Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Morning light slipped softly through the thin curtains of Mark’s small apartment, spreading pale gold across the quiet kitchen.

It was still early—earlier than most people willingly woke on a weekday morning. But Mark had learned quickly that life with a toddler rarely followed the kind of schedules adults preferred. The day began when Kin decided it began, and Kin has always been an early riser.

Mark moved quietly through the kitchen, stirring a small pot of oatmeal on the stove while the kettle beside it whistled softly. The apartment was peaceful for a few brief minutes, filled only with the gentle clatter of spoons and the steady bubbling of breakfast cooking.

Then a small voice drifted down the hallway.

“Papaaa…”

Mark smiled immediately.

Right on time.

He wiped his hands on a towel and walked toward the bedroom, already knowing what he would find.

Kin stood in his crib with his hair sticking out in every direction, clutching his small stuffed race car in one hand like it had protected him through the night. His eyes were still half-closed with sleep, his expression soft and dazed.

“Papa…”

Mark leaned over the crib and lifted him easily into his arms.

“Good morning, sleepy puppy.”

Kin immediately tucked his face into Mark’s shoulder, warm with honey, sleep and smelling faintly of baby soap and blankets.

“Up…up please,” he murmured.

“Yes,” Mark chuckled softly, bouncing him a little on his hip. “Let’s get you up.”

Kin mumbled something unintelligible into the fabric of Mark’s shirt, his voice muffled and still half-asleep.

Mark carried him into the kitchen, settling him comfortably on one hip while he checked the oatmeal simmering on the stove. Kin blinked slowly at the bright morning light streaming through the window, adjusting to the world at his own pace.

“Hungry?” Mark asked.

Kin nodded with complete seriousness.

“Hungy… cakies?”

“That’s what I thought but no pancakes this morning, I’m afraid.”

Mark lifted him into the small chair at the table and tied the soft bib around his neck. Kin swayed slightly where he sat, his body still fighting the last traces of sleep. For a moment it looked like he might simply fall asleep sitting upright.

Mark reached over and gently smoothed the messy strands of hair away from his forehead.

“You have to wake up a little first.”

Kin rubbed his eyes stubbornly.

“Noooo… sleepy.”

Mark laughed quietly.

“That’s not an option baby.”

Kin poked at the oatmeal with his spoon while Mark leaned against the counter, watching him with quiet affection.

It had taken three years to reach this point.

Three years of figuring things out mostly on his own. Three years of sleepless nights, endless budgeting, and learning—sometimes through trial and error—how to be the kind of father Kin needed.

And now, finally, things were beginning to change.

Today was his first day at the company.

A real position. A stable salary. Something that would allow him to stop calculating every expense in the back of his mind before making even the smallest purchase.

Mark glanced down at Kin again.

The little boy was now carefully separating his oatmeal and fruit into two precise piles with deep concentration, as if this was an extremely important task.

Moments like this still amazed him.

How one unexpected night had reshaped his entire life.

Mark had been terrified when he first realized he was pregnant—more frightened than he had ever been in his life. His parents had been furious at first. The arguments had lasted for weeks, filled with worried voices and desperate attempts to convince him to reconsider.

They had told him how difficult it would be.

How uncertain his future might become.

But when Kin was born—

Everything changed.

Mark still remembered the first time his mother held the tiny baby in her arms. The tension that had lived in her face for months melted almost instantly, replaced by quiet wonder.

His father had been just as helpless and by the end of that first week, they had both completely surrendered.

Kin had wrapped them around his tiny fingers without even trying.

And now—

Now Mark’s parents loved him almost as fiercely as Mark did himself.

Kin carefully lifted a spoonful of oatmeal.

For a brief moment it looked like he might succeed in getting it to his mouth.

Instead, the spoon tipped sideways and the oatmeal dropped neatly onto the table.

Kin stared at the small mess with complete seriousness.

Then he announced, very confidently, “Oopsies.”

Mark reached over and handed him a napkin.

“Be careful, please.”

Kin blinked down at the oatmeal again as if evaluating the situation.

Then he grinned.

“Papa… oopsies~.”

Mark raised an eyebrow.

“You’re not even sorry.”

Kin shook his head proudly.

“No.”

Mark laughed softly under his breath.

“Well… at least you’re honest.”

Kin seemed pleased with this outcome.

He picked up a strawberry from the bowl beside his oatmeal and held it up for inspection.

“Red.”

“Yes,” Mark agreed.

Kin extended it toward him.

“Papa eat.”

Mark leaned down and took a small bite from the strawberry.

“Thank you.”

Kin giggled, clearly delighted with the success of the exchange.

Breakfast didn’t take much longer after that. Soon the bowls were empty and Mark was kneeling beside Kin, trying to help him into his small jacket.

Kin wiggled dramatically in protest.

“No coat.”

“It’s cold outside.”

“No cold.”

Mark zipped the jacket anyway.

“Trust me baby, it’s cold.”

Kin frowned at this injustice but accepted defeat after a moment. Then he lifted both arms dramatically toward Mark.

“Up please.”

Mark scooped him back onto his hip.

“Ready for grandma?”

Kin’s entire face lit up.

“Gamama!”

Almost as if perfectly timed, the doorbell rang.

Mark opened the door to find his mother standing there with a warm smile and a small canvas bag slung over her shoulder.

“There’s my favorite boy,” she said immediately.

Kin leaned forward from Mark’s arms.

“Gamama!”

She took him easily, hugging him close.

“Well someone is awake early today.”

Mark chuckled as he stepped aside to let her in.

“He refused to sleep past six.”

His mother shook her head fondly.

“Just like you when you were little.”

Kin proudly held up the stuffed rabbit he had been carrying all morning.

“Fast Car.”

Anong nodded solemnly.

“Oh, I see Fast Car is coming too.”

She stepped inside while Mark grabbed his bag from the counter.

Before leaving, he paused in the hallway.

His mother was crouched beside Kin, helping him wrestle his tiny shoes onto the correct feet. She glanced up at Mark as he stood there.

“You’re nervous.”

Mark sighed.

“A little.”

“It’s a big day.”

He nodded.

“I just want to make sure everything works.”

She stood and walked over, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

“You’ve already done the hardest part.”

Mark blinked.

“What?”

“Raising him.”

She smiled softly toward the living room.

“You did that all on your own.”

Mark followed her gaze.

Kin had discovered that one shoe squeaked slightly against the floor and was now stomping enthusiastically to hear the sound again.

His mother squeezed Mark’s arm gently.

“I’m so proud of you son.”

The words landed quietly but firmly.

Mark swallowed.

“…Thanks, Mae.”

She handed Kin his small backpack.

“Come on, little racer.”

Kin waved enthusiastically toward Mark.

“Buh-byeee…Papa!”

Mark crouched and kissed his forehead.

“I’ll see you later. Be a good boy.”

Kin nodded with great seriousness.

“Kin… good boy.”

Mark stood in the doorway watching them head down the hallway together—his mother holding Kin’s small hand while the little boy bounced happily beside her.

For the first time in a long while, something inside Mark felt lighter.

Hopeful.

Because today felt like the beginning of something new.

And he had no idea that before the day ended—

Someone from his past would walk back into his life and change everything.

• • •

By eight-thirty in the morning, the twelfth floor already smelled like coffee, printer ink, and the faint sterile chill of central air. To most people, it was just another corporate office at the start of another workday.

To Mark, it felt like the beginning of a test he could not afford to fail.

He stood in front of the mirrored elevator doors and checked his appearance one last time. White shirt, neatly pressed. Dark slacks. Company ID clipped straight. Scent patches secure beneath his collar. Hair combed back just enough to look professional, though soft strands had already escaped around his face in the rush of getting Kin ready for daycare before sunrise.

Collected. Calm. Fine.

That was the version of himself he showed the world now.

No one looking at him would guess he had once laughed too loudly with friends over cheap noodles near campus, or stayed up until two in the morning making sarcastic comments over group projects, or let himself be young enough to believe that life might one day become easy.

No one here needed to know any of that.

No one here needed to know he was an omega— unmated with a toddler, a scholarship graduate who had clawed his way through business school on discipline and pride, or that every choice he made was measured against one single fact:

His son depended on him.

The elevator chimed.

Mark straightened, inhaled carefully through his nose, and stepped out onto the executive floor with the new-hire group.

“Good morning, everyone,” said the HR manager, a bright Beta woman with a tidy bun and a clipboard tucked under one arm. “We’ll start with a short orientation, then department assignments, then introductions with your team leads.”

Mark nodded along with the others, his expression smooth and attentive.

Inside, his mind was already moving through the day in a checklist.

Orientation. Paperwork. Meet supervisor. Lunch break—call daycare. Review onboarding packet. Make it home in time to pick Kin up before six-thirty.

He had done harder things than this.

He had survived pregnancy alone at twenty-two.

He had survived the look on his mother and father’s faces when he first told his family.

He had survived labor, sleepless nights, fever scares, budget spreadsheets, and the kind of loneliness that settled into your bones so quietly you only noticed it when the house had gone still and your child was finally asleep.

He could survive a first day.

The conference room doors opened.

Mark stepped inside with the others and chose a seat near the end of the table, close enough to seem engaged, far enough not to draw attention. Habit. Old university instinct. The scholarship student’s instinct: be good, be useful, be invisible.

His phone buzzed once in his pocket.

A daycare photo update.

He glanced down before he could stop himself.

Kin was sitting cross-legged on a foam mat in a bright blue shirt with a tiny race car embroidered on the pocket, his dark hair already messy, his smile halfway to forming as he stared seriously at a set of wooden blocks. Even in still pictures, Kin looked full of movement, like joy was always waiting just under his skin.

Mark’s chest eased.

Warm milk, honey, soft baby shampoo. Those were the scents of his mornings. Those were the scents that made every hard thing bearable— enjoyable.

He put the phone away just as the room shifted.

Not loudly. Not visibly, at first.

Just a subtle change in the air, like a current moving through water.

The HR manager looked up. A few of the new hires sat a little straighter. Someone near the window murmured, “He’s here.”

Mark turned.

And forgot how to breathe.

The man stepping into the room wore a charcoal suit, no tie, his sleeves rolled neatly once at the wrist as if even formality softened around him. He should have looked intimidating.

Instead, he looked sunlit.

He smiled at the room, and suddenly the polished glass walls, the too-bright lights, the intimidating scale of the company—none of it felt quite so cold anymore.

“Good morning everyone,” he said easily. “Sorry to interrupt. I promise I’m not here to make orientation any more painful than it already is.”

A laugh passed through the room.

Of course it did.

People always laughed around him. People always leaned in— drawn to sunlight.

He was still the same that way.

Warm, approachable, bright without being blinding.

Mark knew that smile.

Knew that voice.

Knew the faint trace of sandalwood and amber even through the professional restraint of scent suppressants and office etiquette.

