Work Text:
Dohyeon had always been the type to plan things out. Even though he was an alpha, he wasn’t reckless. He didn’t act on impulse, and he certainly didn’t do anything without weighing every possible outcome first.
Which was why it should’ve been a bigger deal, the fact that he hadn’t planned this.
When he asked Hyunjoon if he could court him, it hadn’t been thought-out. There was no script, no mental rehearsal. One second, they were standing there, hovering at the edge of something unspoken, and the next… Dohyeon was asking.
Simple. Direct.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And maybe, in a way, it was.
Because if he’d stopped to think about it, if he’d broken it down like he did everything else, he probably would’ve hesitated. Told himself it wasn’t the right time. That things between them were still shifting.
But he hadn’t. And that was what unsettled him most.
Because if even he didn’t need time to think it through—if it came that easily, that instinctively—then maybe this had never really been a choice at all.
Maybe it had always been inevitable.
Still, inevitability didn’t come with instructions.
After Hyunjoon said yes, Dohyeon expected something to change. Maybe a shift in rhythm. A sign that this was different now.
But it wasn’t. Not really.
Hyunjoon was still Hyunjoon. Still leaned against the kitchen counter half-asleep every morning. Still stole bites of Dohyeon’s food. Still called him “Dohyeon-ah” like they hadn’t just agreed to the courtship at all.
And yet… something was different.
Dohyeon could feel it in the way Hyunjoon’s scent lingered a little longer. In the way their eyes caught and held, even if just for a second. In how naturally Dohyeon’s instincts settled when Hyunjoon was near.
It wasn’t dramatic. There was no line drawn in the sand. Just this slow, steady thing shifting beneath the surface.
And honestly? That scared him a little.
Because if he wasn’t paying attention, he might’ve missed it entirely.
He’d expected some kind of signal. Something clear.
Instead, it was this . Soft, careful, real.
He should’ve known it would be like this. That Hyunjoon wouldn’t suddenly act differently just because they’d given a name to something that had been there all along.
Still, the uncertainty sat in his chest like a weight.
Because the pack didn’t know yet.
And if even he was struggling to feel the difference… would anyone else? Would Hyunjoon?
He wasn’t doubting what they had—not for a second. But he also wanted to do it right.
Whatever right even meant.
Which was how, a week after the HLE team reunited, to prepare for the summer split, Dohyeon found himself sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the TV while everyone else argued about takeout.
His phone sat in his lap, still open to the article he’d searched earlier:
Traditional Courting Rituals for Alphas and Omegas.
He sighed and dragged a hand down his face. Of course he was researching this.
At the time, it had seemed smart. Logical. Something to give him structure, a blueprint. Expectations.
Instead, it was a mess.
He had been met with an overwhelming list of customs, some of which sounded outright ridiculous.
“An alpha is expected to present their omega with gifts, often hand-crafted or chosen with deep personal meaning—”
That one was fine. He could do that.
“Protective instincts will increase during courtship; an alpha may struggle with possessiveness if they are not careful—”
He grimaced. Next.
“Traditional courting dictates that the alpha will formally announce their intentions to their pack—”
He scrolled faster.
Yeah. That wasn’t happening. Not yet at least.
His pack was already insufferable. Hwanjoong would turn it into some drawn-out spectacle, Geonwoo would have entirely too many opinions, and Wangho…Wangho would just look at him. And that would be worse than anything else.
Dohyeon wasn’t ready for that.
Not because he wanted to keep it a secret. Not that. But because it still felt like something delicate. Not fragile exactly, but new. Private.
Something that hadn’t quite found its shape yet.
Still, the question lingered.
Was he supposed to be doing more?
Nothing around them had changed—not in ways anyone else would notice. But he noticed.
And that was why he started making a list.
Of little things. Of ways to show Hyunjoon this meant something.
Because Dohyeon had never done things halfway.
If he was going to court Hyunjoon, then he was going to do it properly.
Even if Hyunjoon didn’t expect it.
Even if no one else knew.
So in the end, he decided to start simple.
The first step: gifts.
Nothing extravagant, nothing flashy, just thoughtful little things. Something that showed he was paying attention. Something that made it clear, without making it obvious, that this was different now.
Which, in theory, should’ve been easy.
But it wasn’t.
Because regardless of how much his family struggled financially when he was a kid, Dohyeon was now well-off. He had enough money that if he wanted to, he could’ve bought Hyunjoon something expensive without blinking.
And that was the problem.
It would’ve been too easy. Too impersonal.
He knew Hyunjoon well enough to understand that gifts weren’t about price tags. They were about intention and meaning.
And Dohyeon wasn’t the type to spend just for the sake of it anyway. He was practical, careful. He made purchases that made sense and had purpose.
But this wasn’t about practicality. It was about showing that he cared in a way that Hyunjoon would feel.
And that meant he had to try.
