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Right up until his presentation, Chan's scent had been fairly faint. A little sweet, a little rich, a little fruity, even, if anyone got close enough. Children's scents often were like that, hiding their true nature until the hormones of puberty and presentation bring scent glands to flourishing life. Just-presenting teens often have trouble controlling their new scents, and it can lead to some unfortunate scentbombing. Neutralizing patches during such a delicate time can be harmful, causing painful rashes or increased mood swings due to hormonal imbalance, so while they learn to control themselves, really it's best to just isolate.
Unfortunately for Bang Christopher Chan, presenting as an omega at nineteen years old in a dorm full of other trainees, his scent flares out into the room as eye-searingly hot gochugaru, and the place is unlivable for three days after. He convalesces in a solitary heat room that almost no one else can bear to enter, except for the single staff nurse who routinely buys the Buldak 3x Spicy ramen- and Lee Minho, a new trainee that has some talent and has inexplicably taken a shine to Chan. Not even Changbin and Jisung can enter the room after the first time they have to leave, eyes streaming, only a few minutes after they try to visit.
"It's nothing," Minho says dismissively during one of his visits in which Chan has gotten up the courage to ask how the hell he can bear it. Chan can hardly bear it sometimes, and people are usually immune to their own scents, but Chan's spice tolerance has never been incredible, even after he came to Korea. "My mother's gochugaru is spicier than this. It's self-defense that my father and I have good tolerance."
"Well," Chan says, half-delirious from his first heat and the vicious spate of insomnia that's come with it, "Maybe I should room with you, so no one else has to develop it by force."
~
Minho presents alpha a year later, his scent like warm, hearty bread, a rich undertone like butter melted into it, and Chan's burgeoning little pack starts going to him to clear their palates if they get a hit of Chan's overwhelmingly spicy stress pheromones. It's a good motivator for Chan to get himself the fuck under control. As much as it's irrational, he's jealous, watching his members snuggle without him, casually scenting in a way that Chan can't.
When they actually debut, and they move into a new dorm, Chan does, in fact, room with Minho. Not having to wear scent neutralizers in his own space, however small, does wonders for settling his instincts, especially since Minho tolerates his bed being invaded one night in three. That, plus a new medication that Chan's doctor recommends for him, means that Chan can make the spice gentler, bringing out underlying sweet and savory like good gochujang, and he takes the opportunity to give his poor abused scent glands a break when he's in their dorm or studio or even sometimes particularly well ventilated green rooms.
He's lounging on a kind of shitty couch one day, waiting for their call time for variety show recording, the first time Minho voluntarily comes to him to be scented.
"Hyung," he says imperiously, though Chan can see a flash of uncertainty at the corner of his mouth. Shyness? Maybe? "Scent me before we go on."
Chan stares at him for a few seconds, then says, "You want me to what?" maybe a little too loudly. Their manager and half the members look over to see Minho going red but refusing to turn away, fists clenched at his sides.
"Scent me, hyung, or are you going deaf?"
Chan's smile spreads slowly, but it's plenty wide when he pulls Minho down and starts giving him as thorough a scenting as he can without messing with their hair and makeup too much. He's incandescently happy, sure, but he doesn't have an actual death wish.
Even when he has to put his neutralizing patches on, and one of the emcees side-eyes Minho and makes a joking comment about alphas being firey like malatang, Chan's joy doesn't dim. He's still preening about it in the car back to the dorms late that night, even, buoyed up by his pride in being asked for his scent, which so many treat like an inconvenience.
Minho doesn't protest when Chan crawls into his bed. He just rolls over to face the wall, letting Chan spoon him despite being shorter by a few centimeters, and reacts not at all to the gentle, sleepy scenting Chan gives him before he drops off to dreamland.
~
After that, it's like the floodgates have opened. Minho asks for scentings at least once a week, and Chan is delighted to give them. The other members are becoming less wary of brushing Chan's scent glands by accident, too, so on the occasion that Hyunjin touches his jaw to pose his head properly for a dance step, or Jeongin grabs his wrist to keep them together on the way to the cars after a schedule, or Changbin leans on his shoulders during a piggyback ride, they don't jerk back like they're being burned.
Chan understands that reaction- literally no one expects the kind of scent Chan has, especially from a short, scrappy-looking omega- but honestly, he likes his scent just the way it is. It's unique. It means he leaves a mark that is incredibly distinct. It means his presence can be totally commanding when he wants it to be, even if he doesn't dare unleash the full force of his pheromones purposefully except on very rare occasions.
