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“Jisung,” Minho repeated, silky cadence fraying around the edges, “I asked nicely.” The sickly-sweet, nauseating scent of an omega in distress saturated the controlled space. Jisung swallowed hard, stomach churning as he fought to steady his breath.
“I-I’m sorry, hyung,” Jisung stammered, fingers going numb, useless. “You know, I just need a second and then—”
A sharp, resonant thud sounded under Minho’s palm, the impact cracking through the sturdy wood—harsh enough to rattle the door frame.
“Alright, that’s fine. I don’t need you to,” Minho interrupted, the hollow sound pounding in Jisung’s temples as he calmly stated, “but I’m only trying to help you, Jisung-ah… if you wanna make this difficult, don’t act surprised when it turns out like this.”
Or, Jisung’s done everything he can to hide his true subgender. Minho’s sick of waiting.
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