Chapter Text
“Hyung.” There was something off about Jisung’s voice. It was thin, nervous.
“Hannie? Is everything okay? It’s late.”
“Hyung,” Jisung repeated, almost a plea this time. “I think… I think I’m presenting.”
— ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ᢉ𐭩 ˖ ࣪ ⊹ —
Minho couldn’t seem to shake the phone call even though a full week had passed. It was making it hard to focus on his studies, something Minho rarely struggled with.
Minho was good at being a student; academics gave him clear goals to obtain, with few messy feelings to work through. Right and wrong numbers, black-and-white text. Yes or no, not maybe or what if.
Minho had never quite been “normal.” As a child, he had found it difficult to make friends, and whenever he’d tried, it left him worse off. Like when he was eleven and his best friend had abruptly left him to befriend other kids, as if the decision was the easiest thing in the world. Minho wasn’t as cool, or as funny, or as interesting as other people. He could never find classmates who understood his personality, or enjoyed it enough to stick around. He was just a stand-in when he was the best—or only—option available.
So instead, he dedicated himself to his schoolwork. Breezing through his assignments, acing exams, solving for his parents’ and teachers’ approval. There was a formula, and Minho knew it by heart. Minho couldn’t seem to control whether his peers liked him, but at least there was something in his life he could manage.
This singular focus only sought to make his fellow classmates think he was even stranger, especially as he worked his way through high school. He was overly serious for a teenager, much too studious for a boy who was on the cusp of presenting.
Minho was smart, yes, but above all, he was disciplined. Organized, logical, and controlled.
Control. Something Minho wasn’t keen to let go of… except when it came to Jisung.
Jisung.
Jisung, who had always been a cute kid. Equal parts brat and ray of sunshine. Attention-seeking at times, reserved and anxious at others. And always in Minho’s orbit.
They were introduced shortly after Jisung met Felix—Minho’s younger brother—during the younger’s first year of high school. Minho was two years older, so they didn’t always hang out together. But Minho, ever the responsible older brother, would often drive the two boys places: between their houses, to the mall, even to the store to satisfy nighttime cravings for ice cream. Minho and Jisung grew familiar with each other. Comfortable. Almost to the point of family, but not quite.
Jisung was the only one besides Felix who didn’t seem to find Minho’s studious and reserved nature off-putting. Minho had long since stopped trying to make jokes with others, but with Jisung, he’d occasionally let his personality show.
Minho sighed, pacing back and forth through the apartment as he tried to get his thoughts under control. His beta roommate and friend, Changbin, looked over his shoulder from where he sat on the sofa, sharp eyes cataloging Minho’s disheveled state.
“Are you okay?” Changbin’s eyebrows furrowed as his eyes scanned Minho’s face.
“I’m fine, Changbin-ah. Just tired.”
He appreciated the care of his friend, but some things he just couldn’t share. Some things Minho needed to keep locked away in his chest. (It wasn’t a coincidence that most of them involved Jisung.)
Changbin knew him well, though. Minho had moved to a city a few hours from his family home for college, a place where he knew no one. The university had matched them as roommates during their first year, and they'd been living together for two years since.
Despite Minho’s tendency to isolate himself, they became close surprisingly quickly. It started with little things and easily grew from there. When Changbin had been struggling with a class early on, Minho offered to help. And when Minho wanted to learn how to properly use the gym so that he could keep his body healthy, Changbin taught him. Over time, they began to live parts of their lives together. Changbin would make sure Minho ate, and Minho would cook. Minho would force Changbin to study, and Changbin would ensure Minho got out of the dorm. It was symbiotic, in a way, but it was more than that. Changbin was the only other person besides Jisung who Minho really felt he clicked with. And even though Minho tried to keep Changbin at an arm’s length, he weaved his way into Minho’s life. Changbin understood Minho, without Minho needing to say anything.
He understood him too well to be fooled by his lie now. Understood him well enough to ask, “How’s Jisung doing, by the way?”
Minho nearly flinched.
The question should have seemed completely random, out of nowhere. But it was too spot-on. Did Changbin know Minho’s anxiety was related to the other boy?
“You know, I don’t really think he liked me,” Changbin added with a huff, an amused smile playing at the edges of his lips.
Minho couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.
— ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ᢉ𐭩 ˖ ࣪ ⊹ —
A few weeks prior, Minho had decided to make a quick trip home between exams ending and his summer internship starting. Since Changbin had nothing better to do that weekend, Minho had brought him along to eat some good home-cooked food and meet his family. After all, Changbin was his closest friend, so he figured it was warranted.
Minho was looking forward to seeing his family, but he hated to admit how excited he was to see Jisung, too. The younger had just finished up his first year of university and had traveled home for summer break. The previous year, Jisung had been accepted to a four-year college abroad where he could study music production. Minho had been proud when he learned. A little sad—which he tried to ignore—but proud all the same.
Minho felt something close to relief upon seeing Jisung in the flesh again. Yes, it was evident in the other’s face that another year had passed, and he’d grown out his hair a bit, but he was still the same Jisung.
Jisung smiled and the elder sent a crooked grin back.
“Hey, Hannie.” Minho’s words were accompanied by a poke to the younger’s soft cheek. Although Jisung had grown over the years, his cheeks still maintained some youthful roundness, something Minho suspected he’d never age out of.
Jisung jerked his head back, pouting. “Stop doing that. I’m almost twenty.”
“And I’ll be doing it when you’re thirty, too.”
Jisung rolled his eyes, and Changbin shot a curious glance between the two of them.
Minho cleared his throat and introduced them.
As expected, Changbin greeted Jisung with a big smile and a friendly I’ve heard so much about you. But Jisung had been rather rude, his lips twitching downwards, even as he voiced a compulsory nice to meet you.
But Changbin had taken Jisung’s animosity in stride. Some might assume that he got irritated less easily than others since he was a beta, but really, Minho thought that was just how Changbin was. It was one of the things Minho really admired about him.
At first, Minho figured Jisung’s behavior could be due to a general discomfort with strangers. But then Jisung proceeded to glare at Changbin the rest of the afternoon, even though Minho didn’t have the faintest idea why.
As the day progressed, Minho became increasingly convinced that there was something different about Jisung. The younger man had glued himself to Minho’s arm and demanded selfies, glanced at the elder a few too many times throughout dinner, and hugged him for just a moment too long when they parted.
For a moment, Minho wondered if he himself was just oversensitive after having been deprived of the other’s familiar presence for months. Because Minho missed Jisung, probably more than he should have. Even if it hurt to admit it. Even if he knew that Jisung’s choice to study so far away was the right one.
But the extent of Jisung’s clinginess, combined with the younger’s unwarranted attitude towards Changbin, wasn’t quite explainable.
In hindsight, maybe Jisung’s actions made sense, with his presentation around the corner. It was conceivable that the boy would feel defensive, and want to hog Minho’s attention, because Minho was one of the few alphas close to him.
— ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ᢉ𐭩 ˖ ࣪ ⊹ —
Minho blinked away the memory when Changbin raised an eyebrow at his long silence.
His spacing out was really damning.
“Jisung, uh…” Minho swallowed, wondering if he should even share the information. Well, Changbin would find out eventually, and hiding it was worse. “I think he was just sensitive that weekend. He presented recently.”
Changbin hummed in acknowledgement. “That makes sense. He seems to really like you.”
Minho shrugged. “We were always around each other when I still lived at home. I think he’s just… comfortable with me.”
Changbin cocked his head. “Are you sure that’s all?”
Minho rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course. That’s my brother’s best friend. I don’t know what you’re trying to imply.”
The other man held up his hands in defense. “Hey. He was hanging off of you the only time I’ve seen him, so it was a reasonable question.”
Too reasonable. Minho had been asking himself the same question for the past week.
But he could only come to the same conclusion: Minho was someone Jisung trusted, someone he easily ran to when he needed help. Familiar, comfortable. That was all.
Minho had to keep telling himself this.
Because even if by some miracle, Jisung cared for him like that at all… Well, Jisung was going far, far away again. He would continue to develop his talents and meet new people and live his life.
And even if, somehow, Jisung felt something more for Minho… the elder knew he wasn’t right for Jisung. Where Minho lacked, Jisung was overflowing. Emotion, self-expression, the way he drew people to him, the way he could make people want to stay—Jisung had this all in abundance. Meanwhile, Minho wasn’t even sure where to look inside himself to find the seed that needed to grow.
