Archive of Our Own

Wonwoo, a simple and broker omega, starts his morning early, before the city fully wakes. The apartment is quiet in that temporary way it always is—like it’s holding its breath before the day begins. He showers slowly, letting the warm water wash away sleep and lingering stress, then stands in front of his closet longer than usual.

Today matters.

A penthouse viewing has come through. One of the most expensive units in the building. The kind of listing that doesn’t come around often, and when it does, it can change everything—his reputation, his income, maybe even how long he can keep doing this job.

He chooses his outfit carefully: clean lines, neutral tones, nothing distracting. Professional. Impressive, but not desperate. He checks himself in the mirror more than once, adjusts his collar, smooths down his hair, and forces himself to look steady.

By the time he leaves, he’s already rehearsed the entire tour in his head—every feature of the penthouses, every line he’ll use, every pause he’ll need to fill.

Wonwoo is good at his job. Exceptionally good, actually—precise, attentive, the kind of broker who can read a client before they even speak and adjust his approach without ever breaking composure. He knows how to close deals, how to handle high-end listings, and how to turn interest into signed contracts.

And this isn’t just any client.

This is the kind of buyer who doesn’t look at options—they choose among the best. Someone eyeing penthouses like they’re standard inventory, not rare opportunities. The kind of person whose approval can define careers, elevate agencies, and make reputations overnight.

Which is exactly why—

Today isn’t just another showing.

It’s the kind of client you don’t afford to mess up.

Sunlight spills through the office windows as Wonwoo steps inside, catching on the glass and clean lines of the space. He’s barely had time to adjust to the brightness when a staff member greets him and quickly directs him toward the conference room where the client is already waiting.

The moment he opens the door, the air greets him first.

It’s an alpha scent—strong, but not overwhelming. Warm sandalwood, smooth and grounded, threading through the space like something steady rather than invasive. Wonwoo pauses for the briefest second, surprised at how… calm it feels. Most alpha pheromones press too sharply against his senses, too suffocating, too hard to ignore. This one doesn’t.

Inside, a man stands with his back facing the door, fully focused on an iPad shared between him and another man—his coworker, Seokmin, who is also an omega. Seokmin points something out on the screen as they quietly discuss the details. The client has broad shoulders and is unmistakably built in a way that makes the classification feel obvious even before confirmation. He has that kind of presence that doesn’t need to announce itself—large frame, composed posture, the quiet weight of someone who naturally commands space.

He is an alpha, through and through, he thought.

The client doesn’t turn.

He just leans slightly forward, listening, posture relaxed but confident, like he owns the room without needing to acknowledge it.

Wonwoo’s gaze lingers for a moment longer than necessary. The sandalwood scent is clearer here, centered around him, steady as breath. It’s the first time Wonwoo has ever encountered an alpha presence that doesn’t feel like it’s pressing down on him.

He steps inside fully, letting the door close behind him.

“Good morning,” he says, voice even, professional.

Only then does the buyer shift slightly—but still doesn’t turn around yet.

At the sound of his voice, the man finally turns.

And Wonwoo freezes.

For a moment, he’s certain his mind is playing tricks on him—because the face looking back at him is too familiar. Too deeply carved into memory. All too well, in a way that feels almost unfair.

Kim Mingyu.

The realization lands slowly, then all at once.

Mingyu’s expression shifts too, just slightly—subtle recognition flickering across features that mirror something Wonwoo hasn’t allowed himself to think about in years. The same eyes. The same quiet intensity. Like time never really erased anything at all.

Wonwoo swallows.

He’s not dreaming. He’s sure of it.

Mingyu looks… unfairly handsome. Worse than he remembers. Or maybe just different in a way that makes it harder to look away.

Before either of them can say anything, Seokmin clears his throat lightly, glancing between them.

“It seems like we’re all set,” he says smoothly. “You may head out now with Mr. Jeon, Mr. Kim. The penthouse viewing can begin.”

At the name, Mingyu’s ears perk ever so slightly, but his expression stays composed. He gives a small nod, professional and controlled.

Wonwoo forces himself to move.

“This way, please,” he says, voice steadier than he feels. “The company car is already waiting outside.”

Mingyu follows without a word.

The ride is quiet at first.

Outside the tinted windows, the city passes in blurred lines of glass and steel. Wonwoo keeps his posture straight, hands resting neatly as he speaks like he’s practiced a thousand times before.

“There are four penthouses in total we’ll be touring today,” he explains. “Each one has slightly different layouts and views, but all are in the premium tier of the property.”

He pauses briefly, glancing at Mingyu through the reflection in the window.

Mingyu is listening—but not in the way clients usually do. It’s more focused than that. Like he’s memorizing more than just information.

Wonwoo continues anyway, steadying his voice.

“The first unit is already prepared for viewing. After that, we’ll proceed in order depending on your preference.”

When they arrive, it’s just the two of them who go up.

The elevator opens directly into the first penthouse, and the space unfolds in front of them like something out of a magazine spread—glass walls revealing an uninterrupted view of the entire city skyline.

Wonwoo slips into work mode immediately.

“This unit has two floors,” he begins, stepping forward. “Total floor area is expansive, designed for privacy and entertainment. There are four bedrooms, each with en-suite bathrooms, plus a separate guest suite.”

He moves through the space as he speaks, pointing out details—the open-concept kitchen, the private lounge, the balcony overlooking the city below.

But mid-sentence, he realizes Mingyu isn’t looking at the view.

He’s looking at him.

“Wonwoo,” he said.

Wonwoo pauses.

Silence stretches for a beat too long.

Slowly, he turns fully toward Mingyu. “Y-you remember me.”

It isn’t a question.

Mingyu doesn’t hesitate.

“Of course,” he says quietly. “How could I not?”

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything right away.

