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it’s past midnight, easily. this is usually the only time wonwoo gets for himself in between their hectic schedule and he uses it the way he’s done for years now – on his own, in the confines of his own room. playing video games. far away from the confusing scents of the others.
here, where it’s quiet. here, where it smells pleasantly neutral, the slightest hints of cotton and freshly washed laundry. soonyoung once told him that he’s never met anyone who smells as pleasantly as wonwoo, of barely anything. just light enough for comfort.
his phone screen lights up by his elbow and he only stares haphazardly, eyes focused back on the screen. the noise of the keyboard is loud in the silence of the room, even with the game score and a bunch of voices filling his right ear.
it’s dark. his phone lights up again, and this time wonwoo risks a longer look as his character successfully maneuvers a fight.
can i come over??
wonwoo pauses the game.
as he reaches for his phone, the door to his room clicks open and there, backlit by the warm glow of the hallway, stands hansol in his pajamas and hair mussed by tossing and turning. wonwoo knows that look.
“sorry,” he says and clears his throat. his voice must have abandoned him sometime in the past two hours. “i only saw your texts now.”
hansol shifts his weight, but doesn’t look particularly put off. he rarely does, wonwoo has learned in years of knowing him. they’re alike that way.
usually, the only thing that betrays hansol’s moods is his scent. it’s fruity, fresh when he’s in a particular good mood but right now, it smells spoilt, almost rotten, overripe grapefruit and tangerine mingling in the air. wonwoo sits up immediately, his headphones jostled by the motion and sliding down to his neck. he ends the group call with one tap of his finger and turns towards hansol in the same motion.
“can i come in?“ hansol asks softly and wonwoo – has never really examined any of his feelings towards any of his bandmates, doesn’t think he’s gonna start tonight, but it does things to him regardless. it always has, ever since hansol has used those big, sweet eyes and that pretty face of his to beg his way into wonwoo’s bed, no need for words. they communicate without them.
wonwoo nods before he realizes this might need a verbal answer regardless. “always.”
closing the door behind him, hansol steps into his room and walks straight towards his bed. wonwoo watches from where he’s seated in his gaming chair, the colors of the screen bathing them both in warm hues, oranges and magenta complimenting the flush high on hansol’s cheek.
oh, okay. it’s gonna be one of those nights.
“is it,” wonwoo pauses. hansol is fiddling with the phone in his hands, the one he texted wonwoo with, sitting on wonwoo’s messy bed and hardly looking at him. “how are you feeling?”
hansol pulls one leg up, his pyjama shorts riding high up his thigh. without missing a beat, wonwoo’s eyes skip to the exposed strip of skin before they move back to stare at a spot somewhere above hansol’s shoulder. he’s – a little more immune to all of this than the alphas in the group but there’s still something. something about hansol in particular that gets to him regardless. as if he’s supposed to be someone else entirely, someone more fit for hansol’s particular needs.
“feeling hot,” hansol says and shrugs, thumbs stilling on his phone screen. “achy. i don’t know, you know how it is.”
wonwoo doesn’t. he’s never known what’s it like to go into heat, and he can’t even begin to imagine. he’s only always known this – hansol’s visible discomfort whenever he is about to enter one, ever since he’s presented. the body aches and the headaches, the fever tremors and his attempts of wishing it all away by sheer force of will. the obvious failure because like all of them, he succumbs to his nature. it never stopped him from hoping though, stubbornly, and as far as wonwoo can tell only since he’s gotten closer to minghao, he has somewhat settled. made peace with himself a little more.
“you took your suppressants?”
hansol shoots him a glance, looking unimpressed. “as scheduled. but you know, this is,” he exhales and flops back onto the mattress. his scent sweetens with contentment. like it is where he wants to be. “this is what it is.”
yes, wonwoo knows this. because ever since his first heat, hansol has done this, has appeared at wonwoo’s bedside to ask him if he could spend a few hours here, just for one night, just until the worst is over. and wonwoo, like the goddamn idiot that he is, has never had the heart to deny him anything. not when he could smell him, not when hansol’s skin was hot and tight to his touch and he clearly needed the help – when hansol made it obvious that only wonwoo could provide it.
