Chapter Text
There's almost next to nothing on the internet about the settlement.
It makes sense, seeing as it's almost completely cut off from the rest of society, basically in the middle of nowhere, and the people there generally despise modern technology and outsiders. Nobody really knows what goes on beyond the walls of the Natives Compound, but everyone knows enough. Enough to stave off the general public's curiosity, and to avoid bothering who doesn't want to be bothered.
Chan's really so happy that he's going to be the first outsider in decades to get firsthand experience. He'll be bombarded with phone calls, text messages, emails from news outlets and reporters. If he's allowed to keep his phone and laptop, that is.
Ah. God bless the minuscule chance to be a non-beta offspring in a beta society.
"Wipe that frown off your face, son, you look like your cat got run over and we don't even have a cat."
Chan can't even get himself to lift his eyes to meet his dad's. He knows he's trying to get his mood up with his weird stern sense of humor, it's what usually works, but Chan just can't bother to act accordingly right now. He knows he's being petty and his appa is the last person who can change anything about this, (it really isn't like he hasn't tried,) but he's the only one in the car with him. And Chan's done with playing nice about his situation.
"Maybe there's feral cats in the settlement I can tame. Or mountain lions. Maybe a wolf," he murmurs non-committal, not looking up from his laptop where the blank space of an unwritten email bullies him non-verbally. What's he supposed to write in his defense?
"Dear dean of studies, I'm sorry to not have written earlier about my deregistration from university, I've been in denial about being shunted off to the Natives Compound because of my very unfortunate biology so I elected to ignore it until I sat in the car."
Hah, yeah right.
It's not like it matters anyway. If he writes or not. Every lawful institution he ever visited knows, after his pediatrician had to inform the public health department of his presentation about a decade ago. It matters even less since that same health department denied him extension of his suppressive medications since coming of age and is now deporting him like a second class citizen.
Well, maybe he is something like that, with how quickly the bureaucrats organized his move in a matter of weeks. College resignation, subscription cancellations and contract terminations included. His last dose of suppressants metaphorically and literally ended whatever kind of autonomy he made himself believe he had.
Life's funny like that.
"Chan-ah," his dad grunts, as if he is actually trying to admonish him about this and not just pretending to. "It's not like— These people aren't cavemen. They just live a little differently, like, like the Amish. You'll be able to have a perfectly normal pet if you want to. Just like you grew up with."
Chan tries not to cringe outwardly. His dad shouldn't make assumptions about things he has no idea of.
Chan kind of expected something like a restricted military area. With barbed wire fences all around and two-way boom barriers in front of a gate with two armed security guards.
But on second thought, of course that's stupid. This is the Natives Compound. To get here they drove from the highway down onto rural roads, then onto cobblestone roads, then gravel roads, and finally, forest roads. And they stayed on forest roads for a while. Chan felt a little like Chihiro in the beginning of Spirited Away. Just worse.
But eventually they landed here, where the forest road trickles away from being in two thick stripes and instead starts up as a well trodden footpath, and a little weather worn hut stands at the side. In any other case that would be kind of creepy, but there's a middle aged man sitting on a collapsible wooden chair in front of the open hut door, one leg crossed over the other and an arm with a book in hand leaned on his lifted knee.
Their family car was probably heard from miles away, but the man doesn't bother looking up until his dad gets out of the car, hisses at Chan to get out too, and walks over to greet the man a little awkwardly.
"Uh, hello, I'm Bang Jeongho, this is my son Bang Chan. We're on our way to the Natives Compound, are we on the right track?"
The man gets up, a little cumbersome, with his hands on his lower back, heaving a deep breath screaming of heavy labor, and against all odds smiles a surprisingly genuine smile.
He looks over Chan's appa for only a short second, his eyes catching instead on Chan, making his skin crawl with unwanted attention.
It really fucks with your self esteem when everyone around you knows what you are from a few feet away. And if the little information about alphas and omegas he collected in his deep nights of research proves to be true, they are about ten times more perceptive than betas.
Not that Chan would know. If he is that much more perceptive. He's only ever been around regular people. And so far, this man seems about as regular as they come.
"Yes, you could say so. I'm Park Jinyoung, the settlement's representative for external relations. I've been in contact with the board about your case, and waiting here to pick your son up."
Chan feels as surprised as his dad looks at the revelation.
