Archive of Our Own

Jisung leaned his shoulder against the cool metal of the lockers, pulling his hoodie sleeves down over his knuckles as he watched the scene unfold down the corridor.

From this distance, Bang Chan looked every bit the poster boy for ideal Alpha behavior—broad shoulders effortlessly balancing a massive stack of thick academic volumes, dark curls falling in that messy, frustratingly photogenic way, and a smile so wide his eyes crinkled into soft crescent moons.

To the rest of the campus, Chan was an irresistible force. An Alpha heartthrob who burned through partners every few months, leaving a trail of swooning, heartbroken Omegas in his wake every semester. The rumors painted him as a slick, magnetic playboy who collected affections like souvenirs. But to Jisung, the guy was just exhausting. Nobody was naturally that attentive. Nobody was that selfless without an ulterior motive.

Especially not when it came to the staff.

The young literature teacher was leaning against her desk, hands fluttering casually near Chan’s forearm as he set the heavy books down with a soft, controlled thud. A laugh rippled through the open doorway—soft, hushed, almost giggly—and the teacher ducked her head, eyes practically sparkling up at the student. Chan merely tilted his head, dimples deepening as he murmured something back in that low, honey-smooth cadence.

It was weird.

It wasn’t just the casual brush of fingers or the way she lingered a second too long in Chan’s personal space—it was the subtle shift in the air. The faint, sweet scent of tension that usually hung around the department office seemed to completely dissolve whenever Chan was around. The whispers had been circulating for weeks now: late-night office hours, unearned extensions, private discussions that went well past sunset.

Jisung scoffed quietly, adjusting the strap of his backpack over his shoulder. He told himself he didn’t care. What Chan did with his time—or who he wrapped around his finger next—was none of his business. He just wished the guy would stop acting like a saint while doing it.

Then Chan turned around.

Before Jisung could shrink back into the shadow of the locker bay, Chan’s dark eyes locked directly onto his across the empty hall. The easygoing, sweet charm on the Alpha’s face faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by something far sharper—a sudden, piercing focus that sent a strange spike of static straight down Jisung’s spine.

He didn’t look like a harmless, helpful student carrying books anymore. He looked like an Alpha who knew he was being watched, and was deciding exactly what to do about it.

Giving the teacher one last polite, dimpled wave, Chan stepped out into the hallway, his long, easy strides heading straight toward the corner where Jisung stood.

“Hi, Jisung,” Chan said, coming to a stop a few feet away with his hands casually slid into the pockets of his jacket. His voice was warm, carrying that natural, smooth weight that made people pay attention without him ever needing to raise it.

“Chan,” Jisung acknowledged, keeping his tone carefully neutral as he pulled his hoodie sleeves further down over his knuckles.

It wasn’t like they were friends, but it was practically impossible not to know who Chan was. He was a senior—just two year ahead of Jisung—and somehow, ever since Jisung’s very first term on campus, they had managed to overlap in a class or two every single semester. Art History, macroeconomics, advanced literature… no matter how obscure the elective was, Chan’s name always seemed to end up on the roster.

Jisung had only ever noticed because of the sheer noise that accompanied the Alpha everywhere he went. The second Chan walked into a lecture hall, the Omegas in the room would instantly fall quiet, exchange frantic looks, and break out into whispered giggles. They’d adjust their hair, pretend to suddenly be deeply confused by the syllabus, and practically fight over who got to sit in the empty seats near his desk.

And Chan, ever the perfect upperclassman, would just offer a dimpled smile, say a polite good morning, and leave half the row clutching their notebooks like he’d personally handed them a trophy.

“Heading over to the lecture hall?” Chan asked now, tilting his head slightly. A faint draft in the corridor carried his scent—rich cedar wood and crisp autumn air—drifting over before Jisung could take a step back.

“Yeah,” Jisung replied, shifting his weight. “Got five minutes before Professor Park locks the doors.” He shot a subtle glance toward the faculty office behind Chan. “Looks like you had your hands full.”

Chan’s smile stayed intact, but a sharp glint of amusement flickered in his dark eyes. “Just helping out. She had three terms of reference books to move up from storage.”

Right. Just helping out. Jisung barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “How heroic.”

“You sound like you don’t believe me, Jisung,” Chan murmured. He took a single, unhurried step closer, his tone dropping just enough to turn the conversation into something far more private than a hallway exchange had any right to be.

Jisung held his ground, raising an eyebrow. “I just think you enjoy having an audience. You carry a stack of books, smile at a teacher, and give everyone in the wing something to gossip about for the next three days.”

Instead of getting defensive, Chan let out a low, quiet laugh that rattled softly in his chest. “An audience? Is that what you think I’m looking for?”

“It’s what you get,” Jisung countered, crossing his arms securely over his chest. “Omegas in every single one of my classes talk about you like you’re a full-time job. Must be exhausting keeping up the reputation.”

Chan leaned his shoulder against the bank of lockers right beside Jisung, his posture completely relaxed, though his gaze didn’t leave Jisung’s face for a second.

“Let them talk,” Chan said softly, his eyes searching Jisung’s with an intensity that suddenly made the quiet hallway feel much smaller. “I’m not doing any of it for them.”

Let them talk.

The words lingered between them, heavy and sharp, as Jisung searched Chan’s face for any crack in that impeccably composed armor. Let them talk—because it’s true?

It wasn’t even the first time Chan’s name had been entangled with someone holding a gradebook.

Jisung remembered last spring. He hadn’t cared back then, treating the campus grapevine like background noise while he struggled through midterms. But on a campus this small, information didn’t just stay in the shadows—it trickled down into every cafeteria table, dorm lounge, and group chat until everyone was drinking the same rumor.

A young adjunct professor in the humanities department had abruptly vanished mid-semester. The department sent out a sterile, copy-pasted email citing “personal reasons” for her sudden departure. But within forty-eight hours, the truth had leaked out: she’d been forced to resign after being caught in an unsanctioned relationship with an undergraduate student.

The administration had moved fast, scrubbing the student’s identity from every official document to protect the university’s reputation. No names were ever dropped by faculty. But the student body didn’t need official confirmation. The timeline was too clean. The hushed, late-night meetings in the department library, the sudden flurry of unearned academic favors, and then—the moment the teacher’s office was cleaned out—Chan was back in the wild.

Suddenly single. Suddenly ‘available’ again. Within a month, he was seen leaving the campus coffee shop arm-in-arm with a high-profile Omega from the arts program, like the entire scandal had just been a brief commercial break in his social life.

Looking at Chan now—standing entirely too close, his broad frame blocking out the fluorescent light of the hallway—Jisung felt a prickle of genuine irritation beneath his skin.

“That’s easy for you to say,” Jisung muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly as he met Chan’s calm gaze head-on. “When people talk about you, it usually ends up with someone packing their desk or walking away with a broken heart. Must be nice not having to deal with the fallout.”

Chan didn’t flinch. He didn’t shift his weight, roll his eyes, or pull back. Instead, his dark eyes locked onto Jisung’s with an intensity that made the surrounding hallway fade into white noise. The dimples vanished, his expression settling into something unreadable and quiet.

“Is that what you think happened?” Chan asked softly. His voice didn’t hold anger—just an unsettlingly grounded curiosity. “You think I just smile, take what I want, and let everyone else take the blame?”

“I think the rumors don’t come out of nowhere, Chan,” Jisung countered, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper so it wouldn’t carry toward the faculty offices. “Last year wasn’t just ‘gossip.’ Someone lost their job. And today you’re standing in the exact same doorway, doing the exact same thing.”

A subtle shift passed over Chan’s face—a tightening around his jaw, a momentary shadow in his eyes before he let out a slow, deliberate breath. He took half a step closer, cutting off the remaining distance between them until Jisung could catch the distinct, warm undertone of cedarwood beneath the cool scent of autumn air.

“You’re right about one thing,” Chan murmured, his head tilting down just enough so only Jisung could hear him. “The rumors didn’t come out of nowhere. But if you actually paid attention instead of just listening to what the rest of the campus repeats… you’d know why I was in that office last year. And you’d know why I was in there today.”

Jisung’s breath hitched slightly, his fingers curling into the palms of his hoodie pockets. “Then enlighten me.”

Chan reached out, his hand hovering for a fraction of a second before his fingers gently brushed against the strap of Jisung’s backpack, adjusting the slipped nylon back onto his shoulder with infuriating care.

“Not here,” Chan said softly, his thumb lingering against the strap just inches from Jisung’s neck. “Walk to class with me, Jisung. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

The silence hung heavy between them, thick with everything Jisung hadn’t said—and everything he was suddenly forced to admit to himself.

That was the bitter, embarrassing truth of it, wasn’t it?

