Chapter Text
The studio was suffocating—heat thick with frustration, the air clogged with the scent of sweat and cheap body spray. Minho’s patience had worn thin hours ago, but the trainees still couldn’t get through a single routine without tripping over themselves.
“One, two, three—turn, not stumble,” he snapped, voice razor-sharp as he paced along the mirrored wall. His arms were crossed, jaw clenched, muscles wound so tight his scent spiked—coffee and milk, but bitter now, burnt at the edges with irritation.
The group froze. Wide-eyed, nervous, alphas and betas alike bowing their heads instinctively under his sharp gaze.
Minho exhaled through his nose. Fucking useless.
“Again.”
The music restarted. The same mistakes grated against his nerves like nails on glass. He could feel it—the creeping headache, the heat under his skin, the exhaustion curling in his gut. His hands clenched into fists, nails pressing crescents into his palms. He needed to get out of here before he lost his temper.
A soft throat-clear behind him.
“Minho,” the senior choreographer murmured carefully, like he was diffusing a bomb. “Maybe we should take a break?”
Minho inhaled sharply. His scent smoothed out—just enough to keep his composure. He flicked a hand toward the trainees.
“Ten minutes. Don’t waste it.”
They practically fled.
Minho dropped onto the edge of the stage, elbows on his knees, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. His heart was pounding, the stress coiling at the base of his skull. He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake it off, but the weight in his chest wouldn’t budge.
“This job is going to kill me,” he muttered.
—
By the time the afternoon rolled around, things hadn’t improved. His phone wouldn’t stop vibrating—messages from managers, updates on schedules, reminders to rest (as if he had the time), and, of course, the courting gifts.
Minho barely spared them a glance. A designer watch. Expensive cologne. Rare flowers. A box of chocolates from some prestigious brand. A bottle of vintage wine.
He snorted. At least this one’s useful.
Dodging reporters on the way out of the studio was another battle. The flashing cameras, the swarm of questions—What’s your ideal type? Are you currently seeing someone? Do you prefer alphas or betas?—it was all white noise. He kept his head down, hoodie drawn over his face, ignoring the tug of invasive gazes.
It wasn’t until he was in the car, city lights blurring past, that he let out a slow breath. The scent of too many people still clung to his clothes, clashing—alphas, betas, perfumes too strong. He wrinkled his nose, rolling down the window to let the cold air cut through it.
His destination: Hyunjin and Changbin’s mansion.
—
The estate was as extravagant as ever, bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun. The gates swung open on approach, the driveway stretching endlessly before leading up to the massive front doors.
The butler greeted him with a bow. “Good evening, Mr. Lee. The others are waiting for you on the terrace.”
Minho nodded and stepped inside, navigating the halls with ease. He could already pick up their scents—warm vanilla and honey for Felix, crisp apples and soft florals for Hyunjin. Comforting, familiar. The tension in his shoulders finally began to uncoil.
When he stepped onto the terrace, Felix was sprawled across a lounge chair, golden hair catching the light, a glass of something sweet in hand. Hyunjin was perched on the balustrade, legs crossed at the ankle, sipping champagne with an elegance only he could pull off.
“Minho!” Felix beamed, eyes crinkling as he lifted his glass. “You made it.”
“Barely,” Minho muttered, holding up the wine bottle. “But then I remembered I had this, and I figured it might make the night bearable.”
Hyunjin raised a brow, amused. “Another courting gift?”
Minho scoffed, setting the bottle on the table. “What else? Some alpha thought a fancy bottle of wine would impress me.”
Felix hummed, inspecting the label. “At least they have taste.”
“Debatable.”
They poured the wine, settling in as conversation began to flow. The scent of home surrounded Minho—warm, familiar, safe. Away from the relentless expectations, the industry politics, the shallow affections.
“So,” Hyunjin drawled, twirling his glass, “how bad was today?”
Minho groaned, tipping his head back against the chair. “The trainees couldn’t dance to save their lives. I was this close to losing it.”
Felix winced in sympathy. “Yikes.”
“And then reporters on the way out, like always. And—” He gestured vaguely at the wine bottle. “Five courting gifts today. Five.”
Hyunjin smirked. “Even for you, that’s excessive.”
Minho huffed. “It’s exhausting. It’s like no one actually sees me. They just see the image. The ‘Sexiest Omega Idol’ or whatever bullshit title they’ve slapped on me this time.”
Felix’s expression softened. “That must be frustrating.”
“You have no idea.”
Hyunjin leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm. “To be fair, you do look like a Greek god.”
Minho shot him a withering look. “Don’t start.”
Felix chuckled, nudging Minho’s knee. “They don’t know what they’re missing. But at least you have us.”
“And wine,” Hyunjin added with a smirk, raising his glass.
Minho huffed a quiet laugh, finally relaxing a little. “Thank god for that.”
The conversation drifted, the wine loosening their edges. But Hyunjin, ever the instigator, couldn’t help himself.
“You know,” he began, tone lazy but pointed, “not all alphas are terrible.”
Minho arched a brow. “Debatable.”
Felix grinned, tilting his head. “Come on. Chan and Changbin are proof that decent alphas exist.”
Minho made a vague, dismissive gesture. “They’re exceptions. Every alpha I meet either wants to control me or treat me like a trophy.”
Hyunjin hummed, swirling his wine. “Maybe you just need to look in the right places.”
Minho scoffed. “Oh, sure. Let me know when the ‘right’ alpha magically appears and isn’t a controlling asshole with an ego the size of this mansion.”
Felix sighed, softer now. “I get it. Really. But don’t give up yet. Someone real is out there. Someone who sees you for you.”
Minho didn’t respond, just stared into his glass. He wanted to believe that. But he knew better.
People wanted the idea of him—the stunning omega, the untouchable idol. They wanted the fantasy, not the reality.
And honestly?
He was tired of being a fantasy.
He lifted his glass instead, a small smirk curling his lips. “Well, until then, I have you two.”
Hyunjin grinned. “Damn right.”
Felix clinked their glasses together, warm and reassuring. “To us.”
And for tonight, that was enough.