Work Text:
Lee Sanghyeok learned very early that people liked deciding things for him before he even opened his mouth.
Teachers assumed he was sensitive.
Classmates assumed he was weak.
Adults spoke to him with that same careful tone that made his skin crawl, like omegas were things that needed to be handled gently before they cracked apart.
He hated that more than outright cruelty.
Cruelty was at least honest. Pity came disguised as concern.
“Maybe let someone else carry that.”
“Are you sure you can handle night shifts?”
“You should be more careful.”
As if he’d survived twenty-three years by being careless.
His mother used to tell him not to let it bother him. People were just worried, she said. The world was harder for omegas.
That was the problem.
Nobody ever questioned why it had to be harder in the first place.
Sanghyeok remembered being fourteen and getting shoved against a locker because he accidentally brushed shoulders with an alpha in the hallway. The teachers punished both of them equally afterward.
“Provocation goes both ways.”
He’d stood there staring at the disciplinary slip thinking that apparently existing too close to someone was now considered provoking behavior.
After that, something in him quietly changed.
Not dramatically. There wasn’t some life-altering realization where the world suddenly lost color.
It happened slowly over years, worn down little by little until exhaustion became part of his personality.
His father leaving didn’t help either.
There hadn’t even been a fight beforehand. No screaming, no slammed doors.
One morning there was simply one less pair of shoes by the entrance. His mother cried quietly in the bathroom for weeks afterward, thinking Sanghyeok couldn’t hear through the apartment walls.
He heard everything.
So he started working.
Part-time jobs after school turned into late-night shifts during college, which turned into whatever paid enough afterward.
Convenience stores in his neighborhood. Cafes where his classmates frequently went. Even late night restaurants for office workers who wanted to chug bottles of beer.
Sanghyeok spent his days stocking shelves overnight while his classmates posted graduation photos and couple pictures online.
Life kept moving for everybody else. Sanghyeok just kept trying to keep up with rent.
People always imagined omega lives as easy somehow. Protected and taken care of.
Sanghyeok wanted to hand those people his electricity bills and ask if they wanted to contribute.
By twenty-three, he had mastered surviving.
Living was different.
Living required wanting things, and wanting things usually ended in disappointment anyway, so Sanghyeok stopped bothering.
His apartment was small enough that he could reach the kitchenette from his bed if he stretched hard enough. The wallpaper peeled near the ceiling. The heater only worked when it felt generous. Sometimes the upstairs neighbor vacuumed at two in the morning like a psychopath.
Still, it was quiet.
Quiet was good.
Quiet didn’t expect things from him.
୧ ‧₊˚ 𓐐⋅
“Table three’s asking if the kimchi stew has shrimp paste.”
Sanghyeok kept sealing delivery bags without looking up, “Tell them yes.”
“They said they’re allergic.”
“Then tell them no.”
The cook burst out laughing somewhere behind him. His manager looked exhausted already.
“You genuinely have the worst customer service attitude I’ve ever seen.”
“And yet I remain employed. Inspiring story, honestly.”
The restaurant wasn’t special. Cheap meals, old tables, permanently greasy floors. But the owner paid on time and minded his business, which already made him better than most employers Sanghyeok had worked under.
The dinner rush was finally dying down when another receipt printed from the machine.
His manager grabbed it before pausing.
“Oh. Haven Arc again.”
Sanghyeok frowned slightly.
Again?
The first order from Haven Arc had come earlier that week. Since then, deliveries kept coming from the same apartment unit almost every night.
Either the customer couldn’t cook or they were single in a deeply concerning way.
Probably both.
He grabbed the order anyway, shoving his helmet on before stepping outside.
Rain hit immediately. Cold, miserable rain that soaked through clothes within minutes and turned Seoul into blurred headlights and wet pavement.
Sanghyeok actually liked weather like this.
People stopped paying attention during heavy rain. Everyone hurried past each other with their heads down, too busy trying not to get soaked to care about some omega delivery driver weaving through traffic.
He parked outside Haven Arc with a tired sigh before patting the side of his scooter once.
“Don’t embarrass me today, Daebak,” he muttered.
The engine rattled ominously in response.
“See? Attitude problem.”
The Haven Arc tower stood obnoxiously tall against the night sky, all glass windows and polished marble like the building itself knew it was expensive.
Sanghyeok entered dripping rainwater onto floors probably worth more than his monthly salary.
The receptionist recognized him this time and pressed the elevator button without speaking.