Heats are still incredibly inconvenient, though. Chan knows his members love him- he wouldn't be their agreed-on pack leader if not- but when he can turn a room into a war crime with a bare hour of his presence, then there can't not be grumbling. Chan is always banned from the company building until he's presenting scent-free, which is good for catching up on sleep, but also makes him even more wired and restless during his waking hours.
Like today at 4AM, a couple days into pre-heat. Chan knows he's probably going to fall into true heat later today, but right now, he has a craving, so he's stalking like a gremlin around the kitchen, gathering bread and honey butter chips and thin-sliced daikon pickles and fuck, they're out of sliced cheese- whatever, he'll use the shredded stuff and toast his sandwich to make it stay together, it'll be fine. But that means he has to spend more time fiddling with the toaster oven, because someone (Seungmin) keeps experimenting with heating up his own food abominations, so the settings are all messed up.
Lucky that it's Minho who pads into the room right before Chan is about to break the toaster with his bare hands and just eat his sandwich cold. He doesn't blink at the thick cloud of frustrated pheromones; he just says, flat, "Hyung. Chill. You know Seungminnie does this to wind you up."
"I know," Chan snaps irritably. "I just want hot food, is that such a hard fucking thing to ask for?"
"Any food you eat is going to be hot. The weaklings we live with would say this whole room violates the Geneva Convention right now. I'll get the toaster to work, go back to bed." Minho takes the plate from his hands. "I'll be there in a minute."
Chan squints at Minho for a moment. "...In your bed?"
"Yes, hyung," Minho says patiently.
"You said that if anyone ever got crumbs in your bed you'd use their guts to floss with."
"I did say that. I also told you to go get in bed and I'll bring you your stupid sandwich. Are you going to listen or not?"
"...Alright," Chan acquiesces. He shuffles off back to bed and makes himself comfortable with piled pillows and his heater pad wrapped around his waist to ease the cramps, then just waits. Minho will come soon.
When Minho comes in, he gives Chan a scathingly judgemental look, but hands him his plate as he climbs into bed. The sandwich is perfectly toasted. Minho has even sliced it in half for him. Delighted and starving, Chan wolfs down half in a bare minute, then, while he stops to breathe, turns to kiss Minho on the cheek. He knows he's probably radiating happy! far more than Minho usually tolerates, but it's still odd when Minho goes bright red and coughs, turning his face away.
"Just eat and go to sleep, hyung," he mutters. Chan is happy to obey.
~
The first time Minho kisses Chan, it's right after their first music show win, in a random closet that they found on the way to the bathroom, and Chan is at first too startled to move, but once his brain comes online he kisses back just as fiercely. They're both still riding the rush of adrenaline and elation, so the kiss is passionate if a little clumsy. Chan is so happy. They made it. His kids made it, and that's a weird thought, because Minho is one of his kids, but he's wanted to kiss Minho for so long, and now he's kissing Minho-
Their teeth clack together hard, and Minho reels back with a shudder, but then a second later they're laughing, leaning against each other for support in the close space. It's just so ridiculous.
"Fuck, we don't have long, kiss me again," Chan says. He feels out of his mind, out of his body, except that he can feel the heat of Minho's skin against his everywhere they're touching, keeping him from jittering right out of himself. It's true that they don't have long before someone comes to find them for photos, but he wants to savor this for now, and Minho's lips on his are worth it.
Chan's phone buzzes against his leg, then keeps buzzing. He pulls back again, though he keeps one arm wrapped securely around Minho as he takes a deep breath and answers. "Hello?"
"Where are you?" Oh, shit, it's their manager, and he sounds stressed. "PD-nim called, he wants to speak to you all after we're done here."
Chan looks wide-eyed at Minho, who stares back. "We, um- sorry. Sorry, hyung, we'll be back in just a minute, I swear. We got stopped on the way to the bathroom by a sunbae, so- yeah, we're coming, talk soon, sorry!"
Chan hangs up and just stands there for a moment, crashing back down to earth. His brain grinds slowly into gear, registers the call, registers what he'd just said. Shit.
"Shit," Minho says. "Uh. We should- we should go?"