His anger at Chan wasn’t even fair. It was built entirely on a foundation of his own making. Way back during his freshman year, when Jisung first saw Bang Chan navigate the chaos of the campus—always polite, always steady, never using his Alpha status to pull rank—Jisung had quietly put him on a pedestal. He had painted Chan in his own idealized colors, holding him up as the rare exception to every arrogant, self-serving stereotype on campus.

So when the first whispers about the adjunct professor started circulating, and when Jisung saw Chan laughing in that office doorway today, the pedestal hadn’t just cracked. It had shattered.

The disappointment had cut absurdly deep, not because Chan had betrayed him, but because Chan had failed to live up to a fantasy Jisung had invented entirely in his own head. And instead of owning up to his own crushed idealism, Jisung had turned Chan into a scapegoat. He had used the rumors as an easy outlet for his frustration, feeding his own bitterness just so he wouldn’t have to face how ridiculous he was being.

And Chan… Chan had made it so easy to keep painting him as the villain.

Because Chan never defended himself. He never made an announcement, never pulled anyone aside to clear his name, never posted some defensive explanation on social media. When the campus grapevine turned vicious, Chan just kept walking through the halls with that same calm demeanor, carrying books, helping professors, and smiling at anyone who looked his way. He just kept living his life, completely indifferent to the noise.

To the rest of the student body, that silence was proof of charm and mystery. But to Jisung, it had felt like blatant disregard. It made Chan seem untouchable, arrogant, and thoroughly tarnished.

“You’re doing it again,” Chan’s soft voice broke through the noise in Jisung’s head.

Jisung blinked, snapping his gaze back to the elder. Chan’s hand had pulled back from his shoulder strap, but his dark eyes remained pinned to Jisung’s, brimming with a quiet, patient awareness that made Jisung’s stomach knot.

“Doing what?” Jisung asked defensively, pulling his hoodie tight around his neck.

“Thinking yourself into a corner,” Chan replied gently. He turned and began walking down the corridor toward the lecture hall, keeping his pace slow and unhurried so Jisung could fall in beside him without feeling forced.

Jisung hesitated for a fraction of a second before trailing after him, his sneakers squeaking softly against the polished floor.

“You think I don’t clear my name because I don’t care,” Chan said, his hands slipping back into his pockets as they rounded the corner. “Or because the rumors are true and I have no defense.”

“Is that not why?” Jisung muttered, looking straight ahead at the double doors of the lecture building. “If people were saying stuff like that about me, I’d want to set the record straight.”

“And make it worse?” Chan offered a faint, tired smile, though his eyes stayed fixed on the hallway ahead. “When a rumor starts on a campus like this, Jisung, people don’t want the truth. They want a story. If I go around trying to deny every story people make up, I’m just giving them more fuel. I’m validating the gossip by acting like it bothers me.”

He paused, stopping just outside the classroom doors where the faint chatter of early-arriving students vibrated through the glass. He turned to face Jisung fully, his posture open, his scent of cedar wood settling calm and grounded around them.

“The teacher last year,” Chan said softly, his tone dropping into something undeniably serious. “She wasn’t having an affair with a student. She was being harassed by a senior faculty member. She couldn’t speak up without losing her career, so she confided in a few students she trusted to help her gather documentation for HR. I was one of them.” Jisung froze, the air leaving his lungs in a quiet, sharp breath.

“When the university swept it under the rug and let her resign to protect their own reputation,” Chan continued, his dark eyes searching Jisung’s startled face, “they let the rumor about a ‘student affair’ spread because it was cleaner for them than admitting a professor was abusing his power. I stayed quiet because explaining the truth would have violated her privacy and ruined her chances of getting hired anywhere else.”

He took a small step closer, his dimple appearing faintly as his expression softened.

“And today? Professor Lee lost her father last week. She’s been struggling to keep up with her classes while managing the funeral arrangements. I was carrying her reference materials so she didn’t have to carry twenty pounds of books across campus while grieving.”

Jisung felt the ground beneath his feet grow entirely unsteady. The tight knot of righteous indignation that had been sitting in his chest for months suddenly dissolved, leaving behind a hollow, burning wave of pure embarrassment.

He had been so completely, utterly wrong.

“I never defended myself to the rest of the school because I don’t owe the campus grapevine an explanation,” Chan murmured, reaching out to lightly tap the side of Jisung’s shoulder with his knuckles. “But you… you were looking at me like you actually wanted to know the truth. So I told you.”

I could go and tell everyone. And how do I know you’re saying the truth?

Chan didn’t flinch. He didn’t tense up, step back, or scramble to defend himself.

Instead, a quiet, knowing glint surfaced in his dark eyes—a look so devastatingly perceptive that Jisung felt his own throat go dry.

“You could tell everyone,” Chan agreed softly, his tone completely unbothered as he shifted his weight, closing the remaining foot of space between them. The heavy scent of

Cedar wood settled around Jisung like a warm weight, grounded and entirely devoid of threat. “You could walk into the cafeteria right now, stand on a table, and tell the entire student body.”

He tilted his head, his gaze dropping to the nervous way Jisung’s fingers were clutching the hem of his hoodie before rising back up to lock onto his eyes.

“But you won’t,” Chan murmured. “Because if you tell them about Professor Lee’s father, you expose a grieving woman who just wants to do her job in peace. And if you tell them about last year… well, you already know the school wouldn’t do anything about it. You’re too smart—and too decent—to use someone else’s pain just to prove a point.”

Jisung opened his mouth to snap back, to deny it, but the words caught hard in his chest. Dammit. Chan was right. Even if Jisung was desperate to deflect his own mortification, he would never throw an innocent faculty member to the campus wolves just to save face.

“And as for how you know I’m telling the truth…”

Chan reached out, not to touch, but stopping his hand just inches away from Jisung’s wrist, letting the gentle, radiating warmth of his skin hover in the cool hallway air. His voice dropped into a low, quiet register that seemed to vibrate straight through the soles of Jisung’s shoes.

“Look at me, Jisung.”

It wasn’t an Alpha command—there was no sharp, overwhelming dominance laced into the words—but the sheer, quiet earnestness behind it made Jisung’s breath hitch. Slowly, reluctantly, Jisung lifted his chin, meeting Chan’s dark, unwavering gaze head-on.

“If I were lying to protect my image,” Chan said gently, “I’d give you a story where I came out looking like a hero. I’d tell you something that made me sound brave, or tragic, or misunderstood. I wouldn’t tell you about a broken system that I couldn’t fix, and I wouldn’t be standing here letting you question me.”

He stepped half an inch closer, his shoulder almost brushing Jisung’s, blocking out the rest of the busy corridor until it felt like it was just the two of them standing in the doorway.

“You’ve been watching me for three semesters, Jisung. You watched me in macroeconomics, you watched me in literature, and you watched me today,” Chan whispered, a faint, teasing dimple finally threatening to break through his serious expression. “Trust your own eyes for once. Not the noise.”

The bell for the start of class suddenly clanged loud and sharp above their heads, shattering the heavy silence between them. Down the hall, the heavy oak doors of the lecture hall began to swing shut as the late arrivals scrambled inside.

Jisung blinked, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs as he tore his eyes away from Chan’s face.

“Class is starting,” Jisung blurted out, his voice a fraction higher than he intended, his face burning hot beneath the fringe of his bangs. He shoved his hands deep into his hoodie pockets and took a quick step toward the classroom door, desperate for an escape route from the suffocating intense atmosphere.

“Jisung,” Chan called out softly behind him, his voice laced with unmistakable warmth and amusement.

Jisung paused at the threshold, keeping his back turned, his shoulders tense. “What?”

“There’s an empty seat next to mine in the back row,” Chan said, his footsteps taking a slow, unhurried stride toward the door. “Unless you’d rather sit with the Omegas who like to gossip about me?”

And Jisung felt sick for his own thoughts.

Jisung slid into the empty seat beside Chan with all the grace of a captive soldier accepting his fate. He dropped his backpack onto the floor with a heavy, deliberate thud, refusing to look directly at the Alpha as he pulled out his notebook.

“Unbelievable,” Jisung muttered under his breath, clicking his pen with aggressive speed. “Alphas and their insufferable hero complexes. Carrying thirty pounds of books, solving faculty crises, acting like a martyr…”

Chan didn’t even pretend to be focused on the professor settling at the podium up front. He turned his head, his elbow propped on the wooden desk, resting his chin in his hand as he watched Jisung’s cheeks flush a deep, traitorous pink.

A slow, genuine grin spread across Chan’s face—not the polished, polite smile he gave the rest of the school, but something soft, warm, and entirely unshielded.

