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Gyuvin was put on this earth to hold Ricky at 11:12 PM on this cold Tuesday night.
Ricky would be completely unrecognizable right now if it wasn’t for his sweet scent and a couple stray strands of blonde hair peeking out from under his hood. Gyuvin’s room is dark and Ricky is concealed almost completely in Gyuvin’s large sweatshirt, the hood pulled protectively over his aching head. His face is buried in Gyuvin’s neck, his nose digging into the hollow of Gyuvin’s throat, and his delicate fingers are twisted desperately in Gyuvin’s thin T-shirt.
“Qubing,” Ricky pleads softly. “Please make it all go away.”
Gyuvin knows Ricky is suffering because he is polite. If Ricky were in better spirits, he’d be giving Gyuvin hell for just about anything he could think of, like the hole in his T-shirt or the unfolded clothes scattered across his floor or his Old Spice deodorant. Instead, he is demure in a heartbreaking way, clinging onto Gyuvin like a lifeline and begging him for help even though Gyuvin would never refuse him.
“My head,” Ricky groans weakly, his voice trailing off like it was stolen from his throat. His words fail him as he seizes up in pain. “Ugh.”
Gyuvin slips his hands beneath Ricky’s hoodie to rub his bare back. The omega’s skin is as soft as velvet. Gyuvin runs his pointer finger over the peaks of Ricky’s vertebrae, committing the topography of his body to memory. Ricky whines soft and low like an injured animal and snuggles closer to him, slipping his thigh between Gyuvin’s knees and interlocking them like puzzle pieces.
“Why can’t they wear blockers?” he asks into Gyuvin’s throat, his soft lips brushing against the alpha’s warm skin. “I don’t-” he gasps in pain- “understand. It’s so easy.”
Gyuvin doesn’t understand either. Some male idols feel the need to flaunt their alpha designation, stinking up music and award shows with their pungent pheromones and putting sensitive omegas like Ricky through hell. While all it takes is a patch to silence his own scent, there’s no way for Ricky to prevent himself from smelling others. Despite the agony it puts him through, he refuses to complain about it to anyone but Gyuvin. Everyone already thinks I’m weak because I’m an omega, he whispered once after a particularly agonizing award show. I don’t want to prove them right.
Anybody who thinks that way is ridiculous. Ricky is the strongest person he knows. Gyuvin can’t imagine how difficult it is to be the only omega in the group, especially in an industry notoriously cruel to his subgender. Ricky suffers through so much, from agonizing pheromone sensitivity to sickening suppressant injections to sleazy leers from variety show hosts and gross alpha idols. Gyuvin can never fully understand the pain Ricky is in, so he just tries to be there for Ricky whenever he needs him.
“I know, xiaomao,” Gyuvin murmurs sympathetically. “I’ll make it better, okay?”
Ricky nods and a wounded whimper escapes his throat. It kills Gyuvin to see Ricky in pain. When the omega suffers, he becomes someone he doesn’t like, someone violent who itches to beat the pathetic alphas that refuse to wear blockers until they’re broken and bloody. As rage sparks in him, his pheromones flood the bedroom. His scent takes on a slight smoky edge, charged with anger, and when it mixes with Ricky’s sugary vanilla, the two of them together smell like charred marshmallow.
“‘s good, Qubing,” Ricky mumbles. “More please.”
Gyuvin gently tugs Ricky’s hood off his head and unzips his sweatshirt a few inches to access more of the omega’s bare skin. He smooths Ricky’s mussed hair tenderly before tangling his fingers in the silky locks at the nape of his neck and pulling his head back. The skin of his throat is smooth as silk and as pale as a dove’s coat.
Gyuvin presses a soft kiss to his swollen scent gland and Ricky mumbles something incomprehensible, his nails digging into Gyuvin’s back. He rubs the inside of his wrists beneath Ricky’s jaw, smothering the omega with his scent, and Ricky sighs blissfully. He slides his hands over the omega’s hot skin and down to his chest, smearing his pheromones over his pretty collarbones.
“You’re the only alpha that can do this to me,” Ricky says and Gyuvin freezes, his parted mouth hovering over Ricky’s beating heart. “I can tolerate some alphas,” he says. “But your scent…” He yawns and rests his chin on the top of Gyuvin’s head. “It’s just you, Gyuvin. You’re the only one.”
As Ricky drifts off into well-earned sleep, his arms still wrapped around Gyuvin’s neck, Gyuvin replays Ricky’s words over and over again in his head and tries to convince himself that they mean nothing. When sleep finally begins to tug on his eyelids, he collapses on top of Ricky, his ear pressed to the omega’s chest. He closes his eyes and searches for Ricky’s elusive feelings in the rhythmic language of his pounding heart. He prays they are the same as his own.