The city view behind Mingyu blurs slightly as something old and buried presses against the present, pulling him somewhere else entirely.

They were younger then.

Too young to understand what “mates” really meant beyond promises whispered in places adults never bothered to look. Wonwoo still remembers it clearly—dusty afternoons, shared silence that never felt empty, Mingyu walking him home like it was the most natural thing in the world.

They used to talk about it like it was already decided.

When they presented, they would still be each other’s, regardless of whatever their presentations would turn out to be.

No hesitation. No doubt. Just a quiet certainty that somehow made sense when they were side by side.

Mingyu had always said it first, with that soft seriousness only he could manage even as a kid. Wonwoo had only ever nodded because somehow, he believed him.

Then one day, everything changed.

Mingyu’s family announced the move.

Overseas. A different country. A different life built too far away from the small town they both thought was the center of everything.

Wonwoo remembers standing there, not fully understanding why it felt like something was being taken before it even had the chance to exist. Mingyu had tried to smile through it. Tried to make it sound temporary.

“I’ll come back,” he had said.

“I’ll find you again. You’ll be my mate. And I’ll be yours.”

But years passed.

No letters. No calls that lasted long enough to matter. No way to bridge something that started slipping out of reach the moment the plane left the ground.

And Mingyu never came back to their town.

Not until after his college graduation. Not until after everything had already changed shape without him.

Now, standing in a penthouse high above the city, Mingyu looks at him like time was never strong enough to erase that promise.

And Wonwoo realizes, with something tight and unsteady in his chest, that neither of them ever really stopped remembering it.

For a long time, he had convinced himself Mingyu had forgotten. That whatever they had—whatever they almost became—had been left behind the moment Mingyu left the country. It had been easier that way. Cleaner. Less painful than imagining he was remembered but never chosen.

And when their eyes met earlier, that familiar flicker in Mingyu’s expression had almost made him feel foolish for thinking otherwise.

But now, with Mingyu right in front of him again, all of it feels like it never fully disappeared in the first place. Like something long buried had only been waiting for the right moment to surface.

Still, a part of him can’t help but wonder—quiet and stubborn and a little pathetic in how it lingers.

Does Mingyu still remember his promise?

The thought comes too fast, too honest, and Wonwoo almost hates himself for it.

Because even after all these years, even after everything that should have made it meaningless… it is still the first thing his heart reaches for.

Wonwoo clears his throat, forcing the moment back into something manageable.

“How are you?” he asks, carefully neutral.

Mingyu’s gaze doesn’t waver. “I’m good,” he answers simply. “I came back to the country two years ago.”

Wonwoo blinks once, slowly.

“And now I’m the CEO of our company here.”

The words land heavier than they should.

Wonwoo’s brows lift slightly before he can stop it. He feels a brief flash of surprise—genuine, unavoidable admiration following right after. Mingyu had always been capable, but this… this was far beyond what he would’ve expected.

Then, almost immediately after, something sharper slips in beneath it.

Two years.

Mingyu had been back for two years.

And he hadn’t looked for him.

The thought appears uninvited, settling in his chest before he can fully stop it. But Wonwoo exhales quietly and pushes it down, like he’s done with everything that used to matter too much.

He nods once and smiles. “Woah, that’s… nice. Congratulations.”

Mingyu studies him for a second longer than necessary, then asks, softer, “How about you? How are you?”

“I’m good too,” Wonwoo replies without hesitation. “Still working in real estate.”

Simple. Clean. Safe.

Except his thoughts are anything but.

He’s suddenly aware of how close they are in this vast, glass-walled space. Of how easily the past could slip into the present if he lets it.

He almost asks it.

The question sits right at the edge of his tongue—carefully shaped, dangerous in its honesty.

Do you have a mate already?

But he swallows it back before it can become real.

Instead, he turns slightly, gesturing back toward the kitchen as if nothing inside him has shifted at all.

“Let me continue the tour,” he says smoothly. “The kitchen island is made of imported stone, and the cabinetry uses Italian hardwood—custom-finished for durability and design consistency.”

He steps forward, voice returning to its practiced rhythm.

“One of the key features of this unit is the material selection throughout. Everything was chosen with long-term luxury and maintenance in mind.”

Mingyu only nods.

And then he follows.

Quietly. Closely.

He doesn’t ask anything else, even though Wonwoo can feel the questions lingering. It almost feels worse that he doesn’t. Like Mingyu is treating this like any other business meeting, even though it’s just the two of them in a luxury penthouse that feels far too large and too quiet for pretending.

The drive to the second penthouse is short, the silence between them heavier than the distance.

Wonwoo keeps his attention forward, speaking when necessary.

“The next unit is similar in layout,” he explains. “But it has a slightly more modern interior design.”

Mingyu listens without interrupting.

The second penthouse is almost identical to the first—same expansive layout, same floor-to-ceiling glass, same luxury finishings. But the difference lies in the atmosphere. This one leans colder, more minimalist. Steel accents instead of warm wood, sharper edges, and less warmth in the design language overall.

“Compared to the first unit,” Wonwoo continues, stepping into the main living space, “this one prioritizes structure over warmth. The materials are more industrial—glass, steel, and polished concrete instead of hardwood accents.”

He gestures toward the windows. “The view is also slightly angled more toward the downtown skyline.”

Mingyu follows quietly behind him again, close enough that Wonwoo can feel his presence but not close enough to touch.

They’ve been at this for hours—penthouse after penthouse, elevator rides blurring together, polished floors and floor-to-ceiling windows starting to look the same. But Mingyu treats each one like it’s the first. He lingers, observes, and asks precise questions. He checks the view from every angle, tests the water pressure, notes the distance from main roads, and calculates commute time in his head. Wonwoo has watched him pause by windows, phone already out, mapping routes to his office, to nearby malls, to anything that might matter later. Pros and cons stack neatly in Mingyu’s mind, filed away with quiet efficiency.