His fingers tightened beneath the table.

No.

No, no, no.

It had been four years.

Four years since the university rooftop, music vibrating under his shoes, moonflower blooming too sharply in his veins, sandalwood wrapping around him with frightening, impossible rightness.

Four years since the one night he had spent long and hard not to think about because thinking about it would changed nothing.

Four years since he had woken in unfamiliar sheets and told himself it had only been instinct, only timing, only biology and bad luck and a moment that could not be allowed to mean more.

The man at the front of the room glanced his way. As his own instinct told him so.

Stopped.

For one heartbeat, his expression emptied.

Then it came back—controlled, smooth, almost careless—but Mark had seen the moment of recognition. Seen it strike.

The HR manager, oblivious, beamed.

“Perfect timing, Khun Junior. We were just about to introduce the new analysts.”

Junior.

That was what everyone called him now.

Back in university it had been different.

People had called him Ju—a nickname that had appeared naturally and stuck just as quickly. It had been easier that way. Shorter, friendlier. The kind of name people used when they felt comfortable enough to treat someone like an equal.

Ju.

The boy who laughed in crowded hallways.
The one who showed up to late-night group meetings with extra iced coffees for everyone.
The one who leaned back in lecture chairs with an easy smile like the future was still wide open.

Back then, no one had really thought about the fact that his path had already been laid out for him—mapped carefully toward a future that reached far higher than most people around him would ever—could ever climb.

Or maybe they had known.

Maybe calling him Ju had simply been their quiet way of pretending he was just another student among them.

Most people had used it without thinking.

But Mark never had.

Even back then, he had always said Junior—calm, deliberate, as if some instinct had told him not to shorten the distance between them.

And now—

Here he was Khun Junior.

Young executive director. Heir apparent. The man people watched the moment he entered a room.

He still smiled as if it cost him nothing.

“Then I’ll stay out of the way,” Junior said. “Carry on.”

But he didn’t leave.

He moved to the side of the room, one shoulder resting lightly against the wall, hands folded loosely in front of him. Casual. Harmless. Interested.

Mark stared at the orientation packet in front of him until the words blurred.

He could feel it already: the awareness in his body, low and relentless. Not heat, not anything dangerous—only memory, the ones that lingered.

The remembered safety of amber.

The remembered weight of sandalwood around his ribs.

The remembered sensation of being seen too fully in one impossible night and then never again.

He hated that his body remembered even after four years, what he hated more was that a part of him still did too.

One by one, the new hires introduced themselves.

When it became his turn, Mark lifted his chin.

“Mark Jiruntanin Trairattanayon,” he said, voice even. “Business strategy team.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Junior go still.

Only for a second.

But Mark noticed.

He had always noticed him— hard not to.

The rest of the meeting passed in fragments.

Titles. Team structures. Reporting lines. Names he would need later and could not hold in his head now because all of his concentration was fixed on not betraying anything.

The orientation meeting finally ended with the scraping of chairs and the low murmur of polite conversation. People began filtering out in groups, some already exchanging phone numbers, others discussing teams and reporting structures.

Mark gathered his papers quickly, sliding them neatly into his folder.

He could feel Junior’s presence somewhere in the room even without looking.

That alone was enough to make his shoulders tense.

Four years.

Four years and somehow Junior still had the ability to make the air feel heavier around him.

Mark kept his eyes on the table and stood.

“Mark.”

His name, spoken in that voice, landed low and warm in his chest.

He turned because not turning would have been more obvious.

Junior stood a few feet away now, close enough that the clean, controlled warmth of his scent reached through the layers of office air. His expression was open, but his eyes were searching.

“Hi,” Junior said, and there it was again—that brightness, that impossible ease. “It’s really you.”

Mark kept his face composed.

“Good morning, Khun Junior.”

That earned him the smallest flicker of surprise.

Then, to Mark’s private frustration, Junior laughed softly.

“Right,” he said. “We’re doing that.”

“We’re at work.”

“Right,” Junior said with a small smile. “That makes sense.”

For a moment neither of them moved.

Junior looked exactly the same and completely different at the same time. The same warm smile, the same bright eyes, but something about him carried more weight now—more responsibility.

Mark knew why.

Junior had always been destined to take over his family’s company and now he clearly had.

Junior’s gaze flicked over his face, then lower, as if checking for changes he had no right to search for. His voice softened.

“You’ve been well?”

It was such a normal question.

Such an unfair one.

Mark thought of midnight fevers, daycare fees, spreadsheets open beside a crib, falling asleep upright on the sofa because Kin had finally drifted off on his chest and moving would have woken him.

He thought of joy too.

Sticky hands. Baby laughter. Tiny socks. The first time Kin had reached for him and called him Papa.

He thought: I have built a life you know nothing about.

Out loud, he said only:

“I’ve been fine.”

Junior tilted his head slightly, studying him.

“That’s good. You disappeared after graduation.”

Mark kept his expression neutral.

“I moved.”

“Clearly,” Junior said lightly. “I just didn’t expect to run into you here.”

Neither had Mark.

And that fact alone had been enough to send his thoughts spiraling since the moment Junior stepped into the meeting room.

He had spent four years carefully building a stable life for himself and Kin.

This… complicated everything.

Junior rubbed the back of his neck, a small habit Mark remembered from university.

“Well,” he said, “I actually have another meeting now, but—”

He hesitated briefly.

“Would you want to grab lunch later? Just to catch up?”

Mark’s first instinct was to refuse.

Immediately.

But refusing outright might seem strange.

Suspicious.

And suspicion was the last thing he could afford.

“…Lunch is fine,” Mark said carefully.

Junior smiled again, that warm effortless smile people seemed to gravitate toward.

“Great.”

• • •

Lunch arrived faster than Mark would have liked.

By the time noon came around, the tight knot of anxiety that had settled in his chest earlier that morning hadn’t loosened in the slightest. He had spent the entire morning staring at onboarding documents, reading the same paragraphs over and over again while his thoughts circled relentlessly.

What if Junior starts asking questions?

What if he somehow finds out about Kin?

What if someone here already knows?

The possibilities piled one on top of another until even the quiet hum of the office felt oppressive.

Mark had worked too hard to build stability for his son. Too many careful decisions, too many sleepless nights, too many sacrifices.

He couldn’t afford for anything to threaten that now.

The cafeteria was lively when he arrived, but not overly crowded yet. A steady murmur of conversations filled the room, punctuated occasionally by the scrape of chairs and the clatter of trays. The smell of warm food drifted through the air, mingling with the faint scent of coffee from the machines near the wall.

Mark had barely stepped inside when he spotted him.

Junior was already seated near the windows.

Of course he was.

The moment their eyes met, Junior lifted a hand and waved him over, his expression brightening with such open ease that Mark felt a brief, unwelcome ache settle somewhere beneath his ribs.

“Over here.”

Mark walked across the cafeteria, placing his tray down across from him before taking the empty chair.

Junior looked genuinely pleased to see him.

Not awkward or uncomfortable.

Just… happy.

It made Mark’s chest tighten in a way he didn’t like thinking about.

“You look good,” Junior said casually, leaning back slightly in his chair as his gaze flicked over Mark’s face.

“Thank you.”

Junior grinned.

“And you’re still terrifyingly composed.”

Mark raised an eyebrow at that.

“I’m not terrifying.”

“You absolutely were in university,” Junior insisted, picking up his fork. “Top of every class, always prepared, always serious. Half the department used to panic whenever you walked into a study room.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Am I?” Junior laughed, clearly enjoying himself. “I swear people used to hide their notes when you showed up, afraid that you’ll judge them for it.”

Mark shook his head faintly, though the corner of his mouth lifted despite himself.

“I don’t remember that.”

“That’s because you were the reason it was happening.”

The light teasing loosened something in the air between them and for a moment, the tension that had followed Mark all morning eased slightly.

It almost felt like old times.

Almost.

Junior took a few bites of his food before speaking again, his tone shifting into something more conversational.

“So,” he said, glancing back up, “how long have you been back in the city?”

“About a year.”

Junior nodded thoughtfully.

“Did you work somewhere else before this?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Same field?”

“Mostly. Research and data analysis.”

“That sounds exactly like you,” Junior said with a knowing smile.

Mark tilted his head slightly.

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re doing exactly what everyone expected you to do,” Junior replied easily. “You were always the responsible one.”

Mark didn’t respond immediately, focusing instead on his drink.

Junior studied him for a moment before continuing.

“So what have you been doing for the last four years?” he asked genuinely interested.

Mark answered simply.

“Working.”

Junior gave him a skeptical look.

“Just… working?”

“Mostly.”

That answer clearly didn’t satisfy him.

Junior rested his elbow lightly against the table, his expression thoughtful.

“Do you still keep in touch with anyone from university?”

“A few people.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Probably not.”

Junior huffed a quiet laugh.

“You’re still terrible at elaborating.”

“You’re still someone who asks too many questions.”

“Fair.”

For a moment they ate in comfortable silence.

Then Junior’s gaze drifted back to Mark again, lingering a little longer this time.

“So what do you do outside of work?” he asked.

Mark blinked.

“Outside of work?”

“Hobbies. Interests. Secret double life. Something.”

“I sleep.”

Junior laughed quietly.

“That bad?”

“Sometimes, that’s all I want to do.”

Junior studied him again, and for a brief moment something about his expression changed—something quieter, more thoughtful.

There was a faint scent in the air that tugged faintly at the edge of his memory.

Soft.

Warm.

Junior couldn’t place why it felt familiar.

He had noticed it earlier too when Mark first arrived at the office, but now that they were sitting closer it lingered just enough to stir a vague sense of recognition.

It was strange.

But before the thought could settle into anything more solid, Junior leaned forward slightly.

“So,” he said head tilted to the right.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

Mark nearly choked on his drink.

He looked up sharply.

Junior blinked at him.

“What?” he asked lightly. “That’s a normal question to ask.”

“You’re still very direct, I see.”

“I’ve always been direct.”

That was true.

Mark remembered that about him.

Junior had never hesitated to ask things most people avoided.

Still—

Mark set his glass down carefully.

“No.”

Junior’s eyebrows lifted.

“No?”

“No.”

For a brief second, the silence stretched.

Mark felt the shape of the conversation shifting, settling into something familiar—predictable.

This was usually where the question circled back.

He could leave it there.

Or follow through.

Not because he particularly cared about the answer—

but because it was the natural next step. The expected thing to ask. The easiest way to keep the moment from stalling.

“What about you?”

Junior shrugged completely unfazed by the question redirected at him.

“This whole—heir to the company thing has me pretty much unable to have a love life.”

Then he smiled faintly.

“You know… after that night I kind of expected things might turn awkward if we ever ran into each other again.”

Mark felt his stomach twist.

The memory arrived without warning.

Warm amber.

Sandalwood.

Moonflower blooming far too sharply in the air.

The quiet morning after.

