Chapter Text
The quad was a mess.
Not in the literal sense—though someone had definitely dropped a smoothie near the campus map kiosk—but in the way that made Jisung’s skin crawl. It was loud. It was crowded. It smelled like too many people trying too hard. Scent blockers clashed with cheap cologne, sunscreen, and the faint sweetness of lemonade from a nearby stand. The sun was high, casting golden light across the pavement, and the air was thick with humidity and nerves.
Jisung clutched his orientation folder like it owed him emotional support. He’d been trying to follow the map to the music building, but every time he got close, someone stopped him to ask if he was “new-new” or “transfer-new” or “omega-new.” One alpha had tried to guess his secondary gender based on his shoes. Another had offered him a protein bar “for stamina.”
He was done.
He veered off the main path and ducked behind a tree near the edge of the quad. It was tall and leafy, with a few stubborn white blossoms still clinging to the branches like spring hadn’t quite let go. The shade was cooler here, and the breeze carried the scent of fresh-cut grass and something floral from the landscaping. It was the first moment all day that didn’t feel like a performance.
Jisung pressed his back to the bark and exhaled slowly. His scent blockers were holding, but barely. His heart was racing, and his skin felt too tight. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine being anywhere else.
“Orientation casualty?” a voice said.
Jisung’s eyes snapped open. An alpha stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed but alert. He had sharp cheekbones, dark hair that curled slightly at the ends, and a calm presence that didn’t feel invasive. His scent was faint—cedar and clean cotton, like fresh laundry left out in the sun.
“You look like you’re one bad scent away from teleporting,” the alpha added, voice low and teasing.
Jisung huffed. “I might. Orientation’s a sensory nightmare. I almost started a podcast from this spot. Episode one: ‘Why Orientation Is a Scam.’”
The alpha snorted. “I’d subscribe. Especially if episode two is ‘Why Jazz Hands Should Be Banned in Public Spaces.’”
Jisung cracked a smile, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “That’s a strong follow-up. Maybe I’ll do a whole series. ‘Surviving Campus as a Mildly Feral Omega.’”
The alpha grinned. “You’d have a cult following by midterms.”
Jisung tilted his head. “You’re weird.”
“Thanks,” the alpha said. “I try to be the good kind.”
There was a pause, just long enough to feel like a choice.
“I’m Minho,” he said, nodding toward the chaos behind them. “Escaped the dance major meet-and-greet. Too many jazz hands and people trying to scent-mark the snack table.”
Jisung snorted. “Jisung. Music production. I bailed after someone asked if I was ‘heat-ready’ like it was a weather forecast.”
Minho winced. “Orientation really brings out the worst in people.”
Jisung nodded, then glanced up at the tree. “This spot’s the only thing that hasn’t tried to sniff me or sell me a club membership.”
Minho looked around. “It’s nice. Quiet. You’ve got good taste in hiding places.”
“I call it a strategic retreat,” Jisung said. “Very omega-core.”
Minho laughed, and it wasn’t mocking. It was warm. Easy.
“You want to sit?” he asked. “There’s a bench just past the hedge. Less foot traffic, more breeze.”
Jisung hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”
The bench Minho led him to was tucked behind a low hedge near the music building, half-shaded by a tree that hadn’t quite let go of spring. Its leaves were bright green, and a few delicate white blossoms clung to the branches like they were holding on for one last bloom. The air here was quieter, cooler, and carried the scent of sun-warmed grass, and the distant sweetness of someone’s citrus drink.
Jisung sat down slowly, letting his folder rest on his lap. The bench was smooth and sun-warmed, and the hedge behind them muffled the chaos of the quad like a natural sound barrier.
Minho dropped into the seat beside him, stretching his legs out in front of him. “This spot’s my secret weapon. Low traffic, good breeze, and no one tries to sell you club memberships.”
Jisung let out a breath that felt like it had been stuck in his chest all morning. “I needed this. Orientation was a nightmare.”
They sat in companionable silence for a moment. The breeze rustled the leaves above them, and somewhere nearby, someone was playing a soft scale on a flute. Jisung let himself breathe.
“So,” Minho said eventually, “what made you pick music production?”
Jisung hesitated, fingers tracing the edge of his folder. “I like building things. Not like buildings. But sound. Layers. Texture. I used to record my own voice and mix it with ambient noise from my neighborhood. It made me feel like I could control something.”
Minho nodded, thoughtful. “That’s cool. Sounds like you’re good at making space feel safe.”