Wonwoo, on the other hand, slips easily into his role—explaining layouts, pointing out imported fixtures, listing amenities with practiced ease. His voice is steady, controlled, a professional cadence he rarely breaks. He gestures toward the kitchen island, the recessed lighting, the smart home system integrated into the walls. Everything about him says composed, unbothered.

Until it isn’t.

Somewhere between describing the private elevator access and the soundproofed walls, a wave of heat creeps up on him.

It’s subtle at first. A prickle at the back of his neck. A warmth pools low in his stomach, spreading outward in slow, deliberate pulses. Wonwoo pauses for just a fraction of a second, fingers tightening around the tablet in his hand.

That’s strange.

The air conditioning is centralized—cool, consistent. He can feel it brushing against his skin, raising faint goosebumps along his arms. And yet the heat lingers, stubborn, curling beneath his collar, pressing against his senses.

He clears his throat lightly and keeps talking.

“…and the building offers twenty-four-hour security, along with a private concierge service,” he continues, voice only just shy of strained. He takes a step forward, pretending to examine the control panel by the wall, using the movement as an excuse to steady himself.

It’s nothing, he tells himself.

Probably just exhaustion. They’ve been walking for hours, after all.

Behind him, Mingyu shifts—just slightly—and Wonwoo feels it again. That presence. Close. Solid. Warm in a way that has nothing to do with the room temperature.

Wonwoo exhales slowly, barely noticeable, and forces himself to move on to the next feature, brushing the feeling aside like it doesn’t matter.

But the heat doesn’t leave.

Then, they move on to the third penthouse.

The drive is again short, almost repetitive now, like the city itself is folding into versions of the same luxury.

This one is different immediately.

The moment they step out of the elevator, the space opens dramatically—semi-furnished, more lived-in than the previous two, with carefully curated pieces that suggest comfort rather than just display.

But the real focus is the view.

Huge glass windows stretch across the entire main living area, framing the city skyline on one side and the Han River on the other, the water reflecting light in slow, shifting patterns.

Wonwoo pauses for a fraction of a second before speaking.

“This unit offers the most premium view,” he says. “You can see the city, the Namsan Tower, and the Han River from the main living space.”

“It also has four bedrooms, same as the previous penthouses we toured,” Wonwoo continues, tone returning to that smooth, professional cadence. “But the layout here allocates more space per room. The bedrooms are noticeably larger—less compact, more breathable.”

“There’s also a plunge pool,” Wonwoo adds, almost casually. “Access is directly through the balcony.”

He shifts slightly, angling his body toward the center of the unit, where the second level reveals itself more clearly.

The staircase itself isn’t loud or overly decorative—but it draws attention anyway. Clean lines, a smooth curve, the railing finished in a muted metallic tone that catches the light just enough. Each step looks almost weightless, suspended in a way that feels both modern and deliberate.

He walks forward slightly, pointing out features as he regains his rhythm. “It’s semi-furnished, so the structure is complete, but there’s flexibility for personalization. The windows are reinforced full-panel glass for maximum visibility and natural light.”

He pauses briefly, then adds, “This was only completed two weeks ago. The furniture was delivered just a few days ago, so everything here is essentially brand new and untouched.”

Wonwoo’s gaze lingers on Mingyu for a moment longer before he speaks again, quieter now, more deliberate.

“And… you’re actually the first person to see it like this,” he says. “No prior viewings. No walk-ins. It hasn’t been shown to anyone yet.”

There’s a subtle shift in the air after that—something more intimate than a standard viewing, like the space itself is waiting to be claimed.

Mingyu blinks, clearly not expecting that.

“The first?” he repeats, almost under his breath.

Wonwoo nods once. “The developers only cleared it for viewing last night.”

That does something to Mingyu.

He turns slowly, taking the unit in again—but this time, it’s different. Not just observation. Not just careful evaluation. There’s a quiet kind of awe settling into his expression now, unguarded in a way Wonwoo hasn’t seen all day.

His footsteps soften as he walks further in, like he’s instinctively trying not to disturb anything. The untouched surfaces, the pristine arrangement of furniture, the faint scent of new wood and fabric—it all feels deliberate, almost unreal.

And somehow, it aligns too perfectly with what he’s always had in mind.

The openness. The balance between modern and warm. The way the light pours in without being harsh, settling gently into every corner. It’s not overly designed, not trying too hard—it just works.

It feels like something he would’ve chosen himself.

Mingyu exhales slowly, eyes tracing every detail again, but this time with something quieter behind it. Something certain.

“…It’s exactly how I imagined it,” he admits, voice low.

Behind him, Wonwoo watches in silence.

The heat creeping under his skin hasn’t left—in fact, it’s harder to ignore now—but he stays still, fingers curling slightly at his side as Mingyu moves through the space like he belongs there.

Like he’s already decided.

Wonwoo continues speaking, but his attention flickers for a second when he realizes Mingyu is no longer just listening from a distance.

He’s closer to the window now, looking out at the river and city beyond, still composed, still unreadable—like none of this is affecting him at all.

He glances briefly toward Mingyu, who is standing near the window now, looking out instead of at him.

Still listening. Still following.

Still not asking anything beyond what is necessary.

And somehow, that silence says more than words ever could.

Wonwoo continues, but Mingyu interrupts softly, eyes still on the view outside.

“It smells nice here too,” Mingyu asks, almost thoughtfully. “Don’t you think?”

Wonwoo blinks, slightly thrown off. “Nice?”

To him, it smells exactly like it should—paint, varnish, newly installed materials still settling into place.

Mingyu stops just a few steps away now, gaze steady on him.

