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“Emergency!” Jeongguk yells. “Emergency at the front gate!”The weave of his bag, heavy and stretched at the seams, catches around the wooden post of a mule-bound cart. He hisses. With a tug, it yanks free, but only at the sacrifice of herbs pouring out. Under his breath, Jeongguk whines.“Emergency at the front gate! Let me pass!” he calls again.Through the fog of his breath, Jeongguk watches lanterns flicker. The village streets are packed with people and carriages alike, and the village is louder than ever. With the moon at its highest point in the sky, the commotion of the Winter festival is at its peak. Despite his efforts, the possibility of a path opening is minimal at best.“Let me through!” Jeongguk’s chest is beginning to ache. “Healer Jeon is seeking his patient!”But the crowd is more dense than droplets in a sea, and though Jeongguk’s father is a man of reputation, there simply isn’t the room for festival-goers to shift.High over their heads, Jeongguk hears the call of horns at the front gate. They’re meant to deafen the music of even the most popular celebrations, but they don’t create the spacing Jeongguk needs. He darts through the villagers as quickly as he can manage, narrowly avoiding toppling pups in his efforts, but at the rate he moves, Jeongguk won’t arrive to meet the sick patient at the front gate in time.Then, when the crowd begins to part, Jeongguk’s fears come true. Where Jeongguk’s pleas went ignored, the people of the main street begin to part with vigor.It’s a movement of people so quick and so desperate that it reminds Jeongguk of invasion. Jeongguk is just old enough to remember the war of the Park clan—but where he expects rocks to catapult over the front gate, destroying homes and businesses in their path, the crowd parts to men.Just three of them, evidently—the beta aides of Jeongguk’s father, and the man lying on the stretcher between them.Jeongguk sucks in a breath.“Taehyung! Hoseok!”They’re some of the strongest hands in the village, but under the weight of the stretcher’s occupant, they begin to buckle.He sprints across the open road, nearly falling over the pavers. As he approaches, Taehyung grits his teeth.“We’re fine,” Taehyung calls. “Jeongguk, go get your father.”It’s obvious that they aren’t. Jeongguk eyes the stretcher behind him; despite Taehyung’s strength, it threatens to flip. More notable is the pained hiss that comes from it—and the thick ropes wrapped around it to keep its occupant confined within.Jeongguk approaches with his hand in his bag, prepared.“Don’t,” Taehyung bites.Jeongguk’s feet stutter, and stop. He sucks in a breath. Taehyung isn’t angry, he can tell, but his scent is bitter. And from the back of the stretcher—“Get back,” Hoseok warns, eyes wide. “Jeongguk, don’t touch him.”Jeongguk’s eyes drift down. He gasps.“Are you awake?” he asks.It’s no use; the man on the cot wears a thick gag of rope between his teeth, and his eyes barely hang onto consciousness. He’s dark; in the coloring of his matted hair and glazed eyes, but also in the wounds that litter his body. Cuts, scrapes, and bruises stretch all the way down. One of his forearms is blackened with burns, and a gash in his abdomen is so bloodied Jeongguk can’t tell whether the object protruding from it is foreign or bone.The growl he threatens them with is explanatory; he has gone feral, either from desperation, or the trauma that blooms his stomach with red that seeps through his robes from thigh to chest.Jeongguk flinches—the injured man struggles against his binds desperately, even with his wounds.The betas exchange worried stares and return to their hurried pace. The stretcher creaks. At the sound of a yowl, Jeongguk follows.“Jeongguk,” Hoseok snaps, warning.Jeongguk steps up to the side of the stretcher. He digs inside his bag.“He’s injured, you idiots,” Jeongguk snaps. “Not sick.”The looks the betas exchange are desperate, but Jeongguk refuses to acknowledge them.It’s difficult to dig the salve from his bag and keep up with the stretcher, but he manages. As he twists the cap from its canister, the smokey smell of river flowers fills the air.“Not under his tongue,” Taehyung warns. He heaves an exhausted breath. “Not anything anywhere near his mouth.”Jeongguk starts with the deep slice across his neck, knowing the worst of the damage will need intervention well before pain management.“That’s too close,” Hoseok yells.Taehyung spits out a curse. “Healer Jeon is going to kill us.”“So will this patient,” Hoseok retorts. “I’ll take Healer Jeon.”Jeongguk’s home is in sight, on the edge of the horizon and rapidly approaching. He leans as reasonably as he can manage while they move.“You’ll be okay,” he promises.He sweeps salve over the cut down the man’s swollen eye, the cuts across his forehead, and smooths a thick layer over the bruising on his chest.“Don’t overdose him,” Taehyung cautions.“Don’t be a fool,” Jeongguk spits. To the injured man, he murmurs: “This is an opiate.”It earns him a low yowl. The struggling renews in earnest. But Jeongguk shushes him, spreading more salve down the cuts in his chest. He must have a hundred cuts, each slice deep yet thin as parchment. From some kind of whip, Jeongguk wonders, or a wire?“You must be really strong,” Jeongguk marvels. The man’s skin hangs on his frame, desperately dehydrated, and Jeongguk can see every etched muscle beneath. “You’ll pull through.”“Not if you don’t open the door,” Hoseok calls out, warning.Before Jeongguk can depart, the wooden door pulls open with a creak. On the other side, Jeongguk recognizes his father’s black robes.“He got caught in the traps,” Taehyung rushes, desperate. “He needs surgery.”“He’s out of it,” Hoseok adds. “So out of it that Jeongguk thought it was safe to approach.”The excuses are thick on their tongues. Jeongguk enters the hut with a huff, hot on their heels. Of course they’d ensure he received blame; while Jeongguk technically has seniority over them, he’s inherently less disposable than the aides as the Healer’s son.“He’s bound,” Jeongguk’s father reminds. “Bring him inside. Jeongguk will be alright.”Already inside, Jeongguk turns to stick out his tongue.The main room is the largest and hottest of Jeongguk’s home, with fires perpetually running even into summer. The heat combats the fever, or so Jeongguk’s father claims—it means that Jeongguk begins to sweat in his winter robes. He discards his outer layer quickly and, at his father’s side, submerges his hands in the basin for cleaning.He scrubs his hands. “I can do it,” Jeongguk insists. “I’m ready.”“You are,” Jeongguk’s father agrees. “But not this time.”By the time he rises, his hands are red. Jeongguk stares after him. “Why not?”“You’ll see soon enough.” He nods to the chain hooks before himself, gesturing. “Dress.”With the help of his father, Jeongguk carefully steps inside the healing robes. They’re tight-fitting, with coverage from Jeongguk’s chin to his ankles. His father ties his hair into a tight knot, pinning with ruthless precision, before returning to the basin. He dips his hands in again.“Prep the site.”Jeongguk swallows. As nervous as he is, he doesn’t dare let fear overrun his chances. He steps up to the cot. At either side of the man’s head, the betas look over the body with fear.“Out,” Jeongguk instructs quietly. “Wash up.”Hoseok shakes his head, but Taehyung stalls. His almond eyes are directed over Jeongguk’s shoulder, waiting for approval.From the fireplace, Jeongguk’s father looks on. “He will be fine.”They disperse. By the time Jeongguk takes shears into his palm, he can hear the sounds of washing. A log is thrown onto the fire.Jeongguk carefully cuts the man’s shirt from his frame.He’s large, Jeongguk notices. Not as tall as either of the betas, but close, and he’s broad. Cutting his shirt away from the largest wound in his belly is no easy feat—his arms stretch to accommodate. To make matters worse, the wound is deeper than he’d anticipated, centered on the man’s hip rather than his lower stomach. It’s a strong factor in the consideration of survivability, but an angle that proposes an obstacle Jeongguk isn’t prepared for.It’s difficult. Between the restraining and the jolting of the man’s body, the job is a tricky one. Jeongguk would kill to have a little sedative on hand, but even their mead is on ration for the festival. The man had truly been gravely injured at the worst of times.Jeongguk’s father comes to slide a stool beneath his feet. Jeongguk nods in thanks.He makes careful work of the man’s clothing, setting strips aside into the freshly woven basket Taehyung brings to the table. By the time he begins to clean the outer ring of blood from the wound, sweat beads at his temples. Hoseok wipes it away with a cloth. In lieu of discarding it, he passes the cloth obediently into the waiting hand of Jeongguk’s father.“Healer?” Hoseok asks.There’s something calculating in the eyes of Jeongguk’s father.Jeongguk prepares the site diligently, until the clotted blood covering the protrusion in his gut can only be dealt with a surgical hand, and switches with the place of his father. His father, slow to move, passes back the cloth.“Put this on your neck, Jeongguk.”Jeongguk knows better than to hesitate at an unusual task during a surgery. Onto the back of his neck the cloth goes. Perhaps his sweat threatened the cleanliness of the site. It wouldn’t be the first time.“Should I prep his neck next?” Jeongguk ensures.Jeongguk’s father grunts his assent. Jeongguk begins to assess the sight. His salve has encouraged more clotting than he expected—upon closer inspection, it requires little more than a wipe and separation from a tatter of the man’s shirt. Jeongguk is separating the cloth from the cut when he looks at the man’s eyes.He almost hesitates.“Jeongguk,” his father warns.Jeongguk refocuses. His fingers are steady, but his heart quivers. He almost wouldn’t have noticed it—the man’s face is practically shrouded in injuries, and one eye is nearly swollen shut. Both of them are dazed.They’re trained on Jeongguk’s face. Having noticed them, he can’t ignore their weight.He has no way of knowing if the man is staring at him with the awareness of consciousness, not in light of his injuries, but he assumes the man watches his movements.Standing over the gash in the man’s stomach, Jeongguk’s father holds a scalpel.“You’ll be alright,” Jeongguk promises again, words quiet.The man says nothing. His eyes twitch, slowly, in an imitation of a blink.“Hold,” Jeongguk’s father instructs. “I’ll remove this now. The bleeding is too severe.”His aids step forward, but Jeongguk’s elbow and palm are already spread over the man’s shoulders. They hesitate, taking his restrained arms and legs into their grip.“Entering,” Jeongguk’s father announces, and then he begins to separate the foreign body from its cavern.There aren’t enough emotions to describe what paralyzes Jeongguk’s heart. Fear, worry, even excitement—but he watches with even eyes while the man leaps from the cot. The strength of it shocks him, and then the ferocity; the man pulls his lips back into a feral snarl, and the howl that comes out of him shakes Jeongguk to his core.“Spear,” his father comments, tone even. “Looks like it’s serrated.”Jeongguk’s eyes twitch. He isn’t meant to react; he’s meant to be informed. What he’d seen had been so small—only a mere handle.Its removal will undoubtedly haunt Jeongguk, let alone the man who lies bound through it all. He thrashes, but between the binds and the aids, Jeongguk is the only weak link available—and he refuses to be the operation's failure factor.“I need him still,” Jeongguk’s father cautions.Jeongguk leans all his weight onto the man.“Please,” he begs quietly, but the patient’s eyes are glazed. His will is a strong one—Jeongguk has operated more successfully on horses.At some point, Jeongguk’s father pauses.“He has to be still,” he says. “I’m between the bones.”Jeongguk sucks in a breath. “I can’t,” he admits.Jeongguk’s father looks at him. On the precipice of the man’s ligaments, with the compress soaked in blood, he contemplates.“Take that rag from around your neck,” he enunciates, “and spread it over his face. Like the dead.”“But he isn’t—”“Jeongguk.”Jeongguk swallows his shame. He hasn’t questioned his father in years. As he lays the cloth over the man’s mouth and nose, though, his hands shake.“He isn’t dead,” Jeongguk insists.In perfect denial, the man’s body slumps on the cot. Panic seizes Jeongguk’s chest. He presses fingers to the column of the man’s neck, searching—“He’s isn’t,” Jeongguk’s father agrees.He cuts decisively down the bone.The work passes in silence. Jeongguk counts the patient’s pulse, memorizes the number, and recounts. His father hums.“Missed the pelvic bone.” His tone is pleasant. The foreign body is dropped carefully into the basket, inches above its bottom, to avoid back splash. “Closing.”Taehyung abandons post at the patient’s arms just long enough to guide a needle into the hand of Jeongguk’s father, who nods toward Jeongguk.