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The thing is, it’s all a complete mystery, and not one at all.
It goes like this: Before Sung Hanbin even has the opportunity to sign on the dotted line, agreeing to participate on the show and make his best attempt at earning a spot on the Boys Planet debut team, he has to meet one very specific rule. It’s non-negotiable, but neither is it exclusive to only him. All the participants have to sign the same agreement, including a non-disclosure of information.
But for most of the participants, it’s not that difficult to tell.
Hanbin isn’t one for assumptions. He isn’t one to gossip, or participate in undue drama, or be interested in that sort of thing at all. So aside from the loud, boisterous younger kids dramatically proclaiming their dynamic, Hanbin doesn’t go looking to find out who’s what.
It’s just all sort of comes out naturally.
After all, they’re a bunch of teenagers (most of them at least), crammed into tiny, dorm sized rooms. They live on top of each other most days, train together, bathe together, eat together—do practically everything together.
Still Hanbin is a rule follower. He’s someone who likes guidelines and parameters and clear indicators of where he’s supposed to be at what time, and what he’s supposed to be doing.
So when the producers of the show tell him frankly, and without compromise, “All contestants will wear scent concealers and not discuss their dynamic publicly or privately,” he doesn’t think twice about it. He signs his agreement. He gives his word on it. And he takes it seriously.
“It’s on purpose,” he hears Jay telling Kamden one morning. They’re huddled together like they often are, wound up in their own world, speaking in a mixture of Korean and English that sounds so good Hanbin can’t really distinguish where one language starts and the other ends.
“Of course it’s on purpose,” Kamden replies, looking sleep addled and tried, having just woken up less than half an hour ago. They’re all in line to pick up breakfast and take advantage of the small amount of time they have in the morning for personal time. “They put almost a hundred boys together in one place. Under stressful situations. They couldn’t risk an alpha losing control, or an omega feeling threatened, or a beta getting overwhelmed.”
Hanbin take a bite of his rice and doesn’t interject himself into the conversation, but he wants to. There are plenty of schools where alphas, betas, and omegas all coexist together without heavy scent regulation, and for the most part there aren’t major issues. Hanbin has gone to both a mixed dynamic school, and a purely alpha school before, and he can’t really determine much of a difference.
Other than the omegas, of course.
Truthfully, Hanbin has never really taken himself for being a traditional alpha. He’s taller than average, but more lanky and lither than bulky. He’s always been more interested in dance and personal expression and academics, rather than sports or physically demanding activities. He doesn’t consider himself someone who prefers being in charge, or someone who needs to take control to satisfy an edge.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” his mother had told him the one and only time he’d commented on it, almost afraid of her reaction to his observation. “You’re perfect just the way you are. Don’t try and emulate what you see on television and in the movies. No one really likes alphas like that anyway.”
For the most part, Hanbin had accepted that as gospel, and been satisfied. After all, his mother was an alpha herself, his father a beta, and neither of them were any type of stereotype that could be found on the kdramas that half of the public seemed obsessed with.
But if there was one part of Hanbin that fell in line with preconceived notions of alphas, it was his attraction to omegas.
Hanbin found omegas lovely.
There was something particular about the way omegas smelled, the grace in which they moved, and the air of elegance that they carried with them, that he found particularly attractive. He’d never crushed on anyone who wasn’t an omega. He’s never wanted a relationship with anyone who wasn’t an omega. And if there was one thing that worried him about being on Boys Planet, it was being confined in such a small space with likely so many participating omegas.
The last thing Hanbin needed was one wandering glance at a particularly good smelling omega caught on camera, to ruin his chances of making the group.
So in a lot of ways, the mandatory requirement of participants covering up their scents and not talking about their dynamics, was a saving grace.
“Not like that,” Jay continued the conversation, shaking his head at Kamden. “They’re doing it on purpose to build suspense with the fans—with the people watching the show.”
Kamden seemed to contemplate his words, and Hanbin did too.
He’d hadn’t really stopped to consider that it might be a cleverer strategic move by the producers. Because he has noticed online that people were already speculating about dynamics, and voices were certainly already getting loud about the topic.
Of course for some of the trainees, it was impossible to hide their dynamic. Some of them, like Hoetaek, had been in the industry for many years, with a dynamic firmly established and solidified. Hoetaek’s reputation as a level-headed and competent beta was just as public as Jiwoong’s reserved and admirable attitude as an alpha. They wore the scent blocking patches the same as everyone else, but there was no baiting with their dynamic to the public.
Kamden commented, “Not everyone is trying to hide their gender, though.”
No, Hanbin agreed. Some of the contestants, despite signing an agreement to wear the scent blocking patches and not talk about their dynamic, were doing very little not to reveal what they were. But it must not have been too much of an issue after all, because Woongki was as traditionally omega as ever, and Wumuti was prone to scruffing the back of the necks of younger Chinese trainees the way that settled alphas often did.
And to be frank, Hanbin had certainly overheard Taerae and Seunghwan discussing their dynamic as betas quite proudly and unabashedly.
In the end, maybe the only thing that mattered was that when Hanbin was laying in bed at night, listening to the soft snores of his bunkmates, that he couldn’t smell them. Or that when he was practicing choreography, he wasn’t tempted by the urge or instinct to treat anyone different.
It was just … he had his suspicions.
And he was curious. That was normal, right? It was normal to be curious. He was young, he was often attracted to people, and instincts were inescapable.
In particular, of all the Boys Planet participants, he had his suspicions about Zhang Hao.
Zhang Hao, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to be his rival. Whatever storyline for the show the writers were cooking up in their minds, it was undeniable. They were clearly positioning the two of them to go against each other, head-to-head, for the number one position spot.