“You’re really funny,” Chan whispered, his dark eyes sparkling with quiet amusement. “I’ve known of you since you did the campus tour a few years back.” Jisung’s thumb froze on his pen. He blinked, slowly turning his head to stare at the senior as if Chan had just spoken in ancient Greek.

“You… what?” Jisung choked out, keeping his voice to a sharp whisper.

“The prospective student tour,” Chan clarified easily, his dimple deepening as he leaned a fraction of an inch closer across the narrow space between their desks. “Two years ago. You were wearing an oversized gray hoodie that swallowed your hands whole, trailing at the very back of the group, looking like you wanted to be literally anywhere else on earth.”

Jisung felt his jaw go slightly slack. Memory kicked him hard in the chest: he remembered that tour. He had been terrified, overwhelmed by the size of the university, and profoundly grumpy because his shoes were rubbing blisters into his heels.

“You spent the entire hour frowning at the campus map like it had personally insulted your family,” Chan continued softly, his gaze dropping to the long sleeves currently covering

Jisung’s knuckles—the exact same habit. “And when the student guide tried to hype up the library’s 24-hour quiet zone, you muttered ‘that sounds like a trap’ loud enough for three rows of parents to hear.”

“I did not say that,” Jisung hissed, his entire face burning so hot he was certain he was going to spontaneously combust right there in the back row of Art History.

“You did,” Chan chuckled, a low, quiet vibration in his chest that made Jisung’s stomach do a strange, terrifying flip. “I was one of the senior volunteers walking behind the group to make sure nobody got lost. I almost offered you a bottle of water, but you looked like you’d bite my head off if I approached you.” Jisung stared at him, utterly speechlessly.

Two years ago.

Back when Jisung was just a stressed-out high school senior who hadn’t even been accepted yet. While Jisung had spent the last three semesters constructing this elaborate, tragic narrative about Bang Chan—the untouchable, heartbreaking Alpha playboy on a pedestal—Chan had simply… remembered him. As the grumpy kid in the oversized hoodie who thought the library was a trap.

It made every single cynical thought Jisung had ever harbored feel ten times more ridiculous. It made his stomach churn with a heavy mix of residual guilt and sheer, unadulterated embarrassment.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Jisung whispered, his fingers gripping his pen so tightly his knuckles turned white. “We’ve had classes together for three semesters.” Chan’s smile softened into something gentler, his gaze searching Jisung’s flustered, wide-eyed face.

“Because every time I walked into the room, you looked at me like I was a parasite,” Chan said, completely devoid of bitterness. “You always sat as far away as possible, surrounded yourself with three layers of defensive body language, and glared at the whiteboard whenever I spoke up. I figured you hated Alphas, or hated me, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

The words hit Jisung like a physical blow. Down the row, two Omegas glanced back over their shoulders, shooting Jisung a pair of synchronized, perplexed glares at the sight of the school’s most sought-after Alpha leaning so close to a notoriously reclusive sophomore.

Normally, the attention would have made Jisung retreat into his shell instantly. But right now, surrounded by the warm, steady scent of cedar wood and Chan’s completely undivided focus, the rest of the room felt miles away.

“I didn’t hate you,” Jisung mumbled, staring down at his blank notebook page, his voice barely audible over the professor clearing his throat at the front of the hall. He swallowed hard, the confession tasting bitter and honest on his tongue. “I was just… an idiot.”

A soft rustle of paper made Jisung look up. Chan had slid his own open notebook slightly toward the center of the desk, tapping the blank margin with his pen.

“You weren’t an idiot,” Chan had scrawled in neat, bold handwriting across the top line. “Just stubborn. I kind of liked it.” Jisung’s breath hitched. He snatched his own pen, furiously scribbling back beneath it before shoving the paper back.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I still think your hero complex is obnoxious.”

Chan read the note, a quiet, breathless laugh escaping his lips. He picked up his pen and wrote back without hesitation, pushing the paper into Jisung’s space one last time before turning his attention toward the lecture screen.

“Then let me prove I’m worth the trouble. Let me buy you lunch after class, Jisung.”

This was precisely what Jisung had spent three semesters trying to avoid.

The moment you stepped into Bang Chan’s orbit, you ceased to be an invisible student navigating campus in peace. You became a target. An anomaly. A subject of intense, venomous scrutiny for every Omega who had ever tried—and failed—to capture the Alpha’s attention for more than a few weeks.

The quiet, sharp sting of the whispers carried easily across the crowded campus diner.

“Is that him?”

“The sophomore from the back row?”

“What, did Chan take pity on him or something?”

A pair of Omegas walked past his table, their sharp, synchronized sneers practically radiating cold disapproval. One of them leaned in to whisper something into her friend’s ear, prompting a sudden, high-pitched giggle that cut straight through the low hum of chatter in the room. They didn’t even bother hiding the way they looked back over their shoulders at Jisung, eyes tracking his oversized hoodie and his hunched shoulders like he was a stain on the diner’s leather upholstery.

Jisung shrank deeper into his seat, his fingers violently shredding a paper napkin under the edge of the table. His skin prickled with a mixture of intense mortification and a sudden, burning urge to bolt out the side exit.

Why did I agree to this? He thought bitterly, staring down at the scuffed Formica table. I could be in my dorm right now, eating lukewarm instant ramen in total, blissful isolation. “Hey.”

A heavy plastic tray thudded softly onto the table, shattering the wall of anxious noise in Jisung’s head.

Chan slid into the booth opposite him, his broad frame immediately cutting off the sightline between Jisung and the rest of the diner. He had a plate loaded with a double cheeseburger and fries, along with a piping hot bowl of spicy pork stew and rice that he carefully pushed across the table toward Jisung. Beside it, he set down a iced green tea—sweetened, exactly how Jisung liked it, though he was almost certain he hadn’t told the elder that.

Chan didn’t say anything right away. He simply reached out and gently tapped the back of Jisung’s knuckles, nudging his hands away from the shredded remnants of the napkin.

“They’re going to give themselves a headache if they keep straining their necks like that,” Chan said casually, his tone light and entirely unbothered as he unworked his own wooden chopsticks.

Jisung shot him a quick, defensive glare from under his fringe. “They’re staring at us, Chan. Mostly at me. Like I somehow tricked you into paying for my lunch.”

“Let them stare,” Chan murmured, his dark eyes meeting Jisung’s with that same steady, unshakeable calm from the hallway. He picked up a spoonful of rice and dipped it into his own side dish, completely ignoring the lingering glances from three tables away. “If they want to spend their lunch hour agonizing over who I choose to sit with, that’s their problem. Not ours.”

Who I choose to sit with.

The phrase hung in the air, deceptively simple, yet heavy enough to send a strange, fluttering warmth pooling in the pit of Jisung’s stomach.

“It’s annoying,” Jisung muttered, grabbing his spoon and taking a small, cautious sip of the hot soup. The rich, savory spice immediately hit his tongue, perfectly comforting in a way that made his tense shoulders drop half an inch. He chewed quietly for a moment before looking up again. “I used to be invisible. Now I feel like I’m standing under a spotlight.”

Chan tilted his head, watching the way Jisung’s face softened around the food. A faint, fond curve touched the corner of his lips.

“You were never invisible, Jisung,” Chan said softly, his voice dropping an octave, carrying that low, honeyed warmth that made the surrounding noise of the diner fade away. “You were just hiding in the back row. There’s a difference.”

Jisung nearly choked on his rice. He hurriedly grabbed the iced tea, taking a long swig to cover the burning heat spreading across his cheeks.

“You’re doing it again,” Jisung grumbled around the straw, pointing a finger at the senior. “The smooth Alpha routine. Do you practice these lines in the mirror before you come to campus?”

Chan let out a genuine, hearty laugh, his shoulders shaking as he leaned back against the booth. “I swear on my GPA, I’ve never practiced a line in my life. You just bring out the honest truth in me, Hannie.”

The nickname slipped out of Chan’s mouth so naturally, so effortlessly, that Jisung froze mid-sip.

Hannie.

Nobody called him that except his childhood friends and his mother. Hearing it in Chan’s smooth, grounding voice sounded dangerously intimate—like a secret passed between them over a bowl of soup while the rest of the world sneered from the sidelines.

“Don’t call me that,” Jisung squeaked out, his voice cracking just enough to prove how deeply effective it had been. He shoved a large piece of pork into his mouth to keep from saying anything else embarrassing.

Chan didn’t apologize. He just grinned, his dimples cutting deep into his cheeks as he reached across the small table, his thumb lightly brushing against the edge of Jisung’s hoodie sleeve where it was pulled down over his palm.

“Eat your lunch, Jisung,” Chan whispered, his eyes warm and bright, holding Jisung’s gaze until the younger Omega finally had to look away to hide his smile. “We’ve got forty minutes before our next class, and I’m not letting anyone ruin it for you.”   

