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Sion didn’t remember much about the funeral—only the weight of hands on his shoulder, the sound of relatives whispering too loudly, and the hollow look in Sakuya’s eyes when they lowered the coffins into the ground. What he did remember clearly was Riku’s steady presence at his side. Riku had been almost family since childhood, his best friend who had spent countless weekends in this very house, close enough to Sion’s parents that they treated him like a second son.
That day, while grief pressed down on Sion and Sakuya until they could hardly breathe, Riku was the one who held them both upright. He passed tissues, whispered reminders to drink water, and answered questions when their voices failed. He was grieving too—of course he was—but even through his own sorrow, he became their pillar, the one who held the brothers while the rest of the world blurred.
The aftermath of the funeral hit Sion like a whirlwind. His parents were gone, the company board circling like vultures, and his little brother—only fourteen—was suddenly in danger of being taken away. If that wasn’t enough, the looming pressure of the butterfly effect taking place in its wake made it feel like Sion was being drowned with no way to get to the surface.
Riku was the light that led Sion back; it had always been Riku. He brought life and breath back to Sion when he needed it most. An anchor whenever life spun out too fast.
Once Sion was done dealing with the stress of the day, he finally headed back to his and Riku’s shared apartment, completely drained. His family had done nothing to help him or Sakuya set up or organize the funeral—they’d only shown up to be seen and to profit. The will reading had made that painfully clear.
Sion’s hands shook slightly as he approached the door, but before he could even finish sliding the key into the lock, it opened from the inside. Riku had been waiting for him. One look at Sion’s pale face, the stiff line of his posture, the exhaustion bleeding from him—and the faint, soured edge of his scent—was enough. Wordlessly, Riku reached out and pulled him inside.
The scent hit first. Vanilla with brown sugar. Familiar. Grounding.
“Sit,” Riku said firmly, pressing a warm mug of tea into his hands moments later. “Start talking.”
Sion tried, but the words tangled. Parents. Company. Relatives. Sakuya.
“They’ll never give him to me,” he finished, voice breaking in a way he hated. “They’ll say I’m too young, too unstable—”
Neither of them spoke for a moment, the weight of the truth settling heavy between them. Sion pressed his palms to his eyes, groaning quietly. “I don’t know what else to do.”
Riku sat across from him, jaw tight, clearly running through options in his head. It was the first time Sion had seen him look just as lost. Then, slowly, something flickered in Riku’s expression—the beginning of an idea.
“There is a way we could fix that,” Riku interrupted, his tone calm but firm. “It’s a little crazy, but it could work.”
Sion blinked at him, half-skeptical and half-curious. “Crazy how?”
Riku met his eyes, serious in a way that made Sion’s chest ache. He didn’t flinch, didn’t soften the blow. “We get married.”
Sion’s stomach lurched, his mind reeling. Marriage. With Riku. It was unthinkable—and yet, a part of him had always known that if anyone could stand beside him through this, it would be Riku. His parents had trusted Riku, too, leaning on him in ways most wouldn’t with someone outside the family. That memory cut sharply, reminding him of how naturally Riku had been woven into their lives. The thought terrified him, but it also steadied something deep inside.
“You can’t be serious—Riku—”
“Oh, but I am serious,” Riku cut in quickly, almost rolling his eyes at the panic in Sion’s face. “I know how your family is—for Sakuya’s sake, for your sake,” the last words quieter, as if afraid to be heard. “You just need to show them you’re capable. Once they see a healthy home and financial stability from two incomes, it’ll be hard to say no.”
It was ridiculous. Wild. The kind of thing you said at three in the morning when you were too tired to think straight. Yet Sion felt desperation claw at his chest, the fear of losing Sakuya twisting tighter the longer he sat with the thought. But the longer he stared at Riku—his best friend since forever, the boy who’d been in his kitchen every weekend, the one who knew Sakuya almost as well as he did—the less ridiculous it sounded.
It felt like their only option.
Sion’s hands tightened around the mug. “…You’re sure?”
“Of course.” Riku’s voice softened. “He’s your brother, but he’s mine too. You don’t have to do this alone.”
The lump in Sion’s throat finally gave way. He nodded. “Okay.”
Only a few days later did they find themselves in the government office. It smelled like printer ink and cheap coffee. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as forms slid across the counter. Before signing, Sion hesitated and glanced at Riku, his voice low.
“Are you sure about this?”
Riku gave him a look equal parts exasperation and fondness. “Yes. I suggested it, Sion. I’m pretty sure.”
Underneath it all, Riku wasn’t actually sure about anything—except that Sion was beside him. And that was enough.
Sion signed his name. Riku signed his. And just like that, it was done.
Sakuya sat in a chair behind them, backpack balanced on his knees. He didn’t complain. He didn’t roll his eyes. He just watched quietly as they became something else entirely.
“Congratulations,” the clerk said flatly, stamping the papers.
Even with the official documents in his hands, Riku still couldn’t believe it. His entire life had changed with a few strokes of ink. He should have been terrified, but instead, he felt oddly calm as they stepped outside into the crisp winter air.