In one way, it was flattering. Hanbin had only hoped to make the group itself in any spot. But to be considered for the first position? To be considered a front runner? It was extremely flattering.
On the other hand, Zhang Hao was such a nice person.
It wasn’t even that Zhang Hao was nice. It was a deadly combination of Zhang Hao’s consideration for others, his politeness, how hard he worked, the perseverance he exuded so naturally, his charisma, his charm, and of course, his attractiveness.
Zhang Hao was …
Sometimes Hanbin watched him. He watched the way Zhang Hao moved across the room with fluidity and grace. He watched how Zhang Hao touched his teammates with some kind of delicacy, but always enough firmness not to be mistaken for weak. He watched Zhang Hao’s attention to detail, how he remembered little things about the other contestants, and how he made sure no one felt left out or abandoned.
Some of the other boys, some of the other alphas, whispered to each other that Zhang Hao was surely an omega—surely the kind of omega that any kind of alpha would do anything to have. They gossiped to each other that Zhang Hao looked pretty how omegas were supposed to, and spoke in a soothing, even tone that defined someone meant for bringing stability to packs. They swapped declarations of intent and predictions and words that Hanbin sometimes found distasteful.
Sometimes he found himself jealous of them.
But he didn’t want to have Zhang Hao. He didn’t want to consume him or own him.
He only wanted to be near him, talk to him, and investigate the draw he felt towards him.
And as time passed in the show, and cuts were made, there was more opportunity for it. The number of boys dwindled down from an almost suffocating amount, to a number that was starting to feel too small. Then it came to a time where Hanbin could lay in bed at night and not smell anyone, but only because there was hardly anyone left to smell.
But Zhang Hao remined.
And they talked. They grew closer. Hanbin became more infatuated. Worryingly so.
It was almost comedically easy to evade the cameras after a short while. In the beginning it had felt like they were everywhere, lenses trained on every corner, watching everything, ready to broadcast every secret and every conversation. And there were a lot of them, of course. It was a television show and Hanbin had never lost sight of that.
But as the weeks passed, and they all became more familiar with not only the location of the cameras, but the angle of their placement, it became easier to seek out blind spots.
More than a couple of times Hanbin had passed by Keita and several of the other Japanese contestants, huddled together in a blind spot, speaking almost melodically, in a relaxed way, to each other without fear of being recorded. And there were plenty of other groups of trainees who did the same, but even some of the contestants used the blind spots for momentary breaks alone, enjoying the solitude of privacy.
Hanbin wasn’t sure how it happened, but eventually he found himself sharing the blind spots with Zhang Hao, the two of them cramped together in one particular corner as if it was their own.
Maybe it had to do with the shared pressure they were under. Zhang Hao, as the undeclared leader of the global group, was under just as much pressure as Hanbin was representing Korea—an almost unbearable amount of pressure. It was a thing that only the two of them could related to, or maybe even understand, and there was instinctive comradery in the feeling.
They didn’t speak much as first, and when they did, it was only simple conversation—talking about safe topics such as interests, school, or even the weather. They avoided talk of the competition nearly completely. And it wasn’t until almost the last three weeks, the finale date creeping ever closer, that they even begun sharing personal information about their families.
Talking to Zhan Hao was easy, though. Hanbin could lean back against the wall with his eyes closed and let himself drift, the tone and tempo of Zhang Hao’s voice lulling him into a gentle state of ease. He liked to listen to Zhang Hao talk about his life in China, his mother and father, his love of music, or anything else. When it came from Zhang Hao, who was earnest and generous to a fault, he felt authentic and worth listening to.
“Have you thought about how different things are going to be?” Zhang Hao asked two weeks before the finale. He and Hanbin were sitting shoulder to shoulder in their hiding place, the both of them sweaty from practice and in their dance clothing. They should have been on their way to get food, the rest of the trainees had already passed by them in a hungry blur, but they’d gravitated to each other like caught in orbit.
Zhang Hao always felt like there was an inescapable gravitational pull to Hanbin—one that he easily surrendered to.
“When we debut?” Hanbin asked. He thought about the upcoming showcase, and the people who would stand on stage with him when names were called.
Or maybe he was thinking of who wouldn’t be there. Or maybe even who wouldn’t be called.
Zhang Hao nodded, his eyes looking particularly large and round and almost doe-like.
Hanbin felt his stomach curl up at the observation. Practically all of the contestants had presented, and by now it was common knowledge which dynamic each was. But some mysteries remained. Zhang Hao, quiet and reserved and practical, was one of them.
Though in that moment, Hanbin had never been so sure of anything in his life, as he was that Zhang Hao was an omega.
Neither had he hated so much the scent blocking patches that each of them wore just below the collar of their shirts.
What did Zhang Hao smell like?
Hanbin yearned to know.
He thought of his own scent, earthy and woody like most alphas, almost like a forest. And he wondered if Zhang Hao’s scent would complement his own.
“We should talk about it,” Zhang Hao said in an even way, the implication of their inevitable debut not in question. It was only the order of their names being called, that was truly uncertain. “The company will want us to form a pack, right?”
Hangbin dared to let his shoulder press against Zhang Hao’s a little harder. “Probably.” He nodded. It was, of course, extremely normal for kpop groups to form packs at or just before debut. It helped with regulating behavior within the group, and mellowing out moods. It prevented a lot of predictable conflict from coming to fruition, and deepened relationships on an instinctive level.
Most groups formed packs that were only temporary, deliberately so in order to lesson the trauma associated with members leaving, or an eventual disbandment.
It did, however, seem very likely that the company would want them to do so, regardless if their pack would only be established for a couple of years during the promotional era.
Voice nearly a whisper, Hanbin asked, “Is that something you want to do?”