It was one thing to endure the petty glares of bitter Omegas in the diner; Jisung was used to being overlooked or dismissed by his peers. But when a pair of tenured professors stopped mid-conversation near the faculty courtyard, their eyebrows raised in blatant, synchronized confusion as Chan walked past with Jisung at his side, it hit differently.

The weight of those glances felt suffocating. To the staff, seeing Bang Chan—the student involved in last year’s shadowy resignation scandal—strolling casually alongside a low-profile sophomore was clearly cause for concern. Or at least, intense curiosity.

Jisung couldn’t take it. Automatically, almost instinctually, he drifted two long steps to the left, putting a wide, polite gap between their shoulders. He kept his head down, shoving his hands even deeper into his hoodie pockets, pretending to be deeply interested in the pavement under his sneakers. Just two guys walking in the same general direction, he told himself. Nothing to see here.

Chan didn’t call him out on it. He didn’t reach over to pull Jisung back, nor did his expression sour into annoyance. But Jisung caught the subtle shift in the Alpha’s posture—a faint tightening in his jaw, a momentary stillness in his eyes—before Chan quietly adjusted the heavy leather strap of his bag across his shoulder.

“I need to drop by the library to pick up a book for my seminar,” Chan said calmly, his tone as smooth and even as if Jisung hadn’t just visibly recoiled from him in broad daylight.

“It’s on the way. Do you mind stopping in for five minutes?”

“Sure,” Jisung muttered, his throat feeling dry. “No problem.”

The guilt settled in almost immediately, heavy and bitter in the back of his throat. He had spent the last hour learning just how much burden Chan quietly carried on behalf of other people—how much toxicity he absorbed without ever complaining—and Jisung’s immediate response to a couple of weird looks was to physically distance himself like Chan was contagious.

Chan led the way up the grand stone steps of the university library, holding open the heavy glass door and letting Jisung slip inside first.

The moment they stepped over the threshold, the chaos of the campus faded into the muffled, cool quiet of high ceilings and endless rows of wooden shelves. The air smelled of old paper, polished oak, and dust.

Instead of heading toward the main circulation desk where half a dozen student workers were stationed, Chan navigated expertly through the maze of high-stacked aisles, heading toward the quieter research archives toward the back.

Jisung trailed behind him, his sneakers making almost no sound on the carpeted floor. He stared at the broad expanse of Chan’s back, watching the way the Alpha’s shoulders moved under his jacket.

“I thought this place was a trap,” Chan murmured softly, his voice barely a whisper meant only for the quiet aisle they had just entered.

Jisung stopped in his tracks between two towering shelves of European history volumes. “What?”

Chan turned around slowly, resting his hip against a tall wooden bookcase. The dim lighting of the stacks cast soft shadows across his face, highlighting the gentle curve of his mouth.

“The library,” Chan said, a faint, nostalgic glint in his eyes. “You told your tour group two years ago that a 24-hour quiet zone sounded like a trap.”

Jisung felt the heat rise back into his ears, but the shame of earlier kept him from making a snarky comeback. He looked down at his shoes, tracing the pattern in the carpet with the toe of his sneaker.

“It still kind of does,” Jisung admitted quietly. He swallowed hard, the silence of the stacks making his next words feel terrifyingly exposed. “Look… about earlier. Outside.”

Chan tilted his head, watching him patiently. “Yeah?”

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t embarrassed to be seen with you,” Jisung mumbled, the confession tumbling out awkward and rough around the edges. He forced himself to lift his head and meet Chan’s gaze. “I just… I hate the way people look at you. The faculty, the other students. They look at you like they’re waiting for you to mess up, and when I’m standing right next to you, it feels like I’m making it worse for you.”

Chan stared at him for a long, quiet second, his expression completely still.

Then, slowly, the Alpha pushed off from the bookcase. He took three unhurried steps forward until he was standing directly in front of Jisung again, completely closing the distance Jisung had created on the sidewalk ten minutes ago. The faint, comforting scent of warm cedar wood instantly wrapped around Jisung, cutting through the sterile smell of old books.

“Jisung,” Chan whispered, leaning down just enough so their eyes were at the exact same level. “You aren’t making anything worse.”

“They were staring, Chan—”

“Let them stare,” Chan interrupted softly, reaching out. This time, he didn’t stop short. His fingers gently caught the edge of Jisung’s sleeve, tugging it lightly until Jisung’s hand slipped out of his hoodie pocket. Chan didn’t squeeze, didn’t force a grip—he just let his warm palm brush against Jisung’s knuckles, grounding him right there in the quiet aisle.

“If the faculty wants to judge me based on rumors they helped create, that’s their failure, not mine,” Chan said, his voice dropping into that deep, steady register that made Jisung’s heart do an unpredictable kick against his ribs. “And if you step away from me because you’re uncomfortable, I will always respect that. But don’t you ever step away because you think you’re protecting my reputation. You’re the best part of my day today, Hannie. I don’t care who sees us.”

“Chan,” Jisung says quietly, “you act as if”—Jisung huffs as he feels the soft touch on his fingers—"you and I, we never really interacted or have a lot of things in common aside from the courses we took together. Why do you… trust me?”

Chan didn’t pull his hand away. If anything, the gentle pressure of his thumb against the back of Jisung’s knuckles grew just a fraction firmer, steady and grounding in the quiet dimness of the library stacks.

“Because you’re real, Jisung,” Chan said softly, his voice barely more than a murmur that vibrated in the narrow space between them.

He didn’t rush his answer. He took a slow breath, his dark eyes tracing the hesitant, guarded expression on Jisung’s face before meeting his gaze again.

“Every day, I walk across this campus and I’m surrounded by noise,” Chan explained, his tone completely free of arrogance, carrying only a quiet, tired honesty. “People talk to me because of what I am, or what they think I can do for them, or because they want to be seen standing next to the senior everyone talks about. They give me fake smiles, tell me what they think I want to hear, and pass along rumors the second my back is turned.”

Chan lifted his free hand, gently brushing a stray lock of dark hair out of Jisung’s eyes before letting his fingers rest lightly against the side of Jisung’s neck, right where his pulse was fluttering like a caught bird.

“But you?” Chan murmured, his dimple appearing faintly as a soft smile touched his lips. “You never played those games. You looked at me with completely unfiltered eyes. Even when you were glaring at me from across the room, or judging me for carrying books, it wasn’t because you were malicious. It was because you actually cared about fairness. You held me to a standard because you wanted people to be good.”

Jisung’s breath hitched, his fingers twitching in Chan’s grip. He wanted to look away, to pull his hoodie sleeves back over his hands and hide, but the intensity in Chan’s gaze held him completely still.

“You don’t fake anything, Hannie,” Chan continued, his voice dropping into a register so gentle it made Jisung’s chest ache. “You think you were invisible for the last three semesters, but I saw you. I saw you give your notes to a classmate who missed a week of lectures. I saw you stay behind after macroeconomics just to pick up a professor’s dropped papers without making a big deal out of it. I saw how quiet and careful you are with the world.”

Chan took half a step closer, his broad shoulders shielding Jisung completely from the rest of the aisle. The warm, rich scent of cedar wood settled around them like a quiet sanctuary, completely blocking out the cold, judgmental eyes of the campus outside.

“I don’t trust easily either,” Chan whispered, his thumb softly tracing the sensitive skin of Jisung’s wrist. “It takes a lot for me to let someone in. But with you… I knew the moment I saw you frowning at that campus map two years ago that you were someone worth knowing. I just waited until you were ready to let me close enough to tell you.”

Jisung swallowed hard, his throat tight, his heart hammering a wild, unpredictable rhythm against his ribs. Every cynical defense mechanism he had built up over the last year was crumbling into dust, leaving him completely exposed under the Alpha’s unshakeable, devoted warmth.

“You’re… you’re really ridiculous, Bang Chan,” Jisung whispered, though there was no bite left in his voice—only a soft, trembling surrender as his fingers slowly curled around Chan’s.

Chan let out a quiet, breathless laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he squeezed Jisung’s hand back. “Maybe I am. But I’m not going anywhere.”

If you need me to step away…

The cold draft of the quiet library archive rushed into the space Chan left behind, the sudden loss of his scent—that steady, grounding cedar wood—making Jisung’s chest feel hollow and strangely cold.

Chan stood half a step back, his hands resting casually near his sides, his posture completely open and with no pressure. He was giving Jisung an exit. A clean, easy out with zero strings attached. If Jisung turned around and walked out of the library stacks right now, Chan would let him go without a single word of resentment.

Jisung drew in a long, shaky breath, the cool air burning in his lungs.

