Chapter Text
Three Days Later
Seonghwa was getting better.
He was eating full meals again. Sleeping without twitching. Laughing a little when San tried to somersault into his pants one morning for “rehearsal warm-up.” Even teasing Wooyoung about his ever-growing hoard of hair products. But his scent glands were still fragile. His body still recovering from the shutdown. And Hongjoong—true to form—was never more than two feet away.
He walked beside Seonghwa in the halls.
He kept one hand resting on the Omega’s lower back when they reviewed setlists with management.
He sat pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with him at meals, scooting their trays together like they shared one invisible plate.
During rehearsals, Hongjoong lingered near the mirrors even when it wasn’t his turn, cross-legged with a bottle of water in one hand and his eyes fixed on Seonghwa like a grounding tether.
The others didn’t say much. They were used to the oldest pair being physically close. But now, the closeness had weight. Meaning. A constant low hum of Alpha scent surrounding Seonghwa, soothing, safe, stable.
Until someone opened their mouth.
They were fifteen minutes into a staging meeting. Lights. Transitions. Backup dancers. A blur of logistics. Seonghwa was at the table, back straight but clearly tired, eyes still soft with healing.
Hongjoong stood behind him, one hand resting loosely on his shoulder as he scanned the schedule notes. When Seonghwa leaned back slightly, Hongjoong’s thumb automatically rubbed a slow circle into the dip of his collarbone.
That’s when a junior staff member—new, probably unaware—let out a breathy laugh and said:
“He’s not going to break, you know. If Seonghwa-ssi can’t handle the pressure without needing his boyfriend to babysit him, maybe he should rethink leadership roles.”
The air snapped taut. For a second, everything went silent.
Seonghwa’s scent soured instantly—bitter snapped green stems and singed flowers—and his hand twitched to scratch at his neck.
Hongjoong didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t need to.
He straightened, calm and razor-sharp. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
The room froze.
“I don’t expect everyone to understand the physiology of scent blocks,” he continued. “But if you did, you’d know that this isn’t about coddling or weakness. It’s medical recovery. A process that takes days of close Alpha-Omega proximity to stabilize.”
No one spoke.
“And let me make this clear—Seonghwa is more capable, more selfless, and more level-headed than anyone else in this building. He didn’t ask to be taken care of. I chose to be here.”
Hongjoong gave the staffer one final look, voice low.
“If you ever speak about my partner like that again, we’ll have a very different conversation.”
He guided Seonghwa out of the meeting gently but firmly, fingers laced with his.
They found an unused safe room down a side hallway—soundproofed, low light, meant for emotional resets and scent regulation. As soon as they stepped inside, Seonghwa exhaled shakily and clutched the collar of his shirt.
“It’s okay,” Hongjoong said quickly, shutting the door behind them.
“I’m fine. I just—” Seonghwa’s voice trembled. He backed into the wall, fingers clawing at the gland on his neck.
“No, no, no. Don’t scratch—” Hongjoong moved fast, catching his wrist in both hands.
“Breathe with me. Come on, Hwa. In—out.”
He guided Seonghwa to the padded bench and sat beside him, curling a palm gently over his gland. Rubbing small, grounding circles. Just enough pressure to ease the ache without overstimulating.
“I’m here. I’ve got you,” he murmured.
He kissed Seonghwa’s temple. Then his jaw. Then the space just under his ear.
Seonghwa trembled once. Then again.
Then slowly—so slowly—his breathing evened out.
His fingers loosened. His body stopped quivering.
And Hongjoong could smell it. Just faintly.
Lavender. Clean cotton. Rain on the wind.
Seonghwa blinked up at him, eyes wet but clear. “Sorry. I don’t know why that got to me so much.”
“Because it should.” Hongjoong kissed his cheek. “You were incredible these past two weeks. You held everything together. Now it’s your turn to fall apart, and I’m the one holding you. That’s how this works.”
Seonghwa swallowed hard. “I didn’t want anyone to think I was being dramatic.”
“They can think what they want. I’ll still be annoyingly clingy either way.”
That earned a quiet huff of laughter.
“Oh no,” Hongjoong added, mock-serious. “It’s awful, really. I have to scent you constantly. Kiss you any time I want. Sleep with you wrapped around me like a teddy bear. Tragic.”
Seonghwa laughed for real this time—soft and shaky, but real.
“Terrible Alpha,” he teased.
“The worst.”
When they returned to rehearsal, nothing needed to be said.
Hongjoong resumed his spot near the mirrors.
Seonghwa danced with a bit more ease.
And though his scent still wavered at the edges, it stayed present. Steady. Sweet. Laced with cedar and clove and Alpha warmth.
The others noticed—but said nothing.
Because they knew.
Some bonds didn’t need explanation.
Only space to breathe.