“Stitch his neck.”Jeongguk folds the bottom edge of the cloth up just high enough to place careful sutures in a fine line across the man’s neck. Together, they sew the patient up with sutures quite literally made of a piece of himself—they’re made of Jeongguk’s hair, carefully cut and twisted together.He stares at the stranger’s face. Obscured by the towel, all he can see is the faint shifts of the fabric under the man’s faint breathing.Jeongguk squints. He places his fingers on the patient’s neck again.“Is he out?”Sure enough, the pulse is there. Faint, but present. “Yes.”“We appear to be stable,” Jeongguk’s father shares. Hoseok and Taehyung share grins across the cot, but Jeongguk’s frown deepens.“Take another look,” Jeongguk’s father encourages, “and we’ll bandage the arm.”“He has minor burns across the upper left calf,” Taehyung recites. “Bruising on the ribs; could be broken.”“—He isn’t breathing,” Jeongguk interjects. Panic is pungent on his tongue.Jeongguk’s father is by his side in an instant. His elbow brushes Jeongguk’s shoulder.“Out,” he invites, gently.Jeongguk steps back to the fireplace. He washes his hands in the basin, and acknowledging that the water in both bowls is stagnant, he carries through the process of cleaning and replacing them at the single well set in the stone at the corner of the room.“Prep,” he hears his father say.But as Jeongguk steps back to his place at the cot, Taehyung has taken Jeongguk’s role. The stranger breathes shallowly, but steadily.From the foot of the cot, Jeongguk watches the beta carefully remove the rest of the man’s upper robes. He works decisively, only letting up when the fabric catches.The material has been glued to the man’s ribs by dried blood and, evidently, a makeshift patch of torn fabric that has been shoved into the cavern beneath. The wound is wet, hot, and stinking between his ribs—but Jeongguk’s eyes linger on the scar that runs over the man’s chest. Its tissue gleams under the lantern light, raised and etched. As the operation on the newly-discovered wound begins without him, Jeongguk traces the curve of the scar curiously.Its overall picture is slow to catch on, but intuition flickers at the back of his mind.The brand is an ugly, festering streak across his pectoral. It isn’t particularly artistic, nor is it well cared-for like the intentional brands popular among Jeongguk’s village in lieu of the traditional tattoos. But among the scarred streaks, a name emerges.“He’s a Min,” Jeongguk realizes aloud. “Right?”The operation carries on in tense silence. He looks between them; they have all, clearly, known.Taehyung waits to speak until his father has removed the majority of the makeshift wound packing.“We found him in the marsh.”“He’s a—an alpha?”“They’re all alphas,” Taehyung reminds.Jeongguk stares at him. He doesn’t know what he expected an alpha to look like, or a Min clansman for that matter, but he never expected to bring a bloodied one back to his father’s home on a cot.“How will he stay here?” Jeongguk breathes.“He won’t.”Jeongguk’s father has the kind of quiet, authoritative voice that commands others. Jeongguk has been on the receiving end a thousand times, but it never grows easier.“He will recover here,” his father shares, “and when he is ready to leave, he will move on.”“If he’s here, hasn’t he been exiled?” Jeongguk wonders. “Where will he go?”“Wherever he likes.”Jeongguk knows that tone. He doesn’t dare argue.“How long will it take?” he wonders.“A moon, at least. Perhaps more.”He stares at the alpha’s wound with careful consideration—the type that warns Jeongguk his patient might die in the night, or in the days afterward, despite the surgical effort.Jeongguk steps closer.“He’s so dehydrated,” he worries. “What do we do?”“There’s nothing we can do,” his father reveals. “Offer water when he has consciousness, manage pain, and mitigate water loss.”“He’ll have fever,” Jeongguk realizes.His father’s nod is severe.“I have honey,” he offers, but even he knows it won’t be enough. “And coriander.”“Not in the blood,” Jeongguk’s father reminds, calm.Jeongguk knows what he needs. He’ll be in a world of trouble for it, but—“March worm mushrooms.” He nods toward his bag. “I found them on the river.”His father’s eyes are sharp. “Molded?”Taehyung already moves for the bag.“Covered,” Jeongguk agrees. Carefully, painstakingly, Taehyung removes the cloth sack from his bag. The blooms inside are nearly furred, covered in white and black splotches. “I can scrape them.”“Where on the river?” his father demands.“On the Eastern side,” Jeongguk breathes. “On deadheads. They aren’t nightcaps. They’re real march worms, I swear.”He deliberates. Less than a moment after his decision is reached, his needle is set aside. He takes Jeongguk’s bag into his hands.“Stitch your patient,” he instructs. “I’ll collect the mold.”Jeongguk holds back a whoop. He shoots a victorious look across the table to both aides and accepts a needle. As he runs it through the flame of a nearby candle, his father’s cautioning voice speaks up again.“I forbade you from crossing to the Eastern side,” he reminds.Jeongguk bites the inside of his cheek. “Yes, father.” The medical cabin is quiet.More accurately, the table in the medical cabin’s front room is quiet. Hoseok and Taehyung sit at opposite ends—while typically naturally affectionate, a long day draws out the rare crankiness in them both. Jeongguk supposes what they’ve had could be considered a long day: both the rush of patient transport, and the eventual recovery phase.There was the emergency operation in between, too, lasting more than a quarter of a day.They have every right to be drained—Hoseok’s eyes drift shut in a slow, repetitive cycle punctuated with wide-eyed jolts awake. Taehyung doesn’t fair much better; even the austere set of his features has softened.Their eyes are red. Their discarded hospital robes are covered in blood, and they’re one medical emergency away from a breakdown.Jeongguk closes his eyes just for a moment. When he opens them, his father approaches from the hallway.“Taehyung,” he calls.The beta moves wordlessly. Jeongguk raises a hand in offering, but he isn’t surprised when Jeongguk’s father shakes his head.He takes a seat at the table, stiff and sighing.“You have lessons in the morning,” he reminds.Jeongguk grimaces. His father might be known for his gentle disposition, but his expectations are ruthless. The sky is steadily dark, well into the night, and Jeongguk will be expected at his lessons by sunrise.“Yes, Father.”His father looks at him. Even after years of being accustomed to such an unpredictable schedule, his eyes are weary. Jeongguk has never seen his skill so thoroughly put to the test. Not in his entire life.His mouth flickers. “That Min—”A knock raps away at the door. Jeongguk’s head whips around to it. Then three more, in succession. Hoseok startles awake.“It’s Leader Park,” he blurts, startled.Jeongguk raises from his seat. He guides the teapot to its stone rest over the hearth, and then he answers the door.Pack Leader Park stands at the door with a soft grin and crinkled eyes. He must have smelled Jeongguk’s scent on the other side of the door, because he reserves this affectionate expression for his son and Jeongguk exclusively.“On the Moon’s shadow, you’re up late,” he chuckles.Jeongguk’s smile pulls at the tired muscles of his eyes. “Good evening, Leader Park. Please come in.”The leader’s smile lasts until he crosses the threshold, at which point his brow bone and his mouth level out.“Healer Jeon,” he greets.Jeongguk’s father nods. “My fire is yours,” he invites.Jeongguk busies himself with the teapot. He finds the freshest leaves from their wares, crinkling enough for several servings—Leader Park, he knows, prefers his tea strong.“Leader Park, are you hungry?” Jeongguk asks. “I made cakes with lyra blooms.”“That sounds delicious. May I try one tomorrow? I’m still full from dinner.”“Of course. I’ll make sure my father doesn’t eat them all,” Jeongguk teases.He listens to the men at the table share a laugh while he brings down an additional cup from the lowest shelf. He places it before Leader Park, and then he busies himself with the brewing tea.Quiet conversation starts up. Jeongguk keeps his back turned and his distance from the crackle of flames.Leader Park is a straightforward man. “I hear you’ve taken a fugitive.”“He seeks asylum,” Jeongguk hears his father explain.“Does he have documents?”“The condition in which he arrived is proof itself of his need.”“Describe it to me.”Jeongguk’s father inhales. “Fractured ribs,” he starts. “Perhaps broken; I can’t be sure. They punctured the lung. We closed that, and sutured a large wound on the hip. I don’t know if those sutures will hold without grafting, but with the lung as it was, we had to conserve time. There are countless surface wounds; you can see them for yourself. The recovery will take a moon, Leader Park, at least.”Jeongguk pours honey out into the smallest carafe.“Is he a Min?”“He’s branded.”“Have you certified it?”Jeongguk flushes. There’s only one thing aside from the brand that Jeongguk’s father would need to certify. “Yes,” his father confirms. “He’s an alpha.”“And unmated,” Leader Park assumes.Jeongguk’s father is quiet. The silence in the cabin carries on for a long moment until, gradually, Leader Park begins to laugh.“I might have to be wary of my title,” he chuckles.Jeongguk, who had wandered over with tea in offering, has to hide his grimace. Leader Park is their ‘alpha’ in job only, a stand-in for the missing dynamic in their village. Having seen the real thing in the flesh, Jeongguk has to acknowledge that their village leader doesn’t seem nearly as formidable.“You are our alpha,” Jeongguk’s father offers. “With strategy and kindness superior to strength.”“We’ve taken in two alphas in the asylum process,” Leader Park acknowledges. “Though this one would present many more challenges, and not just because he is neither mated nor old.”Jeongguk’s hand shakes on the pot as it hovers over his father’s cup.“You don’t need to accept a Min,” his father reassures.“I won’t be.”Tea dribbles down the side of the cup. Jeongguk hisses, pulling back. His father’s eyes widen.“I apologize,” Jeongguk mutters formally. He sops up the spilt liquid with the same pad he’d used to steady the pot by its handle.“Jeongguk, are you alright?”Jeongguk looks up into Leader Park’s eyes. “Yes,” he tries. But he sees doubt directed back at him, so he adds: “Forgive me. The operation was very tiring.”Something flashes in the man’s eyes. “You participated?”Jeongguk’s father stiffens, but before he can cut in, Jeongguk nods.“It was a very difficult evening,” he shares. He swallows, He might be putting his foot in his mouth, but he adds: “We weren’t able to put him under, and pain management was very difficult.”“Did he try to hurt you?”Jeongguk knows his father wants to speak up, but the Pack Leader looks into Jeongguk’s eyes. Jeongguk knows better than to defer a question from their leader.“No,” Jeongguk says, simply. “He probably would have been in too much pain to try.”The smile given to him is tight-lipped, but it reaches the Pack Leader’s eyes. Jeongguk knows it means what he said must have been naive, albeit endearing. Then his shoulders swell with a breath. Whatever decision he had deliberated, Jeongguk swayed his choice.He turns to Jeongguk’s father.“How long and under what capacity the alpha stays will be at your discretion,” he decides.Jeongguk’s father must have anticipated his words. That, or he refuses to show surprise at them.“It is your word,” he acknowledges, in tradition.“And it is your choice,” the Pack Leader jokes.He finishes his tea quickly, quietly, and with an appreciative nod in Jeongguk’s direction. With a knock to the table’s surface, he stands.“I trust your judgement, Healer,” he reminds. Though his intention to leave is obvious, he turns to Jeongguk. His smile returns, crinkling in the way that means he has a request in mind. “Jeongguk, may I place an order tomorrow? And steal one of those sweets?”Jeongguk grins. “Drop by for the midday meal and I’ll have an extra serving of lunch ready, too.”From the threshold, Leader Park’s face lights up. “Oh, I’ve been spoiled. Healer Jeon, you take good care of your pup.”Jeongguk’s father nods with a smile around his eyes. It’s brotherly, and affectionate. When Leader Park leaves, it falls into exhaustion. Tiredness takes over the room yet again.Jeongguk, though, couldn’t sleep if he tried.