"Yeah," Chan says, mouth dry. He can smell his own spicy panic pheromones starting to cloud the closet, but then suddenly he's enveloped in warm sourdough bread. Minho tips their foreheads together and murmurs, "Don't freak out, hyung. We'll talk later. There'll be time."
Chan takes a deep breath, then another. Okay. Minho- Minho kissed him. By all the signals he's picking up, it might have been impulsive, but neither of them are planning to cut and run.
They'll talk about it later.
Maybe they can kiss about it later, too.
~
The first time Chan goes home with Minho for Chuseok, his mother hugs him tight, pulls back, then tuts at him and says, "Take those things off. You shouldn't hide yourself away. Not here."
Sheepish, Chan peels off his scent blockers, letting nervous-sweet spice flood the air of the entryway. Minho's mother just smiles. "That's better. Now, come in and wash your hands, we'll be having dinner soon."
Chan exchanges looks with Minho, then they follow her inside. "See, I told you," Minho says in a low voice. "Eomma probably can't even smell you."
"Chan-ah smells lovely, Minho-yah," she calls. "You come help set the table. No, Chan, you're our guest, you aren't allowed to help."
Chan raises his eyebrows at Minho, but he dutifully heads for the bathroom he's been pointed to so he can wash his hands. Minho watches him go until his mother puts a hand on his shoulder. "You look very, very fond of that boy," she says as she pulls him towards the kitchen. "You know what you're doing with him?"
"Yes, Eomma," Minho says. "He and I- um."
She sighs. "Well, I'm sure I don't have to tell you to be safe. You should have brought him here earlier. He really does smell wonderful- I'm guessing it must bother most of your friends, and he should have another home that he can be comfortable in."
"It used to be worse," Minho confides. "When he first presented, even I could hardly deal with it, but he was kind to me before then, and he was lonely. I'm used to it now, but there's not many people who can say that."
"Well, you know your father won't mention it. Whenever you have a break and he can't go see his own parents, he can come here. If you like him that much, he'll be family sooner or later."
"Eomma!" Minho sputters, but she only grins at him and sets a stack of bowls in his arms.
"I know you. Now go set the table and let me finish dinner."
~
It's at an interview in America that pushes Chan over the edge finally.
"Bang Chan, your designation, Omega, as been known since before your debut. Now that you've released your own solo self-produced mini album, would you call yourself accomplished enough to slow down and find yourself an alpha? Or maybe there's a special someone in your life already?" The interviewer grins and raises his eyebrows obnoxiously. "Would you tell us if there were?"
Chan takes a deep breath, then another. Thinks of Minho, far, far away in Japan, filming for some other schedule. His casual, joking mask doesn't falter, even as irritated spice starts to hang in the air.
"I take things at my own pace, like I always have. There's no reason to slow down when I'm just getting started, don't you think? I'm proud of this album. I'm glad I could share it with STAY and the whole world. I'll just say: look forward to what's coming next." Chan looks directly into the camera, hoping Minho will see this, like he admits he watches all of Chan's interviews. "I know what's most important in my life."
The interview doesn't wrap up there- it's meant to be a bit of a longer TV spot, where they play a silly game and Chan makes a fool of himself before signing albums for a couple lucky audience members- but he's glad when it's over and he can escape from under the hot stage lights. They don't have so much of a social norm for scent blockers in America, which is nice, but the thick stage makeup still needs to come off before Chan feels like a human being again. Back in the greenroom, he's rummaging in his bag for makeup wipes when the interviewer swaggers up to him.
"Hey, man, I know you idols aren't actually allowed to talk about relationships in front of the cameras, but how would you feel about drinks tonight?" The guy's grin is easygoing- Chan gets the sense that he'll back off if told to- but it still grates, after a week of promotion for his album in a foreign country, with a week left to go. Chan sighs.
"Sorry, man, not interested," he says. "Thanks though. Go woo some other pretty omega, I'm sure you charm plenty of them."
"No worries. Just thought I'd shoot my shot. Whatever alpha sweetheart you have back home is lucky."
Chris rolls his eyes, but keeps his grin pasted on as he slings his bag over his shoulder. He can take his makeup off in the van. "Yeah, yeah, like I have time for that. Listen, it was great being here- appreciate you having us- but-"
"No worries, man. You're a busy guy with places to be." The interviewer waves him off, and Chan sketches a short bow before going to help the staff pack up so they can get out of there. They have more interviews in the afternoon and evening, of course, but Chan managed to block out a solid hour for lunch, and his manager doesn't keep him on so tight a leash in countries that primarily speak English. He can probably sneak some alone time to make a phone call.
