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Jungwon is seventeen and nervous about presenting, about what it would mean for the dream he chases after. Jungwon is seventeen and filmed every waking moment, and then some.

As filming draws closer it is natural that the preparations intensify. It feels as if Jungwon is seeing the other trainees set to be contestants simultaneously more and less.

More because they are now around each other frequently, but all the same guidelines and restrictions still apply. As such the faces that are mostly or almost entirely unknown, at best connected to only a name and maybe a couple of rumours, belonging to the people with whom he had spoken to hastily or only uttered greetings, feel like they appear more often even if the interactions are still limited. Less, on the other hand, because of the other former Big Hit trainees; those that had decided or been directly offered to join the show, and he now had less of a chance to speak to as they grew busier. Less time spent together.

He wasn’t equally close with all of them, nor were all the trainees at Big Hit set to join the show, but among the ones who were, there was a small group of more long term trainees that had let him into the fray of their group over the months after he had joined Big Hit. He wasn’t integrated to the fullest to that which had always seemed like an inner circle to him, both younger and newer. It had him moving mostly in a different circle of trainees in the day to day, and like the rest of the ones outside of that grouping, he too could only picture what the other trainees would say Jongseong — now using Jay for the show — and Heeseung got up to, said to even go travelling together to foreign countries.

But, he felt he knew them well enough to not feel overwhelmed by shyness, and felt that he could seek them out if needed. That they had had fun together at the concert they’d attended together.

The lines between acquaintances and friendships are difficult to define, especially when the age difference is considered.

It was at least partially to do with how easily Sunghoon had taken to him, this much Jungwon knew. Sunghoon moved between the different trainee friend groups with a grace like no one else and was readily accepted at whatever turn he took. He was newer to being an idol trainee, but everyone could see the way he carried himself. The face on him. He was meant for this.

Sunghoon had been one of the first trainees he talked to after joining the company and over the weeks and months that followed had seen them end up in the same friend group, Sunghoon who was one of the people he had spoken to the most, and someone he would consider a friend; but there was also Jongseong, Jay, who gave him money for the taxi fare to get home on his own in the middle of the night the very first time they met, and had only continued to be as generous with advice and friendly affection ever since. Jongseong, who was close friends with the Lee Heeseung.

Heeseung was an all but legendary figure in the practice rooms of Big Hit Entertainment, with a reputation that preceded him that was gained from unending hard work, quiet charisma, and genuine talent. Heeseung, who was someone everyone knew of, but didn’t necessarily know.

Now he’s asked to act like he doesn’t know any of them much, if at all.

As if he hasn’t known them for more than a year (his profile for I-Land blares out what the official story is; training for 1 year and 4 months, competitive taekwondo for 4 years), and all that comes with it.

As if he hasn’t seen Heeseung and Jongseong play around in the practice room in Big Hit after dance practice ended, Sunghoon laughing quietly and cheering them on, the distance to them never seeming smaller. As if Jongseong didn’t always check up on him when they came across each other, involved and engaged and remembering Jungwon’s answers to questions previously asked. As if Heeseung wasn’t quietly, carefully, offering encouraging words along with a crooked smile, hesitantly petting his hair, after particularly long sessions. As if Sunghoon doesn’t let him rest his head on his shoulder whenever they’re sitting together, or as if Euijoo doesn’t ruffle his hair and offer him snacks and quiet jokes whenever there’s a break.

As if months of shared dreams and long hours together at the company don’t matter. As if he hasn’t ever really interacted with the other former Big Hit trainees before, even though Taeyong is in his unit, or as if the trainees he’s met at Belift after officially being moved over are entirely strangers.

The last few weeks have been busy though. Photoshoots. Filming individual scenes and introductions, recording voice overs. Practising for the initial performance with his unit.

He wonders where Euijoo is, who is going to be in his unit. Jongseong and Sunghoon were going in as a unit together; Heeseung was standing alone. A unit in himself. Apparently there were a couple other contestants doing the same thing. He had smiled at them when he told them, at a point when there was no staff around, and his eyes held that emotion Jungwon doesn’t know how to put words to. That distant, faraway look, like Heeseung was looking at something much further away. Something that both haunts and allures him. Something he is going to reach, no matter what. No matter the cost.

Smile, the directors say, the producers, the staff, spinning this tale that he has to enact, you’re so happy, so excited, to be here. For this opportunity. Smile, you’re going on an adventure.

Jungwon smiles, wide enough that his dimples are sure to show. He listens to direction well, but he is genuinely excited about this too, about feeling one step closer to achieving the dream to debut. The shots in the forest with his unit, as they enter the I-Land building, feel as if they pass by quickly. The door closes behind them, and Jungwon is reminded of children’s tales, of witches and empty houses and of the threat of being eaten alive.

He steps out onto the floor as instructed, his unit flanking him on either side.

When the floor starts to move Jungwon startles a little in surprise as it takes them directly over to where the other trainees are sitting. The smile never leaves his face even as he laughs at himself, swaying his head back and forth as he waits for the platform to finish its slow and slightly shaky journey.

Allowing himself to look around, to take it all in for the first time, his eyes stray; searching the people already seated for familiar faces. If he’s already smiling, no one can blame him for brightening up just the slightest bit when he sees Euijoo, even if he makes a point to toddle along with his unit to find themselves seats as far away as they can get from the others. He wonders when Sunghoon and Jongseong will enter.

He can see Kim Sunoo and Sim Jaeyun sitting together, with another exceptionally handsome trainee he doesn’t really recognise. Once again Jungwon is finding himself easily charmed by both of their inviting smiles, even if they seem fairly nervous right now. Those smiles still read as friendly. Approachable. Likeable. Marketable, the small voice in the back of his head reminds him. But only if they’re good enough to impress. Charm and potential can take one far, but the question is how far. Based on other idol survival shows, it might last until the finish line is passed.

Among the contestants there is a decent mix of dynamics. Mostly alphas and betas, as is to be expected from an assortment of boy group hopefuls, but still a handful of omegas. It almost surprises Jungwon how many unpresented boys there are alongside him though, until he considers the age span of the people participating in the show. Hopefully none of them will have to present during filming, at least. For all of their sakes.

He doesn’t understand it when his classmates would talk about presenting as something they wished to happen, or how many unpresented trainees back in SM and Big Hit and now Belift alike would complain about not having presented yet, as if it mattered to whether or not they were a step closer to debuting.

As for Jungwon himself, he’d rather not bother with presenting at all if he could choose, or only presenting well into his career when he has settled into it. If he debuts now through this show, as his goal and intent is to do, he should have a couple years or maybe more before presenting. No one in his family has been an early bloomer, leaning more towards the later end of the spectrum. He likes that possibility. That it could be enough to get established, make a name for himself, without the weight of the label of his subgender.

It shouldn’t be the end of the world, presenting. With both his parents as betas, and a sister who presented beta this past Christmas, Jungwon is fairly confident that he is going to be a beta too. It’s the logical conclusion, even if it isn’t as if they belong to one of those multi-generational beta family lines.

Still, it seems bothersome to present as either of the other subgenders. Jungwon has no interest in such uncertainties, in things far out of his control that he can’t change himself. Presenting feels as safe and predictable as a game of Russian roulette with a loaded gun.

He scans the room again. Sees Sunghoon’s smiling face as he talks with Jongseong, making careful conversations with others nearby, including Sim Jaeyun, Jake, at the same time as they are playing at them not knowing Heeseung as well as they do, even though he sought them out, sat next to them. Even though they couldn’t help themselves from making a stand, greeting him with familiarity that Jungwon is sure none of the other ex-Big Hit trainees would. We know Heeseung-hyung. Not that anyone was going to reprimand them for that with the cameras running. Jungwon wouldn’t have done it himself, showing that level of familiarity. Sunghoon sometimes teased him a little for following the rules so stringently, as if he wasn’t the same, following routines and guidelines to the letter. Always operating within the defined limits. Apparently when Jungwon did it, it was cute.

As if noticing Jungwon’s gaze on him, Sunghoon shifts his own until they make eye contact. It’s brief and hopefully won’t be caught on camera. Jungwon feels a little guilty at how he had caught Sunghoon’s eye earlier too, as he and Jongseong were arriving, standing on the moving platform. The smile Sunghoon had given him at the time, not unlike the one now. Jungwon exhales slowly, and makes sure his smile is still firmly in place. Unwavering.

Sunghoon laughs at something that someone close to him said, eyes crinkling a little. The moment is broken, and Jungwon focuses on the conversation going on around him instead. He’s thankful his undeveloped nose can’t pick up on every emotion swirling in the room; it’s enough to observe everyone’s movements. The faint scents of pups, omegas, beta, alphas.

Serious and mature, seventeen year old Yang Jungwon. Jungwon knows that his visual is not exactly at odds with his demeanour, but that it feeds into an image that doesn’t quite show who he is, and that the image others perceive doesn’t quite align fully with his personality. An honest kid, a pure kid, they might think. It isn’t a bad thing, not entirely wrong, but it makes it easy to dismiss him and even more so when he’s described as cute or bright. He’ll prove himself, ever ambitious, through quiet resolve and meticulous work.

The loudspeaker rings out, the same for them as for everyone before them. Standby.

A beat of silence, two.

The track begins. Lights, camera, action.

(Twenty-one out of twenty-two trainees vote him into I-Land.)

Standing in the overcrowded elevator that acts as the true entrypoint to I-Land, the egg-shaped Gate, Jungwon finds himself next to Kim Sunoo. Their shoulders brush, too many people in one small space. In the row before him stands Eujoo, and on the other side of Kim Sunoo is Heeseung. Sungchul is somewhere behind him, and Jongseong and Sunghoon even further back.

It soon proves to be impossible to not end up next to someone formerly from Big Hit as everyone shuffles out of the elevator and out into the large open spaces of I-Land. One moment Eujoo’s there, the next it’s Sungchul. Maybe it’s okay. Maybe he can relax a little. Everyone moves around, trying to take in as much as possible, without leaving the immediate area.

Then, as they wait for the announcement, Kim Sunoo is suddenly back by his side. Their shoulders brush again, and he turns his body so that it is slightly turned towards Jungwon’s.

The announcer lists the amenities that I-Land has to offer, all the different rooms and equipment, but most importantly. That only twelve of them will be able to do so. That the ones who have to leave will be transferred to something called the Ground, for dropouts. The word sounds so ugly. Harsh.

“This is crazy,” Jungwon says. Repeats himself again after a beat. He can’t stop the words, the emotions too strong. I-Land was made for twelve contestants. He had perhaps assumed it would be based on the scores of their performances, or that the producers would pick among them based on what they had just shown. To vote each other out, not even to vote on who they wanted to keep in, was a prospect he hadn’t ever considered.

Despite it all, curiosity gets the better of them, and they soon after spread out to explore the building. Best make use of the time they have left.

Various constellations and groupings form and move about — some entirely new, some with people who entered as units together (Euijoo catches his eye while still sticking close with the pup he’d been paired with for his unit) and some consisting of familiar faces (Jongseong and Sunghoon side by side, black-and-whitez). Jungwon finds himself chatting with his fellow trainees from Big Hit, aware that it would seem even stranger if he never interacted with them. Even Heeseung comes up for a little while, an arm around his shoulder as they talk and a hand reaching up to pet his hair. Jungwon knows what he’s doing, using the scent gland at his wrist to scent mark Jungwon. People want Heeseung in their idealised line-up for the debut group.

Sunoo reaches his hand out, takes the hand Jungwon offers in return, and holds it firmly but not uncomfortably, smiling all the while as they totter around the area of the building they will be living in. It’s enough for Jungwon to momentarily forget about the fact that there are too many trainees in I-Land, as he listens to Sunoo chat on and on and on, never letting the silence grow uncomfortable or leaving Jungwon to feel like he doesn’t contribute enough. It’s a nice feeling.

Sunoo squeezes his hand gently, offers him another smile as they head on back to the main area and let go of one another. Jungwon has wanted to be friends with Sunoo since the first time he met the other boy, before the show started. Maybe now will be a good opportunity, despite the risk they might not debut together.

Two hours is a fair amount of time to keep exploring and going in and out of different rooms, but like all dazed daydreams, the illusion eventually breaks. Their names are called for the voting to proceed, and they go one by one.

As it turns out, there is no such thing as fate nor fair objectivity here. The initial scores from their entry test seems not to matter at all, as it is announced which trainees are leaving. Sunoo received 20 out of 22 votes for his performance. Taki had won them all over with his locking, and Sungchul had initially received a respectable 17 out of 22. Only Euijoo scored towards the lower end of passing for his performance, but several others that were still remaining had similar results.

It irks Jungwon. He’d been chastised for asking if they should vote without thinking; a poor choice of words, he could agree, when he meant something along the lines of ‘without bias’. It seems like people were thinking only of the image of the debut group they wanted. It’s too early to know each other, true, but there seemed to be little focus on how the group would work, or the talents shown through that first performance, and instead focusing solely on how it would look. How they would look together. How this would affect the chosen image, how most contestants seemed to lean hard into the traditional alpha-beta boy group visuals.

There were several things one could consider, he knew, and he had run through all the possibilities he could think of in his mind too. True, they had been asked to consider the image of the debut group when voting. Still. He can’t explain it. Perhaps he is unfair. Perhaps he just can’t see the vision. Perhaps he is trying to deflect from how likely it feels he might be next in line. There is no point in wallowing over it though.

More than anything he’s happy he’s still in I-Land. He can tell that Heeseung’s scent clings to where he touched his shoulders, his hair. It’s a survival show, not everyone is going to make it.

There isn’t anything unusual with having unpresented trainees debut as idols, in fact it’s very common. Jungwon doesn’t worry about that part.

If possible, many companies try to strike a balance when deciding on lineups, of course depending on what concepts they’re going for or the size of the group, even if they aren’t too selective when admitting people into their trainee systems. There’s a risk with too large groups that have an overly balanced distribution of alphas and betas, since they can split into rival packs.

Not all idol groups form packs. Not all group packs are permanent, with real bites involved. It’s not more right or wrong whichever way it goes, but he knows it’s something fans and just the general populace will discuss on forums and social media. The closeness of the groups. The pack dynamics, assumptions made solely on subgenders and the division of them within the group.

Out of the twelve of them still in I-Land, there is still a mix of subgenders among those that have presented, even if it just so happens that there are no omegas. Alpha-beta idol groups tend to have a specific vibe to them, one it seemed that a majority had decided that they wanted this group to be.

To Jungwon’s understanding, the issue is also that omegas complicate things, sometimes. (It’s the same in reverse for girl groups.) Feelings bloom easier from the purely biological and instinctual side of the subgenders, and the risks of fucking around within the groups are obviously higher.

Heats are also more frequent than ruts. Even if suppressants can be used to ensure the schedule is kept perfectly, it doesn’t change the fact that the average omega will have three to four heats per year, and is recommended to go through at least two of them to allow for their bodies to regulate their hormone cycles properly.

In practice it’s actually easier in some ways, though, with omegas. As much as some grumble about the planning around heats, at least heats sync up eventually if there’s more than one omega in a group. Having a majority alpha group means hoping their ruts are spread out, but not too much. Jungwon’s heard of alpha and even alpha-beta groups where some years their ruts were staggered but not by much, to the point where they couldn’t have comebacks for months. He shudders at the thought. Such a waste of time. So inefficient, and messy.

