Chapter Text
Hyeongjun had a problem.
A big, six-foot-tall, strong, handsome, sexy problem.
His extroverted, super-talented, friendly roommate who also happened to be everyone's best friend.
And he was an alpha.
Well, technically, Jooyeon shouldn't have been a problem at all. Hyeongjun was a beta—scents had zero impact on him. Neutral. Unaffected. Safe from the biological chaos that ruled everyone else's lives.
But Hyeongjun was still a man with wants and needs and desires, and his sexy alpha roommate was definitely not helping. Especially when said roommate walked around half-naked twenty-four-seven like it was a lifestyle choice. Jooyeon had no idea he was a problem. He just existed—warm, overly affectionate—like it was normal to walk around their shared dorm room in nothing but boxer briefs and a towel the size of a washcloth.
"Jun, I forgot my towel again," Jooyeon had announced last Tuesday, emerging from the bathroom like a wet, beautiful disaster, using Hyeongjun's hair towel—the tiny, lavender one meant for his carefully maintained red waves—to cover approximately fifteen percent of his body.
Hyeongjun had choked on his own spit.
Jooyeon had just grinned, tongue out, completely oblivious to the fact that he'd just activated every neuron in Hyeongjun's beta brain that was supposed to be immune to this kind of thing.
Betas don't react to alphas, the biology textbooks said. Scents have zero impact.
The textbooks were clearly written by someone who'd never met Lee Jooyeon.
Because when Jooyeon sprawled across Hyeongjun's bed at midnight, fresh from practice, smelling like black orchid and vanilla and something Hyeongjun's brain categorized as dangerous—all those textbooks could go fuck themselves.
It happened like clockwork. Every night.
"Jun, my shoulders are killing me," Jooyeon would whine, flopping onto Hyeongjun's mattress like he paid rent there. "Massage? Please? I'll buy you coffee for a week."
And then Jooyeon would fall asleep. Right there. In Hyeongjun's bed. Body warm and close, face slack with sleep, all the goofy tongue-out expressions smoothed into something peaceful.
Hyeongjun would lie there, heart doing arrhythmias, and let himself look. Just for a moment. Just long enough to memorize the way Jooyeon's lashes fanned against his cheeks, the way his lips parted slightly, the way his gentle snores filled their small room like a lullaby.
Then he'd carefully extract himself, move to his own bed, and absolutely, definitely not touch himself to the memory of Jooyeon's sleep-warm skin under his hands.
(He did. Every time. No one needed to know that.)
It was pathetic—jerking off to his roommate's scent like some horny teenager.
But Hyeongjun didn't care. What Jooyeon didn't know wouldn't hurt him.
He didn't care because he knew—had always known—that a guy like him had zero chance with Jooyeon.
Jooyeon lit up every room he walked into. He laughed too loudly, hugged too freely, sang too beautifully, and smiled too sweetly. He'd been born an alpha but carried himself with such warmth that people gravitated toward him without thinking, like planets caught in the pull of a sun that didn't know its own gravity.
And Hyeongjun? Hyeongjun was a footnote.
Hyeongjun was the guy in the corner with the guitar and the social skills of a haunted house. He didn't dislike people. He just found them... overwhelming. Conversations were like trying to play a song with half the sheet music missing. But his guitar? His guitar made sense. Every note was clear. Every chord had a purpose. No subtext. No guessing.
Yet Jooyeon was a beautiful complication. The kind of song that shouldn't work: too many key changes, too many unexpected turns, but somehow never sounded wrong.
Hyeongjun had been trying not to drown in him for a full year.
Hyeongjun's eyes fluttered open to soft morning light streaming through the blinds. He blinked awake, disoriented, and immediately registered three things:
One: The apartment was quiet except for the distant clatter of Gunil making breakfast.
Two: His hair was plastered to his face in a way that meant he'd need an extra ten minutes of damage control.
Three: Jooyeon was still asleep, sprawled across the other bed like a starfish who'd given up on life, one arm dangling off the side, chest rising and falling in that stupidly peaceful rhythm that made Hyeongjun's ribs feel too small.
It's too early to have a crisis, his brain announced, already exhausted.
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, stretched his arms, and moved toward the bathroom to start his morning routine.