Junior watching him carefully across unfamiliar sheets.

Mark pushed the memory away before it could settle.

“That night was a long time ago.”

Junior’s smile faded slightly.

“Yeah, I know.”

Silence stretched between them.

Finally Mark spoke again.

“I think it would be better if we forgot about it.”

Junior looked up.

“What?”

“We were young,” Mark said calmly. “It happened because of circumstances.”

Heat.

Rut.

Instinct.

Not something either of them had planned.

Mark continued quietly.

“Neither of us expected anything from it.”

Junior watched him carefully now.

“So your solution is just… pretend it didn’t happen?”

Mark met his gaze without hesitation.

“Yes.”

Junior leaned back in his chair again.

For once, uncertainty flickered across his face.

“…If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

Another silence followed.

This one heavier.

Junior eventually gave a small nod.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “If that makes things easier for you.”

Mark lowered his gaze to his tray.

“Thank you.”

Another silence settled between them.

This one heavier than the last.

Junior sat back in his chair, absently rolling his fork between his fingers as if he were turning something over in his mind.

For a moment, it looked like he might leave things where they were.

But Junior had never been particularly good at leaving questions alone.

After a second, he glanced up again.

“…You know,” he said slowly, “maybe we don’t have to pretend we’re strangers either.”

Mark looked up.

Junior gave a small shrug.

“I mean… we don’t have to make things awkward.” He hesitated briefly before continuing. “Maybe we could just be friends.”

The word lingered quietly between them.

“Friends?”

Junior nodded.

“Even back in university, I don’t think we ever really befriended each other,” he said. “We just kind of… existed around each other.”

Mark didn’t answer right away.

Instead, his gaze drifted briefly to the cafeteria windows beside them, where sunlight spilled softly across the tables.

For a moment his thoughts slipped backward.

Lecture halls.

Late evenings in the library.

The quiet awareness of Junior somewhere nearby.

Junior had always been impossible to ignore.

Bright. Warm. Magnetic.

Like a flame that naturally drew people toward it.

And Mark—

Mark had always watched from a careful distance.

Not because he disliked him.

Quite the opposite.

There had been a part of him back then that would have liked very much to be Junior’s friend.

To sit beside him more often, to talk the way they were talking now.

But Mark had known himself well enough even then.

Getting too close to someone like Junior was dangerous.

Not because Junior meant harm.

But because Mark wasn’t someone who brushed things off easily.

He had never wanted to be the moth that flew too close to the flame. Although, there was a time he willing did. 

Mark looked back at him.

For a split second, something softer flickered across his expression.

Something almost like hesitation.

Then it disappeared.

He folded his hands neatly around his glass.

“I don’t think that would be wise,” he said calmly.

Junior blinked.

“…Why?”

Mark met his gaze steadily.

“A friendship between a superior and a subordinate could create unnecessary complications.”

For a moment, Junior simply stared at him.

The answer was so completely, unmistakably Mark that it left him briefly speechless.

Of course that would be his reasoning.

Junior exhaled quietly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“…Right.”

He shook his head once, amused despite himself.

“You really haven’t changed.”

Mark didn’t respond.

Junior leaned back again, adjusting his posture.

“Alright then,” he said after a moment.

“If friends are out…”

He lifted his drink slightly.

“Coworkers?”

Mark nodded once.

“Coworkers.”

But something in the way Junior looked at him suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced things would remain that simple.

And as Mark returned to his desk later that afternoon, one thought circled endlessly through his mind.

Please don’t find out about Kin.

• • •

Junior had been distracted all afternoon.

Not visibly, of course.

Years of corporate meetings had trained him well enough to appear attentive even when his mind was somewhere else entirely. He nodded in the right places, asked the right questions, and smiled at the end of presentations exactly when expected.

No one in the conference room noticed anything unusual.

But the moment the meeting ended and the room cleared, Junior leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly.

Mark.

The name had been sitting quietly in the back of his mind all day.

He hadn't expected to ever see him again.

After graduation, people scattered quickly—jobs, cities, different futures. Junior had assumed Mark was somewhere else now, probably working for a consulting firm or pursuing further studies.

That seemed like the path someone like him would take.

But instead he had walked into orientation that morning and seen Mark sitting at the end of the table exactly the same way he used to sit in university lectures—quiet, focused, slightly removed from everyone else.

And Junior had recognized him immediately.

Some people changed after four years.

Mark hadn’t.

Or maybe he had.

There was something different about him now. Something more guarded, more distant than the serious but quietly warm Omega Junior remembered from university.

Even the way Mark had spoken at lunch had felt careful.

Controlled.

Like someone constantly watching his own words.

Junior frowned slightly.

The memory of their conversation replayed again in his mind.

"I think it would be better if we forgot about it."

Junior tapped his pen lightly against the desk.

Forget about it.

That had been easier said than done.

Because if he was being honest, Junior had never really forgotten that night.

Not completely.

• • • Four Years Earlier • • •

Junior noticed Mark back in orientation at year one.

Not because Mark tried to stand out.

But because he didn’t.

Most students in the business faculty were loud about their ambitions. Everyone wanted to be the next big entrepreneur or corporate strategist, and they made sure people knew it.

Mark never did.

He simply… worked.

Junior remembered sitting in the lecture hall one afternoon while a professor asked a complicated question about market restructuring.

The room had gone silent.

Then Mark had quietly raised his hand.

His explanation had been clear, precise, and surprisingly insightful.

The professor looked impressed.

Junior had been more impressed by the way Mark immediately looked embarrassed afterward, as if he hadn’t meant to draw attention to himself.

From that day forward, Junior noticed him more often.

Library corners.

Study rooms.

Group discussions where Mark listened carefully before speaking only when necessary.

He always smelled faintly of jasmine and moonflower—soft, calming scents that lingered just long enough to be noticeable without overwhelming the room.

It was… pleasant.

Comforting, even.

Junior had liked being near him.

Though they rarely spoke.

Until the final semester just before graduation.

• • •

The end-of-year party had been chaos.

Music pulsed through the rooftop venue in heavy waves, vibrating faintly through the floor beneath everyone’s feet. Laughter rang out too loudly, glasses clinked together, and clusters of students filled every corner of the open space—celebrating the end of exams, the end of sleepless nights, the end of a chapter of their lives.

The air was warm with bodies and perfume and alcohol.

Junior hadn’t planned to stay long, never really been someone who enjoyed the buzz and thrill of students populated parties like these.

He stood near one of the drink tables, halfway through a conversation with a classmate about internship offers and post-graduation plans when something in the air shifted.

Subtle.

Almost imperceptible.

But his body noticed it immediately.

A scent.

Sweet.

Floral.

Jasmine.

Moonflower.

It drifted through the crowded rooftop like a thread of perfume pulled tight through the air.

Junior went still.

His classmate was still talking, but the words blurred into background noise as the scent reached him fully.

His chest tightened.

Not painfully.

Instinctively.

Like something deep inside him had suddenly awakened.

Across the rooftop, near the balcony railing, someone shifted.

Junior’s eyes lifted without thinking.

Mark stood there.

The breeze tugged lightly at the loose strands of hair around his face. His hand rested against the railing as if he needed the support, and even from across the room Junior could see the faint flush coloring his skin.

Mark’s breathing looked uneven.

Shallow.

Controlled in the way someone tried to hide something they couldn’t fully contain.

Junior recognized the signs immediately.

An omega in heat.

The realization struck him with startling clarity.

And then Mark looked up.

Their eyes met and if was as if something in the air snapped into place.

Junior felt it physically.

Like two halves of something long buried had suddenly locked together.

His pulse surged.

The scent of jasmine and moonflower deepened, flooding the space between them with intoxicating warmth.

His control faltered almost instantly.

The music dulled to a distant rhythm somewhere behind his heartbeat.

The space between them seemed to collapse.

Mark looked just as startled.

But he didn’t look away.

Junior was already moving before he consciously realized he had decided to.

The crowd parted around him as he crossed the rooftop and each step he took brought the scent closer.

Stronger.

By the time he reached the railing, it was almost dizzying.

Jasmine blooming in the warm night air.

Moonflower soft and intoxicating.

Something deeper beneath it—something that made the back of Junior’s neck prickle with instinctive recognition.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

The music pounded faintly behind them, but the air between them had become its own quiet world.

Junior exhaled slowly.

“You’re in heat.”

Mark let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh.

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “I’ve noticed.”

Junior frowned, tension flashing across his face.

“Then what are you doing here?”

The question wasn’t angry, but the concern in his voice was unmistakable.

He gestured toward the crowded rooftop behind them.

“This place is full of unmated, unrestrained alphas.”

Mark rubbed a hand briefly against his temple.

“I mean—I wasn’t before,” Mark corrected, his voice strained as another wave of instinct rolled through the air between them. The distinct feeling of slick pooling, has the omega shivering with mortification.

Junior blinked.

“What?”

Mark shook his head slightly, visibly struggling to steady his breathing.

“I would have known,” he said quietly. “Omegas always know when it’s coming.”

Another wave of scent rolled through the air between them, thick and intoxicating.

Mark swallowed.

“It just… happened.”

Junior studied him closely.

Fresh heat.

Sudden.

Uncontrolled.

He could smell it clearly now—the sharp edge of it blooming through Mark’s pheromones like night flowers opening all at once.

“You’re serious,” Junior murmured.

Mark gave a strained, humorless smile.

“I was fine ten minutes ago.”

He glanced down at his own hands.

“And then suddenly I couldn’t breathe.”

Junior exhaled slowly.

“That’s dangerous.”

“I’m aware,” Mark replied dryly.

Then his gaze sharpened slightly.

“And you’re not exactly helping.”

Junior stilled.

“What?”

Mark gestured faintly between them.

“You don’t smell it?”

Junior inhaled reflexively.

The scent between them had changed again.

Jasmine.

Moonflower.

And beneath it—

Sandalwood.

Amber.

His own pheromones, stronger than they should have been.

Junior’s chest tightened as realization flickered across his face.

“…Rut,” he said quietly.

Mark nodded once.

“It started the second you walked over.”

Junior ran a hand through his hair in disbelief.

“That’s not possible.”

But even as he said it, another wave of instinct rolled through him.

Stronger this time and he feels in building within him.

The scent between them deepened, thick and heady like something fermenting in the warm night air.

Mark’s voice lowered.

“Tell me something honestly.”

Junior met his gaze.

“What?”

Mark hesitated only a moment.

“Does this feel normal to you?”

Junior didn’t answer immediately.

Because the truth was—

No.

Nothing about this felt normal.

He had been around omegas in heat before, disciplined enough to turn away. 

But this—

This felt like gravity.

Like something inside him had recognized something inside Mark and refused to let go.

Junior exhaled slowly.

“…No.”

Mark nodded once, as if he had expected that answer.

“Good,” he murmured.

Junior blinked.

“Good?”