The sandalwood presence that had been steady since earlier deepens slightly, and beneath it, something else begins to surface—subtle at first, then unmistakable the closer Mingyu gets to Wonwoo.

A scent.

Soft, layered, almost unreal. Rose-musk. Warm floral sweetness wrapped in something grounding, intimate in a way that doesn’t belong in a professional showing.

Wonwoo stiffens slightly, instinctive confusion flickering across his face.

“That’s not coming from my side,” he says quickly, glancing around again as if the source might be the room itself. “It must still be the materials—maybe something in the furniture or upholstery.”

But Mingyu keeps walking.

Closer.

And the scent sharpens.

Not from the room.

From Wonwoo.

Mingyu stops just a short distance away, gaze steady now, far more focused than before.

“It’s coming from you,” he says simply.

Wonwoo goes still.

“W-what can you smell?”

“Rose-musk,” he says quietly. “Soft. A little sweet at the edges, but grounded.”

“That’s impossible,” he replies immediately, voice controlled but tighter now. “I’m wearing a scent blocker.”

Mingyu studies him for a moment longer, then tilts his head slightly, as if confirming something only he can sense.

Wonwoo’s breath catches—just barely.

Because that description shouldn’t be possible.

And yet the air between them suddenly feels too real, too charged, like something hidden has finally started to surface.

And then—suddenly—it hits him.

Heat.

Not gradual. Not subtle. Just a wave crashing all at once through his body. His skin flushes, breath turning shallow, a faint dizziness pulling at the edges of his focus. His instincts scramble to make sense of it, because this doesn’t make sense.

It started earlier.

At the first penthouse.

A slight warmth he dismissed as nerves. Then the second, where it lingered a little longer than it should have. He had blamed the weather, the stress, the constant moving between buildings.

He hadn’t paid attention.

He should have.

Mingyu’s expression shifts immediately, sharpening as he watches him.

“…Are you in heat?” he asks, carefully. Hesitant, like he already knows the answer might be dangerous.

Wonwoo forces himself to breathe through it, shaking his head once. “That can’t be it,” he says, voice tighter now. “I’m not due for another two weeks.”

A pause.

The silence between them feels heavier now.

Wonwoo swallows, mind racing as another realization starts to form, unwelcome and precise.

“…Unless,” he says slowly.

Mingyu’s eyes narrow slightly, already understanding.

“Unless it was triggered,” Mingyu finishes quietly.

Wonwoo looks at him for a moment too long, like the answer doesn’t quite make sense even as it forms. “You…”

Mingyu tilts his head slightly, confusion flickering across his expression. “Me?”

Wonwoo exhales shakily, trying to steady himself as the heat continues to spread through his body—faster now, sharper, harder to ignore. “I haven’t been around any alphas recently. Especially not close contact. Not customers. Nothing that should’ve—” He swallows, forcing the words out. “Your scent earlier… it might’ve triggered it.”

For a second, everything goes still.

Then Mingyu mutters under his breath, sharp and low, “Fuck.”

The sound barely finishes before Wonwoo’s legs falter.

It hits him all at once— another wave of heat, but worse this time. Stronger. Sharper. It crashes through him without warning, stealing the breath from his lungs as it overwhelms his senses completely. His balance gives out, vision tilting violently as the intensity drags everything out from under him.

But he doesn’t hit the ground.

Mingyu catches him.

“I got you. I got you,” Mingyu says immediately, voice steadying as he supports him without hesitation.

His grip is firm but careful as he guides Wonwoo toward the sofa nearby. Wonwoo tries to pull back slightly, instinctively.

“I should go,” he manages weakly.

But Mingyu doesn’t let go.

“No,” Mingyu says, tone shifting—firmer now, edged with something instinctive and alpha-anchored. “You can’t leave like this. Your scent is all over this place right now. It’ll just linger everywhere you go once you step out.”

Wonwoo opens his mouth to argue, but the words don’t come out right.

Because it’s getting worse.

The heat isn’t just present anymore—it’s building, tightening in waves that make it harder to think clearly. His body feels too sensitive, too aware of every inch of space Mingyu occupies beside him.

He sinks onto the sofa, but it doesn’t help.

If anything, it makes it even worse.

Mingyu is still too close. Still holding him steady. Still there—but his composure is starting to strain, because Wonwoo’s scent is too much already, curling around him in a way that tests every bit of restraint he has left.

Wonwoo swallows hard, fingers curling slightly against his own palm as he tries to ground himself.

This has never happened like this before.

Not since he presented.

Not like this—fast, intense, overwhelming in a way that feels like it’s skipping every warning sign his body should’ve given him. It’s as if his body had been waiting for Mingyu all along, reacting before his mind can catch up, a familiar pull tightening in his chest as his breathing falters and instinct edges out reason.

He can already tell.

This heat isn’t going to be normal.

It’s going to be worse.

Wonwoo sits on the sofa, trying to steady his breathing as the heat continues to build—faster now, heavier, pressing at the edges of his focus. Mingyu is still close, still too close, but he doesn’t move away.

After a moment, Wonwoo forces himself to speak.

“…How about the company driver?” he asks weakly. “We should—he should still be waiting outside.”

Mingyu glances toward the door, then back at him. “Tell him to go back,” he says simply. “We’re done here. Tell him I’ll just call my driver instead.”

Wonwoo nods faintly, pulling out his phone with slightly shaking hands. It takes him a moment longer than usual to type the message, his focus slipping in and out as the heat pulses through him in waves.

Mingyu watches him for a second, something conflicted flickering across his face. He hesitates—like he’s weighing whether he should even ask this at all—then exhales quietly, bracing himself for whatever answer Wonwoo might give.

“Do you have an alpha to help you through your heats?” he asks, voice low and careful.

There’s a short pause before he adds, more reluctant this time, “Do you… want me to go get him?”