The hallway that adjoined their small space was empty and silent, and it made Hanbin worry that they’d be overheard. The staff had seemingly doubled in number overnight in preparation of the coming final debut showcase, and for the group activities that would follow afterwards. And if anyone overheard them, they could be in trouble.
Just meeting alone could probably get them scolded.
For a moment, Zhang Hao was silent, mulling over Hanbin’s words, before finally, with his clipped, cute accent, he asked in a deliberate way, “Are you asking because I’m an omega?”
Hanbin had been sure, so sure, that Zhang Hao was an omega. It was the only explanation for the pull he felt towards him, and the burgeoning instincts to hoard and protect and consume—instincts he’d deftly pushed down with irritation. These were archaic, outdated, and uncomfortably traditional feelings that alphas instinctively had for omegas, whether there was a need for them or not. They were almost embarrassing for Hanbin who considered himself progressive and modern and not sexist.
Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Hanbin asked with almost a squeak, “Are you telling me you’re an omega?”
Zhang Hao’s eyes crinkled a little, and he muttered something fondly in Chinese. Then he said, this time in Korean, “I didn’t think I needed to.”
To Hanbin, it felt like he was wandering around in some kind of video game, with traps laid out all over the floor and a pendulum just waiting to swing down on him if he triggered anything. It felt like he was Indiana Jones, trying not to step on the wrong stones as he made his way precariously through a temple.
“We’re not supposed to talk about this,” Hanbin mumbled, looking away from the sweetness of Zhang Hao’s face.
Zhang Hao laughed a little, but only the tinniest bit, and affirmed, “I’m not ashamed, if that’s what you think.”
His Korean was impressive, to say the least. Hanbin had started the competition prepared to navigate different languages and do his best to communicate with others without using Korean. He’d tried to prepare himself to feel out of his element, and not always know what someone else was saying. And that had been the case for some of the other contestants. But Zhang Hao was easy to talk to in Korean, and the ease of it almost made Hanbin forget Chinese was his mother tongue.
“I didn’t say that!” Hanbin rushed out.
“But maybe you thought it?” Zhang Hao wondered. “I’m the only child of my family—the only son. Most parents hope for an alpha in China. I’m an omega.”
Hanbin sucked in air through his teeth so sharply that it hurt a little.
“I am what I am,” Zhang Hao told him, sounding blunter now than he had ever in the past. “My parents have always accepted me as I am, for my choices, for my interests, and for my dynamic.”
Zhang Hao’s lashes were long. Hanbin couldn’t help noticing. It was utterly the most inappropriate thing to notice in the moment, with the two of them having such a forbidden conversation, but they were long and curled and beautiful and Hanbin noticed.
He was so busy noticing, in fact, that he nearly missed when Zhang Hao went on, “My mother is an alpha. My father is a beta. But neither of them has ever offered opinion on my dynamic, outside of preparing me for what others may say or how they might act.”
Hanbin wasn’t sure what he’d expected Zhang Hao to say, actually. Maybe there’s been some kind of hope in him that Zhang Hao would confess being oppressed by his parents, and made to feel inferior, if only so Hanbin could swoop in to play the hero and assure him otherwise. It was a horrible realization to have in the moment.
And it was better, he decided, that he could tell Zhang Hao, “My parents are like that, too. I mean, it’s not the same—I know it’s not the same—but they always supported me. My mom’s an alpha, too. My dad’s beta. They always let me be whatever I wanted to be, however I wanted to be it. They supported me here, once they realized how serious I was about it. I’m lucky.”
With a smile, Zhang Hao said, “We’re lucky.”
It was absolutely better, Hanbin confirmed, to have this in common.
Zhang Hao was no delicate flower blowing in the wind. He didn’t need to be reassured or coddled or protected. He didn’t need an alpha to step in and assure him of his worth.
Hanbin pressed his lips together, folding his hands in his lap.
He had meant it, though, about the pack question, because he’d suspected Zhang Hao was an omega.
He had to admit eventually, “Yes. About your question. Yes.”
There was a moment, then, when the rest of the world fell away. The hallway and the potential danger of staff passing by faded. The rest of the world ceased to matter.
Because Zhang Hao lifted his own hand, and placed it over Hanbin’s.
“You’re worried that I’ll become overly attached to the pack, as an omega?”
Hanbin’s eyes widened, trying to process the words, and also overwhelmed by the sudden weight of Zhang Hao’s hand atop his own. He wanted to curl his hand up and catch Zhang Hao’s long, delicate, pale fingers. He wanted to hold onto Zhang Hao and never let go.
“Yes,” he confessed again.
“That’s fair enough,” Zhang Hao replied. And instead of Hanbin acting, it was Zhang Hao cupping his fingers down to properly hold Hanbin’s hand.
The problem with temporary packs, of course, could be broken down into two categories: alphas and omegas.
Betas, as the largest dynamic, encompassing almost sixty percent of the population, were level headed to a fault. They tended to be intelligent, proactive, problem solvers. They were the mediators, the negotiators, quick witted, clever, and probably the best partners to have.
Alphas and omegas were always the real problem, too dominated by emotions and instincts.
In temporary packs, alphas could still get overly territorial, making it extremely difficult to dissolve the pack when the time came, and complicating members moving on to other packs. Though no different were omegas, who could form such deep emotional attachments with members, that they experience physical and mental strain from a pack disbanding. In the worse cases, there was hospitalization and medication involved.
Hanbin didn’t think Zhang Hao would so easily succumb to strain, after all, he’d survived well through the Boys Planet competition. But it was also a risk to consider.
“The company will want it,” Hanbin mused. “Groups that form packs usually have better sales—more fans and make more money.”
“I think we’d do just fine even if we didn’t form a pack,” Zhang Hao commented.
