Chapter Text
The red light on the camera blinked, signaling they were rolling.
"Alright, boys," the PD said from behind the monitor, holding up a cue card. "Next question for the T-MI segment. If you had to guess, what do you think you were in your past life?"
They were seated in a semicircle on plush beanbags, a casual setup for their weekly YouTube content. Martin, sitting dead center as the leader, leaned back and laughed, the low rumble of his alpha pheromones spiking with sudden amusement.
"I was probably a king," Martin declared, running a hand through his hair. "Or a really fucking loud parrot. One of the two."
"Definitely the parrot," Juhoon deadpanned from his left. The beta didn't even look up from where he was meticulously peeling a tangerine. "You never shut the fuck up."
The staff behind the cameras snickered.
"I'd be a golden retriever," James chimed in brightly. As the oldest alpha of Cortis, he had a habit of throwing his long limbs over whoever was closest. Right now, that happened to be Eom Seonghyeon. James had his chin hooked over Seonghyeon’s shoulder, casually breathing in the soft, sweet scent of their resident omega.
"Boring," Ahn Keonho scoffed. The youngest alpha stretched his legs out, smirking at the camera. "I was definitely a playboy. Broke a lot of hearts. Started a couple of wars."
"You couldn't start a fire with a matchbook, Keonho-yah," Martin retorted.
The camera panned to Seonghyeon. He was sitting slightly tucked into James’s embrace, playing with the hem of his oversized sweater. He looked up, his large eyes blinking slowly.
"Seonghyeon?" the PD prompted. "What about you?"
Seonghyeon thought about it for a second. He didn't want to say something generic, but he also wasn't about to claim he was some great warrior.
"A princess," Seonghyeon answered, his voice completely deadpan.
There was a beat of absolute silence in the studio.
Then, Keonho lost his fucking mind.
"A what?" Keonho cackled, slapping his thigh. "A princess?! Holy shit, did you guys hear that? Your highness, I didn't realize we were in the presence of royalty!"
Martin was laughing so hard he slumped forward, burying his face in his hands. Even Juhoon paused his peeling to give Seonghyeon a slow, judgmental blink.
"What?" Seonghyeon demanded, feeling his cheeks heat up. His scent flared a defensive spike of vanilla and something sharp, like crushed mint. "It makes sense! I like being taken care of, I sleep a lot, and I'm pretty."
"You are pretty," Keonho conceded, wiping a tear from his eye. He leaned over, flicking Seonghyeon on the forehead. "Fucking gorgeous, actually. Best visuals in the group. But a princess? You're too stubborn. They would have guillotined you for talking back to the king."
"They don't guillotine princesses, you idiot," Seonghyeon snapped, swatting Keonho's hand away. "And I'm not stubborn."
"You're the most stubborn bitch I know," Keonho shot back cheerfully. "Remember when you wore your shirt inside out for a whole fan-sign because you refused to admit you put it on wrong?"
"It was a fashion statement!"
"Our Seonghyeonie is definitely a princess," James interrupted, pulling Seonghyeon tighter against his chest and aggressively nuzzling his hair. "Look at him. He’s my precious daughter. If he says he’s a princess, he’s a princess. Keonho, bow to her highness."
"I'm not bowing to his flat ass," Keonho snorted.
"Language," Juhoon warned lazily, finally popping a tangerine slice into his mouth. "The PD looks like she’s about to have an aneurysm trying to figure out how to edit this."
Seonghyeon pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm not talking for the rest of the shoot."
"Oh, thank god," Martin sighed dramatically. "Peace and quiet."
Seonghyeon kicked Martin’s shin. Martin hissed, cursing under his breath, but the fond smile never left the leader’s face.
"Great work today, everyone! We're wrapped!"
The moment the cameras cut, the relaxed posture of the group dissolved into a flurry of movement. Stylists descended upon them to remove mics and touch up hair before they headed back to the dorms.
"Seonghyeon-ah, you did so well today," one of the older camera operators smiled as she walked past. "Your reactions are always the best."
"Thank you, noona," Seonghyeon beamed, bowing politely. His shy, polite demeanor with the staff was a stark contrast to the bratty omega who had just been kicking his leader. The staff adored him for it. He was always the first to offer them water or hand out hot packs during winter shoots.
"Princess," a voice whispered directly into his ear.
Seonghyeon jumped, whirling around to find Keonho leaning against the makeup vanity, a shit-eating grin on his face.
"Don't call me that," Seonghyeon hissed, swatting at him with a rolled-up script.