The question lands heavier than it should.

Wonwoo hesitates, then shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I-I don’t.”

A pause.

Then, a little more honestly than he means to, he adds, “I usually just use… toys.”

Something shifts in Mingyu’s expression at that—subtle, but real. A brief flicker of relief, almost imperceptible, crosses his face before he schools it back into calm neutrality.

But underneath it, there’s something else.

Something quieter.

A thought he doesn’t say out loud, but it lingers in the way his gaze stays on Wonwoo a moment too long.

That he should be there.

Every time.

And the realization unsettles him more than he expects.

After a moment, Mingyu speaks again, voice lower.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks carefully. “Do you need my help?”

Wonwoo freezes.

The question shouldn’t be this hard. It should be simple—no, thank you, I’ll manage. That would be the professional answer. The safe answer.

But another wave hits him before he can respond, and it steals the thought right out of him.

Instead, his voice comes out quieter. “Y-your... how about your partner?”

Mingyu blinks once. “I do not have one.”

The answer is immediate.

Wonwoo hesitates again, torn between reason and the way his body is starting to override everything else. His heat spikes again, and he lets out a small, involuntary wince. He felt his slacks wet already from producing too much slick.

Mingyu notices instantly.

“Wonwoo,” he says, more urgent now. “Hey—are you okay?”

But Wonwoo isn’t okay. The heat is too intense now, too consuming, pressing at him from the inside out until his control starts to slip entirely.

He moves before he fully decides to.

Slowly, unsteadily, Wonwoo shifts closer—and then, with shaking hands, climbs onto Mingyu’s lap.

Mingyu goes still.

Completely still.

For a second, neither of them moves, the space between them collapsing all at once. Wonwoo’s scent—soft rose-musk, sweeter and stronger now—fills the air, already seeping into every corner of the huge penthouse—lingering in the air, on the glass, in the silence between them, as if Wonwoo’s scent has quietly taken over the entire space.

It hits him harder this time.

Dizzying. Overwhelming. Instinct snapping into place so fast it almost hurts.

Mingyu’s breath catches, jaw tightening as his hands hover for a brief moment before settling carefully at Wonwoo’s waist, like he’s holding himself back more than anything else.

“Wonwoo,” he says again, but this time it’s rougher. Strained. “You’re—”

Wonwoo leans in slightly, still trembling. “Alpha,” he breathes, barely audible.

And Mingyu realizes, with sudden clarity, that restraint is becoming dangerously thin.

“I’m here,” Mingyu says, softer now. “I’m not going to leave.”

A hand comes up—steady despite the tension coiled in his frame—and he gently guides Wonwoo closer, fingers brushing along his jaw before settling at the back of his neck. It’s deliberate, careful, giving Wonwoo enough room to pull away if he wants to.

Which he didn’t.

Mingyu tilts his head slightly, exposing his scent gland, letting a controlled wave of calming pheromones seep into the air—subtle at first, then more present, wrapping around them in something warm, steady, grounding.

It’s not overwhelming. Not forceful.

Just enough.

Wonwoo exhales sharply the moment it reaches him, his body reacting before his mind can catch up. The tension in his shoulders eases—just a fraction—and for a brief second, the relentless heat clawing under his skin dulls.

He leans into it without meaning to.

And he does appreciate it—he knows what Mingyu is doing, understands the control it takes, the intention behind it. It should help. It is helping.

But only barely.

Because underneath that thin layer of calm, something stronger surges.

The heat doesn’t disappear—it pushes back harder, more insistent now, twisting into something sharper, almost painful in how it spreads through him. His breath stutters, fingers curling against Mingyu’s shirt as if trying to anchor himself.

It’s too much.

The relief and the ache clash, building on top of each other until it’s almost overwhelming—like trying to soothe a fire that’s already out of control.

Wonwoo squeezes his eyes shut, jaw tightening as he fights to steady himself.

“…Mingyu,” he manages, voice strained despite everything.

Then, Wonwoo began moving his hips, rubbing his cunt against Mingyu’s bulge underneath. The friction caused both of them to moan and subtle shifts in their scents, clearly indicating heightened arousal.

Mingyu's head tipped back against the couch headrest, a quiet breath slipping out of him as his body reacted before thought could fully catch up. His hips bucked upward instinctively, already feeling the dampness in Wonwoo’s slacks.

“Fuck,” Mingyu muttered under his breath, voice rough with restraint. He felt his own slacks tighten—his cock throbbing painfully, begging to be released.

The alpha hesitates for a moment, eyes searching the omega’s face as if asking permission. Then, quietly, he asks if he can kiss him.

Wonwoo doesn’t answer with words—he simply nods.

That small gesture is enough.

Mingyu leans in, closing the distance between them, and their lips meet for the first time. The kiss is slow, careful at first, as if they’re both testing the weight of it, learning the feeling of each other in real time.

In between breaths, barely breaking the contact, the omega trembles and whispers against his mouth, voice soft and strained.

“Help us, alpha… it hurts.”

Mingyu went still for a second, like that hit something deeper than it should have. His answer came a beat later, low and almost unsteady.

“I will.”

His voice was edged, breath catching slightly as he tried to hold himself together.

Then, after a pause that felt too heavy, too charged—

“What do you want?” Mingyu asked, quieter now, gaze locked on Wonwoo as if trying to steady them both.

“Fuck me. Need your cock. Need you to fill me up.” Wonwoo said, his voice breaking slightly on the words, more honest than he meant it to be.

Mingyu’s breath stuttered, jaw tightening as the restraint he’d been holding onto all this time finally started to slip—because those words were all he needed to hear before anything else.

After that, everything moved faster.

Careful control gave way to urgency, Mingyu’s hands steady but no longer hesitant as he helped ease the tension between them, guiding them both out of anything that felt like a barrier rather than comfort.

