his panic deepening. He’s not sure which is worse: the fact that he just made a mess in Renjun's bed or the sudden, unsettling feeling that Renjun had seen. Maybe he’d heard.

Yangyang takes a few deep breaths, attempting to calm himself. He is just about finished cleaning up when his gaze returns to the backpack on the floor. It’s

definitely

Renjun’s. And it

definitely

wasn’t there when he first walked in.

But Renjun isn’t here. No sound, no movement. Just the bag.

Yangyang stands there, his hands still shaking as he stares at it. The room feels smaller and heavier all of a sudden.

Did Renjun walk in while he was... in the middle of it? Was he watching? Did he hear him moan, see the mess he made?

Yangyang rushes out of the room, the hoodie still clinging to him and cum stains his boxers. His chest feels constricted, and his mind races in all directions. He does not allow himself to stop moving, nor does he allow the reality of what just happened to sink in.

The sheets are balled up in his arms, and he shoves them into the washing machine with trembling hands, cramming the pillowcases in beside them. The hum of the machine starting up feels too loud, like it’s filling the stillness he desperately wants to escape.

When Yangyang finally looks down at himself, another tide of embarrassment washes over him. He is still wearing the hoodie and boxers, both damp with cum and sticking to his thighs. The sight causes his stomach to churn. He yanks them off without thinking and throws them in the washing machine with the crumpled sheets and pillowcase. The lid slams shut with a piercing clang, echoing throughout the small laundry room.

Now completely naked, he catches his reflection in the metallic surface of the washer. Flushed cheeks, messy hair, wide eyes—he looks like he’s just been caught red-handed. He scrubs his hands over his face, attempting to control his breathing, but it only makes him feel hotter and his guilt more intense.

“It’s fine,” he mutters under his breath, though the words do little to convince him. “No one saw. No one knows.”

But then the memory creeps back in.

The bag

.

Yangyang freezes, the pit in his stomach gnawing as the image flashes through his mind again. It had been sitting by the door when he left the room, innocent and unassuming, as if it had always been there. But it hadn’t been there earlier. He’s certain of it.

His heartbeat quickens as the realization hits him once more. Renjun must have returned home while he was still... His breath catches, and panic engulfs him as he replays every sound and moment. Did Renjun walk in? Did he see? He hadn’t heard anything—no footsteps, no voice—but the bag also hadn’t moved on its own.

Yangyang begins to pace, the questions circling endlessly in his mind. What if Renjun walked in and saw everything? What if he’d heard? What if he was too polite—or too mortified—to say anything? Each possibility feels worse than the last, and his thoughts spiral as he attempts to piece together a timeline.

Despite the chill in the air, he feels clammy, and his body is too warm. He can’t stand the sticky sensation of sweat clinging to him or the lingering scent of what just happened. He scrambles into the bathroom without thinking, and for the second time that day, he turns the shower knob.

The water practically burns as it sprays against him, but he doesn’t care. He scrubs furiously, the soap lathering thick in his hands as he attempts to erase all evidence of his actions. Even as the water becomes lukewarm and his skin turns red from the intensity of his scrubbing, he continues to scrub his hair, chest, and thighs.

Regardless of how hard he washes, the twisting guilt in his stomach persists. The questions keep circling him like vultures, refusing to let go.

Did Renjun walk in while he was... in the middle of it?

Hours tick by, but Yangyang can’t shake the restless pressure sitting in his chest. After his second shower, he put on a clean shirt and sweatpants, attempting to distract himself with laundry, dishes, and anything else to keep his mind from spiraling further.

He’s chopping vegetables now, pretending to care about dinner, though his hands feel unsteady. The rhythmic thud of the knife against the cutting board does little to muffle the swirling thoughts in his head.

Suddenly, the front door clicks open, and Yangyang stops in his tracks, knife still in hand. His pulse quickens, sending a flood of panic through him as the sound reverberates in his ears. His breathing pauses, then returns to life, shallow and uneven.

Renjun is home.

Yangyang keeps his head down, his hands moving instinctively to slice the carrots in front of him. The knife feels slippery in his hand, but he forces himself to grip it tighter.

Just stay calm. Act normal.

Renjun's footsteps echo throughout the dorm, soft and measured, unhurried but deliberate. Yangyang's ears twitched with each step, tracking them as they became louder and closer. His shoulders stiffen as the footsteps come to a halt just outside the kitchen, and the silence becomes deafening.

"Hey," Renjun says, his voice steady but slightly too even, as if he is trying not to disturb anything delicate.

Yangyang swallows hard, forcing himself to look over his shoulder with a faint smile. “Hey. You’re back already?”

"Yeah," Renjun shrugs, leaning against the doorway, but his posture is off—too controlled, too casual. “We finished our video project early.”

Yangyang's gaze moves down to Renjun's side, and his frown deepens as he realizes what is missing. “Where’s your bag?”

Renjun stiffens, the slight quiver of his ears betraying him, before changing his expression. “Didn’t need it today,” he says quickly.

Yangyang blinks, thrown off, and speaks without even thinking. “You always take it, though. You act like it’s part of your body.”

"Well, not today," Renjun says, his tail snapping irritably behind him. His amber eyes met Yangyang's for a brief, keen moment before darting away. “Is it that big of a deal? I just didn’t need it.”

Yangyang's mouth opens and then closes, his ears flattening slightly in defense. “No, I just thought it was weird, that’s all. You don’t have to bite my head off.”

The hush that follows is heavy, and the space between them is leaden. Renjun finally pushes through the doorway and moves deeper into the kitchen, his movements careful and deliberate, as if attempting to control something simmering just beneath the surface. His tail sways behind him, slow but not relaxed, the only sign of nervous energy he’s trying to burn off.

Yangyang's heart races as the unspoken words bear down on him. The guilt is written all over his face, and before he can stop himself, he blurts out, "Laundry is running."

Renjun pauses, his head tilting slightly as Yangyang rushes to continue.

"Uh, I put your sheets in. Figured they could use a wash,” Yangyang adds quickly, his voice too loud, too eager to fill the void.

Renjun's eyes narrow, unreadable, as he stares at Yangyang for too long. The kitchen feels suffocating, and the space between them is charged with a feeling Yangyang can’t quite name—or doesn’t want to.

Renjun eventually nods, his expression carefully neutral. “Thanks.”

It is only one word, but it lingers, making Yangyang wonder if Renjun knows more than he admits—or if his imagination is simply running wild.

Yangyang flushes and tightens his grip on the knife as he quickly returns to the cutting board. His heart pounds in his chest, loud and insistent. "Yeah, I know you’re picky about things like that, and I just thought—"

“Why?” Renjun interrupts, harsher than before.

Yangyang flinches, turning to glance at him. “What do you mean, why?”

Renjun's arms cross over his chest, his posture relaxed but his expression far from it. His tail flicks again, and his ears twitch in annoyance. “Why are you doing so much housework all of a sudden? Doing laundry and cooking. I thought you were allergic to doing chores."

Yangyang's face burns, and the words strike him like a slap.

“I—what? I don’t—” He stammers, looking for an excuse, anything to explain his sudden increase in domestic productivity.

Renjun raises an eyebrow, his gaze acute and probing, but he still doesn’t meet Yangyang's eyes directly. "You hardly lift a finger around here most days, and now you are playing housewife? Did something happen?”

“No!” Yangyang snaps, too loud and defensive. His tail fluffs up, and he quickly returns to the cutting board, staring at the vegetables as if his life depended on it. "I just wanted to help out because you always do the work, okay? It’s not a crime.”

Renjun hums in a low, noncommittal tone that makes Yangyang's stomach turn. The thick silence stretches between them once more. Yangyang's ears twitch, detecting Renjun's breathing and the soft swish of his tail against the floor.

"You are working too hard," Renjun finally says, this time softer but no less biting. “You should rest. Aren’t you still… recovering?”

Yangyang freezes, the knife still in his hand. He doesn’t turn around, his face as hot as ever. “Yeah,” he mumbles after a long pause. “The worst is over. Just… tired, I guess.”

Renjun approaches from behind, his steps soft but deliberate. “Right. Your heat,” he says, tone carefully neutral. “Glad you’re feeling better.”

“Thanks.” Yangyang swallows hard, his voice stiff as he grips the counter’s edge.

He can feel Renjun’s assessing gaze on him, but he doesn’t dare to look back. The hairs on his arm prickle with the memory of what he’d been doing earlier—why he needed to wash the sheets in the first place.

“Do you, uh… need help with anything?” Renjun asks, his voice lower now, tentative.

Yangyang blinks, caught off guard. “Oh. No, it’s fine. I’ve got it under control.”

“Okay,” Renjun says quickly, his ears flicking in a way that feels just as uncertain. He finally steps away, the soft brush of his tail against the counter breaking the tension.

“I’ll set the table then,” he mutters, voice clipped.

Yangyang exhales shakily, relief unfurling in his chest as Renjun moves farther away. He watches him out of the corner of his eye, noticing how Renjun’s movements are still too careful, too composed—like he’s trying not to show something he doesn’t want known.

Even as they settle into their routine, however, there is a difference between them neither of them knows how to handle. Yangyang's hands shake a little as he starts chopping again, his mind a jumble of confusion, guilt, and a feeling else he can not quite put his finger on.

And though Renjun doesn’t say another word, the faint pink across his cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed.

The following few days pass in a strange, uneasy restlessness.

Renjun appears to keep himself busy, as if he is purposefully avoiding any area where Yangyang is. He fills his time with whatever he can—errands, being on his phone in the farthest corner of the apartment, or staying holed up in his room. It’s like he’s trying to stay out of Yangyang’s orbit, and Yangyang doesn’t stop him. He doesn’t even bother to ask why.

He knows why.

However, when their paths cross, it is impossible to ignore the tension between them. It is subtle but persistent, like static in the air, humming between them. Yangyang doesn’t bring it up. He doesn’t even know how to. He just feels the discomfort of knowing that they both know what happened, but neither is willing to confront it.

One evening, Yangyang is lounging on the couch, his legs tucked underneath him, flipping through channels on the TV. The sound’s off, though, and he’s not really watching it. Renjun sits at the kitchen table, pretending to read a magazine, but his eyes barely skim the pages. Neither one of them speaks. The space between them feels too crowded with unspoken things.

Yangyang finally breaks the barrier unexpectedly. His voice sounds much louder than it should. "You have been acting... differently."

Renjun's posture stiffens for a brief moment, but he doesn’t look up. He keeps his gaze fixed on the magazine, turning a page that he hasn’t actually read.

“What do you mean?” His tone is noncommittal, but there is an edge to it.

Yangyang shifts on the couch, his tail flicking against the cushions. “I don’t know... You just haven’t been around much. You’re always doing something or hiding in your room.”

Renjun's gaze drifts to the corner of the room, and he sighs, dropping the magazine to the table.

“I’ve been busy, working on...projects with Jeno and Jaemin. So I have been staying at their place a lot." he says. The words are flat, but they seem rehearsed.

Yangyang's brow furrows as he looks over at him, attempting to read his expression, but Renjun's face is unreadable, his gaze fixed far away. It’s like he’s not really there. Yangyang’s not buying it, but he doesn’t press further.

"Alright, whatever," he says, growing quiet and trailing off.

The awkwardness lingers, and neither of them appears to know how to fill it. Yangyang bites his lip, pretending it is no big deal, but the space between them is loaded with the things they are not talking about. Neither wants to talk about it, but neither can forget.

Finally, Renjun gets up, pushing his chair back a little too quickly.

"I am going to bed," he says, too neutral to sound casual. He walks past Yangyang without a glance.

Yangyang watches him leave, his heart in his throat, feeling the gravity of the situation. It’s as if they have both chosen to pretend nothing happened, but the evidence is there, too obvious to ignore.

The days that follow blend into a delicate, unspoken dance. Renjun avoids being in the same room as Yangyang for too long, and Yangyang makes no attempt to stop him. He understands that Renjun is avoiding him, just as he has avoided Renjun. Their conversations are limited to what is necessary, with their usual banter replaced by stilted exchanges that feel brittle, as if either of them could shatter if they pushed too hard.

Renjun finds himself staring at Yangyang more often than he would like, watching the way his tail flips nervously when he thinks no one is looking, and the way his shoulders go rigid whenever Renjun enters the room. He despises the way his own body reacts to Yangyang's faint but ever-present scent, as if it is mocking him.

One evening, Renjun finds himself at the kitchen table, absently flipping through a book while Yangyang cooks at the stove…again. The silence between them is punctuated only by the soft sizzle of oil and the clink of utensils.

“You, uh… want to try this? I’m not sure if I added too much chili.” Yangyang clears his throat, attempting to gain his attention.

Renjun glances up, startled by the sound of Yangyang’s voice. He hesitates for a moment, debating whether or not to respond, but Yangyang's expression of cautious hope convinces him to do so.

"Sure," he says, approaching.

Yangyang extends the spoon, and their fingers brush as Renjun takes it. The brief contact sends an electric spark up his arm, and he curses himself for how his heart stutters in his chest.

"It is fine," Renjun replies quickly, shoving the spoon back at Yangyang. “Not too spicy.”

Yangyang gives a tight-lipped smile. “Okay. Thanks.”

Renjun takes a step back, putting some distance between them while he cleans up the counter. Yangyang says nothing else, but the tension in the room rises, pressing on Renjun's senses until he can barely breathe.

By the end of two weeks, their interactions are sparse, but every glance and fleeting word is loaded with the unspoken. It’s almost a relief when Renjun gets home late one evening, his bag slung over his shoulder, and the apartment seems silent. Almost.

Then it hits him.

Warm, provocative, unmistakable. Omega heat.

Yangyang’s heat

. The air is thick with the playful yet soothing fragrance of lemongrass and honeydew—a mellow, citrusy brightness softened by juicy sweetness, saturating the room and clawing its way under Renjun’s nerves.

The living room isn’t empty after all. He freezes.

Yangyang is riding Johnny on the couch, his body moving in a slow rhythm, flushed and glistening with sweat under the dim lighting. Johnny is sprawled beneath him, a lazy, satisfied grin tugging on his lips as Yangyang bounces on his dick. The defined caracal features—pointed ears and a tail swaying lazily over the edge of the couch—only add to his effortless dominance.

Renjun's brain short-circuits for a moment, caught between irritation, shock, and a darker emotion bubbling deep inside his chest.

“Renjun?” Yangyang's voice is breathy, and his head tilts slightly towards Renjun, his eyes wide and hazy. He looks startled—as startled as anyone in his situation can be—but doesn’t stop, his movements trembling but slow.

Johnny tilts his head, peering over the arm of the couch.

"Oh, dude, we didn’t think you’d be home yet," he says in such an unpretentious tone that it feels insulting.

Renjun’s jaw clenches, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He doesn’t trust himself to respond—not with his suppressants failing and the scene in front of him threatening to push his already frayed control to the brink.

He forces himself to move, his feet quickly carrying him past the couch without saying anything. Yangyang's feels like it is burning through his clothes and searing into his flesh.

Johnny calls after him, mockingly but unbothered. “Sorry about this, man.”

Renjun doesn’t stop. He doesn’t acknowledge them. He doesn’t look back.

His bedroom door shuts behind him with a muffled click—not quite a slam, but close enough to echo in the silence. He leans back against the wood and drops his bag to the floor.

He presses the heels of his palms against his temples, attempting to will the strain away, but it doesn’t work. The image of Yangyang on top of Johnny, his flushed face and bare chest covered with hickies and love bites, Johnny's hands—

Stop thinking about it.

But it’s useless. The frustration simmers beneath his skin, hot and unbearable, mixed with something harsher, more primal. He doesn’t want to care—

he shouldn’t care

—but the jealousy cuts deeper than it has any right to.

Why does this bother me so much?

The answer is one he has been avoiding for months, buried beneath layers of denial and excuses. But now, with Yangyang's pheromones lingering and the memory of him entangled with someone else fresh in his mind, it is impossible to ignore.

He slides down to the floor, pressing his forehead against his knees, attempting to ground himself and think of anything else.

Renjun’s hands tremble as he takes a shaky breath, the scent still clouding his thoughts, clinging like a vice. His suppressants aren’t working like they should. His control is slipping. And Yangyang is once again fucking someone else, and Renjun can’t do a damn thing about it.

Not without completely ruining everything.

Before Renjun realizes it, he’s on his feet, moving to the bed.

His hands tremble as he grips the sheets, bringing them close and inhaling deeply, trying to catch even the faintest trace of Yangyang’s scent. It’s barely there now, just a whisper of warmth and sweetness. The overpowering smell of soap masks it almost entirely, and Renjun groans, frustration bubbling over as his knees threaten to give out.

To make it worse, Yangyang had found the hoodie.

The hoodie Renjun had stolen, the one he had been scenting and marking as his own. Yangyang had taken it back, and now Renjun is left with nothing. Nothing but the ghost of Yangyang’s scent clinging to his bed and the sounds of him outside, his heat-filled cries barely muffled by the walls.

A flicker of guilt tugs at Renjun, but he shoves it aside. Screw it. Today, he isn’t going to think about what he should do. He isn’t going to play by the rules or fight his instincts. He can deal with the consequences later.

His Alpha instincts growl in the back of his mind, urging him to take what he wants, to stop holding back. He can’t. Not really. But that doesn’t mean he can’t imagine.

He flops onto his bed, his body tense and restless.

Yangyang. That playful little Omega who never seems to take anything seriously. Renjun pictures him so clearly now, sprawled out on the sheets, flushed and panting, his body pliant and needy. His scent wraps around Renjun, heady and sweet, making it impossible to think about anything else.

He groans softly, shifting as desire curls low in his stomach. Yangyang would look so perfect on his knees, wouldn’t he? His wide, mischievous, toothy grin melting softer, more vulnerable, as he submits to Renjun’s touch. Or maybe he’d arch his back, his ass pressing up enticingly, taunting Renjun with that soft little laugh that always drives him insane.

Renjun’s fingers curl into the sheets, his instincts roaring for more. His imagination runs wild, feeding him scenes of Yangyang under him, his thighs trembling as he begs Renjun to fuck, to claim him properly. That voice—so sweet and teasing most of the time—breaks into breathy whimpers, pleading for Renjun to take him deeper, to fill him completely.

He can almost feel it—the way Yangyang’s soft flesh feels under his palms, the way his pheromones intensify, thick and intoxicating as he gives in. Yangyang, staring at him with that mix of defiance and need, daring Renjun to make the first move.

Renjun turns onto his side, pulling the pillow closer and burying his face in it. It isn’t Yangyang, but he swears he can still catch the faintest trace of him, like a cruel reminder of what he can’t have. The pillow smells clean—too clean—and it isn’t nearly enough to satisfy his instincts. He groans in frustration as his mind replays the same images over and over again.

Renjun’s breath hitches. His Alpha instincts demand more, clawing at his restraint, but for now, this will have to be enough. Closing his eyes, he lets the fantasy play out, surrendering to the need coursing through him, if only for a fleeting moment.

