Do-jun woke up to nausea—sharp, alien. He barely made it to the bathroom. His body trembled as if someone were winding a spring inside. Water flowed from the tap in a steady stream, and it was the only thing keeping him afloat.
Yun stood in the doorway, not rushing to intervene. When Do-jun's breathing evened out, he approached, handing him a wet towel.
— Drink some water. Small sips.
— It doesn't help — Do-jun offered a weak smile. — Your "small sips" is already the third time in a row.
— Then for the fourth — Yun crouched beside him, touching the back of his neck with his palm. — If you had listened the first time, you wouldn't feel so bad now.
— I am listening — Do-jun mumbled, not looking up. — It's just that my body isn't in alliance with me.
— Your body isn't the enemy. It's reminding you that there is life inside.
— Don't say that.
— Why?
— Because — Do-jun exhaled and squeezed his eyes shut — I don't know if I'm ready for that word.
Yun didn't answer. He simply stayed close. The silence lasted exactly as long as needed for the fear to dull.
⋆⋆⋆
Before leaving, Yun adjusted his shirt collar and fastened his cufflinks—a gesture that always meant: the fight is beginning. Do-jun watched from under the blanket, clutching the pillow like a shield.
— You're going to the office — It didn't sound like a question.
— Yes. Today they expect me to falter.
— Because of me — Do-jun's voice was quiet. — Because of the rumors.
— Let them think they found a weakness. They are wrong—it's not there.
— Where is it then? — he asked.
Yun looked directly at him.
— Weakness is in inaction. Everything else is motivation.
He walked over, sat on the edge of the bed, and hugged him.
— I'll be back before evening. Lock the door, don't open for anyone. If you feel ill — call, don't wait.
— And if you don't answer?
— Then call again.
— Seungho… — Do-jun squeezed his hand. — Just don't pretend you're not scared.
— I'm not pretending. I just act faster than the fear.
He kissed his temple and left. The click of the lock sounded too loud.
⋆⋆⋆
The office greeted Seungho with even rows of lights and wary glances. Everything was too orderly—like a stage before a play where the audience already knows the ending.
— Mr. Yun — Kim began, wiping his forehead — 'Northern Line' has temporarily frozen supplies. They cite 'instability in leadership.'
— Who are they pointing at? — he asked calmly.
— At you, sir. And… at rumors that someone close to you — he stammered — is hindering a clear assessment of the situation.
— Rumors are a convenient way to speak without naming names — Seungho threw back. — Let them think they know. We will show them the difference between a guess and proof.
Oh-hwa quietly placed a folder on the desk.
— There's more — anonymous letters. Mostly threats.
— To me or the company?
— To you. But they are not addressed to you personally. It says: "He won't be able to protect what's inside."
For a moment, Yun froze. Only a thin muscle in his cheek twitched.
— Find out where it was sent from. And keep this to yourselves.
He disliked words. He preferred action. And when the actions ended — all that remained was fear, transformed into a plan.
⋆⋆⋆
By evening, the apartment was quiet. Rain tapped on the window; the air smelled of medicine and lemon. Do-jun lay wrapped in a blanket, listening to his heart skip a beat. When the door clicked, he didn't open his eyes, only whispered:
— You came after all.
— Were you in doubt?
Yun took off his jacket and sat on the edge of the bed.
— The doctors say the nausea is normal. Your body is adjusting.
— What if it can't handle it?
— Then I will handle it for two.
He spoke simply, without pathos. Do-jun turned his head; their gazes met.
— They know everything at the office, don't they?
— No. They guess.
— And they will dig.
— Let them dig. I'm too deep for them to reach.
He smiled—barely noticeable, weary.
— You talk like a man who doesn't sleep at night.
— Because I don't sleep — Yun ran his fingers through his hair. — But if sleep comes — let it come to you first.
Do-jun sighed.
— It's strange. The closer you are, the scarier it gets.
— Why?
— Because I realize that if they strike us, you will go first.
— Of course, I will go.
— And if you don't return?
— I will return.
— Are you that sure?
— No. I just choose to believe, not to fear.
That sentence hung in the air like a vow.
⋆⋆⋆
Later, when it was completely dark outside, Do-jun couldn't fall asleep. He lay staring at the ceiling. Every shadow seemed like a threat.
