The apartment windows opened out to the night. The city below lived its own life—car lights flowed in endless lines, neon reflected in the glass of neighboring towers, and the rumble of traffic could be heard somewhere far away. But here, at this height, everything seemed quieter.
Do-yun stood by the glass, his shoulder leaning against the cold frame. His reflection merged with the panorama, as if he himself were a part of the city, yet a stranger, detached.
Seung-ho sat on the sofa, watching him. He felt the tension in Do-yun's every movement: in the way he held his hands, as if afraid to let go of something important; in the way he compressed his lips, as if words were stuck.
— You've been silent all evening, — Seung-ho finally said, his voice soft yet insistent. — Speak.
Do-yun closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. The air smelled of coffee and the remnants of his pheromones, still faint but perceptible after the night.
— I have to tell you… — he began, his voice trembling. — Though, you might hate me after this.
Seung-ho stood up, walked closer, and stood behind him. — Try me.
— All of this… this investigation I got involved in… it's for my own sake, — Do-yun exhaled. — I pretended for too long that it was just a job. But that's a lie.
He pressed his forehead against the cold glass, looking down at the tiny lights.
— The same thing that happened to my father is happening to these Omegas now. His disappearance was called accidental back then. They found him a month later. — His voice shook. — He was tortured. Drugged. And… violated.
Seung-ho tightened his grip on Do-yun's shoulder. But Do-yun didn't turn around.
— I remember how his eyes saw nothing when he came back. He was broken. And I… — he swallowed. — I realized that if I left things as they were, I would be next.
Silence. Only the hum of the city outside the window.
— And you were, — Seung-ho said softly.
Do-yun clenched his fists. — Yes. They broke me too. Under the influence of pheromones… I was forced. Against my will. — He exhaled sharply, as if the words burned. — I lived with that for too long, hiding it from everyone.
He raised his head, but his eyes remained closed. — That's why I went all the way. I can't watch others be broken again. I can't let it happen again. These Omegas… they might still be alive. If we hurry, they have a chance.
Seung-ho remained silent. His palm was still on Do-yun's shoulder, but now firmer than before. There was no judgment in that silence. It was like a promise that had not yet formed into words.
Do-yun finally opened his eyes and met his reflection in the glass. — That's the whole truth. Now you know why I'm here.
***
Do-yun turned around, finally meeting Seung-ho's gaze. His eyes were wet, but not only the memory of pain burned in them—determination flickered there too.
— You know now, — he said barely audibly. — And if you want to push me away after this… do it now.
Seung-ho stepped closer but did not touch him. His gaze was steady, as if he were waiting for permission.
And then Do-yun reached out himself. He touched his face, ran his fingers across his cheek. — I want to. I want everything today to be only my decision.
Their lips met cautiously at first, but the kiss quickly deepened. There was no rush—only the warmth that Do-yun himself welcomed.
Do-yun stopped at the edge of the bed. His heart was beating so fast that he could feel every pulse in his temples. But for the first time in a long time, he didn't want to run away. Didn't want to hide. He himself took a step forward—toward Seung-ho.
His fingers touched the buttons of his shirt, gently, as if checking whether he himself might falter. But there was no tremor. Seung-ho allowed it, his eyes watching intently, but not interfering. Do-yun unbuttoned his shirt one by one, slowly, as if afraid that with each new movement he would lose control. In fact—it was the opposite: this was his choice, his decision.
The fabric slipped from his shoulders, and the skin beneath his fingers was hot. Do-yun rested his hand on Seung-ho's chest, running it down the line of his stomach. Each touch resonated in himself—his body seemed to adjust to the rhythm.
Seung-ho placed his palm on his waist, but without pressure. He seemed to be waiting to see where he would be led next.
— Are you sure? — he asked in a low, almost whispered voice.
Do-yun looked up and nodded. — I want this myself.
The words were quieter than the city noise outside the window, but they held more power than all the screams of his past.
Seung-ho's pheromones began to seep into the air, softly, like a warm blanket. They were not predatory, as before, but viscous, warming. Do-yun inhaled them, and his lungs filled with a heaviness that made his head slightly spin. But it was not a violation—it was an invitation.