Sion shoved the envelope into his coat pocket, his stomach heavy.
Riku, on the other hand, squinted into the sun with a crooked grin. “Well, husband.”
Sion groaned. “Don’t.”
“What? Would you rather I call you 'Honey'? Or ’Baby’?” Riku teased, the smile playing at his lips.
Sakuya snorted. “You two are so embarrassing.”
For the first time in weeks, there was a trace of a smile tugging at Sion’s mouth.
The adoption process wasn’t instant. Two months of interviews, home visits, and endless paperwork followed. Riku was the organized one—neat folders, highlighted notes, extra copies just in case. Sion handled the board meetings by day and filled out forms by night, running mostly on coffee and determination.
They moved out of the cramped college apartment and into Sion’s parents’ house once they could bear it.
Sion took the primary bedroom. Riku moved into the second largest. Sakuya returned to his old room, which had a view of the river.
The house slowly filled with signs of their new reality. Riku took charge of ensuring they actually ate, stocked the fridge, and nagged them into having breakfast before school and work. He also knew how important it was to Sion and Sakuya’s mom—a gentle male omega who had always tried to pack Sakuya’s lunch himself whenever possible—so Riku took on that role too.
Sion still hated mornings, so Riku ended up dragging him out of bed half the time. Sakuya quickly learned that if he wanted his homework checked, Riku was the one to go to.
At nineteen, eighteen, and fourteen, the three of them became a family—on paper, maybe, but real in every way that mattered.
They even bought rings, tucked away in a drawer “just in case” anyone questioned them. Sion insisted on something simple. Riku had lingered too long at the display of prettier ones, but he hadn’t pressed.
“Someday,” Riku had joked as they left the shop. But the way his chest tightened told him he hadn’t been joking at all.
By the time the adoption was finalized, the judge barely glanced at them before approving—stable household, steady income, and a supportive spouse. There was no denying the picture-perfect image that they had curated. Sakuya was proof of that.
That night, the three of them ate instant noodles around the coffee table, the candles that Riku lit flickering like it was fine dining.
“To the three of us,” Sakuya toasted, lifting his soda can with more confidence than his age should allow. “To home.”
Riku laughed, clinking cans with him. Sion followed, something warm pressing at his chest.
Riku leaned against his shoulder just for a second before pulling away again, casual and careful.
It was fine. This was what they’d agreed to.
It was only supposed to be on paper.
As the city lights spilled through the glass windows and Sakuya shouted about how Sion somehow cheated in monopoly, Riku thought—the papers may never be enough.
Three years had passed before they realized it.
Three years of Riku pretending like he didn’t yearn for more, but he never dared reach for it.
Three years of Sion pretending that every moment they spent together wasn’t everything he could ever ask for.
The house no longer felt like Sion’s parents’ house—it was theirs. Riku’s sketchbooks lived on the table beside Sakuya’s game controllers. Sion’s suit jackets hung beside Riku’s grungy ones in the entryway closet. The fridge was always full, though whether with proper groceries or convenience meals depended on who had time that week.
Their rhythm worked.
Sion had graduated, taken the reins of the company, and shouldered more than anyone his age should have had to.
Riku balanced his last year of classes with a modeling career that had gone from “cute boy in a local shoot” to “campaign face of a rising brand.”
Sakuya was in his final year of high school, cocky about how long he could juggle a soccer ball one minute and groaning over math homework the next.
It wasn’t always smooth, but that was true of life in general.
“Mr. Oh,” Ms. Kwon said sweetly, twirling a pen between manicured fingers, “you’ve been so attentive to your brother’s education. It’s admirable, really. Rarely seen in someone so young.”
Sion’s lips pressed into something polite. The meeting had already gone twenty minutes longer than necessary, most of it her circling him like a hawk rather than discussing Sakuya’s progress.
He adjusted his sleeve, the scent of black tea and spice wrapping close to anchor him. “I’m here to make sure my brother succeeds. That’s all.”
Her smile tilted. “Of course. But surely someone like you doesn’t plan on staying single forever. You must have offers.”
Sion stood up, still trying to keep his polite smile. “I’m not currently looking for anything, but thank you. I have another appointment I need to get to.”
Sakuya scrambled to grab his bag, bowing quickly before following his brother out into the crisp afternoon.
In the car, Sion exhaled a groan as he started the engine. “I know they all see me as single. Technically, I am single. Riku is only—” He cut himself off, tense. “But I am not interested.”
“Then why don't you tell people?” Sakuya leaned back in his seat, raising a brow. “You always complain about people flirting at the company, teachers flirting at my school, even those weird business proposals where they want you to marry their daughters—or sons. You could shut it down with one phrase ‘I’m Married’ it’s simple.”
“It is not that simple.” Sion’s hands tightened on the wheel. “Riku and I married for your sake. Once you’re an adult, we’ll divorce quietly, and it will be like it never happened. If people find out before then, it will only hurt him. He’s worked for everything he has. I don’t want anyone saying his career came from me or my money because that isn’t the truth.”