Penthouse. Of course.
The elevator ride up felt weirdly silent. Sanghyeok caught his reflection briefly in the mirrored walls. Wet hair sticking to his forehead. Dark circles under his eyes. Delivery uniform wrinkled from a twelve-hour shift.
He looked exactly how he felt.
Exhausted.
The hallway upstairs was quiet enough to hear the rain hitting distant windows. He knocked twice.
A few seconds later, the door opened.
And Sanghyeok immediately knew the guy standing there was an enigma.
People always described enigmas dramatically, but honestly, the feeling was simpler than that.
Their presence changed the atmosphere of a room before they even spoke. Something instinctive buried deep into biology itself.
Though his figure overshadowed him, he looked a couple younger than Sanghyeok.
Black sweater, dark hair falling over sharp eyes, expression calm to the point of coldness.
Pretty enough to be annoying.
For a second, neither of them said anything.
Then Sanghyeok lifted the food bag slightly.
"Delivery.”
The guy blinked once like he’d forgotten why he opened the door.
“Oh.”
A pause.
“Right.”
His voice was low, controlled, strangely careful. Sanghyeok handed over the food. Their fingers brushed briefly before the enigma pulled back almost immediately.
Weirdly polite.
“Please confirm the ord—”
“What’s your name?”
Sanghyeok stopped.
Straight to that already?
“Why?”
The guy looked caught off guard by the question itself.
“I wanted to know.”
“That usually works better after introducing yourself first.”
Something flickered across the stranger’s face then. Amusement maybe. Brief but real enough to soften his expression completely.
“Kim Woonhak.”
“I didn’t ask.”
To Sanghyeok’s surprise, Woonhak laughed quietly. The man in front of him was not offended by his sarcasm. Just genuinely amused.
And somehow, that made him more confusing than intimidating.
Sanghyeok left before the conversation could get any stranger.
The elevator doors closed and he immediately leaned his head back against the wall with a tired sigh.
An enigma.
Great. Exactly what his life needed.
He’d heard enough stories growing up to know enigmas were basically walking natural disasters socially.
Alphas avoided them, betas respected them, and omegas usually stayed as far away as possible for self-preservation reasons.
And honestly, Sanghyeok planned on doing exactly that.
The problem was that Kim Woonhak apparently had other plans.
Three nights later, another order came in from Haven Arc.
Then another the next day.
Then another.
At first, Sanghyeok thought maybe the guy just really liked the restaurant. Then Woonhak ordered two canned coffees, one bowl of rice, and a singular boiled egg at eleven-thirty at night.
That was when Sanghyeok realized this man clearly wasn’t mentally well.
“You know grocery stores exist, right?” Sanghyeok said the next time the penthouse door opened.
Woonhak took the bag calmly, “I was busy.”
“With what? Staring at walls?”
A pause.
“…I did do that for a little while.”
Sanghyeok stared at him.
The worst part was that Woonhak looked completely sincere.
Psychopath, he concluded immediately.
୧ ‧₊˚ 𓐐⋅
Kim Woonhak never acted like how Sanghyeok expected an enigma to act.
There was no arrogance. No superiority hidden beneath politeness.
If anything, Woonhak seemed oddly careful around him, like he was constantly thinking before speaking.
It was unsettling.
Most people looked at Sanghyeok and saw omega first, person second.
Woonhak looked at him too directly for that.
Like he was trying to memorize him.
“You look tired,” Woonhak said one evening while taking his order.
“I work twelve-hour shifts.”
“You should sleep more.”
“You should cook your own food.”
Woonhak considered that seriously, “That sounds difficult.”
“You’re hopeless.”
Another small smile appeared.
It happened often around Sanghyeok, he noticed. Not big smiles. Woonhak wasn’t expressive enough for that. But tiny ones that tugged at the corners of his mouth before disappearing again.
Like he couldn’t help it.
It got weirder after that.
One night, Woonhak answered the door wearing an oversized black hoodie with a tiny Melody keychain hanging from the zipper.
Sanghyeok blinked slowly.
“…Is that Melody?”
Woonhak looked down immediately before trying to zip the hoodie higher like it would somehow erase the evidence.
“No.”
“There is literally a pink rabbit hanging off your chest.”
“It came with the hoodie.”
“You attached it yourself, didn’t you?”
Silence.
Then quietly, “She’s cute.”
Sanghyeok laughed before he could stop himself.