His hand drifts down, palming himself through his pants. The pressure against his cock sends a convulsion through him, and his imagination takes over, painting a vivid picture of what it would be like to have Yangyang all to himself.

Yangyang would be under him, gasping his name, his thighs trembling as Renjun grips his hips, keeping him steady as he fucks into him. He’s so warm around him, so soft, so perfect, the way his body fits against Renjun’s, wrapping around him like a claim. Renjun’s free hand runs along Yangyang’s sides, savoring every curve, every shiver, every desperate sound that slips from his lips.

Renjun groans, the heel of his hand pressing harder against himself as his imagination spirals. The slightest hint of Yangyang’s scent clings to Renjun’s pillow, taunting him, but it’s not enough. It will never be enough. His jaw clenches as his instincts roar louder, demanding more, but all he has is the infuriating gap between reality and fantasy.

The ache in his body is unbearable now, and his restraint finally snaps. Renjun lets out a frustrated groan, fingers fumbling at his belt. The metallic clink of the buckle seems too loud in the sanctity of his room, but he doesn’t care. He shoves his jeans down his thighs along with his briefs, his breath hitching as the cool air hits his exposed thighs. His cock bounces painfully against his pelvis, already leaking from the slit.

His hand wraps around his hard cock, and the first stroke sends a shiver up his spine. He bites his lip to stifle the soft sound that escapes him, but it doesn’t matter—no one can hear him over

that

.

The muffled noises on the other side of the door.

Renjun’s jaw clenches as his ears twitch, catching another low, drawn-out moan that he knows too well. Yangyang’s voice, breathy and sweet, spilling into the hall like an unintentional taunt. Renjun’s hand falters, his chest tightening as he squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to imagine it—but failing miserably.

He can see it so clearly. Yangyang naked on the couch, his body writhing, his head tipped back as Johnny draws those delicious sounds out of him. Renjun’s hand moves again, slower this time, as the thought takes hold, the image so vivid it makes his stomach twist with longing.

God, what Renjun wouldn’t give to be the one doing that to him. To be the one making Yangyang gasp and moan like that.

Another sound drifts through the door—a sharp cry, followed by a shaky, breathless whimper—and Renjun bites back a curse, his hand moving faster now. He can’t stop himself.

And then, his mind fills with Yangyang.

Imagining Yangyang, sprawled out beneath him, glowing with a light sheen of sweat, lips parted in a soft gasp as he whispered Renjun’s name. He imagines the way Yangyang’s body would arch under his touch, his thighs trembling, his scent potent and intoxicating, making it impossible for Renjun to think of anything but

him

.

The image is so vivid, so achingly real, it makes Renjun groan as his hand moves faster up and down his hard cock, his grip stiffening slightly as he gathers the beads of precum leaking from the head.

He can almost hear it—Yangyang’s voice breaking as he begs for more, his fingers clutching at Renjun’s arms, pulling him closer. Renjun’s free hand grips the edge of the mattress as his hips buck into his fist, the slick, wet slide along his shift drawing a low groan from his throat.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. He imagines Yangyang’s pheromones thick in the air, sweet and intoxicating, the perfect mix of heat and desire. Renjun’s pace quickens, his movements rougher as he chases the fantasy, desperate to be the one Yangyang wants, the one Yangyang

needs

.

Another moan, louder this time, slips through the walls, and Renjun’s head falls back against the pillow, his breath coming in short, jagged gasps. He doesn’t want to think about Johnny—doesn’t want to think about how easy it is for Yangyang to give himself to someone else. He wants to imagine Yangyang’s body trembling under him, his lips forming Renjun’s name over and over, his thighs wrapping around Renjun’s hips as if he can’t bear to let him go.

It’s almost enough to push him over the edge. Yangyang’s voice, Yangyang’s body, Yangyang’s

everything

. Renjun groans, his mind spiraling as he grips himself harder, wishing—desperately—that it is more than just his imagination.

Yangyang’s flushed cheeks, the way his mouth would fall open as he let out those beautiful, desperate sounds, the way his fingers would cling to Renjun’s arms, digging in as he surrendered completely. Renjun could practically feel the warmth of Yangyang beneath his palms, the way his body would shudder with every thrust, every touch.

His pace quickens even more, seeking the edge of his orgasm, and he lets out a low, guttural moan.

His mind feeds him more like a drug—Yangyang’s scent, thick and sweet, wrapping around him and spurring his instincts on. He imagines fucking Yangyang senseless into the mattress, holding him down while claiming him, marking him, and making him his in every way possible. Yangyang's legs would wrap around him, drawing him closer, his voice breaking into a series of soft, broken cries as he gave Renjun everything.

Renjun’s breath hitches, his movements growing erratic as the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak. His body burns with the gnawing need, every nerve alight as he lets himself drown in the fantasy, his climax just within reach, driven by the image of Yangyang—perfect, beautiful, and

his

.

His hand moves with urgency, sharp and almost frantic, each stroke a release of the storm that had been raging inside him for far too long. His breathing comes in short, ragged gasps, his body arching into the touch, his head tilting back until it hits the pillows behind him.

The pillows he had seen Yangyang fucking himself on.

Yangyang is everywhere. His scent clings to the room, faint but enough to drive Renjun crazy, wrapping around him and sticking to him. His voice plays over and over in Renjun’s head, careless and rough, tearing at him in ways he can’t ignore. Renjun’s hand moves faster, sharper, seeking relief, his body shaking as the orgasm in his gut winds so tight it almost hurts.

When it finally snaps, it’s like everything goes white. He comes hard, his breath catching as cum spills over his fingers, streaking his shirt, even hitting his cheek. His whole body locks up, the waves of pleasure so severe they’re almost too much. He bites down on his free hand to muffle the broken sounds that threaten to escape, his eyes squeezing shut as he rides out the high, shuddering through each twitch and pulse of his cock as he keeps coming.

For a second, everything is still. His heart pounds in his ears, and the tremors in his legs leave him shaky and useless, lying spread out on his bed. He feels like he’s both floating and sinking, the fire inside him only somewhat dimming.

But then it’s gone. The haze clears, and everything comes rushing back—his messy hand, the sticky heat prickling under his skin, the ache in his chest that hasn’t gone anywhere. His fingers go limp, falling to his side, and his head turns toward the door.

Yangyang is still out there, probably passed out and fucked out on the couch, completely oblivious to the chaos he’s caused. Renjun swallows hard, his throat dry, and leans his head back against the mattress.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can keep doing this—this endless push and pull, this stupid ache that never seems to go away. But for now, he’s too spent to move, too drained to think. So he just lays there, letting everything close in around him.

Hours pass, and the apartment falls into an unnatural quiet.

Renjun had cleaned himself up, changed his clothes, and now lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The silence feels heavier now, wrapping around him like a weighted blanket he can’t shrug off. His stomach growls, a nagging, insistent reminder that he hasn’t eaten yet, but he doesn’t move. The room still carries the smell of sex—subtle now, but present, clinging to his senses like a bad memory.

He heard Johnny leave, the front door clicking shut with a muffled thud, heard the faint rush of the shower as Yangyang tried to clean himself up after the chaos. But no matter how much time passes, the apartment still carries the familiar tang of someone else—someone who wasn’t supposed to be there.

Renjun squeezes his eyes shut, willing the thoughts away, but they cling stubbornly, persistent and invasive. The image of Yangyang flits to the forefront of his mind—laughing, reckless, beautiful—and it twists a feeling deep in Renjun’s gut. He can still hear echoes of earlier, the way Yangyang’s voice had risen, unguarded and unabashed, and the low rumble of someone else’s reply.

He exhales abruptly, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. His hands curl into fists against the mattress as he fights the pull of his own emotions, the way they twist and tangle until he can’t tell anger from greed. With a muttered curse, he stands and heads toward the kitchen, his focus narrowing to the ache in his stomach, using it to drown out everything else.

The living room is dimly lit by the flickering glow of the television. As he passes through, his gaze flicks to the couch instinctively. Yangyang is there, sprawled out under one of his ridiculous throw blankets, hair messy, features soft in sleep. The sight stops Renjun in his tracks, a tide of emotion hitting him square in the chest.

Yangyang looks so unguarded like this, so different from the vibrant chaos he usually radiates. Renjun’s jaw tenses as he watches him, his mind a mess of emotions he can’t sort through. Frustration curls hot and heavy in his chest, but it’s laced with something gentler he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

The room feels heavier now, the mingling scents of Yangyang and Johnny still clinging to the space, and it’s almost too much. Renjun forces himself into the kitchen, wrenching the fridge door open with more force than necessary. The cool air rushes over his face, but it does nothing to calm him.

He grabs a bottle of water, letting the fridge door slam shut as he leans against the counter, his eyes falling shut. He tells himself he doesn’t care. That Yangyang can do whatever and whoever the hell he wants, that it doesn’t matter. But the ache in his chest doesn’t listen, and the twisted coil in his gut doesn’t loosen.

When he finally makes his way back to the living room, the soft light of the TV casts flickering shadows over the walls, and Renjun freezes as he looks at Yangyang again.

His gaze lingers, tracing the curve of Yangyang’s cheek, the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers curl slightly against the fabric of the couch. Renjun’s throat catches, a storm of unspoken words and feelings threatening to break free.

Slowly, he steps closer, his movements careful and deliberate. He reaches for the blanket, his hands trembling slightly as he drapes it over Yangyang’s sleeping form. His fingers brush against Yangyang’s arm, and the warmth sends a jolt through Renjun, sharp and electric. He clenches his jaw, trying to keep himself steady.

“Idiot,” he murmurs under his breath, the word soft, almost fond. It’s not enough to mask the waver in his voice, the truth of everything he can’t bring himself to say.

Yangyang stirs slightly, his brow furrowing for a moment before he relaxes again, his body sinking deeper into the couch. Renjun stays frozen, watching him, his chest tight and his mind racing. He should leave. He knows he should. But for a moment, he lets himself stay.

Finally, Renjun exhales, a shaky breath that feels like the first he’s taken in hours. He straightens, his gaze lingering on Yangyang’s face for one more heartbeat before he turns away. The sound of the television fades behind him as he walks back toward his room, but it stays in his chest, heavier than ever.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Yangyang sits cross-legged on Ten’s bed, his fingers absently tugging at a loose thread on his sleeve. His eyes are fixed on the small pile of animal-shaped throw pillows Ten insists on keeping, their bright colors and cartoonish faces doing little to distract him. There’s a crease between his brows, his expression uneasy and restless, like his thoughts are circling too fast for him to catch.

“So… you’re sure?” Ten cuts through the hum of lo-fi music playing in the background, the words laced with curiosity.

He’s lounging sideways in his beanbag, his tail swaying languidly behind him, and one leg dangling over the edge. The iced coffee in his hand swirls with slow, deliberate movements, and the clinking of ice cubes adds to his calm demeanor.

Yangyang shrugs, his shoulders rising and falling in an exaggerated display of carelessness that barely reaches his eyes.

“Yeah,” he grumbles, low and flat. “It’s my last heat of the season. I can feel it creeping in. You know how it gets.”

Ten hums thoughtfully, tipping his cup to take a sip. The sound isn’t judgmental or skeptical. It’s almost too neutral, and Yangyang feels the hairs on the back of his neck prickle in response. Ten's tail flicks behind him, a subtle contrast to the humor in his expression as he closely observes Yangyang.

Yangyang keeps his head down and his eyes locked onto the pillows. The thread he’s been pulling free from his sleeve twists tighter around his finger, biting into the skin until it burns. He lets it snap back, but the restlessness in his chest persists.

Ten doesn’t press, not yet, leaving the silence between them as an open question.

Finally, Ten shifts, leaning back farther into his beanbag with an easy, conscious movement that draws Yangyang’s attention despite himself. Ten raises an eyebrow, swirling his coffee idly as he asks, “And what about Renjun?”

Yangyang tenses, his fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie as though bracing himself.

“What about him?” he replies, trying for nonchalance but failing miserably. His voice breaks slightly, and he winces inwardly at how transparent he sounds.

Ten doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he fixes Yangyang with a piercing look. The kind of look that always makes Yangyang feel like Ten can see straight through him, peeling back the layers of bravado and confidence like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“Don’t play dumb,” Ten says, the smirk tugging at his lips, relieving the blow just enough to keep it teasing. “He’s been avoiding you, hasn’t he?”

Yangyang’s jaw tightens, his grip on his hoodie growing tighter until his knuckles turn white. He averts his eyes, lowering them to the pillow resting on his lap as though it might protect him from the impact of Ten's words.

"He has been busy, you know how the end of the semester goes," he mumbles, but even his own words sound hollow. He doesn’t even believe himself, and from the way Ten’s smirk grows, it’s clear he doesn’t either.

“Right…busy,” Ten echoes, the skepticism biting enough to make Yangyang recoil against the pile of pillows. He sets his coffee down, crosses one leg over the other, and leans forward. “Come on, Yangyang. The guy practically lives there, and now he’s barely around. That’s not ‘busy.’ That’s ‘avoiding.’”

Yangyang bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to sting, and his gaze falls lower. His hand finds the edge of the pillow, gripping it tightly. A tinge of blush rises in his face, frustration and embarrassment mingling as he tries to process what Ten is saying.

What he has been too scared to admit to himself.

“I don’t know,” he finally concedes, barely above a whisper. The words feel like lead in his mouth, like dragging stones to the surface of his chest. “Maybe. Maybe he is.”

Ten leans back again, his smug smile widening, the image of serene amusement.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He says casually, as if Yangyang hasn’t just peeled himself open.

Yangyang glares at him, his lips pressing into a thin line, but he doesn’t argue. Ten’s smugness is unbearable, but what’s worse is how effortlessly it cuts through him, leaving him no room to hide.

“Maybe he

is

avoiding me,” Yangyang mutters, quiet but strained, the words heavy with frustration and doubt. He pulls at the loose thread on his sleeve again, harder this time, until it rips.

“He leaves before I’m up and comes back when I’m at work. It’s like…” He trails off, shaking his head as if trying to dislodge the thought, his hands curling into fists in his lap.

Ten’s ears flick faintly, and he watches Yangyang carefully, his expression dulling just a fraction. “Like what?” he prompts, lacking the usual edge it usually carries.

Yangyang hesitates, his throat tightening as he swallows hard. His gaze stays fixed on his hands, his fingers fidgeting restlessly.

“Like he doesn’t want to be there,” he admits. He presses his lips together for a moment before continuing, “Like I’m some kind of problem he’s trying to stay away from.”

Ten’s brows knit together, his tail pausing mid-swing. He sets his coffee down on the floor and sits up straighter. “Yangyang, that’s not—”

“He came home when I was hooking up with Johnny on the couch,” Yangyang blurts out, cutting him off. The words spill out in a rush, as if they’ve been guilting him for days. His cheeks flush a deep red, and he ducks his head lower.

“During the last heat. He walked in while we were, you know…,” He trails off, wincing, his embarrassment visible as he gestures. He rakes a hand through his platinum hair, leaving it in disarray. “Now Renjun’s always gone, and I feel like I—I ruined something without even knowing what it was.”

“Yangyang.” Ten leans forward further, his elbows resting on his knees, his tone softer now. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe Renjun’s avoiding you because he doesn’t trust himself around you? Not because of anything you did?"

Yangyang blinks, his head jerking up in surprise as he meets Ten’s gaze. The words seem to hit him like a sudden gust of wind, leaving him momentarily off balance.

“What do you mean?” he asks, frowning as confusion creases his brows. “It’s not like he’s an Alpha. He doesn’t have instincts screaming at him to mate and claim or whatever. What would he need to ‘trust himself’ for?”

“You don’t have to be an Alpha to have feelings, Yangyang,” Ten remarks. His smirk makes a brief return at the corners of his mouth. However, his expression has become more patient, more affectionate.

“Betas still get attracted to people. And they can get attracted to anyone, any gender or dynamic. Just because he doesn’t have some over-the-top biological urge doesn’t mean he’s not dealing with the same feelings.”

“Yeah, but…” Yangyang falters as he fidgets with the pillow again, his fingers tracing the seams absently. His shoulders slump, and he chews on his bottom lip for a moment before continuing, quieter this time. “Betas can’t edge out heats like an Alpha can, can’t knot it out. And with the way mine get—intense, drawn out—what would Renjun even do? He wouldn’t want to deal with that nonstop for four months out of the year. He’s too...in control.”

Ten tilts his head, his piercing eyes narrowing marginally as he studies Yangyang. “Why wouldn’t he?” He counters, calm but insistent.

Yangyang glances at him, startled by the question, and Ten’s tail flicks behind him, the knowing glint in his eyes growing stronger. “What?”

“If he likes you,” Ten continues, full of conviction, “why wouldn’t he want to be with you, even if he can’t keep up the way an Alpha might?”

Yangyang stares at him, the words settling heavily in his chest. He opens his mouth to respond but finds his thoughts tangling as he tries to process Ten’s point.

“What do you mean? He’s a Beta. He literally, physically, can’t keep up. And even if he wanted to, which I don’t think he does, it’s not exactly something people line up to deal with, Ten.”

“Yangyang,” he says, the sound patient but firm. Ten rests his chin on his hand, watching him like a puzzle. “If Renjun likes you, he’s not thinking about your heats like they’re a chore he has to ‘deal with.’ He’s probably too busy trying to figure out how not to lose his mind every time you’re around.”

Yangyang shakes his head again, frustration flickering across his face.

“You’re reading way too much into this,” he insists. “Renjun’s practical. He’s responsible. Why would he even consider—”

“Again, I ask—why wouldn’t he?” Ten cuts in smoothly, his gaze steady. “You’re so caught up in what you think he

wouldn’t

want that you’re not asking yourself why he

would.

If he likes you, he likes

all

of you. Scent, heat, everything. Betas don’t have to be Alphas to want someone, Yangyang. You keep thinking of this like it’s about biology and shit, but it’s not. It’s about him, and it’s about you. He’d probably be honored if you asked him to help.”

Ten shrugs vaguely, sipping from his coffee again as though he hasn’t just upended Yangyang’s perspective.

“Or maybe the problem isn’t him, Yangyang,” he continues, his tone light but meaningful. “Maybe it’s you not believing someone

could

want you like that.”

Yangyang flinches, the truth in the words hitting harder than he expects. He doesn’t reply. He can’t—not yet.

It’s almost over. Three more days, then it’s done.

Renjun runs his finger along the edge of the last pink heart on the kitchen calendar, the rough paper snagging against his skin. The heart is crooked and messy, like everything else about Yangyang, and it was scrawled weeks ago to mark the end of his mating cycle. A simple, thoughtless doodle.

But for Renjun, it’s become the finish line he’s clung to throughout this whole suffocating ordeal.

He has been counting down the days with silent desperation, the numbers on the calendar etched into his mind. Each one a small victory, each crossed-out day a step toward the end of the madness. Flipping through the calendar like scratching off the dates could somehow help him claw back some control. Control over himself, over the chaotic swirl of emotions he can’t quite keep in check.