Sakuya rolled his eyes. “Hyung, you’re married to him. No one’s asking for a parade. Just wear the rings. People would back off.”
Sion said nothing. He drove them the rest of the way in silence, but Sakuya’s smirk said he knew the seed had been planted.
By the time they got home, Riku was already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, the scent of vanilla and brown sugar wrapping warmly through the penthouse, mixed with the warm smell of home-cooked food.
“Took you two long enough,” Riku called over his shoulder. “I’m starving. Hurry up so we can eat.”
Dinner came together in minutes—simple, familiar, loud with conversation. Sion relaxed in the way he only did at home, across from Riku’s easy smile and Sakuya’s bratty jokes.
They were halfway through when Sakuya decided to drop the bomb.
“Oh, Riku-hyung,” he said, all innocence, “You should have seen the annoyed look on Sion-hyung's face when he saw the meeting for today was with ‘that’ teacher.” Sakuya snickered.
“I bet he tried to fend off her advances to no avail again and grumbled the whole way home, huh?” Riku laughed, but Saku winced as Sion kicked him underneath the table.
“I told him that he should just tell her that he’s married so that she would back off.”
Sion nearly choked on his rice. “I thought we dropped that in the car, Saku.”
“You dropped it,” Sakuya corrected. “I didn’t. It’s a good idea. I’m not saying post a hard launch on Instagram. Just wear the rings. Say you’ve got a husband if people press.”
Sion shot Riku a look—ready for him to laugh it off. But instead, Riku leaned back, lips tugging in a small, tired smile.
“Crazy as it sounds, I’m not opposed,” he admitted. “People don’t always take no for an answer. And it’s not like they aren’t already whispering that my success comes from you.” He rubbed his temple, voice low. “Honestly, it can’t get much worse.”
Sion blinked, stunned. “You’re seriously gonna agree with Saku?”
“See!” Sakuya slapped the table. He jumped up so fast his chair scraped back. “I know exactly where the boxes are. Hold on.”
“Wait—” Sion started, but Sakuya was already gone, thundering toward the entryway.
Sion’s gaze slid back to Riku. His voice lowered, rougher than he meant. “Are you really sure? Once we start this, people will eventually notice. I don’t want you pressured into—”
“You’re rambling,” Riku cut in gently, his smile soft. “As long as we’re comfortable, that’s all that matters. We don’t owe anyone else anything.”
The sound of sprinting feet announced Sakuya’s return. He skidded back into the room, triumphant, two velvet boxes clutched in his hands like treasure.
“Here.” He thrust one at each of them. “You should put the ring on Riku-hyung’s finger, Hyung.”
Sion hesitated, but his body moved anyway. He opened the box—and froze.
Because he remembered.
They had gone into the shop three years ago to get something plain. Something practical. But Riku had lingered, gaze caught by a ring in the display case.
“It’s not traditional,” Riku had said then, tone casual but eyes bright, “but it’s so pretty. Fits my vibe.”
Sion hadn’t planned to spend extra. He hated spending extra. But when Riku walked out of the shop, he had quietly asked the clerk to size that exact ring.
Now he stared at it again—ornate, gothic, dark silver twined like vines around a black stone. Stunning. Unmistakably Riku.
Beside it sat his own band: plain black, simple, inlaid with a faint stone detail to match.
Sion swallowed thickly as he slid the ring onto Riku’s finger.
Riku’s breath caught. His eyes didn’t leave the way the metal gleamed against his skin. “Oh my god. You didn’t— Sion, what the hell? This wasn’t cheap. Are you insane?”
“I was going to get something simple.” Sion’s voice was calm, almost too quiet. “But you liked that one. So I bought it.”
Riku’s heart twisted. He forced a laugh, but the sting behind his eyes betrayed him. “You’re unbelievable.” His thumb brushed over the ring like he couldn’t stop himself.
Sakuya grinned like the cat who had orchestrated the entire game. If they were going to orbit each other forever without confessing, then someone had to play cupid—and clearly, that someone was him.
Then Riku took the second box, lifting Sion’s band out carefully. It wasn’t flashy—solid, grounded—but it matched his. His chest tightened.
His hands shook only a little as he slid it onto Sion’s finger.
For a moment, it was too much—memories and feelings he thought he’d buried slamming back all at once. He pulled Sion into a hug before the pressure burst.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” Sion murmured, arms closing easily around him.
Riku pulled back too quickly, afraid Sion might hear his heart.
Later that night, once Sakuya had disappeared into his room, Riku padded back into the living room, tablet tucked under his arm. Sion was on the couch with his laptop, his sleeves rolled up, the new ring catching the glow of the lamp.
Without asking, Riku sank beside him, folding his legs under himself. They worked in silence for a while, the quiet companionship in a way that only years together could make it.
Eventually, Riku set the tablet aside. “So how do we go about this?”
“Nothing changes,” Sion said, calm as always. He closed his laptop and turned to him. “We’re just wearing rings now.”