Hanbin agreed. But he did point out, “I don’t know if it’ll be our choice.”
There was a sharpness in the way Zhang Hao’s grip tightened on Hanbin’s hand before saying, “It’s always our choice, Hanbin.”
Hanbin wanted to believe that, truly.
“Then,” Hanbin compromised, stretching out his leg so it was pressed along Zhang Hao’s, lining them up from shoulder, down to hip, to ankle, “if we choose to do that, you’re right. We should talk about it.” He startled them, suddenly realizing he’d left out, “Oh, I’m an alpha!”
His voice carried far louder than he meant it to, and he clamped down on his mouth in fear, eyes going wide.
“I knew that.” Zhang Hao laughed. His warmth was gone a second after that, rising to stand, looking long legged and more attractive than Hanbin had ever dared to admit before.
“You knew?” Hanbin looked up at him from the floor, feeling a little dumbfounded. “But I never said.” He pointed to his collar, to where both the patch and the tattoo he bore on his skin was obfuscated from sight. “And I always wore my patch.”
Zhang Hao gave him an amused look. “I never needed to hear you tell me you were. Just like you never needed me to say I’m an omega, in order to know, right? Some things don’t need words.”
What was Zhang Hao implying? That he’d felt the tension, chemistry, attraction, and pull between them as well? That he’d …
“You danced a lot today,” Zhang Hao interrupted his thoughts, holding a hand down for Hanbin. “You did well. You must be hungry.”
Almost acting without thought, Hanbin reached up for his hand and let Zhang Hao pull him up to his feet.
Zhang Hao was strong. He had known the right way to leverage his own body to pull Hanbin up without straining himself. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t ignorant. He wasn’t anything less than Hanbin’s equal in every conceivable way. He was perfect.
Sung Hanbin was in love.
The finale came and went, and then, if anything, the stress truly began.
There was hardly time after that to find quiet moments to talk to Zhang Hao about anything. The nine of them were moved immediately into new living quarters that placed them back to living on top of each other, among everything else. Then came the singing lessons, dance lessons, PR lessons, photo shoots, scheduling meetings, media meetings, social media demands, and so much more than Hanbin had properly stopped to consider before.
Yet nothing, absolutely nothing, startled him more than peeling the scent blocker from his skin for the first time, and being directed not to replace it.
“You’ll have to get used to smelling each other now,” one of their several managers directed, passing out wet wipes to rid their skin of the residue of the patch as they stood around in a small circle. “And work out your pack structure.”
Hanbin caught Matthew’s glaze as the younger male wiped at his skin, looking more relieved than anything else. Matthew, like some of the other contestants, had often grown nauseous wearing the scent blockers. The flood of chemicals blocking scent glands had also disrupted any incoming heats or ruts, and made several people sick over the course of the competition. Within days they’d be on new suppressants to prevent any biological urges or imperatives from rearing up, but they’d still be able to smell each other.
“This place is going to smell unbearable for the first couple of days,” Taerae remarked as he wiped his own neck, gesturing around the apartment they were in.
Their manager, still handing out the wipes, looked unphased as he said, “That’s why you were assigned rooms, rather than allowed to pick. It should cut down on clashing scents at least a little.”
It hadn’t gone unnoticed by Hanbin that the group’s two omegas had been assigned a singular room, along with Yujin who was unpresented, while the two alphas had been split along with the rest of the betas. It was a smart move, and also likely thought out long in advance by their management team.
It wouldn’t be a good start for Hanbin to clash with Jiwoong over territory rights to their room. The both of them were fairly calm and unbothered by most things, but one could never predict alpha instincts. And in a way it soothed Hanbin to know that their pack’s other alpha would be watching out for the two young betas. A divide and conquer technique.
Because they were a pack now. No official bonding had happened yet, nor would it happen for some time, but in all other ways, they were a pack. They’d be expected to move, think and act as a pack, and present themselves that way to the public.
“I’ll leave you to it,” their manager offered with a parting wave, and then he was gone, likely just as desperate to get away from the barrage of scents as Hanbin was starting to feel.
It was overwhelming.
“Ugh,” Gyuvin declared loudly, leaning into Gunwook, “you all smell horrible!”
Gunwook winced with a deep frown on his face, eyebrows pulled in tight, fanning the air in front of him. “It’s so strong.”
It wasn’t that they smelled bad, Hanbin told himself as he tried to remain calm, feeling almost lambasted by citrus and oak and vanilla and even more after that. None of them smelled bad at all. And in just a few weeks, they’d think of each other’s scents as comforting—maybe even as home. But for now there were too many new scents in too small a proximity to feel anything but overwhelming.
The worst part of it all, Hanbin bemoaned, was that he couldn’t even tell who’s sent was who’s. They’d talked about it as a group, shared the information over drinks and food and good conversation. But the scents were so overwhelming at the moment that Hanbin couldn’t remember what belong to who, or who’d said what. He scrubbed his brain for the information, and kept coming up too distracted to remember properly.
Yujin made a worried face and asked, “Is it really that bad?” Unpresented, his sense of smell was muted in comparison to everyone else’s, and though he could likely smell everything, it probably wasn’t a fraction as distracting or disruptive.
“It’s horrible,” Ricky confirmed, taking a huge step back from the group and declaring, “I’m going to my room. I’m getting a headache.”
“That’s actually a good idea,” Jiwoong said, reaching out to catch the sleeve of Hanbin’s shirt. “We should assimilate in smaller groups, then try something bigger later. Maybe dinner.”
Hanbin nodded right away. “Agreed. Hao,” Hanbin said, turning to Zhang Hao. “You should take—”
“Of course,” Zhang Hao said, already moving past him toward Gunwook and Yujin.