The apartment has been a minefield in the weeks since Yangyang’s last heat.

Every day, he’s been slipping in and out, like a ghost. Leaving before Yangyang wakes up, tiptoeing out of the room, even going so far as to slip out before dawn when he can’t bear the idea of being in the same space as him. Coming back late at night, when Yangyang’s already at his part-time job, the apartment empty and silent, Renjun locks himself in his room and pretends the world outside doesn't exist.

It’s easier that way. Less dangerous.

Every time they cross paths, every fleeting moment when their eyes meet, Renjun feels like he’s on the edge of a cliff. Like a single misstep could send him tumbling into something he’s not sure he’s ready for. Something that could break everything between them. And he can't let that happen—not when he’s so close to the end.

Three more days.

But even as he repeats the mantra in his head, there’s that nagging at the back of his mind, screaming at him.

Yangyang’s scent prevails in the room, a painfully sweet reminder that even in the quiet, Renjun is never really alone in this apartment. It envelopes him, invades his thoughts, and no matter how far he tries to push it away, it’s always there, clinging to the corners of his mind, pulling at him.

His Alpha instincts are a dull buzz under his skin, like static in the background of his thoughts. His fingers twitch at his sides, and his ears flick toward every sound—the creak of the couch, the rustle of the blanket. He’s restless, his whole body taut, even though there’s nothing to defend against, nothing to react to. Nothing except Yangyang, who’s right there in the living room, asleep.

Renjun glances over before he can stop himself, his breath catching when he does.

Yangyang’s on the couch, sprawled out like usual as if it’s the most comfortable place in the world. His blanket slipped halfway down his body, pooling around his thin thighs, leaving his long legs stretched out in the faint glow of moonlight. His tail twitches in a lazy sort of motion, brushing the cushions every so often.

Renjun tears his gaze away, his jaw tightening. He shouldn’t be looking. He doesn’t

want

to be looking.

But once his eyes catch on to the graceful curves of Yangyang’s body or the innocent slackness of his face in sleep—it’s impossible to unsee it. Impossible not to notice the vulnerable, open lines of his expression, so different from when he’s awake.

His fingers tighten around the stupid Kakao Friends pen in his hand, the cheap plastic groaning under the pressure. Renjun glares down at the calendar, focusing on the pink heart like it might magically erase the thoughts running laps in his head.

“Just a few more days,” he repeats to himself.

The words are thin, a flimsy reassurance. They don’t do much to suppress the pressure in his chest—that constant, aching push and pull of lust versus restraint. His blood hums with the need to do

something,

to react, to act. But all he can do is stand here, frozen in his own skin, every nerve stretched thin.

It’ll be better once this is over. That’s what he keeps telling himself.

Just a little longer, and Yangyang’s cycle will be done. Midsummer will be here, and the breeding season will be over. He’ll finally get his dorm transfer—finally escape to a single room where there’s no scent to haunt him. No temptation just a few feet away, no impossible ache that makes him feel like he’s coming apart at the seams.

But deep down, Renjun knows better.

He knows that even when the scent fades and this season ends, Yangyang will still be Yangyang. The stupid, lopsided doodles. The careless way he sprawls out like he owns the place. The way he leaves little pieces of himself everywhere, like he’s trying to carve his existence into the walls, the furniture, the people around him.

Into Renjun.

Renjun exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. He forces himself not to look toward the couch again, even when he hears the indistinct rustle of the blanket as Yangyang shifts in his sleep.

Renjun thought he’d be free by now. Or so he thought.

For days, he’s clung to the promise of midsummer like a lifeline, convinced that once Yangyang’s final heat passed, everything would settle down. The heavy, overwearing weight in the air would lift and his instincts would shut the fuck up. He’d finally be able to breathe again without feeling like he was drowning in something he couldn't name.

But as the days stretch on, he realizes with a sinking feeling that he might have been wrong.

He’s only awake because of his own poor decisions.

If he’d actually checked his emails last night, he would’ve seen that his first lecture was canceled. He could’ve stayed in bed instead of dragging himself through his morning routine and across campus to the lecture hall for no reason at all. The smell of coffee is a sad reminder that even caffeine hasn’t done its job properly.

The vibration of his phone startles him from trying to go back to sleep, breaking the silence like a crack of thunder. His ears flick instinctively toward the sound, his heart skipping a beat before he shakes himself out of it. Grabbing his phone off the nightstand, he squints at the screen, its glow harsh in his dim room.

8:04 AM.
Two unread messages from

Yangx2.

Renjun groans, pressing his fingers to his temple. It’s way too early for this shit.
The messages are as lazy and thoughtless as their sender:
Yangx2: hey sry 2 bother u
Yangx2: can u run to gs and grab me some pocari?
He glares at the message, torn between incredulousness and annoyance. They’re not exactly the kind of roommates who do stuff like this for each other. And they haven’t talked or even been in the same room since…

But of course Yangyang wouldn’t hesitate to throw this at him, completely shameless. For a moment, Renjun considers ignoring it entirely.

He won’t, though. Because it’s Yangyang.

With a low exhale, Renjun rubs his face, trying to shake off his irritation. His tail whips behind him, a subtle sign of annoyance as he finally settles on a simple response.
yellow_3to3: Fine. You owe me.
The reply comes nearly instantly, so fast it’s unsettling.
Yangx2: kthx
Renjun huffs, tossing his phone onto the bed before dragging a hand through his messy hair. It’s not like this is some massive inconvenience. He’s already awake and dressed, so going out isn’t a big deal. And to be fair, Yangyang probably thought he was already in class. But the principle of it—the sheer audacity—still grates on him.

With a sigh, he drags himself out of bed and makes his way through the living room, slipping on his shoes by the door. He’s halfway out when something stops him.

The couch is empty.

Renjun pauses, his gaze lingering on the disheveled blanket and cushions. A dim, persistent unease prickles at the back of his neck. It doesn’t feel right.

Maybe he finally went to his bed?

Renjun wonders, though the idea doesn’t make sense either.

In all the time they’ve lived together, Renjun can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Yangyang use his bed. The couch, though... that’s Yangyang’s territory. Treating it like it’s his personal throne, where he sprawls in every direction, cocooned in blankets, a sketchbook balanced precariously on one knee, or his nose buried in some random book.

Plus, he would’ve heard noise. Blankets shifting, footsteps creaking,

anything

coming from the next room

.

His eyes flick down to the clutter in front of the couch: Yangyang’s shirt, an open notebook, a stray pencil lying on its side. Nothing out of the ordinary. No sign of life, no subtle movement to explain the emptiness.

Renjun frowns. When did he even get up? Renjun hadn’t noticed a thing—no muted shuffle of dragging feet across the carpet, no groggy yawn. Nothing.

But then the faint sound of running water pulls his attention, his ears twitching toward the closed bathroom door.

Shaking his head, Renjun complains to himself under his breath, trying to brush off the nagging feeling. He’s being dramatic. Yangyang’s fine. Probably just brushing his teeth or taking a quick shower. Being normal for once.

Yangyang’s fine. Renjun just needs to keep moving. The errand itself is quick. Renjun moves through the aisles of the convenience store with practiced efficiency.

He tosses a few bottles of Pocari Sweat into his basket, his fingers stalling briefly before grabbing some snacks he knows Yangyang likes: those cheese-filled fish-shaped crackers, a bag of sour gummies, and a box of strawberry Pocky. He doesn’t overthink it.

Better to act on autopilot than let himself acknowledge why he remembers Yangyang’s favorites in the first place. This? This is exactly what Jaemin would smugly call “being a good friend.” That insufferable know-it-all.

By the time Renjun steps back into their shared apartment, the plastic bag hanging off his wrist feels heavier than it should. He barely has a chance to close the door behind him before it slams into him—not physically, but just as overwhelming

.

It’s dense in the apartment, clinging to every surface, citrusy sweet and musky, wrapping around Renjun like a snare. He glances over to the kitchen and spots the ridiculous heart and the date—

today’s date

.

His breath hitches, and his ears flick back instinctively as the realization hits him. Yangyang’s heat is kicking in, and judging by the intensity of the scent, it’s hitting him hard.

Renjun’s gaze immediately darts to the couch, his heart skipping as he sees Yangyang slumped there, his small figure virtually consumed by an oversized red hoodie. Renjun freezes, his breath catching in his throat when he recognizes it.

That hoodie.

The one Renjun had shoved to the back of his closet weeks ago, trying to memorize the way it smelled—Yangyang’s scent—clinging stubbornly to the fabric.

The one Yangyang had somehow found and worn back when he… when he had been on Renjun’s bed. That memory still haunted him, tangled with feelings Renjun wasn’t sure he could name, let alone unravel.

The hoodie wasn’t just Yangyang’s—it was a piece of him.

And yet, the thought of Yangyang wearing it again, carrying a hint of Renjun’s scent like some unspoken claim, sent a flicker of emotion distorting deep in his stomach. He hated how

right

it felt, how much he wanted it to be more than just a stolen hoodie he had scented.

Then Yangyang shifts on the couch, the hood falling back to reveal his messy halo of blonde hair, loose tufts sticking up around the elegant curve of his horns. The light catches them, making them appear almost ethereal, but Renjun's attention is drawn to the rest of his body.

Yangyang’s lips are slightly parted, his breath shallow and dizzying. A deep flush spreads across his cheeks, spreading down to his neck, where his pulse beats visibly, quick and frantic. His eyes are glassy, pupils blown wide, brows pulled together in a way that teeters between uncertainty and the quiet, simmering heat. Every subtle movement exposes his vulnerability, raw and unguarded.

The pieces fall into place instantly. Of course Yangyang hadn’t gone out himself—he’s barely functional.

"Hey... uh, got your Pocari and some snacks,” Renjun says, trying to remain composed and unaffected, despite the restlessness coiling in his stomach. He sets the bag down on the coffee table, his movements measured and aware.

Yangyang stirs apathetically, lifting his head just enough for their eyes to meet. His gaze is hazy, unfocused.

“Thanks,” Yangyang groans, a rough rasp that sends a small jolt through Renjun that makes his ears twitch at the sound.

Renjun waits, his tail flicking behind him, betraying the conflict brewing inside. Yangyang looks awful—not his usual brand of chaotic disarray. There’s a deep, unhinged fragility there that Renjun’s never seen, and it punches him painfully into his chest.

“You okay?” The words slip out before Renjun can stop himself, carrying a softness he hadn’t meant to reveal.

Yangyang waves a hand vaguely, the motion weak and uncoordinated. “Yeah. Just… you know. Suffering.”

Renjun does know. Too well. But that doesn’t stop the familiar ache that tightens in his chest as he takes in the sight of Yangyang huddled up in his hoodie, looking impossibly small.

“Drink something,” Renjun says neutrally as he gestures toward the bag. “And eat. You look like you need it.”

Yangyang makes a noise between a grunt and a laugh, dragging the bag closer with lethargic, clumsy hands. Renjun instinctively steps forward, leaning down to keep it stable, and his hand brushes against Yangyang's for a fleeting moment.

The contact shouldn’t mean anything, but it does.

Even after Renjun pulls his hand back, his fingertips tingle as if the brief touch has branded onto his skin. Their eyes meet, and for a heartbeat, something flickers between them—charged with an energy Renjun can’t quite place.

It’s Yangyang who breaks the connection first. His lashes lower, and his gaze falls to the floor, the faintest crease forming between his brows. Renjun straightens up, unsure of what to make of the moment, and turns toward the door, preparing to leave, when Yangyang stops him.

“Are you... you gonna be home later?” The question seems casual, but the weight behind it is unmistakable. Renjun pauses mid-step, his breath hitching as the words settle heavily between them.

He turns back, blinking as his thoughts scramble to catch up. “Uh… yeah,” he replies, the answer tumbling out too quickly. “I was planning on it. Got a final project to work on.”

The excuse comes out awkwardly, half-formed, as if they both know it’s not true. Renjun isn’t busy, not really. If Yangyang needed him—if he asked—Renjun wouldn’t hesitate to stay. But the way Yangyang asked makes Renjun pause.

Yangyang nods, but it’s a sluggish, undetermined motion, his fingers playing absently with the bottle. Then, almost as an afterthought, he mumbles, “Ah… okay. I was thinking of calling Hendery over.”

The shift in the room is instant. Renjun’s wolf ears flick back, his tail stilling as an edge of irritation churns through him.

“Hendery?” Renjun echoes, trying to sound neutral, though it comes out tighter than he intends. He tests it out loud, as if saying the name might somehow make it make sense.

But it doesn’t. The name feels wrong in every way coming out of his mouth like a splinter lodged too deep.

“He said he’d come by if I need anything,” Yangyang says casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. His fingers loosely pick at the edges of the bottle’s label, and he doesn’t even notice the tightness building in Renjun’s frame.

“You don’t need Hendery.” He growls before he can control himself, the words slipping out like a reflex. Renjun’s tail flicks sharply behind him, his fists balling up at his sides.

Yangyang’s head jerks up, frowning at Renjun’s abruptness. His confused expression only adds to the annoyance simmering under Renjun’s skin.

“I’m right here,” Renjun adds, every word cutting like a knife’s blade. “I could help you.”

Yangyang blinks at him, his glassy brown eyes widening briefly before narrowing in defense.

“You just said you had work to do,” he points out, curling deeper into the oversized hoodie. His fingers fidget against the Pocari bottle, the plastic crinkling under his grip.

Renjun stiffens as the words strike him harder than they should. He moves closer, frustration bubbling beneath his skin and spilling out despite his best efforts to contain it. “That’s not the point,” he shoots back, harsher than intended. “Not if you need me here, Yangyang.”

The proximity only makes the pheromones’ effect on him worse. Yangyang’s scent—warm, tangy, overwhelming—fills every corner of Renjun’s senses, blurring the edges of his thoughts. He tries to shake it off, but it sticks to him, fueling a raging fire inside his chest.

“If you need help, why don’t you just tell me?” His ears flick back, betraying the effort it takes to keep himself together.

Yangyang flinches, his shoulders hunched as if Renjun's words had physically hit him. His gaze falls to the floor, and the color in his cheeks deepens as he hesitates. “I didn’t think you’d want to—”

“Maybe try asking next time!” Renjun shouts, his frustration piercing through like a whip. “I’m your roommate, Yangyang. I’m here for you. You don’t need to call someone else for help—least of all Hendery.”

Yangyang's head snaps up, his wide, glassy brown eyes flashing with a sudden defiance. For a moment, it masks the defenselessness etched into his features.

“You don’t get it, Renjun! It’s not about asking—it’s the fact that you can’t help me!” ” His voice breaks on the last syllable, weak and unfiltered.

The words slam into Renjun, stinging him deeper than he wants to admit. His chest feels tight, his pulse a persistent drumbeat in his ears. His tail freezes, stiff and unmoving, while the rest of him tries to process what Yangyang just said.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He asks, the growl escaping again before he can catch it.

Yangyang shrinks into himself, pulling his knees up to his chest as he sinks deeper into the hoodie, as if it were armor. He doesn’t look at Renjun, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the floor. “It means it’s my heat. And it’s just too much. For you. You couldn’t handle it.”

Renjun's fists clench at his sides, his nails biting into his palms as the words strike a nerve he didn’t realize was sore.

“Why?” He asks, his tone dangerously low and sharp. “Why the hell do you think I can’t handle it? Just say it.”

Yangyang’s mouth falls open, but no sound comes out for a moment. His hold on the bottle tightens again, and the rigidity in his posture begins to fray. When he finally speaks, it is soft and hesitant, as if he’s unsure whether he can say the words aloud. “Because… you’re a Beta.”

An oppressive silence follows, weighed down by unspoken truths and Renjun's growing disbelief. His golden eyes stay locked on Yangyang, his expression unreadable as something dark and bitter stirs in his chest. Before he can control himself, he lets out a dry, humorless laugh.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Yangyang.”

Yangyang flinches at his tone, his ears pressing against his head.

“What?” He snaps, defensive now, though his voice cracks slightly. “What’s so funny?”

Renjun doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he takes another step forward, closing the distance between them. His gaze never leaves Yangyang's, the fire in his eyes cutting through the younger boy's defiance.

"I am not a Beta," Renjun finally admits, his voice level but sharp, each word landing with something unshakable, something inevitable.

Yangyang stills, his breath catching mid-inhale as if the air itself has turned solid in his lungs. His wide eyes lock onto Renjun’s, searching, unblinking, as though trying to decipher a foreign language he doesn’t understand. The room feels impossibly still, the space between them stretched thin and brittle, like glass on the verge of shattering.

"What?" Yangyang utters, a thread of disbelief woven through the single syllable.

Renjun shifts just slightly, his pulse a constant thrum in his ears.

"I’m an Alpha, Yangyang," he repeats, the reality sinking between them like a stone dropped into deep water. For an instant, he struggles against the weight of what he is about to say. "I could help you. I—"

The words come out, raw and exposed, even though his throat tightens. "I

want

to help you."

“You’re an Alpha?” Yangyang asks, his disbelief barely above a whisper. For a moment, all he does is stare at Renjun, his wide, glassy eyes searching his face for any sign of a lie.

Renjun nods, his expression softens, but frustration continues to simmer beneath the surface. “Yeah, I am. So stop acting like I couldn’t handle you. Like I wouldn’t want to help you—because I can. And I would.”

Yangyang's gaze falls as he turns the bottle in his hands and sets it on the table. He doesn’t respond right away, and the silence between them becomes unbearable as he struggles with his thoughts.

When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter and more ambivalent. “Renjun, you can’t be an Alpha…You’ve never… reacted to my heats. Not once. If you were really an Alpha, you wouldn’t be able to help yourself.”

Renjun’s jaw tightens and lets out a deep exhale. "Is that what you believe? That all Alphas are rut-driven idiots who can’t keep their cool around attractive Omegas?"

Yangyang’s head snaps up, eyes widening slightly as a delicate flush creeps up his neck. He sputters, caught off guard.

“That’s not what I meant!” The words rush out, defensive and instinctive. “I just… If you were an Alpha, you’d have said something by now. Or—or—"

He gestures vaguely, frustration laced in the motion. "Or, I don’t know—

acted

differently! You don’t even get ruts, Renjun!”

Renjun runs a hand through his hair, the motion brisk and jerky. “Because I take suppressants... to avoid them. And when they don’t work—when I feel a rut coming on—I leave and go somewhere else.”

Yangyang’s breath stills, his wide eyes searching Renjun’s face again. “Suppressants?” he echoes, barely recognizable. Like the word itself is alien, like it doesn’t quite fit in his mouth.

Renjun nods, the admission leaving him with a bitter aftertaste. “I’ve been on them since we started living together. To keep things normal. For you.”

Yangyang's fingers curl into the hem of his hoodie, and his posture shifts just a hair as understanding dawns. "That is why...," he trails off as his blush grows deeper.

Renjun frowns. “Why what?” He asks cautiously, though his heart is pounding.

