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The world had taken on a strange, hazy quality at the edges, like a watercolor painting left out in the rain. Seungmin blinked, trying to focus on the book spread open on his bed, but the words swam into meaningless black squiggles. A familiar warmth bloomed low in his belly, a persistent, humming thrum that vibrated through his bones. It wasn’t unpleasant, not yet, but it was a harbinger. Seungmin was absolutely dreading his heat.
A soft whimper from the living room drew his attention. Felix was curled into a tight ball, buried under a mountain of plushies and soft blankets, only a tuft of blond hair visible. His scent, usually a bright, sweet strawberry, had thickened, turning syrupy-sweet and heavy in the small room.
They were a synchronized pair, their cycles often aligning, a fact that usually brought Seungmin comfort. Today, it only amplified the restless itch under his own skin.
He needed something. Or rather, someone.
Chan.
The thought hit him with the force of a physical blow. An ache, sharp and sudden, bloomed in his chest. He wanted Chan’s scent, thick and comforting, like tiramisu and cedarwood, wrapping around him, suffusing the very air he breathed.
He needed to build a nest. A proper one. Their room was fine, but it lacked the essential component. The alpha.
He pushed himself up from his bed, his limbs feeling loose and slightly uncooperative. He took a steadying breath, but the air was thick with Felix’s sweetening scent and the cloying warmth of their shared pre-heat. It wasn’t enough. He needed… more. He needed him.
“I’m going to Chan-hyung’s, Lixie,” Seungmin called out, his voice a little raspy. He grabbed a pair of shoes and slipped them on.
Felix stirred, a sleepy, muffled, “‘kay…”
Seungmin didn’t wait for more. He slipped out of their dorm, the cooler air of the hallway a brief shock to his system.
The walk down the corridor was an exercise in concentration. Each step seemed to echo, the distant thud of music from another room, the murmur of voices—all of it felt too loud, too close. The base of his spine was starting to ache, a dull, persistent throb that signaled the beginning of the end of lucidity.
He reached the door to Chan and Jeongin’s dorm, punched in the code, and walked right in. Chan had given him the code for this very reason—to steal his clothes. He was a good alpha like that, always prepared, always understanding.
But he paused, his hand hovering over the handle to Chan’s bedroom door. He heard voices, low and rumbling. Was every alpha in their pack gathered in Chan’s bedroom?? He could hear them clearly through the wood.
He heard Changbin’s distinctive gravel, a comforting rumble. “…Felix practically shredded my last favorite sweater once trying to fluff it up. Said it wasn’t ‘soft enough’ for the headboard.” There was a fond exasperation in his tone.
Jeongin’s younger voice followed. “Hyunjin gets so particular. He spends an hour just rearranging the pillows. Won’t even let me touch them until he’s done.”
A soft huff came from Minho. “Jisung’s a nightmare. He just whines and rolls around in my laundry basket until I give him whatever he’s pointing at. Zero communication skills when he’s like this.”
Seungmin’s heart gave a little flutter. It was the universal language of their little pack, the shared chaos of caring for omegas in their pre-heat. He smiled faintly, his fingers now resting on the cool wood of the door. He should just go in. He was here for a reason.
Then came Chan’s voice. Deeper, warmer, the anchor he was seeking. But the words… the words were like ice water in his veins.
“Seungmin is such a handful when he’s in his pre-heat, and his heat.”
Seungmin froze. His breath caught in his throat. Handful? The word echoed in the sudden, roaring silence of his own mind.
“He gets all possessive,” Chan continued, and Seungmin could almost picture him, maybe gesturing with one of those large, capable hands, a look of weary amusement on his face. “He goes crazy if his nest isn’t perfect, and he’s so clingy and emotional.”
Handful. Crazy. Clingy. Emotional.
Each word was a physical blow. They landed with sickening thuds against his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs. The affectionate camaraderie he’d just been eavesdropping on curdled into something venomous. They weren’t sharing fond frustrations; Chan was complaining. He was complaining about him. To the other alphas. About how difficult he was. How broken.
The warmth in his belly soured, turning into a hot, churning pit of acid. The ache in his spine intensified into a sharp pain. He was too much. He was a burden. His alpha… didn’t want him. Not like this. Not when he was needy and possessive and crazy.
His own scent, usually sweet vanilla, began to curdle in the air around him. He could smell it himself—the sharp, acrid tang of distress, like spoiled milk. It rose from his skin, a silent, screaming signal of rejection.
He couldn’t breathe. The hallway, once merely a corridor, now felt like a trap, the walls closing in. He leaned his forehead against the cool wood of the door.
A strangled, choked-off whimper escaped his lips before he could stop it.