In fact, it was such a fluid moment of teamwork, Jiwoong already tugging at Gyuvin to leave, that Hanbin nearly missed Zhang Hao actually passing in front of him.
Until he smelled him.
Unmistakable.
Undeniable.
Lotus.
Zhang Hao smelled like lotus flowers.
Hanbin only knew the distinct smell because his mother had a particular fondness for flowers and grew an impressive number of them in her garden back at home. She often complained of the delicacy of lotus flowers, and the difficulty of cultivating them properly. And so it was frequently that Hanbin’s father would buy them for her, to make up for their fickleness in her garden’s pond, and to show his love for her with attentiveness.
Hanbin would know their scent anywhere.
“Come with me,” Zhang Hao guided Gunwook along with a firm hand the back, looking almost petite next to his omegan counterpart. Yujin padded along just slightly behind them as Zhang Hao advised, “Omegas are particularly sensitive to smell. I’ll get you some painkillers, Gunwook, you’ll also have a headache soon enough.”
“Hanbin?” Matthew asked softly from beside him, touching Hanbin’s elbow slowly so not to startle him. “Are you okay?”
No. No he wasn’t okay.
“Lotus flowers,” Hanbin said, turning to look at Matthew. “Hao smells like Lotus flowers.”
“He smells nice,” Matthew agreed with a shrug, “from what I can tell. I don’t know. My nose feels like it’s on fire right now.”
The world could have been on fire, Hanbin felt, and he wouldn’t have cared a bit.
“How did it go?” Hanbin asked in the peace of the night later on, sitting with Zhang Hao out on the singular balcony that the apartment had. It faced another building, and didn’t offer much in the way of a view, but it was private place that made Hanbin feel like he could breathe finally.
They’d tried to come together for dinner, like Jiwoong had suggested, but by then the entire apartment had stunk horribly of scents that were unfamiliar and too strong. They’d ended up ordering in dinner, and retreating back to their assigned rooms again, calling an end to their attempts that day.
Jiwoong had been sitting with Zhang Hao and Hanbin on the balcony for some time earlier, the three of them seemingly best dealing with the barrage of scents, and also the unofficial leaders of the group discussing their upcoming activities. Zhang Hao was their group’s center, and Hanbin was the declared leader, but Hanbin had no doubt that it was Jiwoong who had held dozens of contestants together at one time or another with his leadership. So regardless of each of their position, they’d agreed to co-manage the group in a way, at least when they were out of view of the media or fans.
“You’re still the leader,” Jiwoong has insisted, not looked at all upset at the fact, when Hanbin had brought up the idea of the three of them working together to manage the group—the pack.
“And that’s why I need you,” Hanbin had replied. Then he’d turned to Zhang Hao and said, “And the both of us need you.”
No pack ever worked without a competent head omega.
Now Jiwoong had gone to bed, smudges of darkness under his eyes that told Hanbin that earlier in the day he’d likely spent his time caring for Gyuvin and Ricky, and not taking care of himself.
That left Hanbin and Zhang Hao alone on the balcony, the stars above them, and a gentle breeze pushing into their space ever so often.
Hanbin inquired, “How’s Gunwook?”
“He’ll be okay,” Zhang Hao assured, giving Hanbin a certain look. There were two chairs on the balcony and they were seated on each. When Jiwoong had been there with them, they’d been a respectable distance away. But almost the moment he’d gone, they’d scooted closer, knees knocking, almost as if there’d been no choice but to sit so close.
“He seemed overwhelmed, Hao.”
“We’re all overwhelmed,” Zhang Hao corrected.
Hanbin could smell him now so strongly, leaking out the smell of lotus flowers with almost reckless abandon. It wasn’t his fault, of course, it was only a reaction to having his scent pushed down for so many weeks. It would regulate quickly enough. And Hanbin wasn’t too upset about it, either. Zhang Hao smelled divine, and without the other competing scents from within the house, it was a good smell to get lost in.
Truthfully, Hanbin wanted to press his face into the juncture of Zhang Hao’s neck and breathe as deep as his lungs would allow.
That sort of thing would likely get him thrown over the balcony and end his very short idol career.
“But Gunwook’s a baby,” Hanbin said, leaning on the arm rest of the chair that was nearest Zhang Hao. “Presentation wise, I mean.”
Gunwook had been a surprise, to say the very least. Gunwook, who was tall and broad shouldered and assertive in his self-confidence, had reeked of being an alpha. Hanbin would have bet anything on him being an alpha. The best alphas were like Gunwook, too, so it only made sense. Hanbin had only assumed Gunwook was an alpha because there’d been no indication of anything else, and Gunwook had seemed happy to let other people speculate he was an alpha.
It had almost bowled Hanbin over to learn that not five months earlier Gunwook had presented as an omega.
And then his heart had sunk to think of Gunwook, who was likely only just getting used to his own scent, having to cover it up and hide it.
“He’ll be okay.” Zhang Hao looked ethereal in the moonlight. “He didn’t want any dinner, and just wanted to rest, but that’s fine. He’ll be better by the morning. I’ll keep an eye on him tonight.”
Hanbin asked, “And Yujin?”
Zhang Hao chuckled, “Lucky he’s unpresented. He’s having the best time of anyone. The last I saw he was watching a show on his phone. He talked to his parents earlier today. He’ll be fine as well.”
Yujin was too young. He was still a baby, just like Gunwook, too. He had a dream, he had passion, and he certainly had talent. But his age? Hanbin worried. There was nothing he could do about Yujin’s age, but he promised to do everything in his power to protect Yujin from the media, from the fans, from anything he could, and he knew Zhang Hao would help him.
“And you?”
Zhang Hao looked surprised. “Me?”