“That day…” Yangyang hesitates, his words on the verge of a confession. His gaze darts away, looking anywhere but at Renjun. “During my heat… I was in your room and…”

Renjun freezes, his breath catching as Yangyang's words strike him like a freight train.

"It smelled so good," Yangyang admits, his voice full of shame. “Too good. I couldn’t stop myself.”

Renjun swallows hard, the weight of his admission sinking in. “Yangyang…”

“I didn’t understand it then,” Yangyang continues, weaker now. “I thought it was just my heat fucking with my head. But now... it makes sense. It was because you’re an Alpha.”

Renjun sits on the coffee table, his movements reluctant as he processes everything. “That’s why I’ve been taking suppressants. To keep things normal. To keep you comfortable. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to help. That I don’t want to be here for you.”

Yangyang looks at him, wide-eyed and searching. “So what changed?” He asks softly, cautious but probing.

Renjun pauses for a split second before responding. “You.”

The confession floats between them, exposed and unpolished, and neither of them dares to move as it takes hold.

Yangyang’s breath catches, his fingers freezing mid-fidget against the hem of his hoodie. He looks up, wide eyes searching Renjun’s face as if trying to piece together the truth laid bare before him.

“Me?” he whispers, his voice fragile and doubtful.

Renjun nods, his jaw tightening as he fights to keep his composure. A low sigh escapes him, and flaws in his resolve begin to show. “I’ve been trying, Yangyang. Trying not to act like this. Not to think about you like this. But…”

He stumbles, his words catching in his throat as he keeps his gaze fixed on Yangyang's face. For a moment, the only sound in the room is his uneven breathing. When their eyes meet—Yangyang's wide, glassy, and questioning—Renjun's golden irises shine with a raw weakness he can no longer conceal.

“But…?” Yangyang prompts, barely louder than a whisper. His heart pounds erratically in his chest, loud enough to drown out the rest of the world as he braces himself for whatever comes next.

Renjun swallows deeply, the words spilling out unpolished and defenseless, as if they have been clawing their way to the surface for far too long. “But it’s not just instincts or biology or anything like that. I like you, Yangyang. Not because you’re an Omega. Because you’re

you

.”

Yangyang's scent changes—startled and precarious—before becoming calmer, warmer, and gentler. It floats in the space between them, shifting but undeniably present. His cheeks flush a deep crimson, and his fingers twist tighter around the hem of his hoodie as though grounding himself.

“You…” He shakes slightly, voice straining at the edges. Ten’s words echo in the back of his mind, and he clings to the memory as though it might guide him. “You really like me?”

“Yeah, I really do.” Renjun's voice is steady now, but there is an edge to it, a openness that makes each syllable feel heavier. "I’ve been trying to keep it together and act normal because I didn’t think you would ever…”

He trails off, his words falling silent. The air between them feels electric, charged with possibilities neither of them has dared to consider until now.

Yangyang looks down at the Pocari bottle on the table, the snacks peeking out of the bag—his favorites. His lips press together as he wrestles with the storm in his head. Slowly, he lifts his gaze to meet Renjun's, the haze of his heat softening his features. Vulnerability flickers through his glassy eyes, mingling with an unspoken emotion. “Why don’t you just tell me sooner?”

Renjun exhales a long, uneven breath, his shoulders sagging as if a heaviness he had no idea he was carrying begins to lift.

“Because I didn’t want you to feel like you have to…,” He becomes quieter, each word tinged with hesitation. “Like you have to choose me. Not because I’m an Alpha, or because of your heats, or anything else. I want it to be your choice.”

He locks eyes with Yangyang, his gaze unwavering, as if silently wishing him to understand. “Just… because you want me too.”

The weight of his words presses against the silence, and time appears to stretch infinitely as Renjun watches him, his heart pounding with the piercing ache of doubt.

When Yangyang finally speaks, the clarity of his words slices through the silence like a knife.

“Okay.”

Renjun blinks, his mind coming to a halt as Yangyang's simple response knocks him completely off balance. Confusion flashes across his features, giving way to frustration as his pulse quickens.

“‘Okay?’” He parrots incredulously, taut with disbelief. “What the hell does that mean, Yangyang?”

Yangyang flinches at the abrasiveness, but this time he doesn’t back down. Lifting his head, he meets Renjun's gaze directly. His wide, glassy eyes shimmer with a mixture of insecurity and determination even as his hands fumble around the hem of his hoodie.

"It means I want you too, idiot," Yangyang retorts, his words soft but hard enough to strike Renjun like a punch in the chest.

Renjun freezes, his breath catching as Yangyang's confession hits home. He can only stare for a moment, his mind trying to process words that are too fragile and real to take hold of.

“You… what?” He asks, cracking under the weight of disbelief.

Yangyang swallows hard, his ears flicking back against his head, betraying the nerves he fights to keep in check.

“I said, I want you too,” he repeats, steadier now. He inhales shakily, his cheeks flushing further, but his gaze remains unwavering. “I’ve wanted you for a while. I just didn’t think it was possible…”

The stillness in the room feels practically oppressive as Renjun processes the admission. His heart pounds in his chest, the sound deafening in his ears as Yangyang's words sink in.

“You’ve… wanted me?” His voice is barely audible, tinged with doubt and a dangerously close call to hope.

Yangyang nods slowly, as if saying it faster would shatter their fragile honesty. A small, hesitant smile tugs at his lips—uncertain, unpracticed, but unmistakably genuine.

“Yeah,” he admits. His gaze flickers downward for a split second, but when he looks back up at Renjun, something has changed in his eyes. Something that wasn’t there previously.

Something that lets Renjun know he means it.

“But you’re so…,” He chuckles and pauses, biting his lip while looking for the right words. “You’re always so unfazed. So in control. I didn’t think you’d ever… want me like that. Especially after… you know, all of this…”

Renjun's eyes soften, and he shakes his head, exasperated yet relieved.

"Jesus, Yangyang," he curses beneath his breath. “You think I’m calm? Controlled? I’ve been losing my damn mind the entire time, trying to hold it together around you."

Renjun steps closer, feeling Yangyang's body heat against his own. “You drive me crazy, Yangyang. Every damn day. I’ve been trying so hard to act normal because I didn’t think you’d ever want me like that.”

Yangyang's lips curl into a tentative smile, soft and genuine, and Renjun's pulse skitters out of sync.

“I do,” Yangyang says. His gaze is gentle yet intense as it locks on Renjun's. “I really do.”

Renjun swallows hard, emotions welling up in his chest.

“Then let me help you,” he whispers. He takes another step closer, the gap between them closing with unspoken promises. “Not just because of your heat. Let me be here for you. All of it.”

Yangyang's smile eases, becoming warmer, and Renjun feels a pull deep within him release at the sight. So tender and genuine that it makes his heart ache in unexpected ways.

Renjun moves without thinking.

He surges forward, his actions instinctual and almost desperate. His hands cradle Yangyang’s face, fingers skimming the softness of his skin. Thumbs trace delicate, reverent lines across his jaw, tilting his head gently. Yangyang stiffens in surprise, their gazes meeting for a fleeting, breathless moment before he leans into Renjun's touch, his pulse racing.

Then Renjun kisses him.

Everything else fades away when their lips meet—the hesitation, anxiety, and weeks of holding back. It all disappears, swallowed by the heat of the kiss. Renjun's lips are plush and warm, and Yangyang emits a soft, surprised sound that quickly fades into a low, needy hum.

Yangyang's hands move instinctively, grasping Renjun's shirt and pulling him closer. His lips part, inviting more, and Renjun doesn’t delay. His tongue darts out and brushes against Yangyang's, causing him to shiver with a mixture of desire and disbelief. Everything changes between them—the heat, the gentle rhythm of their breathing, Yangyang's pheromones shifting around them, saccharine and electrifying.

Renjun doesn’t realize he’s guiding Yangyang backward until he hits the cushions, and they both tumble down. Renjun lands halfway on top of him, and Yangyang lets out a startled laugh, breathless and flushed. He looks up at Renjun, his eyes twinkling with delight.

"Sorry," Renjun murmurs, but the coy grin tugging at his lips shows he is far from it.

“It’s fine, don’t stop,” Yangyang huffs, his hands tightening around Renjun’s shirt as he pulls him back down.

Renjun doesn’t need any more encouragement. He leans in again, his lips crashing into Yangyang’s, messy and urgent. The kiss escalates immediately, growing more frantic, more desperate as his hands slide from Yangyang’s face to his waist, clutching onto him as if he’s afraid Yangyang might run away.

For a moment, they fumble—Renjun's weight shifting awkwardly, Yangyang grabbing the hem of Renjun's shirt as they try to find a rhythm. It is chaotic, with teeth clattering together and noses bumping again. Neither of them draws back, though.

The clumsy movements pull them closer, as they both try to figure out how to fit together and make it work, while everything inside them screams for more.

Yangyang's hands slip under Renjun's shirt, fingers brushing against the warm skin, sending a ripple through Renjun that causes him to gasp. The movement causes them to shift again, and Yangyang lets out a soft moan as they align more naturally. The hesitation fades, replaced by something steady and urgent as they move together, a peaceful understanding developing with each passing second.

The air between them is now charged with need, no longer awkward but brimming with newfound energy.

Neither of them breaks the contact, both too lost in the feeling to think about anything else. Yangyang arches up into Renjun, fingers entwined in his dark hair and tugging softly. The pull causes a low, vibrating tremor in Renjun's throat that travels straight through Yangyang's chest.

The excitement between them grows, and their scents mix in the room—Yangyang's sweet and intoxicating, Renjun's deeper and grounding. It wraps around them like a blanket, cocooning them in their shared passion.

Renjun pulls back just enough to catch his breath, resting his forehead against Yangyang's and looking down at him. Yangyang's lips are swollen and pink, his eyes half-lidded and dazed, causing Renjun's pulse to race. His chest heaves beneath Renjun’s touch, heavy with everything unspoken.

“You’re so…” Renjun begins, his hands tightening around Yangyang's waist as if he fears losing him.

Yangyang looks up at him, his expression soft and unpolished, but there is a playful flicker in his eyes. His lips curl up in the tiniest of smiles.

“So what?”

Renjun chuckles softly, a warm sensation spreading across his chest. His thumb brushes against the soft fabric of Yangyang's hoodie as he leans down and kisses the corner of his mouth.

"So perfect," he purrs, the words slipping out before he can catch them.

Yangyang's cheeks flush darker, and his smile widens, the nervousness quickly giving way to newfound confidence. Without any indecision, he pulls Renjun back into a kiss, this time slower and deeper—one that contains everything they have both been denying themselves.

Yangyang's fingers trail down Renjun's back, light but electrifying, and Renjun's hands slip under the hem of Yangyang's hoodie, brushing against the warm skin of his abdomen. Yangyang shivers, the sensation coursing through him, his breath short.

The couch creaks beneath them, the soft sound of it punctuating their breathless, uncoordinated noises. It’s messy, imperfect, chaotic—but real. It’s them.

For the first time in what seems like an eternity, Renjun feels no need to restrain himself any longer.

His lips crash against Yangyang's again, this time deeper and hungrier, the kiss desperate, full of heat and barely contained desire. Yangyang moans into it, sliding his hands under Renjun's shirt hem.

"Off," Yangyang mumbles, raspy and agitated as he tugs on the fabric.

Renjun pulls back, his breath unsteady, and Yangyang tugs on the shirt, pulling it over Renjun's head and leaving his chest bare. Yangyang's eager gaze sweeps over Renjun's exposed skin, causing Renjun's chest to tighten.

“God,” Yangyang whispers as he leans up to press his lips to the hollow of Renjun’s throat. “You’re so hot.”

“You’re one to talk,” Renjun lets out a shaky laugh, his fingers threading through Yangyang’s hair and tilting his head back to give him more access. But then Yangyang's hands drop lower, skimming over Renjun's sides before slipping beneath his jeans' waistband.

Yangyang's palm is pressed against Renjun's hardening cock, separated only by the thin fabric of his briefs. The contact is bold and unwavering, sending a shock through Renjun's entire body.

He is taken aback by the unexpected change. His breath shortens and he freezes for a split second, his mind racing to keep up with what is going on. The heat of Yangyang's touch, the way his fingers move with purposeful confidence, sparks an inferno deep within Renjun. It is overwhelming—uncontrollable and unfamiliar in a way that makes him gasp for air.

Yangyang doesn’t stop. His hand explores carefully, his fingers pressing through the thin fabric of Renjun’s briefs, testing his reactions. The heat of Yangyang’s touch burns through him while the soft rustle of Renjun’s jeans shifting fills the space between them.

Each sound seems louder than it should, magnified by the way Renjun’s senses have narrowed entirely to this moment, to Yangyang’s boldness and the exhilarating warmth radiating from him.

Renjun's pulse races, his thoughts jumbled as he tries to make sense of everything. For a brief moment, he wonders if he should take control, say or do something to ground this spiraling nervousness. But before he can act, Yangyang pauses.

His fingers remain against Renjun's skin, and Renjun hears Yangyang's breath hitch, a weak sound that tugs deep within him. Yangyang tilts his head up, and Renjun meets his gaze. Yangyang's expression is tinged with uncertainty, and his wide eyes seek reassurance from Renjun's face.

“Is this okay?” Yangyang asks, small but steady, with trepidation but also vulnerability—

trust

.

The question lingers between them, and Renjun's chest tightens. He looks down at Yangyang, noticing the bright redness on his cheeks and the way his mouth opens slightly, as if bracing for rejection. Yangyang appears so open and natural in that moment that it clears Renjun's doubts.

His heart stutters, and for a brief, crystalline moment, everything feels impossibly fragile. Renjun understands Yangyang's situation is more than just physical. Every touch, every glance carries weight, and this realization settles on him like an immovable force.

Renjun exhales, stiffness bleeding from his shoulders as he lifts a hand to Yangyang's cheek. His thumb brushes against the warm skin there, providing a soothing, grounding touch.

“Yeah,” He nods, his confidence leaving no room for doubt, a faint smile curving his lips. “It’s okay.”

Yangyang's breath rushes out in a low exhale, relief spreading across his face. His lips twitch into a small, tentative smile, and his posture relaxes. Without saying anything else, his hand moves again, this time more slowly and methodically.

Renjun's body reacts instantly, and Yangyang's touch elicits a low, unprompted groan from him. Yangyang moves closer, the younger boy's free hand sliding up his chest, fingers splayed as if looking for something solid to grab onto. Renjun's spine tingles with the intimacy of the touch, and he instinctively leans forward, his lips finding the curve of Yangyang's neck.

He kisses him there, tentatively at first, then more forcefully, nipping at his sensitive skin. Yangyang gasps, his fingers gripping Renjun's shoulder as if to anchor himself. The sound sends a surge of heat through Renjun, and for the first time, he doesn’t hold back. There is no hesitation, no hint of frustration or avoidance—only tenderness, constant and unwavering.

Renjun feels Yangyang quake beneath him and hears his breath catch, which fills him with an exhilarating and terrifying sense of certainty. His lips trail lower, and his hands wander, testing Yangyang's patience.

But then, as Renjun's gaze moves downward, something stops him in his tracks. His eyes catch on the couch beneath them, and in an instant, all he can see is the trace of someone else. Someone else’s hands on Yangyang. Someone else’s scent clinging to the fabric.

The image strikes Renjun like a physical blow—a visceral, unwelcome reminder of everything he is been attempting to push down. The thought of Yangyang tangled up with someone else on this very couch—

their

couch—twists in his chest like a knife.

"Yangyang," he groans, suddenly pulling back.

Yangyang whimpers, frustration on his face, as his hands tighten around Renjun's hips, attempting to keep him close. “What?” He asks, tinged with annoyance. “Why are you stopping?”

Renjun swallows hard, his eyes darting from the couch to Yangyang and back again, as if trying to shake the image away. He returns Yangyang's gaze, his tone unwavering. “Not here.”

Yangyang blinks, his expression clouded with confusion. “Not here? What do you mean?”

His voice becomes low and dangerous as he growls, "Because..."

Renjun's jaw grits together, the words stuck in his throat. He struggles for a moment before the possessiveness surges to the surface, raw and unfiltered. He pauses, then leans in closer, his eyes blazing. "I’m not about to fuck you on the same couch you have shared with other people."

Yangyang freezes, his eyes widening as the words sink in. His cheeks turn crimson, and for a brief moment, he appears stunned. Renjun refuses to look away, his chest rising rapidly with the weight of his emotions—jealousy, frustration, desire.

“Renjun…” Yangyang begins, on the verge of insecurity, but Renjun shakes his head.

"Not here," he says again, softer but just as firm. He stands to his feet, his hands steady even as his heart beats in his ears. “This isn’t some random hookup, Yangyang. I’m not them. I’m not sharing you. Somewhere else. Somewhere that’s just us.”

Yangyang's wide eyes lock onto Renjun's, and the sheer authority causes Yangyang's breath to catch. Renjun can see it—Yangyang's quickened pulse, the way his lips part, and a faint tremor running through him. The bold possessiveness of Renjun’s words seems to strike a chord deep within Yangyang, and it only stokes the fire in Renjun’s chest.

“Renjun,” Yangyang complains, though there’s still that thread of defiance. “I don’t care about the couch or them. I just want you—”

Renjun cuts him off with a low growl, the sound rumbling out of his chest before he can stop it.

"Too bad," he snaps, his voice primal and unmistakably Alpha. “Because I care, Yangyang. And I’m not going to do this here, where it smells like anyone else has touched you.”

The words hang in the charged space between them.

Renjun's heart races in his chest, and his resolve hardens as he watches Yangyang. For a brief moment, he fears he’s pushed too far, but Yangyang blinks up at him, his gaze relaxing despite his frustration. His chest rises and falls with shaky breaths before taking Renjun's hand without saying anything.

Renjun exhales, tightening his grasp on Yangyang's wrist and pulling him to his feet. Yangyang stumbles but doesn’t resist, allowing Renjun to lead him down the short hallway with intentional strides. The silence between them feels louder than words, with only the low creak of floorboards beneath their hurried steps.

Yangyang's pulse beats against Renjun's palm, his wrist warm and defenseless in his hand. Renjun refuses to let go, even as he approaches his bedroom door and opens it with a quick flick.

"You are so fucking dramatic," Yangyang complains under his breath, but the slight tremor shows how much Renjun's strength has affected him. His cheeks are flushed, his chocolate eyes darting to meet Renjun's for a brief moment before turning away shyly.

Renjun doesn’t respond right away.

His attention is completely focused on Yangyang, his golden gaze searing as he takes careful steps toward the bed. When Yangyang's knees hit the edge of the mattress, Renjun's hands rise to cradle his face, his thumbs brushing against Yangyang's warm cheeks.

“Maybe. But by the time I’m done with you, you’re going to know exactly who you belong to.”

The words come out rough and unpolished, but the conviction behind them is like wildfire. Renjun watches Yangyang shudder, his face flushing and his lips parting with a stuttered breath. His dark eyes, wide and molten with hunger, hold Renjun's gaze, as if he is trying to read every unspoken word there.