Being this open—this brutally, nakedly honest—was never something Jisung did. He survived by hiding behind oversized hoodie sleeves, sharp sarcastic remarks, and thick walls of cynical detachment. It was so much safer to assume the worst of people. If you expected everyone to be selfish, fake, or disappointing, you never had to deal with the sting of being proven wrong.

Except he hadn’t just assumed the worst. He had held Chan to an impossible, saintly standard, elevated him to some flawless ideal, and then turned around and judged him viciously the second reality didn’t match the fairy tale in his head.

It was hypocritical. It was unfair. And standing here, watching Chan offer him a way out after everything Jisung had said and thought about him… Jisung felt the absolute foolishness of his own cynicism break wide open.

“Don’t do that,” Jisung said, his voice quiet, rough around the edges, but steady.

Chan’s dark eyes blinked, a faint flicker of surprise breaking through his calm composure. “Jisung?”

Instead of taking the exit Chan had offered, Jisung took a step forward. He closed the distance himself, his sneakers catching on the worn library carpet until he was standing right back in the warm shadow of Chan’s broad frame.

Before he could overthink it or let his anxiety talk him out of it, Jisung reached out and grabbed the front of Chan’s denim jacket, his fingers clutching the sturdy fabric tightly.

“Don’t just… step back and give me an easy out like you don’t care,” Jisung muttered, looking up through his fringe, his heart hammering wildly against his ribs. “It’s infuriating how you do that. You just accept people misjudging you, you accept me being a jerk, and you act like you’re completely fine being the one left behind.” Chan stayed completely still under Jisung’s grip, his breath catching softly in his throat.

“I was cynical,” Jisung admitted, the words tumbling out of him raw and unfiltered, burning his tongue as he finally said them out loud. “I judged you. I held you to this ridiculous standard in my head, and the second I thought you failed it, I made you the villain because it was easier than admitting I was disappointed. I was an idiot, Chan. A hypocritical, cowardly idiot.”

“Hannie…” Chan murmured gently, reaching up as if to cup Jisung’s jaw, but stopping short, letting his hand hover close, offering heat without forcing it.

“I’m not running away,” Jisung whispered, his fingers tightening in Chan’s jacket, pulling the Alpha just half an inch closer. The rich, woodsy scent flooded back into his senses, warmer and more intoxicating than before. “I spent three semesters hiding in the back row and making up stories about you because I was too scared to actually talk to you. I’m done hiding.”

A slow, breathtaking expression washed over Chan’s face—the guarded, cautious mask melting away entirely to reveal a look of such profound, unadulterated relief that Jisung’s stomach did a dizzying flip.

Chan brought his hands up, gently covering Jisung’s knuckles where they were clutched in his jacket. His fingers were warm, firm, and completely grounding.

“You don’t have to be perfect with me, Jisung,” Chan murmured, his head tilting down until his forehead almost rested against Jisung’s. His voice was a low, honeyed vibration that seemed to anchor Jisung directly to the floor. “You don’t have to apologize for protecting yourself. I don’t care if you’re cynical, or stubborn, or if you complain about my hero complex every single day. Just stay where I can see you.”

Jisung let out a shaky, quiet laugh that sounded suspiciously close to a sigh of relief. He leaned his forehead forward, letting it bump gently against Chan’s chest right over his heart, listening to the steady, strong rhythm beating beneath the denim.

“You’re still obnoxious,” Jisung mumbled into his shirt, though his hands finally uncurled from the fabric to rest against Chan’s waist, settling there like they belonged.

“I know,” Chan whispered, a deep, dimpled smile pressing against the crown of Jisung’s head as his arms wrapped securely around the younger boy, shielding him completely in the quiet sanctuary of the stacks. “Now let’s go get that book before the library trap actually springs on us.”

It becomes a routine for Chan to walk with Jisung. Times where he would keep a small distance despite him saying that it doesn’t matter what people say, but Jisung knows. Even when one doesn’t want to admit how much it affects them, there is always the doubt. The insecurity of the scrutiny

Walking together quickly became an unspoken rule of their days.

It started with small overlaps—Chan waiting outside the doors of their shared lecture hall, or Jisung sitting at the edge of the campus plaza with two cups of iced coffee until a familiar broad-shouldered silhouette appeared in the crowd. Within a few weeks, the sight of the two of them navigating the paved paths between the science center and the liberal arts wing had become a permanent fixture of autumn on campus.

Chan said he didn’t care what people thought. He said the glares from bitter Omegas, the low whispers in the library corridors, and the suspicious, lingering stares from faculty didn’t bother him in the slightest. He wore that easy, dimpled smile like armor, carrying himself with an unbothered, steady grace that suggested the campus grapevine was nothing more than background noise.

But Jisung wasn’t blind.

He noticed the subtle half-step Chan would take whenever they walked through the central quad, right where the crowds gathered thickest around noon. He noticed how Chan’s hand would hover near his own for a second before slipping back into his jacket pocket whenever they passed a cluster of whispering upperclassmen. Chan didn’t pull away out of coldness; he did it with a quiet, careful hesitation—as if he were constantly trying to insulate Jisung from the splash zone of his own reputation.

No matter how strong someone pretended to be, no one was completely immune to being treated like a scandal waiting to happen. The doubt was always there, lurking under the surface. The quiet insecurity that comes from knowing people are just waiting for you to fail, or worse, that your presence might be dragging someone else down into the dirt with you.

It was a chilly Tuesday afternoon when Jisung finally called him on it.

The wind was picking up, tossing dry autumn leaves across the brick courtyard as they headed toward the student union. Down the steps, a group of senior Alphas and Omegas from the athletic department were standing in a loose circle, their conversations dying down the moment Chan and Jisung came into view. Sharp, assessing eyes tracked their approach.

Without a word, Chan’s pace slowed slightly, his shoulder drifting a foot further away from Jisung’s, creating a deliberate, respectable gap between them.

Jisung didn’t hesitate. He reached out, grabbed the cuff of Chan’s dark sleeve, and pulled him right back until their arms bumped together.

Chan blinked, turning his head in surprise. “Jisung?”

“Stop doing that,” Jisung said softly, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead as they passed the staring crowd. His grip on Chan’s sleeve didn’t loosen.

“Doing what?”

“Putting up a wall every time people look at us,” Jisung replied, his voice calm, entirely devoid of the prickly anger that used to mask his thoughts. He waited until they cleared the courtyard and stepped into the quiet shade of the oak tree line before letting go of Chan’s jacket, though he stayed glued to his side. “You act like you’re completely bulletproof, Chan. But you leave a gap between us every time we’re in public because you think you’re protecting me—or because you’re worried about what they’re saying about you.”

Chan stopped walking. The fallen leaves crunched under his boots as he stared at the younger boy, his posture stiffening for a fraction of a second before the artificial, unbothered expression on his face slowly cracked.

“I just… I don’t want you to have to carry the weight of my reputation, Hannie,” Chan murmured, his voice dropping into a quiet, vulnerable register that Jisung had never heard him use in public before. He looked down at his own hands, his dark curls casting shadows over his eyes. “You built a quiet life here before I pulled you into this. Every time someone sneers at you or gives you a fake smile because you’re walking with me, I feel like I’m taking something away from you.”

“You aren’t taking anything from me,” Jisung said firmly. He took a step closer, standing directly in Chan’s space, blocking the cold breeze. “And you don’t have to pretend it doesn’t get tiring, either. Being scrutinized like that—having people treat you like you’re calculated or fake—it sucks, Chan. It’s exhausting.”

Chan let out a long, slow breath, his shoulders dropping as the heavy, invisible armor he carried every single day finally slipped off his back. The dim light filtered through the autumn trees, highlighting the quiet exhaustion in his eyes—the exhaustion of an Alpha who spent so much time being everyone else’s rock that he rarely had anywhere to rest his own head.

“It is,” Chan admitted softly, the words barely carrying over the rustle of the wind. A faint, self-deprecating smile touched his lips. “It really is.”

Jisung didn’t offer a dramatic speech or a grand gesture. Instead, he simply reached into his own hoodie pocket, pulled his hand out, and slipped his cold fingers directly into Chan’s warm, open palm.

Chan’s breath hitched. His hand closed around Jisung’s instantly, his long fingers lacing through Jisung’s with a firm, desperate warmth that said more than any verbal confirmation ever could.

“If they want to stare, let them stare,” Jisung whispered, his cheeks dusting pink against the chilly air, but his eyes locking onto Chan’s with absolute, unwavering resolve. “I told you I’m not running away. You don’t have to walk five feet ahead of me to keep me safe, Bang Chan. I’m right here.”