Mark looked back at him, the faint flush still coloring his face.

“Because it doesn’t feel normal to me either.”

The scent between them surged again.

Stronger.

Deeper.

Like instinct itself had suddenly sharpened its focus.

Junior felt it in the way his pulse refused to settle and in the way the space between them had somehow grown impossibly small.

Every instinct in his body was pointed toward the man standing in front of him.

“This is because of… you,” Junior said quietly.

The words weren’t an accusation. If anything, they carried more disbelief than anything else.

Mark didn’t look surprised.

His fingers tightened slightly around the railing as he studied Junior through the haze of instinct clouding both their senses.

“I was coming to the same conclusion,” he admitted.

For a moment neither of them moved.

The air between them had grown thick with pheromones now—jasmine and moonflower threaded through sandalwood and amber until the scents blended together, indistinguishable and heavy.

Junior let out a slow breath.

“This doesn’t just happen,” he said, almost to himself.

Mark lifted his gaze.

“Actually,” he murmured, “sometimes it does.”

Junior frowned slightly.

Mark shifted his weight against the railing, clearly forcing himself to think past the instinct pressing against his control.

“You remember that lecture during second year?” Mark said quietly. “About secondary dynamics?”

Junior searched his memory through the haze.

“The compatibility theory?”

Mark nodded once.

“They said that sometimes certain alpha and omega pheromones react unusually strongly together. Rare matches.” His voice lowered slightly. “Strong enough to trigger things that shouldn’t happen yet.”

Junior’s brow furrowed.

“Unexpected heats,” he said slowly.

“And ruts,” Mark finished.

Their eyes met again.

Understanding settled between them in a quiet, heavy moment.

“So you’re saying—” Junior began.

Mark gave a faint, breathless laugh.

“I’m saying I wasn’t in heat before you walked over.”

Junior inhaled again despite himself and the scent hit him harder this time.

Jasmine.

Moonflower.

Warm and intoxicating and impossibly right.

His chest tightened.

“And I wasn’t in rut either,” he admitted.

Mark looked at him steadily.

“That’s what makes this a problem.”

Another wave of instinct rolled between them, stronger now that the realization had settled into place.

Junior rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, his voice dropping slightly.

“So we triggered each other.”

Mark nodded.

“That seems to be the working theory.”

The simplicity of the statement made Junior huff out a quiet, incredulous breath.

“Of all the people in this room…”

Mark’s lips twitched faintly.

“Statistically unlikely and yet here we are,” he agreed.

But neither of them stepped back.

The scent between them deepened again, pulling tighter with every passing second.

Junior felt it like gravity pressing against his chest.

“So,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now, “are we ignoring the problem…”

His gaze held Mark’s.

“…or acknowledging it?”

Mark studied him for a long moment.

The simplicity of it might have been funny under different circumstances.

But neither of them laughed.

Because the pull between them was growing stronger by the second.

Junior studied him carefully.

“You’re still thinking clearly?” he asked.

Mark gave a faint, dry huff of breath.

“Barely.”

“Same,” Junior admitted.

Silence stretched between them again.

Behind them the rooftop party roared with laughter and music and celebration, but the space between them felt oddly quiet.

Focused.

Junior looked at Mark for another long moment.

Then he made the decision.

“If we stay here,” he said quietly, “every alpha in this place is going to start noticing your scent.”

Mark’s jaw tightened slightly.

Junior stepped closer, not enough to touch but enough that the warmth between them sharpened instantly.

“So we have two choices,” Junior continued, voice low and steady despite the heat pressing through his instincts.

“We walk away from each other right now. You get as far away as possible.”

He paused.

“Or we stop pretending this is something we can ignore and act on it.”

Mark’s breathing hitched slightly.

Their eyes met again and the answer was written clearly there.

Junior didn’t wait any longer.

He extended his hand.

“Come with me.”

Mark looked at it for only a second before placing his own in Junior’s.

The moment their fingers touched, the reaction was immediate.

A rush of warmth surged through both of them, sharp and undeniable.

Mark inhaled sharply.

Junior tightened his grip instinctively, pulling the omega closer.

Behind them the party continued—loud, chaotic, completely unaware.

But for both of them the world had narrowed to something much smaller.

Shared breath.

Warm skin.

And the quiet certainty that neither of them had truly intended to walk away in the first place.

Junior didn’t slow once they left the rooftop.

The moment their hands joined, the world seemed to narrow into a single, urgent path forward. He guided Mark through the stairwell door and into the quieter hallway beyond, away from the music and the crowd and the growing number of alphas who would eventually notice the intoxicating scent trailing behind them.

The air inside the building felt cooler, but it did nothing to quiet the heat thrumming beneath Junior’s skin.

Mark followed him without protest, their hands still locked together. His breathing remained uneven, and every step seemed to pull another wave of jasmine and moonflower into the air between them and the ache beneath his skin more palpable.

By the time they reached the elevator lobby, the pull between them had sharpened into something almost unbearable.

Junior jabbed the call button.

Once.

Twice.

The seconds stretched painfully long.

Mark leaned back briefly against the wall, pressing a hand to his temple as if trying to steady himself. But the moment Junior turned toward him again, the attempt at composure faltered.

Their scents surged together once more.

The elevator doors slid open with a quiet chime.

They stepped inside.

The doors closed.

And the fragile thread of restraint between them finally snapped.

Junior moved first.

His hand slid from Mark’s fingers to the back of his neck, pulling him forward with sudden, instinctive urgency.

Their mouths collided in a rough, breathless kiss.

The reaction was immediate.

Mark’s hands caught at Junior’s waist as if the contact grounded him, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt while the heat between them surged again.

The kiss wasn’t careful.

It wasn’t hesitant.

It felt like instinct taking the lead where reason had been holding them back.

Junior pressed Mark gently but firmly back against the elevator wall, one hand still braced at the back of his neck while the other settled at his waist, steadying him as another wave of pheromones rolled between them.

Mark inhaled sharply against his mouth.

The sound sent another pulse of heat straight through Junior’s chest.

For a moment they simply stayed there—breathing hard, foreheads almost touching, their scents tangled together in the small enclosed space.

Mark let out a quiet, disbelieving breath.

“…This is insane.”

Junior huffed out a faint laugh, though it sounded more like a strained exhale.

“Not exactly the brightest ideas.”

But neither of them stepped away.

If anything, the elevator’s tight space seemed to draw them closer.

Mark’s fingers curled into the front of Junior’s shirt again.

“You’re sure you’re still fine with this?” he murmured.

Junior rested his forehead briefly against Mark’s.

“Enough to know walking away right now would be a terrible idea.”

Mark’s breath hitched slightly.

Then he leaned forward again.

This time the kiss was just as urgent—but deliberate.

Not an accident.

Not instinct alone.

A choice.

The elevator continued its slow descent, unaware that the quiet metal box had become its own sealed world of heat and scent and shared breath.

And neither of them noticed the floor numbers passing above the door.

They were far too focused on each other.

The elevator doors opened with a quiet chime.

Neither of them noticed which floor they had reached.

Junior was the first to move, pulling back just enough to drag in a steadying breath before guiding Mark out into the dim hallway beyond. The quiet of the corridor felt almost surreal after the chaos of the rooftop party—soft carpet beneath their feet, muted lights along the walls, the distant hum of the building’s air system the only sound.

But the silence didn’t help.

If anything, it made the pull between them sharper.

Mark’s scent filled the space around them, thick with jasmine and moonflower, warm and intoxicating. Junior felt it settle deep in his lungs with every breath, each inhale feeding the restless heat running through his body.

“This way,” Junior murmured, though he wasn’t entirely sure where he was going.

Mark didn’t question him.

He followed.

Their hands remained locked together as they moved quickly down the hallway. The tension between them felt almost electric now, every brush of skin sending another surge of warmth through both of them.

Junior stopped outside the first door he recognized as an available room, swiping his card with fingers that were far less steady than he would have liked.

The door shut behind them with a soft, final click.

For a moment the room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing.

The shift from the crowded rooftop to the dim stillness of the hotel room felt almost unreal. The city lights filtered faintly through the curtains, casting long shadows across the carpet.

But the heat between them hadn’t faded.

If anything, the confined space only amplified it.

Mark’s scent took hold almost at once—jasmine and moonflower unfurling in the heat, dense and clinging, saturating the air until every breath Junior drew carried it deeper into him, settling somewhere he couldn’t quite ignore.

Junior pushed a hand back through his hair, a futile attempt to ground himself.

It didn’t help.

His eyes found Mark again.

Even like this—flushed, unsteady, breath catching—Mark met his gaze without wavering, something sharp and unwavering cutting through the haze.

Junior made himself ask again—one last time—refusing to cross a line he couldn’t come back from.

“For the final time… are you sure?”

His voice came out rough, strained thin between instinct and restraint, like something barely held in check.

“If you want,” he added, quieter now, “I can lock the door and leave.”

A beat.

“You’ll be safe here.”

For a split second the words hung between them.

Mark didn’t hesitate.

He shook his head once.

Then he closed the distance again, catching Junior’s mouth in a hard kiss that knocked the breath straight from his lungs.

Mark’s fingers caught at the front of Junior’s shirt, impatient, and slid down to the buckle of his belt with unmistakable intent.

“I want you,” Mark said against his mouth, breath uneven.

“I’m sure of it.”

The blunt honesty of the words sent another surge of heat through Junior’s chest.

His hand moved instinctively to Mark’s waist, slipping beneath the edge of his shirt as he untucked the fabric from his jeans. His palm met warm skin, and the contact sent a sharp spark of electricity through both of them.

Mark inhaled sharply.

Junior felt the reaction just as strongly.

His fingers tightened reflexively against Mark’s side.

“Good,” Junior muttered, his voice low and strained as another wave of scent washed over him.

“Because you smell so fucking good, it’s making me delirious.”

• • •

The feel of Mark’s hands at his throat rooted Junior in place.

For a moment, the alpha couldn’t move—could barely think. The omega’s scent wrapped around him, thick and inescapable, flooding his senses until it felt less like breathing and more like drowning in it.

And then—

Instinct took over.

Before he could stop himself, he was pressing in, burying his face in the space between Mark’s shoulder and neck, dragging in a deeper breath of him. It hit harder there—richer, warmer—and something in him snapped taut.

Bite.

Claim.

Devour.

The urge surged, sharp and undeniable.

It took everything—every shred of control Junior had left—to pull back before his teeth found Mark’s nape. Instead, he turned just enough to redirect it, mouth finding Mark’s jaw in rough, open-mouthed kisses, teeth grazing, nipping at the sensitive skin behind his ear.

Mark reacted instantly.

The contact sent a rush through him, heat pooling low and fast, his body answering before thought could catch up. He wanted more—needed more—something rougher, less restrained.

A low, broken sound slipped from his parted lips as Junior’s hands tightened around his waist, fingers pressing hard enough to leave an imprint, something that would linger long after.