“What will you do?” he asks his father.He receives a shake of the head in response. The alpha sleeps for three nights.It means exhaustion for the aides, who are primarily responsible for the orderly duties. Some of those, Jeongguk could take on as an apprentice without being undermined, such as bandages. Others, like washing, he only offers for those patients of his own dynamic. It would be inappropriate otherwise, and his reputation as a Healer’s apprentice would diminish.Accordingly, Jeongguk doesn’t touch the alpha’s room for the first two days. There wouldn’t be much to do, and despite the burning curiosity the alpha left inside him, Jeongguk is busy. He tends to the pups’ woes when his father and the aides are unavailable, and in the early mornings and late evenings, he forages for the last of the molded blooms he finds deep behind Leader Park’s grove.But after two long days, when Jeongguk returns to the shared room of the aides late at night, to drop off his communal share of the forest's gifts, he smells it.Jeongguk doesn’t know how to describe it exactly, but once he gets his nose on it, he wonders. It doesn’t smell good, exactly—but he can’t stop inhaling it. He takes long, curious breaths through his nose.It comes from the infirmary. There’s only one patient inside, Jeongguk knows.“What is that?” Jeongguk asks aloud.Taehyung looks up at him over the wash basin. He says nothing.“Is that the Min?” Jeongguk asks.He sniffs the air. Maybe it is good, he thinks. It’s certainly interesting, and it definitely doesn’t smell bad. Where Jeongguk’s cakes smell notably good, it’s because they’re familiar—he even feels that way about the herbal teas, though Jeongguk would hate to smell of those.He wouldn’t hate to smell of what he scents on the air. It’s a bit pungent, he decides, but it draws his nose. It makes his vision tunnel in, and it’s a little spicy. There’s a tang to it that makes his mouth water—“Jeongguk,” Taehyung butts in.Jeongguk blinks. He turns. “What?”Taehyung stares at him, long and hard. He looks Jeongguk up and down, lingering at the waistband of Jeongguk’s robes.The beta sniffs. “What are you doing?”“Wondering what that smell is,” Jeongguk answers plainly, honestly.“He isn’t in rut,” Taehyung says.Jeongguk doesn’t even begin to know why he would say that. “I didn’t think he was.”After all, Jeongguk doesn’t know what a ‘rut’ could be.“Then why are you trying to smell him?”Jeongguk isn’t sure why it’s a problem. “He smells different.”Taehyung’s face shifts. He must be satisfied with Jeongguk’s answer.“They have pheromones,” he answers. “Like you.”Like omegas, he means. Jeongguk’s eyebrows pinch. “Why can I smell them, then? He’s injured.”“It doesn’t work like that,” Taehyung explains. “They don’t hide when they’re injured. They mark territory. It scares the rest off. That’s why it smells so rancid.”Jeongguk turns his eyes to the infirmary door. “It doesn’t smell rancid to me.”Taehyung’s eyes hold caution.“He’s dangerous,” the beta warns.“I know.”Jeongguk isn’t stupid. The Mins are more than just a clan of nomadic alphas. They’re a clan of mate-thrashing, torturous wolves who deem authority by strength rather than strategy. They take enslaved rather than lovers.They tried to trample the Park clan in an invasion that cost them nearly a hundred lives—and Jeongguk’s mother.It only serves to make Jeongguk curious. He lies awake in bed at night, watching the last embers of fire cast lights on the ceiling of his quarters, until they blend with only whisps of sunlight in between the ceiling’s panes.He has made up his mind: so long as the alpha isn’t a horrible traitor or a fighter, Jeongguk will make the man his patient. His father will surely agree—and then, having taken on the Min’s cause, Jeongguk will kill two birds with one stone. He’ll be appointed to Healer, gaining status within the village, and have saved the interesting Min alpha all in one act.Resolved, Jeongguk approaches the infirmary that morning. His father is out for the morning already, tending to the elders before the morning meal—but the aides are still asleep in their beds. Jeongguk can hear Hoseok’s quiet snores. From the cracks of the adjacent room, he smells that heady scent again.Jeongguk peeks into the room.The smell meets his nose, along with the smell of blood and bandages in need of changing. That isn’t what catches Jeongguk’s eye. It’s the alpha, lying face-up in his cot with the sheet to his waist. The rise and fall of his chest is even.Evidently, he isn’t sleeping—and as Jeongguk steps over the threshold, the alpha’s eyes slide over.Jeongguk can’t find the courage to look away. He lingers, eyes flickering. The largest scratch down the alpha’s eye is fully scabbed, he notes.The alpha blinks at him, unflinching.“They’re going to do skin grafting on that wound on your hip,” Jeongguk shares.He doesn’t know why he speaks. The alpha can hear him, surely, but he can’t respond. Not with the thick band of rope between his lips.The gag looks uncomfortable. The ropes around his wrists don’t seem very enjoyable, either. Jeongguk’s father had clearly done his best to make the precaution manageable, but despite the gauze lining the rope and padding the outer rims of the alpha’s mouth, his lips are dry and cracked. His jaw is perpetually stretched. Jeongguk can only imagine how it must ache, one pain of a hundred others.Jeongguk steps toward the far side of the room. He pulls back the thick covering over the window, inviting in the winter air.“The sutures aren’t holding well enough,” Jeongguk adds. “There wasn’t enough salvageable tissue. It’ll mean another surgery.”He reaches into his pack, searching.“You’ll be put under this time. We had enough time to forage for better pain management, too.” He pulls out a tin and begins to unscrew it, humming. “Then you’ll just be resting.”He peeks over the tin’s edge. The alpha’s eyes are even, and steady, though his nose is aimed toward the ceiling. When Jeongguk moves, his eyes follow.“I’m going to change your bandages,” Jeongguk warns softly.He starts at the alpha’s feet and works his way up.Every inch of him is worn. His feet, which had been impaled by rocks and foreign nettles even Jeongguk’s father did not recognize, have bandages so soiled they flop limp and heavy over Jeongguk’s fingers. It isn’t from laziness on the part of their care; Hoseok had changed them at least twice overnight. Jeongguk knows because he’d heard the creak of the door to the aides’ quarters. For all that effort, the alpha’s legs look like everything in the marsh had been a blade. There are bruises on his knees, too, which are the darkest and bloodiest Jeongguk has ever seen. And that’s nothing of the surgical sites, or even his face.The swelling on his eye has, at least, begun to pass. Jeongguk leans in, inspecting the scratch over the other one carefully.The alpha’s good eye blinks slowly at him. Jeongguk watches it.“You don’t seem like a killer,” he decides. “Or a mate-thrasher.”No change in response. Maybe he’s on the best of their pain management already, Jeongguk decides. He rambles on, searching idly through baskets.“You’re the first Min I’ve seen since the invasion,” he reveals. “Alphas aren’t typically allowed in the village anymore, in case you didn’t know. There are only two of them. They’re mated, but they’re getting on in age. Even our pack leader is only an alpha in name. So you’re kind of the first one of those I’ve seen, too.”He scrutinizes the man. “You’re more beat-up than I expected.”An exhale comes in response. Jeongguk’s head jerks up. The alpha’s face hasn’t changed—Jeongguk doesn’t expect much, considering the gag and copious injuries—but there had been no mistaking the sound.“Did you laugh?”No response. Jeongguk probably ought to expect as much, by that point. He sits on the edge of the mattress, debating.“Should I call you Min?”The alpha looks at Jeongguk for a long while. He looks away. It’s the clearest possible denial he could give in his condition.Jeongguk’s brows furrow. To himself, he wonders: “Then what’s your name?”He doesn’t wait for an answer. He spreads salve carefully over the most minor of the alpha’s cuts instead, mindful of the ones he’d debated placing sutures in.He really doesn’t smell as bad as the rumors would suggest of alphas. Not just of what Taehyung had suggested, either—but of what rumors linger about the Mins. In fact, what scent Jeongguk can pick up is pleasant. He’s relaxed; no longer projecting. Jeongguk finds there’s less sharpness to the scent than what he’d picked up before. It's somewhat smokey, maybe, and of course, tinged with blood. But beneath that, Jeongguk isolates the drawing factor—the little bit of spice. Like the candies Jeongguk can’t get enough of when his heat gets close.“I’ll come by more often,” he decides. “You’ll be my patient. My father, the healer, has been waiting for me to oversee a patient’s recovery from beginning to end for some time.”He leans in, close enough to smell more of it, just to dab salve over the cracked skin of the man’s lips. “I’m very meticulous. Get used to me; I’ll be waiting on you night and day.”Jeongguk trains his eyes to the nasty scrape on the alpha’s temple, but he finds difficulty not meeting the man’s eyes. How he can stare, so unashamedly, is unusual.He clears his throat. “Is it Baekho?” It’s a common name, belonging to two betas in the village, and to one who recently passed.The man begins to shake his head, but Jeongguk cups his cheeks.“Don’t,” he murmurs. His fingertips linger. “Just stay silent unless I guess it.”The eyes staring back at him are cold. Not the expression in them, but the color; flecks of grey stare back at him in the darker irises.“Euntak?” Jeongguk guesses quietly.Only a blank stare.“Seongmin?”Nothing.“Youngjae?”Nothing again. Jeongguk huffs, agitated.“This is going to take forever.” He leans in again, inspecting.Is the man even capable of looking at something that isn’t Jeongguk? Surely he is, but Jeongguk wonders.“You’re branded like a Min,” he acknowledges. “But you really don’t seem like a Min.”He reaches for the gag. He isn’t decided about removing it, per se, but he debates it. With his fingers at the knot, he stalls.It probably isn’t a good idea. If he were caught removing the alpha’s gag, the scolding Jeongguk would get from his father would be lengthy. Jeongguk’s father would frame the act as a direct sign of disrespect to the apprenticeship—which Jeongguk shouldn’t risk. Not at his age, nor at a state so precariously close to graduation. Jeongguk’s very appointment to Healer is on the line.But Jeongguk’s curiosity always seems to burn him until it’s assuaged. And he isn’t very likely to be caught. Moreover, the alpha’s arms are bound. How dangerous could his mouth alone be?Decisively, Jeongguk starts to pick at the knot.“I don’t think you need—oh.”The alpha grips Jeongguk’s hands tightly in his own. With his wrists bound so tightly, he can only take Jeongguk’s hands by the narrowest points of his wrists, but he uses what grip he has to pull Jeongguk off of the gag. In his hold, Jeongguk’s fingers flinch.The alpha’s eyes are wide, and a little wild.“Okay,” Jeongguk agrees easily. “I won’t, then.”Slowly, his hands are released. Jeongguk bites the inside of his cheek.“Are you feral?”He supposes the man might not answer even if he could.“I don’t think you are.”He might have when he’d been brought in, but he doesn’t thrash on the cot. He definitely doesn’t protest the gag, either.Carefully, Jeongguk considers him. He’s roughed up, but despite everything that ought to warn him, Jeongguk can’t find the man to be threatening.Jeongguk lifts a hand to pick carefully through the alpha’s hair.He shifts the strands that hang over his eyes first, and then he picks at the knots in the ends of the strands.His hair is dark and long, hanging in shaggy layers from his cheekbones to his collar. Much darker than the usual sandy blond colors of his village, and even darker than the peachy pink shade of Jeongguk’s hair. Jeongguk’s hair was a pain point through childhood, and as he presented, it became one of his most desirable traits. If Jeongguk’s hair was so desirable for its depth and color, he can only imagine what reactions the alpha’s hair might incur.Jeongguk, in his limited travels, hadn’t known such a shade of black existed. He moves carefully, mindful of the deepest scratches on his scalp, focusing instead on the lengths.“I can’t wash your hair yet,” he mourns, “but I will when these cuts heal a little more.”Eventually he runs out of knots to untangle. For a long while after, he runs his fingers through the strands. It isn’t necessary, but he can’t find a reason to stop, either. When the strands lay just right, he sweeps his palm over the top of the alpha’s head.When Jeongguk’s thumb sweeps over the alpha’s brow, the door creaks.“Jeongguk,” Taehyung interrupts.Jeongguk leaps out of his seat. He spins around, scowling.“You scared me!”He expects Taehyung to burst into laughter the way he always does, but the beta’s lips are pressed into a thin line.“Healer Jeon is back,” he warns.With his hand in the alpha’s hair again, Jeongguk lifts an eyebrow. “So?”But he’s bluffing, and he knows it. Jeongguk doesn’t know why he shouldn’t be doing what he does, but he knows guilt curls in his stomach. That, and something warmer.Taehyung just huffs at him, shaking his head. His eyes are closed, and his brows are pinched.