A real laugh too, enough that his shoulders shook slightly.
Woonhak froze completely.
And then just stared at him.
It made Sanghyeok self-conscious almost immediately.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Woonhak immediately replied back.
“You’re being weird again.”
“I think this is the first time I’ve heard you laugh properly.”
The smile faded from Sanghyeok’s face a little.
Not because he was offended.
Mostly because he realized Woonhak was right. Somewhere along the way, he’d stopped doing that.
Woonhak seemed to notice the shift in mood instantly because he stepped aside slightly, holding the food bag awkwardly.
“Do you want tea?”
Sanghyeok narrowed his eyes, “Are you trying to kidnap me?”
“No.”
“You answered that too fast.”
“I panic under pressure.”
“You’re an enigma.”
“And yet.”
Honestly, curiosity killed people every day, so Sanghyeok really should’ve left.
Instead, he found himself stepping inside. He wiped his shoes twice before entering even though they already looked clean.
The penthouse looked exactly how he expected. Expensive enough to make him nervous about breathing incorrectly. Dark furniture. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Seoul. Shelves lined neatly with books and vinyl records.
And then there was a giant Kuromi plushie sitting on the couch.
Sanghyeok stopped walking.
Woonhak followed his gaze and visibly deflated.
“…I can explain.”
“I genuinely don’t think you can.”
“It was a gift.”
“You positioned it in the center of the couch.”
“She likes that spot.”
“She?”
Woonhak looked at the plushie, “Her name’s Momo.”
Sanghyeok stared at him for a long moment before snorting quietly.
“You’re insane.”
“That’s not very nice.”
“You named a plushie.”
“You talk to your scooter every time you park outside.”
Sanghyeok was caught off guard, “Now how did you know that?"
Woonhak instantly regretted what he said, realizing his next explanation was about to sound incredibly weird.
“I saw you from my window.”
“Excuse me?”
Woonhak started genuinely panicking, stumbling over his words so badly that Sanghyeok suddenly wanted to tease him more. But being the generous person he was, he decided to spare him the embarrassment.
“If you want to know about my scooter, I’ll let you know her name is Daebak.”
Woonhak stared at him, stunned.
“Then you have no right judging me!” The younger immediately pointed at him.
“Now hold on. See? It listens to me emotionally. Entirely different situation.”
Woonhak laughed loudly enough for it to echo slightly through the apartment.
It changed his entire face.
The coldness disappeared completely, replaced by something softer and embarrassingly pretty.
Sanghyeok suddenly understood why people found Enigmas dangerous.
Not because they were intimidating.
Because someone looking at you like that could ruin your life emotionally.
The thing about Kim Woonhak was that he kept appearing.
Not in an overwhelming way. Just consistently.
Like rain tapping against windows at night. Quiet enough to ignore at first until one day you realized you’d started expecting the sound.
Sanghyeok began lingering longer during deliveries without noticing. At first it was an extra minute at the doorway. Then five.
Then somehow he was sitting at Woonhak’s kitchen island at one in the morning while Woonhak attempted to cook instant ramen and nearly burned the pot because he got distracted listening to Sanghyeok complain about customers.
“She asked me if the chicken was organic,” Sanghyeok deadpanned.
Woonhak nodded seriously, “Was it?”
“It was frozen for six months.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“The chicken died unhappy, Woonhak.”
Woonhak laughed softly into his sleeve.
It became strangely easy after that. Easy to exist around him.
Sanghyeok hated admitting it, even privately to himself. But Woonhak’s apartment slowly became the only place where he didn’t feel constantly aware of himself. He didn’t have to think about how he stood, spoke, smelled, acted.
Woonhak never watched him like people usually watched omegas.
There was no underlying caution. No hidden expectation. Just attention. Warm, steady attention that made Sanghyeok feel seen in a way he wasn’t used to.
And maybe that was the problem.
Because once someone starts treating you gently, the rest of the world feels sharper afterward.
The owner started pulling Sanghyeok aside more often after shifts.
“Try smiling more.”
“I physically can’t.”
“I’m serious, kid.”
Another time—“Table seven complained you looked irritated.”
“I was irritated," Sanghyeok bit back.
“That’s not helping your case.”
Then eventually—“Your suppressants okay lately?”
Sanghyeok went still for half a second, “Why?”
“Some customers said your scent’s lingering.”
That almost made him laugh.
He spent half his paycheck trying to smell like absolutely nothing.