But as of right now, there are no omegas in I-Land anymore.

Heeseung is an alpha. K is an alpha. Seon is an alpha. Youngbin is an alpha.

Most people are initially surprised to learn that Jongseong isn’t an alpha. Loud, brash, passionate Jay, surprisingly sweet and caring. It’s too easy to forget that’s one of the core traits to betas, that fierce protectiveness.

Aside from Jongseong, Geonu and Nicholas are both betas too, while Jake, Sunghoon, Ni-Ki, Daniel, and himself are all unpresented.

From the months and even years some of them have spent together already, there are some tentative pack dynamics already forming. Jungwon knows what it looks like from the outside. Heeseung, the alpha leader. It’s a no-brainer that Jongseong is Heeseung’s second in command, and the vision that has come about more recently with how Sunghoon supports them quietly from behind to complete the triad. Himself, somewhere between doted on pup and tagalong kid sibling. He isn’t quite Heeseung’s the way that Jongseong or Sunghoon are, or the way that Ni-Ki and Taki’s seemed to be K’s, but he still belonged to that group. Still had Heeseung drag his bare wrists over his neck, cheeks, hair, shoulders to mark him with his scent. Still had Heeseung seek out his company above that of others, voice mild and soft smiles exchanged.

The new alphas and betas are not quite upsetting the balance as much as they are challenging what has been known for months now. Jungwon hopes it won’t come to relearning everything about the people in the group he already knows; he knows he can be slow to open up to new people, but the circumstances during which they’re getting to know each other are also unlike anything else.

Even if he still finds himself seeking out Sunghoon and Jongseong regularly, naturally, or sidling up to Heeseung for help and light conversation, Jungwon enjoys the time with his roommates. Geonu is funny and talented and opinionated, while Nicholas is sweeter than his looks belie, even if he’s more careful in how he expresses himself simply due to the language barrier.

Getting to know the other trainees comes fast from the forced proximity, from living in each other’s pockets and having absolutely no privacy.

There’s Daniel and Ni-Ki, who call him hyung and make his heart soar a little, so used to being among the youngest if not the youngest entirely. Finding himself wrapped in conversations with Jake who has made quick friends with Sunghoon and Heeseung both, as effortlessly charming and playful and warm as he first appears. Seon is friendly, happy to play the role of the eldest, indulging the maknaes but also able to defer to the other alphas he acknowledges as more skilled than himself.

This is a game that can be played more than one way. Above all, and it stings a little to remember even though it’s what they all signed up for, this is a game of survival.

People slink off together during and after practice, heads bent together as they murmur out of reach of his ears, though once he has heard K and Ni-Ki converse in Japanese about something that they seem equal parts frustrated and amused by.

Jake asks for help with the choreography from Sunghoon again, eager smiles turning into serious focus when Sunghoon demonstrates, only for it to return for a flash of a second when Heeseung stops by to correct his form. He’s rough around the edges, lacking in even the foundations. But Jake is willing to learn. To listen. To have faith. To put the time in. Jake looks at them all with bright, clear eyes, and is engaging and charismatic. Jungwon smiles back when Jake smiles at him. Nothing has felt easier.

Jungwon wouldn’t really describe himself as close with Heeseung, but he’s never been anything but kind to him. Strict, serious in the practice rooms and how he could command a room without even meaning to, yes, even a little intimidating. He can relate to that. Despite the admiration he felt, or perhaps because of it, Jungwon had felt the nerves himself. The quick beating of his heart before starting to dance, when Heeseung had decided they should all show where they were with learning the choreography, because there’s something about Heeseung’s gaze that can be very intense. Unnerving, even. Especially when it is focused on just one person.

But for all the strictness Heeseung is never cruel, never mean. Only looking to improve the performance he sees presented, and he is helpful precisely for his accurate and honest feedback. The way he wrapped it up with kindness, encouragement. Jungwon’s eyes flit around the room. It doesn’t seem like all the others agree.

Emotions, feelings, they aren’t bad things. Jungwon knows all too well how hard critique that is purely critical and negative can hit. But if Heeseung’s feedback is enough to have them act like this, he wonders how they will fare against the producers. Maybe it is an unfair thought. He knows he has an advantage.

From years in his old dojang, every movement he made corrected from the very beginning, on how to hold every single stance; yelled to where to aim and the shouts when he failed. Being told off after every failed performance, for not thinking ahead, for failing the tactics they’d been telling him before the match started, the failure of getting the correct hits. The correct points. He thinks he must have lost more games than he won, but he always got up again from the mat.

After that, his time as a trainee. Jungwon knows that he’s used to practise rooms run by professionals that have been behind some of the best and most highly regarded talent in the industry. He knows the scoldings people get, the harshness of the comments from instructors on underperformance or mess-ups. He knows how casual and blunt and hurtful feedback on monthly evaluations can get, or how the rankings after can hollow people out. He knows what it feels like to have Heeseung’s sharp, intense gaze focused on him in the practice room, finding things however small to comment on.

(Maybe there is some truth to Heeseung being talented, failing to consider those falling behind. Maybe he had realised that too. Maybe, the evaluations of their solo dancing had been his attempt at a check-in solving that for a more cohesive performance.)

Jungwon doesn’t know if he dares search for Sunghoon’s eyes, or Jongseong’s, in this sea of discontent and high strung feelings. Heeseung is not looking at anyone, the older alphas coming down hard on him. The topic pivots after Heeseung points out that he hadn’t wanted the role he had been given by them, the accusation — “I knew this would happen” — and K’s harsh, demeaning words. How fast it’s suggested that the parts are redistributed, Heeseung only adding fuel to the fire, K offering up the alternative. Ni-Ki. How fast the parts are changed. Someone who wants it. Someone who is a great dancer and can capture the viewer’s attention; it has already been argued that part 1 doesn’t need to be a great singer. It feels like he’s underwater when he hears Jongseong asking Ni-Ki if he was okay with it, with taking part 1, and the affirmative from Ni-Ki.

The best thing Jungwon can do now is to focus on himself. His role. His lines. The choreography for his part. No one is going to listen to the seventeen year old about how they need to take in what Heeseung has been saying, to understand the point of view he’s coming from. He can’t help. He runs through the choreography again. Heeseung shouldn’t have part 10. No one is going to offer to swap their own part.

To call the performance disastrous seems like it should be hyperbolic. It’s not far from the truth, unfortunately. Geonu talks about realising what reality is now. Jungwon can only think of how reality had been right in front of their eyes the entire time. That perhaps they should have heeded the advice of the mentors. Maybe they would do that in the missions to come.

The rules of the show called for every man for himself in the end, but they were still graded as a team. They lost spots in I-Land based on their performance as a team. The focus should have been on working together, on practising together. This voting is going to be difficult, perhaps even more so than the initial one. There are so many spots that will be given up and be up for grabs for the Grounders.

One by one several of the other I-Landers show up, a total of eight bodies eventually piling onto his and Geonu’s beds in the blue room. All of them are still dressed in what they had worn for the stage earlier. Heeseung and Sunghoon had stayed in their room, and Jungwon had seen Jongseong joining them in there earlier.

During the discussion Ni-Ki moves over from the other bed, sitting next to Jungwon hip by hip and then Ni-Ki adjusts again, draping himself loosely onto Jungwon’s back in a small backhug to be able to poke his head over Jungwon’s shoulder to watch the rest of them. The weight of him is surprisingly comforting, welcome in that it calms Jungwon’s heartbeat.

The topic switches from eliminations to the ranking and their scores.

“I wonder who got 75,” Seon says, then laughing about how he revealed that it wasn’t him. Adds on, “If only we knew who got 75, since we know each other’s skills, we can figure out what standard they used in evaluating us.”

Jungwon can feel the corners of his mouth pull up. He tries to school his face, tempering the feeling of giddy success. He’s pretty sure he fails.

He offers a “Stop that, I think we can figure it out by everyone’s facial expression”, the corners of his lips curling up a little again. Seon looks at him. Jungwon doesn’t know what to do with that look. He feels the gentle thump of Ni-Ki’s heartbeat against his back, solid in its slow beat.

“I’ll be back next week,” Jongseong promises with the cameras rolling, microphones catching the sound. His hand is warm and comforting as it ruffles his hair, the embrace gentle.

Heeseung is crying as he hugs Jake. Sunghoon is quiet, which isn’t uncharacteristic of him, but there’s something about the silence that feels different. Heavier. More weighted, even as he tells people to come back, that they’ll see each other again. Just one week. Survive Ground, make it back up.

Half of I-Land is leaving.

“Jungwonie, be good,” Jongseong says, fussing and through the tears threatening to fall, and if it wasn’t too outdated and too familiar for what’s acceptable Jungwon thinks he might’ve started butting his nose against Jungwon’s cheek in a pack gesture or even grooming him properly, like one’s parents do to really young pups.

“Hyung,” Jungwon says, a little helplessly. Smiles, maybe, briefly. Tries to, at least. Jongseong is acting as if he’s going off to war, as if he might never return. It is a survival show, sure, but surely. Surely they wouldn’t just let him go? Jungwon can’t fathom that. He will wait for them. For Jongseong.

Then it’s time for them to leave, and then the excruciating wait begins.

There is a lot more waiting to filming than Jungwon had considered initially. He tries to fight down his emotions, the unsettled feeling of loss. Tries to tap into the curiosity he does feel too, about who will make their way to I-Land from ground. There is no point in dwelling on the results, only on how they need to move forward.

“Let’s welcome them,” Heeseung says when it’s time for the grounders to arrive at last.

The Gate turns, slowly, to reveal those inside. Some are familiar faces, once voted off but now returned to them, some are completely fresh and only the barest of interactions during the initial introductions and first performance stage. Most of them are strangers, still.

Euijoo is among those who made it back up to I-Land though. Jungwon’s heart swells when he sees Sunghoon hug him, and Taeyong coming up to him has him smiling too. There’s also Sunoo, finding his way to Jungwon’s side with one of his little smiles lighting up his entire face, after he works his way through the crowd greeting them.

The sweetness of omega tinges the air of I-Land for the first time in a week.

There isn’t much time to familiarise them with each other though, the next mission announced almost immediately and the countdown of six days to learn it all starting soon after. BTS’s Fire, a difficult performance in itself, but now with additional dance breaks that require teamwork to execute properly.

The older alphas defer to Heeseung, once again asking him to lead, as if the week prior hadn’t happened. As if they hadn’t asked for his removal after giving him the centre and leadership by the majority’s recommendation. Jungwon is still not entirely sure what happened behind the scenes, and people are tightlipped about it when the mere implication of a question comes up.

But maybe it’s just around him. Sunghoon has taken to scenting him daily as best as he can as another pup and Jongseong’s calm herbal scent layered over; and while there were originally just traces of Heeseung clinging to Jungwon from that, Heeseung has begun to seek out his company by himself too. Made it clear Jungwon was more than welcome to do the same. Some days Jungwon can barely catch his own scent over the stronger matured scents layered on top of his own. Maybe Heeseung and him were closer than Jungwon had thought, or maybe it was simply due to seeking out familiarity and comfort where one could in a time of stress. There was no point in dwelling on that really, not when it was welcome company. A comfort to Jungwon too.

The rest of the part distribution passes by equally fast, all based on suggestions and recommendations and a few cursory ‘Does anyone else want this part?’ later, it’s all decided. It can change at any point, the rules stated in the announcement says. From how the midway changes of parts in the previous mission affected the outcome, Jungwon hopes it won’t come to that.

Euijoo is sitting in the middle of them by the large dining table. Surrounded by alphas and betas it’s subconsciously a little bit like he’s holding court, shyly lapping up the attention directed at him and how seamlessly he’s pulled into conversation. Jungwon glances over to the island seating, past K who is seated directly in his line of vision.

There Jaebeom and Sunoo sit together, their heads close together as they speak and eat, voices low enough to not be overheard. The division between the former Grounders and I-Landers is clear, as is the pecking order. Especially for the ones who didn’t have previous ties to the survivors.

Geonu and Sunghoon are seated by the island too, albeit not as close to each other or to Sunoo and Jaebeom. Sunoo laughs at something, before he turns shyly to Sunghoon for a moment. Something stirs in his chest at the sight. Jungwon looks down at his own plate.

Jungwon watches them in the mirror as they move into position to run through the choreography from beginning to end. In the lineup it isn’t immediately clear who has which subgender, or even who is a pup in all cases. The heights and dynamics are too spread out.

Euijoo has a pretty face and his scent is omega sweet, consisting of sugary red berries and the lightest of musks, but he is Heeseung’s height, taller than even Sunghoon. Euijoo and Sunghoon are both very tall for how pretty they are; Jungwon knows they have a certain sort of kinship and camaraderie because of it. Their height makes it easier for them to blend in, visually.

On the other hand, the alphas seem uncertain about how to feel about Sunoo. They will bask in his attention and puff their chests out when he looks up at them, but it seems more difficult for them to know how to handle it — their own feelings and assumptions, the ideas they have for the debut group. Sunoo is small, though slightly taller than Jungwon, curvy enough that his baggy t-shirts do little to hide it from how they drape at his waist, and he tends to curl in on himself in such a way that his shoulders seem narrower.

Jungwon blinks a few times, rapid movements of his eyelids, interrupting his train of thought because he is feeling like he’s staring himself blind trying to discern everyone’s bodylines, trying to catch any mistakes and inaccuracies. Following their moves, their positioning, and how well they’re spaced.

For a few moments during the choreography, it feels almost like being back in Big Hit, facing Sunghoon, and being allowed to smile freely during the part where they’re face to face. Or sensing Eujioo on one side, Taeyong behind them — and at certain parts of the choreo below him, when he has to step on Taeyong’s back, which Jungwon still has some hesitance about — and Heeseung overseeing it all. Always reliable, always competent.

Determined to raise his score to save the team.

When they take a break he finds himself next to Sunghoon. He’s grateful someone had the foresight to bring water bottles with them instead of having to run off now to grab some. Jungwon looks over at Sunoo and Jaebeom. For an alpha, Jaebeom seems sweet. The kind that would be called inferior, probably, in real life. Who might still be around here, if people hadn’t already figured out that nowhere was safe for most of the day. No one wants to be responsible for that soundbite.

His gaze slides over at the movement of someone standing back up. Sunghoon’s head moves next to him too, in the same direction. He watches the tense line of Heeseung’s back. The older boy has only swallowed a couple of mouthfuls of water, can’t possibly have had time for more, but he’s already facing the mirror again, going through the steps for his part.

Lee Heeseung, the ace. Lee Heeseung, the centre.

He finds himself missing Jongseong.

“Hey, Jungwon,” comes Sunoo’s voice, light and sweet. He’s smiling, and much closer, seemingly having shuffled over on his knees. Jungwon cranes his head back, smiling a little too.