“You’d better start the washing,” Taehyung warns.Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “It’s already hung.”He stands up regardless, adjusting his robes. He re-ties the belt at the waist, cinching it. Taehyung notices. He gives an unimpressed look.Jeongguk sticks his tongue out as he passes through the threshold.“I’m going to be appointed to Healer before you,” he taunts, “with that alpha as my patient.”He takes his leave without a single glance at either of them. “What’s his name?”Jeongguk purses his lips. He exhales, short and annoyed.“I don’t know.”A gasp. “He isn’t speaking to you?”“He isn’t awake yet,” Jeongguk lies.“Oh,” Jimin gasps, eyes wide. “That makes sense!”Jimin is gullible like that. Innocent, some of the betas in their village say. The same betas that stare after Jimin’s sunshine-yellow hair and profess his likeness to that of a chick in the springtime.He pulls on Jimin’s hair with a huff. Jeongguk has no reason to be cross, he knows. But he can’t dismiss the feeling.News of the exiled alpha has spread all over Park village. Jeongguk’s father has warded off all sorts of unnecessary knocking at the door of their home, and Jeongguk is suddenly even more popular in his lessons than he ought to be—with his omegean peers, especially.Jeongguk’s father specifically forbade him from spreading rumors—and where Jeongguk once might have made trouble, his lips are sealed against the most recent matter.Jimin’s braid falls out. “Is he really as… big? As they say alphas are?”Jeongguk bristles. “No.”Stiffly, he re-does Jimin’s plait. Jimin, he knows, is exclusively interested in the larger betas of their pack.But the Min alpha is big. Maybe not that tall. But he’s deliciously broad in the way that every unmated omega and even most of the betas would go crazy for—Jimin especially.Jeongguk is probably just bitter. He’d had pup’s love for Kim Namjoon for two seasons before he learned Jimin had already necked up with the beta. Jimin was innocent to Jeongguk’s interest in Namjoon too, apparently.He sniffs. Jeongguk has no reason to be jealous—he has just as many admirers as Jimin, and with Jimin’s status as the son of Pack Leader Park, that means something.“But is he handsome?” Jimin wonders.“Too soon to tell,” Jeongguk lies. “His eye’s swollen shut and he’s covered in wounds.”“I bet Healer Jeon’s going to have you monitor his healing,” Jimin rushes. “And then you’ll be appointed to healer, too!”Halfway down what will become the largest of Jimin’s braids, he exhales. “I don’t think so,” he confesses.“Why not?”Jeongguk gestures toward the yard around them. They’re on their midday break, and the omegas have congregated on the eastern side of the yard. While they’ve finished hanging their share of the laundry early, the others have yet to finish.“He wants me to finish my communal tasks early this season so that I can forage before the frost settles in fully,” he groans. “And the alpha needs surgery sooner, not later. He went under this morning.”It puts a horrible taste in his mouth. When his father had shared his intentions, Jeongguk had earned himself quite the lecture. He’d been told off for pouting the entire morning, even though his father admitted plans to remove the Min alpha’s binds when he woke from the second surgery. He’d lectured Jeongguk about the importance of protecting other dynamics from feral alphas, at least until explaining the rules of clan Park—Jeongguk just took it to mean that the alpha might be able to speak after the surgery, and Jeongguk likely wouldn’t be there to hear whatever he might say first.And that his perfect plan might not come to fruition.“At least it’s a safe surgery,” Jimin soothes. “You’ll be alright. And he’ll let you help with recovery, I’m sure of it.”Jeongguk, for reasons he can’t quite place, worries anyway.“I have to be on my best behavior,” he realizes.“Ah. So that’s why you’re worried.”Jeongguk tugs at his braid.“Ow!”He huffs.His impatience lasts through the entire afternoon. He alternates between glaring between their instructor and the back of Jimin’s head. He’s reprimanded on three separate occasions for fidgeting, and at one point, he is threatened outright with early dismissal. Their instructor must see the hopeful sparkle in Jeongguk’s eye at that, though, because she threatens to keep him longer next.Then, at last, they’re dismissed. Jeongguk leaps out of his seat.“He’s going to be appointed to healer!” he hears Jimin gossiping on his way out. Jeongguk doesn’t even have time to feel guilty for his pettiness at midday break.He stomps over the muddy path back home, shrugs halfway out of his boots before he’s even through the door, and darts for his robes.“Hoseok! Taehyung!”Hoseok pokes his head out from the kitchen. “Calm down! He’s barely been awake for more than an hour!”Jeongguk sprints down the hall. He jerks his lesson texts out of his pack. They land on the ground with a thump, but by the time the sound reaches his ears, Jeongguk’s hands smack against the infirmary door.He shoves it open.“Finally! What’s your—”His jaw falls slack.Jeongguk sees his father first, standing. He has a bend to his spine, and his arms are outstretched. A pitcher rests in his palms, steaming. The wooden bathing basin has been moved inside the room, and water sloshes inside as its occupant. That, and the Min alpha.Jeongguk stares, wide eyed, as the man stands up out of the water. Uninterrupted skin—or, rather, interrupted. By bruises, sutures, and scrapes, but not by clothing. He watches bare ribs first, and a toned stomach. Then the apex of hip bones—“Jeongguk!” his father reprimands.Jeongguk slaps his palm over his own eyes, wincing, and pulls the door shut with a slam. Jeongguk’s father taps a soup spoon against the table.It’s a rickety old thing, with a notch in the side. It must be at least nineteen years old—because it’s from a time before Jeongguk was born, when his mother was around to use it in the tea ceremony of their mating. Now it belongs to his father’s hand, and though it’s well loved, sometimes it taps on tables.Especially when Jeongguk’s father is particularly unimpressed.Jeongguk huffs.“He’s the perfect patient,” Jeongguk whines. “He’s got three different surgical sites, and at least twenty herbal applications—”“There are rules,” Jeongguk’s father cautions.Jeongguk sits very still, very suddenly, with rapt attention. “What?”“Rules,” his father emphasizes, “to be obeyed.”Jeongguk sucks in a breath. His father is going to let him do it—to take on a patient. The patient, the dark-haired one in recovery that makes his face warm—that will test Jeongguk’s medical skill, rather.“I’ll do it,” Jeongguk agrees.His father closes his eyes for a long moment. The tapping continues, uninterrupted.“You will not see him alone,” he starts.Jeongguk deflates. “I won’t?”“No.” The lines above his nose bridge are deep. “You will only cross the infirmary threshold with myself or an aide. Do you understand?”He looks at Jeongguk long and hard in such a way that Jeongguk knows there is only one acceptable answer, and that the consequences for disagreeing are greater than his so-called apprenticeship.He swallows his disappointment temporarily. “Yes, Father.”“You will not see him after dark,” his father adds. “Under any circumstances. Not without my explicit permission.”His face warms. He nods.“Jeongguk.”“Yes, Father.”“No bathing, as is normally expected.” His eyebrows lift, briefly. “And no bothering.”Then he narrows his eyes. “Do not touch the graft site. The surgical site on his hip.”Jeongguk’s chest seizes uncomfortably. He chokes out his response. His father huffs, amused.“There’s nothing wrong with curiosity.” His head sways from side to side. “And you need the experience. The medical experience.”It’s true; rarely does their village see genuine injury. Jeongguk has been waiting for years. He sobers.“I know,” he agrees.“Good.” He eyes the hallway, swallowing. “This is not the kind of patient who will be kindly invited to live among the pack after he recovers, Jeongguk. I think you know that.”It turns his mouth sour. He doesn’t manage an answer, and his father doesn’t push for one. He sighs deeply, until the lines in his face lengthen and his sleepless nights show.Jeongguk simply disagrees. He knows the alpha isn’t a Min—not in the sense that they know. Just in name. He doesn’t know how he knows. He just does. And when the rest of the village sees it, Jeongguk will get to… be appointed. To healer.“I am trusting you with a very important responsibility,” his father warns. “Do not break my trust for a pup’s love.”A pup’s love! “I don’t—”“Then there are no disagreements.” The spoon raps against the table. “Correct?”Jeongguk swallows. “Yes, Father.”His father leans back in his seat.“Go, then,” he allows. “Go brew an antibiotic with your bounty. Then examine your patient.”Jeongguk’s stool clatters to the ground as he jumps from it. With materials in tow, Jeongguk approaches the infirmary.Hoseok stands, waiting against the door with a non-judgemental grin and a basket of weaving materials on his arm.“Going in?”Jeongguk squares his shoulders. “Have you talked to him yet?”The beta shakes his head. “Only Healer Jeon has, I think.”“Alright.” Jeongguk shifts on his feet, patting down his robes. He has his pack, his tools— “I, um.”Hoseok chuckles. “Ready?”He nods. “Yes.”The beta pushes the door open in one continuous movement. From behind his shadow, a burst of sunlight pushes through—it’s blinding, but beyond that, Jeongguk’s eyes trace a broad silhouette.The Min alpha sits upright in his bed, awake.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Jeongguk steps over the threshold between the rooms carefully.Hoseok slips in behind him, or so Jeongguk imagines. He tries to listen for it—to take notice of the beta. Or anything else in the room, for that matter.He doesn’t, not for a long moment. He notices the washing basin, which has been broken down and sits in its usual place in the corner of the room. It must have served its purpose, because the alpha’s hair is dark and shining where it had once been dull and caked with dirt. It must have taken the aides several trips to find enough clean water to clear the debris, but the shine on the alpha’s hair strikes Jeongguk. It’s dark as the rest of him—his bruising, unfortunately, but also his eyes.Jeongguk slips into the seat at the alpha’s bedside.“I’m Jeon Jeongguk,” he introduces.Where eye contact isn’t Jeongguk’s strong suit, the alpha doesn’t share his struggle. His eyes flicker over Jeongguk’s face, neck, and down.Jeongguk waits, baited. The alpha gives no immediate signs of speaking, but he can’t find it in himself to begin his examination. He lingers, instead, on the alpha’s face. He can’t hold the man’s eyes, but he studies their shape: angled, and dark, like the blackwater blossoms Jeongguk seeks out in the latest evenings of Spring.He’s stone-faced, but he gives Jeongguk his attention.“Yoongi.”Jeongguk breaks into a grin.“Yoongi!” he chirps. “That’s your given name?”His voice is as deep and rich as the color of his hair. The alpha only nods, but Jeongguk is already eager to hear it again.“I’ll watch over your recovery from now on,” he shares. “Is that alright?”The alpha only watches him, unmoving, but Jeongguk does then move along. Yoongi has spoken to him at least once—and in the way of all patterns, the origin of habits lie in the initial event. He won’t give up hope.Jeongguk’s fingers inch toward his pockets, searching.“How are you feeling?” he wonders. “We’ve taken stock of all the injuries we could see. What went unnoticed? Anything we didn’t cover?”The alpha considers him, eyes flicking about. “Nothing.”Jeongguk stalls; he thinks he hears a hint of an accent. The end of the sentence was clipped—not in tone, but in length.“You’re sure?” he asks.“I’m better off than I was,” comes the grunt.Jeongguk scoots forward until his rear finds the seat’s edge. He leans into Yoongi’s space, studying. The alpha bristles, but Jeongguk refuses to acknowledge it.“You’re my patient now,” he reminds, quieter as he scans. “And I’m only an apprentice. I need your help.”He reaches out, with careful hands, to assess the cuts on the alpha’s scalp again.His hair slips through Jeongguk’s fingers in the way only freshly-washed hair can. The reminder of his recent bath has Jeongguk’s cheeks warming. He pulls back.“You’re sure there isn’t anything?” he asks again. “I’ll never be appointed to Healer if I miss something.”The alpha studies him. Under the weight of it, Jeongguk almost shrinks.“Lost a tooth,” Yoongi finally reveals. “Almost a moon ago. Don’t know if it should still be sore.”It’s definitely accented speech. Some of the vowels are lower, and longer. Others slip together. Jeongguk knows the Min pack shares a common language, but he didn’t imagine it would carry over into the common language shared among all the packs of the plains. Or that it could make common speech seem so rough, and so cadenced.Jeongguk tilts his head. “Which side? Top or bottom?”