“How are you?” Hanbin asked with a grin. “You’re the one who said it earlier—omegas are more sensitive to smell than anyone else. You’re not newly presented, but it must be a lot for you. Are you okay?”
The lotus smell sweetened just a bit, almost to the point where Hanbin could taste it on his tongue.
“I’m fine,” Zhang Hao punctuated in English, smiling brighter than the stars. He switched back to Korean to say, “Don’t worry about me. We have a lot of other things to worry about.”
“I worry about everyone,” Hanbin assured. “I’m the leader. That’s my job. But I especially worry about you.”
Almost delighted, and eyebrows going high, Zhang Hao asked, “Because I’m omega?”
Pleasure rippled across Hanbin as he replied, feeling almost giddy, “Are you telling me you’re an omega?”
Zhang Hao only settled back more fully in his chair, looking content.
Things did settle down, of course. Even thought they were full steam ahead towards their official debut, and their appearance at KCON Japan before that, things within the pack were developing well.
There was still a stringent learning curve for a lot of them. Though they’d lived together during Boys Planet, it had always been under the strict supervision of the crew members. Living in their own dorm, however, they spent most of their time being accountable for themselves. Their managers were a constant presence, and with the amount of activities and trainings packed into their schedule, there wasn’t a lot of time to do nothing, but there was still an inherent responsibility to their living situation.
They had to develop, first as a group of people, and second as a pack, a method of living together that worked. They had to learn how to distribute chores, manage meals, and prevent arguments from happening.
Many of them had never lived with an alpha or a beta or an omega.
Some of them had never lived with anyone but family before.
Growing pains were expected, and nothing was entirely smooth, but they managed.
And things felt even more real to Hanbin the night before they were due to leave for KCON Japan. They’d spent the past forty-eight hours pushing themselves to the limit, practicing and practicing and practicing. They’d lost weight, lost sleep, and lost focus.
Now there was their first opportunity to travel abroad as a group, face the media at the airport, and most importantly, handle the fans.
“They’re going to swarm you,” a manager said bluntly. Their group was sat down in the living room, spread out fairly evenly, but not without note to Hanbin that Zhang Hao had pressed himself between Gunwook and Yujin. Maybe as if he’d sensed what would be coming, with his two youngest to protect. Like any pack’s head omega would.
They had three managers, and all three were present, eyes raking over the group with seriousness.
The first manage spoke again, “There’ll be a farce of order and conduct while you’re taking pictures. Everyone will behave themselves while there are pictures.”
Another manager broke in, “And if you think you have any idea who many media outlets will be there, you’re wrong. Double or triple the number.”
The first continued on, “The security staff will stand to the side for the pictures, as will the rest of the team. Then we’ll escort you to the processing checkpoint.”
At which point, Hanbin reiterated in his own head, looking over to Zhang Hao worriedly, they’d likely be swarmed.
“It’ll be rough,” a manager warned. “But you’ll be okay.”
It didn’t feel okay. Twelve hours later it felt anything but okay as a mass of people stampeded towards them, shoving at each other, desperate to reach them. Security intercepted, but Hanbin felt Zhang Hao nearly lose his balance, shoved forward, practically crashing into him. It was a mess, it was horrible, and it was only the start.
“It’s going to be like that every time?” Yujin demanded when they were on the plane.
Hanbin wanted to say it wasn’t instinct, but he’d pushed Yujin—their baby, their youngest—into the window seat, where he could be bracketed in by Hanbin and the other members protectively.
“It’ll get better,” Jiwoong said from a row back, putting his bag in an overhead compartment.
“Okay,” Yujin nodded, looking a little relieved.
Hanbin just wasn’t sure if Jiwoong meant it actually would get better, or if they’d just get used to it.
Though despite all of that, KCON was definitely, at least in Hanbin’s opinion, a smashing success. Their reception was great, their performance was nearly perfect, and their managers seemed extremely pleased. All in all, it seemed the best possible start for them as a group.
Even better, as a pack thing were starting to fit just right, too. They’d bond together in an official capacity in just a few weeks, right before debut, but with enough time to let the bond settle. And for right now, they’d managed to avoid any posturing between alphas, jockeying for attention between omegas, or friction between betas. Each member of the pack had settled in bit by bit, and though some of them had been closer than others, they were starting off down the right path to maintaining a strong bond as a pack.
“We get the debut song tomorrow,” Zhang Hao said when they were back in their dorm in Seoul, with most of the pack asleep inside, and Hanbin sitting by his side on the balcony.
It seemed like their thing now.
It was definitely their thing.
As always, they sat knee to knee on the two chairs, and had been for a while. They’d even been sitting that way when Jiwoong had been out on the balcony talking with them about upcoming schedules. But if he had an opinion on whatever was happening between them, he hadn’t said anything.
(Was anything happening between them?)
Above them the moon was a waxy crescent hanging low in the sky, not giving off much light, but looking spectacularly lovely all the same.
“Do you think we’re ready?”
“Ready?” Hanbin scoffed at Zhang Hao’s question. “Didn’t you see the way Gunwook became Japan’s prince in the span of eighteen hours? And Ricky and Gyuvin with their fanservice? I reviewed our stage, too. I can see why the managers were so happy with us on the way back. We looked great on stage.” Hanbin was rambling, and he knew he was, but he was so happy and content it was hard not to let his mouth run away with him.
He wanted to share all his feelings with Zhang Hao.
“I agree,” Zhang Hao said pleasantly, laughing a little too. “But I meant as a pack. We’ll bond soon. Are we ready for it?”
It was a valid question, too. Most kpop groups who bonded, did so after years of knowing each other, working together, and training together. They formed packs with people who weren’t strangers, but close friends or even people who felt like family already.