Yangyang swallows hard before speaking, his words coming out in a whisper. "Then stop talking," he says, balancing on the brink of vulnerability. “And show me.”

Renjun doesn’t need to be told twice.

He surges forward, capturing Yangyang’s lips in a kiss that feels like it’s been evolving forever. It is messy and unrestrained, with Renjun pouring every ounce of urgency he can muster into it. Their mouths collide, teeth grazing, tongues tangling, and Renjun doesn’t care how desperate it feels because it is real,

finally

real.

Yangyang's hands move instinctively, his fingers tangling in Renjun's hair and tugging him closer, as if he is afraid Renjun will pull away. The heat of their kiss consumes them, every gasp and breath shared between them, the tension in the room strung so tight it feels ready to snap.

Renjun moves in closer, his body crowding Yangyang's, his hands sliding down to his waist. The sensation of Yangyang's body against him, as well as the soft, breathy sounds he makes between kisses, add fuel to the fire that burns beneath Renjun's skin. There is nothing else—no past, no prevailing doubts—only this moment.

And it’s everything Renjun didn’t realize he needed.

Yangyang lets out a gasp as Renjun pulls back abruptly, breaking the kiss without warning. The sound is somewhere between surprise and frustration, with his chest heaving as he blinks up at Renjun, attempting to catch his breath. Renjun's hands move to his hips, holding onto him firmly and guiding him backward until his back meets the mattress.

Yangyang is stunned for a moment, his body pliant as Renjun hovers over him in a deliberate, unhurried motion. Renjun braces himself on his palms, his knees on either side of Yangyang’s hips, and just dwells there, looming above him. His amber eyes darken, the keen intensity in them unreadable as they sweep over Yangyang’s figure.

For a brief moment, nothing happens.

Renjun's silence stretches between them as he takes it all in. Yangyang's parted lips, still wet and plump from their kiss, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the telling quiver in his thighs as if his body already knows what is going to happen. Even Yangyang’s tail betrays him, flicking anxiously against the sheets before curling tightly against his own leg.

The weight of Renjun's gaze causes Yangyang to squirm, the color in his cheeks spreading to his chest. The cool composure presses down on him, with each breath shared in the charged space between them until finally—Renjun moves.

His hands move away from Yangyang's hips and glide down the length of his thighs. His thumbs brush against Yangyang's soft skin just above the knees, a playful touch that sends a ripple through him. Renjun leans in closer, his face just above Yangyang's, his breath warm as it sweeps across Yangyang's flushed cheeks and parted lips.

"Tell me what you want," Renjun purrs, his voice cutting through the haze growing between them.

“You,” Yangyang muses softly, his head tipping back against the mattress as his breath stutters.

The words catch in his throat, and for a moment, all he can do is let his body respond. His legs move instinctively, his knees drawing up as he spreads them just enough to make his need painfully obvious. His tail flicks tightly against his thigh, betraying the unspoken impatience coursing through him. “I just want you.”

Renjun's lips twitch, tugging at the corners of his mouth, as his gaze shifts downward, taking in the way Yangyang arches beneath him, a flush spreading across his skin.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Renjun murmurs, equal parts vexing and commanding.

His hands move again, this time sliding up to rest at Yangyang's waist. His slick-soaked boxers cling to his skin, damp and translucent, leaving little room for imagination. Renjun hooks his fingers under the elastic, dragging them down with excruciating slowness.

Yangyang lets out an embarrassed whine as he feels the cool air against his bare skin. He turns his face to the side, his tail curling up instinctively to cover his exposed hole. Renjun doesn’t let up, his movements are controlled and measured. He peels the boxers down Yangyang’s thighs, over his knees, and discards them to the side with a careless toss.

Yangyang squirms beneath his gaze, his thighs trembling as Renjun wraps his hands around the backs of his knees. With practiced ease, Renjun presses them upward, folding Yangyang’s long, slender legs toward his chest. The position leaves Yangyang feeling exposed in a way that sends heat rushing to his face. He squeezes his eyes shut, a low whimper slipping from his lips as the weight of the moment crashes over him.

Renjun chuckles under his breath, the sound low and warm, with a mocking edge.

"Now, be specific," he says, his airy tone punctuated with calm authority. His thumbs glide in soothing circles behind Yangyang's knees, grounding him even as the words cause his stomach to flutter. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do.”

Yangyang bites his lip, his breath short, as Renjun's ferocity continues to unravel him. For a moment, the words stick in his throat, but he pushes through the haze that obscures his thoughts. His eyes flutter open, focusing on Renjun's. His gaze is now filled with pure, unrestrained need, and there is no hiding his desperation.

“I want…” His voice falters, then he swallows hard and forces the words out. “I want you to touch me. Everywhere. Please.”

Renjun hums thoughtfully, sending a chill down Yangyang's spine. His grip on Yangyang's legs tightens as he leans in, pressing his hips forward just enough to grind his covered erection against him, eliciting a gasp from Yangyang.

"Say it," Renjun whispers, brushing his lips against Yangyang's earshell. The heat of his breath makes Yangyang’s pulse race.

“Renjun, please!” Yangyang explodes, his frustration and need colliding. He raises his head slightly, his flushed face framed by messy strands of hair, and his wide eyes sparkle with urgency. “Please, just fuck me.”

Renjun chuckles again, a low, satisfied sound, his lips grazing Yangyang's jaw before pressing a kiss against the flushed skin there. Yangyang's impatience is heightened by the drawn-out pace, and his half-hearted glare and soft pout undermine any genuine defiance.

"Don’t care how—just do something," Yangyang begs, letting out breathy, desperate notes as he arches his back against Renjun's hands. “Please, I need you.”

Renjun doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, he runs his hands down Yangyang's thighs, his thumbs creating intricate circles in the sensitive skin there. His gaze lingers, taking in the scene before him—Yangyang sprawled out, flushed and shivering, every inch of him coming undone. Renjun's chest tightens, heat pooling low in his stomach from the sheer beauty of him.

"You said to fuck you," Renjun finally says, his words brushing against Yangyang's skin as his breath fans over him. “And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

Renjun leans in, moving Yangyang’s short fluffy tail away, and glides his tongue over Yangyang's rim in a long, wet stroke. The reaction is immediate—a sharp, high-pitched gasp spilling from Yangyang’s lips, his entire body jolting at the sensation. Renjun smirks against his entrance, savoring the sound as he repeats the motion, his tongue circling and flicking, carefully teasing Yangyang open.

Yangyang lets out a series of dolcet whines and desperate gasps, while Renjun's tongue moves lower, lapping at the slick dripping down his perineum. Renjun hums in satisfaction, each sound Yangyang makes only encouraging him further.

Yangyang’s thighs start to tremble under the relentless attention, the tension in his body rising with every stroke of Renjun’s tongue. His hands twist the sheets tightly, and his hips move instinctively, unable to keep still as the sensations overwhelm him. Only when Yangyang’s knees buckle slightly, his thighs shaking, does Renjun finally ease up.

But not for long.

Renjun slides his tongue inside with intent, the precision of his movements eliciting a throaty moan from Yangyang's lips. Renjun gently slips a single slender finger in alongside his tongue, carefully stretching Yangyang's hole. Yangyang's breath catches and then spills out in melodic moans, his body arching into Renjun's touch as heat coils tight in his stomach.

Renjun's arousal burns between his thighs, but he maintains his focus, working Yangyang open with calculated patience. One finger quickly becomes two, sliding in effortlessly as his free hand moves to trace the flatness of Yangyang's stomach, gently pining him down against the mattress.

"So good for me," Renjun sighs, rich and reverent, pressing a kiss against Yangyang's inner thigh. A third finger follows, this time the stretch making Yangyang gasp, his back curving beautifully as he takes it all without resistance. Renjun’s gaze falls, his chest tightening at how beautiful Yangyang looks—flushed, tremoring, and utterly undone beneath him.

"Fuck, you’re so perfect," Renjun murmurs again, his voice filled with conviction and worship.

Yangyang's breath stutters, caught between relief and frustration, as he rocks his hips, pressing back against Renjun's fingers, eager for more, every movement filled with urgency. Renjun slides his tongue along Yangyang's cock, his mouth resting on the tip as his tongue dips into the leaking slit. His free hand wraps around Yangyang's cock, gliding over it in slow, methodical strokes that cause Yangyang to tremble.

"I-I need more," Yangyang exhales, shaking as he turns to meet Renjun's gaze. His eyes are glazed with need, his lips parted, and each word flows out like water. “Renjun, please. More.”

Renjun hushes him, his tone tender as his fingers twist inside again, the pads of his fingertips brushing against Yangyang’s prostate, earning a shuddering moan from him.

"Listen to you, so impatient…" Renjun murmurs, his voice broken and hoarse with desire. He tightens his grasp, strokes him faster, and Yangyang's breathing becomes more erratic, each exhale pushing Renjun deeper into the haze of need.

Renjun's body is taut, his cock aching against his jeans and thick with heat, but his attention is focused solely on one thing. Yangyang's captivating aroma—tart, citrusy, sweet, and intoxicating—saturates the air, igniting every nerve in Renjun's body.

It is overwhelming—the way he can feel Yangyang's pleasure curling through him.

From the way his body envelopes Renjun's fingers to the way his scent shifts—richer, deeper, a sign of what is to come. Slick coats Renjun's knuckles, dripping between his fingers and down his wrist as Yangyang pushes back, hoping to draw him in completely. The sound of it—wet and shameless—makes Renjun's head spin.

His hand moves faster over Yangyang's cock, with his thumb sweeping in teasing circles across the tip. He gasps against Yangyang's skin, pressing his forehead into the curls at the base of his cock as he feels the tension winding, pulling them both closer to the edge.

“Come for me,” Renjun breathes, his voice stirring with urgency. “I want to feel it, to smell it, to have you all over me—”

He doesn’t even get to finish before Yangyang’s thighs quiver as he clenches around Renjun’s fingers one last time, his body going rigid before he comes over him with a sharp cry.

Renjun hisses through his teeth, white streaks of cum splashing across his collarbone and chest, dripping hot on his throat. Yangyang gasps, high and wrecked, his body shuddering from the aftershocks as Renjun continues to work him through it, fingers never stopping, dragging out every last pulse and spasm. Yangyang's body convulses from overstimulation, his thighs twitching and his fingers gripping the pillows as if they could ground him.

Renjun finally releases his grip on Yangyang's cock, sliding his fingers free from his slick-drenched hole. He watches the way Yangyang’s body shakes at the loss, his hips instinctively shifting, chasing the fullness Renjun had just taken away. Yangyang collapses against the mattress, limbs loose and pliant, his breath coming in ragged pants.

Renjun lets out a shaky breath, his own arousal still heavy and thick between his legs. For now, though, all he can think about is Yangyang—his heat, the lingering smell of him on Renjun's skin and hair. His gaze shifts downward, drawn to the mess streaked across his chest, pearly trails gleaming against his skin.

He raises a hand and drags two fingers through the evidence of Yangyang's release, gathering it slowly and deliberately. The motion makes Yangyang’s breath hitch, his thighs tensing briefly before he melts back into the bed, watching through hooded eyes as Renjun raises his hand to his mouth.

Renjun opens his lips and presses his fingers against them, his tongue curling around the taste of Yangyang. His eyes flutter shut as he hums in pleasure, savoring the saltiness that blooms across his tongue before he gently pops his fingers free.

When he opens his eyes again, they are dark with affection, hunger, and satisfaction.

"Fuck, you taste better than I expected," he murmurs, his voice low and velvety. Renjun licks a lingering drop from the corner of his mouth before wiping his fingers clean against the sheets, a rare and careless gesture that surprises Yangyang.

“Didn’t peg you as the type to dirty your own sheets,” Yangyang teases, his words uneven but laced with amusement.

Renjun's lips form a sly grin, and he leans in close, allowing his breath to pass over Yangyang's ear. “They’re not staying clean for long anyways. Not when you’re already such a mess."

Yangyang flushes more deeply, his chest rising and falling as Renjun's words settle on him like a second layer of heat. But there is no time for him to respond as Renjun takes a moment to admire him. His lips move across Yangyang's face, pressing featherlight kisses against the corners of his mouth, the bridge of his nose, and the curve of his eyelids.

“That tickles,” Yangyang giggles, the sound unguarded and warm, his cheeks flushing even more.

Renjun's grin matches his, but his tone is one of affection. "I don’t think I will ever get tired of kissing you," he says with clear fondness.

“Good,” Yangyang whispers, his lips curving slyly as he presses a quick kiss to the tip of Renjun’s nose. His gaze shifts downward, straying to Renjun's lips before sliding lower with an amusing lilt. “Because I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of being kissed by you.”

“Is the rest of you this addictive?” He muses, his voice quieter and more playful. Yangyang pauses for a heartbeat, his gaze darkening as it moves across Renjun's neck and chest.

Renjun arches an eyebrow, his lips curling into a teasing smirk.

“Why don’t you find out?” He challenges Yangyang, fully expecting him to roll his eyes or laugh it off like he always does.

But this time, Yangyang doesn’t laugh.

Instead, his hands press against Renjun's chest, and before Renjun can respond, Yangyang switches their positions and pushes him back against the headboard. His breath stutters in surprise, and his eyes widen slightly as Yangyang effortlessly straddles his lap, the shift in control occurring in an instant.

Yangyang moves with practiced ease, his touch feathery as his fingers glide down Renjun's torso, tracing every dip and contour with lazy fascination. He hovers just above Renjun's hips, fingers grazing the waistband of his jeans with a painstaking pause. A smile plays on his lips as he senses Renjun tense beneath him.

Slowly, he lowers himself, settling between Renjun's spread thighs, his mere presence sending waves through Renjun's stomach.

"Maybe I will," Yangyang murmurs, his voice sultry and raspy, sinking deep into Renjun's bones. He leans down, lips pressing a kiss to the sharp jut of Renjun's hipbone, breath fanning over the sliver of bare skin visible just above his waistband.

The metallic clink of the button and zipper breaking apart is louder than it seems in the stillness of the room, the sound sharp and expectant. Yangyang takes his time, dragging the denim down inch by inch, the gradual reveal of Renjun's skin sending a thrill through him.

Halfway down, he pauses, lifting his gaze with a playful defiance, his fingers still curled around the fabric. His grin is devilish, daring Renjun to stop him—which they both know he won't.

Renjun doesn’t move, his chest heaving as he watches Yangyang intently, his golden eyes clouded with eagerness.

Once the jeans are pushed down to Renjun’s knees, Yangyang’s hands slide back up, his touch unyielding as he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of Renjun’s briefs. The fabric clings stubbornly to Renjun's skin, but Yangyang gradually pulls it down, revealing the trail of skin underneath.

When Renjun's cock springs free, hard and flushed, slapping unceremoniously against his pelvis, Yangyang's gaze lingers for a beat, a flicker of hunger passing across his features.

The briefs and jeans are quickly pushed the rest of the way off, landing in a jumbled heap on the floor. Yangyang takes a moment to appreciate the sight in front of him—Renjun stripped bare, a flush spreading across his chest as his cock rests heavily on his abdomen.

Yangyang's tongue darts out to wet his lips, and his eyes shine with reverence and wicked glee.

"Beautiful," Yangyang says under his breath. His hands slide up Renjun's thighs, his touch gentle yet mischievous. He leans down again, pressing a kiss on Renjun's abdomen before trailing his lips lower and ghosting over his hip.

Yangyang wraps his fingers around Renjun's cock without hesitation, a firm but teasing touch. A soft gasp escapes Renjun’s lips as Yangyang lowers his head, his tongue flicking out to tease the leaking tip with a sheepish lick.

Renjun’s hips twitch involuntarily at the sensation as Yangyang’s tongue swipes over the bead of precum gathered there, his expression one of pure satisfaction. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, and when they open again, there’s a glint of mischief in them.

“Sweet, I knew you’d taste good,” Yangyang says, dripping with amusement as he licks his lips, his chestnut eyes glinting up at Renjun. His grin is both coy and positively sinful.

Yangyang leans down again, his mouth gently taking Renjun's cock back inside. Renjun's fingers twitch at his sides, his restraint fraying as he feels the warm, wet heat of Yangyang's mouth send jolts of pleasure through him.

Finally giving in, his hands reach Yangyang's head, fingers threading through his silky hair. His thumbs brush against the base of Yangyang's horns before tightening his grip and gently guiding him.

“Is this okay?” Renjun asks, his voice low and slightly rough, as he looks down at him.

Yangyang pulls back just enough to look up, his eyes wide and his lips glistening. He lets out a breathy laugh, filled with affection.

"Absolutely perfect," he says with a playful lilt, but there is no denying the sincerity in his eyes.

The response emboldens Renjun, and his grip on Yangyang’s horns steadies, his fingers pressing just enough to guide him as Yangyang dips down again.

Yangyang's tongue is relentless, tracing teasing circles over the flushed tip before flattening against it, his warm breath lingering on the tender skin. He drags his tongue along the underside, savoring Renjun's shudder beneath him, his thighs tensing with anticipation. He takes Renjun's cock deeper with deliberate patience, allowing the wet heat of his mouth to engulf him inch by inch.

Renjun moans, the sound breaking on a sharp inhale as Yangyang swallows around him, the flex of his throat sending a thrill up Renjun's spine. His head leans back against the headboard, his eyes fluttering shut as he tries to maintain control. His tail twitches restlessly against the sheets—a clear indication of his increasing desperation.

Yangyang hums around him, the vibrations rippling through Renjun’s core, unraveling him bit by bit. He maintains a constant rhythm, his lips sealing tightly around his length as he moves, his tongue working in slow, decadent strokes. Every flick, every subtle shift in pressure, is calculated, practiced, and devastating. The wet sound fills the room, mingling with Renjun's ragged breathing.

Just as Renjun thinks he is going to lose himself in the feeling, Yangyang pulls back with a languid slowness, allowing Renjun's cock to slip from his mouth with an obscene drag of his lips. A thin string of saliva still connects them, glistening in the low light, and Renjun's fingers twitch where they grip his horns.

Yangyang licks the corner of his mouth, his dark eyes filled with mischief as he leans back on his heels. His lips are slick and kiss-swollen, parted just enough to allow a breathless chuckle. He wears an evil, triumphant expression, pleased beyond measure with Renjun's current state, undone and aching beneath him.

"You are holding back," Yangyang teases in a low, playful tone. His tail sways lazily behind him, but there is no denying the longing in his gaze as it trails over Renjun's heaving chest.

Renjun lets out a giddy laugh, brushing his thumb across Yangyang's slick, puffy lips.

"And you are trying my patience," he groans, a mix of warning and pleasure, though his eyes soften as they meet Yangyang's.

Yangyang's grin widens, and a flash of his sharp canines captures the light. He glides forward, straddling Renjun's lap with effortless grace. His thighs press against Renjun's hips, and the heat from his body seeps through the thin fabric of his hoodie. He leans in close, his lips brushing against the shell of Renjun’s ear.

"Patience suits you. But I think I prefer you when you lose it.” He whispers, almost sultry.