“Left. Lower.”When Jeongguk sniffs him out for infection, the alpha stiffens.“You don’t smell of fever,” Jeongguk assures.He pulls back. The alpha’s posture doesn’t seem to relax.“Do you have any cloves?” Jeongguk asks over his shoulder.Jeongguk’s question goes ignored—when he focuses his gaze, he finds Hoseok weaving away, unmoving and unaware. Jeongguk rolls his eyes and reaches into his pack. Before long, he pulls his own personal stash into his palm.“You’ll feel better in no time,” he promises, glancing upward. “Just wait.”He withdraws his tweezers from his pack and holds the two of them in hand. With a flick of his fingers through the adjacent medical cabinet, he finds the sanitary wraps. He guides one over each prong and squeezes the cloves into his grasp. With his other hand, he reaches for the alpha’s jaw.The Min alpha—Yoongi, Jeongguk reminds himself—has a broad jaw of bone, not swelling. The swelling from the tooth loss must have reached its peak and passed long before he’d come to Park village. Jeongguk presses across the surface carefully.“Open your mouth, please?”The alpha stalls, but before long, his mouth opens. Jeongguk peeks inside with a hum, and when he finds what he is looking for, he begins to pack cloves along the gumline. He focuses on the redder parts of the gum, humming, and then packs the cloves deep in the extraction site.As he pulls back, he watches the tension in Yoongi’s eyes fade to shock. He grins.“Feels better, right?”He pulls back to discard the pig skin coating the tweezers. Yoongi shifts his jaw and nods, albeit slowly.“Let’s take care of your cuts,” Jeongguk guides. “Then I’ll change your bandages.”Silence follows. He apparently isn’t much more talkative without the gag, so Jeongguk fills the silence.“You’re recovering so fast,” he marvels as he peeks at the general site of the surface wounds. “Once your surgical sites heal up, we can start physical therapy.”The alpha scowls. “Don’t know what that is.”Jeongguk reaches for his salve.“I’ll get you walking around the village,” he shares. “We’ll go together. It’s the in-between healing stage from the infirmary to the hunt.”“Doubt it,” comes the grunt.“Don’t worry,” Jeongguk soothes. He unscrews the cap. “You really will get better—and sooner, not later. You’re past the point where we’d be worried about your recovery.”Infection aside, at least—but Jeongguk has collected more than enough mold for the entire pack to share in seasons to come. Antibiotics are not a concern.But Yoongi doesn’t seem impressed, or even like he particularly disagrees. Instead, he says, “I leave in three days.”Jeongguk balks. “What? Why?”The expression Jeongguk finds on Yoongi’s face dares him to suggest anything different.“You can’t,” Jeongguk says. “Your sutures won’t even be removed.”Yoongi doesn’t seem to care. He looks away dismissively. With his face turned toward the window, his eyes come back to Jeongguk’s. He nods in the direction of the sunlight.“I know the rules of this place,” he says.Jeongguk deflates. He looks over his shoulder for help—and though the beta is at least aware of their conversation that time, Hoseok only shrugs at Jeongguk. His eyebrows are pinched.Jeongguk huffs.“There are rules against mate-thrashers and thieves,” he tries.The alpha doesn’t yield.“Are you… either one of those?”His lips pull back, offended. “No.”“Then it’s fine,” Jeongguk rushes, brows pinched. He digs deep into the largest compartment of his pack again. “Right? Hoseok?”The aide’s eyes are wide. “Whatever Healer Jeon says,” he hedges.Jeongguk frowns. “My father says we provide care to anyone regardless of origin.” But his nose twitches. “Unless they can’t abide by pack rules.”Yoongi is quiet. With salve applied to half of his smaller scratches, Jeongguk peers up.“Will you stay? If it’s offered?”He doesn’t answer. Jeongguk smooths salve over the scratches on his fingers with shaking, anxious fingers. He works his way up, carefully assessing which wounds to recover and which to allow to breathe.“Were you exiled?” he tries.He doesn’t look at the alpha—only his wounds—and finds himself surprised when the alpha hums an affirmative.“Why?”“Jeongguk,” Hoseok scolds, appalled.Jeongguk grumbles a half-hearted apology, rolling his eyes. The alpha huffs. When Jeongguk peeks up at him, Yoongi’s lips are curled at the corners.“Fed some pups.” He snorts. “The old fucks were mad I didn’t burn my kill instead.”With his fingers carefully guiding the edge of a soaked cloth upward, Jeongguk tries to put the pieces together. Burn it, he’d said. Jeongguk doesn’t know much about the Min pack, but he knows the rumors; religious zealots, sacrificing food to the moon before feeding their own, even in times of the most extreme famine.“Your pups don’t eat first?” he wonders.“No.”Jeongguk’s eyes widen. “Are you really a Min?”“I guess I’m not anymore.”“What will you call yourself?”“‘Yoongi’ works fine enough.”Jeongguk doesn’t push after that. He wraps all the wounds aside from the one needing the most supervision—the graft on his hip, which is below the alpha’s trousers and therefore firmly outside the bounds within which Jeongguk is allowed to operate. That will be left for his father. But the rest of it, even including the scratches littering the back of Yoongi’s neck, are within Jeongguk’s jurisdiction.The alpha doesn’t seem to mind Jeongguk’s prodding at his neck—at least, Jeongguk thinks. He snaps at Jeongguk’s fingers with his teeth, warning, but cedes. He doesn’t give in when Hoseok stands in warning, but when Jeongguk gives him a questioning look, he exhales and tilts his head. His Adam’s apple bobs, but he doesn’t say anything further. Not even when Jeongguk smooths salve over the deepest, bloodiest streaks.“You always look at people like that?” the alpha grunts.Jeongguk perks up. “Like what?”The alpha shakes his head. Jeongguk pulls back, searching, but the alpha offers nothing. When Jeongguk pushes, he turns his eyes to the wall.It’s disheartening, if Jeongguk is honest with himself. But he won’t show it.“Okay.” He nods to himself, satisfied with his progress. “I’ll be back in the morning—evening meal should be ready in a little while.”Hoseok hums appreciatively from the other end of the infirmary. “What are we having, Gukkie?”Jeongguk shrugs. “I’ll have to figure that out.”He stands from his seat. The alpha doesn’t say anything as he departs. Jeongguk tells himself it doesn’t hurt the deepest, most sensitive part of him—because there’s no point in indulging that feeling, not when Jeongguk knows he isn’t anywhere close to losing hope.The door closes quietly behind them. Before long, Hoseok closes in.“You need to tell your father what happened,” the beta says lowly.Jeongguk frowns. “What? Why?”“Min didn’t tell Healer Jeon what he told you,” Hoseok reveals. “Healer asked, but that alpha refused to say a word. That’s why your father told him he had to leave as soon as his treatment finished.”Jeongguk’s eyes widen.“His name isn’t Min anymore,” he corrects, but then he stops. “You mean he can stay if father knows?”“I doubt it,” Hoseok snickers. “I think it’s more likely his story is a false one, and that your father will be better able to discern the lie.”The whole thing makes Jeongguk feel apprehensive.“He isn’t lying,” he insists.“Respectfully, Jeongguk, Healer Jeon is the one who is best equipped to decide that.” Hoseok’s eyes are loving, but firm. “Tell your father and take the credit for your obedience. If you don’t, I’ll have to tell him. It’s for the good of the pack.”“Of course I’m going to tell him,” Jeongguk bites, defensive. “Why would I want to keep this from him?”The beta’s shoulders deflate.“Good,” he sighs, relieved. “I’m so sorry. I misunderstood your confusion. I’m tired from two procedures in less than a moon.”It is a lot—more than their tiny infirmary is used to. “It’s okay.”The beta nods. As they leave the infirmary hall and make their way into the main quarters, though, he grins.“Maybe that alpha told you his life’s story because he likes you,” he suggests, devious.Jeongguk slaps his hands over his face. “Stop!”The beta cackles. Jeongguk does tell his father the alpha’s story.He does so sooner rather than later—over the evening meal, when his father has had his first cup of tea. Jeongguk recounts the events carefully, pausing to add in all the details even if it means stumbling to maintain the exact order of his questions.“Well, that was very nosy of you,” his father decides.Jeongguk shrinks. “Yes, Father.”His father smiles into his tea. “It’s fine. I asked him the same questions myself.”“Hoseok said he didn’t tell you anything,” Jeongguk admits.“He didn’t. I can see why.”Jeongguk’s eyebrows pinch. “Do you not believe him?”“Oh, no, I believe him,” his father admits.“I don’t understand.”“The Min pack is a dangerous one, Jeongguk, but for their ideas. Not their hunting, nor their weapons.”“I thought they were mate-thrashers and dictators,” Jeongguk tries.“They are.” Jeongguk’s father very carefully guides a scalpel into the flames of their fireplace with a set of long, steel tongs. “They are also deeply isolationist people. They mate within the same lines, experience hunger more often than not, and die of preventable causes. If you were a part of that pack, you would be scared that the outside world offered even less.”“I know that.” Jeongguk holds out a basket; the sterlized scalpel is dropped inside, still warm. “But why tell me?”His father eyes him.“Omegas in the Min pack aren’t allowed outside their homes,” he says, very explicitly, “let alone to serve apprenticeships.”Jeongguk watches numbly as his father guides another tool into the flame. “Oh.”“So long as he receives treatment, he can stay here,” his father promises. “But I can’t force him to stay. Neither can you.”“He’ll want to,” Jeongguk decides.The confidence doesn’t quite reach his tone. His father hums knowingly.“It’s hard to adjust to new things, even if they’re better for us,” he acknowledges.Jeongguk stares down the hallway, toward the red infirmary door.“He can handle it. He’s strong,” Jeongguk says.Whatever look Jeongguk’s father gives him, Jeongguk misses it. Jeongguk quickly settles into a routine.He sees Yoongi twice daily; once mid-morning, and another time before the evening meal. All of his visits, per his father’s rules, are accompanied. Jeongguk knows it’s a safety measure in addition to a restriction meant to help Jeongguk behave—Jeongguk has no rational reason to believe Yoongi is completely safe, even if he has plenty of irrational justifications.Yoongi quickly learns who Jeongguk’s preferred aide is, and that his behavior adapts depending on who supervises him.Taehyung, who accompanies him in the mornings, frustrates Jeongguk to no end. He always worries over every little thing Jeongguk does, and he always listens. Jeongguk barely feels like he can get a non-medical word in with the beta around. He tries, regardless; he sits too close to the alpha’s bedside, and he wraps the man’s wounds as gently as he can. He even keeps his hair down, allowing the lengths of it to fall over his own shoulders to tickle the alpha’s palms. Sometimes Yoongi smells faintly of his scent by the time his examination is finished. Other times—“Your hair is down,” Taehyung calls out.Jeongguk scoots back with an annoyed huff. He discards a used bandage and begins to reach for his pack, but the beta steps up behind him.“Leave your hands out of it. No need to re-wash. I’ll do it.”There Jeongguk is forced to sit, being fussed over by an older beta while the Min alpha watches. Jeongguk tries to pretend the embarrassment doesn’t reach him, but he knows his face warms.To make matters worse, Yoongi watches the whole time. By the time Taehyung is finished, amusement colors the alpha’s eyes.“There.” Taehyung claps his palms on Jeongguk’s shoulders. “Twin tails.”Jeongguk gapes. “Taehyung! That’s for pups!”The beta snickers. “That’s what you get for forgetting.”Jeongguk hates when Taehyung supervises.Hoseok, by contrast, is so much better. He leaves Jeongguk alone—maybe not physically, but mentally, at least. He’s as checked-out as Jeongguk is during his lessons. He always brings weaving, and he rarely looks up. As the examinations go on, his interruptions decrease even more. Jeongguk knows it’s because he’s exhausted after the midday meal; he catches Hoseok sleeping in the spare chair more times than the alpha has sutures in his hip.Jeongguk takes advantage of his distraction.“Did you have a mate?” Jeongguk asks quietly one day, in the middle of changing a bandage. He peeks up at the alpha’s neck, naked of a bite. “An intended?”Yoongi’s brows raise. He looks down at Jeongguk from his relaxed posture against the back wall. His eyes are lidded.“No.”“No?” Jeongguk asks. “No one in the Min clan caught your eye?”A beat passes. “No.”Jeongguk nods. His breath comes faster, heart pounding—and the alpha speaks up again.