For days now he’s made a nuisance of himself, trying to get closer to Sunoo. It’s hard because Sunoo doesn’t react to him the way older boys usually do, as if he’s a little kid, which leaves Jungwon floundering. But whenever they do interact he’s receptive to Jungwon’s attempts at awkwardly childish affection and half-formed ideas of friendship; eager to chat and talk and laugh, which is really how you make friends, and for all that Jungwon feels that they’re very different as people there’s something there too that makes it so that he is not alone in seeking Sunoo out. That Sunoo comes to him too.

Sunghoon’s fingers brush his ankle, and he passes him a half full water bottle.

Of course people who’ve trained together are closer. Of course joining at the right time, meeting the right person, helps any newcomer to integrate smoother. Sunghoon’s fingers play with the hair at the nape of Jungwon’s neck. Guilt gnaws in his stomach, far more than the hunger he’s feeling from skipping dinner.

He thinks of Heeseung’s smile, his confident calm, the measured leadership he showcased in the Big Hit practice rooms as he helped any and all of them out, and how the last couple of weeks had shaken up something inside of him. How he had tried to set things right from how things had ended up last week, only to once more have to course-correct when berated during the midpoint check. How it all had helped, had seen the team’s average score get so much better. How he had tried to rally them as a team, how to make them come together and become something united. How maybe it had been too late at that point, to change the outcome of the voting.

Of course, people who have trained together for longer are closer.

He thinks of Sunoo’s face during the announcement, closed off but with a resigned look in his eyes. How Sunoo held his head high as he had to return to Ground. As if it had been expected, as if he had known to not get his hopes up even when they announced the top 6 scores from the mission. Each step as he left I-Land, taking him further from debut, echoed loudly in Jungwon’s ears still.

Jungwon had almost joined him, one wrong step and the judgement fell harshly— Jungwon would have become a grounder too if not for the cruellest twist.

Now Taki is there again instead. In his stead. And it had been his failure and K’s surprising kindness in trying to ensure that Jungwon who had impressed them all the week before got to stay, which was the cause. Being recognised for his skill shouldn’t hurt like this. He had tried to focus on the aftermath, the dance practice for the upcoming battle, but now in the comfort of the night he has snuck into Sunghoon’s bed once more.

“Oh, Jungwonie,” Sunghoon murmurs. His scent is comforting, blending with Jungwon’s own powdery lactonic baby scent. Sunghoon has a lactonic scent too, as a pup, but there is a grounding woodsy note that feels comforting. One that is unusually strong, more mature. Jungwon burrows his face closer. It’s almost as if he could grow scent drunk from it. “Do you want me to get Jay-ah? Heeseung-hyung?”

Jongseong mentioned first because he understands how to approach feelings in a way Sunghoon doesn’t, probably. Heeseung because it’s Heeseung.

Jungwon shakes his head. “Stay.”

Sunoo is an omega and from the very first days of shooting Jungwon has heard some if not most of the alphas and betas discuss how he didn’t fit the image they imagined for the debut team. How it would affect the group, how it’d limit the concepts they could do.

Unpresented as he is… with the features he has, Jungwon is called pretty and handsome in roughly equal measure, and cute more often than anything else. Similarly but differently, Sunghoon who is also neither alpha or beta or omega, yet, is tall enough and handsome enough for it to not matter that he’s beautiful and a little soft around the edges.

It makes Jungwon nervous, dreading something he already was anxious about even more. He hates it. The way he’s thinking now. Debut is the only thing that could make this worth it all.

He isn’t sure how long they lay like that, curled up in Sunghoon’s bed and tucked away from the ever present cameras. It takes a lot to shake Jungwon up and he prides himself on that, but the relentlessness of the negative feedback and the feeling of free-falling upon the announcement of his elimination had been big enough. Sunghoon’s palm is warm and steady on his back.

Eventually Jongseong and Heeseung enter the room, talking quietly among themselves; their scents recognisable before their words. Someone asks something, Sunghoon replies quietly. Jungwon doesn’t want to hear what they’re talking about.

It’s not that the praise and positive feedback after the first mission had gotten to his head. It’s not that he had the highest individual score of all that had him take his place for granted. He hadn’t been perfect, no, but he didn’t just make mistakes. He did something worse; he faltered in the moment that mattered the most. As a result, five people had voted for him to be one of the four who had to leave. It’s hard to not take it personally. Almost half of the other trainees had voted for him, and he can’t blame them. He wonders how much worse it would have been, had he not had his friends with him who knew his capabilities.

The bed shifts, and then Jongseong’s hand rests on top of his head, petting his hair lightly.

He needs to focus, get back into it. It isn’t in his nature to back down. He has to do better for the next mission. Prove himself worthy of the praise he first garnered; prove that K hadn’t made the wrong choice in using the exemption card for him, or for immediately suggesting him for the dance unit. For all that Jungwon has always assumed he wouldn’t debut alongside Heeseung, now that they’ve spent more time together he can’t imagine how it would be debuting without them all. He does not want to consider the reverse either.

For a moment he wishes he could stay like this forever, unpresented and held safely. The looming threat of presenting has been a mostly secondary worry for most of the past few weeks, but the eliminations have brought it to the forefront once more. What an obstacle that would be to overcome.

“Jungwon-ah,” comes Heeseung’s voice, clear and cutting through the fuzzy feeling in Jungwon’s head, but still so soft, careful, as if Jungwon is something to be handled with care. “Let’s do our best this week and save everyone.”

Jungwon thinks back to the elimination, to the newcomers and the returners, the celebrations, to the announcement of the next mission. About the representative units in Vocal and Dance. How he had said, ‘This should be.. Heeseung-hyung should… It’s time for you to show your skills.’, his hands on Heeseung as he spoke with certainty from the confidence that had filled him. Finally. It was Heeseung’s turn. No other distractions. It made him feel safer than he had at any other point in the past few weeks.

And how Heeseung had nodded his head. There had been that emotion in his eyes that Jungwon doesn’t entirely know how to describe— or even fully what it is. Heeseung had smiled, the corners of his lips slightly trembling.

Alphas speak a certain way among one another when there are no omegas around. When only the betas of their inner circles are left, and on occasion pups they know are too starstruck or simply too polite in the face of age and subgender dynamics to speak up. Jungwon doesn’t know if it’s because they think he falls into the latter category when some of the alphas start comparing fist sizes — it’s behaviour he’s seen before, among classmates in school or the older kids at his old dojang.

Jungwon makes a move to get off the couch, to seek out the company of literally anyone else; this is not a conversation he wants to be part of, because he already knows where it’s going.

He’d been curious once, after how he’d noticed two of the alphas in his class that had presented in the last few months were whispering and holding up their fists seemingly at random. Nothing to cheer about, nothing to threaten a joking punch for. One of them had eventually noticed him, he thinks, probably, and there had been something uneasy settling deep in his gut when he was called over. His curiosity had won out though, even if the uneasiness had spiked when the guy who had called him over lifted his fist and held it in the air in front of Jungwon’s stomach.

“It’s said an alpha’s knot is the size of his fist,” his alpha classmate had said to Jungwon then. He’d grinned up at Jungwon from his seated position, yet Jungwon had never felt so small before. His breath had hitched when the fist came to rest on his belly.

He cares not to see if Heeseung will join in, or the size of any of their fists. At least none of them are stupid enough to do what some alphas will do in the street, holding their fists up behind the backs of unsuspecting passing omegas and betas, even pups pretty enough, and Jungwon doesn’t know if it’s better or worse that the alphas here are seemingly too aware of the cameras on them. The backlash it could cause. It’s not illegal, and some alphas would defend it, saying it was all just jokes. No harm to it.

Anxious humiliation races through his veins as he catches sight of how Jaebeom moves to clench his hand into a fist, but Jungwon schools his face into a neutral expression trying to not be too obvious about scurrying away.

“Anyone know where Jake-hyung is?” Jungwon shoots over his shoulder, already heading towards the bedroom area.

“Saw him talking with Sunghoon in bed not too long ago,” Kyungmin says. Jungwon nods his head, gives him a small smile. He can feel several pairs of eyes on his back. At the very least he tries to feel confident that none of them are stupid enough to hold up their fists behind his back as he leaves. There has to be at least one camera that would capture it perfectly.

Chancing on Jake and Sunghoon being in the room Sunghoon is sleeping in, he finds them sprawled out together on the latters bed, chatting quietly with Euijoo seated on the other bed. They’re both already smiling, but their smiles grow bigger when they catch sight of Jungwon, and Euijoo turns his head. He smiles, too. It would be so easy to feel as if he was intruding, if it hadn’t been for that.

There isn’t enough space on the bed for him to lie down with them, but he manages to squeeze onto the end of the bed after Jake throws his legs over Sunghoon’s to make space for him. Sunghoon’s eyes narrow, pretending at annoyance, but his unfaltering smile gives him away. Then scrunches his nose, giving Jungwon a onceover. Jungwon shakes his head imperceptibly. The conversation picks up again, Jake’s jovial manner and easy smile leading them. Euijoo laughs lightly, his eyes glittering.

Jungwon draws his knees up to his chest, his arms around them. Sunghoon’s scent is especially strong on his bed and feels almost like an embrace. Jake’s scent mingling with it does nothing to deter from the feeling and though not as detectable as what’s right beside him, Euijoo’s soft scent is comforting, so reminiscent of the time before all this. Jungwon feels like he can breathe again.

He’s heard what the other trainees, the ones who’ve been to Ground, have said about it. Seeing it rather than hearing the descriptions puts it all into a different perspective. Something as simple as the difference in lighting catches his attention. The details, or rather the lack of, in the practice room. Jongseong, Jake, Euijoo — indeed, all the ones who came up from Ground, have all talked about the world of a difference between the two at length. In a way, I-Land comes to not just symbolise the promise of debut.

“The team saved me, so it’s my turn to save the team,” Jungwon says during one of his interview segments. It feels even more like a confessional than usual. He means every word. That had always been the goal, of course, to have as little reshuffling as possible. To keep a safe place in I-Land, to keep the ones you wanted close.

When Jongseong was sent to ground as part of the first elimination, there had been whispers and murmurs how betas could be replaced. They’re not quite a pack yet, the Big Hit trainees, but there is that developing informal pack dynamic that hours spent together will so often lead to. Trainees don’t form true packs due to their ages and the knowledge that their bonds may be temporary, their future ultimately out of their hands. Still.

There had been no one who said anything outright, but Jungwon heard it too; the belief that betas or Jongseong or either, both, used synonymously, were replaceable. Heeseung said nothing to Jongseong’s defence. Perhaps, he had been letting Jongseong fight his own battles, confident Jongseong would return and prove his place through his own merit.

In an uncharitable moment, Jungwon had wondered if Heeseung would rather not risk anything, as it was obvious to everyone that Heeseung is going to debut. Right from the very start. Even the staff and camera crew talk as if it’s written in stone, and Jungwon won’t blame them for even a second. He too knows that Heeseung will debut.

Is it only alphas that are safe? Jungwon had wondered, but then he recalls that first mission. How they had all happily asked Heeseung to take the lead; and instead of raising any issues when they first arose, waited until there was enough going to usurp even Heeseung. Maybe Big Hit was just different to other companies in what was valued and focused on, though Jungwon didn’t really think so with his prior experience. It’s a survival show though. And there are several ways to survive. Jungwon considers — not for the first time, but with increasing resignation — if hard work alone will be enough. Working hard is all he can do for this mission though.

“Jungwon-ah,” Rain says, after they finish praising K for the choreography for One of a Kind. Jungwon readies himself for the feedback, intent on taking it seriously, leaning forward a little as he nods his head.

“Yes?”

“How come I didn’t know you danced this well?”

A stuttered breath as the words register — his hand flies up to cover his mouth, the smile on his face so large he can’t hide it otherwise. There’s no pretending he isn’t feeling pure joy and he bows deeply, both to hide his face further and to show his respect and thanks to Rain. It is the most positive piece of feedback he had received to his face so far, not weighed down by anything else.

Jongseong smells of K. More and more, Jungwon thinks he’s able to pick up the scent of the other alpha over Heeseung on him. Even after Jongseong was replaced by Sunghoon for the upcoming test. Heeseung is of course busy doing his own thing, practising the lyrics and choreography with Geonu for Butterfly, spending considerably less time with the rest of them.

Sunghoon had been smelling berry sweet, from Euijoo, and a hint of Jake’s version of lactonic pup smell, before they’d swapped him in.

“Your nose is sensitive for a pup,” Jongseong replies when he comments on it, peering at Jungwon from beneath the rim of his bucket hat. Jungwon shrugs. He doesn't know if that’s really true. It might be as simple as the fact that he knows what Jongseong smells like and he knows how they would smell after practice, before I-Land, Heeseung’s alpha scent lingering on just about anyone that had been in the room.

Jungwon wiggles his toes the best he can inside of his sneakers. Ignores the drying sweat on his back making his shirt stick to his skin.

He’s getting more used to changes like these as the weeks go by, as people are swapped in and out between I-Land and Ground, as different groups train together, as positions are changed and people swapped in and out of their assigned parts. He has to get used to it, because there’s no way of telling who is going to be in the debut lineup at this stage. One mistake, one missed step, one missed expression, not hitting the beat hard enough, too fast, too slow. The possibility that no one was going to leave I-Land this week flickered like a mirage before them, and as the days went by it felt less like the idea was grounded in desperation than hope.

Jongseong throws an arm around his neck, ruffles Jungwon’s hair with his hand. “C’mon, you have a mission to compete in, a battle to win for us. Let’s see you, before I go run through it with Sunghoonie again.”

It’s not the same as when Heeseung does it, the scent produced from the glands in Jongseong’s wrists much mellower. It isn’t going to stick for long. Jungwon still leans into it, can feel his nerves calm — either from the scent or Jongseong's words.

“Will I have to stop this?” Jungwon asks. Whispers.

“Stop what,” Jongseong answers, not quite managing to make it sound like a question in turn despite his phrasing, half asleep but still so willing to indulge Jungwon.

“This kind of thing. Sleeping together. Y’know. Once I present.” He doesn’t stutter, but it comes out fragmented and stilted. A little breathless despite the shortness of what he’s saying.

Jongseong huffs a quiet laugh, his breath warm where it reaches Jungwon’s skin. “Only if you want to stop.”

“Do.. d’you all think about it?” About Jungwon presenting, he doesn’t say explicitly.

“Doubt it’s as much as you think about it, Jungwon-ah.” Jongseong says. “It’s 2020, the only thing that’s gonna happen is that you find out if you grow knots or slick or neither. It doesn’t have to change anything.”

That’s not true. Not in America and not in Korea and probably not in most other places either. Jungwon doesn’t know that much about the world. He thinks of trending hashtags on social media and news discussions on TV and headlines in print or online; conversations about what it means to exist as an omega in a world built for others, conversations that feel just beyond his grasp as he focuses his all on chasing this dream.

“Your childhood testing was inconclusive, right?” Jongseong asks. Jungwon nods his head, aware that Jongseong can feel it even if he can’t see it in the dark. “That’s real common. Just means it’s more of a gamble as for what happens, and really, unless you get the expensive shit done there’s always gonna be a high risk of them being wrong too.”

The herbs and light woods of Jongseong’s scent make sheets feel homely, comforting, a little bit like visiting the village his paternal grandparents’ lived in during his summer break.

