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The first time Kim Dokja realized he was going into heat, it was quiet.
There were no dramatic collapses, no desperate instincts clawing at his mind—just a slow warmth blooming under his skin and a scent he couldn’t quite hide no matter how many scent patches he layered at his throat. Sweet, soft, unmistakably omega.
He should have called in sick.
Instead, he stayed at the apartment, wrapped in a blanket on the couch, stubbornly pretending he could outthink biology.
Yoo Joonghyuk knew before he said anything.
The alpha stepped inside, paused, and the air shifted. His gaze sharpened—not predatory, not overwhelming, but aware. Concerned. He shut the door gently behind him, locking it as if sealing the world out.
“You should be resting in the bedroom,” Joonghyuk said quietly.
“I am resting,” Dokja muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.
Joonghyuk didn’t argue. He never argued when Dokja was like this. Instead, he crossed the room and crouched in front of him, movements controlled, careful not to crowd him. His own scent—cool, steady, like rain against stone—unfolded slowly, deliberately restrained. An offering, not a claim.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
“A little.”
A lie. It was more than that—the ache was deep and instinctive, a hollow wanting that made his chest tight. But he refused to beg. He always refused.
Joonghyuk exhaled softly, as if he could read every unspoken word anyway. He rose and disappeared briefly, returning with a glass of water, suppressant supplements, and one of Dokja’s oversized sweaters warmed from the dryer.
“Come here,” he murmured.
Dokja hesitated only a second before leaning forward. Joonghyuk gathered him carefully, settling back against the couch and guiding Dokja into his chest. Strong arms wrapped around him—not possessive, not restraining, just solid and steady. Joonghyuk’s chin rested lightly atop his hair.
He released a little more of his scent then, enough to soothe, enough to quiet the restless pulse under Dokja’s skin. Not enough to overwhelm.
“You don’t have to handle it alone,” Joonghyuk said.
Dokja huffed faintly. “I wasn’t.”
A pause.
Then, softer—“Stay.”
Joonghyuk’s hold tightened just slightly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And in the quiet warmth of their shared scent, the ache dulled into something gentler, something safe.