“So beautiful,” Mingyu praised as his gaze lingered over Wonwoo, the attention sending a warm flush through the omega’s chest.

Now with their clothes gone, their scents are clearer. Especially Wonwoo’s, whose slick keeps gushing from his cunt, making Mingyu’s thighs fully covered with it.

On the other hand, Wonwoo’s mouth watered the moment he saw Mingyu’s naked body—the sharp lines of the alpha’s abs, his muscles like they were carefully sculpted over time, and his enormous cock—thick, long, red, veiny, and already leaking with pre-cum, leaving him unsure if he could handle it, given how much larger it was than any of the toys he’d used before during his heats.

“Gonna prep you first,” Mingyu said, low and steady.

“N-no. I’m ready. Please. I’m so wet already.” Wonwoo protested.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Mingyu says, his voice soft despite the desire building beneath it, carefully controlled. “I don’t want to hurt you. I promise it won’t take long.”

The endearment hit Wonwoo harder than it should have. It didn’t soothe anything—instead, it only tangled tighter around what he was already struggling to contain, making his thoughts scatter further, his resolve feels thinner. It was gentle, but it made everything inside him more difficult to steady, not less.

Still, he didn’t pull away. Whatever protest might have formed never made it past his lips.

Wonwoo was left with no choice but to oblige. After all, this will be his first time spending his heat with an alpha. He immediately arched his back and hissed the moment Mingyu’s thick finger slipped inside him, then the alpha leaned in and kissed him again, in hopes it would ease the pain.

It was slow at first, careful, like he was afraid it might break something fragile between them, until it deepened and quickly turned into a push and pull—each of them answering the other with equal intensity, neither fully yielding.

Their lips move against each other with growing intensity, as if locked in a quiet battle for control. Tongues slipped past parted lips, meeting and tangling in a messy, desperate rhythm, each movement pulling soft, breathless sounds from them. Their moans mingled and were swallowed between kisses, fading into the heated moment.

The alpha worked diligently on opening his cunt, adding one finger at a time until it was already loose enough for him, and finished it quickly, just as he had promised the omega. He then drew his fingers to his lips and licked them clean, carefully making sure nothing was left behind.

“Such a good omega,” Mingyu whispered, his hands soothing Wonwoo’s back. “Tastes so good, too.”

Wonwoo felt another wave of slick gush through him, and God knows how long he had been trying to hold himself together—far longer than he could properly admit. And when the last thread of his patience finally gave away, he lifted his hips and grabbed Mingyu’s hardened length and sank himself on it, eliciting a moan of relief and pleasure the moment Mingyu’s tip entered his hole.

“Ahh, fuck,” Mingyu grunted as he felt his length being swallowed by the heat and tightness of Wonwoo’s cunt.

The slide was smooth, aided by the ridiculous amount of slick Wonwoo’s body had produced, but the stretch was quite painful that he felt like he was being torn apart. For a brief second, he almost regretted the way he hadn’t wanted Mingyu to prep him earlier. But he wouldn’t deny that fact, how good it felt. How full he felt.

“So big, alpha,” Wonwoo whimpered as he began grinding against Mingyu’s length while his slick continues to run down his thighs.

“Go on, help yourself. Get everything you need,” the alpha encourages him.

Mingyu didn't let him take control alone; instead, he answered every movement with his own, thrusting his hips upward with a sharp, insistent rhythm fueled by a desperate need to satisfy the omega. There was a restless urgency in the way he moved, as if holding back was no longer an option, as if every second demanded more. His grip on Wonwoo’s hips tightened, muscles tensing with each thrust, and a low, rough grunt slipped from his throat at the overwhelming rush of sensation.

Then, when Wonwoo’s movements began to falter, he made the decision to carry him to the bedroom. He carried Wonwoo as if the omega weighed nothing, with his cock still buried deep inside him, and moved through the penthouse with urgent strides. Once they reached the bedroom, Mingyu pulled the duvet aside and laid him down gently on the soft mattress.

Wonwoo immediately parts his legs wider to accommodate him, like a silent, instinctive invitation. Something deep within Mingyu responds at once—his inner alpha roars to life—moving his hips with growing urgency.

“Your pussy is so tight. So hot. All wet for me. Like it’s made only for me,” he says, never missing the opportunity to worship his body all while pounding into him with deeper and faster movements—just the way he needed it.

“A-alpha, want your k-knot. Please,” Wonwoo cries out.

“Yeah? You want my knot? Wanna carry my pups?”

“Yes! Please!” The omega begged.

“Yeah. I’ll breed you. You’re mine. I won’t stop until your belly becomes round.” Mingyu growls, his eyes dark and heavy with intensity, breath coming in shallow, uneven pants as the sound rumbles low in his throat, his hips thrusting with brutal pace. “You want that?”

“Yes, alpha,” he whimpered, his voice trembling as his nails dug into the alpha’s broad back, deep enough to leave faint marks behind.

The intoxicating blend of their scents alone was enough to drive them to the brink of madness, overwhelming their senses with every breath they took. And the sounds only made it worse—low, unrestrained moans slipping past their lips, ragged, uneven breathing, and the indecent, rhythmic noise of their bodies colliding. Each movement grew louder, amplified by the slick heat and sheen of sweat between them.

“Fuck! I’m gonna—” Wonwoo shouted as his orgasm crashes through him.

“Come for me, Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo’s body shudders violently as the wave of release overtakes him, every muscle tightening for a brief, overwhelming moment before slowly giving way. The intensity rolls through him in pulsing aftershocks, leaving the sheets fully soaked with his slick and cum.

Mingyu’s eyes stung, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as his knot began to form at the base of his cock—thick, tight, and increasingly painful. His hips snapped forward with growing urgency until his knot finally popped past Wonwoo’s entrance that drew a broken cry from both of them.