“Heeseung-hyung and his brother both indicated they’d be betas— and you know Heeseung-hyung’s hyung is an alpha too,” Jongseong says with a small sleepy laugh, and Jungwon finds himself smiling in kind.

“And you?”

Jongseong snorts, and cups the back of Jungwon’s neck with his warm hand. “My parents had the fancy expensive testing done and knew there was a 98% chance I’d be a beta from age five. I was too young to know if they were disappointed at first, but they never treated me any differently for it.”

Jungwon’s never met Jongseong’s mothers, both of them alphas, but from the way Jongseong has always spoken of them, he knows that he was loved. Raised well. Cared for. Jungwon reaches for Jongseong’s free hand, entwining their fingers.

“What if I’m…” Jungwon trails off. Can’t bring himself to ask the question. Being an omega is not a bad thing, logically he knows it, and being a male omega isn’t the career ending sentence it would have been in the past, when the pressure to stay home and form families was the only real option for both male and female omegas. But. While it is more common than not for male groups to have at least one omega these days, it isn't by much.

“Then nothing you don’t want to change, changes. You’re still you, Jungwon-ah.”

That’s where Jongseong’s wrong again though. Everything would change if Jungwon was an omega. To Jongseong, a beta from a well off family, who presented at fifteen and has spent the entire duration as a trainee knowing what he is, it probably feels like the right thing to say. He wonders if Jongseong has even fully noticed what goes on around them, what with the way he seems to so easily fall into friend groups of alphas as if it’s nothing. If Jongseong is aware that some of the conversations he’s taken part in too has done nothing but reinforce Jungwon’s worries; the synergy of the group is already at odds with what so many imagine by potentially not being a pure alpha-beta group. Too many pups, too much uncertainty.

Jungwon can’t stop the distressed sound that escapes his throat at the thought, and he presses closer to Jongseong in hopes to hide it. Jongseong's arms wrap around him in a tight hug.

Jongseong sounds concerned when he asks, “Would it be such a bad thing?”

“I want to debut,” Jungwon replies, and his words are heavy with emotion. He doesn’t know how to explain it to Jongseong, and he feels uncharacteristically small and childlike. Jungwon is serious and hardworking and fastidious. He’s not… this insecure and uncertain little creature of misery.

“You are going to debut,” Jongseong says with conviction. Jungwon desperately wants to believe him.

"You're so cute, Jungwonie," Jake says. It is a rare moment of him sitting alone at the couch in the common area, everyone else scattered elsewhere for the time being. Bedrooms, practice rooms, a shower running in the distance. Jungwon climbs onto the couch, a seat or so over from Jake, leaving space between them.

"Oh? How, how so?" Something pleased burns in Jungwon whenever Jake calls him cute. It's not as if he's the first of the older boys to say so, several of them have made it very clear that Jungwon is considered a cute pup, someone to indulge. He doesn't think it's only to get into Heeseungs good graces; not with how Heeseung is already taken with Jake’s charm, not when Jake is as sweet and kind no matter who is there.

Jake grins easily at his question, but there's a little edge of shyness to it. It makes Jungwon want to exist closer to him, climb into his space.

Geonu shows up, clearly fresh out of the shower, drying off the ends of his still damp hair with a towel. He sits down on the other side of Jungwon, a little closer than Jungwon sits to Jake but with enough space to fit another person. Space, closeness; it is an interesting thing.

"I dunno, you're just. Very cute. Round— in a good way! All big eyes, and even how you follow Heeseung-hyung and Sunghoonie around a lot, ‘s just really sweet."

This stops Jungwon in his tracks. "I, what?"

Geonu laughs, says, "Oh, you don't realise? That's even cuter, Jungwonie.”

He probably doesn’t mean it to be condescending, when he tacks on “Like a duckling”, one hand pressing his towel to the dripping ends of his hair to squeeze out water.

A duckling. That is cute, Jungwon supposes, but it's also a little embarrassing. Maybe more than a little. His cheeks feel warm to the touch when he touches them. He doesn’t outright try to hide, but he feels a little helpless when he looks up into Jake’s eyes.

"To be fair," Jake says, a little too obvious in trying to backtrack and placate Jungwon, "hyung follows you around the rest of the time."

It isn’t all bad though. The alphas mellow some with the first few weeks of being forced into such close spaces without the room to breathe and finding their footing giving way to a new order within which they can all move around. As long as any new alphas that have come up from Ground conform to the established hierarchy there are no issues, and so far that has happened easily.

Jungwon thinks of his sister, her frustration at having been asked out by a fairly popular alpha in her year at school and the sheer entitlement he had showcased in doing so; the assumption that she would be so overwhelmed with joy that an alpha had picked her, had wanted someone like her, a mere beta. The alpha hadn’t taken the rejection too well, and he remembers how furious she had been, venting to him, swearing off alphas for life.

Every now and then a topic pops up though. Some of the alphas surrounding Jungwon now discuss potential partners, girlfriends, boyfriends — regardless if omega or beta— with similar assumptive entitlement, tinged by how they’re gonna attract so many now that they’re going to be famous, debuted idols. It never quite reaches the same levels of directly condescending though, and it’s difficult to tell entitlement and obliviousness apart at times. It’s certainly not all ill intended, Jungwon can tell. It is only what everyone has been promised since they first learnt about the ways the world worked, how it was structured.

Childhood was learning that boys and girls were different. Childhood was also learning that the subgenders were the most important of differences, when that onset came along.

There’s a reason kids dream of being alphas, Jungwon thinks almost guiltily, though some late bloomers can see the possibilities in being beta, and only a few of the prettiest boys and girls can envision what they would have access to through looks and pheromones alone if they were to present omega.

Jungwon knows it’s antiquated to think one can assume a person’s subgender by physique or temperament alone; that omegas can be tall and broad and forceful, that alphas can be small and rounded and meek. Still, it’s a commonly used framework. A common topic of discussion and gossip, for so-called educated guesses and predictions. Some even make a career out of it, boasting high accuracy.

He looks at his face at all possible angles in the mirror, examining it carefully. Small face, broad shoulders. Boyishly handsome, delicately pretty. Soft, cute. Jungwon has heard it all. He drags his fingers over his jawline, sharp beneath the roundness of baby fat. Takes in the slope of his nose. The pout of his lips.

If anyone were to pass him now, they would assume he was practising his angles. His expressions. How to capture the camera the best. It’s a small comfort.

As he suspected, after the representative battles, Heeseung smells of Geonu. The scent isn’t bad and he likes Geonu, but it still makes Jungwon’s nose twitch when he catches it, cuddled up under the duvet of Heeseung’s bed together. It’s not strange, he thinks, because they’ve been working together for so many days. Jungwon is sure there’s a hint of K’s scent still sticking in his hair even after all the showers he’s had, and Sunghoon is never so far away that there’s not a trace lingering around him either.

“You did well,” Heeseung praises him. His nose twitches too. Perhaps it’s the scent of another alpha. An older alpha. Maybe that’s all bullshit. Maybe it’s the lingering feelings from the start of the show. Heeseung pats Jungwon’s hair gently, smiling as he says, “Perfect choice for the dance representatives.”

“No more compliments for you, hyung, I already told you you were amazing,” Jungwon teases in return. He giggles at the faked offended gasp Heeseung lets out, twisting to get out of reach from the fingers digging into his waist and flying over his ribs to tickle him in punishment. Heeseung is not above using either the alpha or hyung-card when he wants to, but he’s also sweet and patient and a little silly, childish even.

He catches Jungwon effortlessly when he almost rolls off the bed trying to escape.

“C’mere, you,” Heeseung tuts disapprovingly, but his smile is almost blinding, He nuzzles his face into Jungwon’s neck, scenting him deeply. Jungwon would be surprised if there were any other scent traces left after this. He wonders what emotions Heeseung’s scent contains, the intricacies of such things lost on his undeveloped nose, even if he can tell there’s definitely giddiness there. It is deserved, one of Heeseung’s strongest performances since they entered the show. It was nice to see him happy about the results. For the results to mean that they hadn’t failed anyone this time, that they had saved everyone.

The results had been closer than they should’ve been though. It’s not that he thinks the Grounders aren’t talented, but if there was supposedly such a disparity between the two places and the trainees residing in each place, he shouldn’t have to wait with bated breath to hear the announcement of their scores.

When they suggest the part switch following the midpoint check, Jungwon’s heart trembles in his chest. Weak, like the dying sound of a bell reverberating in his suddenly hollow chest.

Jongseong reaches out his hand — Jungwon just barely catches the movement from the corner of his eye. He blinks, a little confused, but holds his hand out for Jongseong to take in a firm grasp even as Jungwon glances at him uncertainty. Warm, a little clammy. A hand just a bit bigger than his own, that feels all that much stronger.

“I will keep discussing with Heeseung-hyung,” he says. Everyone that had spoken up had thought it better to switch.

“I just keep thinking you must have so much to worry about,” Jongseong says then, quietly. Softly. It’s the first anyone has said regarding Jungwon’s feelings at all.

“Ah,” Jungwon says, “I really don’t know what to do.”

(“I don’t think it’s the right time for me to give any opinions,” Heeseung said. They asked for his opinion before Jungwon’s, even though it was Jungwon’s part that was being discussed and thought of as having to be changed. They spoke over him like a child, as if it was over his head and out of his hands. He is one, but it still grates. The topic of the conversation itself, but also how they’re opting to deal with the feedback. Jungwon swallows.)

So, when the time comes — when they’re alone together with K, discussing the options, Heeseung is kind.

When he tells Jungwon, “Do what you want to do. Hyung will follow your decision”, he does it out of kindness. To not let Jungwon feel like he doesn’t have a choice, that it isn't taken away from him. Taking it one step further however, this means that the onus is entirely on Jungwon.

And Jungwon remembers Ni-Ki.

And Jungwon remembers the fallout.

And he remembers how readily they will all sacrifice each other for a chance at a spot in the debut team. If he doesn’t exchange his part for Heeseung’s and there is any negative feedback, he is going to be voted out, and he isn’t sure he will be able to make it back to I-Land if that happens.

That is how Jungwon knows that he has to consider not just his own feelings or wants in this moment, but the bigger picture. The team. The show. His chance to debut. He believes he could pull off part 5, given the time. But the right choice at this time—

“Then I’ll take part two,” Jungwon says aloud. “Rather than being mediocre, it’s better to do it properly.”

He knows he’s making life more difficult for Heeseung, that Heeseung is giving up the part he received strong praise for; for the team, certainly, but also for him. He knows that Heeseung understands, and above all, he knows that Heeseung will be able to deliver what Jungwon failed.

Jongseong is there, gentle hands and supportive words spoken so only the person he’s talking to hears them. As if not to bring attention to what he’s saying, that he’s helping. Not while he’s helping.

Warm smiles, gentle eyes.

Jongseong looks so sharp sometimes, the cut of his jawline like a knife, the slant of his eyes dramatic. He’ll make noise about helping out, be loud about how he’s forced to help so many people, joking a little and taking all the edge off. Exasperated when Sunghoon asks for help too, a little cheeky and teasing. He never says no.

Jongseong likes feeling, no, being needed. He likes helping. It’s easy to tell and to notice when one looks, and it makes Jungwon’s chest a little warm— makes it easy to cuddle up to Jongseong’s side, to call out little chirps of ‘Jay-hyung’. It’s nice to see him with his chest puffed up, not at all deflated and curled into himself from dejection and the mounting pressure over all their heads.

Every so often Heeseung catches his face between his hands, patting his cheeks and cooing at him, smiling. Jungwon smiles back. Shies away, sometimes, allows it and delights in it at others. A small part of him can’t help but feel pleased he’s managed to catch the attention of Lee Heeseung; that faint pride of acknowledgement a remnant stemming from his time in Big Hit, no doubt.

Traineehood was a complex time. They still were trainees, but they were contestants now too. Potential debut members.

While Heeseung’s eyes are more rarely stuck in that perpetually wide eyed terror he had in the beginning, he isn’t relaxed. Doesn’t take his spot for granted, even though it’s clear to them all that he will make it. Nothing would make sense otherwise.

Jungwon doesn’t know entirely how it went down, when Heeseung joined Big Hit and was allegedly not even considered to join the already close to finalised line-up. It’s not something he’s felt comfortable asking, nor is it something any of the other Big Hit trainees have discussed at depth or with more knowledge than his own assumptions. All of the people Jungwon had gotten acquainted with had joined after it happened, and if Heeseung had talked to anyone about it they hadn’t spread it any further.

He knows in the abstract how Heeseung feels about it, how he talks about it in interview sections or when more daring contestants would ask ‘so you were almost in TXT?’ and Heeseung just laughed, smiled a little awkwardly, and had to explain that “no, not really, I wasn’t in the debut lineup, we just trained together”.

Jungwon can tell that while some understand what Heeseung’s saying that some of them don’t really get it, thinking that he is either deflecting or being dishonest, thinking it as simple as mere jealousy of seeing friends and acquaintances debut without you, and not the knowledge that you had been judged unsuitable. Unfit. That one carried that lingering doubt and uncertainty of being passed over for others that joined around the same time with them. They were all getting a taste of it now, both from the judging of the mentors and the judgement they themselves cast during the votes — the decisions a company made in the creation of a group, the way the members selected for debut could and likely would affect the vision and direction for at least the near future.

The direct competition is in some ways mildering the experience of what it’s like to be the right demographic in every way for the debut lineup, but to be passed over. What it’s like to be passed over and not knowing when your next chance will come, when next a new group will debut, and if you’re making it that time. If it’s been worth holding on for that long, or if you’ve now become something undesirable for another reason.

Jungwon knows what it’s like having to consider which company is the best fit for you. Where you will find your path to debut. He doesn’t ever regret leaving SM, even if he remembers his trainee friends fondly and can appreciate what his time there had given him. How he had grown from the experience.

The fact had been that while Big Hit had a large number of trainees, SM was a different beast. There were so many of them, and the firm belief in the idea that skill can be taught and talent can be trained and honed was both a blessing and a curse. Jungwon had been casted, around the time when he had first started losing baby fat, but he had an affinity for dancing helped by the athleticism and ability to follow choreography he had already developed in taekwondo.

The company’s plan for the boy groups in coming years had already been set in motion by the time Jungwon entered. The promise of endless expansion and an endless line of trainees to debut was intriguing; it sounded too good to be true.

And it was. Plans kept shifting and the rumours ran wild on a regular basis. Supposedly trainees were debuting every other month; they were debuting a new unit, they were adding members, they were switching concepts, focus and refocus, push, the first failure, the surprise success. Even at fifteen that had been too much to put faith in, especially when what should have been the obvious time for younger trainees to debut ended up resulting in nothing.

Trainee contracts weren’t the most difficult to break. Shorter. Not as binding, or damning.

Luck, chance. Opportunities present themselves for people who work hard, but more than that it’s about being at the right place at the right time. Knowing, being seen, by the right people.

Some of the other contestants know what it’s like at smaller companies, of not having enough funding to debut at a specific time. Some of the others have experienced what Heeseung and Jungwon has, being passed over for the time being, some of them have shared what both Jongseong and Jungwon have, moving between different companies in search for the right place and right time.