Renjun’s hands find his waist, his grip secure as he steadies him, but it’s Yangyang who takes control again, his fingers sliding down to wrap around Renjun’s cock. He moves his hips, teasing them both as he glides the tip against his entrance, then pauses to lean back slightly. His flushed cheeks and the twitch of his tail betray the impish confidence in his smirk.

Yangyang reaches down to tug at the hem of his hoodie, his movements impatient as he attempts to lift it over his head. Renjun's hands, however, reach out and grab his wrists, stopping him in his tracks.

“Leave it on,” Renjun says, his voice gentle but commanding. His golden eyes sweep over Yangyang's lithe figure, the hoodie riding up just enough to reveal his waist and the curve of his hips.

Yangyang blinks, surprised by the unexpected request, but it fades quickly. He bites his lip, a timid smile forming at the corners of his mouth.

"Okay," he says, dropping his hands and letting the fabric fall back into place. “Whatever you want.”

Renjun's fingers return to Yangyang's hips, sliding down to grip his thighs as his eyes harden with determination.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I want all of you, just like this.”

Yangyang's breath stutters in response to Renjun's ferocity, but he remains unshaken. His hands return to guide Renjun's cock to his slick-drenched hole, his movements slower and more intentional this time as Yangyang presses himself down. Renjun grunts as he slides into the warmth, his grip tightening as he feels Yangyang’s body begin to yield to him, the heat and pressure unbearable.

“You’re going to take me so well, aren’t you?” Renjun breathes reverently as his lips press against the curve of Yangyang’s jaw.

“So well,” he promises, his tail twitching against Renjun’s where it brushes his thigh. “I’ll be so good for you.”

Renjun beams, leaning up to kiss him again as he pushes forward, their bodies fitting together perfectly and seamlessly.

Yangyang bites his bottom lip, a flush spreading all the way to the base of his horns. The stretch is slow but intentional, his thighs quivering as he takes Renjun’s cock in inch by inch. His head falls back with a breathless moan once he’s fully seated on his lap.

Renjun curses under his breath, keeping Yangyang balanced with his tail loosely wrapped around his waist. The tight heat of Yangyang's hole borders on overwhelming, and it takes everything he has not to thrust upward.

Instead, his lips brush against Yangyang's jaw before descending to his neck.

"You feel incredible," Renjun murmurs against Yangyang's skin, sending shivers down his spine.

Yangyang whimpers, his hands gripping Renjun's shoulders as he begins to move, rolling his hips leisurely at first. "You're—big," he stammers, his voice breaking into a high-pitched whine as he gets used to the stretch.

Renjun chuckles, the sound low and rich, and presses a lingering kiss against Yangyang's temple. His hands roam, fingertips pressing into the supple skin of Yangyang’s hips, grounding himself in the heat between them.

"You’re perfect," he says softly, his voice rough with admiration. He allows Yangyang to take control, savoring his slow, deliberate movements.

Yangyang rides him with increasing urgency, each rise and fall of his body punctuated by breathless whimpers. Renjun's grip tightens, his fingers digging in as he pushes Yangyang down harder, thrusting up with increasing desperation. The rhythm between them shifts, deepens, and becomes frantic, their bodies chasing an unavoidable goal.

Yangyang's head tilts back, and the sight of him—flushed, panting, and completely lost in pleasure—sets something deep in Renjun off. He groans, pressing forward, capturing Yangyang’s lips in a searing kiss, swallowing every gasping moan.

Renjun feels it coming on—the telltale pull low in his stomach—a sensation both familiar and entirely new. But more than that, he can feel Yangyang trembling, his body growing taut as his movements stutter.

"Renjun," Yangyang gasps, his voice fractured and rough with need, his fingers tightening against Renjun's shoulders as if he is afraid to let go.

Renjun's grip on Yangyang is equally desperate, his hands splayed across his back, holding him impossibly close, as if he could keep them in this moment forever. He pulls away from the kiss, trailing his lips along Yangyang's jaw and down the flushed column of his throat until he reaches the soft, vulnerable dip above his pulse.

He stays there for a moment, pulling at the skin while sucking on a beautiful bruise, his tongue soothing over the marks he leaves behind. Yangyang shakes against him, his breath stuttering, and Renjun swears he can feel his heart racing beneath his lips. His scent, highly addictive, wraps around Renjun like smoke, as if it were laced with sin, sinking into his skin and winding through his veins.

“Let go,” Renjun murmurs against his throat, his voice a hushed command, dark and velvet-soft. He draws Yangyang closer, burying his face against the heat of his skin and pressing kisses between his words. “Come for me, Yangyang.”

Yangyang gasps, his breath hitching, his body wound impossibly tight—suspended in that final, fleeting moment before everything unravels. And then, with a sharp, broken cry, he shatters. His body clamps down around Renjun as he comes untouched, drawn out by nothing but the sheer intensity of the moment. Strings of white spilling hot and warm across Renjun’s stomach and dirtying the hoodie with his cum.

Renjun groans, the sound vibrating through his chest as pleasure washes over him in dizzying, shuddering waves. His grip tightens, fingers digging into Yangyang's curves as his knot swells, locking them together in an unbreakable tether that pulls them impossibly close.

His breath stutters as he comes inside Yangyang, his name tumbling from his lips like a prayer, a plea, or a confession Renjun is not ready to investigate too closely.

For a moment, neither of them moves, their bodies caught in the aftershocks, trembling against each other. They are suspended in the persistent tremors, torn between happiness and something Renjun doesn’t dare name.

Yangyang's breath stutters, and his entire frame tightens once more before he collapses, boneless, melting into Renjun's arms. His skin is damp, feverishly warm where it presses against Renjun's, and his pulse is erratic, matching Renjun's own frantic pace.

But the knot—it’s different. More intense. More consuming.

Yangyang has taken knots before, but never like this. Nothing that stretched him so impossibly full, that sealed them together so completely he could feel Renjun’s heartbeat pulsing inside him. It is overwhelming—dizzying, like a never-ending high. It leaves him weightless and breathless, suspended somewhere between pleasure and something deeper, something he doesn’t yet have words for.

Renjun can feel it, too.

The endless stretch, the way Yangyang clings to him, thighs still convulsing, body still pulsing around Renjun's fullness. There’s no space between them now, no place where Renjun ends and Yangyang begins. He’s never felt anything so intense, impossible to ignore.

He smoothes a leisurely hand over Yangyang's spine, as if to assuage the restless energy that even now crackles between them. His touch is light, reverent, and careful to the point where his own chest aches. Renjun exhales against Yangyang, pressing a soothing kiss to the damp skin at his temple.

“Breathe.” His voice is soft, languid, and completely wrecked. He’s not sure which of them he is talking to.

Yangyang exhales shakily, the tension in his muscles easing slightly as he sinks deeper into Renjun's embrace, his eyes fluttering shut.

Whatever it is—whatever happened between them—hangs in the air, seeping into every breath and settling deep into their bones.

And Yangyang never wants to let it go. His head tilts forward, forehead pressing against Renjun's as he laughs, breathless and blissed out.

"Fuck," he whispers, his voice shattered, a lopsided, dazed grin forming on his lips. “What the hell was that?”

Renjun simply chuckles, smug and satisfied, his fingers tracing lazy patterns down Yangyang's spine.

Yangyang swallows hard, adjusting to the sensation of Renjun's cock pumping him full of cum, his fingers finding a grip in Renjun's hair. His mind is sluggish and hazy, but the only thing he can process is Renjun—Renjun's warmth, scent, and hands that support him even as his own body shakes.

“Are you okay?” Renjun's voice is gentle, contrasting the current storm of emotions.

“Yeah,” Yangyang breathes out, his eyes fluttering closed and a blissful smile spreading across his lips. “More than okay.”

He’s never felt anything like this. And he never wants to feel anything else after.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Early afternoon sunlight streams in through the curtains as Renjun wakes. The room is balmy and illuminated with gold—the kind of glow that illuminates everything, like the final moments of a dream before reality sets in.

Yangyang lies next to him, one arm hanging over the edge of the bed, the other half-buried in a pillow. He must have removed the hoodie at some point, most likely due to the lingering heat, as he is now completely naked beneath the crumpled sheets.

Renjun simply watches for a while, a small smile tugging on his lips.

Even now, with the morning's tension behind them, Yangyang's expression is unguarded and vulnerable in a way Renjun rarely sees. Renjun takes a moment to soak in everything—the stillness, the tenderness, and the feeling of Yangyang sleeping beside him.

But he knows this lull won’t last. It is only a brief reprieve before the next wave of Yangyang's heat pulls them under again.

Renjun gingerly slides out of bed, tucking the blanket around Yangyang's shoulders before the chill reaches him. Yangyang stirs, emitting an unintelligible murmur. His lips smack together as he moves closer to the warmth Renjun left behind.

Renjun freezes, watching him settle before slipping into a pair of sweatpants and tiptoeing out of the room.

Renjun stretches quietly in the kitchen, groaning at the pull in his muscles. He moves with the ease of routine, beginning with the rice: measuring, rinsing, and setting the cooker. Next, he cracks eggs into a bowl and whisks them with soy sauce and a pinch of salt. Finally, he opens a spam can and slices it into thin strips. The simplicity feels right—comforting without being overthought.

As the tang of kimchi fills the kitchen, he fires up a pan, breaking the silence with the satisfying hiss of eggs and spam meeting oil. The aroma makes his stomach rumble faintly, and he knows it won’t be long before Yangyang picks up on it too.

Sure enough, a few moments later, Yangyang's arrival is signaled by the muted shuffle of bare feet.

Renjun looks over his shoulder and sees him leaning against the doorframe, still rumpled from sleep. The blanket, haphazardly draped around Yangyang's naked waist, hangs precariously from his hip, revealing the smooth expanse of his collarbone and the tiny marks scattered along his neck—memories of the hours before. His hair sticks up in wild tufts around his horns, and his smirk is teasing, with an unmistakable glint in his eyes.

“Miss me already?” Yangyang drawls, padding closer with a look that speaks of trouble.

Before Renjun can respond, Yangyang slips behind him, his arms circling his waist and resting his chin on Renjun's shoulder. The solid presence of him presses close, calming and electrifying at the same time.

“You could have woken me,” Yangyang says, filled with sleep as his lips brush against Renjun's neck.

“I figured you needed the rest,” Renjun says, but the way his hands shake as he plates the eggs betrays him.

Yangyang makes a short, playful hum as his fingers play with the hem of Renjun's sweats. “You’re no fun without me,” he quips with mock complaint.

“Yangyang,” Renjun warns firmly, his expression full of fondness.

“Can’t help it…” Yangyang grins, unbothered by the half-hearted warning. He tilts his head and presses a feathery kiss against Renjun's neck, the caressing drag of his lips sending shivers down Renjun's spine.

Renjun exhales slowly, determined to concentrate on the eggs in front of him, but Yangyang isn’t making things easy. His kisses become more determined, trailing up Renjun's neck and along the edge of his jaw before pressing back down to his shoulder.

“You smell good,” Yangyang says as he lets the blanket slip further from his hips. He moves closer, brushing his hips against Renjun's. The thin barrier of the blanket and Renjun's sweats do little to conceal Yangyang's half-hard cock filling out beneath it.

Renjun stiffens slightly as Yangyang grinds against him, the friction subtle yet calculated. “Yangyang,” he repeats, his voice less steady this time.

“What? You’re standing here looking all domestic and adorable,” Yangyang continues, feigning innocence. His smirks against Renjun's skin, and he slides his hands over his stomach, fingers tracing idle patterns across his bare chest. “How can I resist?”

“You are impossible,” Renjun shakes his head despite the amusement on his lips.

“Yeah, but you like it,” Yangyang chuckles, tingling against the shell of Renjun's ear. He presses one last loitering kiss against the side of Renjun's neck before pulling back, his arms still wrapped around him.

Renjun eventually slips free of Yangyang's arms, turning just enough to push past him to the kitchen table.

“Enough, come eat,” he says, sliding the plate of food toward him. “You’re going to need it.”

Yangyang groans but obeys, following Renjun to the table. He throws the blanket over his shoulder like a toga and collapses into his chair. “Alright, fine. But you have the pillow talk skills of a grandpa,” he complains, picking up his chopsticks.

Renjun raises an eyebrow as he pours coffee into their mugs. “And yet, you’re still here.”

Yangyang leans back, one leg resting on the table, his expression as carefree as ever. “So you’re stuck with me, huh?”

Renjun looks at him for a moment, as if there is an implied understanding passing between them. “Yeah,” he responds casually. “I guess I am.”

Yangyang winks, his grin faltering slightly before relaxing.

“Good,” he says quietly, losing his teasing edge. “Because I’d hate to lose the best breakfast chef I’ve ever had.”

They eat in silence, with only the clink of chopsticks filling the room. Yangyang takes a bite of egg, letting out a hum of satisfaction as the meal's warmth spreads throughout him. His lips curl into an indolent smile, his shoulders relax, and he leans back in his chair, completely at ease.

Across the table, Renjun holds his coffee cup in his hands, the ceramic warm against his palms. He watches Yangyang wordlessly, the sight of him so beautiful and unguarded that it makes Renjun's chest ache. Groggy from sleep and with a hopeless mess of hair, Yangyang appears impossibly endearing, and Renjun allows himself to enjoy the moment a little longer.

The words are already on the tip of his tongue, but it takes him a second to speak them. “How are you feeling?” Renjun finally asks, his voice low and steady, but sympathetic.

Yangyang pauses mid-bite, looking up from his plate. He blinks, caught off guard, before finishing his mouthful and wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Good. Tired, sure. A little sore.” He leans forward, resting his chin in his palm, and his eyes catch the afternoon sun as they crinkle at the corners. “But good. Amazing. Ready for more.”

Renjun’s lips curve discreetly. He nods but doesn’t respond, instead taking a sip from his coffee.

“What about you?” Yangyang inquires, his voice breezier now, but there is an undeniable feeling beneath it. Yangyang tilts his head and watches Renjun with a playful glint in his eye. “How do you feel?”

Renjun hesitates, debating a much bolder response—

Amazing

.

Like I want to claim you and make you mine

. Instead, he huffs an airy laugh, ducking his head to conceal the slight, wolfish smile tugging on his lips.

“I feel good,” he says simply, soft but sincere.

Yangyang beams in response, leaning back with his arms crossed. His knee brushes against Renjun's beneath the table, sending a jolt through Renjun and causing his heart to stumble for a brief moment.

“You know, you’re cute when you are like this,” Yangyang says abruptly.

Renjun sits up straighter in the chair, surprised by the change in tone. He tilts his head to meet Yangyang's gaze. “Like what?”

“Like this,” Yangyang responds, gesturing vaguely at him. “Relaxed. Comfortable. Don’t get me wrong, I like it when you’re all bossy and growly too—it’s hot, honestly. But this?”

He smiles, lopsided and genuine, his tail swaying behind him. “This is nice.”

A faint flush creeps up Renjun’s neck as he ducks his head, pretending to concentrate on his coffee. “Finish your eggs,” he says, though the fondness in his words betrays him.

Yangyang snickers, the sound low and teasing, but there is sincerity in it that Renjun can’t ignore. He picks up his chopsticks again, takes another bite, and hums appreciatively to emphasize his point.

The corners of Renjun’s lips pull up despite himself. His thoughts drift, not for the first time, to how much space Yangyang occupies in his mind—how, even in the quietest of moments like this, his presence feels so compelling, so magnetic.

All too quickly, Yangyang sets down his chopsticks, leaning back in his chair. His crooked grin remains, but his posture has changed in a subtle way that Renjun notices. He picks up on the way Yangyang’s chest rises and falls a little faster, the blush creeping up his neck.

“You okay?” Renjun asks, his brow furrowing as he studies him.

“I, uh…” He hesitates, his gaze shifting to the half-eaten plate in front of him. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and his tail swishes again, this time less relaxed and more restless. “I think it’s starting again.”

Renjun feels his heart skip a beat. “Your heat?”

Yangyang nods, his ears flickering and his cheeks brighten completely.

“Yeah. I can feel it creeping in—my skin feels hotter, and everything smells stronger. Like you…

especially

you.” He looks up, his pupils wide and dark, and his voice cracks.

Renjun’s chest tightens as the meaning of Yangyang's words becomes clear. “Okay, let me clean up in here first, and—“

“No.” Yangyang cuts him off with a tense but determined expression. He stands abruptly, rounding the table to close the distance between them. His tail sways impatiently behind him and he settles into Renjun's lap, grounding himself in his touch. “I don’t want to wait. Renjun, I can’t wait.”

“Here?” Renjun breathes quietly and steadily as he searches Yangyang's face for assurance. Yangyang inches closer, the urgency in his writhing against Renjun's lap impossible to ignore.

Yangyang nods fervently, allowing the sheet to fall from his body as a voiceless plea. “Here. I don’t care. Just… please.”

Renjun's resolve weakens.

He tightens his hold on Yangyang's waist, drawing him closer until their bodies touch. Yangyang climbs onto the table without hesitation, the wood creaking beneath him as he wraps his legs around Renjun's hips.

Renjun slides his hands down to Yangyang's thighs, spreading them apart as he steps between them. Yangyang radiates heat, with his slick’s sweet, exhilarating scent thick between them. Renjun's golden eyes darken as he takes him in—cheeks tinted pink, muscles throbbing, legs shifting instinctively to invite him closer.

He pauses, grip firm but gentle, his gaze flickering up to Yangyang's face. “You’re sure?”

Yangyang reacts quickly, looping his arms around Renjun's neck and pulling him into a kiss—clingy, messy, and ravenous. His lips part eagerly, and his tongue presses forward to taste Renjun.

“Don’t stop,” he says, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. His tail quivers anxiously against the table as his desire grows stronger.

Renjun's breath catches, and his gaze shifts downward, lingering where slick glistens between Yangyang's legs. Excitement runs up his spine, vivid and enthralling, but he forces himself to take his time.

He laughs earnestly, a stark contrast to the fire simmering between them. “I wasn’t planning to.”

Yangyang gives a satisfied huff as his fingers slip past Renjun's waistband and find him already hard, achingly so. The air of his pheromones floats between them, potent and alluring.

Renjun's hands glide smoothly over Yangyang's thighs, unhurried and deliberate, as if he is discovering, savoring, and memorizing every inch of him. Yangyang squirms beneath his palms, his body taut with anticipation, bathed in the golden rays of the afternoon sun.

Renjun exhales, his fingers pressing into the delicate flesh as if to steady them both. His gaze sweeps over Yangyang—his glowing skin, the slight tremor in his breathing, the way his lips part as if on the verge of saying something but never does.

“You’re beautiful,” Renjun says, the words slipping out unbidden, dripping with sincerity.

Yangyang leans his head back against the table, revealing the crook of his throat, and offers himself without hesitation. His voice is barely audible.

“Renjun… please. I need you.”

Renjun pauses, a raw hunger dancing in his golden eyes. For a moment, he just looks at him—really looks at him—as if he is trying to process all of this, trying to make sense of how his heart stumbles in his chest.