Apparently even existing quietly was still too noticeable.
୧ ‧₊˚ 𓐐⋅
“You’re smiling more these days.”
Sanghyeok looked up from packing delivery bags.
“That sounds fake.”
“I’m serious.” The owner leaned against the counter with a knowing look.
“Did you get an alpha?”
Sanghyeok nearly dropped the tape dispenser.
“No.”
“Hm.”
“That ‘hm’ was judgmental.”
“You’ve been less miserable lately. It’s suspicious.”
Sanghyeok rolled his eyes, but later that night, while waiting for the elevator up to Haven Arc’s penthouse, he caught himself staring at his reflection again.
And annoyingly enoug, the owner was right.
Not happier exactly. But lighter somehow.
Which was probably why getting fired hurt more than it should have.
The dinner rush had barely started when the owner called him into the back room.
The atmosphere had already felt wrong the moment he stepped in
Sanghyeok leaned against the doorway.
“What did I do?”
The owner looked uncomfortable immediately.
“I got another complaint.”
Another.
The word settled heavily in Sanghyeok’s chest.
“A customer said your presence made people uncomfortable.”
Sanghyeok’s expression didn’t change.
He’d heard worse before.
The owner rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
"They said your pheromones were irritating the customers.”
That made Sanghyeok laugh once. Not because it was funny. Mostly because it was pathetic.
He wore suppressants strong enough to give himself headaches. Spent entire shifts avoiding people. Speaking less. Existing smaller.
And somehow even that was too much.
“Who complained?” he asked quietly. The owner avoided his eyes.
Doesn’t matter, then.
Rich customer probably. Someone important enough that the restaurant couldn’t risk upsetting them over one omega employee.
The owner sighed heavily, “Look. I tried, but—”
“It’s fine.”
The words came automatically. Too automatically.
Sanghyeok realized suddenly that he’d gotten very good at saying it’s fine to things that absolutely were not fine.
The owner handed over the final pay envelope carefully.
For a second, Sanghyeok wanted to get angry.
He really did.
A few months ago, maybe he would’ve just accepted it immediately. Gone numb before the frustration could settle in.
But now—Now there was this awful ache in his chest instead. Because for the first time in years, he’d started wanting things again.
And life immediately reminded him why that was dangerous.
By midnight, Seoul had gone mostly quiet.
Sanghyeok sat alone on a park bench, elbows resting on his knees as cold wind bit through his hoodie. The city lights reflected dimly against the river nearby.
He hadn’t gone home yet. Didn’t really want to.
His phone buzzed three times earlier.
All from Woonhak.
Sanghyeok ignored every single one.
He already knew how the conversation would go.
Are you okay?
What happened?
Let me help.
And Sanghyeok suddenly couldn’t stand the thought of hearing concern from someone like Kim Woonhak.
Because Woonhak would never understand this feeling.
People like him moved through life differently.
Doors opened for enigmas.
Doors closed on omegas.
Simple as that.
“You’re terrible at answering messages.”
Sanghyeok didn’t look up, “Tracking people at night is concerning behavior.”
Woonhak sat beside him anyway. Quietly.
Like he understood this wasn’t the kind of silence he should interrupt immediately.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Cars passed in the distance. Wind rustled through trees overhead.
Then Woonhak finally said, “You got fired.”
Not a question.
Sanghyeok gave a humorless laugh, “Apparently my existence was ruining customer experiences.”
Woonhak’s jaw tightened slightly, “They said your pheromones were irritating?”
“Mm.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“That’s life.”
The bitterness slipped out before Sanghyeok could stop it.
He rubbed tiredly at his face, “You know the funny part? I actually forgot for a while.”
Woonhak turned toward him slightly, “Forgot what?”
“That I’m an omega first before anything else.”
The words came out quieter now.
“I forgot because you kept acting like I was normal.”
Woonhak frowned immediately, “You are normal.”
“No, I’m not.”
Sanghyeok finally looked at him then, exhaustion written all over his face.
“You’re an enigma, Woonhak. You don’t get it.”
The air shifted slightly.
“I’m serious,” Sanghyeok continued before Woonhak could speak. “People like you can’t understand this kind of life. You walk into rooms and everyone moves aside for you automatically.”
“Do you think I wanted that?”
“At least it benefits you.”
Woonhak stared at him for a long moment.
Then quietly asked, “And what exactly has being an omega ever given you?”
Sanghyeok opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
Because there really wasn’t an answer.