It was small, pathetic, like the sound of a wounded animal. He squeezed his eyes shut, hot tears pricking at the corners. He just wanted to go back to his room, to Felix, to hide under the blankets and never come out. He didn’t want Chan’s clothes anymore. They’d be tainted with the memory of this, with the phantom sound of Chan’s weary, disappointed tone.
All he could hear was the frantic, panicked beating of his own heart, and the damning repetition of handful, crazy, clingy, too much.
Inside the room, the conversation died. One by one, the other alphas’ heads snapped up, their noses twitching.
“Hyung,” Jeongin said, his voice sharp. “Do you smell that?”
Chan’s head tilted. The stench of distress was thick, cloying, and horribly, painfully familiar. It was omega distress, but not just any omega. It was his omega. Seungmin.
And it was coming from right outside his door.
He was on his feet in a flash, crossing the room in three long strides. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t think, just wrenched the bedroom door open.
And there he was.
Seungmin was a wreck. Slumped against the doorframe, his face pale, eyes wide and shimmering with his tears. His lower lip was trembling, and that awful, soured vanilla scent was pouring off him in waves. He looked utterly destroyed.
“Seungmin?” Chan’s voice was gentle, but laced with an undercurrent of panic. He reached out, but stopped himself, knowing sudden touch might be too much.
The omega flinched at the sound of his name, a fresh wave of tears spilling over and tracking down his cheeks. “C-Channie…” he choked out, the name a broken plea. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t mean to be a handful. I’ll try not to be so… so much. I promise.”
Chan’s heart shattered into a million pieces. The disconnect was immediate and horrifying. He heard the apology, the self-recrimination, and he knew with sickening certainty exactly what Seungmin must have overheard.
“Oh, Minnie,” he breathed, the words ragged. “No, baby, no. That’s not… you didn’t hear all of it.”
He carefully closed the distance, his movements slow and deliberate, letting Seungmin see him coming. He didn’t touch him yet, just moved into his space, a solid, warm presence. His own tiramisu scent rose, a deliberate, soothing balm against the sourness of the omega’s distress.
“Look at me,” Chan murmured, his voice low and coaxing. “Please, sweetheart, look at me.”
Slowly, as if it took all the strength he had, Seungmin lifted his gaze. His eyes were red-rimmed, full of a pain so raw it made Chan’s chest ache.
“You were complaining,” Seungmin whispered, the accusation fragile, like spun glass. “You said I was crazy and possessive and… and clingy.”
“I did,” Chan admitted, because denying it would be a lie. He took a cautious step closer, letting his scent thicken, wrapping around the shivering omega. “I said that. And it’s all true. You are possessive. You are clingy. And you absolutely drive yourself crazy making sure your nest is perfect.”
Each word made Seungmin flinch, a fresh wave of that terrible scent washing over him. Chan’s heart broke all over again. He had to fix this.
He finally let his hands settle on Seungmin’s shoulders, a firm, grounding weight. “But I love it,” he said, his voice dropping to that deep, intimate register reserved only for them. “I love all of it. I love that you want me so much you get possessive. I love that you need me close enough that you’re basically a second skin. And the nesting? Watching you build our space? It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”
He leaned in, his forehead pressing gently against Seungmin’s. “I wasn’t complaining, puppy. I was bragging. To my pack. About how lucky I am to have an omega who loves me so fiercely. Who needs me so completely. I was saying that taking care of you… that’s my purpose. It’s the best part of my life.”
Seungmin’s breath hitched. A small, choked sound escaped him. “Br… bragging?”
“Bragging,” Chan confirmed, rubbing his thumb over the tense muscle of Seungmin’s shoulder. “I love you, Seungmin. The parts that are easy, and the parts that are a handful. Especially the parts that are a handful, because that means I get to hold you tighter.”
The last of Seungmin’s control finally snapped. A high, reedy whine tore from his throat, a sound of overwhelming relief. He collapsed forward, burying his face in Chan’s chest, his hands fisting desperately in the fabric of Chan’s t-shirt. The sour scent of his distress was already beginning to fade, replaced by the sweet, milky vanilla, now tinged with the salt of tears and the deep, rich notes of Chan’s alpha scent.
Chan held him, wrapping him up completely, one arm around his waist and the other cradling the back of his head. He rocked him gently, shushing him softly. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Minnie. It’s okay. I’m right here.”
Chan gently steered the trembling omega into his room, murmuring reassurances the entire way. He didn't even glance at the other three alphas, his entire focus narrowed to the shivering figure in his arms. He guided Seungmin towards his closet, a massive, walk-in affair.
“Here, pup,” he said softly, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through Seungmin’s back. “Take whatever you want. Everything is yours.”
Seungmin peered into the cavernous closet. The scent that hit him was overwhelming. It was all just Chan. It was a heady, intoxicating wave of tiramisu, and a little bit of cedarwood. It was safety.
It was home.