Chan stared at him for a long, quiet moment, his dark eyes shimmering with an emotion so deep and unspoken that Jisung felt his own heart skip a frantic beat against his ribs.

Slowly, the dimple on Chan’s left cheek reappeared—not the polite, public smile he handed out to the campus, but a genuine, breathless laugh that made his entire face light up from the inside out. He squeezed Jisung’s hand tightly, pulling him half an inch closer as they resumed their walk toward the union, their shoulders brushing together with every single step.

“Alright, Hannie,” Chan murmured softly, his thumb gently tracing the back of Jisung’s knuckles. “Right here.”

One day, Chan had been called by the teacher he had assisted with the textbooks. Asking him to stay a bit after. Earning huffs of amusement and dirty thoughts to many, others furrowing their brows and some even glaring at the teacher.

Jisung hadn’t said anything when he saw them by the door as he was walking past. Saw how she touched his arm lightly and how Chan smiled a bit guarded.

Jisung saw Chan’s eyes flicker to him and then excusing himself.

Later that week, Jisung saw the same teacher walking with a stack of papers.

He saw her line of sight, Chan sitting on the quad bench. Jisung moved before he could think, intercepting.

“Teacher,” he said, offering to help. She blinked and hesitated before she agreed.

Once in the homeroom, Jisung closed the door, earning a questioning stare from her.

“I think you shouldn’t keep relying on him to help you.” Jisung starts.

She stared curiously. “Who?”

“Bang Chan.”

“I don’t understand.” She said, laughing softly in confusion.

Jisung doesn’t sneer nor yells. He walks closer.

“You’re an Omega. A teacher. A person of power in this university,” Jisung repeated, his voice unnaturally calm, carrying a heavy, unwavering weight that filled the quiet room.

“And Chan is a student.”

The teacher’s laughter died instantly. Her posture straightened, her brow furrowing as a flash of defensiveness crossed her face. “Jisung, isn’t it? I don’t know what you think you’re implying—”

“I’m not implying anything,” Jisung interrupted smoothly, stepping around her desk until he was standing between her and the window overlooking the quad—blocking the view of where Chan was sitting outside. “I’m telling you what is actually happening. Every time you touch his arm in the doorway, every time you ask him to stay after class, and every time you look for him across the courtyard when you have work to do, you are putting him in a corner.”

“I am asking a student for help with course materials,” she said, her tone growing cold, though the slight tremor in her hands betrayed her composure. “Chan is a helpful young man. He offers—”

“He offers because he’s polite to a fault,” Jisung said, his dark eyes locking onto hers without a single flinch. “He offers because he knows that if he says ‘no’ to a faculty member, people call him arrogant. And when he says ‘yes’, people accuse him of taking advantage of his teachers. You know the rumors on this campus. You know what happened in this department last year.”

The teacher went entirely rigid, her mouth pressing into a thin, tight line.

“Chan bears the brunt of every single whisper,” Jisung continued, his voice dropping into a low, firm register. “He guards his boundaries because he knows how fast this school turns innocent interactions into a scandal. But he shouldn’t have to protect himself from his own professors. You hold the authority here. You should be the one maintaining that boundary, not relying on an Alpha student to handle your workload just because he’s too good-natured to refuse.”

The silence in the classroom became absolute, heavy enough to drown out the muffled sounds of students passing in the hallway outside.

The teacher stared at Jisung, her cheeks flushing a deep, embarrassed crimson. She opened her mouth to argue, to pull rank, to dismiss him—but as she looked at the sophomore standing before her, completely unbothered by her authority and fierce in his defense of the elder, the words died in her throat. She looked down at the stack of papers on her desk, the reality of her own thoughtless actions finally settling in with a sharp, stinging clarity.

“I… I never intended to make him uncomfortable,” she murmured quietly, her defensive edge crumbling into genuine dismay.

“I know,” Jisung said softly, stepping back toward the door and placing his hand on the brass handle. “Most people don’t intend to. They just take advantage of how kind he is. Please find a teaching assistant next time.”

With a polite, brief nod, Jisung turned the handle and stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him with a soft, decisive click.

His heart was hammering like a trapped bird against his ribs, his palms slightly clammy inside his hoodie pockets as the adrenaline of what he’d just done began to fade. He took a long, steadying breath, leaning back against the cool plaster wall for a brief second before forcing his legs to move toward the exit.

When he stepped out of the building into the crisp autumn air, the sun was beginning to dip below the library roof, casting long, golden shadows across the brick courtyard.

Chan was still sitting on the wooden quad bench, his long legs stretched out in front of him. But he wasn’t looking at his phone, nor was he reading a textbook.

He was staring directly at the glass doors of the building.

The moment Jisung emerged, Chan stood up. He had seen everything—seen Jisung intercept the teacher, take the papers, and walk into the classroom alone.

As Jisung approached, Chan didn’t say a word. He just stood there under the falling orange leaves, his dark eyes wide, searching Jisung’s face with a raw, breathless intensity that made the surrounding quad feel completely empty.

“You…” Chan’s voice rasped slightly, cutting off as he took a step forward, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach out but didn’t know if he was allowed to.

“Hannie… what did you just do?”

Jisung stopped right in front of him. His cheeks were burning, his nerves still frayed from confronting a faculty member, but as he looked up at the Alpha—at the broad, protective shoulders that spent every single day carrying the weight of everyone else’s expectations—Jisung felt a deep, unshakeable sense of calm settle into his bones.

“I took care of it,” Jisung said simply, pulling his hands out of his hoodie pockets and offering a small, faint smirk. “Consider it payback. You carry my books, I fight your battles.”

A sudden, sharp breath escaped Chan’s lips. The formidable, untouchable senior looked entirely undone, his jaw working silently as he stared at the smaller boy. Slowly, as if he couldn’t control the impulse, Chan reached out and wrapped both arms tightly around Jisung’s shoulders, pulling him flush against his chest right there in the middle of the crowded courtyard.

The warm, rich scent of cedar wood flooded Jisung’s senses, thick and completely overwhelming, but for the first time, it didn’t feel guarded or restrained. It was entirely open, pulsing with a deep, profound gratitude that made Jisung’s knees feel soft.

Chan buried his face into the crook of Jisung’s neck, his broad frame trembling faintly as he let out a long, shaky exhale against Jisung’s skin.

“Nobody’s ever done that for me,” Chan whispered into his shoulder, his grip tightening just a fraction more, shielding Jisung completely from the rest of the world. “Nobody.” Jisung hesitated for barely a second before bringing his arms up, wrapping them firmly around Chan’s waist, letting the Alpha lean on him for as long as he needed.

“Well,” Jisung murmured softly, his forehead resting against Chan’s collarbone, a quiet smile finally touching his lips. “Get used to it, Bang Chan. I’m not letting them walk all over you anymore.”

Chan sucked in a breath. He pulled back, letting go before he tentatively touched Jisung’s jaw, as if afraid of his actions. Jisung didn’t pull back, he leaned to the touch.

“Thank you.” Chan whispers, his fingers twitching.

Jisung nodded slowly. “Stop being nice to everyone. Not everyone deserves it.”

Chan’s thumb caressed the soft plane of Jisung’s cheekbone, his skin radiating a gentle, hesitant heat that contrasted sharply with the chilly autumn air. He traced the line of Jisung’s jaw as if verifying that the boy standing in front of him—defiant, quiet, and completely unyielding—was real.

When Jisung leaned into the touch, resting the slight weight of his face against Chan’s palm, the Alpha let out a soft, shuddering breath. The faint, nervous twitch in Chan’s fingers relaxed, settling into a firm, tender cradle.

“Not everyone deserves it,” Chan repeated softly, testing the words on his tongue as if he had never considered them a valid option before.

A faint, dry chuckle escaped Chan’s lips, though his eyes remained dark and intensely focused on Jisung’s face. “It’s a hard habit to break, Hannie. When you spend years realizing people will misinterpret everything you do anyway, being nice to everyone becomes… armor. If you give everyone what they ask for, they don’t look closely enough to see what you’re actually keeping to yourself.”

“It’s shitty armor,” Jisung murmured, his voice low and raspy, though he didn’t pull away from Chan’s warm hand. “It just lets them take bites out of you until there’s nothing left for the people who actually care.”

Chan’s dimple flickered faintly, his thumb lightly brushing across the corner of Jisung’s bottom lip before settling back against his jaw. “And do you care, Jisung?”

The question floated between them, quiet and heavy with an invitation that Jisung knew he couldn’t take back once accepted. The campus around them was settling into twilight, streetlights flickering on along the brick paths and casting long, golden glows across the quad.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Jisung replied, his hand rising to gently grasp Chan’s wrist, his fingers overlapping the pulse point humming steadily beneath the Alpha’s skin. “I just cornered a faculty member, made a scene, and blew my quiet reputation to shreds just to keep people from taking advantage of you. Don’t make me spell it out.”