Which meant he had to overthink.
Which meant that somehow, despite all the planning and preparation, he still managed to mess up the very first one.
The gift itself wasn’t bad. On the contrary, it was a genuinely nice travel mug; sleek and well-made, customized with Hyunjoon’s name in clean engraving. It was something Hyunjoon could use every day since he loved drinking coffee.
Except when he handed it over, Hyunjoon took one look at it and laughed.
Not in a mean way—never in a mean way—but in the kind of way that made Dohyeon’s ears burn, because yeah, okay. Maybe it did scream like something you’d give for Secret Santa at a company Christmas party and not for courtship.
Regardless, Hyunjoon had thanked him, fingers brushing lightly over the mug, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. And Dohyeon caught the look in his eyes. The restrained teasing, the amusement he didn’t say out loud.
He didn’t need to. Dohyeon already knew.
It hadn’t landed the way he wanted it to.
Fine. That was a misstep.
He could do better.
He would do better.
The second attempt was… slightly better. Maybe.
He thought back to all the times Hyunjoon had grumbled about craving something sweet late at night, all the times he had reached for a snack he claimed he wasn’t supposed to eat but still enjoyed anyway.
So Dohyeon put together a little basket filled with Hyunjoon’s favorite snacks. The ones he always pretended to avoid but secretly loved.
It was supposed to be a low-key, casual gesture. But when Hyunjoon walked into the kitchen and spotted it, he stopped short. His eyes widened, caught somewhere between surprise and disbelief.
“Dohyeon...”
The alpha looked up from the counter. “…What?”
Hyunjoon stepped closer, picking up one of the bags with both hands like it might vanish if he wasn’t careful.
“You remembered all of these?” he asked quietly.
Dohyeon shrugged, trying not to fidget. “You like them.”
Hyunjoon didn’t say anything at first. Just looked down at the basket, expression softening by degrees. Then, almost reluctantly, said, “you know Wangho-hyung’s going to throw these out if he sees them, right?”
Dohyeon barely missed a beat. “Then we’ll hide them.”
Hyunjoon blinked. “What?”
“In your room. Closet shelf, behind your jackets. He won’t check there. Or we could hide it in mine.”
There was a pause. Then Hyunjoon huffed a breath of laughter, shoulders loosening. “You’re serious?”
Dohyeon reached for the basket. “Come on. We have to move fast before someone walks in.”
Hyunjoon followed, quiet for a few steps. Then, just before they left the kitchen, he said, voice low, “…Thank you.”
Dohyeon glanced at him.
Hyunjoon wasn’t smiling now, not exactly. But his eyes were warm.
And yeah. That felt like a win.
By the third attempt, Dohyeon felt like he was finally getting the hang of this.
The mug had been too formal. The snacks had been a hit. Now, he needed something thoughtful but simple. Something that showed he was paying attention.
So he got Hyunjoon a T-shirt.
A plain white T-shirt.
Dohyeon had spent way too much time picking it out, mind you.
He knew Hyunjoon wore plain T-shirts all the time; under jackets, with jeans, to bed. They were simple and easy. And they looked good on him. Really good.
So, in his mind, it made sense. If he was going to get Hyunjoon something, it should be something he’d actually use, like the mug. Something familiar, like the snacks. Something that would fit seamlessly into his wardrobe.
But if he was going to go simple, then it had to be perfect .
He read a lot of reviews online to find the best one. And when he got it, he wasn’t disappointed. It was high quality, soft, and structured just right.
So when he handed it to Hyunjoon, he expected at least some appreciation.
Hyunjoon held it up, turning it over slowly in his hands. His expression was unreadable at first, somewhere between confusion and curiosity.
“…It’s a white T-shirt,” he said finally.
Dohyeon nodded, arms crossed. “A good white T-shirt.”
Hyunjoon blinked at him. Then at the shirt. Then back again.
“You know I already own, like… ten of these, right?”
“Yeah,” Dohyeon said. “But not this one.”
There was a beat of silence. Then Hyunjoon let out a breath, not quite a laugh. “You seriously went through all that effort for this?”
Dohyeon frowned, not defensive, just honest. “You wear them a lot. White suits you.”
That made Hyunjoon pause. His expression softened, lips curling into a small smile. He folded the shirt slowly, then looked at Dohyeon like he was seeing past the gesture itself. “You really thought about it,” he said.
Dohyeon didn’t answer, didn’t think he needed to.
Hyunjoon took a quiet step closer.
Then, carefully, almost like he wasn’t sure if he should, he reached out and touched Dohyeon’s hand.
It was just a brush of fingers. But Dohyeon stiffened, caught off guard, not by the contact itself but by the intention behind it.
Hyunjoon didn’t pull away. Instead, he just looked up at him and said, “I like it.”
And it was simple, quiet, and uncomplicated. But it landed with the kind of weight that made Dohyeon’s breath catch in his throat.