So yes, Minho could see that he felt something for Jisung—that was undeniable at this point—but it was also clear to him that Jisung could find better. Would find better. Attempting something more would only interfere with the inevitable, and break his own heart in the process.
Anyway, Minho had his own plans.
He’d finish his final year of university and go to law school. He knew he’d be good at it. He had a knack for memorizing rules, finding patterns and holes in arguments, and staying logical when others grew emotional and sloppy. And he found the subject matter engrossing; he could lose himself in pages and pages of text, words just waiting to be studied and dissected.
He’d much rather do that than try to study and dissect himself.
Changbin raised an eyebrow at his extended pause.
“We just know each other well,” Minho eventually responded, his words sounding unconvincing in his own ears.
“Have you talked with him since he presented?” Changbin prodded, and Minho wanted to curse his friend’s blunt nature.
“Briefly.” Minho shot his friend a look, one that told the man to absolutely not press further.
Changbin looked at him suspiciously, but let the topic drop. It was sure to come up again, but for now, his friend understood that he needed space.
But Changbin did make one final comment before Minho disappeared into his bedroom.
“Maybe it’s not my business, but… if something needs to be said, it’s best not to avoid it for too long.”
Minho wasn’t sure if it should or shouldn’t be said, if that would make things clearer or messier, but he thought he might avoid it forever.
— ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ᢉ𐭩 ˖ ࣪ ⊹ —
The call from a few days prior was burned into Minho’s memory like a brand.
“Hyung,” Jisung had addressed Minho when the elder answered his phone. Not only was the call unexpected, but there was something off about Jisung’s voice. It was thin, nervous.
“Hannie? Is everything okay? It’s late.”
“Hyung,” Jisung repeated, almost a plea this time. “I think I’m… I think I’m presenting.”
Oh. Minho couldn’t help but inhale sharply through his teeth. He hoped that Jisung didn’t hear it. His heart jumped behind his ribs. He hoped Jisung didn’t hear that, either.
Minho didn’t need to ask; he knew Jisung was presenting as an omega. He knew it in his bones, felt it in his veins. The miles between them meant nothing.
Maybe there was something instinctual about it. But if he looked closer, he knew the pull he felt was more than just biology. Jisung meant so much to him—too much to him. And suddenly his chest ached, as if gaining awareness that something was missing.
“Oh, Hannie,” he replied, tone understanding. “Is your family at home? Have you called Felix?”
Jisung whined in response. “I’m calling you, hyung. I want to see you.”
Minho froze for a moment. He felt his ears heat up, and his hands grow damp with sweat. The unique smell of almond permeated the room, overpowering the more expected notes of his scent.
Jisung was asking—no, begging—for Minho specifically.
Minho was torn in two: the half that wanted to rush to the newly presented omega, ignoring any and all speed limits to get to him sooner, and the half that wished he could undo everything that led them to this point.
The sound of Jisung sniffling broke him out of his momentary trance. He tried to re-center himself.
Logically, Jisung’s call made sense; Minho was possibly the closest alpha in the boy’s life, a safe presence. And Minho supposed he’d taken care of Jisung, in little ways, although never enough. And sometimes, he thought the boy noticed his efforts. So, Minho could understand why Jisung would be grasping for him in this situation.
That didn’t make it a good idea. That didn’t make it right.
Jisung didn’t want Minho like that. Not fully, not forever. Because no one ever wanted Minho like that. And because Jisung, of all people, deserved more.
Jisung was asking without knowing what he was inviting, without understanding the things that his heat might make him say. He was just reaching for a source of comfort.
Minho swallowed heavily. He had to do the responsible thing, the right thing, for both of them.
“I’m really sorry, Hannie, but you know I’m not in town—”
“Can’t you come here?” Jisung pleaded, voice tinged with desperation. “Just for… just for a little while? I just need to see you. I can’t—it hurts, hyung.”
Minho’s insides turned over. His fingers dug into his leg. His teeth bit into his lip.
“I can’t, Hannie. You know I can’t.” He grasped for any reasonable explanation, any believable excuse. “I have my internship—”
“Right. Right, of course,” Jisung responded, a wretched half-laugh half-sob reaching Minho through the speaker. “What was I thinking? Why would you ever…” He inhaled sharply, although whether from emotional or physical pain, Minho wasn’t sure.