“You feel so fucking good,” Mingyu whispered between ragged breaths, his voice low and unsteady, words slipping out in soft fragments as he panted quietly.

Wonwoo felt his inner omega purr—soft, deep, and utterly satisfied—as everything finally settled into place. For the first time, he was being knotted, and the sensation carried a weight of meaning he had only ever quietly hoped for.

It wasn’t just the act itself, but the fact that it was him. Mingyu. The right person. The one his instincts had been waiting for longer than he liked to admit.

He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, sinking into the moment as it grounded him completely.

And now, finally, there was no more waiting. Just the steady, undeniable comfort of being exactly where he was meant to be, with the person he had been waiting for all along.

Mingyu’s cock remained inside the omega, breathing slowly through it as he waited for his knot to loosen and fade while his head was buried in the omega’s neck, where his scent gland is located—licking, pressing soft kisses, and rubbing his cheeks on it. Wonwoo ran his fingers gently through Mingyu’s hair as the alpha continued scenting him. And when he felt his knot had finally deflated, Mingyu carefully pulled out his cock, making Wonwoo let out a sharp gasp at the sudden sense of emptiness.

Mingyu leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, then carefully pulled the blanket over him and tucked him in. Once he was sure he was settled, he rose and looked for some towels for them.

The room is filled with their scents now—sandalwood and rose-musk tangled together in the air, no longer separate, no longer controlled.

The penthouse, once pristine and untouched, looks completely different now. Cushions are out of place, fabrics rumpled, furniture slightly shifted as if pushed in haste. Even the stillness feels disturbed, like the space itself has been unsettled and never properly recovered.

It no longer resembles a luxury viewing at all.

It looks like there had been a war inside it—silent, intense, and all-consuming—leaving behind nothing but disarray and the lingering trace of everything that happened between them.

Wonwoo props himself up on his elbows, breath uneven, watching as Mingyu moves around the room, opening cabinets, still searching for some towels, anything useful.

For a moment, he just watches him.

Then the thought slips out before he can stop it.

“…Are you going to leave me again after this?”

Mingyu freezes.

He turns immediately, eyes locking onto Wonwoo’s—dark, confused, something deeper flickering underneath.

Wonwoo regrets it instantly.

It feels too raw, too revealing. Like something that shouldn’t have been said out loud.

“I—I mean—” he starts, but Mingyu cuts him off.

“Where did you even get that?”

Wonwoo clenches his jaw, the heat and emotion tangling together in a way that makes it hard to separate what he feels from what he’s thinking.

“You didn’t look for me,” he says, quieter now, but steadier. “You came back two years ago, and you didn’t look for me.”

The words sit heavier than he expects.

“You promised,” Wonwoo adds, voice tightening just slightly. “You said you’d come back and find me, but you didn’t.”

Mingyu stares at him for a second—like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing.

Because beneath the accusation, beneath the hurt, there’s something else.

Wonwoo remembered.

All this time—after 13 years, after distance and silence and everything that should have erased it—Wonwoo still remembered the promise. Still held onto it enough for it to hurt like this.

Something in Mingyu’s chest tightens.

Because he felt the same.

He never forgot either. Not once. Not through the years he spent away, not through the people he met, not even when it would’ve been easier to let it go and call it something childish.

And now, hearing it from Wonwoo—seeing it in the way he looks at him, in the way his voice falters—it hits him all at once.

Wonwoo didn’t move on.

Not really.

Just like him.

The realization settles deep, heavy, and almost overwhelming in its certainty, threading through everything Mingyu has been holding back since the moment he saw him again.

And suddenly, this isn’t just about finding him anymore.

It’s about the fact that they both stayed.

Then he moves.

Quickly, he closes the distance between them until he’s right there beside Wonwoo.

One of Mingyu’s hands finds Wonwoo’s, fingers slipping in carefully as he brushes his thumb over Wonwoo’s knuckles in a slow, grounding motion. His other hand lifts at the same time to cup Wonwoo’s cheek—warm, steady.

“What makes you think I didn’t look for you?” Mingyu says, voice low but firm.

Wonwoo blinks, caught off guard.

Mingyu exhales, softer now, but no less intense. “The moment I left… I never stopped thinking about you.”

“The first thing I did when I got back,” Mingyu continues, “was go back to our town. I went looking for you there.”

Wonwoo’s expression shifts—subtle at first, like he isn’t sure he heard correctly. His brows knit slightly, and his lips part just a little, surprise flickering across his face before it settles into something quieter, more uncertain.

“They told me you’d already moved. To Seoul.” Mingyu lets out a quiet, almost frustrated breath at the memory. “And you know how big Seoul is.”

His thumb brushes lightly against Wonwoo’s cheek, almost absentmindedly.

“But that didn’t stop me,” he adds. “I kept looking.”

Something in Wonwoo’s chest tightens painfully.

“And how do you think I ended up at your company?” Mingyu asks.

Wonwoo frowns slightly, still trying to catch up. “What do you mean?”

Mingyu huffs out a small breath. “I hired a private investigator.”

That makes Wonwoo go still.

“I searched until I found where you were working,” Mingyu continues. “And I requested you. Personally.”

Wonwoo stares at him. He blinks once, then again, as if processing each word Mingyu is saying one by one, slowly piecing together something he hadn’t known was missing.

“But your schedule was packed,” Mingyu adds, almost amused now. “I had to wait. And I couldn’t just show up and ask for you out of nowhere—that would’ve been weird.”

There’s a small pause.

“So, I booked a penthouse tour instead.”

Everything clicks at once.

All of it.

Wonwoo had thought it was a coincidence. Bad timing. Fate being strange.