Hyunjoon let go like nothing had happened and turned to set the shirt aside. But the warmth stayed.
And maybe that was the real win here.
After the T-shirt, Dohyeon felt… confident.
Well, not confident exactly. But less like he was failing.
So yeah. Maybe he wasn’t terrible at this. Maybe he was actually—quietly, surprisingly—good at it.
Gifts? Handled.
Next step: Acts of Service.
Which, in theory, shouldn’t be that hard.
Because the thing was… Dohyeon had already been doing things for Hyunjoon ever since the omega joined the team. None of it had been deliberate. It wasn’t a calculated effort. It was just instinct. Just… Dohyeon.
Now, though… now there was weight to it since they were courting.
And, once again, Dohyeon found himself wondering if he needed to do more. Or if he needed to make it much more obvious somehow now.
Because Hyunjoon might not see the difference.
And that was the problem.
It started with breakfast. Which, in hindsight, might’ve been too much.
Dohyeon wasn’t a morning person. Everyone knew that. He liked his sleep, hated alarms, and usually didn’t speak to anyone until he’d had coffee.
But still, he got up early, earlier than necessary, earlier than anyone else, just to cook.
It felt like the right move, a sweet gesture. Hyunjoon would appreciate it.
The result however was… mixed.
The eggs were slightly overcooked. The toast was a little too browned. The fruit looked like it had been arranged with a ruler.
He stood there in the kitchen, barely awake but laser-focused, watching the pan like it might betray him.
By the time Hyunjoon padded in—hair a mess, wearing another hoodie, still rubbing sleep from his eyes—the plate was already on the table, along with a glass of water, a fork, and a folded napkin, for some reason.
Hyunjoon stopped in the doorway.
He blinked.
Then blinked again.
His gaze moved from the food to Dohyeon, who was standing weirdly stiff by the counter, hands tucked into the sleeves of his hoodie.
“…Did you get possessed?”
Dohyeon didn’t answer and just gestured at the chair. “Eat.”
Hyunjoon squinted at the plate. “Is that… kiwi?”
“Yes.”
“I’m allergic to kiwi.”
Dohyeon froze.
Hyunjoon stared at him, deadpan.
“…You’re not allergic to kiwi.”
A slow smile crept across Hyunjoon’s face. “No, but I wanted to see if you’d believe me.”
Dohyeon groaned. “Just sit down.”
Hyunjoon did, still smiling. He didn’t comment on the overcooked eggs or the slightly burned toast. He didn’t tease Dohyeon about the folded napkin or the unnecessary symmetry of the plate.
He just ate. Silently.
And when he finished, he stood up, rinsed his plate, and patted Dohyeon on the shoulder.
“Thank you,” he said, voice quiet.
Then he walked out like it wasn’t a big deal.
But it was.
And Dohyeon knew it.
Since they were courting, spending time together was supposed to be important.
Everything he read online said the same thing: alphas needed to be present. That was how the bond grew.
And while Dohyeon hadn’t taken everything those articles said seriously, this part made sense.
He and Hyunjoon already spent most of their days in the same rooms—during scrims, team meetings, meals—but that wasn’t the same. It was proximity, not intention.
So Dohyeon suggested they go to Lotte World. But just the two of them.
He didn’t call it a date. He didn’t label it at all. Just mentioned it casually, as if it weren’t something he’d researched the crowd patterns for two nights in a row.
Still, Hyunjoon had shown up looking suspiciously prepared, wearing his favorite jacket, sneakers, and a grin he was clearly trying to hide.
“So,” the omega said as he fell into step beside him. “What’s the plan, Dohyeon-ah?”
Dohyeon didn’t answer. He handed him the ticket and kept walking.
He’d planned out the whole thing—arriving early to beat the afternoon rush, avoiding the outdoor rides while it was too bright, spacing out food breaks so Hyunjoon wouldn’t get too tired.
He wanted to be as efficient as possible.
What he hadn’t accounted for was Hyunjoon’s complete unwillingness to get on any ride that left the ground.
They were barely past the first section of the park when Hyunjoon took one look at the Gyro Drop and immediately veered away.
“Nope,” he said, backing off with his hands already up. “Absolutely not. That’s a vertical death sentence.”
“You don’t like heights?”
Hyunjoon didn’t even hesitate. “No. I don’t like the part where you get dragged to the top and then pretend not to know when it’s going to drop. That’s the problem.”
There was a second where Dohyeon could’ve teased him. Could’ve made a quiet joke or tried to nudge him toward it. But he didn’t.
He just said, “Let’s do the carousel then.”
Hyunjoon blinked. “Are you serious?”
“I think you’d like it.”
“It’s for kids!”
But five minutes later, they were in line, and ten minutes after that, Hyunjoon was sitting sideways on a gold-trimmed plastic horse, laughing so hard he had to cover his mouth with both hands.