Riku laughed softly, nerves buzzing in his chest.
Sion reached for his hand, thumb brushing small circles across his palm. “Look at you. You agreed so easily, but now you’re worried.” His smile tilted. “I’ve got you, and you’ve got me. There’s nothing to worry about.”
It should have comforted Riku. It did. But then Sion added, almost offhand:
“We only have to stay married a little while longer. Until Sakuya’s an adult, then it’ll be over.”
The words were harsher than Sion realized. Riku’s smile stayed, practiced and easy. “Right. Just pretend. For our benefit, and for Sakuya.”
He let go of Sion’s hand before the sting reached his expression.
Riku busied himself with the tablet, pretending to study the lines he’d scribbled earlier. His pulse still hadn’t slowed. The weight of the ring on his finger made it impossible to forget.
He cleared his throat, softer than usual. “You can say no,” he started, thumb brushing the edge of the tablet. “But I think it might help if we scented each other.”
Sion’s head tilted, brow furrowing slightly.
Riku rushed on before he could stop himself. “We already scent Sakuya every day, since he’s still unpresented. It’s second nature. But never each other. If anyone asks, if people start to wonder, we could say we kept it private until we were comfortable. It’d make things easier to explain.”
The silence stretched, but not unkindly. Sion leaned in. His scent—a warm mix of spice and steady tea—rose instinctively, almost like it was answering Riku before his words did.
“You think that will help?” Sion asked evenly.
Riku nodded quickly, then slower, more deliberate. “I do.”
“Alright.” Sion’s mouth softened, a quiet curve at the edge. “Then we’ll do it. Every day before I leave for work.”
The words sank into Riku’s chest. He looked down at their hands still close on the couch cushion, the matching black bands catching the lamplight. His throat tightened with everything. The tides were shifting, and if Riku weren’t careful, he’d get swept away.
The next morning, golden sunlight peeked through the blinds and woke Riku. He dragged himself through his routine—shower, skincare, the usual. But when he finished picking out an outfit, he slipped on what was already becoming his favorite accessory—the ring.
His heart thundered in his chest just seeing it there, gleaming on his hand. A reminder that it wasn’t just a dream.
Breakfast was simple—eggs, toast, bacon—because he needed to finish a project before heading to campus. Usually, Sion emerged late, grumbling about mornings. But today, he stepped into the kitchen before Riku even finished cooking, hair mussed from sleep.
For a moment, Riku forgot how to breathe.
“Morning,” Sion murmured, voice hoarse from sleep, his hair sticking up in every direction as he shuffled toward the kitchen for a glass of water.
Riku’s gaze softened without him meaning to. Sion looked cute like this—unguarded, rumpled, a glimpse of the nineteen-year-old who had once stumbled through late nights with coffee and textbooks. Not the twenty-three-year-old who had been forced to grow up faster than anyone should.
“Whoa, you’re up early,” Riku teased as he set the table, eyebrow raised.
“I don’t understand how you do this every day,” Sion grumbled, rubbing his eyes before dropping onto the couch like gravity had betrayed him.
“I do it because I love you guys. And if I don’t, then who will?” Riku shot back easily.
Right on cue, Sakuya padded out of his room, still tugging his hoodie on. “Riku-hyung’s right. ’Cause I definitely don’t trust you in the kitchen. We’d be homeless—somehow you’d burn the whole place down.”
Sion grabbed the nearest pillow and launched it at his brother. Sakuya yelped, ducking behind the chair for cover.
“Hey!” Riku swooped in like the long-suffering parent. “No fighting before breakfast. Sit down, brats.”
The smell of toast and bacon filled the air as they finally settled. Breakfast unfolded the way it always did: Riku animatedly discussing the details of his current project, Sion groaning about the annual meeting looming on his calendar, and Sakuya complaining dramatically about upcoming exams.
When Sakuya left for school, the house quieted. Riku finally settled on the couch with his sketchbook, the morning sun spilling over his shoulders. “So, today’s your one free day of the month?” he asked, pencil tapping lightly against the page.
“Unfortunately.” Sion’s voice carried from the kitchen, thick with dread. “And I wouldn’t even count it as free, since I have to answer emails as soon as I finish these dishes.” His hands wrinkled from the water, and he slid the last plate into the dishwasher with a sigh.
“You’re going to drain yourself if you keep at it this way,” Riku said, turning fully toward him, a frown tugging at his lips.
“Not like I can do anything about it.” Sion shrugged, retreating toward his room for a quick shower. The door closed softly behind him.
Riku exhaled, letting the silence stretch. He bent back over his project, scribbling furiously, trying to lose himself in the lines. But his mind kept drifting.
When Sion returned, hair damp, glasses perched on his nose, laptop tucked under his arm, he dropped down beside Riku without ceremony. They worked in silence, the only sounds the scratch of pencil against paper and the soft tapping of keys. It was easy—comfort that came from years of growing up side by side.