They'll part here? That's sooner than Chan would like. He assumed they'd at least let his appa help him settle in his new.. he doesn't even know, room? House? Living quarters? And that they could say goodbye to each other on their own time. But instead, after some confused stuttering, his dad goes to the trunk of the car, takes out his luggage and brings it over to the side of the path while Chan watches on helplessly.
They go through the motions of saying goodbye a little stilted, thrown off their loop by the sudden change of plans, and Chan feels like it doesn't really register in his brain that his dad is gonna get in that car they've had since he was eight, turn it around and drive off for some indefinite amount of time during which Chan'll be alone in a settlement in the middle of the woods with some primitive amish-like people he doesn't know.
It sounds pretty unreal. But it becomes quite undeniable as Chan watches the tail lights of their family car disappear into the thick of the forest around them and Park Jinyoung grabs the two large gym bags with Chan's clothes and leaves the suitcase for him to pull after them.
When Chan doesn't make a move to follow, Park Jinyoung huffs at him in a way that grabs Chan's attention like a pinch to the arm, or a call of his name.
He doesn't question it further, turns around, takes his suitcase and treks along.
The journey through the forest is long and awkwardly silent.
Normally, Chan would've long put his bluetooth earbuds in and enjoyed some music to make it more bearable, like on the train home after college. But he's kind of scared of the consequences. He has no idea how these people handle technology, much less the disrespect of taking one out while in company.
Back home, if no one wanted to talk, they all would just do their own thing on their phones for a bit. Here? Who knows, maybe Chan will be publicly scrutinized or worse, punished.
He can't even imagine what kind of rules he'd break by taking out his phone, and he simply doesn't want to find out.
A few steps ahead of him, Park Jinyoung sniffs as if his nose is running, followed by him lifting one of his forearms to rub it against his face. He doesn't look like the weight of Chan's bag in his hand is bothering him at all during the movement. Like it weighs nothing as he hurls it around, which is painfully untrue.
It reminds Chan of his own unusual strength. In another world, the display of similarities might've been comforting.
"Say, Chan-ah. How was the drive over here?"
After so long without a word, Chan is surprised it's Park Jinyoung who breaks the silence. He wonders what prompted him to do it.
He decides not to think about the diminutive tacked onto his name.
"Uhm, okay?" Is the first thing he says, not knowing how else to follow it up, and in the ensuing silence he swears he sees Park Jinyoung's ear twitch with how hard he's clenching his jaw. He panics, "I— I mean, it was half a day in a stuffy car with bad radio signal and even worse cell reception. I was bored to death after twenty minutes when twitter didn't load any more. And my dad isn't the greatest conversationalist on the planet, either. So there wasn't much for me to do."
Park Jinyoung glances back at him for only a moment, and it's so short Chan barely registers it at all, but he still feels like all those times in his young teens when dad was teaching him how to man the barbecue and was silently berating every single move he did wrong. Miffed, but not miffed enough to actually do something about it.
This is going great.
"Do you not read books out there anymore?"
Chan is a little stumped at that.
Out there.
Is that what the compound thinks about the other ninety-nine percent of the world around them? Out there? Like society is the one out of line and not them?
That's a positively awful way of thinking that Chan really doesn't even want to entertain. Whatever.
"Eh," he tries getting his thoughts back on track to answer, not particularly interested in making Park Jinyoung any more ticked off than he seems like, "Well, yeah, we do? Sometimes? Mostly for school and college and stuff. I don't know a lot of people who still read as a hobby. It's kind of a dying medium?"
This time Park Jinyoung doesn't turn around, but Chan is like, at least pretty fucking sure that if the guy wasn't miffed before, he absolutely is now. How come whenever Chan tries to placate people it always comes out wrong?
"Oh," Chan eventually continues, trying madly to not get stifled by the weird atmosphere pushing down on his shoulders, "well, uhm, there's still manga! If you count that as reading, books are still going strong as ever!"
If the compound people even know what manga is. The metaphorical hole he's digging gets bigger and bigger.
In his mind, this can't get any worse.
Against all odds, a few seconds later, the heavy blanket of displeasure on Chan's nape lifts a little. He can breathe a little freer, rolling his shoulders in relief. He doesn't know what happened or how he did it, but somehow it worked in his favor.