They didn’t go near anything intense after that.
Instead, they drifted through the arcade and played skee-ball until Hyunjoon beat him twice and gloated like he’d won a tournament. They bought snacks shaped like cartoon characters and took a photo in a booth that gave them dog ears and fake blush.
Hyunjoon made Dohyeon wear a ridiculous animal headband that flopped when he walked, and Dohyeon—after three full minutes of refusing—gave in without argument.
At some point, while they sat on a bench near the castle, splitting a powdered donut and watching kids run past in costume, Dohyeon caught himself staring.
Not just looking, but watching.
The way Hyunjoon tilted his head when he talked. The way he pulled his sleeves over his hands when the wind picked up. The way powdered sugar stuck to the corner of his mouth without him noticing.
There was something open about him here. Something light. Unfiltered.
He seemed… happy.
And it hit Dohyeon harder than he expected—that he had helped make that happen.
He’s so pretty when he’s happy.
By the time they reached the park’s exit, the sun was dipping low behind the castle, casting soft light through the trees. They walked slowly, not saying much, the quiet between them easy.
Just before they reached the main doors, Hyunjoon glanced over, his hand brushing lightly against Dohyeon’s, not quite holding it but not pulling away either.
“I had a really good time,” he said with a smile. “Thank you for taking me here.”
And Dohyeon, who had spent the whole day making sure things went well, realized in that moment he didn’t need to say anything clever.
He just nodded once, and somehow, that was enough.
If you thought about it too hard, playing League might’ve seemed like a weak excuse for a date. They were professionals. It was their job. Queueing up together didn’t exactly scream romance.
But for Dohyeon, it made sense.
Long before anything between them had changed, this had already been theirs. Quiet late nights. Ranked grind. Duo queues after scrims when the rest of the team had disappeared into their rooms and the dorm had gone still. It wasn’t something they planned. It just happened—familiar, effortless, and easy in a way not much else was.
So when Hyunjoon leaned back in his chair and asked, “Wanna play?” Dohyeon didn’t hesitate.
“Yeah,” he said.
They both got autofilled. Dohyeon landed in jungle. Hyunjoon ended up mid.
“Of course,” Hyunjoon muttered as he locked in. “Mid against Ahri. Why do I even bother?”
“You could dodge.”
“I could suffer,” Hyunjoon said, “and you could carry.”
Dohyeon didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth lifted. He already knew how this would go.
The match started unevenly. Hyunjoon was already talking during laning phase, his voice low and agitated as he danced around skillshots and muttered about hitboxes. “This champion is so stupid. Who designed this? I’m going to report them.”
Dohyeon was pathing efficiently, checking the map every few seconds. He didn’t speak, but he was watching.
At three minutes, Hyunjoon’s voice came through the room again. “Dohyeon-ah, mid’s getting ugly. If I die here, I want you to lie and say it wasn’t my fault.”
“You warded river,” Dohyeon said.
“She’s cheating.”
Dohyeon sighed. “Hold the wave.”
“Why?”
“I’m already on my way.”
He ganked mid with a clean combo. Hyunjoon hit root, the Ahri burned both summoners, and they secured the kill. First blood.
There was a beat of silence, then Hyunjoon said, softer this time, “Thanks.”
Dohyeon didn’t answer. He just dropped a ward before moving back into jungle.
He hadn’t planned on camping mid, but he ended up there again six minutes in, just as Hyunjoon overcommitted to a trade and found himself at thirty percent HP with no cooldowns.
“You’re spoiling me,” Hyunjoon muttered after Dohyeon bailed him out again.
“You’re lucky I like you,” Dohyeon said before he could stop himself.
The room went quiet for a second. Then Hyunjoon cleared his throat and changed the subject.
It went like that for most of the game. Hyunjoon played forward, impatient, testing the edge of what he could get away with. Dohyeon stayed nearby; hovering lanes, cleaning up vision, handing over blue buff without being asked. He covered for every overstep, adjusted to every sudden roam, let Hyunjoon play how he wanted without interference.
Not because he was obligated to.
Because he wanted to.
Hyunjoon played with feeling. Everything on his sleeve, even in-game. When he was confident, he pressed hard. When he was behind, he got snappy. When he was ahead, like now, he became unbearable in a way that made Dohyeon smile quietly to himself.
“I want another gank,” Hyunjoon said after pushing a wave under turret. “For morale.”
“You’re already fed.”
“I could be more fed.”
Dohyeon was halfway through krugs. “Hold on.”
“I’m going to start typing in chat if you ignore me.”
Dohyeon arrived twenty seconds later. Hyunjoon killed the enemy mid with two abilities and an auto.
“You didn’t even need me.”
“I needed moral support.”
“You had that already.”
“Well now I have you and a bounty.”
At twenty-two minutes, Hyunjoon pinged baron. “We can sneak it.”