Between uneven breaths and quiet, unsteady sounds, Junior forced himself to focus, dragging his gaze back up to Mark’s.

“Have you done this before?”

The question barely cut through the haze.

Mark’s head tipped back slightly, breath catching, the words slow to reach him—but the look in Junior’s eyes anchored him, pulled him back just enough.

“I’ve never… done anything like this.”

It was the truth.

He’d never needed to. Never wanted to. There had been people—offers, expectations—but nothing that ever made sense enough to follow through.

Until now.

Now, with an alpha he barely knew, everything in him was saying the opposite of what it should.

That this was right.

That he was safe.

That this—somehow—made sense.

There was a sharp intake of breath—

Mark realized, distantly, that it wasn’t his.

It was Junior.

Even through the haze, something in Mark’s mind snagged on it, spiraling almost immediately—would that change things? Would Junior stop, now that he knew? Leave him like this, caught in the heat, with nowhere for it to go—

“Then… I’ll try to be as careful as I can.”

It was all Junior managed, voice low, roughened by restraint and something heavier beneath it.

And then he moved.

One moment Mark was standing, the next he was lifted—effortless, like he weighed nothing at all—as Junior carried him toward the bed.

There was no pause.

No space to think.

Junior didn’t wait for him to settle before his hands were already there, urgent, unsteady in their focus as they worked at the fabric in the way. Each layer removed felt like a reveal, more pale skin bared under his gaze, more of Mark laid open before him.

Junior’s breath hitched.

“I can’t believe it… all of this—”

His voice dropped to something almost reverent.

“—for me.”

The words barely made it past his lips, like he wasn’t meant to say them aloud.

How had no one touched him?

How had someone this breathtaking been left untouched?

The thought struck something deep and possessive in him, something that made his chest tighten as he leaned over Mark, caging him in without thinking.

Like this had been meant.

Like he had been meant to be here.

He didn’t waste time questioning it.

Not when Mark was beneath him, sprawled— chest heaving, flushed pink and willing.

Not when the air felt this heavy, this charged.

His mouth found skin—warm, soft—and his hands settled at Mark’s waist, firm, grounding, pulling him closer without hesitation.

The tension between them thickened, pressing in from all sides.

Mark was no less affected.

Heat coiled through him, thick and insistent, tangled with the sharp edge of rut that filled the air until it was impossible to separate where it ended and he began. It left him lightheaded, body slow to thought but quick to respond.

He let it happen at first—let Junior strip him, let himself be seen.

Let those dark, hungry eyes move over him like he was something to be devoured.

But it didn’t stay one-sided.

A shift—subtle, instinctive—and Mark was moving too, hands finding fabric, tugging, pulling, pushing it away with far less care. Clothes were discarded without thought, falling somewhere out of reach as urgency replaced hesitation.

And then—

he looked.

Truly looked.

Even through the haze, even with his thoughts dulled and scattered, something in him stilled long enough to take it in—the way Junior hovered over him, stripped bare, all sharp lines and solid strength. Broad shoulders casting a shadow over him, the defined pull of muscle along his arms, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed through something just as consuming.

Mark’s gaze dragged lower without permission.

Over the tight lines of his abdomen, the way tension coiled there, barely restrained—

—and then lower still.

He faltered.

A flicker of something sharp cut through the heat—something that made his breath catch, his body tense for an entirely different reason. Even half-hidden, there was no missing it. The sheer presence of the alpha’s leaking cock. The reality of it.

Too much.

His fingers tightened slightly where they still rested against Junior, grounding himself without meaning to. A strange mix of anticipation and uncertainty curled low in his stomach, twisting together until he couldn’t quite separate one from the other.

How was that supposed to—

His thoughts didn’t finish.

Didn’t need to.

Because even with that flicker of doubt, of hesitation—

he didn’t pull away.

His hands found Junior’s shoulders—solid, steady—and held on.

Anchored himself there.

The first touch of Junior’s mouth drew a sharp breath from him, then another, as open-mouthed kisses followed—scattered, relentless—across his collarbone, his chest, up the line of his neck.

Each one sent something deeper through him, something that made his grip tighten, made his body arch closer without thinking.

He wasn’t just allowing it.

He was answering it.

Suddenly, Mark felt it—hands pressing, palming against his growing erection, firm and deliberate—and it stole the breath from his lungs.

His eyes squeezed shut, the sensation sharp enough to leave him reeling, heat rushing through him in a way that made it hard to think, harder to steady himself.

He barely had time to recover.

Those same hands moved with sharper purpose now, quicker, more insistent, as Mark lay still against the bed. Junior worked rapidly, undoing and loosening, tugging the fabric free inch by inch until it finally slipped down, bunching at his ankles.

And then—

Nothing left between him and Junior’s gaze.

The exposure hit all at once.

Paralysing.

Freeing.

Mark’s breath came uneven as he lay there, completely bared, every inch of him open to be seen—held in that moment where there was no hiding, no distance, just the weight of another’s attention fixed entirely on him.

Junior noticed it—the subtle shift in Mark’s body, the way he adjusted beneath him, something between discomfort and anticipation.

And still, he didn’t rush.

He let the moment stretch, deliberate in his restraint, his gaze tracing slowly over what had been revealed to him.

Slender.

Refined.

A narrow waist that fit too easily beneath his hands, the sharp lines of his form drawing the eye downward in a way that made something in Junior tighten.

He took it in, piece by piece, like he was committing it to memory.

Like he had all the time in the world—

even as everything in him urged otherwise.

“Don’t hide from me,” Junior murmured, his voice low, edged with something firmer now.

His touch followed the lines of Mark’s body as he spoke—slow, tracing along the contours laid bare beneath him, as if mapping them out for himself.

There was no urgency in the movement.

Only intent.

Like he meant to learn every inch, to feel every subtle reaction beneath his hands, to draw Mark out of himself piece by piece.

“Let me see you,” he added, quieter still, his gaze never leaving the omega beneath him.

Before Junior lets his hands wander any further, he catches Mark’s gaze.

“Can I?”

The question is quiet, but grounded—steady despite everything building between them.

Mark nods.

That’s all it takes.

Every touch that follows feels like fire—spreading, catching, leaving heat in its wake. Mark’s breath stutters, his body responding before he can steady it, each point of contact sharpening everything he’s already feeling.

Junior feels it too.

That pull—deep, instinctive—urging him to take, to lose himself completely.

To rush.

But he doesn’t.

Not yet.

He reins it in, forcing control over something that wants to unravel, choosing instead to slow down, to take his time as his hands move deliberately—learning, mapping, committing every reaction to memory.

Junior settles himself between the omega’s open legs, the sight alone enough to make something tighten in his chest.

He reaches for Mark’s foot, guiding it closer, his touch firm but deliberate. A brief pause—then he presses a soft kiss at his ankle, something almost reverent in the gesture.

But it doesn’t stay gentle for long.

His mouth trails upward, slow at first, then more certain—over the line of his calf, higher, lingering just enough to draw a reaction from the omega beneath him.

Mark’s breath stutters, his body responding without restraint.

Junior’s other hand doesn’t stay idle, it’s sole focus on the hardened nipples of the other— moving, testing, drawing out every reaction he can. Each shift, each touch pulls another broken sound from Mark, soft at first, then less controlled, spilling out of him in uneven waves.

Junior takes a moment, to take it all in.

Then he bends down, towards the omega’s inner thighs. His mouth finds soft skin, leaving a slow trail of lingering kisses, each one intentional, grounding, like he’s trying to fix the moment in his mind.

He stills, just for a second, his thoughts blurring under the weight of moonflower and jasmine, the scent thick as he comes face to face with the untouched hole of the omega. Fluttering with every laboured breath and glistening with slick— the sight alone an oasis, calling to the starved, restless animal buried deep inside him.

Acting on pure instinct, Junior gives in, drawn to the slow trickle of slick—unable to stop himself as he laps it up, something feral in him taking over completely.

The gesture has Mark going still.

Not from hesitation—but from the way it reaches something deeper, something that had been aching inside him since the unexpected heat took hold.

It had been there from the start.

A restless, gnawing need.

At first, just being near Junior had been enough to quiet it, to dull the edge and keep it at bay.

But this—

This was different.

With Junior’s mouth on him, that ache didn’t just ease—it unraveled, giving way to something far more overwhelming, something that pulled him under completely.

Like he was being lifted—drawn into a different kind of euphoria he couldn’t fight, and no longer wanted to.

Mark’s hand lifts without thought, gripping into Junior’s hair and pushing him further down into his heat.

Junior follows instantly—no resistance, only willingness.

For Mark, it already felt overwhelming—almost too much in the best way—but the moment the alpha’s tongue breached the taut ring of muscles, something in him unraveled completely.

The sensation hit all at once, sharp and unfamiliar, like being pulled somewhere far beyond himself. His breath broke into a startled cry, hands instinctively finding their way into the alpha’s hair, fingers tightening as if to anchor himself.

His body reacted before he could think—legs tensing, toes curling, every nerve lit up by the sudden intensity. It was disorienting, consuming, like stepping into something he had no language for—only feeling.

Once Junior feels the shift in Mark—his body loosening, yielding—he tests it carefully. A slow, deliberate touch of his thumb breaching slicked hole—meant to gauge, to confirm.

There’s no resistance this time.

No hesitation.

And Junior knows that Mark was finally ready.

The younger alpha takes his time opening the omega’s entrance using, the slick and saliva that pooled at the rim, easing him into it with deliberate care, his movements slow, measured—guided as much by instinct, by the clear tension he can feel surrounding his finger.

Junior was quietly grateful that the omega’s body had produced enough slick to ease his fingers into the tight heat—he would have hated causing pain, especially for Mark’s first time. This hadn’t been planned, not something he’d meant to let happen tonight, but now that it had, he wasn’t about to handle it carelessly.

“You—” his voice dips, rough but controlled, close against Mark’s ear, “you need to relax… or you’ll get hurt.”

It’s quieter now, more grounding than before.

He shifts slightly, not stopping, but gentling the pace—giving Mark time to adjust, to breathe through it.

At the same time, he leans in, teeth grazing lightly at his ear, a soft nip meant to distract, to pull his focus away from the discomfort and into something warmer, something easier to follow.

Something that would help him let go.

It takes time, but Mark gradually begins to loosen, his body yielding in small increments, tension giving way to something more pliant.

Junior feels the shift.

Waits for it.

Then carefully pushes another finger into the heat, testing, adjusting—never rushing, even as everything in him urges otherwise.

Then he spits down on his hand to lubricate another finger, before he inserts it inside.

Until he stills, gauging the way Mark responds, the way his body tightens and then slowly eases again.

Even now, the tension is unmistakable.

Junior lets himself glance up, just for a moment.