And then his resolve crumbles.

With a quick inhale, he shoves his sweats down, fabric pooling at his feet before he kicks them aside. The movement is instinctive and fluid, with his body already pushing forward, closing the gap between them.

He leans in and kisses Yangyang's neck and shoulder, his lips hovering fondly. His hands tighten around Yangyang's waist, steadying them both in the moment and the certainty of their situation. His hands remain steady as he takes his cock and rubs the tip against Yangyang's wet entrance, his mouth warm against Yangyang's ear.

“No more waiting,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

With that, he presses forward, savoring every inch as he gives Yangyang exactly what he needs.

Renjun pulls back and thrusts in again, establishing a slow, purposeful rhythm. Yangyang lets out a gasp, clutching Renjun's forearms as his body arches off of the table. Heat sparks between them, electric, pulsing in time with their shared breaths. The table creaks beneath them, the joints protesting against their movements.

For a brief moment, the sound registers, and Renjun's chest tightens with concern that the old wood will give out. But then Yangyang moans, high and breathy, his head tipping back to reveal his throat, and Renjun's thoughts scatter.

He tightens his grip on Yangyang's thighs, his nails leaving faint crescents in the rosy skin as he picks up the pace, thrusting further and harder. Yangyang's body vibrates with each movement, his tail twitching erratically against the table as his cries echo in the kitchen.

“Renjun,” Yangyang whines, breaking on each syllable as his legs tighten around Renjun's waist. “You—oh God—you’re so good.”

Renjun groans as Yangyang tightens around him, drawing him in with every movement. He leans over, one hand resting against the table next to Yangyang's head. Yangyang lets out a strangled cry as the angle shifts, his hands flying up to grasp Renjun's shoulders.

The table groans louder beneath them, but Renjun refuses to stop. He can’t. The sound of their bodies meeting, Yangyang's broken gasps spilling from his lips, the unbearable desire twisting tighter and tighter—it is all-consuming, like a fire that refuses to die.

“You are perfect,” Renjun rasps, rough with urgency, thrusting deep and filling him completely. “So good for me, baby.”

Control frays at the edges, passion licking up Renjun’s spine as Yangyang falls apart beneath him. He lowers his head, capturing Yangyang's lips in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, swallowing his moans as he fucks thoroughly into him with abandon.

Nothing else matters—only Yangyang's voice, the way his body arches against Renjun's, and the winded cries of their names that spill from each other's lips.

Renjun falters, his rhythm stuttering as the pressure builds at the base of his cock, his knot beginning to swell. Each thrust catches on Yangyang's rim, sending shivers up his spine as Renjun’s body demands—and aches—to claim the quivering Omega beneath him.

Yangyang gasps sharply, arching his back off the table as the knot presses against him, stretching him even further. His legs tighten around Renjun's waist, pinning him in place and keeping him buried inside.

“Renjun,” he whimpers, clutching onto Renjun's shoulders. His body trembles, overwhelmed by the fullness and by Renjun's unrelenting stretch of him. “Oh my God—so full, so much.”

His nails drag against Renjun's back, leaving faint, stinging trails as pleasure coils tighten, poised to snap. Renjun grits his teeth, his hold slipping as he thrusts a final time. His knot expands completely, binding them together.

“Renjun!” Yangyang cries out, his walls clamping down in a vice-like grip as his orgasm crashes over him, blindingly intense. His body seizes, shuddering violently, his breath bursting into broken sobs as he comes between them, pearly white streaks shooting across their stomachs and chests.

Yangyang clings to him, his body thrumming from the aftershocks, his legs still wrapped around Renjun's waist as if he never wants to let go.

Renjun's chest vibrates with a resonant growl as he presses his forehead against Yangyang's, his breath ragged.

“Almost there,” he grunts, his voice rough with need but laced with a deeper emotion. “You’re taking me so well. So perfect for me.”

The rhythmic spasms of Yangyang’s tight hole around his cock push Renjun over the edge. His hips jerk as pleasure rushes through him in powerful, rolling waves. As he comes, he lets out a ragged groan as he spills inside, his knot locking him in place, ensuring that every pulse and drop remains buried within Yangyang's hole.

For a long time, neither of them speak, simply breathing, tangled together and unwilling to part.

Renjun presses open-mouthed kisses along Yangyang’s neck, his jaw, the corner of his lips—his touch caring now, soothing. He brushes damp strands of hair from Yangyang's forehead.

“You did so well,” he praises, voice tender as his hand strokes over Yangyang’s thigh, still trembling beneath his touch.

Yangyang's chest heaves erraticly as he blinks up at Renjun, golden-brown eyes glazed over with exhaustion and satisfaction.

Renjun lets out a quiet, breathless giggle, despite the intimacy of the moment. He nuzzles into Yangyang's neck, his lips brushing against the feverish skin. “You know, our breakfast is probably completely cold by now.”

Yangyang hums, his arms looping loosely around Renjun's shoulders as he moves slightly, the knot keeping them pressed together. His tail swings nonchalantly against Renjun's thigh.

“Not worried about it,” he says, with an amused tone.

Renjun pulls back just enough to meet his gaze, golden eyes gleaming with adoration. “No? All that effort I put into cooking, and you don’t even care?”

“This feels good enough,” Yangyang says, his grin lopsided and lazy as he runs his fingers through Renjun's hair, twirling the soft strands between them. His eyes move between Renjun’s, burning with a hot, hazy look, and his smile widens. “Better than eggs, anyway.”

Renjun lets out a throaty laugh, which vibrates against Yangyang's skin where their bodies remain pressed together. He adjusts his weight to avoid crushing Yangyang against the table, his hands smoothing over Yangyang's waist.

“Better than eggs? High praise,” he teases, rubbing soothing circles into Yangyang's hips where his grip held tight only moments before. “You are so good with words.”

Yangyang snickers faintly, and he squeezes his legs tighter around Renjun's waist to keep him close.

“What can I say?” He asks, his fingers trailing lazily down Renjun's neck. “You bring out my inner poet.”

Renjun huffs and shakes his head, but the fond curve of his lips reveals how much he secretly enjoys it. He leans down and presses a lingering kiss on Yangyang's temple, his lips ardent against the sweat-soaked skin.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, dotingly.

Yangyang hums in response, his eyes closing briefly as his body completely relaxes beneath Renjun's. Their hearts still beat in sync, a steady rhythm that thrums between them, basking them both in the afterglow. He stretches and lets out a satisfied sigh before opening one eye to look up at Renjun.

“Ridiculous or not, I’m not moving until you do.”

Renjun chuckles, shifting a bit to fit more comfortably between Yangyang's thighs. His arms bracket Yangyang’s body, keeping him close, protective in the way he hangs on. “Guess we’re stuck here for a bit, then.”

Yangyang hums, his eyes shine with a playful glint. “Or,” he says, jokingly, “you could carry me to bed.”

Renjun raises an eyebrow, his lips quirking with amusement.

“Yangyang,” he says slowly, tinged with dry humor, “do you realize how illogical that sounds? Walking while knotted guarantees a trip to the ER.”

Yangyang snickers, undeterred by Renjun's reasoning. “We can make it work,” he says, tapping his finger against Renjun's shoulder. “You’re strong—”

Renjun cuts him off with a pointed stare.

“Strong doesn’t defy physics,” he deadpans. “I’d rather not explain to a doctor how we got stuck and broke something in the process.”

Yangyang laughs, the sound light and carefree, vibrating against Renjun's chest.

“Okay, okay, fine,” he concedes, fingers trailing down the back of Renjun’s neck. “I suppose we’ll just wait it out.”

Renjun sighs, his fond exasperation transforming into a small, crooked smile as he leans down and presses his forehead against Yangyang's. The heat between them lingers, a sensation conveyed by the way their breaths mingle.

“My knot’s already starting to go down, so it’s not like we’ll be here forever.” He says, lips ghosting over Yangyang's temple in another compassionate kiss.

Yangyang tilts his head marginally and looks up at him with that familiar lackadaisical grin. “Forever wouldn’t be so bad.”

Renjun gives a pleasant laugh, his golden eyes softening as he looks down at Yangyang. “You’re impossible,” he says, shaking his head.

Yangyang hums, tipping his head back against the table, completely at ease under Renjun's weight. His fingers drift down, tracing the arc of Renjun’s spine.

“You like it,” he says simply, his smile widening.

Renjun doesn’t bother to deny it. Instead, he leans in again and kisses the corner of Yangyang's lips. He lets the energy settle between them gradually, perfectly content to remain where they are until their bodies allow them to move again.

When Renjun finally feels his knot slip free, the wet sound of their separation seems almost vulgar in the tranquil kitchen. He inhales sharply, his hands supporting Yangyang's trembling thighs. He watches as his cum spills over the edge of the table, smearing Yangyang's thighs and pooling beneath him, but neither of them seems to mind.

Renjun takes a step back, his gaze moving over Yangyang. He is sprawled on the table, his legs limp and spread out, his chest rising and falling with empty breaths. His cheeks flushed red, lips parted, and wide glassy eyes tracked Renjun as if he were the only thing keeping him stable.

“Look at you,” Renjun says, low and almost reverent, as he brushes his hand over Yangyang's leg. “You’re a mess.”

Yangyang's ears flatten and his breathing shortens as he props himself up on his elbows. He gives Renjun a feeble glare, but the affection in his eyes betrays him.

“Whose fault do you think this is?” he responds, the tremor in his statement dulling the bite of the words.

Renjun’s golden eyes shine with amusement. “You’re not complaining.”

Yangyang scoffs and moves his thighs as if to test his own strength. But it only takes a moment before he slumps back against the table, groaning in frustration.

“Of course, I’m not complaining,” he says, his tone lessening. “But we both know it’s not enough.”

Renjun dips his head, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips as he moves closer.

“Not enough?” He echoes, leaning over the table, caging Yangyang in with his presence. His hands press against the wood beside Yangyang's hips, trapping him in place as their gazes meet. “The last two times weren’t enough for you?”

Yangyang's ears flatten, and his expression is one of flustered defiance.

Renjun huffs a quiet laugh and leans in, their faces scarcely an inch apart.

“You greedy little thing. Do you think you can handle more?” He let his teeth graze Yangyang's jaw, nipping lightly enough to make Yangyang gasp.

Yangyang takes an uneven breath, curling his fingers into the table beneath him. “You are the one who promised to take care of me,” he says, his voice breaking as his hips shift against the mess between them. “So do it.”

Renjun arches his brow, effortlessly picking up Yangyang and carrying him back to the bedroom.

“You are insatiable,” he murmurs, but there is no anger in his words.

Renjun unceremoniously drops Yangyang onto the mattress, eliciting a startled yelp. He hardly waits for Yangyang to settle before moving, one hand pinning his hip and the other braced beside his head. His golden eyes gleam as he leans in, his lips brushing against Yangyang's neck.

“If you think I am going easy on you,” he purrs, a velvet whisper against Yangyang's pulse, making him shiver. “You are very wrong.”

“Good,” Yangyang pants out, vibrating with excitement. “I don’t want easy.”

Renjun's pupils dilate, and the last of his composure slips away. Each small movement—the subtle flick of his ears, the fierce lash of his tail, the tight clench of his jaw—is a sign of his willpower stretched too thin. Yangyang's scent evolves, rich and delectable, like a trap for Renjun's instincts, overpowering and irresistible.

“Renjun.”

Yangyang speaks his name quietly but surely, carrying weight and longing with it. It sinks into Renjun's bones like a summons, demanding an answer.

And Yangyang knows it.

Yangyang leans his head to the side, the curve of his throat catching the dim radiance, his horns casting long shadows against the wall. He appears smaller, ethereal—vulnerable. The challenge in his eyes, however, is daring.

Renjun's wolf instincts stir beneath his skin, drawn to the subtle defiance in Yangyang's gaze. Renjun's mouth twitches—not quite a smirk, but close. He grinds forward, his movements slow and measured, each thrust deliberate and controlled. The mood between them thickens and hums with charged silence.

Renjun hears it—the frantic beating of Yangyang’s heart beneath his ribs. He cages him against the pillows, his fingers digging into the graceful arch of Yangyang's hips, possessive and absolute.

He leans down, his breath hot against Yangyang's throat, his nose skimming over the frantic pulse that beats beneath sweat-soaked skin. His instincts tear at him, urging him to bite, mark, and claim. His fangs yearn with a craving to make it permanent. Make Yangyang his.

But Renjun doesn’t.

Instead, he lets his lips brush against Yangyang's pulse—a whisper of a touch, featherlight but searing, enough to send a shudder down his spine.

“You’re mine.”

The word isn’t a request. It isn’t a plea. It is a declaration—absolute, unshakeable, and final.

Yangyang sucks in a breath, his body reacting before his mind can catch up. His tail flicks beneath him, his thighs shifting restlessly. He’s waiting. Wanting.

Still, he refuses to give in so easily.

“Bit dramatic, don’t you think?” He mutters, his voice thin and airy, frayed around the edges.

Renjun growls—a low, rolling sound within his chest that reverberates through Yangyang and sinks into his bones like a command.

Renjun then begins to move.

His hands grasp Yangyang's hips firmly and unyieldingly. In one fluid, effortless motion, he flips Yangyang onto his stomach.

Yangyang barely has time to process the change before Renjun's hands are back on him, positioning him precisely where he wants him—hips high, chest pressed against the bed, completely at his mercy. He spreads him open, his grip possessive, watching as slick and cum drip onto the sheets.

Renjun's restraint cracks just looking at it. Another growl rumbles in his chest. “Mine.”

The word escapes his lips unbidden, raw and unadulterated, a declaration suspended in the charged space between them. Renjun can’t see Yangyang's face, but he doesn’t need to—he can feel Yangyang’s thighs instinctively part wider, his body tensing, and heat rolling off him in waves. A bright, zesty aroma with sweet, sun-kissed freshness fills the room, dense and inviting, hinting at a depth beyond lust, an animalistic pull.

Renjun’s breathing halts as his instincts flare, the response undeniable and impossible to ignore. It tugs at an ancient part of him, a buried, primal force that can’t be escaped.

He moves before he realizes it, dragging his teeth across Yangyang's flushed neck, skimming the fine line between pleasure and pain. Renjun's spine tingles with the sharp, winded gasp that comes next. His lips press against the damp skin, and his tongue darts out to taste and soothe.

Yangyang shudders beneath him as he bites—not hard enough to claim, but enough to leave a mark. The way his body reacts, the way his neck cranes ever so, baring more of his throat, makes Renjun’s pulse hammer. His hands tighten around Yangyang's hips, fingers flexing, hungry to leave an imprint and make it known.

He shifts behind him, pressing forward and rolling his hips until his cock rubs against the cleft of Yangyang's ass, teasing and drawing out the tension between them. His thumbs dig into Yangyang's skin, kneading slow circles and stabilizing them both as his self-control dwindles.

Yangyang trembles underneath him, his body open, slick, and aching. Renjun doesn’t have to see to know—he can feel Yangyang clenching around nothing, desperate and craving.

“Please… I need it.”

The words come out shattered, no more than a breath, but they course through Renjun like wildfire. His cock pulses, the intensity rushing from head to toe, and the irresistible desire to take, fill, and claim burns within his veins.

Renjun fights against his primal instincts to avoid getting carried away.

His chest presses flat against Yangyang's bare back, his skin hot beneath him, and their bodies mold together as if they were designed for this. The scent of their pheromones blending together, potent and intoxicating, surrounds him, flooding his senses and making it nearly impossible to think.

Still, he takes a moment to thread their fingers together and support himself in Yangyang's palm. His lips brush against Yangyang's nape, pressing there for a brief moment as he aligns himself, the head of his cock nudging against the slick, welcoming heat. He notices Yangyang tensing, muscles fluttering beneath him, his body instinctively pulling him in, eager to take him deeper.

Despite the urge to slam forward from every nerve in his body, Renjun pauses and forces himself be careful.

He then sinks in with a single, long motion.

Yangyang’s body yields to him perfectly—tight, searing, captivating.

The stretch is hot and relentless, pulling Renjun in inch by inch until he is completely seated, his cock buried to the base. His breath shudders out of him, and his eyes close as he forces himself to stay still, giving Yangyang time to adjust, despite his instincts to move. The walls around him are suffocating, addictive, and squeezing him so tightly that he feels like he will unravel right there.

“You are taking me so well,” Renjun says, his voice rough and wrecked. His fingers tighten around Yangyang's hips, the blunt nails digging in just enough to leave marks. He drags his teeth along Yangyang's neck, feeling the way he shivers beneath him and tightens around him in response. It’s almost too much.

He swallows hard, fighting the compulsion gnawing at his chest. His cock aches from need as his body fights the feral urge to take him further, to fully claim him, to mark him in the most intimate way. To ensure everyone knows Yangyang is his.

Yangyang trembles beneath him and looks over his shoulder. His breath comes in quick bursts, and his lips are glossy with spit. “Renjun—move. Please, I can’t…”

The wrecked and pleading words send fire through Renjun's veins. He groans, pulling back just enough to thrust his hips forward in a slow, teasing motion. Testing. Prolonging the tension.

Yangyang whines—high and impatient. Renjun's blood runs hot at the sound.

Renjun's nose brushes against Yangyang’s scent glands, and he inhales deeply. The scent is incredible, a powerful combination of sweat and pure Yangyang. It wraps around Renjun’s senses, drowning him, urging him on.

Instead, Renjun pulls away almost completely, his hips lifting as he presses a fleeting kiss against Yangyang's shoulder, the taste of sweat and skin greeting his lips.

Then, without warning, he slams back inside.

A broken moan tears from Yangyang’s throat, his fingers scrambling for purchase on the sheets, trying to prep himself against the relentless pace Renjun sets. His body quakes beneath Renjun, overwhelmed by the sensation, overstimulated, but Renjun knows better—Yangyang wants more. He can feel the desperation radiating from him, imploring him to go further and faster.

“You take me so well, baby,” Renjun pants, hot against on Yangyang's back.

Each thrust is brutal, unyielding, but Renjun can’t stop. He’s lost in the way Yangyang’s body yields to him, the way he writhes beneath him with every thrust, moaning into the pillow as his pleasure spirals higher and higher.

The slick sound of their bodies fills the room—skin slapping, gasping moans—with each thrust crashing into Renjun like a wave, dragging him further underwater. His focus narrows, and everything else fades into the background as he becomes consumed by the pleasure that is building inside him.

“Shh, just a little longer…,” Renjun whispers against Yangyang's ear, a soothing croon intended to reassure him, but his body betrays the urgency in his motion.

When Renjun moves, angling his hips to drive harder, Yangyang clenches his fists in the sheets and gasps. His lips open as though to speak, but all that emerges is a whimper as his head turns to the side.

The way Yangyang gives himself over to him, lost in pleasure, makes Renjun feel just as desperate and undone. Yangyang’s raspy, broken sounds, rough and unrestrained, push him closer to the brink.