“We’re down a player,” Dohyeon pointed out.
“They won’t expect it.”
“You have no ult.”
“I believe in us.”
Dohyeon said nothing, but moved toward the pit.
They didn’t throw, but it was pretty damn close. The enemy team contested late. A messy skirmish broke out—two for two—but Dohyeon smite-secured baron, and Hyunjoon survived with ten percent HP and a dramatically loud gasp.
“Dohyeon-ah,” the omega said, his voice pitched high with leftover adrenaline, “I could kiss you.”
Dohyeon froze for half a second. Not visibly. Not in any way Hyunjoon would catch from across the room. But something in his chest tensed; sharp and instinctive, like the echo of a pulse too deep to name.
He didn’t answer right away.
He couldn’t.
“You say that after every Baron,” he managed finally, voice even.
“Still true.”
Dohyeon exhaled through his nose, trying to shake the way those words sat in his head longer than they should’ve. Hyunjoon didn’t mean it. Not really. That was just how he talked sometimes.
But still.
For a second, it felt real.
And Dohyeon, steady as ever, said nothing more. Just kept playing.
They pushed mid together. Hyunjoon missed his root—too fast on the draw—but Dohyeon was already there to clean it up, weaving between cooldowns and landing the final hit. The rest of the team followed through, and seconds later, the enemy Nexus shattered on screen.
Victory.
Hyunjoon let out a deep, satisfied exhale and leaned back in his chair, arms flopping down like he’d just finished running a marathon. “That was chaos.”
Dohyeon didn’t look away from his screen. “You enjoy chaos.”
“Not as much as I love carrying.”
“You died like five times.”
“ Carried, ” Hyunjoon said, with a smug little tilt to his voice.
Dohyeon didn’t argue. He just started clicking through post-game stats, skimming out of habit more than interest. Behind him, Hyunjoon’s chair gave a soft squeak as he spun lazily, the sound familiar now. Comfortable.
Then, without warning, Hyunjoon said, “Thanks.”
The word cut through the quiet like a clean line. Dohyeon’s hand stilled on his mouse.
“For what,” he asked, voice low.
“For not getting annoyed,” Hyunjoon said. “For letting me be like this.”
Dohyeon turned his head slightly. Hyunjoon wasn’t looking at him. He just staring up at the ceiling, like he didn’t want to see the reaction. His tone was even, but there was something in it that gave away more than the words did. Something a little too vulnerable to be casual.
“I mean,” Hyunjoon continued, softer now, “you don’t have to play around me. But you do.”
Dohyeon watched him for a long moment. The way his legs were curled up in the chair. The sleeves of his hoodie pulled over his hands again. The faint smudge of concentration still clinging to the edges of his expression, like he hadn’t fully come down from the game yet.
He didn’t always know what to do with compliments like that, especially when they came from Hyunjoon, who sometimes joked too easily and deflected twice as fast.
But this one felt different somehow.
“You had fun?” Dohyeon asked.
Hyunjoon nodded, finally turning to meet his eyes. “Yeah. A lot.”
There was no teasing in his voice this time.
Dohyeon stood slowly, stretching his back as the tension eased out of his shoulders. The buzz of the game, the win, Hyunjoon’s voice still lingering in his ears. It all settled like something warm and grounding in his chest.
“That’s good,” he said.
Hyunjoon stood up too, arms lifting overhead with a theatrical sigh. “I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving,” Dohyeon said, already pushing his chair in.
“Still true.” Hyunjoon paused, then asked, a little more quietly this time, “come with me?”
Dohyeon didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
Hyunjoon smiled, smaller than usual, quieter. Like for once, he didn’t feel the need to explain himself.
And for a few quiet seconds, standing there in the low glow of their monitors, neither of them needed anything else.
They walked to the kitchen without speaking, moving through the dim dorm apartment. The hallway light was off, and the only glow came from under someone’s door, one of the others still awake, maybe watching a stream, maybe asleep with the monitor still on. Everything else was quiet.
Hyunjoon padded ahead, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand as he stepped into the kitchen and opened a cabinet like he already knew what he wanted. He didn’t ask if Dohyeon was hungry. He never did. They both just knew somehow.
“Ramen?” Hyunjoon asked, glancing back over his shoulder.
Dohyeon nodded. “Yeah.”
They moved easily around each othere. Hyunjoon pulled out two packs of ramen and dropped them onto the counter while Dohyeon filled a pot with water and set it on the stove. There was no real discussion. Just the quiet give-and-take of movement; one reaching for bowls, the other grabbing chopsticks, passing seasonings back and forth without needing to speak.
When the water started boiling, Hyunjoon tore open the packets dramatically and dumped the noodles in with a flourish. “Chef Hyunjoon, at your service.”
“You’re just adding carbs to water.”