Park Jinyoung hums in front of him, readjusting the grip on Chan's travel bags.
"That's nice to hear. Manga just started becoming popular when I left for the settlement, I never really got the chance to enjoy it properly. I hear it's gotten quite distinguished over the years?"
And that's an olive branch Chan can confidently grab at. He goes on a tangent about his favorite franchises and explains in more detail whenever Park Jinyoung makes an interested noise at him. The air around them becomes fresh and light over the next few minutes, making Chan breathe easier, and the rest of the trek goes by a little quicker.
He doesn't even start to think about what Park Jinyoung said about leaving for the settlement.
Chan doesn't really have a chance to look around the compound before he's barreled over by the prettiest person he has ever laid eyes on.
It's a bummer they're clinically insane.
"Haaah," they poke around his face and neck with their pointer fingers like their life depends on it, hanging off of Chan's side, and if he wouldn't have slung a cautious arm around their back automatically, they surely would've slid off immediately.
"The fuck's with your scent?"
"Uh," Chan makes, perplexed and scared to move, at the same time as the second newcomer a few paces in front of them makes the same sound, just barely holding it together.
He's still getting poked in the carotid. Also tickled by flyaway hair against his chin.
At least the hair's soft, unlike what its color would suggest.
"The fuck," the guy in Chan's arm repeats, and he takes the biggest sniff Chan's ever heard, feels the air around his neck whoosh as it's pulled into this weirdo's lungs, and, what the hell— "Where is your scent?"
The bottom of a sunlit honey pot looks back at him as the guy forcefully pulls Chan away from himself, holding his shoulders at arm's length, absolutely scrutinizing him. As if Chan's the one who's thrown himself at the guy and is now being shoved off.
"Hannie, I swear to fucking God—" The second guy groans, eye twitching and facial expression nothing short of imploding, at the same time that Park Jinyoung, from behind them, softly sighs, "Han Jisung, why are you like this."
"Are you taking suppressants?!"
Chan did not expect to be screamed at, so he instinctively straightens in the other's hold, eeking quietly, jumpscared into answering honestly. "Nuh, no, Jisung-ssi! My last dose was taken two months ago after the prescription ran out!"
Han Jisung harrumphs at that, nose scrunched comically high on one side, before the other guy finally decides to end their little stunt and scruff Jisung at the nape like a misbehaving kitten.
Jisung does not look pleased at that, arms hanging limp in front of his chest as he pouts to the side. The other guy smiles a strained little smile.
"I'm so sorry, Park Jinyoung-sunbaenim. I thought the head of house," he underlines his not at all hidden gripe with a shake hard enough that Jisung fucking whines in his grip, "could behave himself long enough to greet our new member like a normal fucking person."
Jisung goes to mumble something in his defense, but promptly gets cut off by his captor's quietly hissed I am so close to mass murder, Jisungie, and you will be the first casualty.
"I've expected nothing else, Minho-ssi. It's fine."
Minho, attention turning back to Park Jinyoung and by extension Chan, finally lets Jisung go and takes a small, polite bow instead. Chan is kind of impressed how pointedly he ignores Jisung falling into a sulking heap underneath him.
"I'm sorry to you too, Bang Chan-ssi. I would've left Jisung at the house if I'd known he would impose himself on you like this." Minho gets interrupted by Jisung loudly scrambling up from under him, but he powers through like he's endured this a thousand times already. "I'm Lee Minho, head of house Seoul, alpha wing."
Jisung yammers theatrically as he eventually ends up standing again, pressing his hands into his lower back like it has been hurting for forty years and this was the worst ordeal of his life, "Alright, alright, I get it! I admit I overstepped a little, because contrary to popular belief I'm dumb but not an idiot."
Indistinct, opposing mumbles from two sides. Jisung hacks, but catches himself quickly enough to nod his head in something you could almost call a bow if you were nice enough about it. "I'm Han Jisung, head of house Seoul, omega wing. And I only got so up in your face because I wanted to know if you're coming with me or with this stupid stinker."
With Jisung's thumb to his face, Minho's polite smile twitches minutely. Chan sees the aborted movement of Minho's arm, undoubtedly trying to shoot toward the other man to discipline him again but thinking better of it at the last second.
These are—
These are young men just like Chan.
They're nothing like what the research suggested alphas and omegas would be like.