But this—

“I—” Wonwoo exhales shakily, overwhelmed in an entirely different way now. “I thought…”

He doesn’t finish.

Instead, he reaches forward, closing the distance between them without thinking.

Their lips meet—brief, but enough to carry everything neither of them managed to say properly.

Mingyu’s hands move instinctively to steady him, firm at his waist, holding him in place like he’s afraid Wonwoo might disappear again.

When they pull apart, the room feels different.

Quieter.

Heavier.

“I missed you,” Mingyu says finally, voice rougher than he intends, like he’s been holding the words back for too long to say them gently. “I never stopped loving you. Not once. Not after all those years.”

Wonwoo’s breath catches—not loud, not dramatic, just enough that Mingyu feels it where their bodies still touch.

There’s a pause between them. Not empty, but full of everything they didn’t say when they should have.

Wonwoo looks up at him then, eyes steady in a way that makes Mingyu’s chest ache.

“Me too. I never stopped loving you,” he says.

The words come out quieter than Wonwoo expects, almost like Mingyu is afraid of how much they weigh.

He swallows, gaze fixed on Wonwoo’s face like he’s trying to memorize it all over again—like he still can’t fully trust that this is real, that he’s actually here.

“Even though I wasn’t sure you’d come back,” Wonwoo admits after a beat, voice softer now.

 “You know,” Mingyu said quietly, “I thought you were ignoring me at first.”

Wonwoo frowned. “What?”

“When we moved.” Mingyu let out a small laugh, embarrassed around the edges. “I sent letters.”

The words landed gently, but Wonwoo felt them like something breaking open inside his chest.

“…Letters?”

“Mhm.” Mingyu nodded. “A lot, actually.”

Wonwoo stared at him. In all those years, there had been nothing. No letters. No mail. Nothing except silence so complete Wonwoo had eventually forced himself to believe Mingyu had simply forgotten him.

“I wrote after we settled into the new place,” Mingyu continued. “At first, it was just stupid things. Complaining about the country. Telling you about school.” His smile turned softer. “I even drew maps because I thought maybe you’d visit someday.”

Wonwoo couldn’t speak.

Mingyu looked down. “But you never replied.”

A tight ache began spreading through Wonwoo’s ribs.

“So I thought…” Mingyu exhaled through his nose. “Maybe you moved on faster than I did.”

“But I never got anything,” Wonwoo said immediately, almost too fast. “If I did, I would’ve—”

His voice caught.

Mingyu looked up.

Wonwoo swallowed hard, eyes already stinging. “I would’ve written back right away.”

Mingyu finally looked at him then.

Really looked at him.

And something in his expression shifted.

“I found out a year later,” Mingyu said softly, “that the post office in our town had already closed down around the time we moved.”

Wonwoo blinked.

“The building was abandoned or something. My letters were probably just…” He made a helpless motion with his hand. “Sitting somewhere. Returned. Lost. I don’t know.”

For a second, the room felt unbearably quiet.

Wonwoo imagined it then—stacks of unopened letters with Mingyu’s handwriting curling across the envelopes. Birthday wishes. Stories. Pieces of a boy growing up without him. Words that had tried to reach him and failed over and over again.

All that time, Wonwoo had thought the silence was intentional.

And Mingyu had thought the same.

Wonwoo’s chest hurt so suddenly that he had to look away.

“After that, I told myself that maybe all I had to do was wait until graduation,” Mingyu continued. “Then I’d come back, find you again.”

“I waited for you,” Wonwoo admitted, voice small. “Every day after school for years.”

Mingyu’s expression crumpled in the softest way.

His eyes turned impossibly gentle as he looked at Wonwoo, full of grief and relief all at once. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

Wonwoo’s chest ached at the thought.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

Mingyu looked at him again.

“That wasn’t your fault.” Wonwoo held his gaze for a moment before giving him a small, tired smile.  “And it’s all in the past now.”

Mingyu’s mouth parted slightly, but Wonwoo continued before he could argue.

“What matters is…” Wonwoo exhaled shakily, like even saying it aloud overwhelmed him a little. “You came back.”

The room fell quiet again.

Wonwoo looked at him carefully, warmth and grief tangling together painfully in his chest.

“You found me anyway.”

Wonwoo laughed once under his breath, though tears were already burning behind his eyes. “This is such a crazy story.”

Something in Mingyu’s expression broke open at that, and he smiled sadly. “Yeah.”

Then, after a pause. “I’m here now.”

Then, they kissed again. It was short. Gentle. More aching than desperate.

Mingyu’s lips were warm, familiar in a way that made Wonwoo’s chest hurt all over again, and when they parted, neither of them moved very far. Their foreheads nearly brushed, breaths uneven in the tiny space between them.

For a second, they just looked at each other.

Then Wonwoo finally glances around—and lets out a breath that almost turns into a laugh.

“…We made a mess.”

His eyes move slowly across the room, taking in the disarray, the shifted furniture, the scattered details of what was supposed to be a professional viewing.

Then he exhales, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he tries to make light of it.

“I might lose my job for this,” he jokes softly. “And probably my license too.”

Mingyu chuckles softly at that, the sound low and warm.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he says easily. “I’ll just buy this place for us.”

Wonwoo blinks. “Huh?”

Mingyu smiles, something certain and familiar settling into his expression.

“My promise,” he says softly.

“I’m going to make it come true.”

Mingyu exhales, his voice quieter now, something almost fragile beneath the certainty.

“What we said back then… I never forgot it,” he admits, eyes not leaving Wonwoo’s. “Not once.”

He shifts a little closer, enough that there’s no space left between them.

“We’ll be mates,” Mingyu says. There’s no hesitation in him, no space for doubt to settle. His eyes hold that same unwavering focus—certainty resting in them as if it has nowhere else to go.

“I’ll make sure of it.”