“There is no such thing as an ‘intended’ there.”Jeongguk blinks. “How do they court?”Yoongi grimaces. Jeongguk stares up at him.“They don’t?” he guesses.“They don’t.”“What do they—”He stops. He turns his eyes back to the man’s bandages. His bruising is at its deepest shade, but will soon become muted and mottled.When Yoongi doesn’t respond, Jeongguk guesses the answer to his own question.“... Oh.”“It’s a chase.”Jeongguk perks up. “We have a chase,” he volunteers.Yoongi looks disturbed at that.“A mating run,” Jeongguk offers. “Where you exchange gifts during the season, and then after permission is agreed between the families, a course is set.”The alpha pauses. Slowly, he nods.“Very different chase,” he offers in return.Jeongguk returns his eyes to his work, nodding soberly.“What did you like about it?” he tries. “The Min clan.”The alpha is quiet for a long moment. Jeongguk waits on his answer anxiously—there has to be something positive to remember. It’s the essence of living in dire times.“The hot spring,” Yoongi eventually decides.Jeongguk gasps. “I love springs.”“You have them?”“I do!”His voice peaks, but when he glances anxiously over his shoulder, Hoseok hasn’t even looked in their direction. He either ignores their conversation, or doesn’t notice it.Jeongguk leans in, grinning.“There’s a spot high up on the Eastern ridge where pools run for miles, and the waters are clear enough to enjoy the shallow depths without worry.” His lips are tight with pride. “That’s where I find all my best spoils for the infirmary.”The alpha’s face grows amused. Jeongguk shrinks back, sheepish.“You’re a little worm runner, huh?”Jeongguk’s jaw drops. “A what?” The alpha shakes his head. “Min talk,” he offers. “I wondered where you found your herbs.”“All over the plains,” Jeongguk offers, proud. “There haven’t been many shortages in Park village during my lifetime, but that’s one of them I’ve solved single-handedly.”He’s humming along as he works, but a change in scent makes his nose twitch.Yoongi’s face has gone cold—his eyes are beyond Jeongguk, far out the window.“What do you do with your surplus?” he asks.Jeongguk just stares at him. “Give it to the nomads?”Whatever answer he had expected, Jeongguk’s wasn’t it. The alpha’s frown stalls.“Did you think we would waste our crop?” Jeongguk shakes his head. “We’ve struggled with water for moons. If we have the fruit of it, we put it to use.”The alpha’s brows pinch. “Water?”“Fresh water,” Jeongguk confirms. “Not salted, like the springs. We struggle for meat, sometimes, too.”There’s nothing wrong with sharing the clan’s struggles, he knows. His father is honest with them—even Leader Park is honest about them in negotiations with the other packs. Their struggles are never so deeply felt as to be concealed.Yoongi looks startled by Jeongguk offering the information so voluntarily.“Meat is the easiest resource,” Yoongi says, as if he can’t reconcile Jeongguk’s words.Jeongguk studies the alpha’s hand carefully, turning it in his own.“I bet it is,” he agrees, specifying, “for you.”Yoongi looks at Jeongguk in disbelief. “You’re telling me you’ve never been offered a buck?”“Buck?” Jeongguk shakes his head. “Someone left a rabbit for me, once.”It seems to be quite a ridiculous idea, judging by the alpha’s face. Jeongguk swallows. He glances over his shoulder. He turns back.“Maybe you’ll stay,” he invites.Yoongi’s eyes shift over Jeongguk’s shoulder, mirroring. “And bring you a buck?”“Would you?”The alpha is quiet. Jeongguk risks his apprenticeship in its entirety with what he suggests next. His ears burn, and his lips stutter over the words.“I’d show you the springs.”The implication rolls deep in his gut, but knowing he’d dared to say it right under Hoseok’s nose makes the heat dive lower.Yoongi’s gaze is even hotter. There is only one type of oversight worse than Taehyung’s—that of Jeongguk’s father.He sits in on Jeongguk’s examination at the worst possible time; a morning session, when Jeongguk had just gotten bold with the alpha the day before. While he should be relieved Taehyung isn’t present to embarrass him, Jeongguk steps into the room feeling stiff and bloated as a deadhead in the river.Healer Jeon takes the seat at the alpha’s bedside. Jeongguk, with his usual spot stolen, lingers awkwardly in the background.“Alright,” his father begins. “Like we discussed yesterday evening, we’ll start by removing some of those smaller stitches today. Once that’s out of the way, we’ll move on to the exam.”He claps his palms against his knees. Yoongi, without a word, nods his assent.The process is quick and menial, with Jeongguk passing over every material his father desires and waiting awkwardly in between.“—Thank you, Alpha Min. We’ll get back to your usual care.”Jeongguk’s father stands, giving Jeongguk a perfect opportunity to take his spot, bur Jeongguk stiffens.“He goes by his given name,” Jeongguk corrects.His eyes are wide, and his voice comes out timid. Jeongguk’s father isn’t the type to snap or scorn needlessly, but Jeongguk doesn’t have a habit of correcting his father. Especially not in front of patients.But Jeongguk’s father nods. “Yoongi, then.” He directs his smile to the patient. “Excuse me for not being caught up.”Tension melts from Jeongguk’s body. He sags in relief.It doesn’t go unnoticed by Yoongi. As Jeongguk’s father digs through the adjacent drawers, the alpha watches Jeongguk carefully. Then Yoongi looks back and forth between them.“This your daddy?”Jeongguk burns down to his toes. Shame is hot and searing. His mouth opens, floundering. “I don’t—I’m not—that isn’t—”Jeongguk’s father cuts in.“We don’t refer to fathers that way here,” he gently guides. He looks carefully between Yoongi’s eyes, assessing, and then he holds out a small wooden panel.Jeongguk’s father has already put the alpha through the ataxia tests, evidently, as Yoongi reaches back and forth between his own nose and the panel without prompting. When Jeongguk’s father points over his shoulder, the alpha looks wordlessly in that direction.It puts the alpha’s eyes right in line with Jeongguk’s red face. Yoongi’s is smug, with a curve to his mouth that makes the back of Jeongguk’s neck tingle.“Jeongguk.”Jeongguk startles, shivering. “Hm?”His father looks over his shoulder, scrutinizing. He must pity Jeongguk, who still recovers from the alpha’s unintentional innuendo, because he doesn’t scold Jeongguk for his lack of respectful response.“Bring me that antibiotic, please.”He’s already reaching into his pack. “Yes, Father.”The pre-portioned antibiotic itself is carefully measured for oral and topical consumption, wrapped in many layers to prevent its noxious smell from covering the rest of Jeongguk’s supplies. His father’s hand is waiting, and when Jeongguk places the package in his palm, he closes his hand around it without looking away from his examination.“You’re improving,” he notes, tone pleased. “Very quickly.”Jeongguk can’t contain his grin. The alpha, meanwhile, says nothing. Something about that choice makes Jeongguk’s father smile, too.“Jeongguk,” he starts, “can prepare a short route for you in the coming weeks. Something to get you moving.”Jeongguk can barely contain his excitement. The alpha, though, narrows his eyes and looks between them again.“Your dam serve here too?”Jeongguk’s father sits back. He pushes his spectacles atop his head, and this time even Jeongguk can see the blush on his cheeks.Dam, he’d said. Embarrassment rushes through him. There are apparently no mates or spouses in the Min pack, he supposes—just dams.“Ah, no.” He clears his throat, unsettled. “My late wife was a hunter.”Yoongi says nothing, but his expression makes his thoughts obvious.“As you’ve likely begun to guess, duties are not segregated here,” he offers in explanation. “Unfortunately, Jeongguk only took my aptitude.”“I caught a bird, once,” Jeongguk puffs.“Which is more than I have managed,” his father admits.Yoongi looks incredulously between Jeongguk and his father, and when his eyes remain on the one assessing his surgical site, his face changes. Jeongguk watches his brows lower and his eyes narrow.It’s threatening.“You just do the healer thing?” He asks it carefully, lowly.Jeongguk’s father is more perceptive than Jeongguk has ever been. He picks up on something unsaid, and though Jeongguk can tell by the way he shifts in his seat, the hidden message goes over Jeongguk’s head.“We don’t struggle,” Jeongguk’s father says. “Our skills are in high demand.”It isn’t until Jeongguk’s father has finished his examination that Jeongguk understands the meaning of the exchange.“What was that about?” he asks.Jeongguk’s father visibly debates revealing their conversation, but ultimately folds. “When food is scarce, some packs sell their omegas to make ends meet.” Yoongi’s healing is fast—until it isn’t.Jeongguk is the first to notice. Or, at least, he thinks he is.“He isn’t sleeping,” Jeongguk blurts, panicked, over breakfast. “I can tell it’s delaying the healing.”“Hmm,” his father responds.His nose is covered by his steaming mug of morning tea. The creases in his forehead are smooth; there isn’t any impatient tension in his fingers.“He’s losing progress,” Jeongguk worries. “I know his healing is—it’s supposed to be faster, right? Because he’s an alpha?”“Does it seem faster to you?”Jeongguk nods vehemently, but then he thinks twice.“It did,” he decides. His graft site, for one, is only discolored after just a couple short weeks. “But not when he stopped sleeping.”“Hm.” Another sip, and a quiet yet audible swallow. “You caught the stall in that rib, then.”Jeongguk pauses, then nods.“It hasn’t looked better,” he reports. “It’s been… five days.”His father hums a third time. “Very attentive.”Jeongguk shuts his mouth after that.Before long, his father stands. He finds his robes from the main hall, and when Jeongguk helps to secure them about his shoulders, he moves toward the kitchen.“Have you made more salve?”He has a knowing glint in his eye—the type that usually means Jeongguk is in trouble. But Jeongguk frowns.“Yes?”His father pauses. “You have?”“Almost a phase ago.”His father’s gait shifts clumsily. “Well.” He pauses. “Good.”Jeongguk presses his lips into a thin line, biting back laughter. With the salve being Jeongguk’s primary excuse to touch the alpha in the infirmary, Jeongguk has ensured his stock is prepared.His father doesn’t need to know Jeongguk’s new motivations.“Why? Do you have something in the mortar?” he anticipates.His father moves on quickly, nodding. But the pestle he brings down from the counter is the smallest of their wares, and the least frequently used.Jeongguk recognizes it immediately. It’s the least porous—and though that should mean its quality diminishes, it makes it perfect for a singular purpose.“Wood wort,” he assumes.True enough, the paste inside is deep and violet in shade. Jeongguk covers his nose before its pungent fumes can reach his nose.“You want me to give him this?” he asks, voice uneven.Jeongguk’s father shakes his head. “Never.”His shoulders sag in relief. The medicine Jeongguk’s father proposes to treat Yoongi’s lack of sleep is no mere tonic. Wood wort is as effective as it is multitasking; in the heavier-weight dynamics, it’s a powerful sedative. For omegas, it threatens hormonal balance.“Why isn’t he sleeping?” Jeongguk wonders.His father’s eyebrows raise, briefly. “He hasn’t told me.”“I can ask,” Jeongguk offers.But his father shakes his head.“No need to push. There might not be a medical cause, and the treatment is the same regardless.”“Why go straight to wood wort?”“I haven’t.”Jeongguk pales. In the days prior, the circles beneath the alpha’s eyes have been increasingly dark. If that’s the state of him under their other remedies, then Jeongguk struggles to know how sleep would have come to Yoongi without his father’s prior attempts.“Will he… hallucinate?”It’s a dreaded, unfortunate side effect of wood wort for all users regardless of dynamic. And as soon as Jeongguk mentions it, his father’s mouth sets in a stern frown.Jeongguk already anticipates what he’ll say next.“He might,” his father acknowledges. The set of his mouth is stern. “Which is why you are not to go to the infirmary for two days.” Jeongguk feels practically condemned.“How were lessons, Jeonggukie?”Jeongguk hums dismissively, eyes out the window.Hoseok only laughs. It’s a light sound, unbothered, and it makes Jeongguk feel guilter than he would have expected.Still, he refuses to look at Hoseok. Hoseok gets to go to the infirmary.He keeps his eyes on his work.“I got some of that rosehip tea while I was at the market,” the beta shares. “Should I put a pot on?”Jeongguk does like that tea. He’d been drinking it for years before finally caved and asked the blender how she made it—only to discover that the rosehips painted on her sachets were a mere design, and that the ingredients were something else entirely.It has a honeyed bite to it, spicy and warm.