he doesn’t quite know if that’s the truth. there are enough betas in their group besides wonwoo that are all perfectly fine and pleasant. hansol has never been particularly comfortable around alphas (except for jihoon, a can of worms that wonwoo won’t open tonight either), but he has always been comfortable around wonwoo. in these vulnerable moments, he’s never looked for what instinct would dictate him to, instead opting for wonwoo’s quiet sense of calm. and that – fuck, that’s good. it makes wonwoo feel good. he wants.
he wants that. wants to be of help.
wonwoo watches hansol’s chest rise and fall, the concave of his rib cage expanding beneath the soft fabric of his sleep shirt. already, his scent has cleared somewhat, sweeter than it’s been just minutes ago. breathing him in, wonwoo leans back in his chair. he’s pretty and wonwoo is so weak to his gentle scent of oranges and citrus, this pretty, pretty boy in his bed that curls up around his blanket, dragging it over his hip, between his legs.
hansol buries his nose in the sheets, inhaling wonwoo’s scent, and wonwoo’s stomach plummets straight to hell. it doesn’t matter that they’ve been here many times before, the warmth simmers syrupy sweet as hansol rubs his soft cheek against wonwoo’s bunched up blanket, the hem of his shirt shifting up to expose his flat stomach. god, he’s everything.
“you want me to,” starts wonwoo, tilting his head. hansol’s eyes peek open, his long lashes fanning softly against his skin. “get over there?”
hansol’s lips quirk into a smile.
oh, god.
“don’t you wanna finish your game? i’m fine,” he says and sighs, seemingly content to be just where he is. it always goes like this and every single time, wonwoo wonders if he should just fuck it or finish his mission.
from the bed, hansol makes a soft, wet noise into wonwoo’s pillow and that is answer and initiative enough. he saves and exits his game, closes the discord server, shuts down his pc. the room drowns in midnight, the only visible light coming from hansol’s phone screen and the glow in the dark stickers wonwoo put up on the ceiling. they barely illuminate a thing but he’s laid here with his hands carding through hansol’s hair, talking him through made up constellations. this one’s you, he had murmured into hansol’s temple, who had snorted and hummed, asking why? because it’s a little lonelier than the others. but it’s prettier, too.
“you don’t smell fine,” wonwoo says, a script they’ve rehearsed for years now. in the dark, the dissonance in hansol’s scent is more apparent even if it is drowned out by a prevailing, growing sweetness, and because wonwoo has done this countless times, he is used to it all by now. the little tells, the signs hansol thinks no one can pick up on.
“i feel better already,” hansol says and he never means any harm. he’s never flippant or mean, or wants to outright hurt anyone. he just is, exists unapologetically, without a fuss. they’re different that way, in how wonwoo is tormented by his mere being on any given day and sometimes feels too big for his own skin. too sunk into his head. too alienated from the rest of the world.
wonwoo’s lips inch into the hint of a smile. “you always say this and then you wake me up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat.”
he stands up and crosses the short distance between his desk and bed, sitting down next to hansol on the mattress. this close, his scent is amplified and familiar, and wonwoo reaches his hand out to brush gentle, idle fingers along the exposed skin of hansol’s stomach. it’s warm, taut, a little damp. he’s gonna feel worse in an hour or two, wonwoo knows this already.
in the dark, hansol is watching him with careful and attentive eyes. wonwoo adjusts his glasses and finds himself looking right back, feeling heat creep up his neck. the minuscule shifts in his own scent are only noticeable to a selected few, usually omegas rather than alphas, except for seungcheol as pack leader who’s always been attuned to all of them. and he has to be, to assure that shit doesn’t hit the fan.
it’s why he’s never said anything about this, wonwoo suspects, looking between them. they’ve found a way to make it work without hurting anyone, least of all the group, and this is why hansol is permitted to sneak into his room and sleep in his bed, and no one bats an eye at the scent of tangerines clinging to wonwoo for days.
the navy of his sheets is swallowed black in the darkness of his room.
hansol exhales slowly, drops his phone to the mattress. “do you have –?”
he tilts his head and smiles, “your meds in my drawer? yes, of course. do you think i’d throw them away or flush them down the toilet, hansol-ah, you know me better than that.”
if it wouldn’t be so dark in the room, he’s sure he could watch hansol’s cheeks color a pretty pink. as it is, all he has is his scent in the air, like oranges dipped in honey. like a blooming orchard.