Chan is at a loss for words. Loss for thoughts, too. Jisung's still staring at him, his eyes almost blinding like the sun reflecting off of wet earth, and Chan kind of forgets how to be human for a second.
"Wuh, well," he eventually catches himself, only after Jisung cocks his head at him with his eyes in suspicious slits, "I got diagnosed as an omega, so I guess I'm– I'm going to the omega wing?"
Jisung whoops loudly at that, arms and legs in the air, trees rustling with startled birds, while Minho's face finally breaks, even if only the slightest bit. The strain in his mouth and eyes morphs into something one would usually call a frown, but really, it is more of a snarl. Upper lip pulled up and all, even if only for a fraction of a second.
The oppressive atmosphere is back in the blink of an eye, making Chan pull his shoulders up instinctively.
Minho reels himself back almost as quickly as it happened at all, Jisung next to him startled into observant stillness. There's a sound coming from his chest that Chan can barely hear from his distance to the two.
"Sorry, I," Minho stutters, almost like he surprised himself, then turns to Jisung, "Sorry, I didn't mean to."
They share a long blink before he turns back to Chan. Chan feels like he's missing something. "Sorry, I didn't mean to react so strongly. I get quite overprotective, uh, over these matters. I suppose."
Jisung frowns at the side of Minho's head, who in turn is ignoring him as is customary, but at least he's back to his amicable smile.
Park Jinyoung takes the lull in conversation, or stunned silence, however you want to call it, as his opportunity to pass Chan's luggage onto Jisung. "Well, I take it the head omega has got it from here on, then. I trust you remember how to move an omega into your house, Han Jisung?"
The remark is said in a somewhat teasing tone, even Chan can hear it, but Jisung whines indignantly either way. He likes to do that, Chan's found out.
"Park Jinyoung-ssi! Who do you think I am, Kang Younghyun?!"
The concern wasn't entirely unfounded.
Jisung forgets about every second thing to do, apparently. He's a little all over the place. There's locks to the front of the house and to the dorm rooms themselves but no keys are prepared for Chan yet. There are plenty of empty rooms but none assigned to him yet, so Jisung just lets him choose one on the fly. In the room he chose (last one on the first floor for maximum peace and quiet) there are still things from the last inhabitant that Jisung never bothered to clean out.
Jisung would've probably forgotten to show him the linen closet if Chan hadn't asked him about fresh bedsheets.
While Jisung picks up the miscellaneous trinkets and leftovers into a wooden basket, telling him all about their former owner BamBam who's apparently getting a big beating about leaving his stuff all over the place after he spontaneously moved in with his alpha, Chan remakes the bed in the corner.
There's even an old sheet on the mattress still. It's slightly damp to the touch, as if the room hasn't been aired out properly in a while. Chan briefly questions if he should've just picked a different room at this point.
"I hope Yugyeom-hyung left a mess behind, too. Maybe then I can finally get Minho-hyung to gang up on them with me," Jisung muses aloud, humming a tuneless sound, and then, "Ah! Chan-ssi!"
Chan startles from his place sprawled over the bed to untuck the old sheet, scrambles to stand upright and look at the head omega. "Uh, yes?"
Jisung turns to him, and there's once again this observant stillness about him, his face carefully blank as he watches Chan's reactions.
"Speaking of Minho-hyung. Why did you say it like that?"
Chan's slightly confused about what exactly he means. He says a lot of stuff in weird ways.
At his clueless head tilt, Jisung continues, "Your designation. I got diagnosed as an omega. Why did you say it like that?"
And, "Oh, well," Chan begins easily, because it's easy to repeat what everyone outside of the compound always called it, then falters because Jisung kind of has a point, "Uhm. Because my doctors always said it like that? But now that you're saying it, it does sound kinda weird, doesn't it?"
Jisung hums at that, face still blank, which is starting to become unnerving. The guy has shown more emotion in the mere hour Chan's known him than Chan's college roommate Big Matthew had in the first two weeks of rooming with him, so not seeing any of that on his face is quickly becoming a Very Bad Not Good Thing in Chan's mind.
"Maybe drop that. Hyung won't be the only one to take offense to that."
He says it so bluntly, so tonelessly, that Chan's shoulders go up again, back straightening instinctively and legs tensing. He feels like this might be the scariest person Chan's ever encountered. If this is what he's like for a minor inconvenience, Chan really doesn't want to get on Jisung's bad side. Ever.
