The morning began with the smell of coffee, but there was a strange, unnatural silence in the kitchen. The sun hadn't risen yet—only a pale stripe of light stretched across the floor, dividing the space. Do-yun stood by the sink, in just a T-shirt, clutching an empty mug in his fingers. He didn't want to drink.
He forced himself to take a sip anyway—and immediately clutched his abdomen. The liquid rose to his throat, as if his body refused to accept even a gulp of warmth. He sharply stepped back, gripping the edge of the table to suppress the bout of nausea.
— Do-yun?
Seung-ho's voice sounded from the doorway—hoarse, but calm, as always. The Alpha stood, leaning his shoulder against the wall, watching. His gaze was too attentive, too perceptive for early morning.
— I'm fine, — Do-yun breathed out, not lifting his head, hoping his pheromones didn't betray his weakness.
— You said that again.
Seung-ho walked closer, circled the table, and gently but firmly took his chin. — And I didn't believe it again.
He saw the paleness, the cold sweat, the trembling fingers.
— When did this start? You've been hiding it since you were at the club.
— This morning… probably nerves. We found Director Park.
Do-yun tried to blame it all on stress, but his voice cracked.
— Nerves don't cause nausea, Do-yun, — Seung-ho spoke quietly, but every word carried weight. — They cause stupid excuses.
He turned the Omega to face him, leaning him against the edge of the table.
— Sit down.
— I don't—
— Sit down, — Seung-ho repeated, and there was neither command nor anger in his voice—only a steel, instinctive care that, for the first time, Do-yun didn't want to argue with. He obeyed, feeling a sudden, almost liberating fatigue.
Seung-ho turned on the stove, set the kettle on. The kitchen filled with the sound of boiling water, which muffled the internal tension. No questions, just movement—confident, composed. He got ginger, lemon, and placed a slice in the mug.
— Don't play the hero, — he said quietly. — Heroes usually die first. And I'm not going to lose you.
Do-yun smiled, but the smile faltered.
— So you want me to live?
— I want you to eat, — Yoon placed the mug in front of him. The ginger smelled sharp, burning. — And now that's almost the same as breathing.
The silence between them was not an emptiness—rather, a pause after which a new agreement was supposed to follow.
***
The alley behind the club was narrow and wet, shrouded in the remnants of the night's dampness. The light from the streetlamp fell in patches, and the puddles reflected it unevenly, as if unwilling to show the truth.
Do-yun stood next to the car, looking at the locked warehouse gates.
— Part of the missing items were found here, — he said, his voice strained. — Bracelets, keys, documents. Everything that belonged to the omegas on the list, like trophies.
— That means they kept personal belongings as evidence, — Seung-ho replied, pulling out gloves. — This isn't just business; it's pathology.
The metal squeaked; the gates yielded. The smell of dust and iron hit their faces, but beneath it—something else. Pheromones. Old, weak, almost erased, but still palpable—fear and hopelessness.
— People were kept here, — Do-yun whispered. — This isn't just a warehouse. It's a place of selection.
He took a step inside, and Seung-ho instantly followed him, releasing his own, stronger pheromones to drown out the foreign scents. On the walls—traces of belts, uneven stains on the floor, empty containers. Do-yun froze. His body reacted before his mind. The warmth in his stomach turned into a sickening cold, and his breathing hitched.
Seung-ho wrapped his arms around his shoulders, holding him steady.
— Don't look. Don't force yourself.
— I have to, — his voice trembled, but he didn't pull away. — If we don't look, who will? Who will remember them?
Seung-ho squeezed him tighter.
— Then look next to me. Not alone. Your strength is that you don't turn away, Do-yun. My—is that I can cover you.
Do-yun didn't argue. He just nodded, accepting the Alpha's strength. He didn't need to be strong to be needed. He needed to be himself, and next to him—Seung-ho.
***
Late in the evening, they returned home. The apartment greeted them with warm light and the smell of tea. Seung-ho took off his jacket, walked up to Do-yun, and stopped beside him.
— You need to lie down, — he said.
— I'm fine. I can process the documents.
— No, — Seung-ho replied quietly. — You just don't know how to be not fine.
He ran his palm across his face—slowly, almost reverently. The warmth of his skin responded with a tremor.
— I'm not asking you to give up, — Seung-ho whispered. — I'm asking you to allow me to be your protection while you recover. Allow me to be there when you fall.
Do-yun looked up.
— And if I can't get up?
— Then I will lift you, Do-yun. And you won't feel guilty about it. It's my duty.
The pause between them became a shared breath. The Omega's pheromones—soft, transparent—intertwined with the Alpha's heavy, calm scent. Not a storm. Not a challenge. A quiet, deep equilibrium.
Seung-ho kissed him. Not rushed, not demanding. Simply—to seal the promise.
He settled him on the sofa, pulling back just enough to see his face. Do-yun's eyes were moist, tired, but calm. For the first time, he allowed himself to be touched without tension. Without fear.
— You're not fighting today, — Seung-ho whispered. — Today, I am guarding. Sleep.
And he stayed—nearby, silently, running his fingers through his hair until his breathing evened out, and the scent of their pheromones dissolved in the air—warm, harmonious, like a new, reliable language of trust.