Jisung blinked. “I never thought of it that way.”
Minho leaned back, arms stretched along the back of the bench. “I think omegas are good at that. Making things feel like home.”
Jisung looked at him sideways. “You’re not like other alphas.”
Minho smirked. “You say that like it’s a compliment.”
“It is,” Jisung said. “Most alphas make me feel like I’m supposed to be grateful they’re not growling at me.”
Minho’s expression softened. “You shouldn’t have to feel grateful for basic decency.”
Jisung didn’t reply. He just looked down at his shoes, one of which had a fading sticker of a cartoon cat on the sole. He’d put it there during finals last year for luck. It hadn’t worked, but he’d kept it anyway.
Minho noticed. “Is that a cat?”
Jisung flushed. “It’s stupid.”
“No,” Minho said. “It’s cute.”
Jisung blinked. “You say that like you mean it.”
“I do.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was warm. Like the sun on their skin, like the breeze in the leaves,like the kind of silence that holds you together when everything else is loud.
They ended up talking for nearly an hour. About classes, dorms, favorite ramen flavors, and the weirdest things they’d seen during orientation. Minho had a dry sense of humor that balanced Jisung’s sarcasm perfectly. He didn’t push, didn’t pry—just listened, responded, and occasionally made Jisung laugh so hard he snorted.
When they finally stood to leave, Jisung felt lighter. Like something had shifted.
“Thanks,” he said, brushing imaginary dust off his folder. “For showing up when everything felt too loud. For giving me space without asking for anything back.”
Minho grinned. “Anytime. You want to walk back together?”
Jisung hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
They reached the dorms as the late afternoon sun spilled gold across the pavement, softening everything it touched. The air inside was cooler, tinged with citrus-scented cleaner and the faint sweetness of jasmine from the air freshener inside. A few students passed by, their voices low, their footsteps echoing against the polished tile.
They walked in silence, side by side, past the front desk and down a hallway lined with numbered doors. Jisung hadn’t memorized the layout yet—he’d arrived late, missed the tour, and mostly kept to himself.
Minho slowed near the end of the hall and glanced at the number on his keycard. “Three-oh-seven.”
Jisung blinked and looked down at his own. “Wait… me too.”
They stared at each other for a beat, then turned toward the same door.
Minho laughed softly. “Guess we’re roommates.”
Jisung’s brows lifted. “Huh.”
Minho unlocked the door and pushed it open. Inside was two bedrooms, with a small common space in the middle. The couch looked like it had survived a few years of undergrad, and the kitchenette still smelled faintly of cardboard and lemon dish soap.
Jisung stepped in slowly, taking it in. “I didn’t realize we were in the same dorm.”
Minho shrugged, setting his bag down by the door. “I didn’t either. I figured you were on another floor.”
Jisung gave a small smile. “This is… kind of nice.”
Minho nodded. “Yeah. You want to sit for a minute? Just until you feel steady."
Jisung hesitated, then nodded.
Minho led him to his room—neat, sunlit, soft around the edges. Pale curtains filtered the light into a warm haze. A few leafy plants lined the windowsill, their green vibrant against the neutral tones of the room. The bed was neatly made with a navy comforter, and a folded hoodie rested on the desk chair. A ceramic mug sat beside a small lamp, casting a gentle glow over the desk. It smelled faintly of cedar and clean cotton—grounding, like fresh laundry and open windows.
Jisung hovered near the doorway, unsure if he should sit or just stand and breathe.
“You can sit,” Minho said, voice low. “Or lie down. Whatever helps.”
Jisung nodded and moved toward the bed, easing down onto the edge. His fingers curled into the soft fabric of the comforter, grounding himself in texture and scent.
Minho didn’t hover. He crossed the room and opened the window a little wider, letting in more of the breeze. It carried the scent of grass and distant jasmine, cool against the warmth of the room.
"Thanks for this," Jisung said softly, then huffed. "I mean it. Because out there?" His fingers tightened on the comforter. "I watched three different alphas compete over who could open a door 'better.' A door, Minho."
Jisung gave a dry laugh. “It’s like everyone’s trying to prove something. Like they’re auditioning for Alpha of the Year.”
Minho smiled. “You’re not wrong.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Not awkward. Just still.
The kind of silence that held you together when everything else was loud.
Jisung looked down at his hands, then up at Minho. His voice was quiet. “Thanks for not making it weird. For letting me just… be.”
Minho’s gaze was steady. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”
Jisung nodded, throat tight. “Still. I mean it.”