Renjun does not give him a chance to recover. Instead, he angles his face toward Yangyang and curls his fingers beneath his chin before sliding a hand up Yangyang’s chest and dragging his fingertips over his flushed, sweat-damp skin.

“Look at me,” Renjun breathes.

Yangyang narrowly lifts his heavy-lidded eyes, his cheek brushing against Renjun's, but it is enough.

Renjun captures his lips, swallowing his moan and kissing him slowly and passionately, contrasting with the relentless pace of his hips. The angle is awkward and messy, but neither of them minds. Yangyang leans in toward him, lips plush and pliant, returning the kiss with a hunger that makes Renjun's chest pulsate.

Yangyang whimpers into his mouth, his body trembling beneath him, tightening, clenching—and Renjun knows neither of them will last much longer.

His rhythm stutters as his knot swells, catching on Yangyang's rim with each push forward. The stretch borders on too much, the large knot pulling free only to press back in, forcing Yangyang’s body to take him all the way.

Renjun breaks away from their kiss, his lips trailing down Yangyang’s jaw, moving downward to map every inch of skin, exploring the column of his throat with reverence.

Then he reaches it—the soft, vulnerable dip above Yangyang’s pulse point.

Renjun stalls there, his breath fanning against the sweaty skin, his lips parting instinctively. He nips at the spot hard enough to make Yangyang shudder, then uses his tongue to soothe the mark. His mouth moves without thinking, his body urging him—

claim, claim, claim

.

The temptation hits him like a freight train, engulfing every nerve and igniting an uncontrollable fire deep within his chest. His instincts scream at him to sink his teeth in, to leave a mark deeper than a simple bruise, to bind them together in a bond greater than heat, desire, and fleeting pleasure.

Renjun's jaw clenches, his fingers tightening around Yangyang's hips, and he resists the pull, fighting his body's demands.

No

. He won’t. He can’t.

Even as his Alpha howls in protest, clawing at the inside of his ribs, itching to claim, to take, to make Yangyang his, Renjun forces himself to pull back. His breathing comes in ragged gasps, his pulse is a deafening roar in his ears, and his entire body is strung so tightly that every muscle aches.

Yangyang shifts beneath him, fragile whimpers escaping his lips, completely unaware of the battle raging inside Renjun's chest. His head leans to the side, offering more of his throat in a gesture of silent trust that is both inviting and alluring.

Renjun’s will nearly shatters.

He screws his eyes shut, gritting his teeth, and presses his forehead to Yangyang’s shoulder, inhaling deeply, soaking up the addictive fragrance of him. It wraps around him like a snare, burrowing into his lungs and coursing through his veins until it is all he knows.

It would be so easy.

But he won’t.

Because this—

this

—isn’t something he can take. It needs to be given.

And Yangyang isn’t his to claim.

Instead, he meets Yangyang's gaze, his voice low, rough, and steady. “You’re mine,” he sighs, knowing it’s not the same—not yet—but hoping, maybe, someday, Yangyang will say it back.

His groans rise higher, soft moans escaping despite his best efforts as his knot grows larger, dangerously close to the point of no return. Renjun bites his tongue, attempting to maintain composure, but it slips away.

“Please… please, Renjun, breed me,” Yangyang cries into the pillows, the sound cracking, pleading and raw. “Make me yours—only yours.”

Renjun feels butterflies in his stomach, his whole body burning with need, urging him on. The thought of knotting, of breeding Yangyang, causes another surge of longing in his core. His thrusts become more arduous, tightening his grasp as he pounds into Yangyang's soaked, pliant body, causing Yangyang to sob through yet another orgasm.

Then, finally—finally—Renjun shoves his knot all the way inside, locking them together. He keeps himself in place, feeling the rush as he comes hard, an intense, shuddering groan emerging from his throat. His body rocks as his orgasm crashes over him in waves, causing him to lose his breath.

Yangyang whimpers and squirms as the knot stretches him beyond his limits, pumping him so hard and tying them together.

“…Thank you,” He murmurs sleepily into his pillow, satiated and blissful.

Renjun struggles to respond, lost in the afterglow as he collapses forward and presses Yangyang flat against the mattress. Their mingled pheromones—Yangyang's residual heat, the abundant salty musk of sex—fill the space around them, warm and intoxicating.

Exhaustion pulls at him, but Renjun's lips twist up into a possessive, completely satisfied grin.

Mine

.

Wrecked. Completely and utterly ruined.

Nothing can ever compare to this. Sex with anyone else? Not even worth considering. Renjun has destroyed him—mind, body, and soul—and Yangyang is pretty sure he has an unwritten obligation to claim him now, because what is the point of being with anyone else after this?

It’s unfair, really. But Yangyang has never turned down a good opportunity—especially in the form of quick wit, wicked hands, and a body designed to ruin him.

If this is the price of greed, that is fine. He’ll pay it in full.

The room is tranquil, and the bedside lamp casts a muted golden glow on their tangled limbs. Renjun lies on his back, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths, his amber eyes half-lidded as he looks up at the ceiling. Yangyang is spread out over him, practically melting into his skin, sated and pliable.

“You’re heavy,” Renjun mutters, but there’s no real bite to it. His fingers drag down Yangyang's spine, tracing idly over the small dip where his tail begins.

Yangyang just hums, unbothered. He snuggles in closer, pressing into the warmth beneath him. “Well, you’re comfy,” he groans against Renjun's chest. “Stop complaining. You’re the one who wore me out.”

Renjun snorts, pausing for a half-second before continuing his lazy, absentminded strokes. “Wore you out?” he repeats, arching his brow. “Pretty sure it was the other way around. “You were all over the place, whining like the world was about to end.”

Yangyang raises his head just enough to glare, but it is half-hearted at best, marred by the smile tugging on his lips.

“Whining?” He scoffs, his ears fluttering as he props himself up with one elbow. “I wasn’t whining, I was—”

“—desperate?” Renjun interrupts, beaming.

Yangyang's skin prickles with embarassment. His ears quiver, betraying him, but he stares even harder.

“I wasn’t desperate,” he grumbles, dramatically dropping his head back onto Renjun’s chest. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Renjun chuckles indulgently as his fingers weave through Yangyang's hair. He presses a kiss to the top of Yangyang’s head, waiting just a beat longer than necessary before finally pulling away.

“Maybe,” he admits, “but you weren’t particularly subtle about wanting me.”

The silence that takes place is soft and comfortable. Only the rustle of sheets and their steady breathing fill the space between them. Yangyang shuffles in bed, resting his chin against Renjun's chest and looking up at him.

“You kept up pretty well, though,” he muses, his tone teasing.

Renjun raises an eyebrow and curls his lips into a smug expression. “Kept up?” he repeats, feigning offense. “You make it seem like it was a challenge.”

Yangyang beams, eyes glinting. “Wasn’t it?”

Renjun clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “You’re lucky I like you,” he says, reaching down to pinch Yangyang's side.

Yangyang yelps and squirms with a hoarse laugh. “Admit it, you’re not as tough as you think. Bet you’re feeling it now, huh?”

Renjun's eyes narrow, but the upward curve of his lips betrays him. Then he shifts their bodies in quick, fluid motion until Yangyang is pinned beneath him, wrists pressed into the mattress. His golden eyes shine with determination.

“I am just getting started,” he says. He leans down and brushes his lips against Yangyang's in a brief kiss before pulling away.

Yangyang's pulse quickens, his cheeks rosy, but he still manages a scoff. “You’re such a liar.”

Renjun chuckles, dropping his head to nuzzle Yangyang's neck. “Maybe,” he murmurs, voice muffled against his skin, “but I’ve got plenty left to keep up with you.”

Yangyang hums and loops his arms around Renjun's shoulders. “Good,” he says affectionately. “Because I’m not finished with you yet.”

Renjun pauses for a moment, pressing a final kiss on Yangyang's jaw before exhaling. He pulls back reluctantly, brushing his fingers through Yangyang's tangled platinum curls.

“Stay put,” he says gingerly, smoothing Yangyang's hair. “I’ll be back.”

Yangyang huffs, making a half-hearted grab for Renjun, but his fingers brush against the empty space as Renjun slips out of bed. The loss of warmth is immediate, and the brisk air bites at his skin, prickling where sweat remains. He watches Renjun pad toward the bathroom with half-lidded eyes, tail swishing lazily behind him.

Yangyang hears the distant sound of water running and considers getting up—following after him, slipping into the shower, pressing against Renjun's solid back beneath the spray.

But he doesn’t.

The heat has subsided significantly. The worst of it, at least. His body is still humming from the aftershocks, but it feels different—satiated rather than burning. He moves, stretching across the bed, the sheets cool against his skin. His breathing calms down, and his heart stops racing.

This is typically where things fall apart.

Now that the haze is fading, now that the necessity has settled, what happens next?

Renjun isn’t like the others, and Yangyang knows it. He is not the type to flee the moment the heat breaks, to pretend nothing happened, and to leave him waking up alone. He was too careful, too meticulous. From the beginning, Renjun had handled him with a gentleness no one else had. Even when Yangyang had been at his most desperate, begging Renjun for relief, he’d never felt used—never felt like just an Omega in heat.

Still, doubt creeps in.

Maybe this was a mistake.

He shakes the thought away before it can sink in. It’s over now. There’s nothing to do but move forward. Yangyang rolls onto his back and picks up his phone. He doesn’t even register what is on the screen, just scrolls aimlessly, attempting to ignore the voices gnawing at the edges of his mind.

Minutes go by. The water shuts off. The muffled rustle of a towel, the subdued sounds of Renjun moving—Yangyang listens, ears turning toward the familiar rhythm. He does not look up, but he notices every movement and subtle shift in the room as Renjun walks out. The damp press of footsteps against the floor. The pause at the threshold.

Finally, Yangyang gives a glance over.

Renjun stands in the doorway, a towel slung low around his waist, his two-toned hair still damp and curling slightly where it clings to his cheeks. His wolf ears flick back, tracking Yangyang's breathing rhythm, and his golden eyes sweep over him.

Yangyang notices Renjun's hesitation, the way his tail sways before stilling, as if he is overthinking the situation. Like maybe he doesn’t know what comes next either.

The tension coils, unacknowledged, hanging precariously between them.

Yangyang is the one who breaks it first.

“You done staring?” He asks, not taking his gaze away from his phone, his lips curling with amusement.

Renjun smiles, moving further into the room. “Shut up.”

Yangyang snorts, finally putting his phone aside and stretching out, the sheets pooling around his hips. “What, tired already? Thought wolves had stamina.”

Renjun rolls his eyes and reaches for the shirt draped over the nearby chair. “You should talk. You could barely keep up at the end.”

Yangyang huffs, but there is no bite behind it. His expression fades narrowly as he looks down, fingers toying with the edge of the sheet. A pause. A shift in the atmosphere between them.

When he speaks again, his voice softens. “You feeling okay, though?”

Renjun stands still, the fabric of his shirt bunched in his hands, halfway over his head. “…Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Yangyang shrugs and rests his head against the pillow. “I dunno. You looked…uptight earlier. Wanted to check in.”

Renjun lets out a feeble laugh that is anything but amusement. He pulls his shirt down properly, smoothing his hand over the hem as it settles. “I’m fine. What about you?”

Yangyang hesitates, just for a second.

“I’m good,” he says, reaching for his phone again.

Too quick. Too practiced.

Renjun doesn’t buy it. Yangyang knows it the moment he feels Renjun's gaze hesitating—perceptive, searching, and effortlessly peeling apart the lie. But he doesn’t press, doesn’t call him out. Instead, he simply sighs and moves slightly as Yangyang pats the bed beside him.

A peaceful invitation.

Renjun sits with his towel still damp against his skin, the space between them heavy. Yangyang watches him from the corner of his eye, noting the small furrow of his brow and the way his shoulders are set as if he is waiting for rejection. Bracing for it.

It’s stupid, the way Yangyang’s chest aches at that.

Before he can think too hard about it, he slides closer and presses against Renjun's back. He casually but deliberately drapes an arm over Renjun's lap. A small, unassuming thing.

An offering of sorts.

Renjun doesn’t move, but he doesn’t pull away either. His golden eyes drop to where Yangyang's arm rests against him, and neither of them says anything for a brief moment. The silence fluctuates—not uncomfortable, but laden with unspoken words neither of them are ready to express aloud.

Renjun finally breaks the silence. “Were you really just going to handle it by yourself?”

Yangyang’s fingers stall where they rest in his lap, his normally easy-going expression falters. But then, just as quickly, the mask is back in place—simple and teasing, as if none of this matters.

“I’ve done it on my own before,” he says, as if nothing happened. “It’s not a big deal.”

Renjun’s jaw tightens. His ears twitch up, and his tail curls against the sheets. He turns just enough to meet Yangyang's gaze, his voice hushed but unwavering.

“You could’ve told me.” Renjun's tone is steady—not accusatory or angry, but laid bare and unwavering.

It makes Yangyang’s throat feel tight. He swallows, winding his fingers into the sheets. He doesn’t know how to respond.

Because what if Renjun only feels this way because of the pheromones and heat? What if, now that it’s over, everything changes?

The thought floats in his mind, unwelcome, itching at the back.

But Renjun isn’t like the others.

Yangyang huffs a short laugh, but it lacks genuine humor. He shrugs, his eyes darting away, because looking at Renjun makes this harder—makes it feel more real in a way he is not sure he is prepared for. “Didn’t think you’d want to help. Or that you could, honestly.”

The words come out too carefree and easy, as if if he keeps them insubstantial, they won’t hurt as much. But the truth is heavy in his chest.

He never wanted just anyone for the final heat. He wanted Renjun.

A pause stretches between them, not quite apprehensive, but teeming with unspoken words. Yangyang doesn’t dare to look at Renjun, but he can feel him watching—golden eyes keen, assessing, peeling apart his words as if they contain some hidden meaning.

Renjun doesn’t answer right away, and when Yangyang finally glances at him, he’s met with an unreadable expression in his eyes. Not anger, not even annoyance—just a calm intensity that makes Yangyang’s fingers twist into the sheet around his waist.

“You didn’t even ask Hendery to help, did you?” The question lands gingerly, but its weight is complicated. There are no accusations or judgments—only knowing.

When Yangyang finally responds, the sound is too small, as if he’s embarrassed. “No.”

Renjun releases the breath he was holding and cocks his head in confusion. His ears twitch, his tail flicks once before remaining still. “Why?”

Yangyang's first instinct is to deflect, to say something casual and dismissive. However, the truth is already pressing against the edges of his resolve, demanding to be acknowledged.

His fingers close around the sheet in his lap. His voice is quieter now, and he despises how unsteady it sounds.

“Because it wouldn’t have mattered.”

Renjun stills. His ears tilt forward, catching the shift in Yangyang’s posture. “What do you mean?”

Yangyang exhales slowly, as if releasing a burden he’s carried for too long. The tightness in his chest eases slightly—not completely, but enough to let him move.

He sits up, the sheet slipping off his chest, and turns to meet Renjun's gaze.

This time, there’s no teasing in his expression, no playful deflection—just a quiet vulnerability, a side of himself he rarely shows others.

And suddenly, it’s terrifying—the intensity of Renjun’s gaze. How focused, how careful. As if he senses Yangyang is exposing a part of himself he’s not ready to reveal. But if there’s ever a time for honesty, it might be now.

Maybe it

has

to be now.

“Because it wouldn’t have been you.”

The words leave Yangyang's lips before he can question them, hanging between them, heavier than he expected. He watches as they crash over Renjun—the way his golden eyes widen, lips parting just enough for the moment to stretch long, unsteady.

Yangyang doesn’t tell a joke or twist it to make it easier to swallow.

Instead, he lets the gravity of it settle between them, offering a small, crooked smile as color rises to his neck. His cheeks blush from the sheer vulnerability of what he has just admitted.

“Thanks, by the way,” he says, keeping his tone easy-going but sincere. His throat feels tight, but he doesn’t move. “For… you know, helping me.”

Renjun blinks, as if still catching up, but his expression softens. A sense of calm settles within him, like a puzzle piece falling into place.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Renjun says, low and steady.

Yangyang pauses before delicately brushing his fingers against Renjun's, just to see if he will pull away. He doesn’t.

“I’m glad it was you.” Yangyang’s hand lingers this time, allowing his touch to settle sincerely and intentionally.

Renjun’s tail stills. An unreadable but intense expression dances across his face, sparking in the gold of his eyes in ways Yangyang has never seen.

Then, steadily, carefully, Renjun moves. His hand shifts, covering Yangyang's with fondness and assurance.

For a moment, neither of them speaks.

Then—

“Yangyang…” Renjun says his name as if it were a fragile item, important, and personal to him.

Yangyang's heart skips a beat as he gulps. He cocks his head, grinning slightly, as if he is not suddenly hyperaware of their proximity or how the energy between them feels charged and waiting.

Then Renjun moves.

The kiss is not rushed or demanding—it is drawn-out and intentional, the kind that sinks into his skin and refuses to fade. Yangyang melts into it instantly, his fingers curling around Renjun's waist, clutching, pulling, and losing himself in the cool, earthy aroma of fresh resin and dewy woodland.

Renjun tastes familiar, like a delicious meal Yangyang had no idea he was missing until now. His touch is secure, but he holds Yangyang with reverence, as if he’s trying to capture the moment and make it last.

Yangyang's lips are curved into a smile by the time they separate, but his eyes reveal his true intentions. He leans in again, close enough that his breath hits Renjun's ear.

“You realize you are my Alpha now, right?” Yangyang says the words are ethereal and teasing, but the meaning behind them is genuine. “You’re gonna have to claim me for real next season.”

Renjun's golden eyes darken, revealing a deep and unsaid emotion. His fingertips twitch against Yangyang's skin, and the muscles in his jaw tense.

“Oh, am I now?” His tone is velvety smooth, but a dangerous lilt underneath it is tightly contained.

Yangyang shrugs, his grin growing wider.

“Yeah. You are.” His tail flicks lethargically behind him before curling up against the small of his back—a tell that Renjun doesn’t miss. “I’m all yours.”

A primal intensity flashes across Renjun's face, his wolf instincts surfacing. Yangyang barely registers it before Renjun's fingers slide up the back of his neck, brushing against the fine hairs and causing him to shiver.

“You sure about that?” Renjun murmurs, lips teasingly brushing over his. “You don’t sound too convinced.”

Yangyang lets out a silent laugh, craning his neck just enough so their noses brush. The mood between them is charged with an energy neither can describe but both can feel. His voice dips, husky and laid back all at once, and his next words come out easily, naturally, and just

right

.

“It’s all you…

Alpha

.”

The growl from Renjun's chest sends shivers down Yangyang's spine, an instinctual part of his nature snapping into action. His grasp tightens, desire pooling in the pit of his stomach as Renjun moves, and their mouths meet once more—stronger this time, captivating.

Yangyang sighs, allows himself to be kissed, and completely surrenders.

Because this is exactly what he wanted. Not just any Alpha.

Renjun

.

And for once, he isn’t afraid to say it.