“... We’re learning about seasonal predictions,” he shares.“Oh, wow. So you’re almost done and graduated, then!”Hoseok entertains his attempt at conversation without pushing. He fills the pot from the well and sets it to boil. Nervously, Jeongguk nods.“... How many servings are you making?”The beta’s smile is knowing. “Should I make a third?”Jeongguk, after a beat, shrugs. “I don’t know if Father would like spiced tea.”“Oh, I meant for that alpha,” Hoseok plays along with twinkling eyes. “The one I’m supposed to go see after we’re done.”Jeongguk swallows. He wonders if Yoongi would like tea at all. Jeongguk himself hadn’t been very partial to it until his father had accidentally brought that rosehip blend home. The combination of sweet and spicy changed his mind.Jeongguk always craved spicy things—sweet enough to indulge in, but hot enough to test him.“Maybe,” he offers.“I’ll just have to make a full pot.”He knows Jeongguk will drink whatever remains, apparently. Jeongguk bites the end of his tongue.“... Is he hallucinating?”“Not yet,” Hoseok answers. “But he has a long way to go yet.”“But he slept?”“Like a baby.”The lilt in his tone makes Jeongguk’s eye twitch.“You… checked on him?”“No, Healer did. He’s mated, Gukkie. It’s safer that way.”Jeongguk’s shoulders deflate. As he breathes, the sudden flash of anger he’d felt seems to disperse into air.“It’s okay to miss him, you know.”Guiltily, Jeongguk peeks up from the table. “Really?”“Really. And since you’ve been behaving—for once—I think it’s fine to tell you that no one is actually angry with you for wanting him.”Jeongguk leans back in his seat. “It’s just pup’s love.”“And there’s nothing wrong with that.” He smooths a hand down the lengths of Jeongguk’s hair. “Want me to tell him you said ‘hello’?”Jeongguk, having buried his face in his hands, groans.“Oh, Gukkie,” the beta laughs. “I doubt he minds having a head-over-hocks cutie.”“I am not head-over-hocks!”The beta raises a brow. “Oh, alright. I guess I won’t pass on a message, then.”When he wanders off in the direction of the infirmary, he carries two cups of tea. Jeongguk watches his gait trail down the hall, toward the infirmary, and past its red door.Jeongguk should be placated. Hoseok will no doubt pass on Jeongguk’s well-wishes, and Jeongguk should be happy to know the alpha will get his much-needed rest. At worst, Jeongguk should feel frustrated—or have lingering irritation, maybe.It makes him irate.There’s nothing wrong with it—at least, there shouldn’t be. Jeongguk knows what the betas want. They want Jeongguk’s placement in his apprenticeship, most of all, but even beyond that, they want omegas. Taehyung has written poems about Jimin’s soft smile, and Hoseok has sought Seokjin longer than the moon travels the plains.The ones they seek are soft, and delicate, with gentle voices and graceful touches. Even Jeongguk is closer to their type than Yoongi.But they have something Jeongguk doesn’t: the freedom to go in and out of the infirmary door.Jeongguk knows why he can’t see the alpha. Under the influence of the wood wort, he’s more likely to be feral than he had from the beginning. Jeongguk knows he’s bound, and more than likely gagged again.Jeongguk can’t stand it.It makes him ache. He can’t find enough to do between his limited duties, but he can’t leave to forage without worrying, either. He paces late into the night and slaves over menial tasks.He projects pheromones. He lingers in the aides’ room just to catch a whiff of the alpha’s scent. He cries out at night, sometimes, in pitiful little sounds that don’t dare leave his nest.“Do you want me to pass on a message?” Taehyung finally caves, weirded-out.From the other side of the table, Hoseok lifts a hand. “Already tried.”Jeongguk seethes. His withdrawals are strong, by that point; intense enough to feel more irrational than is reasonable. The worst part of it is having to hide the way he feels from his father’s watchful eye.“I’m fine,” Jeongguk hisses.He isn’t fine. He trades his most beautiful, fragrant dried blooms to Jimin just for the omega’s last reserves of the cinnamon candies he craves. He labors excessively over every meal he makes. At one point, before the evening meal is served, Jeongguk offers his scented handkerchief in lieu of a napkin alongside the alpha’s bowl.Hoseok gives him a knowing, worried glance. But he takes pity on Jeongguk.His father is in the kitchen enjoying evening tea when Hoseok returns with Yoongi’s dish. He sets it alongside the well with the others for washing, but discreetly, he stands in front of Jeongguk.He fishes deep in his pocket with the corner of his robe—and what he pulls out is Jeongguk’s handkerchief, untouched by the beta’s hand.Jeongguk snatches it so desperately he’s almost caught. The act barely escapes his father’s notice, and Jeongguk resorts to doing the washing for a week just to earn Hoseok’s forgiveness, but it leaves him with something. There’s a spot, toward the edge of the fabric, that reeks of Yoongi. Whether accidental from an innocent hold or scented on purpose, Jeongguk thinks he inhales that spot for more than an hour. The scent is fast to fade, but its mark on Jeongguk’s memory is permanent.He aches, and he itches. Refraining from becoming snappish takes his every effort. Jeongguk’s father even lets Jeongguk stay home from lessons on the second day of quarantine.No sense in spreading illness, he’d said. He was right. The separation makes Jeongguk physically ill. It’s unbearable.By the time Yoongi’s quarantine period is nearly over, with only a night remaining, the ache in his teeth is a relentless throb. It makes him delirious, exhausted, and miserable. When he crawls into his nest, sleep won’t come. It’s as if Jeongguk’s father had passed the alpha’s sleeping troubles onto him. The itch is visceral, and it only grows.It brings Jeongguk to his breaking point—a need too incessant to ignore.Late at night, Jeongguk sneaks out of bed.He creeps down the hall in search of a glass of water, in the beginning. The well waits for him in the main room. It watches him, tall and imposing, with a shadow that knows his true intent. Jeongguk stares at it, but his cup remains on the shelf.He slips past the room where the aides bunk, and then he lingers at the red door of the infirmary.When he presses his ear to the wood, he doesn’t hear any sounds from the inside. He wouldn’t have expected to find his father or either of the aides inside at such a late hour, but he’d hate to be surprised by them—especially by his father, who would without a doubt have Jeongguk’s hide for such direct disobedience.Jeongguk licks his lips. Quietly, he guides the door open.He doesn’t know what he’s doing, not in the beginning. He slips inside the room and closes the door behind himself with a racing heart and heavy breath that he can’t seem to calm no matter how desperately he tries. He stands frozen against it for a long while, trying to adjust his eyes to the dark.The window covers are only cracked, and a sliver of moonlight creeps into the room. Jeongguk hears his safety before he sees it; the room is silent, devoid of shifting sheets, or a voice to call out to him.He sags in relief. As his eyes adjust, sight slowly creeps back to him in a confirmation; there’s an unmoving mass under the blankets, and the vague shadow of a profile against the pillow.Jeongguk toes up toward the alpha’s bedside. He moves without a goal in mind, but there, he kneels.He doesn’t dare touch the alpha, but he does look. Yoongi’s eyes are closed, and in sleep, Jeongguk can admire his features openly. The dark all but blurs the blue tinge of lingering bruising. It leaves Jeongguk with an uninterrupted view of the curve of his nose, and the dark straight path his brow traces above his eyes. His hair falls over his face in a gentle arch from forehead to cheekbone. Jeongguk itches to guide it back with his fingers, but he doesn’t dare act on the urge.Jeongguk watches the rise and fall of his chest with uneven breath. His father must have decided to let the alpha’s most shallow wounds dry overnight, because his chest is bare. For a moment, Jeongguk can imagine that the edge of the bandage peeking above the sheet is invisible. With the thought of Yoongi’s injuries having healed, it’s easy to imagine crawling into a shared bed. Jeongguk would sleep under the alpha’s arm—maybe he would even rest his head on the man’s chest.Jeongguk licks his lips. He shifts on his knees, growing warm.It’s a ridiculous fantasy. Yoongi lies just close enough to the edge of the cot that Jeongguk couldn’t dream of lying down beside him. Jeongguk swallows; he has no business thinking of that in the first place.Gently, ever so carefully, Jeongguk hooks his chin over the edge of the mattress.He’s just… interesting, Jeongguk supposes. He makes Jeongguk’s stomach tighten up in the most pleasurable way, and Jeongguk wants to keep that feeling all to himself. And he smells like Jeongguk’s favorite scents. Jeongguk’s a moth to a flame, he supposes, seeking warmth.His head tilts, going lax. “Hey. Peach pup.”Jeongguk jolts awake.He notices his neck ache before his surroundings—it’s a fierce soreness, radiating from the knob of his neck down his spine. It’s what he gets, he supposes, for falling asleep where he did—The alpha stares at him, eyes level.Jeongguk freezes. His heart begins to pound, and his blood rushes with a great swooshing sound in his ears.“You’re awake?” he squeaks.“Meds only last so long,” comes the drawl.Jeongguk isn’t sure if he’s red or pale.The alpha’s eyes flicker toward the door. “Serious one’s up.”Taehyung, Jeongguk fills in. He panics.“Um.” He pulls his face back. “I was just—I have to go.”“You better.” His mouth twitches. “Unless you want to get caught in the act.”Jeongguk leans back from his knees and rolls from the balls of his feet to his heels. His legs tingle as he stands, clinging to sleep, but he scampers toward the door. He smooths a hand down the back of his head. He’d fallen asleep in his braids, he realizes. And the alpha sees him nothing but in his nightgown.He tugs at the fabric.“I’ll be back in a bit.” He turns the doorknob, grimaces, and looks back over his shoulder. In a whine, he admits, “Don’t tell anyone.”“Tell anyone what?”Jeongguk squeezes his hands into fists. “That I slept with you!” he hisses in a whisper.The alpha’s eyes widen—and then his mouth widens, too, until Jeongguk can see the full extent of his grin.“‘S that whatcha did?”Jeongguk’s stomach drops. It’s lazily, and it exposes teeth. Longer, sharper canines that the alpha hasn’t shown him before, not even when Jeongguk packs cloves along his gums.“Better run along,” Yoongi warns.Jeongguk almost trips over his own feet on the way out. “How is the patient?”Jeongguk swallows. “Dunno.”His father shifts the texts aside. “You don’t know?”He swallows his bite incorrectly. It aches the further it goes down.He knows his father scrutinizes him. Taehyung and Hoseok, too, stare at him worriedly over their meals. They’re probably worried Jeongguk had skipped rounds the day before, off foraging forgetfully.If only.“No, father,” Jeongguk rasps. “Not yet.”He scoops up another bite, pretending his father’s scrutinizing stare doesn’t scare the moon out of him.“Because I haven’t seen him yet today,” he improvises. “The afternoon exam—that Taehyung gave—went as expected. He reported that more of the sutures were successfully removed, and the redness at the grafting site continues to resolve.”He swallows.“I haven’t seen him since before you prescribed the worm wort, Father.” He stirs at his bowl numbly. “I thought I wasn’t allowed to see him until this morning?”His hands are frozen. But his father leans back, nodding.“You’re not expected to visit the patient before morning meal.” He clears his throat. “Rather, you shouldn’t.”Jeongguk is able to swallow his food without incident, that time. “It’s too close to dark.”His father is quiet for a moment. “Right.” His mouth shifts its set. “You’re… doing well, Jeongguk.”Jeongguk’s spoon drops. “What?”“I’m happy with your progress.” His father wipes his forehead. “I’ll be honest: I was worried.”Slowly, from across the table, the aides unfreeze. Hoseok’s eyes crinkle. The whole table laughs quietly. Jeongguk should probably be joining in, but he doesn’t.“Not about your skill,” his father soothes. “You’ve been smart since you were a little pup. But you’ve also been…”“Stubborn,” Hoseok cracks with a wink.“Loud,” Taehyung chimes in.“But clearly not at the expense of your contribution to the pack,” Jeongguk’s father reminds. “You’re doing a good job, Jeongguk. I’m proud of you.”Jeongguk picks up his spoon again. It wavers. “Thank you.”“You’re welcome.” His father shoves his spoon around his plate. “And now that we’ve discussed that, I feel I should say your hairstyle is becoming.”Jeongguk’s eyes widen. He stares down at the lengths of his hair. Waves stare back at him.