That wasn’t going to be the case for them. Some of them had come from the same company, and some of them had known each other before competing on Boys Planet, but none of them were that close.
And there was the chance of bond failure when things went wrong.
“I think we’re ready,” Hanbin answered honestly, reaching up to brush at Zhang Hao’s fringe. His hair had grown a little longer since his time on the show. Surely he’d be made to cut it before debut, but for now it was something that Hanbin always longed to run his fingers through, and from the way Zhang Hao preened, he must have liked it.
Zhang Hao was the kind of omega that Hanbin trusted to make it clear when he didn’t like something.
Zhang Hao volunteered, “None of the betas have argued seriously since earlier this week.”
Since they’d come back from Japan.
“But they’ve all taken to falling over themselves to pinch Gunwook’s cheeks and baby him,” Hanbin pointed out with a laugh. “That’s a good sign. Wookie is our omega baby, at least until Yujin presents.”
Head cocked, Zhang Hao asked, “You think he’ll be an omega?”
“I don’t know.” Hanbin shrugged, letting his fingers trail across Zhang Hao’s forehead once more, before ghosting to his temple and as low as he dared. “Yujin was this timid little thing on the show. But he’s growing into himself now. He’s smart, too, resourceful and adaptable. I think we can look at Gunwook and safely say there’s no predicting anything in terms of presentation. But I hope it’ll be a little while yet before he presents.”
Presentations could happen as young as the start of puberty, or as late at a person’s twenties. Most people presented around seventeen or eighteen, and that was consistent with the members of the group.
Frankly, however, Hanbin wanted Yujin to avoid the chaos and crazy that came with being in the spotlight and presenting.
Hanbin loved being an idol. It was his dream. And he was so thankful for all the people who were supporting him and the group. But some of them were proving to be inappropriate, nosey, and even dangerous.
The company had already released their dynamics officially days earlier, when they’d returned from Japan, and from then it seemed like a fervor had overtaken the fans. At least some of them.
There’d been so much fighting online, fans demanding to know why someone of Gunwook’s stature was an omega, fans inventing fake alpha domineering fights between Hanbin and Jiwoong, fans insisting Ricky had to be lying around his dynamic as a beta. And that was just the beginning of it. Yujin was only a kid. No one deserved any of it, but least of all someone as young as him.
Zhang Hao smothered a laugh behind a hand and said, “Yesterday Gyuvin growled at one of the stylists working with Gunwook.”
“What?” Hanbin demanded.
“It happened,” Zhang Hao insisted with a laugh that slipped free. “Apparently one of the stylists was touching him for a bit too long, and Gyuvin reacted in a protective way. I had to pretend to scold him, but I think secretly he could tell I was pleased.”
As if it was a game now, Hanbin offered up, “Jiwoong scruffed Taerae the other day when he was getting a little too excited and it calmed the both of them down.”
Zhang Hao seemed to fight back with, “I definitely saw you and Matthew cuddling the other day.”
“Not cuddling!” Hanbin protested, but only in good fun. “Just resting. We were just resting!”
In a solid way, full of assuredness, Zhang Hao told him, “We haven’t been together for a long time, but we’re a good fit. We’d know by now if we weren’t, so if you’re worried about bond failure, don’t be. We’ll be a good pack to each other. We’ll watch out for each other and protect each other and—”
Like the words were forcing themselves from his throat, Hanbin confessed in a rush, “I wanted to hurt those people at the airport. The ones that pushed you and made you lose your balance.”
Zhang Hao watched him with keen eyes.
His face starting to heat, mostly from embarrassment, Hanbin rambled on, “I know I shouldn’t say that. I know I shouldn’t feel that way. They’re our fans, they’re buying our albums and cheering for us, and they’re the ones who are going to come see us on tour. But they pushed at you when they mobbed us and I saw you stumble and I thought you were going to fall and I…”
Zhang Hao leaned forward quickly, wrapping his arms around Hanbin’s neck, holding on just tightly enough that it was a secure grip, but loose enough that Hanbin could pull away if he wanted to.
Death itself couldn’t have dragged Hanbin away from him in that moment as he breathed in the deep, soothing scent of lotus flowers.
“You’re okay,” Zhang Hao soothed, rubbing at Hanbin’s back, voice a quiet rumble. “It’s okay. We were all scared.”
But it wasn’t just that Hanbin had been scared. He’d been more than scared. He’d been furious.
“I didn’t fall,” Zhang Hao reminded kindly, but Hanbin thought he was just making excuses for those people who’d pushed him and didn’t deserve forgiveness. “You were there and I didn’t fall.”
The furry had built from the momentary thought that Zhang Hao could have been hurt in some way. Or Yujin? Yujin had been right behind them, young and overwhelmed and just as scared as anyone else.
These were the members of his group. They were the members of his pack. They were his to cherish and care for and protect.
“If anyone hurt you,” Hanbin choked out, feeling such an overwhelming sense of urgency to tell Zhang Hao how close he was to losing control, that he wasn’t sure who he was anymore.
With his mouth pressed close to Hanbin’s ear, Zhang Hao asked, “And you weren’t sure if we’re ready to be a pack?”
It wasn’t just that Zhang Hao was pack, however. There was a furious beating to Hanbin’s heart that said it was more than that. At least with Zhang Hao.
Hanbin clung tightly to him then, his fingers clenched into Zhang Hao’s shirt, holding him close if only to reassure himself that he was okay and nothing bad had happened.
It was the same loss of control he’d felt at the airport on the way home to Korea, the utter lack of awareness that had resulted in him wrapping an arm around Zhang Hao and leading him through the airport as if daring anyone to make another attempt.
The fans had gone rabid over it.