"Yuh—yes! Of course. Sorry."
Chan nods starkly, then bows, still a little scared, but Jisung returns to his silly, goofy self in the blink of an eye. He hurls the wooden basket in his arms around to prod it into Chan's shoulder and side, who straightens back up to not keel over. Jisung cackles. "No need to apologize to me. I get it. But Minho's pretty, uh. Particular? About identities and stuff? And, y'know, calling your omegahood a diagnosis like it's a sickness or something is quite, uh— yeah. You get me?"
Chan agrees, still a little uneasy, and turns back to continue remaking the bed.
Thinking about it as a diagnosis has always been a given, before. After his presentation at fifteen, as soon as his first heat was over, he'd been put on long-term suppressants. To not influence his academic performance. To not influence other people's academic performance. To not influence anyone or anything, really, least of all his semblance of a life as a beta. As a functioning part of society.
"It's not a diagnosis. It's who you are, y'know."
Yeah. Chan's starting to realize that, too.
After Chan's done making the bed he's going to inhabit for an indeterminate amount of time and Jisung's almost done with collecting all of BamBam's stuff, Chan goes to open the window to air out. The room doesn't particularly smell of anything, at least not that he can tell, but he needs it more for mental support than anything else.
In the end, it doesn't really matter why he did it. It gets overshadowed by the sight greeting him by a whole fucking mile, and he has to lean on the windowsill to process it all.
The settlement is big and beautiful. It stretches on for what seems like forever and only loses itself in the vast, lush forest surrounding them from all sides. It seems more like a small, lively town than whatever puritan encampment Chan has conjured up in his mind. There's people bustling around the roads, sounds of children from somewhere close by that remind him of recess, and there's even a few mountains poking over the horizon.
It feels so homey, yet so alien to Chan. He feels like an intruder, like someone who's looking at a beautiful painting in a dark museum. Like he doesn't belong here.
The sudden thought makes him pull his shoulders up again, leaning onto the windowsill harder as that weird feeling of displeasure creeps back up his nape.
"Ahh," Jisung sighs behind him, and before Chan can turn to acknowledge him, the guy barrels into him once again, one arm slung over Chan's neck and the other reaching vaguely outside. The added weight makes Chan stand up a little straighter, attention catching on where Jisung's pointing. "Isn't it pretty? I'm glad you've got good taste, Chan-ssi!"
Then, he starts pointing out different buildings and places they can see from up here. The house of elders, the refectory, the main square, the workshops. It's all stuff Chan can't really retain, especially when Jisung starts on whatever else there is that they can't see from up here, but his attention eventually comes back to some movement down below them at the house's side entrance.
There's a man built like a fucking fridge stepping out. He's got muscles everywhere, shoulders and arms and chest and thighs, which Chan is able to see because he's shirtless and in long, billowing pants that have slits all the way down the sides.
Fucking hell.
Are all these people here beautiful?
"Oi, Changbin-hyung!" Chan doesn't know if he chokes because of Jisung screaming at full volume next to his ear or because of the double take he has to do when the man lifts his gaze up at them. "Where're you going? Somewhere we can show our new pack member around?"
The man, Changbin, scowls deeply at them at first, like he could imagine a thousand and one other things he would rather entertain than Jisung screaming at him from an open window. Then, when his gaze shifts over to Chan, his features smooth over in blank recognition, mouth slack and eyebrows relaxing, and Chan doesn't know what it is about the man, but he feels a tender pinch of familiarity in his chest at the change in expression.
He hasn't seen that man ever before in his entire life, it's physically impossible knowing the compound people never leave here, but somehow he feels like he knows him from somewhere.
His hands on the windowsill tighten into fists.
Changbin doesn't dignify them with a response, only cocks his head slightly after a few moments, resets his jaw, still staring up at them.
Jisung eventually giggles at the stretch of silence, a little nervously. "Ah, eh. Chan, this is Seo Changbin, our second alpha in command. He's a little, uh, short-spoken. With new people. I guess."
Chan can barely remember to nod. His head is still reeling from the steady gaze directed at him with no sign of stopping. He feels seen again, shuddering from the attention, but not in the way it did with Park Jinyoung back in the forest. Not unwanted.