Woonhak exhaled slowly before speaking again, voice calmer this time.
“Stay with me.”
Sanghyeok blinked, “What?”
“Use me.”
The words sounded absurdly sincere coming from him.
“If society only listens to status, then use mine. Let me give you what you should’ve had from the beginning.”
Sanghyeok stared at him like he’d lost his mind, “You think this is funny?”
“No.”
“You think I want charity?”
“I think,” Woonhak said carefully, “you’ve spent your entire life surviving alone because people made you believe you had to.”
The anger bubbling inside Sanghyeok snapped suddenly.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
Woonhak’s expression tightened, “I know enough.”
“No, you don’t.”
Sanghyeok stood abruptly from the bench, “You don’t know what it’s like constantly being looked down on. Being treated like something weak no matter how hard you work—”
A sudden wave of pheromones crashed into the air.
Sanghyeok froze immediately.
His breath caught sharply.
Enigma.
Not restrained anymore. Not softened down politely for society.
Raw power flooded the atmosphere so heavily it stole the sound from the world itself.
Every instinct in Sanghyeok’s body screamed at once.
And yet—Woonhak’s pheromones didn’t feel threatening.
They wrapped around him warm and overwhelming and devastatingly gentle at the same time.
Like being held.
Woonhak stood slowly.
For the first time since meeting him, the full weight of what he was became obvious.
Not cold. Not soft.
Something far above both.
His voice dropped quieter.
“I know I can’t understand everything you went through.”
Sanghyeok couldn’t even move properly.
“But I know I hate seeing you hurt.”
Woonhak stepped closer carefully, like Sanghyeok might run.
“I know I wait for your deliveries even when I’m not hungry.”
Another step.
“I know hearing you laugh became the best part of my day.”
Sanghyeok’s heartbeat was so loud it hurt.
“And I know,” Woonhak said softly, “that I’ve liked you for a very long time now.”
The world felt strangely still.
Sanghyeok looked at him speechlessly.
Woonhak’s expression finally cracked then, revealing something vulnerable underneath all that composure.
“I’m not playing with you.”
The honesty in his voice hurt more than lies ever could.
Because for the first time in years—Someone was looking at Lee Sanghyeok like he was worth choosing.
“No,” Sanghyeok said immediately.
The word came out too fast. Too sharp.
Like if he rejected this quickly enough, none of it would reach him properly.
Woonhak stood in front of him silently, pheromones still heavy in the cold night air. It was warm, overwhelming, yet gentle in a way that made Sanghyeok’s chest ache.
“No,” he repeated quieter this time, taking a step back,.“Don’t do this.”
Woonhak frowned slightly, “Do what?”
“This.”
Sanghyeok gestured helplessly between them, “Whatever this is.”
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Wind brushed through the empty park, carrying the distant sound of cars somewhere far away, but the space between them felt unbearably close.
Sanghyeok hated it.
He hated how badly he wanted to believe him.
That was the dangerous part. Hope made people stupid.
“Sanghyeok.”
“No.” He laughed once, shaky and exhausted, “No, because this is insane.”
“It isn’t.”
“You’re an enigma.”
“And?”
“And people like you eventually realize omegas are exhausting.”
That finally made Woonhak’s face fall properly.
Not offended. More to hurt. Like the idea itself upset him.
“When you first came to my door,” Woonhak said quietly, “I thought you were the prettiest person I’d ever seen.”
Sanghyeok’s breath caught.
“You looked exhausted,” Woonhak continued softly. “Not physically. Just tired in a way that didn’t match your age.”
His voice lowered further.
“And your expression looked so sad that my chest actually hurt looking at you.”
Sanghyeok looked away immediately, “That’s embarrassing.”
“I’m serious.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I wanted to.”
Woonhak smiled faintly then, something painfully soft hidden underneath it.
“That’s why I kept ordering.”
“You ordered boiled eggs at midnight.”
“I panicked.”
Despite everything, Sanghyeok almost laughed.
Woonhak took another slow step closer, “The more I got to know you, the worse it became.”
His eyes softened completely.
“You act like nothing affects you, but you notice everything. You complain all the time, but you still help people without realizing it. You pretend you hate talking, but once you start, you ramble about the weirdest things.”
“That sounds like criticism.”
Woonhak laughed quietly again.
The sound hit Sanghyeok right in the chest.
And suddenly this became too much. Everything was too warm and sincere. It terrified him.