Until Riku reached for his phone and his fingers grazed Sion’s hand. Just the lightest brush, but it sent a jolt through him like static. His pulse spiked, his chest tightening.
He stared at the time glowing on his phone screen—twenty minutes until he had to leave for campus—and before he could second-guess it, the words tumbled out.
“We should try it,” Riku blurted, sitting straighter. “The scenting thing.”
Sion’s gaze lifted, steady and unreadable. “Now?”
“What? Would you like to schedule it like one of your board meetings? I have to leave soon.” Riku tried to joke, but his voice wobbled.
Sion leaned in, close enough that the heat of him pressed into Riku’s space. His scent was more pungent up close—warm, grounding. He hesitated only a second before reaching out, thumb brushing along Riku’s jaw with a tenderness that belied his usual composure.
“Ready?” he asked softly.
Riku nodded, breath catching in his throat.
The first brush of Sion’s scent against his skin was cautious, restrained. Then it deepened—curling, threading through the air, wrapping around Riku’s shoulders like a blanket pulled snug. Riku shivered, his own scent blooming in response—sweet vanilla and brown sugar spilling out instinctively, tangling with Sion’s until the air was thick with them both.
It was nothing like scenting Sakuya. Nothing like anything he’d ever experienced. This was sharp. Dizzying. Personal.
Riku’s hands fisted in the hem of his shirt. “God,” he whispered, eyes fluttering shut.
When he opened them again, Sion was still watching him, expression softened in a way Riku rarely saw. The blush rose hot across his cheeks, and he quickly looked away, trying to hide it.
“You should try,” Sion said, his voice low, almost coaxing.
Riku blinked. “Me?”
Sion tilted his head, baring his throat slightly without even thinking about it—trust offered in the slightest, most intimate gesture. “You said this should go both ways.”
Riku’s heart lurched. Slowly, hesitantly, he leaned in, his breath catching on the spice and tea that clung to Sion’s skin. Then, with trembling resolve, he let his own scent unfurl—sweet vanilla, deepened by brown sugar, pressing gently into the hollow of Sion’s throat, curling across his shoulders, claiming space there as his own.
Sion inhaled sharply, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand came up to rest at Riku’s hip, grounding him through the dizzying warmth filling the room.
When Riku finally drew back, his cheeks were flushed, and his lips parted. “There,” he murmured, trying for casual but failing, the words too soft, too earnest.
Sion exhaled slowly, deliberately, as if steadying himself.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Their scents hung heavy in the air, layered and intertwined, the house thick with the unspoken. Finally, Sion leaned back, clearing his throat. “That should make things easier.”
Riku nodded too quickly, clutching at the hem of his shirt again. “Yeah. Easier.”
But neither of them moved to air out the room. Neither of them wanted the mingled warmth to fade just yet.
It was strange how quickly the scenting became routine.
At first, it had been awkward—Sion’s careful restraint, Riku’s nervous laughter. But within a week, it slipped into the rhythm of their lives as naturally as setting the table or switching the laundry.
In the mornings, Sion would brush past Riku in the kitchen, his fingertips ghosting against Riku's wrist, the scent of tea and spice unfurling and folding seamlessly into vanilla and brown sugar, until the air hummed with warmth.
At night, Riku would lean into Sion’s shoulder on the couch, sketchbook balanced on his knees, answering with his own sweetness, weaving it through the corners of the house until it felt like home in a way it never had before.
Sakuya—who had always carried their scents by default anyway didn’t say anything. But he noticed.
He noticed how Sion always breathed easier once Riku pressed his scent into his collar.
He noticed how Riku slept soundly when the tea and spice clung to his hoodie.
He noticed that somehow, he was the only one who saw right through them: two people pretending it was about convenience when anyone with a nose could tell it wasn’t.
Things began shifting when Riku started to pick up Sakuya from school.
For the past three years, Sion had shouldered most of the responsibility as guardian—school meetings, doctor’s appointments, every errand that might expose the truth of their arrangement. It was the price of keeping their marriage a secret. It strained him, but he bore it quietly.
Now that the rings were on their fingers, Riku began to take a more active role outside the house. Some days, Sion’s schedule dragged him into endless meetings, and rather than leave Sakuya to take the train alone, Riku offered to swing by.
It was supposed to be simple.
Except apparently, to everyone else at the school, it wasn’t.
Riku couldn’t blame them—Sakuya had only ever been picked up by Sion or took the train home himself.
“Is that your nanny?” one of Sakuya’s classmates whispered a little too loudly as Riku leaned against the gate, scrolling his phone.
“No,” Sakuya said flatly, tugging at his bag strap.
“He looks like one,” another kid muttered, giggling. “Maybe he’s staff?”
Riku chuckled under his breath as he slipped his phone into his pocket.
“Come on,” Riku said, clapping a hand to Sakuya’s shoulder like he hadn’t heard a word. “We’ve got snacks waiting and homework to finish.”
Once they were in the car, Sakuya groaned into his hands. “Hyung, why don’t you correct them? They think you’re a maid or something!”