“ With effort. ”
Dohyeon huffed a quiet laugh. “It’s not even your pot.”
“Then technically you’re the sous chef.”
“No, I’m the one making sure you don’t forget the seasoning packet again.”
Hyunjoon gasped. “One time.”
“Twice.”
“Lies. That was a test.”
Dohyeon rolled his eyes, but it didn’t carry any heat. He stirred the noodles once, careful and precise, while Hyunjoon leaned in a little too close to sprinkle in the flakes and immediately backed off when the steam hit him.
They both chuckled under their breath, and something about it—cooking instant noodles in the middle of the night, quietly teasing each other under fluorescent light—felt strangely intimate. Not romantic in the traditional sense. Just… real.
When the ramen was done, they poured it into their bowls, steam curling into the air between them. Dohyeon handed Hyunjoon his chopsticks wordlessly, and Hyunjoon took them with a small smile.
They sat across from each other at the counter, shoulders slouched, too tired to be proper. They ate slowly, quietly, chopsticks clicking softly against the sides of the bowls. The fridge hummed. A pipe creaked somewhere down the hall. But otherwise, the apartment was still.
It was the kind of silence Dohyeon had grown to like. Comfortable and unrushed. The kind that didn’t need to be filled.
But then Hyunjoon spoke. His voice was calm, but too steady to be casual.
“Can I ask you something?”
Dohyeon looked up from his bowl. “What is it?”
Hyunjoon didn’t meet his eyes right away. He was fidgeting with the edge of the counter now, fingers curled loosely around the rim of his bowl, turning it slightly side to side like he needed to keep his hands busy.
“Have you…” He hesitated, then pushed through it. “Have you been doing all of this because you think you’re supposed to?”
Dohyeon blinked. “What do you mean?”
Hyunjoon glanced up now. His gaze wasn’t sharp or defensive… just curious. Curious in a way that felt strangely vulnerable. “The gifts. The breakfast. You spending more time with me. Even how you play around me in-game. It’s like… ever since you said you wanted to court me, you’ve been doing a lot of things for me.” He paused. “Like a lot. ”
Dohyeon stared at him for a moment. He felt the words settle somewhere deep, threading together all the quiet doubts he hadn’t named aloud. His first instinct was to deflect, to say it wasn’t a big deal, that he just wanted to take care of Hyunjoon.
But Hyunjoon wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t looking for a joke or a brush-off. He was asking. Honestly.
So Dohyeon gave him the truth.
“I didn’t know what I was doing,” Dohyeon said, slowly. “I still don’t. I just… wanted to do it properly. I thought if I followed the rules, if I made sure everything I did was meaningful, then maybe it would feel more real.”
Hyunjoon frowned slightly. “Feel more real?”
Dohyeon hesitated, the words sticking. He looked down, searching for a better way to explain.
“I mean…” He let out a slow breath. “After everything that happened, after I said I wanted to court you, everything between us… changed. Or it felt like it did. But also…” He paused. The weight of it was hard to pin down. “It didn’t. Not really.”
Hyunjoon didn’t interrupt. He just waited for the alpha to finish.
“We finally put a name to it,” Dohyeon said. “I told you how I felt. You said yes. And I thought that would shift something. Make it feel different. More defined. But most days, it still feels like before.”
His fingers tapped once against the side of his bowl, restless. “You’re still you. I’m still me. And that’s not a bad thing. That’s what I wanted. But sometimes I wonder if I’m doing enough to show you that it’s different now. That it means more now. That I mean it.”
He swallowed.
“You said yes. And I didn’t want to treat that like it was nothing. I didn’t want to take it for granted. So I started trying to show it. In ways I hoped you’d feel. Because you deserve more than just a label. You deserve so much more, Joonie.”
He stopped talking. Not because he ran out of things to say, but because anything more would feel like repeating himself.
Hyunjoon didn’t speak right away. He set his chopsticks down gently, the soft clink echoing in the still kitchen. His eyes hadn’t left Dohyeon once.
“So you tried to be perfect,” he said quietly.
Dohyeon nodded. “Yeah.”
It was easier to admit now than he thought it would be. Maybe because he was tired. Maybe because Hyunjoon wasn’t looking at him with confusion or pity—just calm, open understanding.
There was a beat of silence. Long enough for the words to settle, but not long enough to turn into distance.
And then, Hyunjoon spoke again, voice softer than before. “I didn’t say yes because I needed you to prove anything. I said yes because it was already you. You didn’t have to earn it.”
Dohyeon swallowed. The pressure in his chest didn’t disappear, not entirely. But it shifted. Like it had found a softer place to land.
His voice came quieter. “I’m not good at this.”
Hyunjoon stood then, slow and deliberate. He didn’t rush to close the distance. Just stepped around the island to stand in front of him, close enough for the warmth to settle between them but not enough to press.
“I haven’t done this before either,” the omega said. “Not like this.”