The last remnants of his distress evaporated, replaced by a deep, instinctual need to roll around in every single piece of clothing.
He stepped inside, running his hands over the soft fabric of a hoodie, burying his face in a pile of sweatpants. The other alphas were still there, he knew, sitting on Chan’s bed, a low murmur of conversation starting up again, but they were background noise. Unimportant. His world had shrunk to this small, scent-saturated space and the alpha who had given it to him.
Changbin was saying something about Felix and his obsession with oversized t-shirts, and Jeongin was laughing, but Seungmin wasn't listening. He was on a mission.
He grabbed a hoodie—a well-loved, worn-in black one that smelled the most like Chan’s natural scent, the one he always wore when they were just lounging on the couch. He balled it up and pressed it to his nose, inhaling deeply. A soft, contented sigh escaped him.
Then he went for the neat stack of sweatpants. He needed something for the base of the nest, something to line the bottom. He gathered a few pairs, his movements becoming more confident, more purposeful. He was building something. A sanctuary.
He turned back towards the bed, his eyes scanning the room for more materials. His gaze landed on a folded blanket at the foot of Chan’s bed. It was thick and fluffy, a deep navy blue, and he knew from experience it was impossibly soft. He needed it. It was perfect for the top layer, the one he would burrow under.
He took a step towards the bed, but then he stopped. Minho was sitting on it. Right on top of his blanket.
Seungmin’s happy nesting bubble popped.
He stood there for a moment, clutching the clothes to his chest, just staring. Minho, oblivious, was listening to Changbin with a small, amused smile on his face.
Seungmin’s lower lip jutted out in a pout. He took another step. He cleared his throat, a small, polite sound.
Minho didn’t notice.
Seungmin’s pout deepened. He felt a little prickle of frustration. He needed that blanket. He walked right up to the side of the bed, close enough that Minho had to know he was there.
He poked him. A single, firm finger to Minho’s shoulder.
Minho turned, a questioning look in his eyes. “Yeah, Seungmin-ah?”
Seungmin just stared at him, then pointed a accusatory finger at the blanket trapped under Minho’s leg. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. The message was clear.
A slow smirk spread across Minho’s face. He glanced over at Chan, who was watching the entire exchange with a look of pure, unadulterated fondness. “Your puppy is demanding, Chan-ah.”
Chan just shrugged, a soft smile playing on his lips. “He gets what he wants.” There was no hint of apology in his tone. Just a simple statement of fact. He was utterly, completely whipped.
Minho let out a soft huff of amusement, but he stood up, moving to sit further up the bed beside Changbin. “There you go, Your Majesty,” he said, gesturing to the now-free blanket.
Seungmin beamed, a bright, genuine smile that lit up his whole face. He immediately scooped up the blanket, burying his face in its fluffy depths and letting out a happy, contented little hum. The sweet, milky scent of vanilla intensified in the room, pure and untainted by any distress.
Chan watched him, his chest swelling with an emotion so potent it almost hurt. This. This was what he’d been talking about. The possessiveness, the single-minded focus, the subtle demands. It wasn’t a burden. It was a privilege. He was the one Seungmin came to. He was the one whose scent could soothe him. He was the one whose things were worthy of the nest.
“See?” he said softly, mostly to himself, but loud enough for the others to hear. “Worth it.”
Jeongin snorted from his spot on the bed, leaning back on his hands. "Worth it? Hyung, you're looking at him like he just invented fire."
"He did," Chan replied, his gaze never leaving Seungmin. "He invented my reason for being." The words were so sincere, so earnest, that even Minho didn't have a witty comeback. He just shook his head, a small, knowing smile touching his lips.
Seungmin, oblivious to the conversation, was now in full nesting mode. He made a little pile of the clothes he’d gathered on the floor. The grey hoodie was definitely the centerpiece. He picked it up again, pressing it to his cheek, then looked at Chan with wide, expectant eyes.
Chan understood the silent request immediately. "Okay, pup. Let's get you home." He turned to the others. "We're heading out. See you guys later."
"Tell Felix I'm bringing him food," Changbin called out, already pulling out his phone to place an order. "Something with extra cheese."
"He'll love that," Jeongin added.
Minho just waved a dismissive hand. "Go. Before your alpha scents completely take over my olfactory system."
Chan laughed, a warm, deep sound that made Seungmin preen. He walked over, not to the door, but to Seungmin. He carefully took the pile of clothes from him, bundling them into a manageable bundle.
“Come on, Minnie,” he murmured, his free hand coming to rest on the small of Seungmin’s back, a warm, steady pressure. “Let’s go build the best nest ever.”
Seungmin leaned into the touch, a happy sigh escaping him as he followed Chan out of the room, the bundle of stolen clothes held securely in his alpha’s arms. He didn’t look back. He was already home. He just had to get to their room to finish building it.