Riku grinned, eyes glittering with mischief. “One day they’re gonna find out and shit their pants. Isn’t that more fun? I’m letting it happen.”
“Right, right—and you’re supposed to be the adult here,” Sakuya muttered, though the twitch of his mouth betrayed the laugh he was holding back.
It kept happening.
Teachers waved at him like he was household staff. Parents asked if he worked full-time for the family. A group of girls gossiped about “Mr. Oh’s new assistant” while Riku stood three feet away, waiting for Sakuya to change shoes.
Riku loved every second of it.
He’d send Sion texts like: 'Apparently, I’m your maid now' or 'Congrats on hiring the hottest nanny in the city.'
Sion would reply with a deadpan: Stop encouraging them.
Even after days of wearing it, the ring on Riku’s finger still felt new. He caught himself twisting it absentmindedly, the gothic black stone glinting in the lamplight. Tonight was no different—he sprawled on the couch while Sakuya played something loud on the console, idly rolling the band against his skin.
The door clicked open. Sion walked in, shoulders heavy from another twelve-hour day, tie already loosened. His scent followed him as he dropped into the armchair opposite.
“You look dead,” Riku said lightly.
“Feel dead,” Sion muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face.
Sakuya glanced between them, then wisely excused himself with a muttered, “I’ll be in my room.”
Silence stretched in his absence—not heavy, but waiting.
The TV hummed in the background, neon glow from the city painting the windows.
“So,” Riku began, eyes flicking up from his sketchbook, “it’s been working. On campus, at least.”
Sion turned to him curiously. “The ring?”
“The ring,” Riku confirmed. “No one’s asked me directly, but I’ve seen people looking at it when they think I’m not paying attention.” His thumb rubbed the band absently, the black stone catching the light. “Shoots are different, though. Stylists strip it off before I even make it on set. It spends more time in my bag than on my hand during work.”
Sion frowned. “That defeats the point.”
“Not really.” Riku shrugged. “The scenting’s done more for me than the ring ever could. People still try sometimes, but it’s easier to brush off. I feel… calmer.”
For a moment, the room softened around his words. Sion leaned back, studying him quietly before nodding. “I’ve had the same. The ring should be enough, the scent should be enough, but since I haven’t said anything publicly, some of them act like they can’t see it. Pretend it doesn’t exist so they don’t have to respect it.”
Riku let out a breath that was half laugh, half frustration. “Figures.”
“Well, go change, I know you’re starving—at least I know I am,” Riku teased with a smile as he stretched, heading into the kitchen to set the table. “Saku!” he yelled. “Dinner!”
When he glanced back, Sion hadn’t moved. With a sigh, Riku walked over and stood above him. “Get up or we’re eating without you, loser.”
Sion looked up at him, eyes steady. Then, without warning, he sighed and wrapped his arms around Riku, pulling him close while still seated.
Riku froze. His whole demeanor shattered, breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t have spoken even if he tried. The only sound was the rush of his own heartbeat.
Finally, after what felt like forever, Sion let go. Standing, he brushed his fingers briefly beneath Riku’s chin, a fleeting, tender touch. “I’ll be quick,” he murmured before heading toward his room like nothing had happened.
Riku stood rooted in place, still blushing furiously, struggling to process what had just happened.
Sakuya emerged from his room, frowning. “Why’re you just standing there?” He took one look at Riku’s face, saw the pink in his cheeks, and muttered a quiet, knowing “Ah,” before dropping onto the couch with his phone.
The house settled into quiet again, their scents thick and familiar in the air.
Sion returned quickly, true to his word. They gathered at the table, dinner unfolding as usual. Sakuya didn’t miss the stolen looks traded across the table, unspoken words woven into the air between them.
“They’re actually hopeless,” he thought, rolling his eyes.
Sion was supposed to pick Sakuya up for his physical. It was just a routine check so he could be cleared for the soccer team this year. But one look at Sion’s schedule that morning told Riku how it would go: meetings stacked back-to-back, a conference call bleeding into another presentation, and a crisis report sitting in his inbox.
“You can’t be in two places at once,” Riku said simply over breakfast. “I’ll take him.”
Sion started to protest, but Riku only raised a brow. “What, you don’t trust me?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then it’s settled.”
Riku had gotten used to picking Sakuya up here and there over the past few weeks. But those were easy runs: waiting in the car or leaning against the gate while Sakuya came bounding out with his bag.
This time, though, he had to go inside.
He stepped into the school office, his nerves were getting to him even though his expression remained calm and professional. The secretary barely glanced at him before offering a polite smile.
“Sorry,” she said quickly, “maybe you need to inform Mr. Oh that only guardians can sign Sakuya out of school. I’m sure Mr. Oh is busy and probably forgot.”
Riku blinked, stunned for half a second. They hadn’t even asked his name. They just assumed—nanny, maid, staff. The same label he’d overheard whispered around the school.
He slid his bag off his shoulder and pulled out his wallet, laying his ID neatly on the counter. His ring caught the light as he pushed it forward with deliberate ease.