“there are water bottles in the fridge and i have snacks here, too. just – to err on the side of precaution.” he shrugs. hansol has never opted to spend his actual heat with wonwoo but that has never prevented him from taking all the measures an alpha usually would, overzealous as he is. just to make sure.
he’d never – he’d never forgive himself if hansol would have to suffer because wonwoo is a careless idiot.
“cool,” hansol says and clears his throat. he seems comfortable here, wrapped up in wonwoo’s blanket and wonwoo is glad that he can offer him that, at least. if this is all they’ll ever be and all they’ll ever have, it will be enough. in the end, these stolen hours between dusk and dawn are more than he could ever ask for. “can you – come over here? you smell so good.” hansol laughs shyly, shakes his head, and he is just a smudge of muted colors with his phone screen going dark.
wonwoo’s hand splays wide on hansol’s stomach, curves around his hip. his thumb rubs back and forth on the smooth skin, and he can feel hansol relax beneath his palm, the tension his body is holding draining into the sheets. “okay,” he says, and scoots closer on the bed, laying down next to hansol. like this, his arm could easily curl around hansol’s waist and pull him closer but instead, he brushes his nose against hansol’s neck, where his scent is the strongest, the purest. “this okay?”
and for a moment, all there is is their shared breathing and wonwoo’s hand on hansol’s skin. then, hansol shifts and turns towards wonwoo, his knee sliding between wonwoo’s legs, his heel hooking around wonwoo’s ankle, successfully intertwining them.
now, all wonwoo can smell, sense and taste is hansol.
he exhales, and nudges hansol lightly so he can rest his head on wonwoo’s arm. his fingers play with the unruly strands of chestnut hair, and hansol’s eyes flutter shut like a pair of butterfly wings.
“fine,” he exhales against wonwoo’s forehead. a hand tugs at wonwoo’s shirt as if there’d be any distance to erase between them anymore, as if hansol hasn’t successfully begged air to make room for them. “s’fine.”
“comfortable?” he asks, just to be sure and hansol nods his head yes.
acutely, he’s aware of everywhere they’re touching. of hansol’s nose smushed against his temple, his lips pressed above wonwoo’s brow, the perfect curve of his pretty neck right beneath wonwoo’s mouth, and their legs curled around each other. his hand is wide on the flat of hansol’s stomach, a circle of caresses to ease the cramps and the aches he’s prone to get even when he’s already drifted off into sleep. hansol’s arm is slung loosely over his waist and the other tucked against his chest, until he reaches out to touch wonwoo’s jaw, the back of his neck. fingertips tracing the bone of his cheeks.
hansol murmurs, “i am.”
wonwoo believes him. they are breathing in tandem.
“hyung, can i kiss you?”
wonwoo’s breath whooshes out of him at once. it’s not even new or surprising, but his body burns with a sudden thrill anyways. to kiss hansol now – steps away from his annual heat, so sensitive to anyone around him, is a privilege wonwoo will never quite wrap his head around.
“you don’t even have to ask,” he says and lifts his head, mouth catching on hansol’s jaw and the smooth skin of his cheek. hansol’s breath fans warm over wonwoo’s face and he grasps the back of his skull with the hand drawn into his hair, holding him gently as he captures hansol’s sweet, open mouth in a soft kiss.
there’s no heat, yet. it’s just a press of the lips, a little pressure to give hansol something to focus on. they’ve done this often enough now that wonwoo doesn’t need to figure anything out anymore; he simply gives what hansol needs. kisses him again and again, slow and warm like the tidewater, until hansol’s fingers twist into the fabric of his sleep shirt. pulling him closer.
and he tastes better than his scent could ever promise. wonwoo hasn’t met anyone that tastes as good as they smell, better even, that has him under their spell quite like this.
hansol whines in the back of his throat, a display of want that he rarely allows in real life, and so wonwoo follows the siren’s call. how could he not? he coaxes hansol’s mouth open with gentle nips, and licks into him easily, and he savors the little noises hansol is making like he could box them up and play them back whenever he’s lonesome.
he rolls on top of hansol, resting most of his weight on him, and predictably, hansol sighs happily at that. it’s easy to appease and please him when you know how, and wonwoo runs his large palms up hansol’s sides and over his chest, traces the definition of his pecs. when his thumbs catch on his nipples, hansol exhales on a low moan, one that isn’t quite as agonized as the others.