Chan’s smile finally broke through, full and completely unshielded. His eyes crinkled into soft crescent moons as he let out a low, breathless laugh that warmed the chilly air between them.

“Okay,” Chan whispered, stepping just half an inch closer until their jackets brushed again, his scent of rich cedar wood wrapping completely around Jisung like a soft, protective blanket. “I won’t make you spell it out.”

He tilted his head down, resting his forehead gently against Jisung’s once more, his thumb still cradling the warm curve of his cheek.

“From now on,” Chan murmured, his voice carrying a quiet, binding promise, “I’ll save the good guy routine for the people who actually matter. Starting right here.”

Jisung huffed.

“You better because I don’t think I can keep cornering people.”

Chan’s low, rumble of a laugh vibrated right against Jisung’s forehead, warm and breathless in the evening chill.

“I bet you were pretty terrifying, though,” Chan whispered, his thumb giving Jisung’s cheek one last, lingering stroke before his hand slid down, his fingers effortlessly lacing through Jisung’s cold ones again. “I think you scared her half to death. I’ve never seen Professor Lee look so flustered.”

“I was terrified, too, for your information,” Jisung grumbled, though he didn’t pull his hand out of Chan’s grip. He squeezed back just enough to prove he wasn’t actually upset, his face burning beneath his dark fringe. “My heart was hammering so fast I thought I was going to pass out right in front of her desk. If I have to do that every week, I’m going to drop out by midterms.”

“Then you won’t have to,” Chan said softly, his voice lacing with absolute sincerity as he turned them both toward the path leading away from the central quad. “I promise. Next time someone tries to pull me into their mess, I’ll just tell them I have a very scary sophomore waiting for me.”

“Don’t you dare make me your official bad cop,” Jisung shot back, but his mouth twitched, unable to hold back the tiny, fond curve of his own lips as they walked together under the glowing amber streetlights.

The campus was quiet now, the lingering crowds of students thinning out as everyone headed toward the dining halls or their dorms. The chilly autumn wind rustled the dry leaves along the pavement, but standing beside Chan—their shoulders brushing with every stride, their hands firmly intertwined—Jisung didn’t feel the cold at all.

“Come on,” Chan murmured, his dimple deepening as he pulled Jisung just a little closer to his side. “Since you saved my life back there, I’m buying dinner. Real dinner this time. Not diner soup.”

Jisung glanced up at the senior, taking in the soft, relaxed lines of Chan’s face—the complete absence of the heavy, guarded tension he had been carrying for months. “Okay,” Jisung agreed softly, letting himself be pulled along into the quiet warmth of the evening. “But only if I get to choose the place.”

It took weeks for Chan to unlearn a lifetime of compulsive people-pleasing. Saying the word “no” felt like a muscle he had never trained, stiff and uncomfortable on his tongue

Every time he forced himself to use it.

At first, he would look over at Jisung with wide, uncertain eyes right after declining an unreasonable request, like a golden retriever waiting to see if he’d been a good boy. Jisung would just give him a subtle nod, a quiet smirk, or a firm squeeze of his hand under the table, holding him steady until the anxiety passed.

And as Chan slowly stopped taking on the world’s problems, the truth behind his infamous reputation finally unraveled in front of Jisung.

The legendary “heartbreaker” who swapped Omegas every few months? The slick Alpha who supposedly used people and tossed them aside when he got bored?

It was all a giant, absurd misunderstanding born from Chan’s inability to let people suffer alone.

Jisung found out on a rainy Thursday afternoon in the library. A quiet, third-year Omega named Felix had approached their table, looking hesitant until he caught Chan’s eye. Instead of the flirty giggles or bitter sneers Jisung used to expect, Felix simply offered Chan a deeply relieved, genuine smile and handed over a small container of home-baked cookies.

“Just wanted to say thanks again for walking me to my night shifts at the lab last month, Hyung,” Felix had said softly, bowing his head slightly. “That Alpha from the engineering department finally gave up and stopped following me to my car after he saw you waiting by the doors every evening.” When Felix walked away, Jisung had sat in stunned silence, piecing the puzzle together in real-time.

Chan hadn’t been “dating” half the campus. He had been acting as a human shield. Whenever an Omega on campus was being harassed by an aggressive Alpha or Beta who refused to take “no” for an answer, Chan would step in. He’d walk them home, sit with them in the library during late-night study sessions, or hang around their workplaces until the whisper of his presence was enough to scare the creeps off.

And because Chan was too noble—and too stubborn—to ever explain the situation and compromise those Omegas’ privacy, the campus grapevine took the frequent public sightings and turned them into a scandal. Look at Bang Chan, seen with a new Omega every week. What a playboy.

“You really are a hopeless idiot,” Jisung had muttered that day, staring at the container of cookies while his chest swelled with a terrifying, overwhelming wave of affection.

“I couldn’t just leave them to deal with it alone, Hannie,” Chan had mumbled defensively, rubbing the back of his neck, a faint pink dusting his ears.

“You could have cleared your name!”

“And let the creeps know why I was standing there?” Chan replied softly, looking at Jisung with that quiet, unshakable integrity that made Jisung’s heart ache. “If people thought we were dating, those guys backed off permanently. It worked. That’s all I cared about.” Now, sitting in the central campus café, Jisung watched the new reality take hold.

A sophomore Beta from the student council approached their booth, holding out a thick stack of event flyers. “Hey, Chan-hyung! We need someone to lead the setup crew for the autumn festival this weekend. We know you usually do it—”

Chan glanced up from his laptop. For a split second, that old instinct to jump up and take charge flickered in his eyes. But then his gaze shifted to Jisung, who was calmly sipping his iced tea across the table, raising one eyebrow in silent expectation.

Chan took a slow breath, squared his broad shoulders, and looked back at the student.

“I can’t this weekend,” Chan said, his tone polite, smooth, and completely firm. “I have plans. But you should ask the junior class reps—they’ve been looking for leadership hours.”

The Beta blinked, clearly caught off guard by the refusal, before nodding awkwardly. “Oh… okay! Yeah, I’ll ask them. Thanks anyway, Hyung.”

As the student walked away, Chan let out a long, dramatic exhale, slumping slightly against the leather booth seat. He looked across the table at Jisung, a faint, proud dimple breaking through his cheeks.

“I said no,” Chan whispered, as if he had just successfully pulled off a secret heist. “I actually said no.”

“Look at you,” Jisung teased, reaching across the table to lightly tap Chan’s nose with the tip of his finger. “A regular boundary-setting champion. I’m practically swooning.”

Chan laughed, reaching out to catch Jisung’s hand before he could pull it back. He wrapped his long fingers around Jisung’s, lifting his hand to press a soft, lingering kiss against the back of his knuckles right there in the middle of the busy café. He didn’t care who was watching. He didn’t care about the quiet whispers or the lingering stares from the tables nearby.

“I only have energy to take care of one person these days anyway,” Chan murmured, his dark eyes warm and bright, holding Jisung’s gaze until the younger boy’s cheeks flushed a bright, traitorous crimson. “He’s very demanding. Keeps calling my hero complex obnoxious.”

“He sounds extremely wise,” Jisung grumbled, trying—and failing—to hide his glowing smile behind his hoodie sleeve as he squeezed Chan’s hand back. “You should definitely keep listening to him.”

There was no point in lying to himself anymore. He had done enough of that over the last three semesters to last a lifetime.

The truth was, Jisung hadn’t just put Bang Chan on a pedestal—he had fallen for him the second he saw him two years ago. From the very moment the broad-shouldered, warm eyed senior offered a quiet, attentive glance at the back of a prospective student tour, Jisung had been done for. He had spent months hiding that terrifying, overwhelming crush behind layers of sharp sarcasm and bitter cynicism, convincing himself that Chan was too good to be true, then turning around and hating him when the rumors made it seem like he wasn’t good at all.

It had been a agonizing cycle of self-preservation. A desperate attempt to protect his own heart from a fantasy he thought he could never have.

But sitting here now, watching Chan navigate the busy diner aisle toward their booth with two fresh slices of cheesecake, Jisung didn’t see a fantasy. He saw the man who stayed up late studying, who carried the quiet weight of everyone’s expectations, and who looked at Jisung like he was the only person in the room who truly mattered.

The crush hadn’t died through the wringer of suspicion and disappointment. It had simply stripped away the fairy tale, leaving behind something far deeper, far raw, and entirely undeniable.              

I’m in love with him, Jisung realized, the thought landing in his chest with the quiet, heavy certainty of a falling leaf. I’m completely, hopelessly in love with him.