“I am his guardian,” Riku said smoothly. “Riku Maeda. Sakuya is legally my child—and Sion’s. I’m Sion’s husband.”
The room went still. The secretary’s pen froze mid-scratch. A teacher by the file cabinet glanced up like she’d been caught eavesdropping.
Right then, the door creaked open.
Keychains clinked on Sakuya’s bag before his voice carried across the office. “Hyung! Sion was busy?”
Riku smiled, tilting his head toward him. “Yeah, he owes me.”
Sakuya strolled over, casual as anything, like the entire office wasn’t staring holes through them. Riku turned back to the secretary, perfectly polite. “I already signed for him on the paper. I assume we’re clear to leave?”
“Of course,” she murmured.
Riku slipped an arm around Sakuya’s shoulder, steering him toward the door. The moment it clicked shut behind them, the whispers started—low at first, then swelling like a wave.
Sakuya glanced up, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Way to make a scene.”
“Mm,” Riku said with a shrug. “One day they were gonna find out.”
He tugged Sakuya a little closer, amused at the buzz of gossip still audible even outside.
Back at the house, Sakuya sprawled across the couch, laughing so hard he nearly fell off. “Hyung, the way their faces froze when you said it—I thought the poor lady was going to faint!”
Riku stretched out in the armchair, sketchbook open but forgotten, a sly grin tugging at his mouth. “What can I say? Timing is everything.”
When Sion walked in later, loosening his tie as he kicked off his shoes, he was met with the sight of his little brother wheezing with laughter and Riku looking far too pleased with himself.
“What happened?” he asked warily.
Riku didn’t even look up from his sketch. “Nothing much. I just had to confirm our marriage at the school office.”
Sion froze, halfway to the kitchen. “You what?”
Sakuya dissolved into another fit of laughter. “Hyung, you should’ve seen their faces!”
Riku finally glanced up, eyes glittering with amusement. “Relax. I couldn’t really do anything about it. And honestly? Their reaction was worth it.”
The look on Sion’s face was halfway between disbelief and resignation. He scrubbed a hand down his face. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Maybe,” Riku said sweetly, flipping a page in his sketchbook. “But at least you won’t die alone.”
The whispers didn’t stop after the school incident. If anything, they spread. A few days passed, and the rumor took on a life of its own. First, it was Sakuya’s classmates whispering, then the teachers. By the end of the week, Riku could practically feel the shift in the air whenever he walked with Sakuya.
But that was nothing compared to what happened at the company a few days later.
Riku was no stranger to the building. He’d been in and out since high school—trailing after Sion, delivering forgotten binders, sneaking into the cafeteria. Everyone on the lower floors knew his name, most of them waving when he passed. But the top floor—the executive offices—that was Sion’s domain. Riku had never needed to go there until now.
Sion forgot his lunch.
Of course, what kind of husband would Riku be if he didn’t bring it?
Sion had even texted him that morning: If the rumors are already flying, you might as well come up. A badge will get you through security.
So Riku came. He wore ripped black jeans, a soft sweater under an oversized blazer, and his ring gleaming against the strap of the lunch bag. He swiped his special VIP badge at the elevator and stepped onto the executive floor for the first time.
It didn’t take long for someone to stop him.
“I see you’re one of our VIP clients,” the receptionist said with a polite smile. “But you still need an appointment to access Mr. Oh’s office. Did you already have one? Are you his one o’clock?”
Riku blinked. “No.” He shook his head once, already fishing his phone from his pocket. His thumbs flew over the screen.
Hey, they won’t let me in. Send help.
The receptionist gave him another courteous smile, already half-typing something into her computer.
Two minutes later, the office doors opened.
Sion emerged—tall, sharp in his suit, eyes sweeping the room. The murmur of conversation dipped instantly. He spotted Riku right away, and Riku smirked as he pushed to his feet.
“Sir,” the receptionist began quickly, “he doesn’t have an appointment—”
“He’s my husband,” Sion cut in, his voice low but carrying. “He can do whatever he wants.”
Silence fell like a dropped pin. Half a dozen employees gawked openly, pens stalling mid-signature, heads swiveling like owls.
Sion didn’t care. He reached Riku, slid his fingers easily into his, and without another glance back, led him straight into his office.
The doors shut with a soft click, leaving the stunned whispers to erupt in their wake.
Employees exchanged wide-eyed looks, whispering furiously to each other, others scribbling notes they clearly planned to share later.
“Husband? Did he say husband?” a young assistant gasped, nearly dropping her tablet.
“I thought he was just a friend of the family—” a manager muttered by the copy machine, only to be shushed by his colleague.
“You saw the ring, didn’t you?”
“The receptionist turned him away—can you imagine?”
The whispers rippled outward like a wave, too big to contain. Even behind the closed doors, the hum of gossip pressed against the glass.
Inside, Riku looked far too pleased with himself. He flopped into one of the sleek leather chairs, setting his bag on the table and pulling out Sion’s lunch like he had all the time in the world.