“not yet?“ wonwoo asks, voice low. hansol shakes his head. if his scent is anything to go by, he must be leaking already but he’s never in the mood for anything more than a make out, and occasionally wonwoo’s fingers. too irritable. wonwoo is fine with just that.
their kisses are deep now, the wet noises obscene in the silence of the room, but wonwoo can’t get enough of them, can’t get enough of hansol and his sweet-sour scent of tangerines and lemons, of citrus and zest and honey all combined in one, drenching his whole room in the summer sun in the middle of the night. he’s delectable, and wonwoo understands alphas a little more whenever they’re doing this, whenever he offers himself to hansol like this, his for the taking. it’s intoxicating to be wanted like this. it’s heart stopping, if you will.
this is more excitement than wonwoo gets in a year.
he kisses hansol’s willing mouth, slick-swollen and undoubtedly bruised-red, and sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. hansol’s fingers dig deeper into the fabric, holding on for dear life. “okay now?” wonwoo asks as he leans back a little, putting some distance between them.
hansol looks dazed. wonwoo’s thumb grazes the corner of his mouth and dips into his dimple. holds his beautiful boy in his arms. he can never quite part whenever hansol leaves in the morning or at noon, whenever his heat hits him fully and he can’t bear to be in this room anymore.
“better,” hansol admits and his eyes open again, slowly. there’s something so serene about it that wonwoo cannot help but smile at him, dive in for another chaste kiss.
“you’re so warm,” wonwoo wonders aloud, even though he knows why, that hansol will only get hotter in his arms, for as long as they stay asleep and entangled in his sheets. “chan is never this warm.”
hansol makes a very dignified noise. the eye roll is actually audible. “that’s because chan is – different.“
true. chan has always been prone to seek out the alphas and first and foremost seungcheol. meanwhile hansol is here, in wonwoo’s bed, someplace he shouldn’t be in if nature has any say in it, but has naturally gravitated towards either way. and wonwoo quite likes it.
“he is a little more demanding than you,” wonwoo muses; most of his experiences with chan’s heats are in passing though, so he can’t say much more. he’s sure hansol has other insights, after all he’s an omega and closest in age to chan as well, and they tend to appear in clusters whenever one of them is distressed, no matter how they’d vehemently deny it if anyone asked. this bond they have – wonwoo is fascinated by it. betas like him, they just – are. nothing makes them hang out with each other or instinctively seek someone out, and maybe that’s easier in some ways, certainly more preferable to wonwoo who likes his peace and quiet, but it doesn’t stop him from wondering how it is for the others.
seungcheol and jihoon have always been attached at the hip, and it only worsened when they both presented in alphas. what could have been a nightmare was prematurely resolved by their clear positions within the group, and so instead of fighting they assumed their given roles, and made way for a close friendship to evolve.
wonwoo loves hanging out with seungkwan or soonyoung but not because he is drawn to them, just because he genuinely likes having them around. well, mostly in small doses anyways.
“demanding,” hansol echoes softly, “uh huh.”
wonwoo pinches his waist, “be nice, baby.”
it shouldn’t be quite this easy to be honest, but hansol melts into his arms. he smells – promising, now. happier, too. wonwoo could devour him, but his first thought is to take care of him and so, he draws his blanket over the both of them, up to their shoulders, and holds hansol close.
“go to sleep. if you get a fever, i’m here,” he says and pushes hansol’s hair off his damp forehand.
hansol’s eyes are already closed. if his breathing is any indication, he must have fallen asleep already. wonwoo watches him for a few seconds, his heart beating insistently loud in his ears, before he closes his eyes as well and drifts off, surrounded by the saccharine scent of oranges and grapefruits in the sun.
(the morning will come, whether he likes it or not.)