Minho leaned back slightly, letting the chair creak under his weight. “You want to stay a little longer? Or head back to your room?”
Jisung hesitated. His room was just across the common space. But it felt colder. Less like a place to land.
He looked up. “Can I stay here? Just for a while?”
Minho’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture softened. “Of course. You can stay as long as you want.”
Minho moved quietly around the room, pulling a spare blanket from the closet and setting it within reach.
Neither of them spoke much after that. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was warm. Like the sun on their skin, like the breeze in the leaves.
Like the kind of quiet that made space for two people to just exist.
The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the suite bathed in soft amber from the hallway light. Jisung hadn’t moved from Minho’s bed. He’d meant to, really—just for a minute, just until he felt steady. But the room was quiet in a way his own wasn’t. It held stillness like a blanket.
Minho had settled at his desk, headphones on, sketching something in a notebook. He hadn’t asked questions. Hadn’t filled the silence. Just let Jisung exist.
Eventually, Jisung sat up, rubbing his eyes. “I should go.”
Minho looked over, pulling one earbud out. “You don’t have to.”
Jisung gave a small smile. “I don’t want to be weird.”
“You’re not.”
A beat passed. Jisung stood, stretching slowly. “I didn’t know you were like this.”
Minho raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”
“Quiet. Kind. Not just the guy who rolls his eyes in orientation.”
Minho laughed under his breath. “I roll my eyes at chaos. Not people.”
Jisung nodded, then hesitated at the door. “Thanks. For today.”
Minho leaned back in his chair. “Anytime.”
Jisung stood in the doorway of his room, the quiet pressing in around him. Across the small common space, Minho’s door was closed. Jisung shut the door behind him and stood for a moment in the dim light, letting the quiet settle. The air felt still, like the room was waiting for him to decide what kind of space it would be.
He peeled off his hoodie, kicked off his shoes, and changed into sweats and a shirt. The blanket was still folded from when he’d unpacked it, the mattress firm beneath him as he climbed in. His duffel slouched in the corner, half-open, clothes spilling out like it had given up halfway through.
Minho’s room felt different. Softer. Like it had already learned how to hold someone gently.
Jisung hadn’t expected that.
He hadn’t expected Minho to feel like a pause in the noise.
The Heat Incident
[One year later]
The bass from Jeongin's apartment thrummed through the walls. Jisung pressed closer to Minho's side as they climbed the stairs.
"Remember," Minho said quietly, "when it starts being too much, just tell me and we'll leave. Okay?"
Jisung nodded, grateful. "Okay."
Jeongin answered the door with a bright smile. "Finally! Everyone's here already."
They found Hyunjin and Felix by the kitchen, Felix tucked under Hyunjin's arm, both holding red cups. The party wasn't huge—maybe thirty people—but enough to make Jisung's chest tight.
"I'll grab us drinks," Minho said. "You good?"
"Yeah." Jisung forced a smile. "Go."
Minho touched his shoulder briefly before following Hyunjin to the punch bowl.
"Were you and Felix dancing earlier, he looks sweaty" Minho noted, watching Felix through the kitchen doorway.
Hyunjin frowned. "He said he was—"
The scent hit them like a wall, Heat pheromones.
"Felix," Hyunjin breathed, already moving.
They shoved through the crowd to find Felix on the floor in a corner, disoriented and glassy-eyed. Jisung stood in front of him—all 5'7" of him—glaring up at two alphas who towered over them both.
"He's obviously unclaimed," one alpha said. "We're just—"
"He's not interested." Jisung's voice shook but he didn't move. "Back off."
The alphas released a wave of threatening pheromones. The force of it hit Jisung full-on, making his knees buckle. Just as he started to fall—
"Get the fuck away from him." Hyunjin's voice was deadly and he looked ready to murder someone, shoving past to reach Felix.
Minho was already moving, rage radiating off him in waves. But before he could speak, Jeongin and Seungmin appeared from nowhere.
"Party's over for you two," Seungmin said coolly, stepping between the aggressive alphas and the group. "Leave. Now."
"Or we can do this the hard way," Jeongin added, and despite being younger, his authority as host held weight.
The alphas hesitated, outnumbered now. Hyunjin didn't wait for their decision.
"Felix, baby, I've got you." He gathered Felix into his arms, the omega immediately burying his face in Hyunjin's neck.
Minho scooped Jisung up bridal-style without hesitation. "We're leaving."
They burst out of the apartment, slamming the door behind them. Jisung's whimpers were getting louder by the second, his normally sweet strawberry scent turning sour with distress. The car was too far—they needed somewhere now.