Jungwon looks up at Heeseung’s face, tries to duck away from the sincerity glittering in his eyes, and Heeseung laughs, pinching his cheeks.

Seon orders Sunghoon to sit back down. Jungwon’s stomach rolls. He doesn’t use his alpha voice, not even a threat of it, but his voice is authoritative enough. As a hyung, as one of the most long term trainees, the role he’s taken upon himself.

At night, Jungwon hears Sunghoon’s incredulous and upset whispers.

“Hyung,” he says to Heeseung, hidden in the night with cameras hopefully off and microphones long left behind. It’s so quiet Jungwon almost can’t hear them. He’s watching them though his lashes, faking at being asleep. “I don’t want him talking to me like that again.”

Jungwon wonders how Sunghoon thinks Heeseung will do it. Though he no longer falters as severely it feels a little bit like Heeseung is no longer the steady leader he remembers. Heeseung struggles under the weight of everyone’s expectations; a young alpha that was knocked off the pedestal others had placed him upon and since developed a hesitancy to lead, no matter how natural and well suited he was to it.

Sunghoon swallows audibly.

“I’m sorry, Sunghoon-ah,” Heeseung says, a little awkwardly, after a beat. He has probably never considered what it feels like to be on the other end. Jungwon wonders if Heeseung’s ever accidentally used his alpha voice on others. It’s not something he has had to be worried about himself as someone who is unpresented, nor as someone whose family mainly consists of betas aside from his omega grandmother.

“If he ever tries to command me for real—“

“He won’t— if he returns from Ground, he won’t,” Heeseung says, voice gravely serious and full of conviction. Something almost fierce flickers to life in his eyes, and he tugs on Sunghoon’s wrist until he falls into his embrace. It’s much bolder than ever before; Jungwon is used to how they carefully dance around each other despite quietly orbiting back to one another again and again and again, attempts at keeping touches deliberately casual in front of the others and the cameras, but failing to hide the natural and instinctive way they search each other out.

Jungwon squeezes his eyes shut before their lips meet.

The result of the first global voting shocks them all.

Seventh place is enough to debut. Seventh place this early on is enough to debut, maybe. Probably. Maybe. The cool metal of the pin on his shirt warms as he plays with it. Jongseong scolds him silently, saying it’ll cause a big hole in the fabric of his vest if he keeps tugging on it.

Most shocking is how high Sunoo and Daniel ranks.

They’re likeable. Jungwon likes them. He understands it, for most part, but he sees the way some of the others look at them. Hears the things being voiced. No one says a word about Sunoo being an omega, but somehow in the silence and the things left unsaid it feels like it’s about that, even though it doesn’t make sense — maybe this means that it’s Jungwon that the issue and prejudice lies with. But there’s that nagging doubt.

They return to the dorms smelling strongly of cleanness. Not cleaning products, but rather an air so clean it’s sterile. It’s odd, to step into it, to not quite be able to tell at first what it is that feels so off. Jungwon doesn’t think they’ve been stinking up the place too badly, but the presented trainees are fast to detect that there are traces of foreign scents hidden from the way the staff must have tried to scrub them away.

The reveal is simple— BTS. Sunbaenims.

Jungwon swoons, just like the rest of the group of trainees. Superstars who visited I-Land, superstars who shared kind words of encouragement, who left them all gifts.

Being a fan of senior acts, attempting to debut in the same company… it isn’t an unusual story for a fanboy.

His heart beats fast in his chest, not delusional enough to think that the group must know of them truly, and that they were more so obligated to play along for the show, but still. They had been here. They had helped prepare gifts. There’s a slight chance that Jongseong’s blanket actually carries a suggestion of Taehyung’s scent.

Sunghoon and Heeseung are whispering among themselves, once again in the same team. Their fingers interlock briefly beneath the dining table, resting together on Heeseung’s thigh. A part of Jungwon would love to go up to them, but with how serious they look as they speak he feels as if he would be disturbing them. They wouldn’t act like it, of course not, would only smile and invite him in.

Sunoo has no such qualms as he sits down opposite them by the table, and like that the only person missing from the Fake Love team is their leader. He waves at Jungwon as Jungwon passes them, and Heeseung looks up, surprised.

It’s a little funny that two of the youngest trainees had ended up with a team each after the dance battle.

His thoughts stray to his own team as he moves toward the practice rooms. He isn’t sure what to do with the feedback from the midpoint check-in. Or, he understands what they mean, he thinks, but he’s not sure how they’re going to be able to do all that in time for the performance.

There seems to be some intangible quality they don’t grasp, something that they’re missing. He’s not sure what to do about it, and it doesn’t help that it just feels as if no one is excited about their stage. Like no one thinks they can do it.

He gets it. He really does. It shouldn’t feel so much like being the leftovers in PE class failing to be picked; not when Geonu is one of the best singers, Jake is charismatic and a good performer, Daniel an all-rounder. (A little rough around the edges, lacking in certain areas, short trainee periods.)

There's pressure with being the leader, but Jungwon can’t say that he hates it. Quite the opposite. Something about the responsibility feels not as much of a burden as it does feel like a sense of trust has been placed in him. He won this role by showcasing his hard work in front of unbiased judges, and he must’ve proven himself to his teammates too for them to be willing to listen, to follow, when he’s the second youngest in their team.

It feels almost fun to find the right balance between practice, rounds of honest feedback, and play for it to work. He has to believe in them when no one else seems to. He has to make them believe too, for it to work. And wouldn’t it be nice? If they could prove the others wrong, make them feel taken aback with how well they did? They need to enjoy the process too.

Taki’s singing echoes around the living room, the sound of his voice following Jungwon up the stairs. His voice cracking, again. When Jungwon’s voice was breaking due to puberty, he had been advised to keep singing through it. He supposes that Taki is using that same approach.

He passes by the room he can tell the DNA team is in, K’s and Jongseong’s scents strong and Hanbin’s sweetness lingering by the door as if he just recently entered. Ni-Ki is a pup, lost to the masses of strong adult scents.

When he enters the practice room, he’s greeted by the view of his teammates already there.

Bounding over Jake pinches his waist, his cheeks, greets him with large smiles that almost could be expectant but never feels as such. Jungwon laughs lightly, not so much from being ticklish as Jake’s infectious happiness getting to him. There is a hint of Sunghoon’s scent on him as he tugs Jungwon into a loose back hug.

“Leader-nim,” he says, “cheer up a little. We’re doing fine.”

Ever since Jake presented as a beta in the most undramatic way possible, a good six days ago at this point, he seems to be unaware of how he’s releasing calming pheromones whenever he’s close to Jungwon, especially during or after practice. It’s not like Jungwon needs it, even if it feels nice, Jake’s clear and clean scent enveloping him like a sea breeze.

He knows the chances of them winning are low, but they aren’t zero. He refuses to believe that. They’re not doing fine, but they will be fine. He’ll make sure of it. He watches Daniel go through the parts where he’s off beat, running them over again and again. Watching himself in the mirror, focusing on the things pointed out to him.

Jungwon can’t relate to the lyrics with personal experience regarding romance. But desperation? Wanting something, rather than someone, so bad that it’s ruining you? Chasing after that? He knows that.

Jungwon doesn’t like to admit that he does get jealous, sometimes, seeing his hyungs dote on other people or make friends in a way their age difference hinders them from doing with him. It’s better to become friendly with people now and not only after debut. But still, it makes things trickier to navigate. Jungwon is aware that he’s slower to open up than most, that it takes time for him to warm up to people.

He sees Sunoo sitting on the couch next to Sunghoon. A fair amount of space between them, but enough to chat it they so desired. Something itches in Jungwon. He doesn’t even know who he’s the most jealous of at that moment.

Him and Sunoo had been chatting a lot during the preparation for Fire, where Jungwon would catch himself seeking Sunoo out time and time again. They had met outside, before I-Land started filming, always casually distant but friendly enough, when Big Hit had moved their trainees for the show over to Belift. They hadn’t been allowed to really interact, but it had helped ease them into something the moment they met for the show.

Still, Jungwon felt uncharacteristically shy. Like he didn’t know how to catch Sunoo’s attention, or how to keep it when he managed to. Initially during filming it had been Sunoo reaching out; now he seemed to have friends of his own, where there wasn’t really space for Jungwon. They had barely seen each other for so long so it wasn’t strange that Sunoo would have made other friends, always sweet on Ni-Ki and Taki, or found chatting with Hanbin.

This leaves Jungwon at a standstill. Unsure on how to insert himself into their space he starts with poking Sunoo, tugging at the pillow he’s holding, again wanting to shift Sunoo’s attention to him. This method has worked so many times before, now Sunoo doesn’t just not quite play along. He actually in a very kind and roundabout way rejects playing with Jungwon, showing disinterest and refusing to engage with Jungwon’s childishness. Sunghoon says and does nothing.

Jungwon lets go of the pillow.

Without taking a moment to second guess his next move he makes a show of manoeuvring himself to stand between Sunoo and Sunghoon and then squeeze himself down on the empty seat between them. He rests his head on Sunghoon’s shoulder, and he closes his eyes briefly when he feels Sunghoon’s head come to rest atop of his own.

He glances at Sunoo from the corner of his eye. He’ll just have to try again. Later. He just doesn’t know how, when Sunoo rejects his physicality, when they’re not on the same team and the lack of proximity doesn’t push them together.

“Hyung, do you not like Sunoo-hyung?” Jungwon asks. He prides himself on being observant, but he isn’t fully able to wrap his head around how Sunoo and Heeseung move around each other. They interact quite a bit, casually chatting, their eyes meeting for prolonged time. They touch like anyone else, even, hugs when appropriate and casual skinship throughout the day. He knows that it certainly isn’t that they dislike each other, but he wants Heeseung to put words to it.

Heeseung doesn’t even look like he’s heard the question. Then, he sighs. “No— I. That’s really not it. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s just a lot. Sometimes. His scent.”

The overlying initial omega sweetness, sugary marshmallow in your face despite the fluffiness, with the underlying aromatics of what he’s learnt from Sunoo himself is myrrh, warm and surprisingly spicy, and the airy floral note. It’s odd and refined, reflective of Sunoo's duality.

Almost mindlessly, Jungwon says, “I like it.”

Heeseung snorts. “We can tell. Got a real sweet tooth on you.”

“Hyung!” It wasn’t like that. It really wasn’t. Whatever it was Heeseung was trying to imply. Sunoo was just so bright and full of life. And his scent was lovely. Warm, slightly sweet. So what if Jungwon had to reach out and poke Sunoo sometimes just to get his attention, those eyes on him, the laughter aimed at him— he liked having a hyung closer in age, sweet and indulgent and new.

A small blush rises to his cheeks as he takes in Heeseung’s words though, the full meaning of them. There is definitely an implication about it being an alpha and omega thing, or something to do with Heeseung’s sensitive nose. Or maybe it’s just a Heeseung and Sunoo thing, which is why Jungwon is prying. Trying to understand.

“There’s more to a pleasant scent than simply sweetness,” Heeseung says eventually, his cheeks turning slightly red. There is absolutely an expectation for alphas to enjoy sweet omegan scents, and Jungwon catches himself perpetuating that belief with his own reaction to Heeseung’s confession. “It’s not bad, but a lot of omegas, they’re just. So sweet. Takes time to get used to being around. It, It catches me off guard sometimes.”

“Sorry,” Jungwon apologises in a small voice, a little embarrassed. Feels out of his depth, still not entirely used to being around alphas without reprieve. “You don’t have to explain it… my nose isn’t that sensitive.”

“You might still find you prefer the sweetness of omegas, Jungwon-ah.”

“It’s not that I prefer it,” Jungwon stresses, “I don’t think too much about it, ‘s just nice. Comforting. Like home.”

Jungwon has slept in Heeseung's bed a few times since the ghost incident. He's not sure entirely how much he believes in ghosts or in a ghost here at I-Land in particular, not the way Jongseong does — it's not clear whether or not Jongseong and Jake actually showered together when it happened, but the answer wasn't a definite no — and especially not after that first scare had passed. However there had been something unsettling enough about it for him to seek out the comfort and safety his hyungs represented.

He had slept in both Sunghoon's and Jongseong's bed on occasion, staying up too late chatting and sharing their worries, not wanting to go back and disturb their roommates, but that had marked the first time in Heeseung's.

Whether it was simply because Heeseung was right there, in the same room, or because his subconscious had decided it would be the safest to be beside an alpha, or because the more recent developments in closeness had made it an option when it hadn't been before and Jungwon had wished to explore that, see how far Heeseung would let him go, how close he would be allowed to come before being brushed away, Jungwon could honestly not tell. (Practicality, instinct, closeness explored or put to test.)

It's not quite a habit, this whole 'sleeping in other people's beds' situation. He's seventeen and living on his own for the first time, with no contact to all those in his life he holds dear. It isn't bad enough to call separation anxiety, nor would he like to admit to it being homesickness. But there is that ache, some days, where everything feels a little bit wrong. The missing scent of family, of pack, the familiar smells around the house. He's getting more used to it — at first it had been fine because everything had been so new, but as time went on it felt stranger. Jungwon can admit to seeking out that which feels familiar. For all that he is brave, he is not fearless. For all that his emotion might not show on his face, might find it difficult to express, he still feels all the things he can't easily compartmentalise and sort into solvable issues or thoughts to be discarded.

Even through the thick comforter, the scent emitting from the gland on Heeseung's thigh is strong. Jungwon isn't sure if it's the exhaustion, the stress, or just that Heeseung is particularly potent but slowly a fog sets in. At first he thinks it's just the tiredness that's already pushed him into being overly energetic, knows that he should head back to his own bed or at least just let Heeseung fall asleep. The slightly off touch to the top of his head, the petting of his hair that almost drags across his face, is more than enough evidence that he should go. That Heeseung is too tired, but too nice to say so.

Jungwon swallows dryly. His head feels weighed down by the fog, and he knows that if Heeseung asked if he wanted to climb in under the covers he would; he isn’t entirely sure he’d even think to climb up first, would be happy to just press closer right where he is, against Heeseung’s skinny thigh.

He had thought he was getting used to being around so many scents, disconcerting and dizzying, but it was still overwhelming sometimes. It was another reason presenting worried him. It was already so much sometimes.

He wants Heeseung to keep petting his hair, maybe even play with it, and he wants to lay like this until he feels rested. He can’t. Practice begins again in too few hours.

It happens without him thinking about it at all, it's only when he makes skin to skin contact that he realises that as Sunoo has leaned closer over his shoulder to better see the iPad screen that Jungwon's hand has searched for Sunoo's — for someone who had been so open about taking his hand first and reaching out before Jungwon ever did, Sunoo seems slower to reciprocate now. The backs of their hands touch, and Jungwon hesitates trying to tangle their fingers together even if he can't stop the touch entirely. He brushes his fingers across Sunoo’s knuckles, dancing over the fingers where they rest on his thigh, the back of their hands pressed together.