Mark’s hands are clenched tight around the sheets beneath him, knuckles paling with the force of his grip, like he needs something—anything—to anchor himself.

His face gives him away.

Drawn tight, caught somewhere between discomfort and something deeper, something that edges dangerously close to pleasure, yet Junior doesn’t want to assume.

“Are you okay, do you need me to stop?”

The immediate response surprised him.

“No don’t stop, I’m okay… I can handle it, just give it to me,” Mark’s breaths came uneven, chest rising and falling in shallow pulls, his gaze unfocused—hazy with heat, with everything building just beneath the surface.

It was the look of someone already overwhelmed.

Already yielding.

“I— I can handle it.” Despite everything—heat, tension, the pull of it all—Mark’s voice came out firm, edged with quiet determination.

Junior took it in for a brief moment—the parted lips, the tension in his body, the way he seemed to teeter on the edge of something he couldn’t quite control.

The alpha had no desire to hold himself back any longer—not if Mark was ready.

So he lets go.

The last thread of restraint slips, and with it, the careful pace he had been forcing himself to keep.

His free hand was already moving, tugging at his own underwear in a rush, pushing the fabric away—eager to rid himself of the last barrier between him and Mark.

Junior withdraws his hands from the tight heat that had clamped around them. Junior—despite the urgency thrumming through him—still takes a second to gather what he can of the omega’s slick, his movements quick but not careless. The loss of contact is immediate—

—and before Mark can even form the question, before confusion has a chance to settle in—

Junior moves quickly, straightening himself tugging at his hard cock, coating it with slick and saliva before aligning his leaking cock to the omega’s fluttering hole.

“I need you to breathe… omega.”

The words are quieter than they should be—low, edged with something deeper, something instinctive. His alpha voice slips through without force, not raised, not sharp—but resonant in a way that settles rather than commands.

Junior isn’t one to use it.

He’s always held it back, kept that part of himself contained, unwilling to let it override choice or turn something shared into something taken. But here—now—it isn’t about control.

It’s about grounding him.

The word omega isn’t spoken like a claim. It’s softer than that, wrapped in something steady, something meant to anchor Mark rather than overwhelm him. A quiet thread of instinct shaped into reassurance.

The words settle into Mark in a way nothing else has.

Low—too low. That subtle pull of an alpha voice woven through them, not forceful, not overwhelming—but there. Felt more than heard. It slips under his skin, wraps around his thoughts, and suddenly—

everything narrows.

Mark’s eyes fly open, breath catching sharply as the new sensation hits him all at once—overwhelming, stretching, too much and not enough in the same breath.

And beneath it—

something deeper answers.

It isn’t just the physical. It’s instinct. Recognition. Every part of him reacting at once, something buried and ancient rising up in response to the way Junior said it.

Omega.

The alpha’s omega.

The thought doesn’t even fully form—just a rush, a pull, a quiet, desperate certainty that floods through him without permission.

My alpha.

It echoes through him, over and over, louder than the confusion, louder than the overwhelming stretch, louder than anything else.

His body tightens instinctively around every inch of Junior’s cock that was slowly burying itself inside of him.

The omega caught between the intensity of the moment and the grounding weight of Junior’s presence above him. His fingers clutch tighter, breath uneven, chest rising sharply as he tries to hold onto something steady.

And somehow—

despite everything—

that voice gives him something to hold onto.

For a moment, everything blurred.

All Mark could feel was the intensity of it—raw, consuming—his fingers tightening in their hold as he struggled to steady himself against the sudden shift.

Even as the instinct within Junior surged—demanding, reckless, urging him to lose himself completely—he forced himself to slow. At his core, he knew better. This wasn’t something to rush, no matter how fiercely his body pushed for it. The skin on skin contact between them, the way Mark responded—it mattered too much to ruin with carelessness.

“Easy,” he murmured, voice low, steadier than he felt. “I’ve got you… just breathe for me.”

He held himself there nestled inside the omega’s heat, resisting the urge to move, giving Mark time—time to adjust, to settle, to meet him halfway. His restraint showed in the tension of his shoulders, the tight way he exhaled through his teeth.

Mark’s fingers tightened in the sheets beneath him, a sharp breath catching before easing into something softer. “I—” he faltered, voice unsteady, but not pulling away. “I’m okay—just… give me a second.”

His other hand found Junior’s arm, gripping lightly, grounding himself as he adjusted. Then, quieter, almost reluctant but honest, “Stay like that… it’s—just you’re… let me get used to you.”

Junior doesn’t answer—doesn’t trust himself to, not with everything pulling tight inside him.

Instead, he moves.

There’s a sharper edge to it now, urgency bleeding through the restraint as he leans down, his mouth finding Mark’s neck with a firmer press this time. Not rough—but not as careful either. Intent. Grounding. A distraction he needs as much as Mark might.

He doesn’t linger long in one place. His lips move—neck to collarbone, then back again—quicker, more insistent, like he’s chasing something to hold onto. Each kiss lands with purpose, a quiet attempt to pull Mark’s focus away from the strain, from the unfamiliar stretch of the moment.

His breath is uneven against Mark’s skin, warm and close as he shifts higher, catching along his jaw, then just beneath his ear.

And still—he holds himself in place.

Every bit of that urgency gets redirected into those touches instead, into the way his hands brace, the way his mouth keeps moving—anything to keep control, to give Mark time without letting himself lose it entirely.

Junior keeps moving like that—kisses pressed a little too firm, a little too frequent, like he’s barely holding himself together—

until Mark’s voice, quiet and close, slips between them.

“I think… I’m ready.”

Everything in him stills.

Not just his movement—but something deeper, something that settles and sharpens all at once. His lips linger at Mark’s jaw, breath warm and uneven as he pulls back just enough to see him.

To really see him.

There’s a flicker of something in Junior’s expression then—something softer, but threaded with something else too. Something almost possessive in the way his gaze holds Mark’s, like he’s taking in every shift, every hint of vulnerability laid bare just for him.

And he likes it.

Not in a careless way—but in a way that makes his chest tighten, that makes him feel anchored and undone at the same time. Like this moment—Mark like this—is something he wants to remember.

His hand steadies against the bed as he finally moves again, he pulls out slow and deliberate, easing forward with care—but this time without stopping himself entirely.

His eyes don’t leave Mark’s.

Watching.

Learning.

Holding onto every reaction as it happens.

And there’s a quiet kind of pride in it—the way his expression shifts, subtle but unmistakable—as if he knows, deep down, that he’s the one being trusted with this.

The pressure alone has the alpha squeezing his eyes shut, breath catching and then holding as if he didn’t quite know how to release it again.

Nothing he’d experienced before had ever felt like this.

Not even close.

Sex with other people, there had always been distance—something muted, something controlled.

This was neither.

This was overwhelming in a way that bordered on consuming, every sensation heightened, sharpened, impossible to ignore. Mark’s scent lingered thick in the air, mixing with the heat until it felt like it wrapped around him completely.

It left him unsteady.

Like he was suspended somewhere just out of reach of himself—caught in something intoxicating, something that refused to loosen its hold.

“Fuck— Mark…shit, you feel so good… so tight.”

Junior nearly loses himself to it.

Even as he forces himself upright, trying to hold onto some semblance of control, his thoughts begin to scatter—fractured by sensation, by the overwhelming closeness of it. His gaze drops despite himself, drawn to where they’re joined, to the way his cock disappears into the tight void and every inch he pulls out, the stretched skin grips on to him— tight and all consuming.

The sight alone is enough to push him closer to the edge—his control slipping, instinct clawing its way forward as everything in him fixates on the connection between them, on the way Mark yields and holds him all at once.

The praise pulled something tight out of Mark, his body reacting before he could make sense of it. The unfamiliar sensation had him tensing, discomfort flickering through him, sharp enough to steal his breath for a moment.

But the weight of Junior above him—solid, grounding—kept him anchored.

Kept him from pulling away.

And then he feels the alpha’s movement.

Measured.

The shifting pressure eased and returned in a steady rhythm, something that his body gradually began to understand, to adjust to. What had been sharp began to dull, the edge softening into something deeper—something heavier, harder to name.

Not painless.

But no longer overwhelming.

A strange, growing ache settled in its place, unfamiliar yet… not unwelcome.

Mark’s breath broke on a soft sound, his head tipping back slightly as the sensation took hold of him.

“—ah… nghhh oh God—”

The moment Mark’s moans broke against his ear, something in the alpha snapped.

He dragged him closer—tight, unrelenting— strong arms locking around him as he moved with sharper intent—he needs to be deeper, to be completely enveloped by the heat, any trace of earlier restraint gone.

Everything felt faster now.

Hotter.

Mark gave under him, every reaction immediate, unfiltered.

“Ju-Junior… please—hnng faster… deeper… I want it.”

Junior turned his head, needing—needing—to see him, to see how utterly gone his omega is.

And it hit all at once.

Mark looked completely lost to it, breath uneven, lips parted— broken moans escaping at each unrestrained thrusts, his whole body caught somewhere beyond thought, beyond control.

And then—

A flash of something else.

Junior stilled just enough to catch it—the sheen at the corners of Mark’s shut eyes.

Tears.

It cut through him, quick and sharp.

Without thinking, he leaned in, pressing quick, almost desperate kisses against them, like he could chase them away, like he could ground him without slowing down.

Like he couldn’t stop—wouldn’t stop—even if he tried.

Junior pounds into the pliant body beneath him— faster and deeper.

“Fuck… ah fuck— Mark…” Groans—low, fractured—kept breaking from Junior’s reddened lips, each one sharper than the last marked by each thrust of his hip.

“That’s it… you’re doing so well. It’s like you were made me.” Junior’s mind blurs at the edges, slipping into something close to delirium—and yet, beneath it all, his instincts remain clear, certain in a way nothing else is, telling him this omega was always meant to be his.

Each movement was met just as fiercely.

Mark’s legs tightened around the alpha, drawing him closer, holding him there like a vice, afraid—truly afraid—that if he didn’t, Junior might pull away.

Might stop.

The thought alone sent a sharp urgency through him.

Maybe it was the heat.

Or the overwhelming pull of the alpha above him, the scent, the closeness, the way everything felt too much and not enough all at once—

—but the words came anyway.

Unfiltered.

Unfamiliar.

Spilling from him in broken, breathless waves.

“No—don’t… don’t stop, don’t pull out—”

His grip tightened, both hands coming up to catch Junior, pulling him down until they were face to face. His eyes, once shut tight, forced themselves open—locked onto Junior’s, desperate and unsteady.

“Junior…ah— please.”

The sound of his name—pleading, raw—hung between them.

And Junior stilled.

Just for a second.

Caught there, between Mark’s hands, between instinct and something far more dangerous.

How was he supposed to deny that?

When everything in him—every instinct, every pull—was already answering.

Maybe, once the heat faded, once the haze of rut loosened its grip and the rational part of him would understand just how reckless this was.