The company had disapproved.
Zhang Hao had … well, he’d seemed pleased enough to let Hanbin do it, and hadn’t leaned away. If anything, he’d leaned into the hold, and he’d stayed by Hanbin’s side for a while more, even though he was practically always glued to Gunwook and Yujin these days.
None of that mattered, though. It was a loss of control that couldn’t happen again. They had bodyguards. They had staff. Hanbin couldn’t have Zhang Hao.
“You smell nice.”
“Huh?” Hanbin frowned, his chin hooked over Zhang Hao’s shoulder in an almost awkward way, from the angle that they were twisted at.
It wasn’t lost on him that Zhang Hao was rubbing his back rhythmically now, in a placating and soothing manner. It was the way that a mature omega would know how to sooth someone, and spoke volumes of Zhang Hao’s instincts.
“You smell good,” Zhang Hao repeated evenly.
Hanbin blinked sharply. “You … you’ve never said anything about my scent.”
Zhang Hao, without pausing his motions at all, said, “I was overwhelmed by it at first.”
Worry caught in Hanbin’s throat. “And now?”
“Now I’m not,” Zhang Hao said simply.
He did lift his hand then. And it was almost devastating to hear him say, “You should get to bed. We have a long day planned tomorrow, and if you don’t rest, you won’t be able to look after your pack.”
Hanbin let himself straighten up a little, sitting properly, pulling himself back from Zhang Hao.
But it was with determination and sheer absolute certainty that he said, “No matter what, I’ll always look after my pack.” He got up to his feet and felt light headed for a moment. Zhang Hao was elegance and perfection in his chair, and Hanbin felt like some buffoon of an alpha, clambering around for his attention.
“I know,” Zhang Hao replied, his eyes meeting Hanbin’s eyes with approval. “Jiwoong is a good alpha. But you’re our pack leader. I trust you with our members.”
Hanbin’s back hit the railing of the balcony as wind pushed into him. It wasn’t nearly enough to even start to threaten to take him over the railing, and even with his height, the railing bars were still too high for such a thing to happen.
Suddenly the balcony felt too small for the both of them.
“Do you trust me with you?” Hanbin dared to ask. “As your pack alpha? To keep you safe?”
For weeks now, maybe more than that, he and Zhang Hao had been developing …something between them. It was indescribable now, too hard to pin down with specific words and made up more of feelings than anything else. But there was something that existed now, something between them that didn’t occur with any of the other members.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was a fluke of biological feelings. Maybe it was the circumstance of a dominant alpha and a dominant omega existing within the same pack. Maybe it was a million other things.
Hanbin only wanted it to be one thing.
Zhang Hao wet his lips a little. “Are you asking me if I’m an omega?”
Hanbin’s eyes bore into him, Zhang Hao’s expression shielded a little by the direction he was sat, and the lack of light from the moon’s crescent shape.
He wasn’t playing now, and he was only asking one thing.
Hanbin griped the railing behind him for stability. “Even if I was—even if you were, you wouldn’t need anyone to protect you. You’re not weak. You’re not anything ignorant people like to say omegas are. You’re the strongest, most capable person I know. Maybe you just happen to be an omega.”
Zhang Hao stood. “You’re right.”
Hanbin stood still.
“I don’t need an alpha,” Zhang Hao went on, taking a deliberate step forward that put him directly in front of Hanbin. It was an aggressive move, one that would have pulled at something alpha in Hanbin if it was anyone else, even another omega. “I don’t need anyone to protect me, or take care of me, or make any sort of decisions for me.”
Hanbin nodded sharply. Of course not. That was the appeal of Zhang Hao—how strong and reliable and steady he was—and it was what set him apart from any other omega out there. It was what made Hanbin’s heart flutter about Zhang Hao, before anything else.
“But a partner?” Zhang Hao’s hand rose up to rest on Hanbin’s chest, right above his heart. Hanbin was certain that he could feel how hard it was beating, like a thunderous storm going crazy in his chest. “Someone to help me look after the younger members of the pack? Someone to trust and rely on? Someone to believe in and support?”
Hanbin caught Zhang Hao’s hand with his own, gripping him tightly, half afraid that he might try and pull away from Hanbin. And it was only then that he could feel Zhang Hao’s pulse at his wrist as well, beating just as hard, marking him as just as nervous. Zhang Hao just seemed to have an amazing poker face.
“That’s something I’ve always been looking for,” Zhang Hao said. “That person.”
Stuttering out a breath, Hanbin meant to reply something. Anything. He meant to tell Zhang Hao that he’d felt there was something special between them from the start, and that he’d been attracted from the beginning, and that he didn’t know what they were, but he wanted to find out. He wanted to confess how badly he ached for Zhang Hao, and how little he trusted himself to have Zhang Hao.
Perhaps he wanted to beg for a chance—a chance to be the person Zhang Hao was looking for.
Instead of any of that, he stupidly replied, “Are you telling me you’re an omega?”
Slowly, at an agonizing speed, Zhang Hao’s hand slid up Hanbin’s chest. His fingers crept their way upwards, pulling along what felt like Hanbin’s heart, until they were resting over the tattoo that was just visible.
Hanbin’s skin felt scorching hot where Zhang Hao’s fingers made contact, tracing the celestial symbols inked onto the surface.
Then Zhang Hao leaned in, their forms hidden by the low light of the night, and he let his lips brush against Hanbin’s just slightly as he imparted, “I’m not looking for an alpha. But sometimes we find things we’re not looking for. And sometimes we want things we don’t always need. That can be okay.”
Zhang Hao slipped over to the door and slid it open, holding the curtain back for Hanbin, the invitation clear.
Hanbin, infatuated, determined, and hopeful, followed after.