Jungwon has seen how Sunoo shies away sometimes or hesitates before allowing touch, much more careful with doling it out than Jungwon is. It surprises him at first, remembering the weight and warmth of Sunoo's soft hand in his, their fingers intertwined all those weeks ago. Now Sunoo makes no move to allow Jungwon's hand to slip into his, no move to turn it around for Jungwon to interlace their fingers properly with the palm of his hand cradled in Sunoo’s, nor is there any angling to leave space beneath it and his thigh for Jungwon to slip his hand into.

It's still nice, what he's allowed, but Jungwon is someone who in many situations is better at expressing himself with actions over words. Physical closeness is a token of affection he's uncertain about how else to show, and how should he express his desire to be closer if he's not allowed closer than this? It doesn't feel like it's enough, and he fears there's only so many times he can photobomb Sunoo's selfie time before he risks becoming too much of a genuine nuisance for Sunoo to put up with it anymore, instead of just laughing and angling the camera differently to either cut Jungwon out of the picture or to take one together.

One of Sunoo's fingers moves then, bumping up against Jungwon's just slightly, as he leans in closer. A puff of hot air dances across Jungwon's ear, his hair, the top of his neck. It doesn't tangle their fingers together in that way Jungwon likes best, but a tiny smile tugs on the corner of Jungwon's lips as his attention is refocused on the video they're watching.

When they win the prize of freedom for a day, of being allowed outside of I-Land for the first time in what feels like forever, Jungwon is overjoyed once the fear and distrust settles and it no longer feels as if they’re being booted and thrown out onto the streets without making it to debut.

Getting ready, wearing normal clothes again instead of only sweats and hoodies and stage outfits, it felt like a novelty. That he’s going out with Sunghoon and Heeseung only adds to it.

“Jungwon-ah, so pretty,” Sunoo had said, full lips pouty as he looked at Jungwon with what can be only described as genuine appreciation. Jungwon giggled in return, instantly a bit shy at Sunoo’s open affection and compliment, and as good as it already felt to be wearing normal everyday clothes to go out, it felt even better to know that the pretty omega thinks he’s pretty. Sure, Sunoo has praised all of their looks as they were getting ready, but there’s genuinity behind his words that have Jungwon feel that slight flutter of excitement still. That Sunoo has noticed him.

It’s a fun day, filled with activities that are a mix of what they had wished for and what he guesses will be fun for the viewers to watch as content.

Walking side by side with Sunghoon, he thinks of their outing to Lotte World a while back, before the show. He hadn’t ever considered the possibility of something else, something more, at that point in time. Now, he considers what it would be like to have held his hand whenever possible throughout that visit.

“Hyung, it’s been so long since we went out together,” Jungwon has to tiptoe to whisper the words to Sunghoon, not the most inconspicuous of looks, but the slight flush to his cheeks is worth it. Sunghoon’s fingers find his hip, giving him a mean little pinch in retaliation but he smiles. Heeseung gives them a look, one Jungwon doesn’t entirely understand, but he beams up at the eldest and is rewarded with another smile.

Between the dog café and ice skating and VR games, they also have time to go shopping. An item each or so, and then something for the others back at the house.

They find a nice jacket, Heeseung grabbing it first. The zippers allow the sleeves to come off and leave a vest behind, making it a versatile and functional option. On a whim Jungwon grabs one of the sleeves, starts putting it on while exclaiming “Then I’ll wear this!”. Sunghoon and Heeseung laughing, endeared, as Sunghoon soon follows suit.

Heeseung’s smile is blindingly bright as he laughs, and Jungwon can feel his heart skip a beat. He wants to see that always. Wants it over all the carefully held back and contained smiles, camera ready and perfect, and while they weren’t faked, were still genuine, they weren’t like this. Honest.

(The next morning goes like this: Jungwon blearily blinks his eyes open, a barrage of noise and scents entering the room, and within moments he feels a heavy weight on top of him. Daniel’s face appears straight into his line of vision when he manages to open his eyes.

“Did you prepare gifts?”

Jungwon smiles, finishes stretching, and rubbing at his eyes to force the sleepiness away.)

Jungwon finds himself in Heeseung’s bed again, after a long day in the practice room that felt even longer given the high tension and carefully managed emotions and tumult. Even Jake had seemed a bit rattled by the end of it. Jungwon wonders how much worse it would have been if he could feel every emotion in the scents there, once more glad to be unpresented still. He shifts slightly closer to Heeseung, the warmth of his body inviting and relaxing. They’re curled up beneath the covers, Sunghoon watching them from his own bed.

There is an issue. One that can not be danced around any longer, because the risk of damage is far too big.

Heeseung quietly admits to feeling as if he doesn’t know what to do. How he had actually felt a little excited getting to pick his own team to be in charge of, for his song choice; the ideas that he had for the group, the intent with which he had selected them all, and being shut down and feeling powerless in the face of it. How he carries the weight and the burden of the words K had said so casually, so carelessly, all the way back in the beginning of the show with him even now.

Jungwon watches his profile, the way Heeseung’s lips move as he speaks. He sounds almost embarrassed at his own vulnerability. Like all problems, this too has a solution.

Sunghoon hums quietly. “In all fairness I think that K-hyung hasn’t considered how this affects us, because no one has talked about it. For the representative battle he… led the dance unit well, I think, for most part. Looking back on it, there are certain parts, y’know. That could have been handled better. And maybe his style of leadership worked for DNA because he won that, and Jongseong is, well, Jongseong.”

There’s something there, something implied that Jungwon isn’t entirely privy to.

He thinks of Jongseong at Big Hit, curled into Heeseung’s side late at night as practice was finishing and they were packing up to leave, sweaty but still plastered to each other’s side and looking at something together on a phone, their faces lit up by the blue tinted light of the screen. The little smile that softened Jongseong’s features, the washed out pink of his cheeks when their fingers brushed or when Heeseung tugged at the earring dangling from his pierced lobe with long fingers.

Sunghoon’s voice is fond as he speaks, as is Heeseung’s responding breathy huff of laughter that shakes the bed just slightly.

Heeseung says, “I’m sure his knowledge of Japanese, even if it’s not fluent, helps some. Hyung seems fond of Jongseong-ah. But that's still… it doesn’t help now. I don’t know what to do.”

“Talking helps,” Jungwon says, lifting his chin up to emerge from the blanket he had pulled up high earlier. “Most of our issues during filming have been because we don’t talk enough, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Aigoo, you’re very perceptive, Jungwon-ah,” Sunghoon says, the tone of his voice gentle, lacking that teasing lilt that he is so fond of employing when he feels comfortable enough with someone. He just sounds fonder like this, like he simply means every word he said. Jungwon’s heart beats a little faster in his ribcage.

They continue the conversation even later into the night, far too close to when they know they are going to have to get up in the morning for practice, planning together for what to say and who should bring it up — K was twenty-four and an alpha, it could go downhill fast. Jungwon doesn’t want to put the pressure on Heeseung again, not when he knows firsthand just what the pressure and expectations has done to Heeseung already, but he seems resolute to take this on. Having a pup in his bed might have something to do with it. Jungwon aches. He wishes he could help Heeseung more, better. He nuzzles his nose into Heeseung’s shoulder, a silly little motion.

(To say that K doesn’t take it well is an understatement — but where Jungwon had anticipated, maybe even feared, that a scenario where K didn’t respond well to their words would involve anger, there had been nothing of the sort.)

The responsibility and routine of caring for the cacti is calming. Comforting, even. For a moment nothing matters but going through the necessary actions, and there are fairly straightforward right and wrong baselines to those actions even if he has to learn as he goes, monitoring the two potted plants for any changes if there are any adjustments that need to be made. Jungwon has always enjoyed tending and caring; helping his grandmother out in her garden or watering the plants his mother decorated the living room with. These are the first plants that are fully his own.

He gave them names, Injang and Gardenie, and it feels a little bit more important to keep them alive. He was always going to, of course he was, they were a gift — and they were a gift from BTS at that, which made the two potted plants even more precious, but they were also his.

Jongseong lounged on his bed, watching Jungwon carefully measure the water levels as he tipped the small watering can forward. Cacti are simple, don’t need overly much care. If anything one needs to be careful to not try too hard. There’s a smile playing at Jongseong’s lips. Jungwon hesitated to ask what for, knows the risk of Jongseong closing up is more likely at this stage.

They are each going through their own journeys, taking different parallel paths. Knows that Jongseong still feels a little betrayed and othered by Heeseung’s actions, a little prickly and sore. It signalled more than intended probably, a message clear as day — betas were replaceable after all. And again, no omegas.

In his interview Jungwon had said he would do well regardless of where he went, but that he believed he’d be more likely to succeed with Heeseung. Jungwon hovers a fingertip over the spikes of Gardenie, just slightly feeling the lightest tickle. No pressure, not quite actually touching. Seeing people be eliminated week by week for real is taking a toll on all of them.

“Don’t touch it,” Jongseong says, gentle but firm, voice quiet enough to not startle Jungwon into accidentally twitching and getting pricked by his plant. He turns so much gentler when they’ve removed the microphones, no longer feeling the same need to keep the act up.

“I’m not, hyung,” Jungwon says. He keeps his finger still. Spikes this small are supposedly the worst sort to get out, he’s read. Jongseong falls back onto Jungwon’s pillow, his hair long enough to visibly fan out against the white pillowcase. “I hope you’ve showered before you decided to use my pillow.”

Jongseong grumbles out something unintelligible, mouth getting a little pouty from how he purses his lips. A light flush on the tops of his high cheekbones. Jongseong is handsome, anyone can see that, and he is cool, but like this… like this he’s oddly pretty. The large glasses he’s sporting makes his face seem even smaller.

Jungwon doesn’t believe Heeseung has replaced Jongseong, that the thing with Jake was just genuinely a fresh and exciting friendship because that was just how Jake was; lovely, friendly, bright, and so easy to fall into, but he does know from their talks that Heeseung has been bothered by how close Jongseong has gotten with K. He’s not naive enough to not think the team selection was at least partially motivated by the desire to separate them.

K did clearly suit the concept of the song though, that was undeniable, but Heeseung had one hell of a week dealing with K’s puppy and having to see his own beta so constantly close with an alpha he had still felt so threatened by wearing his patience thin. Their alphas were still at odds. It was one of the things he did not talk with Jungwon about though. Jungwon doesn’t want to assume Heeseung’s intentions.

Jongseong on the other hand had confided in Jungwon, ‘He got to pick and I wasn’t even considered as an option?’, frustrated, but most of all hurt. Who else could he trust with that? Jungwon presses against the spikes just gently, the tickle of pinpricks threatening to break skin, before he pulls his fingers back fully. Jongseong exhales.

The door pokes open, and after a moment Sunoo’s head pops around the corner.

“Oh, hi, Jungwonie,” he smiles, “I was looking for Jay-hyung.”

Jungwon motions to Jongseong’s form on the bed. Jongseong turns over, facing the door instead. His black shirt stretches and clings over his shoulders and back, tugging tighter at the waist from how it’s stuck beneath him. Sunoo’s expressions brightens even more upon finding the person he was looking for.

“Hyung, really, I was talking with Hanbin and it just had me wondering if you’d help me look at—“

Jongseong groans dramatically, flopping onto his back, but Jungwon can hear the smile in his voice when he replies, saying, “Tomorrow, ah, seriously, if even I say we need rest….”

Sunoo laughs lightly.

“Of course, of course, captain,” he says, playful but not mocking. He rests his weight on one leg, hip cocked. Eyes flit between Jungwon and Jongseong. “So you’re sleeping here, then?”

Jongseong’s scent turns a little tart. Jungwon shares a room with Heeseung and Sunghoon. As much as Jongseong clamours that he’s going to steal Heeseung’s bed, he isn’t going to literally force him out of it. And he isn’t going to want to be in Jungwon’s bed with the rest of his sort-of-but-not-really-pack here.

Jongseong doesn’t hold grudges, not really, but he’s softer than most people seem to realise from his straightforward stubbornness and general noise level. How much he cares, how deeply, emotions worn on his sleeve. A tendency towards tenderness, and his heart has taken a few hits now. Even if he’s one of the people Jungwon knows who is the better at shedding negativity, less inclined to let negative feedback get to him and one of the best at trying to implement anything constructive, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect him. The multiple angles of assault from being on a survival show amplifies everything.

“I’m not,” he says, glancing back at Jungwon over his shoulder. Jungwon smiles. “Just hanging out. About to head out.”

Sunoo is clearly pleased by the response from how his smell sweetens and the small smile curling his lips blooms. “Then we can go together? Unless you weren’t— oh, I didn’t interrupt something, did I?”

“Not at all,” Jungwon says. “We were just chilling.”

He motions to his cacti.

Sunoo claps his hands together, eyes seeming to sparkle when he takes note of the small plants. He says, “That’s right, what was it you called them? Injang and…”

“Gardenie,” Jungwon says. Sunoo giggles. His skin is freshly washed and wet looking with skincare, and he smells clean.

“That’s so cute, really,” he says, and Jungwon’s heart beats a little faster. Who can blame him, that’s almost the same thing as Sunoo calling him cute, right? He basks a little in the clear approval. It’s difficult to not smile back when Sunoo smiles like that; in some ways it is as if he truly does brighten any room he steps into. It’s impossible to not look at him. Someone magnetic.

Jongseong pushes off the bed with a groan so loud it startles Jungwon a little. He would’ve gotten pricked by the spikes if he’d still been playing around.

They say their goodbyes and as they head on out they start talking about their team’s performance, the feedback. Sunoo’s voice trails off as he leaves the room, Jongseong right on his heels and expression drawn into a contemplative frown as he considers Sunoo’s words.

Jungwon presses his finger to the dirt and pebbles in the pot. Damp. A few specks stick to his skin.

Ni-ki throws his arm around Jungwon’s shoulders. It feels a little bit different, to be a hyung like this. Ni-ki is bright, naturally extroverted in a way Jungwon could only ever dream of being, and doing his best to learn Korean and to communicate even as he stumbles and fails and relies more heavily on body language and gag comedy to make them laugh. Ni-ki plays around with Sunoo sometimes, drawing laughter from the older boy in a way few can, comfortable with him in a way that comes from their time spent around each other. From their time at the fabled Ground.

Above all, Ni-ki is tactile, which is nice, because so is Jungwon. Bodies, touch, movement; they are concepts Jungwon understands.

Control and precision, perfect execution.

Ni-ki is so talented on stage and barely rewarded for it, yet he consistently hangs on, holds out, Jungwon finds himself wondering what it would take for the judges or the voting fanbase to look at what Ni-ki has to offer and reward it — but then he has to stop himself, the reality of their situation catching up. As much as anybody left is deserving of debut, there is a danger to what it would mean if someone in the lower ranks were to rise for someone in Jungwon’s extremely precarious situation when it comes to the voting. All it would take is one performance, one chance, and Jungwon would miss out on debuting.

They haven’t been on the same team, performing on the same stage together, since the very first mission all those weeks ago. When Ni-ki had thought he had the world at his feet and received a swift fall of grace. It has been a rite of sacrifice more than it had been karmic. He still has the hubris any fifteen year old with confidence in their worth has though. Why not give it your all, even if it looks like a battle you just as well may lose?