Minho caught Hyunjin's eye and nodded toward the emergency stairs. Hyunjin understood immediately, heading for the main exit with Felix.
The stairwell was empty, fluorescent-lit. Minho set Jisung down carefully, but the omega's eyes were foggy, hands twitching, chest heaving. Full panic attack, made worse by the alpha pheromones.
"Hey, hey." Minho dropped to his knees, catching Jisung's hands. "You're safe. I've got you."
But Jisung was dropping hard—sub-drop from the confrontation, his omega overwhelmed. Minho didn't hesitate, rubbing his wrists against Jisung's scent glands, trying to ground him.
It wasn't enough. Jisung's whole body trembled, his breath coming in sharp gasps. Minho cupped his face gently, bringing their foreheads together.
"You're safe. I'm here."
Jisung made a broken sound, instinctively seeking Minho's scent. His eyes had gone hazy—his omega brain was taking over, drowning out human thought.
"That's my Hannie. Always so brave, now let me take over." Minho kept his voice low, steady, thumbs stroking Jisung's temples.
A tiny nod, desperate.
Minho guided Jisung's face to his neck, letting him find the source. Like before—that first panic attack—but this time no awkwardness between them.
Jisung pressed close, breathing in Minho's scent. Minho couldn't suppress the satisfied growl building in his chest. When he felt Jisung licking his neck, he knew Jisung was finding his way back.
"That's good, Sung-ah." His voice stayed soft. "Let's get you home, yeah? We'll scent properly there."
Not true, but it got Jisung moving. He pulled away, eyes clearer but exhausted.
"Can you stand?"
Jisung managed a nod but stumbled when Minho helped him up. He was unconscious before they reached the highway, curled against the passenger door.
Back at their dorm, Minho carried him inside—lighter than he should be, always forgetting to eat during stress. He tucked Jisung into his bed, pulling the blankets up to his chin.
"Minho?" Jisung mumbled, half-conscious.
"Sleep. I'm right here."
Minho turned to leave but fingers caught his wrist. Weak, barely there, but enough to stop him.
"Stay." Jisung's eyes were still closed. "Please."
"Jisung—"
"Just sleep. Nothing else." His grip tightened slightly. "Don't want to be alone."
Minho hesitated. They'd crossed so many lines tonight, what was one more? He carefully climbed in beside Jisung, leaving space between them.
Jisung immediately rolled closer, curling into Minho's side like he belonged there. His breathing evened out within minutes, finally safe.
Minho stared at the ceiling, adrenaline finally crashing. Jisung's weight against him was grounding, real. Tomorrow would bring questions, complications, everything they'd been avoiding.
But tonight, with Jisung sleeping peacefully against his shoulder, tomorrow felt very far away.
Minho woke to the soft morning light and Jisung's warm weight against his chest. His internal clock said it was early—maybe 7 AM—but Jisung wouldn't stir for at least another half hour.
He should probably move, give them both space. Instead, he carefully adjusted his arms, making sure Jisung was comfortable. After last night—the panic, the drop—Jisung needed rest. That's all this was. Making sure his friend was okay.
Jisung shifted, fingers tightening briefly in Minho's shirt before relaxing again. His breathing stayed deep and even. Finally getting proper sleep.
Twenty minutes passed peacefully. Minho found himself mentally listing everything they'd need to do today—check on Felix properly, maybe take some of that food his mom made, make sure Jisung actually ate something substantial.
"You're thinking too loud," Jisung complained, face still hidden. "It's like sleeping next to a computer."
"How long have you been awake?"
"A few minutes." Jisung finally rolled away, blinking at the ceiling. "Everything's sore. Is that normal?"
"Adrenaline crash. Yeah."
"Great." He turned his head. "Did I say anything weird? Last night is kinda of fuzzy."
"Nothing weird. Just asked me to stay."
"Oh. Good." Jisung sat up slowly, wincing. "Felix probably thinks I died."
"He's sent roughly a thousand texts." Minho checked his phone. "Also three voice notes and what looks like a grocery list?"
"His mom's shopping list probably. She goes overboard when she's worried."
"Sounds familiar." Minho sat up too. "You need actual food. Not convenience store ramyeon."
"But convenience store ramyeon is a perfectly balanced—"
"No."
"You're so bossy."
"Yeah, well. You're persuasive when you're half-conscious."
"I'll remember that." Jisung's grin was quick, bright. "For future reference."