Minho could act like he didn’t want to call out sick from his job. It was important, after all. But Minho knew what he was really avoiding: touching whatever relationship he and Jisung and Felix already had, testing his own control, and perhaps above all, being hurt. Being left behind.
Minho took a deep breath.
“Please call Lix, okay?” he tried to encourage again.
“Stupid alpha. Don’t tell me what to do.”
Jisung hung up the phone.
Minho sighed and dialed his brother. He didn’t want to explain the conversation he’d just had, so he told a small lie, claiming that Jisung “randomly called” and “sounded strange”.
Luckily, his words were enough to get Felix to check in with his friend.
Felix called Minho back a few hours later.
“Jisung presented,” he explained.
I know, Minho almost replied. But he stopped himself. If Jisung didn't tell Felix… well, Minho wasn’t going to reveal the situation. And he didn’t even understand it himself. It would be easiest to forget about it; perhaps Jisung felt the same.
“Oh?” Minho responded. He managed to keep his voice level. After all, he had been managing his emotions his whole life.
“It came a little later than normal, but he doesn’t seem surprised, at least. About the subgender, I mean.”
Minho hummed, simply encouraging Felix to continue.
“Well, I can give him some advice since I’m also an omega. But this first heat seems pretty painful. And he sounded a little… depressed? More than I expected, at least,” Felix commented, sounding genuinely concerned.
It was like a knife to Minho’s chest, rusty and dull. The cut ragged and painful, sure to scar.
Because even if Felix didn’t know any of the details, Minho knew that he was the reason Jisung was hurting. Knew he’d left him alone, when the younger had trusted him to help.
— ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ᢉ𐭩 ˖ ࣪ ⊹ —
Since that call, Minho had gone through the motions of his days, forcing himself to get ready in the morning, enduring long hours toiling away at a desk, and occasionally subjecting himself to lifting weights with Changbin after.
Normally, his routine was comforting. It was familiar, planned, clear. No room for doubt about what he should be doing or what would come next.
Still, something in him couldn’t quite settle. From the outside, everything appeared to be progressing as usual. But Minho was still uneasy.
He tried not to think of Jisung.
He used every tactic he’d learned to forget unwanted things: ways to ignore his classmates’ hurtful jests, techniques to disregard the judgemental stares of his peers, methods to pretend he didn’t want to spend time on enjoyable, but unproductive, things.
He deployed it all, and tried not to think of Jisung.
He still failed.
Eventually, Changbin complained about Minho’s mood again.
It was valid; Minho knew he was being edgier than usual. It was like something was itching under his skin, a discomfort he couldn’t quite alleviate.
A mistake he couldn’t forget.
A strange air filled the apartment as the two of them ate dinner across from each other after a longer-than-usual gym session, courtesy of Minho’s foul mood and Changbin’s gym rat enthusiasm.
The beta finished the last of the rice on his plate before letting out a sigh.
“Your scent is so strong I can even smell it through your patch,” he commented.
Minho frowned. He wasn’t particularly proud of his scent; it was reminiscent of black tea, a bit earthy like alphas’ often were, but had a nutty note, enough to make it a bit weird for his subgender. But what did it matter, anyway, when Minho wasn’t looking for a mate, or even a partner?
“Is your rut hitting soon, maybe?” Changbin added. It was a question, but his eyes didn’t hold any uncertainty.
Minho paused, rolling the idea over in his mind. It would be out of cycle, but would explain a lot.
God, Minho did not want to go through his rut. Many alphas enjoyed them—with the right partner—but to Minho, they were more of an annoyance than anything else.
When Minho had presented a couple years prior, everyone had been surprised. He was so level-headed that people generalized and assumed he’d be a beta. Even Minho had begun to convince himself.
He had been almost disappointed when he’d presented as an alpha. He didn’t want the emotional swings, the volatility that was assumed to come with the subgender. He didn’t have room for that in his life.
In retrospect, likely the only thing that kept his disappointment from fully settling into his bones was his gut feeling that Jisung would be an omega.
Even if Jisung wouldn’t present for years, and there was no way to know for certain beforehand. Even if Minho didn’t accept the depth of his feelings for Jisung until now, after the younger actually presented.
Not that Minho had anything against betas being with an omega, or omegas with omegas for that matter, but there was something about the perfect mating bite that haunted the dreams he refused to acknowledge.