Sanghyeok took another step back. Then another.
“No,” he whispered again, shaking his head now, “No, you just think you like me because I’m different or something.”
Woonhak’s expression immediately tightened, “That’s not—”
“You’re gonna wake up one day and realize this is ridiculous.”
Sanghyeok’s voice became uneven despite his efforts to steady it, "People like you don’t stay with people like me.”
“People like me?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No,” Woonhak said firmly, “I don’t.”
Sanghyeok swallowed hard.
“Enigmas don’t look at omegas like this.”
Woonhak stared at him for a long moment.
Then quietly—“Maybe nobody ever looked at you properly before.”
That hurt more than anything else tonight somehow.
Because Sanghyeok suddenly realized a part of him believed that too.
And he hated it.
“I can’t do this,” he muttered, turning away quickly before Woonhak could see his face properly, “I seriously can’t—”
Strong arms wrapped around him before he could walk away.
Gentle. Immediate. Certain.
Sanghyeok froze.
“Then don’t,” Woonhak murmured softly against him, “You don’t have to do anything.”
The warmth nearly destroyed him instantly. Because nobody had ever held him like this before.
Not carefully.
Not like he was something precious instead of temporary.
Sanghyeok pushed weakly against Woonhak’s chest once, “Let go.”
“No.”
“Woonhak.”
“You’ve been alone for too long.”
That did it.
Something inside Sanghyeok cracked open all at once. Years of exhaustion. Humiliation. Loneliness. The constant pressure of trying to survive quietly enough not to inconvenience anyone.
All of it hit him at once so violently he couldn’t breathe properly.
His hands clenched into Woonhak’s coat before he even realized what he was doing.
Then suddenly he was crying. Not pretty crying either.
Silent at first, then shaky breaths, shoulders trembling hard enough that Woonhak tightened his hold immediately.
“It’s okay,” Woonhak whispered instantly.
The words only made it worse.
Sanghyeok buried his face against him with a frustrated sound, humiliated by the tears that refused to stop.
“I hate this,” he choked out quietly.
“I know.”
“I seriously hate this.”
“I know.”
Woonhak kept one hand against the back of his head carefully, fingers running slowly through his hair while the other held him securely against his chest.
No judgment. No awkwardness. Just pure warmth.
The kind Sanghyeok didn’t realize he’d been starving for until now.
“You don’t have to keep surviving alone anymore,” Woonhak murmured softly.
Sanghyeok cried harder at that.
And Woonhak stayed there holding him through every second of it.
Eventually, Sanghyeok pulled back first.Just enough to breathe properly again.
His eyes were red, hair a mess from Woonhak’s hand running through it repeatedly, and he already knew he looked awful.
Woonhak looked at him like he was beautiful anyway.
That almost started another breakdown.
“This is a bad idea,” Sanghyeok muttered weakly.
“No, it isn’t.”
“You don’t know what you’re signing up for.”
“I do.”
“No, you seriously don’t.”
Sanghyeok rubbed roughly at his face before laughing bitterly under his breath, “I’m exhausting to deal with.”
“I know.”
“You hesitated for half a second.”
“I was admiring you dramatically.”
“That’s disgusting.”
Woonhak smiled softly, “Still love you.”
The words hit too directly.
Sanghyeok looked away immediately.
“I’m serious,” he continued quietly, “I’m not easy to be around.”
“You are for me.”
“I shut people out.”
“I know.”
“I get irritated easily.”
"I know."
Sanghyeok made a frustrated sound. “You’re not listening.”
“I am.”
“No, you’re just disagreeing with everything.”
“Because I love you.”
Again. So simple. Like it was the easiest truth in the world.
Sanghyeok’s throat tightened painfully.
“You’re gonna get tired of me eventually,” he whispered.
That one finally wiped the smile from Woonhak’s face completely.
He stepped closer again slowly, like approaching something fragile.
“Sanghyeok,” he said quietly, “I spent months waiting for food deliveries just to see you for ten minutes.”
His eyes softened, “You think I did all that because my feelings were temporary?”
The ache in Sanghyeok’s chest became unbearable.
Woonhak reached up carefully, brushing damp hair away from his forehead.
“The first thing I noticed about you wasn’t that you were an omega.”
His fingers lingered lightly near Sanghyeok’s temple.
“It was your eyes.”
Sanghyeok’s breath caught again.
“You looked lonely in a way that made me want to stay beside you immediately.”