“Oh? And you said I did serious damage with the incident at the school.” he grinned, sliding the box across the desk with a flourish.
Sion sighed, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. He sank into the chair beside him. “We basically gave ourselves away. We had a good run.”
”You could have been more discrete about it just now, but it’s too late for that.” Riku leaned back dramatically, throwing an arm over the chair. “Does this mean I get to attend the next company event? Imagine it: the perfect husband, the flawless model, and—” he gestured grandly at himself, “mom to Sakuya. I’ll have to curate my image carefully. Maybe start practicing my wave.”
“You’re already the perfect husband,” Sion said before he could stop himself. The words slipped out too naturally, too true. He turned his head, looking at Riku like he hung the stars.
Riku’s brain promptly short-circuited. Heat rushed to his cheeks as he stammered, “P-practicing for future interviews, I see.” He kept his eyes firmly on the table, but he could feel Sion’s gaze burning into him.
“No,” Sion said softly, calmly, like stating a fact. “I’m serious. I couldn’t ask for a more perfect husband.”
Riku’s mind was racing ten thousand miles a minute, thoughts colliding too fast to hold onto. When he finally dared to look, Sion’s face was close—too close. The air tightened between them, and Sion searched his eyes, looking for any sign to stop.
Riku didn’t give him one.
The kiss was inevitable. When Sion leaned in, Riku met him halfway. Their lips brushed, then pressed firmly together—warm and sweet, everything Riku had imagined for years, finally real. Sion’s hand settled at his waist, grounding him, tugging him closer until Riku felt the steady thrum of his heartbeat through his chest.
When they finally pulled apart, silence swallowed the room. Riku’s face was flaming, his breath uneven. His scent betrayed him, blooming uncontrollably—curling in the air, exposing the truth without a single word.
It was Riku who broke the silence first, his voice trembling. “You—what was that?”
Sion’s answer came steady, though his pulse thundered beneath his skin. “I figured with everything else coming to light, it was time for me to stop being a coward, too. I meant what I said. And judging from your reaction, I wasn’t the only one lying to myself all these years.”
He cupped Riku’s cheek with a tenderness that nearly undid him. On the outside, he was composed; inside, he was burning.
“Who said I lied?” Riku whispered, laying his hand over Sion’s. “It was never pretend or fake to me. It was always real.”
The confession hung between them like a fragile thread—delicate, unbreakable. Sion exhaled, almost in relief, and for a moment their foreheads touched, the brush of skin grounding them. It wasn’t another kiss, but it was a promise.
The weight of it lingered until, in true Riku fashion, he tipped the moment on its head with a grin.
“Office romance? Scandalous.” His voice shifted into a mock gasp. “Mr. Oh, I thought you had a husband? What would he think?”
Sion blinked, then groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Why do I put up with you?”
Riku leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs primly, batting his lashes. “Because you adore me, obviously. Now eat before the office thinks I’m failing in my duties.”
Sion shook his head, but his smile gave him away as he opened the lunch box. The warmth between them was unmistakable now.
When Sion returned home with Sakuya later that night, the shift was evident.
Riku’s scent bloomed the second the door clicked shut, sweet and heady with vanilla and sugar. He was curled up on the couch, a drama playing faintly on the TV, takeout containers stacked neatly on the coffee table. Too lazy to cook, he’d ordered delivery for them all.
Sion set his bag down, loosened his tie, and without hesitation walked straight to the couch. He bent, pressing a kiss to the crown of Riku’s head.
The reaction that followed was unforgettable.
Sakuya froze mid-step, eyes wide, jaw dropping. He looked from his brother to Riku and back again, utterly scandalized. “Wait. Wait. Did you just—?!”
Sion, utterly unbothered, straightened and headed for the hallway. “I’m going to shower.”
“Hey! You don’t get to walk away!” Sakuya shouted after him, voice cracking with disbelief.
Riku nearly choked on his own laughter, hiding his face in the couch cushion. “Sakuya—”
But Sakuya wasn’t letting it go. He prowled around the couch, leaning over the back with narrowed eyes. “Don’t you dare play dumb with me. I saw that. You—he—what happened?”
Riku waved him off, cheeks warm, refusing to meet his gaze. “Eat your dinner before it gets cold.”
Even at the table later, Sakuya kept firing questions between bites, relentless in his pursuit. “You’re not seriously going just to sit there like nothing happened. Hyung kissed you. In front of me.”
Riku rolled his eyes, but his grin betrayed him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Sakuya slammed his chopsticks down with a dramatic sigh. “Don’t play dumb, Riku-hyung. You’re glowing. It’s disgusting.”
Riku snorted into his rice, shaking his head while Sakuya groaned.
The night ended in a flurry of laughter, teasing, and the comforting rhythm of shared food. But when the dishes were cleared and the lights dimmed, Riku found himself standing in the doorway of Sion’s room.
This time, he didn’t hesitate.
What had once been only a marriage of convenience—just names on paper—had finally blossomed into something tangible. Something that would last.
Forever.