It's not very romantic, calling Minho from a single-occupant bathroom stall in the boba cafe they manage to find, but even if it's midnight back home, he picks up on the third ring. "Channie?" comes Minho's voice across the line, sounding tired but mostly awake. "What's up? Shouldn’t you be filming?"
"We just finished for the morning and we're grabbing something to eat, but- I missed you." Chan leans against the wall, feels the cool tile through his t-shirt. "Really suddenly. I decided I wasn't going to wait anymore."
"You sound weird," Minho says. There's a rustling sound, like he just rolled over in bed. "You know we have work to do, leader-hyung, you're the one who said we had to compromise about talking every day."
"Yeah." Chan swallows. There's a pause. He has to come out and say it. Minho will wait until he does, but Minho deserves better than to keep waiting for Chan to commit. "Will you marry me?"
There's a longer pause. Then a flat, "What."
"Will you marry me?" Saying it a second time feels both dizzying and steadying, like he's finding his feet on a ship being rocked by waves. "Marry me, mate me, the whole nine yards. I know I said I wasn't ready before, but- I'm ready now. I'm tired of missing you."
"Bang Christopher Chan," Minho says. "Is this a joke?" Chan's heart skips a beat, two, three, but it kicks back into gear when Minho hisses, "Of course I'll marry you, idiot. I've had a ring for you in my bag for months. Your dumb ass never found it so I was going to propose when you got home, but you're just hopeless. I can't believe you'd do this to me."
"I love you," Chan says. "I love you. I can't wait to wear your ring. And your mark."
Minho makes a deeply frustrated noise. "I love you too, hyung. Don't get into trouble."
"Only with you." There's a knock on the door, and Chan sighs. "Sorry, I have to go, manager probably has a question. We'll talk later." He smiles to himself. "There'll be time."
"There'll be time." Chan can hear Minho's smile from thousands of miles away. "Go, dazzle all those American interviewers. Just come home to me after."
Chan laughs, thinking of the morning's interviewer that tried to score, but the knocking comes again, more insistent this time. "Coming!" he calls, then says, "I love you," into the phone one more time before hanging up. "Sorry," he says as he yanks the door open. "Was washing my hands. Is our order up?"
His manager gives him a weird look. "You smell..." his voice trails off, puzzled. "Sweet?"
Chan feels himself flush bright red. "Do I?" he says, deliberately light. "I dunno why. Must be all the American air."
"Uh-huh," his manager says, clearly skeptical, but he gestures back towards the counter and heads into the bathroom. "Food's up, go eat. I'll be right out and then we can talk about the afternoon schedule."
"Right." Chan feels like he floats to the table that his bodyguards and camerawoman are sitting at with their trays. He can hardly resist kicking his feet and sighing with happiness, though he does let himself hum. He hums when he's in a good mood, and what's there to be unhappy about? The sun is shining, his pineapple smoothie tastes great, and Minho is going to marry him.
~
At the reception, on a big wooden deck on the beach in Jeju-do, the caterer lays out a dozen delicacies, but the one that makes Chan laugh is the big bowl of jjamppong labeled Chan-spicy. "Does that mean it's spicy like I like it, or spicy like when I'm mad?" he jokes to Hyunjin, who's looking very pleased with himself.
"Why don't you try it and find out?" is the answer he gets, along with a sweet little grin that definitely hides some mischief, but Chan just rolls his eyes and takes a bowl for himself. If it's too hot he'll feed it to Minho.
Minho, his new husband. That's a thought it'll take a while to get used to.
Chan takes his time meandering around the tables with his food, accepting well-wishes and claps on the back from the friends who could make it. Plenty couldn't, of course, with the industry they work in and the long distance between Australia and Korea, but Chan is touched by the overflowing basket of cards that sits on the table with the cake.
When he's seated back next to Minho, he kisses his husband's cheek and places the jjampong between them. It really does look good, swimming with mussels and buckwheat noodles. Chan gets a good bite with his chopsticks and prods Minho's shoulder to get his attention. "Minho-yaaaaah," he coos. "Minho-yah, let Channie feed you."