How dangerous.

But right now—

right now, every instinct in him roared louder than reason.

To claim.

To mark.

To consume everything the omega offered without hesitation.

Consequences could come later.

His future self could deal with them.

For now, there was only this.

Junior lifted a hand, brushing away the tears slipping from the corners of Mark’s eyes, his touch unexpectedly gentle against flushed skin. His thumb lingered for a fraction of a second before his hand shifted, cupping Mark’s jaw, steadying him.

Grounding him.

Then he leaned in, closing the distance, capturing Mark’s reddened lips in a kiss that was anything but restrained.

“I’m gonna… ughh— fill you to the brim with my seed.” It felt filthy, unrestrained, nothing like the man he knew himself to be—and yet he wanted it all the same.

Junior’s rhythm broke— sharper now, less controlled “—ughh shit… make you full with my pups,” and it pulled a visceral reaction out of Mark, his body arching instinctively beneath him, breath catching on a broken sound.

The shift only drove something deeper in Junior.

Something possessive.

His hand moved without thought, settling low against the slight bulge of Mark’s stomach, holding him there—like he needed to feel it, needed to ground himself in something real as his thoughts spiralled faster, darker.

The image struck him hard—

Mark, full, radiant, entirely his.

It sent a surge through him, sudden and overwhelming, tightening everything inside him as instinct surged to the forefront.

Closer now.

Too close.

And still, he didn’t pull back, not when the tight heat remains all consuming.

Mark nods, the motion unsteady, breath breaking as the words fall from him without filter.

“Yes—… yes alpha— fill me with your pups.”

He’s lost in it now.

Completely.

Every part of the omega drawn tight, waiting, the tension building until it feels unbearable—like something just beneath the surface, ready to break.

Junior feels it too.

The shift.

The pull.

Stronger now, heavier, dragging them both toward the same edge.

Mark’s grip tightens, body responding before thought can catch up, the ache of release building, cresting—inevitable.

And still, neither of them pulls away—not with the end already closing in.

Soon, the room dissolved into nothing but sound—broken breaths, low, unrestrained noise, the rhythm between them unsteady and overwhelming.

And then—

the end came.

Junior stilled, his body going rigid for a brief moment, breath turning ragged as the tension finally broke, everything in him unraveling at once- painting Mark’s inner walls white with his release.

After, he remained there, hovering close, chest rising and falling heavily, every breath uneven as the aftermath settled in.

Mark followed not long after, cumming untouched, his body tightening and releasing, the sensation pulling through him in waves despite the haze clouding his mind. His grip slackened slowly around Junior, strength leaving him all at once.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Just to let the moment sink in—

Heat.

Rut.

The lingering weight of everything that had just happened.

Both of them spent—body and mind alike.

• • •

Junior woke slowly.

For a moment he lay still, caught in that strange place between sleep and awareness where the world hadn’t quite come into focus yet. The room was quiet, washed in the pale gray light of early morning filtering through the hotel curtains.

Something felt… different.

Then he realized what it was.

The restless heat that had burned beneath his skin the night before—the sharp edge of rut that had made every breath feel too tight—was gone. Completely gone. In its place was a quiet calm, the kind that settled deep into his bones after a storm had finally passed.

Junior exhaled slowly.

His body felt heavy, relaxed in a way that was unfamiliar after such an intense night.

And then he became aware of the weight resting against him.

Carefully, he lowered his gaze.

Mark was asleep against his chest.

The realization settled over him with quiet clarity.

The omega was sprawled half across him, one arm tucked loosely between them while the other rested near Junior’s shoulder. At some point during the night Junior’s own arm had wrapped instinctively around Mark’s waist, pulling the omega closer.

Their bodies were still tangled together beneath the sheets.

Mark’s head rested just below Junior’s chin, close enough that Junior could feel the slow rhythm of his breathing against his skin.

For a moment, Junior didn’t move.

Not out of hesitation—but because there was nothing urging him to. The urgency, the heat, the overwhelming pull of the night before had long since faded, leaving behind something quieter. He could still remember it, though—the way everything had burned so bright it had swallowed thought entirely, the way it had unraveled until there was nothing left but instinct and each other.

And then the aftermath.

Mark going still against him, breath evening out far too quickly, exhaustion pulling him under before anything else could settle.

Junior hadn’t followed right away.

Even with his own body spent, mind dulled and drifting, he’d stayed awake just a little longer. Long enough to make sure things didn’t remain as they were. Careful not to wake him, he’d eased away, movements slower now, stripped of urgency. There had been something grounding in it—finding something to clean them with, taking his time, making sure Mark was comfortable, that nothing would linger in a way that might cause discomfort later.

It hadn’t been perfect.

It didn’t need to be.

Just… enough.

Mark had stirred once, a faint shift, but hadn’t woken—only settling again when Junior returned, drawn back in without thought, his body finding its place against him like it had already decided where it belonged.

And now—

morning, or something close to it—

they were back where they’d ended up. Tangled together, warmth shared beneath the sheets, the quiet weight of sleep still clinging to them both.

Junior lay there, more awake now, gaze unfocused as he stared ahead.

There was a quiet sense of relief in his chest.

That he’d taken the time.
That Mark hadn’t had to wake to anything uncomfortable.
That, even in the blur of everything that had happened, he hadn’t let himself be careless in the end.

Beside him, Mark shifted faintly in his sleep, pressing a little closer without waking.

Junior’s arm tightened—just slightly.

For a moment Junior simply stayed still, watching because this was the closest he had ever been to Mark.

Before last night it had always been distance—passing conversations in crowded lecture halls, quiet moments across shared study tables, brief exchanges between classes.

Always near, yet never this close and now the details were impossible to miss.

Mark’s skin was pale in the soft morning light, smooth and warm where it brushed against Junior’s chest and yet the once unblemished skin is now littered with his marks. His lashes were long, dark against his cheeks, and the faint flush still lingering across his face made him look younger somehow.

Peaceful.

Junior’s gaze drifted lower.

Mark’s lips were slightly parted, reddened and partly bruised from the night before, soft in a way that made something quiet stir in Junior’s chest.

For a moment he forgot to breathe.

Up close, Mark was… beautiful.

Now—now he could really see him.

Last night, he had stripped him bare, his gaze tracing every line, every contour of his body, committing it all to memory in fleeting, heated glances. But it had been different then.

Blurred.

Drowned beneath instinct, sharpened by want, by heat that left no room for anything softer, anything slower.

Now, there was no such excuse.

No haze to hide behind.

Just Mark—close enough to study, to take in properly—and the quiet, undeniable realization settling heavier than before.

Not in a dramatic way.

Not in a way that demanded attention.

But in a quieter way that made you want to keep looking.

Junior realized suddenly that he had never allowed himself to study Mark like this before.

Maybe he had never trusted himself to.

He shifted slightly against the pillow, careful not to wake him.

But the movement must have been enough.

Mark stirred.

His brows knit faintly in sleep as he shifted closer, the motion unconscious, seeking warmth without waking fully.

Junior froze instantly.

Instinctively, he closed his eyes again and stilled his breathing, pretending to remain asleep.

A moment later Mark moved again, adjusting his position so that his head rested more comfortably against Junior’s chest.

The warmth of him settled there.

Close.

Familiar.

Junior stayed perfectly still, listening to the quiet rhythm of Mark’s breathing as the early morning light continued to spread slowly across the room.

And for reasons he couldn’t quite explain—

He found that he didn’t mind staying exactly where he was.

• • •

Morning arrived slowly.

Soft sunlight filtered through the unfamiliar hotel curtains, pale and quiet, spreading across the rumpled sheets and the floor beside the bed. The restless heat of the night had faded completely, leaving behind only the lingering warmth of sleep and the faint echo of mingled scents still clinging to the room.

Mark was the first to move.

Junior remembered the moment clearly.

The omega had stirred against him, blinking slowly as consciousness returned. For a brief second Mark had looked disoriented, as if piecing together where he was and how he had ended up there.

Then the memory of the night before must have settled into place.

Mark had gone very still.

Carefully, he pushed himself upright, one hand braced against the mattress as the sheets shifted around him. The morning light caught the soft curve of his shoulder and the loose strands of hair that had fallen across his face.

Junior watched quietly.

There was something thoughtful in Mark’s expression now—something calm, but deliberate. Like he had already decided how the conversation was going to go before it had even begun.

Junior had opened his mouth then.

Not entirely sure what he was planning to say.

Maybe something simple, maybe something about breakfast.

Maybe something about seeing each other again—about actually getting to know each other beyond shared lectures and passing conversations across campus.

But Mark spoke first.

“We probably shouldn’t read too much into this.”

His voice had been steady.

Not cold.

Just… careful.

Junior remembered sitting up slightly, studying him.

Mark hadn’t looked away.

“It happened because of the situation,” he had continued quietly. “Heat and rut don’t exactly encourage rational decision-making.”

The words were practical.

Reasonable.

Almost clinical.

Junior had felt the moment closing even as it happened.

“Plus, we barely know each other,” Mark added after a pause. “And graduation is in a few weeks. Our lives are probably going in completely different directions.”

There had been a boundary in the way he said it.

Clear.

Firm.

Not unkind—but unmistakable.

Junior had held his gaze for another moment, then nodded.

At the time, it had seemed reasonable enough, because Mark was right, they did barely know each other and their lives were about to move in completely different directions.

Treating the night as something temporary—a moment shaped by instinct and circumstance—had been the simplest solution for both of them.

A passing moment.

Something that could quietly remain where it belonged.

Still…

Junior remembered the faint trace of jasmine and moonflower that had lingered on his shirt long after Mark had left that morning.

And how, even hours later, the scent had been strangely difficult to forget.

• • •

Junior blinked, returning to the present as his office lights flickered slightly.

The building was quieter now, with most employees already on their way home.

He glanced at the clock.

6:10 PM.

Mark had left the office almost exactly at five.

Quickly.

Junior had noticed.

Not because he had been watching, just because it stood out.

Most new employees stayed late during their first week, trying to make a good impression and yet the omega had packed up and left the moment the workday ended.

Efficient.

Almost rushed.

Junior frowned thoughtfully.

Something about that behavior didn’t quite match the Mark he remembered.

Or maybe it did.

Mark had always been disciplined about his time.

Still…

Junior leaned back in his chair.

Why had Mark seemed so anxious during lunch?

Why had he been so quick to shut down any mention of the past?

And why did it feel like there was something about Mark’s life now that he was deliberately avoiding talking about?

Junior rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully.

He told himself it wasn’t his business.

People changed and built lives, but curiosity had always been one of Junior’s biggest weaknesses.

And tonight, as he shut down his computer and grabbed his jacket, one quiet thought lingered in his mind.

What exactly has Mark been doing for the last four years?

He had a feeling the answer might be more complicated than Mark had let on.

• • •

Mark left the office exactly at five.