Perhaps Minho was greedy, maybe even possessive. But he couldn’t acknowledge that. To acknowledge it was to feed it. And to feed it was to allow it to grow. To grow it into something like hope, something that would leave him emptier than he’d started.
There was no way going down that path would end well.
Minho had a plan, and he needed to stick to it.
— ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ᢉ𐭩 ˖ ࣪ ⊹ —
It only took a few hours for Minho to recognize that Changbin, as usual, wasn’t wrong. His rut was hitting.
And Minho wasn’t happy about it.
He didn’t like how he felt during them. And he didn’t want to deal with even the idea of someone helping him through one, much less actually looking for a partner. Minho didn’t let people in that easily; he couldn’t trust them.
His first handful of ruts were difficult, but not unbearable. And sure, he’d gotten off to take the oppressive pressure away, but it wasn’t really enjoyable. More of a hassle. And messy, too.
However, his first one after Jisung presented was torture.
The image of Jisung made it too enjoyable.
Minho wanted Jisung, needed him. But even if he was willing to plead, beg, and grovel, the younger would soon be thousands of miles away again.
Still, he couldn’t help but picture Jisung’s pink lips, his round eyes, the pitch of his voice as he whined to get what he wanted. Just the mental image spoke to something dark clawing at the edges of Minho’s consciousness. He hoped indulging his desires a little would quell whatever it was raging inside of him. But even if it eased the pain for a moment, helped him orgasm harder than he ever had, it only served to make his longing worse.
This is what he was afraid of. Not the unsatisfied physical urges, but the way his yearning drowned his entire being. And if this is what it was like given their current relationship, how bad would it have been if Minho had shown up that night to help Jisung? If he had known what it was like to have Jisung on such an intimate level?
Minho’s sadness was quickly followed by guilt.
He didn’t deserve to think about Jisung in that way for even a second. It was wrong. Jisung was his brother’s friend, he was someone who’d been compromised by heat, and perhaps most of all, he deserved someone better than Minho.
Jisung was so full of life, so teeming with emotion. Unlike Minho, he made his friends laugh endlessly and always caught strangers’ eyes with his wide smile. Minho had countless memories of Jisung growing excited at his latest little interest, expressing himself in so many creative ways, and building ambitions that were far broader than anything Minho could ever consider.
Minho was just Minho, and he happened to be in Jisung’s life. Jisung was a star that had crossed his path, sure to continue on its trajectory. Minho didn’t have the gravitational pull to stop him, and even if he had, he didn’t want to hinder his route.
So Minho did what he knew how: he avoided his feelings. It shouldn’t be that hard, right?
After all, Minho had been running from want his whole life.
— ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ᢉ𐭩 ˖ ࣪ ⊹ —
“Do you have time to visit before he returns to school?” Felix asked over the phone a few weeks later. Guilt churned in Minho’s stomach, memories of Jisung’s heat-induced phone call filling his brain, his heart, his body.
“My internship is really intense, Lix,” he managed, gritting his teeth, “I don’t think I can.”
He hated lying, but sometimes, a small one was necessary. To protect Jisung, and to protect himself.
Felix sighed, displeased. “I told Jisung that we could visit you, but he said he didn’t want to bother you. Couldn't you at least tell him that it’s okay?”
Maybe Jisung didn't want to see Minho after all.
Good, Minho told himself, that would be good.
Still, he could tell that Felix was frowning, and Minho hated when he frowned. His brother wanted nothing but the best for everyone.
“I… I really am at the office a lot. And I need to focus on this opportunity, you know that.” Minho put emphasis in his words, as if the effort would somehow convince both Felix and himself of the lie.
Felix scoffed—a rare thing. “Your priorities are kind of fucked, hyung. He wants a chance to say goodbye to you. You’re his favorite person, aside from me.”
Not anymore.
Minho swallowed and it felt like knives in his throat.
There was no way Jisung actually wanted to see Minho, after their fateful phone call. Minho knew he’d abandoned Jisung in a time of need. The younger had reached out to him at his most vulnerable, had trusted Minho, and yet Minho had refused—for selfish reasons. Because he couldn’t be what Jisung needed without wanting more.
So there was no way Jisung wanted to see him.
And if he did… why?
Minho was too much of a coward to find out.
— ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ᢉ𐭩 ˖ ࣪ ⊹ —
Four years passed and Minho continued to meet his goals.
It helped that while his classmates were busy going to parties, or struggling through relationships, or doing all the other things those in their twenties often did—Minho remained focused.
But every once in a while, memories would creep in. Often it was when he was the most stressed, like when he was burnt out from studying for his law school entrance exam, notes blurring in front of his tired eyes.
During times like those, he would remember how Jisung used to drag him out of his room when he had been cooped up studying, claiming to need a ride to the store for snacks—even though Minho knew Jisung already had plenty at home.
Or how Jisung held Minho’s hand as the elder clicked the link for his undergraduate entrance exam results, without Minho prompting it at all.
Or how Jisung would sometimes send a silly cat video late at night because he knew Minho liked them, and knew he had a tendency to stay up too late studying.
And Minho had noticed things about Jisung, too, of course. How passionate Jisung was about the things he cared about. How beautiful anything he created was, even if he rarely showed Minho his songs or poems. How perfect the boy’s smile was, and how it always made him feel strangely warm.
They were sort of friends, he supposed, but there was always an arm’s length Minho tried to enforce. The gap of two long years, and the context for their relationship. If not for Felix—if not for the family Minho happened to be born into—they would have never met. And Jisung would have never found a reason to attach himself to Minho.
Minho wasn’t sure at what point it became strange to have a life without Jisung at the edges, drifting in and out like a predictable, constant current.
But it continued to feel strange, even after four years. Even though, since Jisung’s presentation, Minho hadn’t seen the other man once.
It had been largely by his own design. There were a few opportunities to see Jisung—during the occasional holiday or break when the younger would make the trip back from his university abroad—but Minho always found an excuse to either not show up at home, or not meet up in his city. It was true that he had a busy schedule: exams, internships, and job searching. But it wouldn’t have been impossible to make time for Jisung. Felix definitely knew it, and he was sure Jisung knew it, too.
Felix had stopped pressing Minho for an explanation after the first couple of years. But Minho still received a disappointed look from his brother every time Jisung’s name came up.
Minho didn’t want to imagine the expression on Jisung’s face. Would he be upset that someone who’d been a regular part of his life—perhaps someone he admired, at one point—didn’t want to see him? Would he be angry that Minho was too scared to confront him? Or worse, would he be sad, supposing that the elder didn’t find him worth his time?
— ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ᢉ𐭩 ˖ ࣪ ⊹ —
Whether he wanted to or not, though, Minho would finally find out.
It was a Saturday, the streets outside of Minho’s window dotted with couples heading out for the night. A handful of teenagers joked around, pushing each other playfully; an interaction Minho had never experienced firsthand.
And that evening, just as Minho had just finished cleaning up after dinner, his doorbell rang.
On the other side of the door was the last person he expected.
Minho blinked a few times, as if it would somehow make him better able to process the sight in front of him.
Jisung had come to him, no choice given.
Sure, Minho had supposed the younger had finished school, in the vague way he registered every likely milestone in Jisung’s life as time went by. But he didn’t know if Jisung was returning to the country, didn’t expect him to come to the city, and definitely wasn’t anticipating the boy at his front door, side-by-side with Felix.
Jisung had only grown more attractive during their years apart. He was still cute—unbearably so—but his face had lost a little of its childish roundness and his shoulders had broadened, no longer the gangly teenager he once was. And he held himself like someone who was now comfortable in their skin.
At the moment, Minho couldn’t quite relate to that sentiment. He had thought he knew who he was, and where he was going… but Jisung’s reappearance sent a wrecking ball towards his carefully constructed self.
Minho took a breath to speak, and it was a mistake.
Just one inhale, and it felt like something in Minho had woken up. Jisung’s scent filled his lungs and caused his fingers to twitch, his gums to ache, his heart to beat a bit faster. And Minho had no idea what to do about all of that.
He could almost taste the cherries, a little tart and a lot sweet, balanced with vanilla, and a bit of something that was almost spicy but not quite. To Minho, it smelled like the perfect concoction.
It was a foreign feeling; he’d barely been affected by scents before. Some were nicer than others, and a few were a bit off-putting, but he’d never felt more than that.
And he definitely never had an urge to bite like he did when Jisung smiled, all heart-shaped, and said, “It’s been a long time, hyung.”