"Why? You literally branded yourself." Keonho reached out, casually grabbing Seonghyeon by the waist and pulling him closer. As alphas and omegas who basically lived on top of each other, their boundaries were non-existent. Keonho rested his chin on the top of Seonghyeon’s head. "So, princess. When’s your knight in shining armor coming to breed you?"
"Keonho, I swear to god, I will castrate you," Seonghyeon muttered, his face burning furiously. He tried to shove the younger alpha away, but Keonho was a brick wall.
"Stop teasing him before his scent sours the whole room," Juhoon said, walking past and casually smacking the back of Keonho’s head with a clipboard he’d stolen from a manager. "Get off him. We have dance practice in thirty."
Keonho rubbed his head, whining, but let Seonghyeon go. "Beta privilege," Keonho grumbled. "You just hit me because you know my pheromones don't affect you."
"I hit you because you're annoying," Juhoon replied smoothly. He turned to Seonghyeon, his blunt expression softening just a fraction. He reached out, gently fixing a stray strand of hair that had fallen into Seonghyeon’s eyes. "Don't let him rile you up. Your face is getting all red."
Seonghyeon melted a little under Juhoon's touch. "He started it."
"I know. He's an idiot."
"I'm literally standing right here!" Keonho yelled.
James bounced into the room, practically vibrating with energy. "Who wants iced americanos? Manager-hyung bought a tray!" He shoved a plastic cup into Seonghyeon’s hands. "Drink up, princess. We’ve got a grueling practice ahead."
"Even you?" Seonghyeon groaned.
James just laughed, patting his cheek. "Drink your coffee, sweetie."
The practice room in the basement of their company building smelled aggressively of sweat, rubber soles, and alpha pheromones.
By the third hour of drilling the choreography for their upcoming title track, the air was thick. Martin and Keonho were both sweating through their t-shirts, their scents—spicy cedar and dark musk, respectively—filling the enclosed space. James was sprawled out on the floor, panting, smelling like burning wood.
Seonghyeon was struggling. Omegas naturally had less stamina, but he hated using it as an excuse. He pushed himself just as hard, if not harder, to keep up. But his lungs were burning, and the overwhelming cocktail of alpha scents was making him lightheaded.
"From the top of the bridge," their choreographer called out, clapping his hands. "Five, six, seven, eight!"
The bass dropped. Seonghyeon moved, hitting his marks, snapping his joints into place. He spun, transitioning to the center formation, but his foot caught slightly on the friction of the floor. He stumbled, missing the downbeat by a fraction of a second.
"Stop, stop, stop," Keonho called out over the music, waving a hand. The choreographer paused the track.
Keonho turned to Seonghyeon, wiping sweat from his forehead. "You missed the beat. Again."
Seonghyeon bristled, his chest heaving. "No I didn't. You were rushing the count."
"I was exactly on tempo," Keonho said, walking over and pointing at the mirror. "You were lagging. You drag your right foot on the spin. It slows you down."
"I don't drag my foot!" Seonghyeon argued, his stubbornness flaring instantly. He crossed his arms, glaring at Keonho through the mirror. "You’re just stepping out too early."
"Princess, I literally just watched you do it."
"Don't call me that!"
"Then stop acting like one and hit the fucking beat," Keonho snapped back, though there was no real malice in his tone, just the abrasive exhaustion of a long practice.
Seonghyeon set his jaw, his omega scent turning sharp and sour in his defense. He hated being called out, especially when he knew, deep down, that Keonho was probably right. But admitting he was wrong was physically painful for him.
Martin stepped between them, his authoritative alpha scent rolling over them like a heavy blanket, demanding calm. "Alright, both of you shut the fuck up. Keonho, stop provoking him. Seonghyeon, he's right. You were a half-beat late. Don't be a stubborn brat. Just fix the footing."
Seonghyeon deflated, his pout deepening. "Fine."
Juhoon, who had been sitting by the stereo, spoke up. "Try putting your weight on the ball of your left foot before the turn," he advised quietly. "It'll give you a faster pivot."
Seonghyeon nodded, feeling a little embarrassed. He practiced the spin a few times on his own, following Juhoon's advice. It was instantly smoother.
"See?" Keonho called out from the floor, where he had collapsed next to James. "I told you. You only get away with being this stubborn because you have a pretty face."
"Fuck off," Seonghyeon muttered, grabbing his water bottle.
James sat up, pulling Seonghyeon down by the wrist so he tumbled onto the floor beside him. James immediately wrapped an arm around Seonghyeon’s waist, dragging him flush against his side. "Leave my daughter alone," James scolded Keonho, though he was grinning. He pressed his nose to the scent gland at the crook of Seonghyeon’s neck, taking a deep breath. "Mmm. You smell like stressed vanilla. Calm down, baby. You did fine."