He didn’t sound hesitant. His voice was steady, but there was a raw edge to it. Like he’d been holding something too, and now that Dohyeon had said his part, it finally had space to come out.
“You’ve always looked out for me, even before any of this,” Hyunjoon said. “I knew how you felt before you ever said it out loud.” He shifted slightly, shoulders rising like he wasn’t sure what to do with the words now that they were out in the open. “And I liked you for that,” he added, more quietly. “Not the version of you that brings me snacks or wakes up early to cook. Just you.”
Dohyeon didn’t look away. His throat felt tight, and his chest—already too full—felt like it was balancing on the edge of something. Relief, tension, ache. All of it pressed just beneath his ribs. He kept his eyes on Hyunjoon, watching the small things—the way his fingers slipped back into the sleeves of his hoodie, the downward flick of his eyes before he spoke, like he needed the right shape for something fragile.
“I want this to feel natural for the both of us,” Hyunjoon said. “Not like something we’re performing. Not like something we’re trying to pass or fail.”
He paused, then added, more quietly, “My omega’s been… restless too. Since you asked.”
The words didn’t surprise Dohyeon. Not exactly. But they still hit somewhere deep. Not a jolt. Not a flare of instinct. Something lower, quieter. Like recognition. Like something inside him, something his alpha had been holding too tightly, finally exhaled.
“Like it’s been waiting for something,” Hyunjoon explained. “Even though you’ve been here the whole time. Even though I’ve already said yes. I don’t know what it’s looking for. But it’s… searching. For something it knows but hasn’t touched yet.”
His voice didn’t waver. But there was something stripped down in it now. Honest in a way Dohyeon didn’t take lightly. He saw it in the way Hyunjoon held his ground; shoulders loose, hands still, gaze steady.
“I think it’s waiting for you to stop trying to be perfect,” he added. “And just be here with me.”
Dohyeon breathed in slowly. The air caught halfway down his chest like it didn’t know where to land.
He always planned things. He wasn’t impulsive. It was how he moved through the world; with structure, with intention. His brain knew how to run calculations, break things down, weigh consequences. It was his comfort zone. But in this moment, all of that emptied out.
His mind went still.
Not confused. Not afraid.
Just quiet.
All he could feel was the space between them, so small now it barely felt like space at all. Hyunjoon hadn’t moved, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t need to. His presence filled everything.
Dohyeon’s heartbeat picked up, steady but hard, like it was trying to move his body forward for him. Like his instincts had already decided what came next, even if his words hadn’t caught up yet. He didn’t feel overwhelmed… just full. With something simple and impossible to ignore.
He looked at Hyunjoon. Really looked at him. The faint pink in his cheeks that hadn’t fully faded. The way his omega scent lingered warm and open in the air between them.
Dohyeon didn’t want to misread this. He didn’t want to rush it. Even if everything in him said it would be okay, that it would be right —he needed to ask.
So he spoke, and his voice was quieter than he expected. A little breathless, but steady.
“Can I kiss you?”
For a second, Hyunjoon didn’t answer.
His eyes widened. Not dramatically, just enough for Dohyeon to catch the flicker of surprise. Like the question had tilted the ground under his feet a little. Not in a bad way. Just enough to make him pause.
His lips parted slightly, like he might say something—but nothing came out. He blinked once, then looked down, lashes brushing against the curve of his cheek.
Dohyeon held still.
He didn’t rush to fill the silence. Didn’t take the question back or soften it further. He let it hang there, gentle but unshaken.
And then, quietly, almost imperceptibly, Hyunjoon nodded.
Once.
Small. Shy. But certain.
He looked up again as he did it, and that was what got to Dohyeon most. The way his gaze didn’t flick away. The way he didn’t hide behind his hands or shift back or laugh to defuse the weight of it. He just looked at him. And nodded.
Yes.
Dohyeon’s breath left him slowly. He stepped in close, careful not to startle. His hand rose gently, brushing his knuckles along Hyunjoon’s cheek before cupping it fully, thumb resting just beneath his eye.
The warmth of Hyunjoon’s skin grounded him instantly.
He leaned in.
And kissed him.
Softly. Carefully.
Their lips met like they’d always been meant to find each other there. Not in some dramatic, breathless rush, but in a slow exhale. In the space where everything else finally faded out.
Hyunjoon sighed into it. A quiet, unguarded sound that made Dohyeon feel like the ground had steadied beneath his feet.
His hands found the front of Dohyeon’s hoodie and curled there but he didn’t pull. He didn’t press. He simply leaned in and let the kiss happen like his body had known how long before either of them had said a word.
Dohyeon leaned in a little more, deepening the kiss by a breath. There was no rush, no pressure. Just warmth. He wanted Hyunjoon to feel it in full; in the way their mouths fit, in the way the space between them seemed to still around it. Like nothing else needed to exist.