Why do his eyes feel so familiar?
"Changbin-hyung, this is—"
"Washhouse."
Jisung sputters at the rude interruption, finally pulling his arm off Chan's shoulder to bodily lean out of the window, yammering like an old grandma about respecting when people talk. Changbin stays unfazed. They're still staring at each other. Chan can't take his eyes off of him.
Changbin shakes the wicker basket in his hands, eyes unwavering. "I'm going to the washhouse. If you want to come along, decide now."
"Yuh, yes! Coming!" The unknown pull in Chan's chest has made the decision before he even had the chance for conscious thought, scrambling away from the window and to the pile of old bedding he had taken off the bed, gathering it up in his arms and racing out the door.
The last thing he hears before he's out of earshot is Jisung bellowing behave yourself! but Chan somehow feels like it wasn't directed at him.
He ends up two paces behind Seo Changbin because multitasking is hard. He rearranges the laundry in his arms every few meters while trying his hardest to keep up with the man's efficient steps and not trip over himself between staring at their surroundings and staring at him.
The back roads they're taking to this supposed washhouse are breathtaking and speckled with nature everywhere, trees and bushes and blooming flowers wherever Chan looks, but he finds his eyes drawn to Changbin's nape time and time again.
Underneath his dark hair Chan can see an undercut peek through with every other step they take. It gives way to the taut plane of his traps running down both sides of his cervical vertebrae, spilling over to the sides of his neck and disappearing under the skin right before the delts emerge. The valleys and mountains of his muscles paint an invisible path over his skin that Chan has the overwhelming urge to follow with his palms. It distracts him as much as it disturbs him.
Why is he thinking like this? Why is his mind supplying him with such feelings of familiarity and intimacy, when he hasn't even spoken one real word with the guy?
Changbin halts abruptly, almost as if he didn't plan on it, and in between wrangling the bedsheets in his arms and wrangling his haywire thoughts, Chan just so avoids bumping into him. The man turns to him halfway, undereyes tense and lips pressed into a tight line, similar to how Minho looked shortly before he snarled at him earlier, and Chan's mortified that he got caught red handed.
Then, Changbin's arm shoots between them, fingers splayed.
Huh?
"Give it."
And. Uh.
Chan doesn't really know what to do with that. His brain short circuits, staring at the offered hand like it's the devil offering a pact. The fingers flex once. He sees Changbin's nails painted a dark rose just shortly during the movement but his mind gets caught up on it anyway.
Changbin huffs a noise, and alerted, Chan rips his eyes from his hand up to his face again. The guy's nose is twitching now, the skin in the middle of his eyebrows scrunched together, hand still outstretched.
"I said give it. Your laundry."
"Ah," Chan responds eloquently, jumping a little in place before finally pulling into motion. He gathers the loose sheets into a firmer ball, holding them out awkwardly, and tries not to swoon over the way Changbin easily takes the handfuls of laundry one-armed. Chan has barely recovered by the time the other turns back around, putting the sheets with his own laundry and continuing on his way like nothing ever happened.
Chan tumbles after him, weirdly embarrassed at seeing Changbin push his laundry deep into the wicker basket. Almost like he's pawing at it. It evokes something in him that he can't quite place. "Whuh— why?! I can carry my laundry by myself just fine!"
"Your struggle stopped being entertaining." Changbin is very blunt with it.
Chan sulks, disappointed but not surprised. Of course the hot one is kind of an asshole. He doesn't like it but he'll have to deal with it. "Oh, great. I'm glad my suffering was of enjoyment to you, o generous Seo Changbin-ssi."
Changbin huffs a small snort at that, but it sounds more like a rumble than anything else. The sound makes Chan preen, for some reason. Like it might have deeper meaning than he can't grasp at this point.
"Stop calling me that," Changbin demands a few seconds later, and he shifts the basket to one hand to clasp the other one onto Chan's nape. Chan hates to admit that Changbin was right and he could keep pace with him now that he was free of worrying about the laundry. Urk. "My pack calls me Bin. What's your birth year?"
Chan is quietly losing himself in the weight and breadth of the hand on his nape. Changbin's thumb is softly moving against one side of his neck while the rest of his fingers poke into the other side. It doesn't even feel like he has to strain his hand at all to make the fit. Either his hand is really big or Chan's neck is shockingly delicate. Either way; holy shit.
