Chapter Text
Thirteen days.
That’s how long it had been since Hongjoong left.
The longest they’d gone without touching, without scenting, without even so much as a moment curled on the same couch.
Hongjoong had apologized before he left, kissing Seonghwa's neck softly at the airport. “It’s only two weeks, my love. I’ll be back before you know it. You’ll handle everything beautifully—I trust you.”
Seonghwa had smiled and nodded. Told him he’d be fine. Told him go.
And he meant it.
At the time.
By day three, the apartment was a mess of half-finished meals, rehearsal clothes, and voices pitched too loud too often.
By day five, Seonghwa was sitting in on meetings meant for two people at once, scribbling notes on the backs of napkins while trying to calm San and Wooyoung mid-squabble over dance formations.
By day seven, he stopped eating anything that wasn’t handed directly to him.
And by day eight, he noticed it.
His scent—gone.
No fresh rain. No lavender. No sun-warmed cotton. No him.
Just nothing.
At first, he assumed it was his own stress skewing things. But when Yunho sniffed the air and blinked in confusion, and Wooyoung frowned and asked, “Hyung… did you stop wearing your usual spray or something?”—he knew.
A scent block.
It shouldn’t have surprised him. Between the sleepless nights, the constant management pressure, the fear of messing up in Hongjoong’s absence… his body had taken the hit. He knew how dangerous it could be.
Prolonged scent blocks in Omegas could trigger a cascade of problems—hormonal, emotional, physical. The scent glands get inflamed. Painful. Misaligned. And worst of all, it made you feel like you were locked outside of your own skin. He should’ve told someone.
But there were rehearsals to run. Contracts to review. Members to keep fed, hydrated, and relatively sane. He didn’t have time to be fragile.
So he pushed through. Quietly hurting. Quietly hiding it.
When Hongjoong walked back through the front door on day fourteen, it felt like the tension in the dorm snapped all at once.
The younger members surged toward him, relief and excitement tumbling from their mouths all at once. “Hyung, you missed everything!” “San almost got stuck in the elevator shaft.” “Mingi tried to cook.” “We didn’t die!”
Hongjoong laughed, hugged them each in turn, his body grateful to be home. Their energy washed over him like a tide—familiar, loud, and grounding.
But under it all, something was missing.
A scent. A presence.
His smile faltered.
“Where’s Seonghwa?”
The others looked around, then shrugged.
“He was around earlier,” Jongho offered. “Probably in his room.”
But Hongjoong was already moving.
As he neared Seonghwa’s bedroom, unease settled in his stomach like a stone. The air outside the door was wrong. Clean. Flat. Empty.
He pushed the door open.
And there he was.
Seonghwa, wrapped in one of the big fuzzy blankets they kept for bad days, curled into himself like a wire about to snap. His body was trembling. His eyes were glassy. No scent.
Not a single trace of him lingered in the air.
Hongjoong froze.
Then whispered, “Oh, baby…”
He moved gently, as if approaching something scared and raw.
Kneeling beside him, he brushed the hair from Seonghwa’s face and tried to catch his eyes. “I’m here now. I’ve got you.”
Seonghwa blinked slowly. His voice, when it came, was thin. “You weren’t supposed to know.”
“I should’ve known. You’re not okay.”
“I didn’t want to worry you. You were doing something important.”
“You’re important,” Hongjoong said firmly. “You’re my Omega.”
Seonghwa didn’t flinch at the word. He didn’t do anything at all. Just let his head fall against Hongjoong’s shoulder.
“Your scent’s blocked,” Hongjoong said softly.
A tiny nod. “It started a few days ago.”
“Oh, love.”
Seonghwa winced. “I didn’t want to bother anyone. I thought I could fix it when things calmed down.”
“You shouldn’t have to wait for things to calm down to feel safe in your own body,” Hongjoong said. “We’re fixing it now.”
He helped Seonghwa to bed with a gentleness that made the other man tremble harder. Once he had him laid out and tucked halfway into the blanket, he kissed his temple and said, “I’m going to scent you now. All of your glands. It’s going to hurt. It’s going to feel like too much. But I’ll be right here the entire time.”
Seonghwa made a small noise of protest. “Joong…”
“I know, I know. But this is the only way.”
He started at the wrists—delicate circles, gentle kisses, careful massaging strokes that had Seonghwa clenching the sheets. Then the crook of each arm. His sides. The dip of his collarbones.
When he reached Seonghwa’s inner thighs, he paused. “You’re safe. I’m here. Just breathe.”
Seonghwa sobbed once, soft and shivering.
The scent glands pulsed, swollen with strain. But as Hongjoong massaged them—slow, reverent, layering his Alpha scent over each spot—the tension began to unravel.
And when he finally leaned in to scent the back of Seonghwa’s neck, the dam broke.
Seonghwa let out a ragged cry, scent exploding into the room—lavender and ozone and home and him.
It hit Hongjoong like a wave.
He wrapped his arms around his Omega and held him tight as the sobs overtook him. “That’s it. Let it all out. You’re safe now.”
An hour passed.
Then another.
Seonghwa eventually fell asleep curled up against Hongjoong’s chest, their scents braided into the air like warm light.
A knock came.
Yeosang cracked the door open. “Everything okay?”
“He’s alright now,” Hongjoong said. “He just needs rest. He had a scent block.”
Yeosang’s eyes widened. “Shit. Is he—”
“He’ll recover. I’ve got him. Tell the others not to worry.”
“Of course. Do you need anything?”
“Just… quiet.”
Yeosang nodded. “Got it, hyung. I’ll cover for you.”
The door clicked shut.
Later, Seonghwa stirred. His body tingled everywhere. “Ow…”
Hongjoong pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Your glands are still decompressing. It’ll fade.”
Seonghwa looked up, eyes bleary but clear. “Did I cry?”
“Like a baby.”
“Did I smell?”
“Like my favorite person in the world.”
A soft sound escaped Seonghwa’s throat. “I missed you.”
“I missed you.”
Seonghwa’s eyes welled again. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” Hongjoong whispered, brushing a tear from his cheek. “None of that. You did everything right. You held it together for everyone. You made it to the end.”
“I didn’t want you to come home and find me broken.”
“You’re not broken. You were just… tired. You needed your Alpha. And now I’m here.”
And in that warm tangle of limbs and healing, wrapped in scent and silence, they found themselves again.