And Hyunjoon did feel it—Dohyeon could tell. His body shifted into the space between them, slow and certain, like tension he hadn’t even noticed was there had finally slipped away. His shoulders relaxed. His grip stayed steady. He didn’t pull away.
He leaned in.
Like this was what he’d been waiting for all along.
Their scents wrapped around them; Hyunjoon’s warm and sweet with a subtle edge, Dohyeon’s grounding, steadier now, like the inside of a promise. They folded into each other without resistance, like they’d always known how to do this. Like the air itself had shifted to make space for it.
Dohyeon let the kiss linger. Then he pulled back just slightly, lips brushing Hyunjoon’s one more time before trailing to the corner of his mouth, then down, until he reached the place where Hyunjoon’s jaw met the soft skin beneath his ear and where his scent was strongest.
He paused there.
Breathed in.
And then, gently, instinctively, he scented him.
It wasn’t dominance. Not even a claim. It was just instinct. A need to be close. To offer something wordless. A way of answering that restless omega instinct that had been searching for something it couldn’t name.
Hyunjoon let out a soft and shaky breath. His head tilted slightly, baring his neck without thought. Not out of submission, but trust. His body spoke for him, and it said: this is okay. This is right.
And that was enough.
Dohyeon didn’t press harder. He didn’t make it more than it needed to be. He simply stayed there, breathing him in, letting his own scent settle just enough to be felt but nothing overwhelming.
When he lifted his head, he didn’t go far.
Their foreheads met, and neither of them moved.
They stood there for a while, saying nothing. The kind of stillness that didn’t feel heavy, like the space between breaths had become something shared. Dohyeon could feel the gentle rhythm of Hyunjoon’s breathing, how it matched his own without effort. Their hearts seemed to settle together too, each beat a little slower now, like their bodies had finally caught up to what had been building for weeks.
Hyunjoon’s scent was stronger now—warmer, sweeter, more open. His body no longer holding back. And Dohyeon, for the first time in a long time, felt still in the best way. Everything just felt… right.
Eventually, Hyunjoon made a sound; something between a laugh and a shaky breath, like he was trying to hold it in and couldn’t quite manage.
Dohyeon pulled back just enough to look at him. “What?”
Hyunjoon was still holding onto his hoodie, fingers curled like they didn’t know how to let go. His face was flushed, not from embarrassment exactly, but from the sheer intimacy of it all. He shook his head, exhaling softly.
“I was just thinking,” he murmured, voice still a little rough around the edges, “we’re really out here making out next to half-eaten ramen.”
That pulled a breath of amusement from Dohyeon. His chest rose with it, and something warm settled low behind his ribs. “You gave me permission,” he said.
Hyunjoon raised an eyebrow. “Well, you asked.”
“And you could’ve said no,” Dohyeon replied, his voice quiet but certain. “But you didn’t.”
Hyunjoon groaned lightly and dropped his forehead against Dohyeon’s chest for a second before lifting it again. His eyes narrowed, but his mouth tugged into a reluctant smile. “Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook for cold ramen noodles.”
Dohyeon glanced toward the bowls on the counter, untouched since they'd started talking. “We can reheat it if you’re still hungry.”
Hyunjoon squinted. “Not the same. The vibe’s ruined.”
Dohyeon raised a brow. “Your vibe got ruined because I kissed you?”
“No,” Hyunjoon said, dragging the word out. “My vibe got ruined because I was emotionally compromised and now my noodles are soggy.”
Dohyeon considered that, then leaned in—not for another kiss, just close enough for his voice to drop, low and sincere. “I’d ruin a hundred bowls of ramen to kiss you again.”
Hyunjoon blinked. His mouth parted like he had something to say, but nothing came out. He blinked again, visibly flustered.
“Oh my god.”
“What?”
“You can’t just say stuff like that with a straight face.”
“I’m not joking.”
“That’s the problem.”
Dohyeon smiled, full and unguarded. He didn’t care how soft he sounded, or how obvious the affection in his voice had become. “Then let me ruin dinner properly next time. I’ll plan ahead.”
Hyunjoon narrowed his eyes, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him. “You’re impossible.”
“You’re the one who is still holding onto me,” Dohyeon said, glancing down at Hyunjoon’s hands, still fisted in his hoodie.
Hyunjoon followed his gaze, then looked back up. But ultimately, he didn’t let go. “Shut up,” he replied.
Dohyeon leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, lingering just a second longer than necessary. “Okay.”
They stayed like that a little longer—the kitchen dim around them, the ramen forgotten on the counter.
Dohyeon really did love to plan everything. That was just who he was. He liked steps. He liked structure. He liked knowing what came next.
But standing there, with Hyunjoon’s fingers still curled in his hoodie and his scent warm and steady between them, none of that seemed to matter.
Because having Hyunjoon… that was the only thing that did.