Refreshing concepts aren’t just for omegas. Jungwon tells himself this as he watches his face in the practice room mirror, studying every minute movement of his expression. He had done decent enough for Pretty U, to the cheers of his fellow trainees, to Seventeen-sunbaenims kind words and approving gazes. His heart beats harder in his chest. It comes so naturally to Sunoo, and to see him in his element when feeling so out of it himself is terrifying when remembering this is a competition.

Heeseung cringes at his own expressions every now and then when he sees himself in the mirrors, but somehow manages to approach the challenge with the same determination as everything else he sets out to do.

“Versatility is important,” he said when asked, stone faced and throwing out a peace sign by his face in time to his part. Jungwon wonders if it’s driven by Heeseung’s genuine need to be the best at everything, his desire to be as good of an idol as humanly possible, or if the producers asked or suggest he take this route.

Refreshing concepts aren’t just for omegas, Jungwon reminds himself again, even if it rings hollow when he had been praised the last mission for how alluring he had been when performing Flicker, how he had understood the song and the emotion. He still had to spend hours just focusing on his expressions, watching the hyungs through the mirrors, but he had managed it.

Watching Sunoo doesn’t instil him with the same confidence, the belief that he can do it again from mimicry. How could any of them measure up that brightness, how can he be expected to follow eyes that naturally disappear deep crescents from smiles that would stretch his lips awkwardly if he were to match them?

To his left Taki waggles his eyebrows exaggeratedly, causing Jake and Sunoo to laugh, clearly endeared.

“Jungwon, you’re so cute,” Sunoo says, a little whine buried in his voice, entirely shameless, “stop thinking so much, and just— just do it like this.”

Eighth.

Jungwon tries to wrap his head around it. He lost his badge. For the first time, he’s in real danger. Not like it had been in the first part of the show, when he almost got sent to Ground. At the time that had seemed like the end of the world, like it was the worst thing that could possibly happen, like that would have ruined him.

He feels lost. He has over a million votes, and that’s still not enough to enter the debut team.

“Let’s get that badge back after the test,” Jongseong had said. Jungwon hadn’t known where to focus his gaze, looking down between the three that had come forward to welcome him as his smile sat stiffly on his lips. Heeseung, face calm and resolute, stepping forward for the hug first. Jongseong’s small smile, his reassuring words, with his arms open for a hug, too. Sunoo’s warm, welcoming smile.

Hugging three people at once had been a little awkward, Jungwon unable to get his arms around them all, and their fussing still didn’t sit right with him. Didn’t help. Made it… made him feel that worry so much more strongly.

The tight grip Heeseung had on him, almost uncaring that this was an embrace which included more people, forcing a sound out of him, as Jungwon struggled to fit his arm around Sunoo’s shoulders until he lifted it higher— to reach a hand gripping Jongseong’s shoulder in response to the arms Jongseong threw around his waist. He felt Sunoo’s hand next to his. It’s awkward and odd and too many people and all Jungwon can think about is how badly he doesn’t want this to end. His eyes had met with Sunghoon’s, and saw him reach out with a hand, perhaps to indicate that he was next in line after the trio with Jungwon already in their arms. It’s a blur after that. Only now, lying in bed, in a new room, does Jungwon have time to think.

Eighth. The viewers, the fans, didn’t care enough for him to make the lineup. He had been on the verge the last time, had known that he had every reason to be worried. It seems the fatalistic nature of those thoughts had been accurate.

How does one make themself more likeable? More attractive to people voting on them, for him to stand out in a line-up of other talented and handsome and pretty and charming trainees? His approach so far clearly hasn’t been working.

“It’s not over yet,” Heeseung had said.

Sunoo gets three phone calls. Two to his family, he says, but he’s open to calling a friend. He’s probably thinking of one of his friends, but the idea is soon sprung that it could be a friend they all know— Jongseong finds the slip of paper with phone numbers from the eliminated contestants, and they all know who they’re going to call. Sunoo’s smile lights up the entire room when Jaebeom calls back almost immediately after not picking up.

(“Maybe that’s the type of alpha I like,” Sunoo had said to Jungwon once, much earlier. He had that cheeky smile, the one that Jungwon would have thought bordered on flirty if he hadn’t known better. Jungwon isn’t sure if that explanation is really the whole truth either, because Sunoo seems to like Heeseung too, quite a bit, and Jungwon isn’t sure how similar Jaebeom and Heeseung were. They both had easier to tears than Jungwon had, he supposed. And he supposed as far as alphas went, Jaebeom was better than many. Sunoo had flicked his hair back with a delicate movement of his wrist, before continuing, “So many of them look at me and think… certain things. Hmph, as if. What kind of modern omega wants to get pupped by a knotheat straight out of high school? They’re all ‘oh, why do you have goals and aspirations, just have pups and be happy’.”

Sunoo’s alpha knothead impression was very bad, not because he can’t push his voice deep enough, but because he kept wiggling his eyebrows at Jungwon as he did it which made it very difficult to take seriously. But really, what does Jungwon know about what kinds of alphas that omegas want. He’s never asked Euijoo about it. He doesn’t even know if Euijoo likes alphas.

“Maybe,” Sunoo had also said, lips almost touching Jungwon’s ear as he had leaned in, uncharacteristically close, “I even like something else.”)

It’s obvious they aren’t going to be as open and casual as they would have been if it was not a speakerphone call, filmed, everyone uncertain which parts would be aired even as they joked about it, but it’s still something special to see Sunoo so relaxed and happy.

Then Taki is eliminated, and Sunoo picks Sunghoon to join the Chamber 5 team.

In between the rest of them throwing around guesses and Heeseung teasing Jongseong, making him worried about being picked, Sunghoon had slipped everyone’s mind as a potential candidate. Jungwon can’t recall his name coming up even once.

Put on the spot, immediately after eliminations when it was clear they would need another member, and Sunoo just went with what was probably the most reasonable choice. When the reality of his words kick in, it’s too late to take them back. Jungwon is mature enough to admit he reacted immaturely; trying to hide his shocked smile and push down the laughter that threatened to bubble up behind his hand, as both Sunghoon and Jongseong collapsed into their chairs during the announcement. They were so similar sometimes, and opposite at other times. Sunghoon’s scent flares dramatically.

After the metaphorical dust settles, Sunoo apologises to Sunghoon. (“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking— I considered you from the start, but Taki did so well for the interim challenge it only made sense to pick him, but when the spot had to be filled—“)

It’s not quite grovelling. Logically it makes sense to pick Sunghoon. He doesn’t really know how to let go enough to act cute even after the farce he was put through with Pretty U, but his visuals make up for most of it. It’s the same for Jungwon. He grabs Sunghoon’s hand, linking their fingers together. He can do it in five days. If anyone from the Flame On team could take on the challenge, it would be him.

Smile, just smile. You’re so excited to be here.

His own smile feels weak.

“Don’t you think K-hyung will take first place in this test?”

“It can be Sunoo too.” Heeseung says. He definitely has a point there, Jungwon has to concede. “Honestly, I can’t make a guess.”

It isn’t his room anymore, but even beyond the faint traces of when he, Sunghoon and Heeseung had shared it last week, it’s still comforting like nothing else. Everyone comes and goes, treating it like a hangout spot. Heeseung’s scent is still prominent, having stayed in the top 3 again, of course, and the new occupants in the room being Jongseong and Sunoo resulted in a blend of scents that was complex and rich. Comforting, lulling him to relax just a little.

“I’m worried,” Jungwon admits.

“Why?” Heeseung says.

“It’s the first time I don’t have a badge,” Jungwon says. Someone is going to have to leave in just a few days time. He’s trying so hard to acclimate to Chamber 5, the concept, but he can’t shake off the feeling. The criticisms are stronger, louder, and back to being the same as they’ve been throughout the earlier part of the show: ‘You look down too much when you lack confidence’, and ‘Your expressions are lacking’. It’s nothing as scathing as what they had told Jake, and he still has a lump in his stomach from that.

It was cruel, he thinks, one week to praise him so highly and then the next say straight to his face that he was coasting along on the efforts of others. To keep telling them that potential mattered, to allow someone to keep advancing based on potential, and despite clear improvement suddenly changing the narrative.

The door opens. Sunghoon’s scent announces him before he even enters the room, and beneath it, there’s Jake’s lighter and clean scent. Anyone would be welcome to join Heeseung and him, but he can’t deny the calm he feels at seeing their faces.

Everyone is feeling it. How it’s drawing near. The countdown to the finale, to the final top seven, the debut line-up.

It’s a blur after that.

Jungwon takes a deep breath.

Jake’s arm is around him, Sunoo grasping his hand and giving it a comforting squeeze.

Jungwon can’t quite seem to catch his breath.

Sunghoon was a performer and a professional. As much as he yelled in frustration and worry, acting out to the point that their ribbing responses felt more genuine than they’d like to give light to… he somehow managed to deliver a performance worthy of praise for Chamber 5.

Jungwon on the other hand has failed. He’s done for. He knew he wasn’t at his best, that his nerves had taken over and how he just… didn’t quite know how to keep the energy up. He doesn’t want to blame it on anything but himself because ultimately he’s the one responsible for his performance, but he had lost most of what little confidence he had after the mid-evaluation, the mentor's words ringing in his ears.

Sunoo said ‘no, that wasn’t it, Jungwonie you were so cute’, but he carries the sense of impending doom with him. One wrong step is all it takes. One missed expression is all it takes. Jungwon knows this. Jake’s arm around his shoulders feels less comforting and more like an added weight.

It is more difficult than ever to stand in front of the panel, to receive their sentencing.

“I feel like I didn't do a good job as leader, so I wanted to say sorry,” Heeseung says through his tears, voice stuttering over the words as he tries to hold back and keep his composure.

Jungwon wants to tell him he's wrong. It isn't his fault that they, that Jungwon underperformed.

Judgement falls. Hanbin, the only other omega in the house left. There’s only Sunoo now.

Jungwon feels jittery and all wired up; he was almost eliminated and there’s a thrumming buzz in his veins that not even remaining on the show, in the running for the group’s debut lineup, can stop. His body doesn’t feel large or strong enough to contain this feeling.

Heeseung wraps his arms around him, pulls him tightly against his chest. Jungwon doesn’t cry, not again. He’s not the type to get emotional to that degree, at least not very often. A frail, shuddering breath does leave him at the contact though, and he finds himself pressing closer. There is something very comforting about Heeseung. About his tight embrace, this time not wet with either of their tears. Jungwon knows they’ve grown close over the course of the show, has delighted in it, but he hadn’t quite realised the extent of Heeseung’s feelings until this moment. All walls broken down, no distant pedestal left for him to stand on.

Heeseung noses at his neck, familiar and offering another means of comfort. They scent each other for a moment, then Heeseung’s lashes flutter, and he pushes his nose against Jungwon’s skin with an increased pressure— it is not just more pressure than the moment before, but more than ever before. Closer, harder, breathless.

“H-hyung?” Jungwon asks, surprised by the sudden movement.

Heeseung keeps still for a moment, still pressing in as closely, before detangling them enough to pull back. He looks into Jungwon’s eyes, searching for something. His eyes are intense, almost burning. Jungwon watches him with large eyes. Whatever it is Heeseung is searching for, eyes scanning Jungwon’s face and one hand dragging down the side of Jungwon’s ribs, he doesn’t seem to find it.

“Hyung?” Jungwon repeats his question. Heeseung blinks, intense gaze replaced by something gentler, almost doe eyed.

Heeseung and K are not arguing, but discussing something or another as heatedly as Heeseung ever gets. Most of the issues had been solved after the conversation they’d had as the Flicker team during the Chemistry test and Heeseung has allowed himself to lean on K as a hyung since, but tensions are running high again as the end of filming comes closer. The scents of two agitated alphas pour out of them, and while it would usually make Jungwon wrinkle his nose in distaste, something about it this time makes his head feel cloudy.

He sways a little in his seat, and Daniel looks at him with concern.

“Hyung?” Daniel asks carefully. Jungwon blinks at him, rapid little blinks as he tries to clear his head. K raises his voice, from the low murmurs they’d been attempting to hold their discussion at, when replying to whatever Heeseung had said. Their scents spike, even more overwhelming, and any clarity Jungwon had regained is gone in an instant.

“Stop that you nasties, you’re making the pups woozy,” Jongseong cuts in, projecting his voice loudly, booming; his clean herbal, woodsy scent cutting through the haze of messy pheromones and emotions. Betas are the least affected by scents and that along with Jongseong’s headstrong personality makes for a great combination in situations like this. It’s sometimes enough to cut things short before they spiral out of control. He flops down on the couch next to Jungwon, throwing an arm over the back. They don’t quite touch, but it’s an invitation if Jungwon wishes to.

Heeseung and K have enough shame to look a little apologetic for stinking up the common room.

Jungwon exhales. Takes a deep breath, takes in Jongseong’s scent and solid presence at his side. Daniel is still watching him, careful but unsure how to continue. Jungwon smiles at him, a little embarrassed, especially since it seems that Daniel was entirely unaffected.

“Thanks, Jay-hyung,” Daniel says. Jongseong nods at him, body falling laxer already too. He rolls his eyes at K and Heeseung, mouths ‘alphas’.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I reacted that strongly,” Jungwon says. He tucks his feet under him, leaving the slippers on the ground in front of the couch, and his hands in his lap.

Jongseong’s expression is stony and unreadable, dark eyes darker still by the emotion in them. “How have you been feeling lately?”

“Good, Jay-hyung. There’s just, there’s been some stress. Y’know. Jitters.” Jungwon means each word.

They leave it at that.

Jungwon doesn’t mention the ache in his stomach that’s been building over the last couple of days, since just before the elimination, because he knows they’d overreact. Jongseong most definitely, but probably any of the I-Landers left, and any staff notified too. It’s not a big deal, it isn’t as if he has injured himself and is destroying his future by worsening it by continuing the show. It’s like a persistent headache, nothing else. Nerves or stress or both, getting to him.

The cramping in Jungwon’s abdomen is growing worse; it has been building slowly throughout the day, but now it suddenly hits him, just how bad it is or if it’s gotten worse, and his head is spinning. K shoots him a look of concern, placing a hand on Jungwon’s shoulder as he steadies him. Jungwon doesn’t know since when his knees started feeling so weak.

“Jungwon,” K says, voice hesitant, “are you okay?”

Jungwon doesn’t know what to answer; isn’t sure he knows how to answer at all either. His mouth feels cottony, dry, then too wet with saliva, and his mind clouded.

More distantly, he hears Sunoo say, “I think you should step away from him,” and despite the soft phrasing there’s nothing soft or open for discussion about it. Jungwon twists his neck, trying to locate Sunoo.

Sunoo has a duality to him, something he’s told Jungwon has been covered during the filming of the show. Sunoo’s eyes are sharp. Cold in a way that Jungwon has never seen before. Steely. Even his scent comes across as less sweet. A whimper gets stuck in Jungwon’s throat.

Sunoo turns away, to face Sunghoon. “I’m going to take Jungwon back to your room, and you’re—you’re going to warn the others, and get Jay-hyung a-and make sure that the staff finds out now and not later. Now.”