"Uh, uhm, oh–okay, Bin," God help him. When has he become such a disaster? "Nine— ninety-seven. Uhm, yeah."
There's that snort again, then the rumble. Chan looks up from where he had been staring into the middle distance in shock, meeting Changbin's glinting, droopy eyes, half-closed in his grin. The hand is still on his nape, thumb pressing circles into the side like an afterthought.
"You're older than me then. Older than Minho-hyung, too. You're our eldest, Chan-hyung."
Chan doesn't really catch the rest of the way to the washhouse after that.
The Natives Compound does have electricity and technology to some degree. There is washing machines and even some driers where Bin takes him, like some laundromats Chan knows from Seoul. He kind of feels cheated about that.
The washhouse is apparently at the back of the refectory. Chan knows this because they entered from the outside at the back road and left through a door in the opposite way, landing first in a big kitchen where they were met with equal amounts of angry reprimands at being shirtless in the kitchen (Bin) and perplexed silence at the presence of an unknown person (Chan), and then, after crossing it mostly unharmed, they turn into a loud, bustling hall full of tables and seats and everything else a proper cafeteria has.
There's a lot going on, even without dinner being near. Chan barely has time to really look at what exactly the young teens and children around the hall are doing before Jisung comes at them once again. How he caught up with them so quickly, Chan doesn't know and doesn't ask.
Jisung makes a face at them, stopping short from throwing an arm around Chan's shoulders as he usually does, instead crossing them in front of his chest with a huff. "You really don't have any self restraint, do you, hyung?"
There's an aura of calm smugness emanating from Bin when Chan cocks his head in his direction, once again not following. He hopes someone will eventually explain to him what type of crucial information he's always missing. He's starting to be fed up about being left out of the loop.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Jisung-ah."
"The guy doesn't even smell like himself yet but at least he smells like you, huh? I should've known you can't behave yourself."
Huh? Huh?
"I don't know what you mean. I was just being friendly, like any good head of house."
Chan watches, befuddled, as the two get caught in a truly jarring staring contest. Jisung with the biggest stink face he could muster and Bin in continued, unbothered smugness. Then, Jisung growls, actually growls, "Any good head of house wouldn't scent mark a new omega that doesn't even belong to them! Chan-ssi, let's go."
And with that, Jisung grabs one of his wrists to pull him away. Chan simply lets him, his brain capacity for ominous obscurities positively depleted for the day, and fumbles after his head of house like a straw doll. His gaze is still locked with Bin's, so while they distance themselves he has a full view of the guy waving after them with one hand and rubbing circles into the middle of his chest with the other, smug grin dimmed into something smaller, softer.
"See you around, hyung."
"Ah," Chan gets out in reflex, and there's a vibration in his vocal cords like he should clean his throat maybe, but it doesn't help when he does. He sees Bin's eyes widen the slightest bit. "Yes, see you! It was nice meeting you, Bin-ah! Thanks for showing me around!"
They make it all but outside the doors, fresh warm summer air hitting them and cafeteria sounds replaced by the forest around, before Chan flips on Jisung, at the end of his patience.
"Can you please tell me what's going on? Why're you being like this? And what's with the smell thing?"
Jisung stomps on, stoic, still holding onto Chan's wrist even after he's turned around to follow after him, grim pout not leaving his face. Chan stares into the side of his head until he eventually gets an answer, refectory already far behind them.
"They teach you nothing about alphas and omegas outside of here, huh?"
Jisung's right, they don't. But Chan's upset with everything that has just transpired, with the way Jisung was rude to Bin and how he couldn't even get a good thank you in before he was dragged away against his will, so that doesn't excuse anything at the moment, least of all Jisung's deflection. Chan pulls his wrist out of Jisung's grip with a sharp flex of his arm.
"No, they don't. But you're not being any better right now, so explain!"
Jisung seems a little taken aback at his outburst, sending him a wary glance before going back to his absolutely overdramatic pout. He mulls it over, until he finally lets out a grumpy sound, somewhere between a groan and a growl. "You want me to explain? Everything? Alright! I'll explain!"
And Jisung does. Well, as good as a person like him is able to.
At the end of it, Chan kind of regrets getting Jisung so riled up about the whole thing beforehand.
Talk about never getting onto his bad side and all that.