And in response, Do-yun's body also began to exude scent—fresh, spring-like, clear, but now more saturated. It filled the room with lightness, as if a breeze from a garden had rushed through an open window.
Seung-ho inhaled deeper; his eyes darkened. — You smell like you are trusting for the first time.
Do-yun felt shy but didn't pull away. He leaned in himself, touching his lips. The kiss was uneven, his breathing ragged, but there was no fear in it. Each time their lips met, his entire body responded with an echo, as if lubrication started flowing prematurely, preparing him from within.
Seung-ho's hands slid down his back, lingering on his lower back. Do-yun trembled but didn't resist. On the contrary, he pressed closer, demanding more.
He took off his shirt, staying half-naked, and for the first time, he didn't hide. His eyes glistened with embarrassment, but his voice was firmer than he expected: — Look at me. I don't want to hide.
Seung-ho ran his fingers along his neck, paused at the hollow beneath his collarbone, leaned in, and inhaled the scent where the skin was particularly warm. Do-yun barely held back a moan. The pheromones intensified, thick, almost palpable on his tongue, and for the first time, he didn't fight their force but accepted them.
Every movement, every kiss felt like a step inward—to a place where the past no longer held power.
He lowered himself onto the bed, pulling Seung-ho with him. There was no coercion in his movements, only a plea: be with me, because I choose this.
***
The bedsprings creaked under their weight, but the silence in the room remained fragile, as if one wrong move could shatter it. Do-yun lay on his back, arms outstretched, his breathing labored, but there was no longer the terror of before in his eyes. On the contrary—he looked directly at Seung-ho, as if holding him with his gaze.
Seung-ho slowly leaned over him, running his nose across his cheek, along the line of his jaw, pausing at his neck. The warm breath and the low rumble in his chest made Do-yun's body tremble.
The pheromones thickened. The spring scent from Do-yun intertwined with Seung-ho's viscous, denser aroma, and together they created a new wave—thick, heavy, in which one wanted to drown.
— Your body is trembling, — Seung-ho said, his voice husky. — Not from fear, — Do-yun breathed out.
He himself guided Seung-ho's hand lower, to his abdomen, and then further. Seung-ho's palm settled where the heat was already rushing out. Fingers slid over the skin, and Do-yun sharply drew in a breath.
It was already warm there, the wetness revealing that his body was responding before the words. When the fingertips touched his entrance, the slickness met them immediately, a thin, sliding film.
Do-yun closed his eyes and groaned, ashamed of the sound, but not pushing away. — I want this, — he said, his voice breaking. — Do you hear me? I want it.
Seung-ho's fingers moved cautiously, slowly, as if checking every sensation. The first thrust caused a clenching, and his body tensed, but instead of pulling away, Do-yun arched toward him. His breathing grew louder, his lips parting.
— Like that… — he breathed out, gripping the sheet.
Seung-ho watched his face intently, every change. When the muscles relaxed slightly, he moved deeper. The lubrication generously coated his fingers, allowing the slide to be soft, without pain.
Do-yun groaned louder, his head tossing to the side, but his eyes remained open. — Don't stop…
The pheromones splashed out in a wave; the air in the room became thick, viscous, as if they were running out of oxygen. Each new thrust of the fingers echoed in his body with a wave of heat.
— Seung-ho… — Do-yun covered his hand himself, pressing it deeper. — I'm ready.
The pheromones mixed completely. The Omega's spring scent and the Alpha's heavy aroma intertwined into one.
His body responded to the touches, to the rhythm of the fingers, to the heat of the body next to him. Everything inside reached out, demanding continuation.
Seung-ho leaned over him, his palm framing his face, his eyes piercing through him. — I'm asking one last time, — his voice was low, almost hoarse. — Are you sure?
Do-yun looked directly into his eyes and nodded.
The hardness slid toward the entrance slowly. In the first moment, the muscles squeezed, his body tensed, and a dull, uneven moan escaped Do-yun's chest. His fingers dug into Seung-ho's shoulders, but there was no backward movement. He was meeting him.