“Hyung?” Jungwon says weakly, a little hoarse. He feels Sunghoon disappear more than he sees it; the tell-tale scent lingering in the air but the source of it gone. K’s grip on his shoulder has shifted from something light to steady him to something just on the wrong side of too tight. The sound of Jungwon’s voice has him squeezing a little, too strong, and Jungwon trembles. Sunoo’s eyes snap back to him.

Everything feels a little blurry around the edges, like when one has a really high fever.

“K-hyung, you need to leave now,” Sunoo says, calmly and evenly. For a beat nothing happens, so he continues, still calmly, to speak. Only now it’s a little beguiling, voice sweeter, the way omegas act to appeal to alphas, the way that some call manipulative. “Let go, so we can help Jungwonnie.”

Fingernails dig into Jungwon’s skin uncomfortably for a moment, even through the thickness of his hoodie, and then suddenly the grip is gone. The oppressive pressure from just beside him gone, and K’s shoes squeak against the floor as he backs away in a rush. As if he’s tearing himself away.

Sunoo rushes up to Jungwon, and it’s a good thing, because Jungwon doesn’t think he can quite manage to stand on his own as he slumps into Sunoo’s arms. He blinks up at Sunoo, again unsure at how to get the words out. His eyes must look desperate, or at least as confused as he feels, because Sunoo hushes him gently and releases his scent, full of calming pheromones — Jungwon relaxes, the cramp low in his stomach and legs easing.

“Wha-what’s goin’ on?” Jungwon slurs, fingers gripping Sunoo’s hand hard.

“You need to lay down, c’mon Jungwonnie,” Sunoo says, scent lovely and clouding Jungwon’s mind further. Jungwon nods.

“Need to,” Jungwon mumbles back, slow because of how heavy his tongue feels, because responding was the right thing to do. He blinks, tries to remember what Sunoo said next. “Go? Down..?”

“That’s right,” Sunoo coos; everything about him is so sweet; his face, his voice, his scent. Jungwon isn’t exactly sure of when they left the practice room, only that they have.

The scents around him assaults him in a way Jungwon has never before experienced, barreling into him with as much impact as a kick to his side would in a taekwondo match. Has it always been like this, he wonders, nose twitching, but a part of him also knows it hasn’t, knows that it’s never been this heavy or potent before, never as confusing or overwhelming. Each and every scent carries with it a confusing jumble of emotions and physical reactions, amplified.

Sunoo’s scent is a constant; a cloud that envelops him, and he pushes out pheromones more strongly now to override everything else, tugging Jungwon along by the hold he has on his waist.

“Come on, just a bit further now,” Sunoo calls gently, almost cooing again, voice sticky with his characteristic sweetness. Jungwon nods his head, nosing along Sunoo’s neck in search of the bare skin hidden by the hoodie. Has Sunoo’s shoulders always been this broad? His brows furrow and his mouth twists into something almost sour as the pain in his abdomen increases, and then just as suddenly as it spiked, the pressure and pain dissipates.

His body feels a thousand times lighter, floatier. Foggy.

Sunoo makes an unhappy sound, or maybe it’s a curse, and the tip of Jungwon’s nose finally hits bare skin. While not directly at Sunoo’s scent gland, with the fabric out of the way his scent is already so much clearer, less diffused. Jungwon’s knees tremble, his gums aching at the sweetness. It’s so close he can almost taste it.

A door clicks open, and Sunoo pushes him away, sends him stumbling backwards and Jungwon’s head spins when he lands on his back — he’s relieved it’s a soft surface, distantly realising there was nothing he could have done to brace for the impact if it hadn’t been. Sunoo’s concerned face pops into view again, his smile apologetic, angelic, when Jungwon reaches for him.

Then, Jungwon inhales and it comes crashing over him: he’s inside a space dominated by familiar comforting scents and just hints of the cacophony outside. The lactonic scent of Sunghoon with the underlying almost earthy pine tree, surprisingly deep; Jongseong’s sandalwood and benzoin, the herbal tinge of sage; Heeseung’s heady musk, the deep smoky spice, and cedar.

Pack.

Sunoo speaks but Jungwon can’t really hear him anymore, the words not registering, as the molten heat takes over his every limb and he sinks deeper into the mattress.

After that, Jungwon’s memories only come in flashes. The heat in his body was a constant, as was the near electric desperation sparking across his skin, the flashes of pain cresting, and almost worst of all, how overwhelmingly lonely he felt.

Sunoo had helped him get onto the bed more comfortably, had taken off his slippers. Asked if something about whether Jungwon wanted anything else off, before he helped him under the familiar smelling covers, head resting on a familiar pillow. Sunoo, on top of the sheets, petted his hair and spoke gently, perhaps guiding him, talking him through it. Jungwon doesn’t remember a lick of what he said, only the sound of his voice being something to hold on to as his body forced all semblance of control out of his grasp.

At some point they moved from the bed to a nest on the floor behind one of the other beds, scented comforters and pillows arranged to cause as little distraction as possible. Jungwon had moved some stuff around, just to make it more right, because he knows he didn’t build the nest himself. He had been annoyed that Sunoo wasn’t joining him in it until he voiced complaints.

He had no family around, no pack, only Sunoo to stand in. Sunoo who made him drink water and eat light snacks. Sunoo who fed him sweets that tasted less sweet than the air around them smelled, sticky and heavy on the back of his tongue. Sunoo who gave him damp towels to clean up with, helping him when Jungwon cried from over-sensitivity and cramps alike.

More than once Jongseong’s scent and voice outside of the door had caught his attention; and maybe, he could’ve sworn, Heeseung’s fresh scent leaked in through beneath the tiny crack, at some point. The sound of spray bottle scent-blockers, how it all disappeared, just how the scents in his nest were wearing away with time too.

Neverending burning desire that he refuses to recall. Rubbing against the comforters and blankets, slick between his cheeks and on his thighs. So wet inside. The way he bit his lips bloody, refusing to beg, only sounds of pain leaving him with the rise and ebb of the cycle of dissatisfaction and his body going through the change. The shameful relief, the desperation building and building and building until something snapped and it felt like a freefall back into his own body.

The faces he refused to consider, the physical memory of bodies he has touched under completely different circumstances haunted him. Mocked him. How he called out ‘hyung’, aching and distressed.

Jungwon really isn’t someone who cries easily, or often. He still vividly remembers looking at Sunoo with tears stuck in his lashes. His own miserable pheromones in the air whenever he’s left alone. It wouldn’t have been fair to ask Sunoo to give up hours of practice time, so Jungwon hadn’t. The moments of lucidity were the worst.

(They were going to have to burn Heeseung’s bed before Jungwon lets anyone back inside. When he says as much, Sunoo just laughs brightly. Jungwon’s cheeks are flaming red.)

The decision to not announce Jungwon’s presentation on the show was made. If it had happened earlier it could have been worked into it, a storyline made out of it, but as it happens so late before the live show and finale it was a PR risk too high to gauge properly at this time.Not so much the response to his presentation as the risk of it overtaking the articles the companies wanted published announcing the debut group. Especially if he didn’t make it.

Jungwon can’t say that he minds, quite the opposite — he’d say he prefers it even, covered in scent blockers that minimise his own scent and give the appearance of something more similar to unpresented pup still. Sunoo had pouted when he picked up on it at first, and there had been something almost forlorn in Heeseung and Jongseong’s faces. Sunghoon had observed him quietly. (K still struggled with meeting his eyes.)

All the trainees already eliminated are present for the filming in the I-Land building today, and getting their hair and makeup done to be camera ready. They don’t know either, about Jungwon’s presentation, and no one seems to pick up on any difference to Jungwon’s scent, even if Geonu does sniff the air a little bit extra as they start chatting. Jungwon has missed him.

Sunoo is chatting animatedly with Hanbin and some of the other former Grounders. Someone makes an off-handed comment about how he must be happy to have another omega around again. Jungwon’s heart skips a beat, refusing to look in that direction.

The filming is surprisingly fun though. Light hearted, jovial, and a bit loud as the bickering escalates into shouting at each other. The silly topics, the vaguely pointed questions that can’t cause any real offence. The tension and weight of the actual show feels distant.

Jungwon likes Ni-Ki’s reaction to his presentation the most, he thinks. Maybe because it had been to act as if absolutely nothing was different. Or rather, Ni-Ki didn’t act differently at all and it didn’t even seem to be pretend. It’s the only time Jungwon feels as if Jongseong’s promises from all those weeks ago, about how nothing had to change, were actually true.

He knows he is going to have to deal with this situation eventually. The Jungwon-has-developed-crushes-on-people (plural) situation, the same initially vague feelings that until now for most part have been possible to be explained away as a cross-mix of friendship and admiration.

It’s just another situation that has arisen; just another problem to be solved. There is always a solution, or several. Some more agreeable than others. How he deals with this situation is going to depend on many things though. Such as whether or not he debuts at all, or if they debut with him. Before these factors are decided there is no telling what the correct course of action would be.

Sunoo catches his eye from across the room and despite having been in the middle of a conversation with the make-up artist and hair stylist working on him, he cocks his head slightly before he shoots Jungwon a smile — even as he’s admonished for moving so suddenly. Even if it doesn’t entirely reach his eyes, from how close they are to the finale.

Jungwon wonders if there’s something wrong with him for having his first heat before his first kiss.

The finale is aired live. The results will be announced live. It feels very different. There will be no second takes, no editing, cutting it into something better or to present a variation of the truth. No mistakes can be hidden, nor will they be shown on repeat.

Dark eyeliner smudged around his lashes, mascara, powder, lip gloss. Jungwon watches himself in the mirror as the make-up artist does her thing. It’s a little fascinating how much more sensitive his nose is to the scent of others now, how much more attuned he is to them. The make-up artist’s gentle beta scent is floral but slightly peppery, but not to the degree where it feels like he needs to sneeze.

Jungwon greets Taki, chatting to him for a moment before he disappears over to K and Ni-Ki, just as Jongseong leaves them, almost as if they timed swapping places. The thought makes a small giggle bubble up in Jungwon’s throat, though he swallows it down before Jongseong has the chance to notice it.

Jongseong hovers, more than usual. Jungwon lets him.

According to Sunoo, outside of the time spent practising Jongseong had spent all hours of Jungwon’s presentation heat guarding the door to the bedroom Jungwon was in, because it had been determined that Jungwon was too far along to be removed from the I-Land building by the point the staff had been alerted and begun to act on it.

There was no official heat or rut room in the building, nothing fully scent proofed. The presented omegas and alphas were on a steady regime of military grade suppressants, just like many debuted idols from larger companies were these days. Even with just two alphas left, it seemed like Jongseong’s instincts wouldn’t allow the risk.

Jungwon offers Jongseong a smile, hoping for placating rather than nervous. Maybe it ends up a bit of both. Jongseong holds back from patting his head and ruffling his hair, Jungwon can tell. The scent blocker patch covering the scent gland on his neck itches a little.

“You should nap, if you can,” Jongseong says gruffly. There’s a couple of hours left until the live filming begins. Jungwon shakes his head.

“Can’t,” he says. He needs to go through the choreography again; not with full movements, but going over each step in his mind. He missed days of practice due to his heat. He needs this performance to be perfect. He refuses to fail to reach his goal, his dream of debuting, if he hasn’t at least given it his all. It’s not who Jungwon is.

As much as he likes the other remaining trainees, no matter how close they’ve grown, they have now reached the point where it is them or him.

It’s not that he doesn’t care who he has to take a spot from, working his way up from ninth place, but more that he can’t allow himself to care. He lost his spot on the debut team after the last global voting, and stayed outside of the top seven through his own faults during the concept test. He knows that it might be too late to turn it around, to win over the hearts of enough people to debut, and his tumultuous heat offered another setback to having the perfect comeback.

He doesn’t dare set his hope to the producers, no matter how logical it had sounded when Sunghoon said it a couple of nights ago when they were sitting alone, having a midnight snack. That Jungwon had scored well for almost every performance, ranked highly in the missions, was obviously talented, one of the most consistent and even in his performance, the hidden ace amongst them. ‘Jungwon-ah, you’ve heard what the producers and mentors have said about you,’ Sunghoon had said, but Jungwon also remembers every piece of negative feedback, how critical they had been after so many of the performances, that while he had scored high it had never been outstanding. Only memorable because it was higher than the other’s. And ultimately, where someone else might get by with their potential, Jungwon feels that he is expected to show that he’s good enough. He wonders if Heeseung has felt the same thing. Assumes he has.

Jungwon hasn’t told anyone, but he’s started to consider what his elimination speech will be. He had started working on it for the elimination during the concept test, which he had admitted to, but he’s considered it in further detail now. They’re having established seniors as their audience today, and his stomach does this funny thing when he thinks about BTS being there.

Heeseung sits down in one of the empty chairs. His slouch is deceivingly casual, but Jungwon is glad he’s not quite as tense yet as he usually is by this time before a performance. His eyes gaze locks onto where the scent patch is hiding beneath Jungwon’s shirt. It still seems to bother him that he can’t detect Jungwon’s real scent, though has gotten better about not letting the agitation show.

“You can’t scent him again, hyung,” Jongseong warns. Heeseung scoffs, a behaviour so petulant it makes him seem years younger, and it has Jungwon giggle a little. Heeseung shifts to glare half-heartedly at him, a slight pout tugging at his lips. It’s too easy to forget that just because he’s among the oldest — the second oldest still remaining — he only became an adult this year. The three years between them have always felt insurmountable. Now Jungwon isn’t so sure that’s true. He doesn’t want it to be.

“If he can’t smell like himself he should at least smell like me,” Heeseung argues. Jungwon is inclined to agree. Jungwon doesn’t want to admit it, but he thinks it would calm him down.

Jongseong snorts, clearly more amused than he has any right to be.

“Down, boy,” he says in English, and Jungwon isn’t entirely certain what he means by that, only that Heeseung seems to grasp it, displeased little snarl curling his lips crookedly, all in that moment before Jongseong quickly switches back to Korean and says, “hyung, you’re acting stupidly Alpha.”

Heeseung grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously close to ‘maybe I am a stupid Alpha’, scent souring, and it makes Jungwon want to crowd into his space and release his own pheromones, to calm and soothe the lines between his eyebrows, to make the smile return to his lips. He can’t do that, not with the scent blockers or the patch itching at his gland.

He lets out a little sound instead, the one that Jake had called a chirp when he heard it. Jungwon wasn’t sure how it was different from other sounds he made, or if it was just that he was an omega now that had it labelled differently. It makes Heeseung’s eyes snap to him though, and Jongseong reaches out to ruffle his hair. The previous tension is gone, the heightened emotions of this moment deflated.

It’s so near now, the end.

Weeks and weeks and weeks of work, it all boils down to this. He can almost taste it now; whether the sweetness of victory or the bitterness of defeat. There is no one unworthy of still being here, but two of them must leave for the remaining seven to soar.

The voiceover in the loudspeaker rings out and Jungwon fights down the shudder that threatens to betray his feelings upon hearing that words — “Standby.” — for what is probably the last time. He can feel the eyes of the judges, of the sunbaenims on them. One last shot. It’s a sealed deal already for most of the lined up, the fan votes having come through and been counted.

Yang Jungwon. Age 17. Omega.

First place in the final episode of I-Land.