Hyeongjun loved his morning routine—especially hair care, where he spent the most time. He showered quickly, letting the warm water shake off the last of his sleep. After, he was dressed in his go-to fit: baggy jeans, oversized pink knitted sweater, purple socks.
When he padded back into the room, the sunlight had crept further across the floor, reaching Jooyeon's bed like even the universe couldn't resist him. Jooyeon was still half-buried under the covers, one arm flung over his face, blonde hair covering half his features.
Hyeongjun stood there for a second too long, which turned into five seconds, which turned into stop being a creep and wake him up.
He leaned over, pushing a few strands of blonde hair off Jooyeon's forehead.
"Joo," he said softly. "Come on. We're gonna be late."
Jooyeon grumbled, low and rough, the sound vibrating straight through Hyeongjun's ribs. "Five more minutes,"
"You said that yesterday. And the day before. You're like a broken alarm clock."
"Alarms don't have feelings," Jooyeon mumbled, eyes still shut. "I have feelings. And they're telling me to stay in bed forever."
"Your feelings are unemployed. Get up."
Before Hyeongjun could step back, the door slammed open.
Jungsu stood in the doorway, holding a protein bar like a weapon, hair half-styled, expression 100% done with everyone's shit.
"We're leaving in twenty!" he announced, surveying the scene: Hyeongjun bent over Jooyeon, Jooyeon actively resisting consciousness. "Hyeongjun-ah, please wake your husband. I'm not dying young because you two can't function before 8 a.m."
"I'm trying—"
"Try harder!" Jungsu pointed the protein bar at him.
Hyeongjun turned back to Jooyeon, who was now grinning, eyes still shut.
"Your husband, huh?" Jooyeon said, way too pleased.
"Shut up. Shower. Now."
"Only if you give me a kiss."
Hyeongjun's brain short-circuited. "Excuse me?"
Jooyeon tapped his cheek lazily, grin widening. "Right here. Then I'll get up. Promise."
"You're drooling. Hard pass."
"Rude." Jooyeon cracked one eye open, and it was unfairly warm, unfairly fond. "So if I wash up first—"
"No. Absolutely not. Get in the shower before I tell Gunil you're the reason we're late."
"Gunil hyung!" Jooyeon yelled, rolling off the bed and onto the floor with a dramatic thud. "Hyeongjun's being mean to me!"
From the kitchen: "I DON'T CARE! MOVE!"
Jooyeon hauled himself upright, still grinning, and Hyeongjun's stomach did something illegal.
It was going to be a long day.
The practice room was already buzzing before anyone played a note.
Hyeongjun inhaled deeply, genuinely looking forward to playing his guitar. This was the part of the day that made sense—the part where everything aligned, where the chaos in his head quieted and all that remained was music.
Gunil sat behind the drums, tapping out complex patterns with the kind of focus that made everyone else look unserious. Seungmin and Jungsu hovered over stacked keyboards, debating chord changes and perfecting their B-side track's arrangement. Jiseok was in the corner, crunching on something that was hopefully food.
And Jooyeon—freshly showered, hair still damp, looking like he'd stepped out of a commercial for "Alphas Who Ruin Your Life"—was warming up his voice with runs that should have been illegal at eight in the morning.
Hyeongjun strapped on his guitar and tried to focus on literally anything except the way Jooyeon's top clung to his shoulders.
Failed immediately.
Pathetic.
Once everyone was roughly in place, Gunil tapped the tempo on his drumsticks and counted them into their run-through. Hyeongjun readied his guitar. The band moved through their main track, instruments layering into their usual groove. Halfway through the chorus of the second track, the studio door slid open.
Sangwook walked in. Clipboard tucked under his arm. He was their performance trainer—specialized in stage posture, movement flow, instrument technique. Everything that made their live performances look clean.
"Don't mind me," he said, settling into a chair. "Keep going."
They kept going.
For approximately three minutes.
Then Sangwook stood up and walked straight to Hyeongjun.
"Your posture's collapsing again," he said, not unkindly. He tapped the guitar strap. "You're leaning forward without realizing it. Let me adjust this."
He stepped behind him.