— Yun — quietly.
— Mm?
— Can we… just be close?
— Already there.
He turned and pressed closer. Their breaths mingled, and the world became a little quieter.
— I don't want this to be an accident — Do-jun said. — Neither us, nor him.
— It's not an accident. It's a choice — Yun kissed his temple. — We made it when we decided to stay, despite the fear.
He touched his neck, shoulder, chest with his lips. Slowly, deliberately, without haste. This was not desire, but a vow — not to take, but to comfort. His hot breath and dominant pheromones, thick and resinous, enveloped Do-jun like a cocoon, replacing the sharp, sticky anxiety.
Do-jun's body first trembled from exhaustion and the shock he had endured, then from the rising heat that Yun persistently poured into him. He closed his eyes, allowing Seungho to lead. Every square centimeter of his skin, tormented by fear, instinctively gravitated towards the Alpha's strength and dominance. This was a basic, animal need of the Omega that could not be ignored.
Yun, as if reading invisible signals, moved with exceptional slowness, deeply and softly, as if every touch was an answer to the quietest, most intimate question. He wasn't seeking a climax — he was building a sanctuary, whose foundation was their bond.
His hand slid down, beneath the waistband of Do-jun's pajama pants. His fingers found the base of Do-jun's member, which was already pulsing in response, and began to stimulate it unhurriedly, hypnotically. Yun forced him to focus on the sensations, not the fear. He kissed Do-jun's jawline, descending to his collarbones.
— Don't be afraid — Yun said, his voice low, viscous with pheromones. — There is no one here but us.
— I know — Do-jun exhaled, arching under Yun's palm. A struggle sounded in his voice. — It's just sometimes fear is stronger than reason.
— Then let it be with us too. Don't chase it away. Fear is proof that we have something to lose — Yun increased the pressure with his palm. — Now, listen only to me.
Yun withdrew only to remove Do-jun's clothes, as if unwrapping a precious gift, and kissed him where moisture had already appeared. Do-jun moaned, his hips slightly lifting, but Seungho did not hurry. He wanted this to be a choice, not an escape. He ran his hand over Do-jun's abdomen, feeling its small but already defined curve, and sealed a kiss over the area where their life was growing.
— Do you want me to stop? — Yun asked, pressing his forehead to his, his breath hot.
Do-jun opened his eyes. In the dim light, his gaze was completely clear; conscious will burned in it.
— No. I want you to remember. I want this to be true.
— Then accept — Yun whispered.
He prepared him thoroughly, using slow, wet touches until Do-jun moaned with impatience. And only when the Omega was ready to receive, Yun entered. Slowly, tenderly, yet filling him unconditionally. This was not roughness, this was possession, chosen by Do-jun. He clasped Do-jun's waist, and their joining became dense, deep.
The rhythm was slow, measured, like breathing after a long storm. Yun listened to his moans, his intakes of breath, and adjusted every thrust to his body. He did not allow Do-jun to think about the outside world. In every movement, the intent was not to "take," but to "brand," "soothe the instinct."
Everything happening ceased to be purely physical—it was a language in which they swore to live, three of them, against the whole world.
When the wave of orgasm finally overcame Do-jun, it was not destructive but comforting. He felt Seungho ejaculate deep inside, and his hot seed, like a seal, confirmed the fact of their bond and their new state. He pressed his forehead to Seungho's chest, feeling his pheromones, warm and dominant, envelop him.
— You know, I thought we were holding on only because of the danger. When the enemy disappeared, so would we.
— You are wrong. The danger just illuminated what was already there.
— What exactly?
— Us. Our choice.
He smiled, without opening his eyes.
— Then I want tomorrow to begin with us. Not with them.
— It will be so.
Yun placed his palm over Do-jun's on his abdomen.
— This is what I do all this for.
— For him?
— For both of you.
The night quieted. The rain softened. The phone on the table blinked—a message from security: "Perimeter clear. No suspects." Yun turned off the screen and glanced at the sleeping Do-jun. He was breathing peacefully, his lips slightly parted.
He thought that, perhaps for the first time in a long time, he didn't want tomorrow—he only wanted this moment.