Not five-oh-five.
Not five-ten.

Five.

The moment the minute hand touched the hour, he shut down his computer, organized the papers on his desk into a careful stack, and slipped them carefully into his bag.

He didn’t look toward the executive offices as he stood.

He didn’t need to.

He had felt Junior’s presence all day—somewhere on that floor, like a quiet warmth lingering in the background of a room. A presence he had been aware of since the moment he walked in that morning.

Four years hadn’t changed that.

Mark pushed the thought aside as he walked toward the elevator.

Focus on the routine.

Routine was safe.

Routine meant stability.

And stability meant Kin.

The elevator doors slid closed with a soft chime. Only then did Mark allow himself to exhale, the tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying loosening slightly in his chest.

The conversation at lunch replayed in his mind almost immediately.

"Are you seeing anyone?"

Of course Junior would ask something like that.

He had always been straightforward. Curious. Disarmingly open in a way that made people answer honestly before they even realized they were doing it.

Mark leaned back against the cool metal wall of the elevator.

Seeing Junior again had stirred something he hadn’t expected. A quiet, uneasy thought had crept into the back of his mind—one he hadn’t entertained in years.

For a brief moment, he wondered if it meant something. If crossing paths again after all this time was some strange twist of fate meant to remind him that Junior had a child in the world.

That maybe he should know.

The thought sat heavily in Mark’s chest.

Because he also knew the truth.

If their paths had never crossed again, he likely never would have told him.

The idea had rarely crossed his mind before now. Junior had his own life, his own world, and Mark understood well enough how that world worked. It was complicated, unpredictable—nothing Mark had ever wanted to step into.

Yes, what happened that night had been a decision they both made.

But what came after had been Mark’s choice alone.

Keeping the baby had been his decision.

And from the moment he made it, he had never once felt the need to involve Junior or ask anything of him. Mark had accepted the responsibility entirely as his own, never expecting Junior to be part of it.

Never planning to tell him at all.

Until today.

Because when Junior had mentioned that night, something in Mark had almost cracked.

He had almost said something.

Not the whole truth—but something closer to it.

But instinct had taken over immediately, the same protective wall snapping into place like it always did.

Forgetting was safer.

Safer for Junior.

And most importantly—

Safer for Kin.

• • •

The daycare was warm and softly lit when Mark arrived.

Children’s drawings covered the walls—bright scribbles of crayon suns and uneven stick figures.

The familiar scent of baby shampoo, crayons, and snack crackers filled the room.

Kin sat on a foam mat near the reading corner, pushing a small toy car across the floor with intense concentration.

Mark paused in the doorway and for a moment allowed himself to simply watch the little boy.

Two years old.

Still so small.

Still so unaware of how carefully his life had been protected.

Kin looked up suddenly.

The moment he spotted Mark, his entire face lit up.

“Papa!”

The joy in that one word loosened something tight in Mark’s chest and he crouched just in time to catch the small body that launched toward him.

“There you are my little puppy,” Mark murmured, pulling him close.

Kin smelled like warm milk and honey, with the faintest trace of the daycare soap they used.

Mark buried his face briefly in the soft hair at the top of his head.

Safe.

Everything in his life had become about this small person in his arms.

Kin leaned back slightly and held up his toy car.

“Papa look.”

“I see,” Mark said gently. “Look at that, it looks like a fast one.”

Kin nodded very seriously.

“Fast.”

“I bet it is.”

The teacher approached with Kin’s bag and gave Mark the usual quick update about snack time and story circle.

Mark listened, nodding politely, though his attention kept drifting back to Kin’s face.

It happened sometimes, in moments like this.

Moments where Mark really took his time and looked at him.

And saw it.

The similarities.

Kin’s eyes were Junior’s. 

Warm, dark brown, with a brightness that seemed to catch the light easily. Even the shape was the same—wide when he was curious, narrowing slightly when he focused on something that held his attention.

Mark reached over and brushed a stray lock of hair from Kin’s forehead.

For four years, Mark had done his best not to think about Junior. It had been easier that way. Necessary, even.

But forgetting someone was difficult when the quiet reminder of them existed right in front of you.

Every day.

His smile, at least, was Mark’s.

The soft curve of his lips. The way his cheeks lifted when he laughed.

But the eyes—

Those were unmistakable.

And sometimes, when Kin looked up at him just right, it felt like the past was staring back.

Mark swallowed slowly.

Outside, evening sunlight painted the sidewalks gold as they walked toward the train station.

Kin sat comfortably on Mark’s hip, playing with the strap of his bag.

“Papa.”

“Yes?”

“Kin… hungy.”

Mark smiled faintly.

“Already? What do you fancy?”

Kin nodded before tilting his head, seriously pondering.

“Cakies.”

“You ask for pancakes every day.”

Kin considered this carefully.

“Yummy cakies.”

Mark huffed a quiet laugh.

But his thoughts were already drifting again.

Back to Junior.

Back to university.

Back to that night.

• • •

Junior had always been easy to notice, though not because he ever seemed to try to draw attention to himself. If anything, the opposite was true. Junior moved through the world with an effortless brightness that made people naturally gravitate toward him, the way plants turn instinctively toward warmth. He smiled easily, laughed often, and remembered the small details about people’s lives that most others forgot, speaking to everyone with the same open warmth whether they were the most confident student in class or the quietest one lingering at the back of the room.

Mark had noticed him long before they had ever truly spoken.

It had been impossible not to.

Junior usually sat somewhere in the middle rows during lectures, leaning back slightly in his chair with relaxed attention while professors spoke, his posture loose and unguarded in a way that suggested the world rarely felt heavy on his shoulders. His scent—sandalwood layered with amber—was warm and steady, never overpowering like some alphas whose pheromones demanded attention the moment they entered a room. Being near him had always felt strangely calming, like standing near a source of gentle warmth on a cool day.

Mark had told himself that it meant nothing.

Just a pleasant scent.

Just another classmate among hundreds of others.

But the truth had always been slightly more complicated than that.

Because sometimes, when Junior laughed across the room or leaned casually over someone’s shoulder to glance at their notes, Mark had felt something quieter stir inside him—something he had carefully chosen not to examine too closely. It wasn’t quite longing, and it wasn’t quite envy. It was more like watching sunlight through a window and wondering, just for a moment, how warm it might feel if you stepped outside and stood directly in it.

Junior was like that.

Bright.

Effortless.

The kind of warmth people instinctively gathered around without realizing it.

And Mark had always known exactly what that meant.

Junior was the sun.

The kind of person whose warmth everyone wanted a piece of, whether they admitted it or not.

Mark had long ago decided what that made him.

A sunflower.

Always turning quietly toward the light.

Never meant to reach it.

So he had kept his distance.

Until the night of the party.

Even now the memory returned in fragments that felt sharper than they should have been—the pulse of music vibrating through the rooftop floor, the warm night air brushing against his skin, and then the sudden, overwhelming rush of heat blooming beneath his ribs without warning.

Mark remembered gripping the balcony railing as instinct surged through him, trying to steady his breathing as the realization settled in.

Heat.

Unexpected.

Unwelcome.

And then—

Sandalwood.

Amber.

Stronger suddenly.

Closer.

Junior stepping toward him through the crowd, his expression shifting from confusion to realization in the exact same moment Mark felt his own pulse spike.

“You’re in heat.”

Even now Mark could remember the look on Junior’s face when they both understood what was happening—the surprise, the disbelief, and beneath it all the unmistakable pull neither of them had expected.

Junior had given him more than one chance to step away that night.

Mark remembered that clearly.

The way Junior had asked if he was sure, the way he had offered to leave, to make sure Mark was safe, to put distance between them before instinct took over completely. Every opportunity had been there, every open door allowing Mark to walk away and let the moment dissolve into nothing more than a strange coincidence.

But Mark hadn’t taken any of them.

Because somewhere beneath the haze of heat and instinct, there had been another truth he hadn’t wanted to look at too closely.

He had wanted it.

Maybe not only because their biology had reacted so violently to one another.

Maybe not only because their pheromones had tangled together in a way neither of them had been able to ignore.

Maybe because some quiet, long-silenced part of him had finally stopped pretending that he hadn’t always been drawn to that warmth.

Like a moth drifting too close to flame.

Knowing perfectly well how it might end, but wanting the light anyway.

The rest of the night blurred together in Mark’s memory after that. The elevator, the way their hands had found each other again and again, the overwhelming rush of pheromones filling every small space between them until the air itself felt warm and heavy with scent—sandalwood and amber wrapped tightly around jasmine and moonflower until it became impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

For a few stolen hours, Mark had allowed himself something he had never expected to have.

Not a future.

Not a promise.

Just a moment.

Just warmth.

Morning had been different.

Quiet.

Clear.

Reality settling back into place like dust after a storm.

Mark remembered sitting on the edge of the bed while soft sunlight spread slowly across the floor, the world returning to normal piece by piece as instinct faded and reason returned. Junior had been watching him carefully, his expression thoughtful in a way that suggested he might have been about to say something—something that might have shifted the direction of the moment if Mark had let it.

But Mark had not waited long enough to find out.

“We probably shouldn’t read too much into this,” he had said quietly.

It had been the sensible thing.

The practical thing.

They barely knew each other, and graduation was only weeks away. Their lives were already moving toward different futures, different cities, different paths that would never quite intersect again.

It was easier this way.

Simpler.

One night.

One moment.

And then the world returning to what it had always been.

Junior—the sun everyone naturally turned toward.

And Mark—

Just another sunflower quietly facing the warmth, even while knowing better than to expect anything more.

• • •

Mark shifted Kin slightly in his arms as they waited at a crosswalk.

The tired toddler rested his head against Mark’s shoulder, half distracted by the passing cars.

Mark studied his son’s face again.

Junior’s eyes.

Junior’s brightness.

What if they met?

The thought hit him suddenly, sharp enough to make his chest tighten.

What if Junior saw him?

What if he noticed?

The timeline.

Kin’s age.

The similarities.

Junior was observant.

Curious.

He asked questions.

Always had.

Mark’s stomach twisted.

What would he say if Junior found out?

Would he feel trapped?

Angry?

Would he think Mark had hidden the truth deliberately?

Would he try to take responsibility?

Or worse—

Would he stay out of pure obligation?

Mark’s thoughts spiraled quickly.

He had spent three years drafting their lives— a safe one, a stable one.

Junior appearing now could change everything.

Kin shifted again, patting Mark’s cheek.

“Papa?”

Mark blinked.

“Yes?”

“Cakies.”

The simple reminder pulled him back to the present.

Mark let out a quiet breath.

“Alright,” he said softly. “Let’s make pancakes.”

Kin smiled immediately.

And Mark held him a little tighter as they crossed the street, trying to push the storm of thoughts back down where they belonged.

For now, Junior didn’t know.

And Mark intended to keep it that way.

At least for as long as he could.