— Look at me, — Seung-ho said, leaning closer, touching his forehead with his lips.
Do-yun's eyelids trembled but stayed open. And in that gaze was silent consent.
When the cock drove deeper, his body arched; the entrance clenched into a tight ring. The slickness met the slide, and the movements became softer, more fluid.
The rhythm was cautious at first. Slow, testing thrusts, checking how ready he was. Each movement resonated in his body with waves that made Do-yun's breathing grow heavier.
Seung-ho's pheromones spread out in a heavy, viscous mist. The dominance of the Alpha was palpable in the air. And in response, Do-yun's scent intensified—the fresh spring became brighter, warmer, saturating the space with every moment.
Do-yun arched toward him. His body begged for more, not with words, but with movement, with a moan, with the way he flexed under each thrust.
Seung-ho understood this answer. The movements became more confident, deeper. The rhythm accelerated, and his body responded more strongly. The sheets crumpled in Do-yun's fingers; his breath hitched; waves of heat rolled over his body.
He arched to meet him, and this was an admission: he accepts.
The climax hit powerfully, stealing his breath. A loud groan escaped; his body convulsed, and the world dissolved into white light.
Almost immediately, the semen poured inside in a hot wave, filling him to the brim. Seung-ho held him close, clutching him tightly, as if afraid he would vanish if he let go.
Their breathing remained ragged for a long time. Do-yun's body trembled, but not from fear—from the fact that he had allowed this to happen. His eyes remained open, and in them was a simple, silent acknowledgment: he chose this himself.
Seung-ho touched his temple with his lips. — Now you are mine.
***
Light slowly made its way into the room through the loosely drawn curtains. First—a thin stripe, then a golden haze, blurring the boundaries of the night.
Do-yun opened his eyes not from alarm or the jolt of a nightmare, but from warmth. He lay facing Seung-ho's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. The Alpha's palm was around his waist, fingers lazily tracing patterns on his skin, as if continuing the conversation of the night—without words.
Do-yun sighed, and the sound was too content for him not to feel embarrassed. He pressed closer, smelling his skin, that very aroma that had been dominant and thick at night, but now was softer, as if the morning trace of pheromones dissolved in the air.
— You're awake, — Seung-ho whispered, without opening his eyes. His voice was husky, sleepy, but held a warm tease. — You already knew that, — Do-yun replied quietly, his lips brushing his collarbone.
Seung-ho smiled slightly, leaned down, and touched his temple with a kiss. Then another—on his cheek, on the corner of his lips. Do-yun squeezed his eyes shut, allowing himself to linger in the moment.
The morning stretched out. They didn't get up, as if the world could wait. Seung-ho's hands slowly stroked his back, shoulders, and hair. Sometimes his fingers lingered longer, and Do-yun felt the same calmness he hadn't known for a long time spreading inside him.
He looked up and met his gaze. There were no questions, no judgment in those dark eyes—only acceptance.
Do-yun reached out and kissed him himself. Briefly at first, cautiously, but Seung-ho immediately responded deeper, slower. The kiss was not burning, like at night, but lingering, lazy, as if they both wanted to hold the moment.
— If only we could stay like this, — Do-yun murmured, burying his nose in his shoulder.
Seung-ho stroked his hair. — Then we will steal as many mornings like this as we can.
They didn't move for a long time. The world outside the window was already noisy, but their room still lived at its own pace.
But time asserted itself. Seung-ho sat up first, stretched, and the sheet slipped from his shoulders. — I have a meeting today, — he said. — But I'll be back by lunchtime.
Do-yun sat up too, still sleepy, his hair tousled. He caught his hand, holding his fingers. — You're leaving me alone again.
Seung-ho leaned down, pressing his forehead to his. — Only for a while. I'll be back soon.
He imprinted a last kiss on his lips—soft, lingering, as if he didn't want to let go. And only then did he get up, preparing to leave.
Do-yun remained sitting on the bed, watching his back as he buttoned his shirt.