Seonghyeon leaned into James’s touch instinctively. The older alpha’s steady heartbeat against his back and the grounding scent of burning wood helped neutralize his own souring pheromones.
"I'm not stressed," Seonghyeon mumbled, though he let his head drop onto James’s shoulder.
Martin walked over, dropping a towel onto Seonghyeon's face. "Wipe your sweat. We're running it one more time, then we can go home and eat."
Seonghyeon pulled the towel off, looking up at Martin. They had known each other since they were twelve. Back then, they were just two scrawny kids who loved hip-hop and had no idea about sub-genders. When Martin presented as an alpha at fifteen, and Seonghyeon as an omega a year later, things could have gotten weird. But they hadn't. Martin just became fiercely protective of him, and they started making music together.
"Hyung," Seonghyeon said softly, looking up at the leader. "Are we going to the studio tonight?"
Martin smiled, reaching down to ruffle Seonghyeon’s damp hair. "Yeah. I have a topline I want you to try for the new track. Your vocals will fit it perfectly."
Seonghyeon beamed, his sour scent completely vanishing, replaced by a warm, sweet sugar aroma.
Keonho groaned from the floor. "Ugh, the pheromone whiplash in this room is making me nauseous. You’re bipolar, Eom Seonghyeon."
"I’ll kick you in the throat, Ahn Keonho."
By 1:00 AM, the dorm was mostly quiet.
James and Keonho were in the living room playing FIFA on the console, aggressively swearing at each other over the volume of the television.
Seonghyeon was in the kitchen. Despite being dead tired from the schedule and the practice, his internal older-brother instincts had kicked in the moment they got home. He was currently standing at the stove, boiling water for ramyeon, carefully chopping green onions to add to the broth.
He felt a presence behind him before he heard it.
A heavy arm slung around his waist, and a chin rested on his shoulder. It was Martin. The leader had showered, his hair damp, smelling cleanly of soap and cedar.
"Smells good," Martin rumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion.
"You want some?" Seonghyeon asked softly, stirring the noodles.
"Nah. Too late to eat. My face will swell up for the fan-sign tomorrow." Martin turned his head, pressing a dry kiss to Seonghyeon’s temple. It was a casual, platonic gesture, born out of years of cohabitation and close bonds. "Just came to check on you. You were a little testy today."
"Keonho is annoying," Seonghyeon defended himself.
"He is," Martin agreed easily. "But he also thinks the sun shines out of your ass. He just doesn't know how to compliment you without insulting you first. It's an alpha thing."
"You're an alpha, and you don't do that."
"I have impulse control," Martin laughed softly. He squeezed Seonghyeon’s waist once more before pulling back. "Bring your food to my room when you're done. Let's look at that track."
"Okay, hyung."
As Martin shuffled away, Juhoon walked into the kitchen, a textbook tucked under his arm. He leaned against the counter, watching Seonghyeon plate the noodles.
"You're spoiling them," Juhoon observed quietly. "If you cook for them, they’ll expect it every night."
"I'm only cooking for myself," Seonghyeon lied smoothly.
Juhoon raised an eyebrow, pointing to the second bowl on the counter. "Who's that for, then?"
Seonghyeon flushed. "James-hyung asked for a bite."
"Right." Juhoon stepped closer. He didn't have a scent, being a beta, but his presence was always a calming anchor for Seonghyeon in a sea of aggressive alpha energy. Juhoon reached out, his cool fingers brushing against the nape of Seonghyeon’s neck, right over his scent gland. It wasn't sexual; it was a clinical, soothing touch.
"You pushed yourself hard today," Juhoon said softly. "Don't overdo it, Seonghyeon-ah. You don't have anything to prove to us."
Seonghyeon looked up, meeting Juhoon’s dark, intelligent eyes. "I know. I just... I don't want to be the weak link because I'm an omega."
"You're not a weak link. You're the glue," Juhoon said bluntly. He patted Seonghyeon’s neck and stepped back. "Now hurry up and eat. Your noodles are getting soggy."
Seonghyeon smiled to himself as Juhoon left the kitchen. He picked up his bowl and walked down the hallway, heading toward Martin’s room.
As he passed the living room, Keonho yelled at the screen. "FUCK! That was a penalty!"
"Suck it, loser!" James crowed.
Seonghyeon shook his head, but his heart felt warm. They were chaotic, loud, and entirely too much to handle sometimes.
But as he nudged Martin's door open with his foot and saw the leader waiting for him at the producing desk, Seonghyeon knew he wouldn't trade this life for anything. Not even if he really had been a princess in a past life.