Chapter Text
Snow fell in soft, indecisive flurries, like the sky couldn’t quite commit to winter but was trying anyway.
Outside, laughter cut through the quiet neighborhood.
“Felix, you cheated!” Jisung’s voice rang out, scandalized and breathless, his boots slipping half a step backward as a snowball exploded against his shoulder.
Felix stood a few feet away, already winding up another shot, freckles bright against pink-flushed cheeks. “It’s not cheating if you’re just slow!” he shot back, grin sharp and unapologetic.
“I was strategizing!”
“You were staring into space!”
Another snowball flew. Jisung yelped, ducked, then retaliated with something slightly less snowball shaped, hitting the air like a loosely-formed avalanche. It missed entirely, bursting against a nearby tree instead.
Felix laughed so hard he doubled over.
Inside the house, warmth gathered in layers. The windows fogged faintly at the edges, holding the cold at bay like a polite but firm bouncer.
On the couch, Hyunjin had claimed the left side like it was his birthright, long limbs sprawled with artistic carelessness. Seungmin occupied the other end, posture far more composed, though his attention was just as glued to the TV.
“Bluey wouldn’t have missed that,” Seungmin said dryly, gesturing at the screen.
Hyunjin didn’t look away. “Bluey is a child. Jisung is… whatever Jisung is.”
“An omega with no aim,” Seungmin replied.
“Exactly.”
From the armchair, Changbin scoffed loudly. “This is ridiculous,” he announced, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the bright cartoon colors flickering across the screen. “We are grown adults. Why are we watching a cartoon dog teach life lessons?”
Neither alpha responded.
Changbin waited.
Silence.
He shifted slightly, eyes flicking back to the screen. “…That dad is kind of funny, though,” he muttered under his breath.
Hyunjin smirked without turning his head.
In the kitchen, something sizzled.
Minho stood at the stove like a conductor mid-symphony, orchestrating heat and timing with quiet precision. Garlic hit oil, releasing a scent so rich it practically curled through the air and dragged attention along with it. Something sweet followed, then savory, then something that made the entire house feel like it had exhaled in contentment.
He didn’t look up, but he knew exactly where everyone was.
Knew Jisung had just slipped again outside. Knew Felix was laughing. Knew Changbin was pretending not to enjoy himself.
Knew Chan was still at the table.
Across from him, Chan sat hunched over his laptop, shoulders tight beneath a hoodie that had seen better days. Massive headphones swallowed his ears, sealing him off from the world. The glow of the screen reflected in his eyes, lines of focus pulling his brows together.
He typed something out, paused, and scrubbed a hand over his face.
Minho plated something, slid it aside, then glanced over. “Hyung.” No response. He reached out and flicked one of the headphones.
Chan startled like someone had snapped a twig in a quiet forest. “What—?”
“Eat,” Minho said, nudging a plate toward him.
Chan blinked, disoriented, then gave a small, grateful nod. “Thanks.”
He pulled one side of the headphones off, just enough to exist halfway in the room. Peace, for a moment, settled like a soft blanket over everything.
Then Chan’s phone rang. The sound cut clean through the house. Not loud, not urgent, but sharp in a way that made Minho’s attention snap toward him immediately.
Chan frowned, glancing at the screen.
Unknown number.
He hesitated.
Answered.
“Hello?”
Minho didn’t mean to listen. He just…did. Chan’s posture shifted almost instantly, spine straightening, shoulders squaring as if someone had quietly replaced him with a more official version of himself.
“Yes,” he said. “Speaking.”
A pause. Then—
“Oh.” Minho stilled. Chan’s eyes flicked up, distant for a second, processing. “I see,” he continued, voice careful now. Measured. “Right now?”
Another pause.
Minho could almost hear the other side of the conversation in the silence between Chan’s words.
“Yes, we’re still active,” Chan said. “Of course. We just—we weren’t expecting—” He stopped himself, pressing his lips together. “How old?”
Minho set the spoon down. Chan’s fingers tapped once against the table. “Seventeen,” he repeated softly.
The air shifted. Not dramatically. Not loudly. But enough. Minho wiped his hands on a towel and stepped closer, quiet as snowfall. Chan glanced at him, something flickering behind his eyes. Concern. Calculation. That familiar, immediate weight of responsibility settling in.