Woonhak laughed quietly to himself then.
“And then you started talking.”
“That sounds insulting.”
“You’re mean to everybody.”
“I’m efficient.”
“You threatened a customer because they insulted your scooter.”
“Daebak is sensitive.”
Woonhak’s smile softened impossibly.
“And somehow underneath all that attitude was the gentlest person I’ve ever met.”
Nobody had ever called him gentle before. Not once.
Sanghyeok felt something twist painfully in his chest.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted finally, voice small for the first time tonight.
Woonhak’s expression softened immediately, “You don’t have to know.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“We’ll figure it out together.”
Together. The word felt unfamiliar enough to scare him a little.
Then quietly, tentatively—Sanghyeok’s suppressants finally gave way.
Fresh pheromones spilled softly into the cold air. Clean rain after summer heat. Citrus peel crushed between fingertips. Something bright and airy that felt completely opposite to the exhaustion Sanghyeok carried around daily.
Woonhak inhaled sharply.
Not because the scent was overwhelming.
Because it was beautiful.
His own pheromones responded almost instantly.
Not wood. Not smoke. Nothing heavy or sharp like most dominant scents.
Woonhak smelled strangely comforting.
Warm milk tea late at night. Soft fabric fresh from the dryer. Vanilla and frost wrapped carefully around something sweet underneath.
Safe.
That was the worst part.
An enigma should never have smelled safe.
Their pheromones mixed slowly in the winter air, bright citrus tangled carefully with soft sweetness until Sanghyeok felt dizzy from it.
Woonhak stepped closer again, resting his forehead lightly against Sanghyeok’s.
“There you are,” he whispered.
Sanghyeok’s eyes stung again immediately, “How are you making this worse?”
“I’m being romantic.”
“You’re being emotionally manipulative.”
“You love it.”
“…Maybe a little.”
Woonhak smiled so brightly at that it looked unfair.
And for the first time in years, Sanghyeok felt like breathing didn’t take quite as much effort anymore.
Woonhak brushed his thumb gently beneath Sanghyeok’s eye one last time before speaking quietly.
“Let’s go home.”
Home.
The word should’ve felt unfamiliar.
Instead, standing there wrapped in Woonhak’s warmth while their pheromones lingered together in the cold winter air—It sounded nice.
And for once, Lee Sanghyeok allowed himself to want it.
୧ ‧₊˚ 𓐐⋅
The early morning sunlight barely slipped through the curtains when Sanghyeok felt arms tighten around his waist.
“Good morning, love.”
He blinked awake to the sound of his favorite voice, immediately melting deeper into the bed. Everything around him smelled like Woonhak—the sheets, the pillows, the oversized hoodie he was currently drowning in.
Warm enigma pheromones wrapped around him so heavily that it almost made him want to fall asleep again.
Sanghyeok let out a sleepy hum, snuggling closer while Woonhak stared at him with clear dissatisfaction.
“You stole my hoodie again.”
“Mhm.”
“And now you smell like me.”
“That’s usually how pheromones work.”
Woonhak frowned before immediately pulling Sanghyeok closer anyway, burying his face into the crook of his neck.
“I liked your scent better.”
Sanghyeok laughed softly, voice rough with sleep, “You’re complaining because I smell like you?”
“Yes. I wanted to smell Sanghyeok.”
“Well, unfortunately for you, Sanghyeok is currently covered in your stupidly strong enigma pheromones.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
“You literally cling to me in your sleep.”
“I don’t recall that.”
“You’re doing it right now.”
Woonhak glanced down at the way his arms were firmly locked around Sanghyeok’s waist and immediately chose denial.
“Fake news.”
Sanghyeok snorted, eyes crinkling with amusement.
“You’re impossible in the morning,” Woonhak muttered.
“And yet you’re obsessed with me.”
“That sounds medically concerning.”
“You called me love ten seconds ago.”
Woonhak opened his mouth, paused, then sighed in defeat while Sanghyeok looked entirely too pleased with himself.
A moment later, Sanghyeok shifted until he was sitting comfortably on Woonhak’s lap, oversized sleeves covering his hands as he lazily wrapped his arms around Woonhak’s neck.
The room stayed quiet for a while, soft and warm and entirely theirs.
Then Sanghyeok smiled—small, sleepy, genuine, “I love you.”
Woonhak looked at him like those words still managed to catch him off guard every single time.
“I love you too.”
୧ ‧₊˚ 𓐐⋅