He left before Minho could respond, humming under his breath. Minho stood in the empty room, surrounded by Jisung's scent, and realized he was completely fucked and he was totally okay with that.
Felix's apartment smelled like a restaurant. His mom had apparently arrived at 6 AM with enough containers to stock a small store, and she hadn't stopped cooking since.
"Jisung-ah!" She pulled him into a fierce hug the moment he walked in, Minho trailing behind. "My Felix told me everything. You were so brave!"
"It wasn't—" Jisung's protest got muffled in her shoulder.
"Hush. Heroes don't argue with mothers." She pulled back, hands framing his face.
"You're too thin. Sit. Eat."
Felix appeared in the kitchen doorway, eyes still puffy. "Mom, let him breathe."
"I'm feeding your savior." She was already pulling out containers. "You—" pointing at Minho "—you kept him safe after?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Good alpha. Sit. You eat too."
Minho caught Jisung's panicked look and shrugged. No one argued with Felix's mother.
They ended up around Felix's tiny table, his mom piling food on their plates while Felix kept touching Jisung's arm like he needed to confirm he was real.
"I'm sorry," Felix said quietly while his mom bustled around. "If I'd been more careful—"
"Stop." Jisung's voice was firm. "They were predators. That's on them, not you."
"Still." Felix's eyes welled up again. "You could've been hurt."
"But I wasn't." Jisung glanced at Minho. "I had backup."
Under the table, Minho's knee pressed against his. Steady. Present.
Felix's mom set down more food. "Eat. Both of you. Heroes need strength."
"I'm not a—"
"Hush." She patted Jisung's head. "My Felix is safe because of you. That makes you family now."
Jisung's ears went red. Minho hid a smile behind his chopsticks.
Some things were shifting. Maybe but, surrounded by too much food and Felix's grateful tears and his mom's fierce care, that was okay.
When they made it back to the dorm Jisung headed straight for the couch and flopped onto it while Minho put the leftover food away that Felix's mom insisted that they take home with them.
"Death has come for me," Jisung groaned from the couch, one arm flung dramatically over his eyes. "Tell everyone I went out doing what I loved—eating too much."
"I'll put it on your tombstone." Minho closed the fridge and turned around. "Move over, corpse."
"Can't. Too full to process motor functions."
"Then I'll sit on you."
"You wouldn't—" Jisung yelped as Minho lifted his legs, claimed half the couch, then dropped them unceremoniously in his lap. "Rude!"
"Effective though." Minho grabbed the remote. "Felix's mom sent me care instructions for you, by the way."
"She what?"
"Apparently you need to drink tea before bed and text her when you wake up." He scrolled through Netflix. "Very detailed. There's a spreadsheet."
"You're making that up."
"Check your phone in an hour. She's probably designing one right now." Minho found Attack on Titan in the queue. "Ready for your titans?"
"Born ready." Jisung wiggled into a more comfortable position. "I can't believe you're finally watching it with me."
"Yeah, well. You did write 'PLEASE WATCH AOT' on every surface in the dorm."
"That was a social experiment."
"That was vandalism. Jisung, you wrote on my laptop. In permanent marker."
"It came off!"
"After an hour of scrubbing!"
"Artistic expression." Jisung shimmied closer. "You're really gonna watch it? Even with the—" He made vague chomping gestures.
"I'll close my eyes during the eating parts."
"But that's like... half the show."
"Then I'll watch half a show." Minho found the first episode. "Now shut up, it's starting."
Jisung lasted exactly three minutes before: "Okay so the walls are actually—"
"Ji."
"Right. Quiet. Got it." Two more minutes. "But see how the birds symbolize—"
"Do you want me to get the duct tape?"
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me."
By episode three, Jisung had somehow moved across the couch and had himself against Minho's side, still mumbling observations but softer now, sleepier.
"Eren's actually representing humanity's rage against—" Yawn. "Against the inevitable... some... thing..."
"Brilliant analysis."
"Shut up, I'm tired." Jisung burrowed closer. "You make a good pillow."
"I've been demoted from furniture to bedding. Fantastic."
"Shh. Pillows don't talk."
"This one does." But Minho grabbed the blanket, tucking it around them. "And this pillow says you snore."
"Lies and slander," Jisung mumbled, already half-gone.
Within minutes, soft snores proved Minho right. He turned the volume down, smirking.
"Knew it," he whispered, but his hand came up to steady Jisung against his shoulder, gentle despite all the teasing. Some truths were better kept for later blackmail material.