Minho turns from where he'd been deep in conversation with Jisung, wrinkling his nose when Chan pokes the noodles against his lips. It's habit, though, to open, so Chan dutifully feeds him and says, "Good?", eyes on Minho's lips as they drag against the chopsticks. Minho's lips are always lovely, cute and pink, but today he's wearing a sheen of deeper gloss that makes them utterly kissable. Minho rolls his eyes as he chews, but fondly, so Chan gives into the urge to thumb away a drop of broth from the corner of his mouth and lick it clean.
Minho keeps chewing impassively as Chan's eyes water and he coughs hard. Fucking Hyunjin. This is definitely payback for the first time he was the target of Chan's angry scent, back when he was presenting alpha and had been testing at Chan's authority for days, until finally they both snapped, Hyunjin had physically shoved him, and he'd responded by flaring his scent and giving Hyunjin such a dressing down about respect for coworkers and pack that it had probably stung worse than the spice.
Chan's going to go get him later. For now, he takes a long swig of lemonade instead to help wash away the burn, sets the bowl of soup firmly in front of Minho, and plants a kiss on his husband's forehead before he goes in search of something edible for people who aren't Minho and his family.
When he sits down again at their table, he raises an eyebrow at Minho as he takes a deliberate bite of toasted baguette that he'd grabbed from a tray at the end of the buffet line, topped with melted cheese and daikon pickles. To be fair, it's delicious even when it's not his favored pre-heat snack, the crunch and acid of the pickle cut with the smooth cheese, but he still smirks when Minho blushes and turns away. Minho can be so sentimental, even if he hates to show it, and when he'd said he'd talk to Hyunjin about setting the catering menu, Chan should have suspected something.
Oh hell yes, it's helping cut the remainders of the awful spice in Chan's mouth, too. He can eat well, it's his wedding day. No one's allowed to scold him over fat and salt and carbs on his wedding day. Even if Minho laughs at him about how quickly he goes to refill his plate, he can hear the self-satisfaction under it, and that, too, makes him smile.
After all the food is mostly gone, the cake cut, pictures taken of Chan smearing frosting on Minho's nose and getting a full slice to the face in retaliation, there's dancing. The sun is sinking into the water, painting the sky orange and pink, and Hannah DJs for them- "No fucking way you're getting me to dance with you, Chris-" and this, too, is perfect. The first song, the one just Minho and Chan dance to, is I'm Yours, and it's Minho's turn to raise his eyebrows and smirk. Hannah had laughed at him when he requested it, but Hannah laughs at him no matter what, and really, is it her business if he wants to dance to one of the songs that started him on his journey to his husband in the first place? Of course not.
So they dance, Chan falling over himself to make Minho laugh the whole time with overexaggerated flourishes and winks. He gets more than one eyeroll, but Minho's mouth is tugging into that reluctant smile Chan loves so much because he knows it's about the same thing.
After that first song, they part to dance with their parents- Chan with his father, Minho with his mother- and then friends as they come out onto the cleared space for it. The night goes by and the stars come out and Chan may not be performing as frequently as he did when they were rookies, but he still has the moves to put on, even as the bar gets busier and Chan gets himself tipsy. He doesn't let himself get drunk- not tonight. He wants to remember tonight forever.
They come back together with the stars strewn out above them, a few clouds covering the moon, and despite their endurance they're both tired, so for a few moments they just lean into each other and breathe. They rock back and forth to the slow beat of the ballad currently playing like middle schoolers slow dancing, but Chan can't bring himself to care. He has his husband in his arms. He could stay like this until the day he died and pass away happy.
"You're so embarassing, stop looking at me like that," Minho says, but he's the one with his face turned partway into Chan's neck. Chan laughs quietly. It's starting to get cold, and he's the spaceheater his alpha enjoys the most.
"Never," Chan says. "Sorry, you're the one who put a ring on it first. You're stuck with me now. No takesies-backsies."
"What the fuck are takesies-backsies?" Ah, there's Minho's perfect laugh, startled out of him as it is. They're both tipsy, that's clear now, but Chan is perfectly fine with that as long as it means he keeps getting to hear that laugh. "Bang Chan, you can't lie to me anymore about weird Australian things. That's not real."
"It is!" Chan insists, but he's grinning. "It's just something kids say."
"Hmm. You're a liar." Chan feels Minho's lips curl up against his jaw. "But I love you. Husband."
"I love you, too, husband." Chan keeps rocking back and forth, listening to the music and the waves crashing distantly, smelling baked bread and warm, gentled spice. "Let's go home so I can show you just how much."