And Hyeongjun's brain, which had been functioning at maybe sixty percent capacity, immediately dialed it down to ten.
Because Sangwook was an alpha. A perfectly nice, professional alpha who was just doing his job. But he was close, and his hands were on the strap, smoothing it across Hyeongjun's back, and his scent—pine and something crisp—was just there.
"You're tall," Sangwook murmured, adjusting the strap lower. "You lean without noticing. Keep your center of gravity here." His palm rested lightly on Hyeongjun's lower back. Grounding. Instructional. Totally normal.
"Now play that again. Elbow in—here, like this."
He took Hyeongjun's forearm, fingers sliding down to adjust the angle.
And the air in the room shattered.
A scent hit like a freight train: black orchid, sharp and bitter, with an edge that tasted like ozone before a lightning strike.
Hyeongjun froze.
He knew that scent. God, he knew it. He fell asleep to the soft version of it every night.
This was not the soft version.
Footsteps. Fast.
Jooyeon was suddenly there, stepping between them with a smile that could cut glass.
"Hyung," he said, voice light and absolutely lethal. "I can help him."
Sangwook blinked. "Oh, I'm just—"
"I know." Jooyeon's smile didn't move. "We work on this all the time."
That was a lie. They had never worked on posture. Not once.
"If you two already practice together—" Sangwook started.
"We do," Jooyeon said, too fast, too sharp. He stepped closer, and Hyeongjun felt the heat of him like a furnace. "All the time. I've got this."
Sangwook, to his credit, read the room. "Right. Okay. Just... keep that adjustment, Junnie."
He backed away.
The second he was gone, Jooyeon's hand settled on Hyeongjun's shoulder. Warm. Possessive. Too familiar to be casual.
His other hand traced down Hyeongjun's arm, fingers stopping exactly where Sangwook's had been.
"When you're stressed," Jooyeon murmured, voice low enough that only Hyeongjun could hear, "you tighten here."
He pressed gently against the muscle, and Hyeongjun forgot how to breathe.
Then Jooyeon leaned in, close enough that Hyeongjun could feel the words against his ear:
"Relax, baby."
The guitar almost clattered to the floor.
Hyeongjun's heart was doing something that might qualify as a medical emergency. His hands were shaking. His entire nervous system was staging a revolt.
Baby.
Jooyeon had just called him baby in front of the entire band, and no one had even blinked.
Sangwook gave them a thumbs-up from across the room. "Yeah, that's way better. Just maintain that."
Jooyeon stepped back, and the scent in the air softened, but it didn't disappear. It lingered, thick and warm and Jooyeon, wrapping around Hyeongjun like a claim he hadn't agreed to. The moment Sangwook turned away, Hyeongjun spun on him.
"We have never practiced posture," he hissed.
Jooyeon didn't let go of his elbow. "I know."
"Then why—"
"He was too close."
"He was doing his job—"
"He could've done it from a distance," Jooyeon said, voice tight. "Like he does with everyone else."
Hyeongjun stared at him. "What the hell is wrong with you today?"
Jooyeon's jaw worked. His scent spiked again—sharper, more bitter. "I don't know," he muttered. "I just... I didn't like it."
"Didn't like what?"
"People touching you like that."
The room felt too small. Too hot.
"Like what?" Hyeongjun repeated, slower.
Jooyeon's gaze dropped to where Sangwook's hand had been. "Like they have the right to."
"Hey, lovebirds!" Gunil called from the drums. "Are we doing this or not?"
Jooyeon stepped back. Hyeongjun's elbow felt cold where his hand had been. For the next hour, they continued rehearsing, but an unspoken tension lingered in the air. And every time Hyeongjun glanced over, Jooyeon was already looking at him.
Hyeongjun comforted himself with the thought that ignorance was bliss.
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Hyeongjun woke up to the smell of vanilla and the sound of his own name.
"We're here, baby. Wakey wakey."
He blinked. His head was on Jooyeon's shoulder. Again.
When did that happen?
The van door swung open to the sound of fans cheering, and Hyeongjun scrambled upright, ears burning.
"You drooled on me," Jooyeon said, grinning.
"I did not—"
"You absolutely did. It's fine. I'm used to it."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
He didn't.