“Beta?” Chan echoed.
Minho’s brows knit. Another pause.
“Understood,” Chan said. “No, that’s…that’s fine. We just haven’t—” He exhaled through his nose. “How soon?”
Minho already knew the answer before Chan spoke again.
“…An hour.” Silence stretched. Then, softer, “Can you give me two minutes? I need to confirm with my pack.”
A beat.
“Thank you.” Chan hung up. For a second, he didn’t move. Then he looked at Minho.
Minho raised a brow. “Well?”
Chan dragged a hand down his face. “Seventeen-year-old beta. Pulled from an abusive pack. They need emergency placement. Like, now now.”
Minho didn’t hesitate. “We’re taking him.”
Chan huffed a breath, half a laugh, half something else. “Yeah, I know, but—protocol.”
Minho nodded once. “I’ll get Changbin.” He turned, already moving.
In the living room, Bluey continued its heartfelt monologue to an audience that was about to become significantly less relaxed.
“Bin,” Minho called.
Changbin looked up. “What?”
“Kitchen. Now.”
Something in his tone must’ve landed because Changbin was already on his feet.
Two minutes later, the kitchen held a quiet, urgent huddle.
Chan explained. Quick. Efficient.
Changbin listened, arms crossed, jaw tight—not in resistance, but in thought. “A beta,” he murmured.
“Yeah.”
Seventeen.
Abusive pack.
An hour.
Changbin exhaled slowly, then nodded. “We’re not saying no.”
“No,” Chan agreed. “We’re not.”
“Then call the meeting.”
Chan didn’t waste another second.
“Everyone!” he called, voice carrying through the house.
Outside, Jisung and Felix froze mid-battle.
Inside, the TV muted.
Footsteps converged.
Within minutes, the whole pack stood together, snow-dusted, warm, curious, and already bracing for change.
Chan explained again, this time, to all of them. The reaction was…exactly what Minho expected.
“Yes,” Jisung said immediately.
“Obviously,” Felix added.
Seungmin nodded. “There’s no question.”
Hyunjin tilted his head slightly, thoughtful. “We’ll figure it out.”
Changbin glanced at Chan. Chan looked at all of them. Decision made. He picked up his phone.
“Yes,” he said when the line connected. “We’ll take him.”
A pause.
Then—
“…He’ll be here in an hour? Got it.”
Click.
Chan lowered the phone slowly.
“Well,” Seungmin said, already rolling up his sleeves. “We should probably make it look like we don’t live like animals.”
“Speak for yourself,” Hyunjin muttered.
“You leave socks everywhere.”
“They’re decorative.”
“They’re a biohazard.”
“Alright,” Chan cut in, clapping once. “Cleanup. Fast. Pairs.”
Assignments happened like instinct.
Hyunjin and Seungmin vanished toward the living room. Jisung and Felix bolted upstairs, trailing melted snow behind them. Minho turned back to the kitchen, Changbin beside him.
“Seungmin’s room,” Changbin said. “It’s the cleanest.”
Minho nodded. “He’ll bunk with you.”
Changbin shrugged. “Fine by me.”
Across the house, motion replaced stillness.
Dust was defeated. Blankets were straightened. Evidence of chaos quietly erased.
And beneath it all, thoughts stirred.
Jisung paused mid-pillow-fluff, glancing at Felix.
“Do you think he’s okay?” he asked, voice softer now.
Felix hesitated, then shook his head slightly. “I don’t know.”
A beat.
“We’ll make it better,” he added.
In the living room, Hyunjin stacked books with unusual care. “A beta,” he murmured.
Seungmin hummed. “New.”
“Different.”
“Still part of a pack,” Seungmin said simply.
Hyunjin smiled faintly at that.
In the kitchen, Minho wiped down the counter for the third time.
Changbin leaned against it, arms crossed again, quieter now. “He’s seventeen,” he said.
Minho nodded.
“Old enough to remember everything.”
Minho didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.
At the center of it all, Chan stood for a moment, just watching.
His pack, in motion. His home, reshaping itself to make space. One hour. A stranger would walk through that door. A kid carrying something heavy. Chan exhaled slowly, steadying himself.
Then he moved too.