“Wasn’t it intentional?” his father questions. “You slept in your braids, didn’t you? Reminds me of when you were little.”Jeongguk flushes. “I fell asleep early last night,” he admits.“Hard work will do that to you,” his father agrees. He looks affectionately at Jeongguk’s hair again. “Reminds me of your mother.”Jeongguk’s guilt couldn’t possibly grow any more. “I know what you’re doing,” Taehyung warns.Jeongguk jolts. “What?”“Putting waves in your hair?” The beta scoffs. “You’re trying to flaunt your hair to that Min alpha.”“Am not!”“No one believes you fell asleep in your braids,” Taehyung laughs.“I did! I really did!”At the threshold of the door, Taehyung stops. He looks baffled.“Okay,” he acquiesces. “Okay, you slept in your braids.”Jeongguk sniffles. “I did.”“Okay. I’m sorry.”Jeongguk wipes his eyes. “It’s fine. That was stupid of me.”“No, it’s fine. It looks nice,” Taehyung adds.Jeongguk huffs. “I look stupid.”“You don’t, and you know it. The whole village covets your hair.”It’s true. Jeongguk’s lip still wobbles.“What is this about?” Taehyung asks.Jeongguk looks anxiously at the door. Taehyung follows his eyes, and when he looks back to the expression on Jeongguk’s face, he groans.He drags Jeongguk into the adjacent room. “What?”“I’ve got pup’s love,” Jeongguk mourns. “Badly.”Taehyung’s eyebrows raise. “You feel guilty.”“Father never compliments me,” he explains. “I know he’s relieved because he thinks I don’t want Yoongi. But I do.”“You think Healer Jeon doesn’t know?”“He doesn’t know I’m willing to misbehave over it,” Jeongguk admits, crumbling.Taehyung grimaces. “That is a dilemma.”“What do I do?” The beta huffs.“Calm down, for one,” he says. “Healer Jeon sees the moon in you.”“He doesn't.”“He does,” Taehyung corrects. “He just doesn't tell you because he always has to scold you, always, because of your own wrongdoings.”“... I do get into a lot of trouble,” Jeongguk admits.“You do. But Healer Jeon sings your praises all the time when you’re at lessons.”“Really?”“Really. He tells all his patients about you.”Jeongguk picks at his nails, ruminating.“... Do you think Yoongi’s going to think I changed my hair to impress him?”It’s a stupid thought. The alpha will know why Jeongguk’s hair is waved; he woke Jeongguk up that morning. He’d seen Jeongguk’s braids in the flesh. Jeongguk worries over it anyway.Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Turn around.”“Why?”“I’ll do up your hair. It’s better to kill the animal than let it suffer,” he advises. “Halfway just makes you look spineless.”Jeongguk spins around. The beta separates his hair into sections and starts from the root.“The problem isn’t that you’ve got pup’s love,” Taehyung lectures. “There’s nothing wrong with interest. It’s who you’ve got it for.”“What’s wrong with Yoongi?”“Jeongguk! He’s a Min,” Taehyung hisses. “Are you crazy? They’re a pack of dictators and mate-thrashers. Healer Jeon would never allow a bond between you and a Min.”“He isn’t like that,” Jeongguk defends. “He doesn’t even want me to use his pack name.”“He doesn’t want anyone using his pack name because he knows what it means.”Jeongguk’s face hangs. “I guess.”“It’s more than that,” Taehyung adds. “It’s bigger than pup’s love.”“No! It really isn’t!” Jeongguk hisses. “I’ve been avoiding thinking about him and everything!”“I meant the situation, Jeongguk, not your feelings.”“... Oh.”The beta sighs. He loops a braid around Jeongguk’s head with careful precision.“You need to become appointed to healer before you take a mate,” Taehyung reminds. “You have all the time in the world to finish your apprenticeship under your father’s roof, but under a mate’s, your will can crumble.”“I don’t want a mate,” Jeongguk snaps.“Not even that Min alpha?”Jeongguk remains quiet. He hadn’t thought of that, he supposes. Jeongguk has never wanted any pups before.His mouth dampens. He twists his fingers together.“I’ll tell you one thing,” Taehyung starts. “If you slack off, Healer Jeon will never give your hand to a Min. Not without knowing you’ve secured your own means.”“I really do want to become a Healer,” Jeongguk admits.“That’s right, you do. You’ll be the only omega to do it on the Western plains.”“Right,” Jeongguk decides. “I’m going to do it. I’ll be appointed to healer.”“Good job.”“And I’ll seduce Yoongi after.”
“Jeongguk!”
Jeongguk closes the door behind himself with shaking hands.He really can’t mess up his examinations, or his bandages. He feels the weight of his apprenticeship on his shoulders—but he also feels the weight of Yoongi’s eyes.Jeongguk takes a seat on the stool by Yoongi’s bedside.“How are you feeling?”His heart pounds. If Yoongi were to expose Jeongguk’s secret, he supposes the alpha would do it then. Not much different than this morning, he could say, and then Jeongguk’s composure would shatter—“Sore.”Jeongguk perks up. “Where?”“My neck,” Yoongi says. “Just from the way I slept, I think.”Jeongguk flounders. His mouth hangs open, and he stutters. The alpha snorts.“And everywhere else,” Yoongi adds, eyes flicking over Jeongguk’s shoulder. “But that should be expected.”Jeongguk looks down at the sheets. He tries not to think about Taehyung listening in intently behind him.“Right,” Jeongguk says, licking his lips.He reaches for his pack. His salve is set aside, and then the antibiotic. He turns the latter in his hand, until the vial spins and the suspension is thoroughly mixed.“How’s your tooth?”“Fine.”Jeongguk reaches for his tweezers. “May I see?”As he leans closer, the alpha opens his mouth without complaint. Jeongguk uses the back end of the tweezers to palpate along his gumline, but the tissue is taught and free of redness.“It’s healing,” he agrees. “You probably just needed good rest.”Yoongi doesn’t say anything to that. Jeongguk discards the cover on his tweezers and reaches for the salve. He spreads some on the back of the metal tray beside the alpha’s cot and, drawing Yoongi’s hand into his lap, gets to work.He’s quiet, for the most part, until the alpha speaks.“You doing alright?”Jeongguk’s eyes flicker upward. “What?”“Your eyes’re red.”“I—” He flounders, voice cracking. “I’m fine.”
“Fine?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Jeongguk blurts. The back of his neck is hot. “I’ve just been… tired.”Yoongi looks him up and down. He flicks at one of the longer strands of Jeongguk’s hair, assessing. “Didn’t sleep well?”Jeongguk tucks his chin. He pulls gently at the edge of an older bandage.“I don’t know if I’d say that,” he hedges.The alpha huffs. The corners of his mouth are turned upward, amused. Jeongguk eyes his work again.“So,” he starts, quietly, “how old are you?”The alpha makes a noncommittal sound. When Jeongguk glances up, his eyes are over Jeongguk’s shoulder.Jeongguk rolls his eyes. He’s knows what’s coming—
“Jeongguk.”
Jeongguk huffs. Without looking back at Taehyung, he snaps, “What?” Lower, he mutters: “It’s not like I asked him when his rut’s coming. By the moon.”The alpha is barely holding back his laughter. Jeongguk exhales, annoyed.“... Just hurry up,” Taehyung sniffs. Jeongguk can hear him shifting in his seat. “I need to hang the washing.”Jeongguk straightens in his seat. His head whips around. A grin cracks across his face.“You didn’t finish your chores?”“Oh, shut your mouth.”“I should tell father,” Jeongguk threatens. “You’re rushing my care because you didn’t wake up early enough.”Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Rushing your poor attempts at flirting, maybe.”Jeongguk’s face drops, mortified.Taehyung snickers. “You make it worse for yourself, you know. Hurry it up; I need to hang the washing, and I need to piss.”Jeongguk turns back around with an anguished groan. He doesn’t dare look up from the alpha’s hand, not even as he makes his way up one arm and reaches for the next.But he does come up with a plan.“Speaking of poor attempts at flirting,” he starts, “I heard Jimin got quite the courting basket left outside his door yesterday morning.A beat. “As in… Park Jimin? Omega Park?” Taehyung asks.Jeongguk hums. “As if there’s any other.” He takes his time on the alpha’s shoulder, rebandaging the worst of the wounds on his torso. “I suppose he was impressed… at least, a little. It was overflowing, and it had plenty of those seeds he likes—the ones growing outside your window, right, Taehyung?”The aide is quiet.“Well, it might have even been reciprocated,” Jeongguk calls in a mourning tone, “but whoever left it forgot to leave their scent behind.”Silence ensues. Jeongguk hides his smirk from Taehyung’s view.“How embarrassing,” Jeongguk quips. “And with the Solstice celebrations so soon, too. I guess Jimin’s been trying to guess who it might be.”“It’s me, Jeongguk. You know it’s me.”“Ah.” Jeongguk discards the dirty bandages. “I should have suspected that, I guess. But I guess I didn’t think of you as a coward, leaving a courting basket with no ability to reply.”Taehyung mumbles something under his breath. Jeongguk grins. “What was that?”“... ripped it.”“What?”“I ripped it,” Taehyung groans, hands over his eyes. “My scarf. It got caught on Leader Park’s fence. And then he caught me. He chased me off—”Jeongguk bursts into laughter. “What? You can’t be serious.”But the beta is red down to his neck. Jeongguk almost takes pity on him—but not without getting something in return.Nervously, he peers up at Yoongi. The alpha’s expression gives nothing away, but his eyes are already on Jeongguk’s. They don’t stray, even when Jeongguk speaks again.“I have an extra hairpin by my bedside,” Jeongguk offers suddenly. “I was going to give it to Jimin for his birthday, but you should take it.”“What?” Taehyung’s voice cracks. “That doesn’t have my scent.”Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “You are so oblivious,” he complains. “Wrap it in a handkerchief, or something!”“Oh.” He can hear Taehyung shifting in his seat. “Oh.” “Oh,” Jeongguk mocks, warbling. “Go! Get it before father catches you by my bedside! He’ll be back from negotiations by midday meal.”“But you—You have to finish,” Taehyung worries.“I’m barely halfway through!”“Hurry up then!”“You’re going to risk it? Jimin almost cried in lessons.”It’s a thinly-veiled lie, easily caught; Taehyung knows Jeongguk hadn’t attended lessons. Or, at least, he’d been present when his father excused Jeongguk from them.But Taehyung waffles. “I’ll just… I’ll just—”“Just do it before father gets back from Leader Park’s, already,” Jeongguk groans. “Hurry up and come back.”A beat passes. “Just to your room and back. And then I’ll be back.”“Oh, come off it,” Jeongguk snorts. “Go take your piss.”Taehyung has already stood. He has an undignified waddle to his step. Jeongguk rolls his eyes as the beta exits the room with his head on a swivel.Jeongguk leans back, tin of salve in hand, to finish his threat: “—Or I’ll tell Jimin before you get the chance!”Taehyung squeaks. The door slips shut with a creak.With that, they’re alone. Jeongguk knows the implications behind it—knows that what he does has been explicitly forbidden by his father. But the chances of being caught are slim to none, and in the narrow event that Jeongguk’s father did find them alone together, Taehyung would be the one to suffer the consequences.He still can’t keep the nervousness out of his tone.“They all think they’re tough,” Jeongguk excuses, eyebrows raising.Jeongguk doesn’t think he’s very tough at all, not when he can’t meet the alpha’s eyes. He extends his hand, reaching to carry on to the cuts on the alpha’s legs—Yoongi’s hand clasps around his wrist.“Be careful whose bed you crawl into, puppy,” the alpha growls.Jeongguk’s ears burn. “I’m not—”“Yeah, I can still smell your last heat on you. Doesn’t change a thing.” His eyes sharpen. “I’m old enough to be your daddy. And I could steal you right out from under his nose.”Jeongguk’s blood freezes in his veins. In that moment, adrenaline seems to take its place—it rushes through him, cold and warning. It makes him freeze.“I’m nineteen,” he breathes.Yoongi sneers. He drags Jeongguk in by the wrist, and nearly nose-to-nose, he growls:“Don’t let me catch you in this bed again.”Jeongguk can see the reflection of himself in Yoongi’s eyes—the fear they hold, and when he realizes he’s close enough that the alpha could pin him down in an instant, the little bit of arousal.Yoongi drops him. Despair adds to the mix in Jeongguk’s heart until the door swings open.“—Oh, thank the Moon,” Taehyung announces. In just a handful of steps, he crosses the room and slinks down into his chair. “I was starting to worry, you know.”Jeongguk’s exhale is audible, but when Yoongi’s eyes narrow, he pulls back.He’s left feeling appropriately chastised—at least, in the beginning. He finishes the alpha’s bandage change with the studious intent of a healer-to-be. But Yoongi’s gaze is unflinching, and his order left no room for loopholes.It’s the most stern order Jeongguk has ever heard. He should feel paralyzed. Instead, all he feels is heat.