Hyeongjun joined the members, bowed, wave little goodbyes before heading straight to their holding room. By the time they reached the stage holding room, everything unfolded like clockwork, following the same routine they went through before every performance. Stylists and makeup artists buzzed around them, each attending to a member in turn to prepare their outfits and makeup.
Hyeongjun sat in front of the mirror and watched his reflection transform. He liked what he saw. His long, wavy, bright red hair was parted in the middle into loose side ponytails, sitting behind his ears, with strands of his bangs framing his face. Eyeliner, warm blush colored the center of his cheeks, and lipstick that made the edges of his lips pop.
And then Lisa, their stylist, appeared with a black leather crop top and matching pants.
"This," she said, "is going to be devastating."
She was right.
Hyeongjun looked at himself in the mirror and thought, Yeah. Okay. I'd fuck me. Across the room, Jooyeon was sitting on the couch, phone in hand, supposedly gaming.
But every time Hyeongjun glanced over, Jooyeon was looking at him.
Not at his phone.
At him.
Hyeongjun looked away. Looked back. Their eyes met.
Jooyeon didn't look away.
Hyeongjun's stomach flipped.
Stop it. Focus.
He picked up a spare acoustic guitar and sat next to Gunil, who was filming himself for their behind-the-scenes content.
"—and this part," Gunil was saying, "is where Seungmin absolutely loses his mind on the keys, and I have to keep the tempo from spiraling into chaos—"
Hyeongjun nodded along, fingers absently plucking at the strings.
He glanced up.
Jooyeon was still watching.
What is his problem?
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A few minutes later, a scent hit him. Sweet. Cloying. Peaches and cream.
Hyeongjun looked up. A woman—omega, definitely, based on the sheer intensity of the scent—was smiling down at him. Short, long dark hair, bright eyes.
"Hi," she said, voice like a children's TV host. "Lisa's asking for you. I think she's switching your top. Can you come with me?"
Blinking, he nodded, swallowing hard. Her scent was undeniably strong; although being a beta meant he wasn’t affected by it, an overpowering spike could sometimes feel suffocating.
He stood up, leaving the guitar behind, and walked alongside her.
As they walked, she leaned in. "What you were playing just now? Sounded really good. Is it new?"
"Yeah. Not finished."
"I can't wait to hear it," she trilled.
They reached Lisa, who handed him a fishnet top. Sheer. Delicate. Sexy in a way that made Hyeongjun's stylist brain go oh, this is going to photograph well.
"Try this," Lisa said. "I think it'll elevate the look."
Hyeongjun nodded and started pulling off the leather crop top, careful not to mess up his hair or makeup. The fishnet top was trickier. He got his arms through, but his skeleton ring snagged in the delicate weave, and suddenly his hands were stuck above his head like he was trying to surrender to fashion.
"Fuck," he muttered.
"Here, let me help," the omega said, stepping close.
Too close.
Her hands reached up, working the ring free from the netting, and her face was right there, inches from his, and her fingers brushed his bare torso as she pulled the top down, smoothing it over his waist.
It was nothing. A professional adjustment.
And then the air turned feral.
The scent slammed into the room like a fist: black orchid, bitter and sharp, with an undertone of something that smelled like violence.
Hyeongjun's head snapped up.
Jooyeon was across the room in three strides.
He grabbed the omega's wrists and shoved her back. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough that she stumbled, eyes wide, crashing into a rack of clothes.
"What the fuck?" Jooyeon's voice was ice. "Do you not know your place?"
The room went silent.
Hyeongjun's heart was in his throat. "Jooyeon—"
But Jooyeon wasn't looking at her anymore. He was looking at Hyeongjun, and his eyes were dark.
"And you?" His voice dropped, dangerous and raw. "Seriously? You just let anyone put their hands on you? What, do you need help dressing like a fucking child?"
The words hit like a slap.
Hyeongjun's mouth opened. Closed. His chest felt tight, his cheeks burning with a humiliation that tasted like metal.
The omega scrambled to her feet. "I'm sorry! I was just—"
"Get out," Jooyeon said.
She bolted.
The room was still frozen. Jiseok had his phone halfway to his mouth. Seungmin looked like he'd just witnessed a car crash.
"Jooyeon." Gunil's voice cut through the silence like a blade. He stood up, and the air shifted. His scent—mahogany and salt—flooded the room, heavy and undeniable. "That's enough."
Jooyeon's jaw ticked. His hands were shaking.
"Come with me," Gunil said. Not a suggestion. "Right now."
Jooyeon didn't move.
"I'm not asking twice."
For a second, Hyeongjun thought Jooyeon might actually argue. But then he exhaled, sharp and ragged, and followed Gunil out of the room without a word.
The door closed.
Hyeongjun stood there, fishnet top half-adjusted, chest heaving, trying to process what the hell just happened.
Jungsu appeared at his elbow. "You. With me."
They sat in a room further from the one where the chaos had formed.
"Deep breath," Jungsu said.
Hyeongjun breathed.
"Another one."
He breathed again. The tightness in his chest eased. Slightly.
"Are you okay?" Jungsu asked.
"I don't know."
Jungsu leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"He didn't mean it."
"He called me a child—"
"He's not in his right mind."
"That doesn't make it okay—"
"I know." Jungsu's voice was softer now. "But Gunil and I have a theory."
Hyeongjun looked up.
"We think his rut's coming," Jungsu said carefully. "And his suppressants aren't working anymore."
Hyeongjun stared. "What do you mean they're not working?"
"It's been four years since he presented. He's never spent a rut with anyone. Don't you think that's weird?"
"I... I guess I never thought about it."
"He always seemed so composed, so cheerful.. I never.." Hyeongjun muttered, pausing deliberately as his mind raced to connect the pieces.
"Before I bonded with Gunil, the company used to arrange an omega for him. Standard protocol. But Jooyeon?" Jungsu shook his head. "He just takes extra suppressants. Every time."
"I didn't know that."
"Most people don't. But I think his body's done letting him fight it. You can't suppress instincts forever. Especially not for four years."
Hyeongjun's brain was trying to catch up. "Okay, but... what does that have to do with—"
"With the way he acted today?" Jungsu raised an eyebrow. "Why do you think?"
Hyeongjun's mouth went dry.
An alpha. Displaying pre-rut symptoms. Possessive. Reactive. Jealous.
"No," he said. "No way."
"No way what?" Jungsu asked, and there was a grin forming at the corner of his mouth that he wasn't even trying to hide.
"He wouldn't... I'm a beta—"
"So?"
"So it doesn't make sense—"
"Why not?"
"Because—" Hyeongjun's voice cracked. "Because I'm me. And he's him. And there's no universe where—"
"He likes you," Jungsu said, flat and certain.
"He... no. He doesn't." The room seemed to blur around him, his heart pounding in his ears like a drum.
"Why do you think he clings to you like a koala?" Jungsu asked. "Why do you think he begged Gunil and me to switch rooms so he could live with you? Why do you think he always rides in your car, sits next to you, checks on you first after every show?"
Hyeongjun's heart was doing something arrhythmic and illegal.
"That one time a fan got too close during the gig in Busan?" Jungsu continued. "He filed a formal complaint. Made the company add extra security. Threatened not to perform until they did."
"He... he was just being protective—"
"Hyeongjun-ah." Jungsu's voice was gentle now. "He's in love with you. He's just too much of a disaster to say it out loud."
Hyeongjun's vision blurred. His chest felt too tight.
"It's not possible," he whispered. "Alpha. Beta. It doesn't work."
"Says who?"
"Says biology—"
"Fuck biology,"
"You like him too," Jungsu added.
Hyeongjun's head snapped up. "I—"
"Don't bother lying. I've seen the way you look at him."
"We could never work," Hyeongjun whispered.
"Why not?"
"Alpha. Beta. There's no reality in this lifetime where we could be together."
Jungsu's eyebrows rose. "It's not so uncommon now, Hyeongjun-ah. People like who they like, regardless of rules and systems." He paused.
"Why do you think he hasn't spent his rut with anyone?"
Hyeongjun found himself at a loss for words.
"You know what I think, Hyeongjun-ah?"
"What is it, hyung?"
Jungsu's expression softened into something almost tender.
"I think he's saving it," he said quietly. "For someone specific."
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