Chan caught his eye from across the room, the corner of his mouth lifting into that familiar, dimpled smile that made Jisung’s pulse double its speed.

Then, a broad shoulder slammed into Chan’s path.

The heavy, metallic scent of bitter pine flooded the immediate air as a senior Alpha from the rugby team stepped directly into the aisle, blocking Chan’s way to the booth. He had two of his teammates trailing behind him, their posture loose, arrogant, and clearly looking for entertainment.

“Dude,” the Alpha drawled, his voice loud enough to cut through the clatter of silverware and draw the attention of half a dozen surrounding tables. He tossed a malicious, condescending smirk toward where Jisung was sitting before locking eyes with Chan. “Can’t believe you’re actually spending time with this prude. You really would get with anyone to keep the streak going, huh?”

The temperature in the diner seemed to plummet ten degrees in a single second.

The easy, warm light in Chan’s face vanished instantly. He didn’t drop the dessert plates, nor did he falter in his stance, but the subtle shift in his frame was instantaneous—broad shoulders locking, jaw tightening into a razor-sharp line as his dark eyes narrowed into something lethal.

The soft, comforting scent of cedar wood that usually wrapped around Jisung like a blanket suddenly transformed, sharpening into the heavy, suffocating scent of an Alpha whose absolute boundary had just been crossed.

Chan didn’t yell. He didn’t raise his voice. But when he stepped half an inch closer to the guy, his voice dropped into a register so low and resonant that it made the glass salt shakers on the nearby table faintly vibrate.

“Say that again,” Chan said softly.

The rugby player’s smirk faltered for a microsecond under the sheer weight of Chan’s gaze, but his pride kept him from backing down. “Come on, Chan. The whole school knows the guy sits in the back row glaring at everyone like he’s too good for the rest of us. You don’t have to pretend he’s—”

“I asked you to say it again,” Chan interrupted, his tone completely flat, devoid of warmth, and utterly terrifying. He set the two plates down on a nearby service counter without taking his eyes off the guy for a single fraction of a second. “Call him a prude again. Look me in the eye and say it.”

A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the surrounding tables. Students froze mid-bite, the low chatter of the diner dying out completely as everyone realized the school’s most easygoing, polite Alpha was standing an inch away from snapping someone’s jaw.

Jisung felt his heart hammer against his ribs, but the cold fear that usually made him shrink back into the shadows didn’t come.

Instead, a quiet, fierce heat flared up in his chest. He was done watching people use Chan’s quiet nature against him, and he was sure as hell done letting anyone treat their connection like a joke.

Jisung slid out of the booth.

He walked straight up to Chan’s side, placing his hand firmly over the back of Chan’s tense forearm. The sudden touch made Chan’s jaw flex, his dark eyes flickering toward

Jisung with an immediate, instinctual flicker of concern—worried, even now, that Jisung was scared or overwhelmed.

Jisung didn’t look scared. He looked up at the towering rugby player with a cool, completely unimpressed stare, his fingers tightening securely around Chan’s arm.

“He’s not pretending,” Jisung said, his voice clear, calm, and carrying easily across the silent room. “He’s just sitting with someone who actually respects him. Something I’m guessing you don’t know much about.”

The other Alpha’s face flushed a dark, furious red as a few quiet, stifled gasps rippled through the onlookers.

Chan looked down at Jisung, the cold rage in his eyes momentarily suspended by pure, breathless awe. The corners of his mouth twitched, the lethal tension in his posture softening into something fiercely, intensely proud.

Chan shifted his weight, stepping slightly in front of Jisung, shielding him just enough while keeping his arm locked under Jisung’s hand. He looked back at the rugby player with an expression of icy, total dismissal.

“You have five seconds to walk away from our table,” Chan murmured, his voice laced with an Alpha command so heavy it made the guy’s two teammates visibly flinch and step back. “Before I stop being polite.”

It was almost funny how fast the campus grapevine could completely rewrite a narrative.

One week, Han Jisung was the invisible sophomore in the back row who looked at everyone like they were a personal insult. The next, he was suddenly the ruthless, fiercely territorial Omega who had claimed Bang Chan and was currently keeping the school’s most famous Alpha under strict, terrifying guard.

The whispers in the library were practically deafening now.

“Did you see him standing up to the rugby team?”

“I heard he almost broke a guy’s wrist just for looking at Chan.”

“He cornered Professor Lee last month, too! He’s crazy possessive.”

Jisung rested his cheek in his hand, idly stirring his straw around the melting ice of his iced Americano while listening to two freshmen whisper behind a nearby bookshelf.

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

He hadn’t “claimed” anyone, nor was he keeping Chan on a leash. He had simply gotten tired of people treating Chan like a public convenience or a target for cheap gossip. But leave it to the university gossip mill to take a normal human boundary and turn it into a full-blown romantic thriller where Jisung was the dangerous, possessive Omega holding an Alpha hostage.

“You look like you’re plotting a murder,” a smooth, familiar voice murmured.

A heavy, warm weight settled over the back of Jisung’s chair as Chan leaned down, his scent of rich cedar wood immediately wrapping around Jisung like a soft, familiar cloak. He set a fresh pastry on the table before pulling out the seat beside Jisung and sliding into it, his broad shoulders practically glowing in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the library window.

“I’m plotting the demise of the campus forum,” Jisung grumbled, shoving his iced coffee an inch to the side. “Do you know what they’re saying out there now?”

“That you’re terrifying?” Chan offered innocently, his dimples cutting deep into his cheeks as a broad, insufferable grin spread across his face. “That you fight off Alphas twice your size just to keep me all to yourself?”

Jisung shot him a flat, unamused glare. “It’s not funny, Chan. They’re making me sound like a feral guard dog.”

“Hannie,” Chan cooed softly, reaching over to lightly pinch the warm skin of Jisung’s cheek. “You were pretty fierce. The whole diner saw you step up to an upperclassman Alpha without blinking. I think half the sports department is actually afraid of you now.”

“I was defending you!” Jisung hissed, though his cheeks were burning a traitorous shade of pink as he swiped Chan’s hand away—only to let their fingers intertwine on top of the wooden table a second later. “Because people treat you like an object. It annoyed me.”

Chan’s smile softened, the playful teasing in his eyes giving way to that deep, overwhelming warmth that always made Jisung’s pulse do a frantic, uneven dance.

Chan shifted his seat closer, his knee bumping against Jisung’s under the narrow table. He lifted their joined hands, bringing the back of Jisung’s knuckles up to rest against his cheek, leaning into the touch with a long, quiet sigh of absolute contentment.

“Let them say whatever they want,” Chan whispered, his dark eyes locking onto Jisung’s with an intensity that made the surrounding library noise melt into pure background static. “For three years, people treated me like something to win, something to gossip about, or someone to fix their problems. Nobody ever stood in front of me and said ‘back off, he’s with me.’”

Jisung swallowed hard, his throat suddenly tight.

“You have no idea how good it feels,” Chan continued softly, his thumb gently stroking the side of Jisung’s wrist. “To know that someone actually has my back. If they want to call you possessive because you care about me… then I hope you stay possessive forever.”

Jisung stared at him, his mouth opening slightly before he let out a soft, defeated huff. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the front of Chan’s shoulder, hiding his burning face in the soft fabric of Chan’s jacket.

“You’re unbelievable,” Jisung mumbled into his chest, his fingers tightening securely around Chan’s hand. “You’re supposed to be helping me ruin these rumors, not enjoying them.”

Chan let out a low, chest-rumbling laugh, his free arm wrapping around Jisung’s waist to pull him just half an inch closer in the quiet corner of the stacks.

“Why would I ruin them?” Chan murmured, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against the crown of Jisung’s head. “It’s the only rumor on this campus that happens to be completely true.”

The university student center was practically glowing, decked out in string lights, pine garlands, and the chaotic noise of the annual winter holiday party. Music boomed from the main hall, but Jisung had spent the last twenty minutes slowly retreating toward the quieter, dimly lit hallway near the courtyard doors, desperate for a break from the crowd.

Chan, as expected, had followed him without hesitation.

The new year was only days away, and winter had settled deep over the campus, bringing crisp, frosty air and heavy coats. A few months ago, Jisung wouldn’t have dreamed of being anywhere near Chan in a room full of partygoers. But tonight, standing together away from the noise, the lingering glances from the rest of the student body didn’t even register.

Jisung watched as Chan stepped into the small threshold of the archway, his dark coat damp with a few stray snowflakes from outside. The Alpha turned around, his eyes sparkling with a familiar, dangerous glint of mischief as he raised a single finger and pointed directly above their heads.

Jisung looked up.

Hanging from the doorframe was a tiny, slightly withered sprig of green leaves and white berries, tied off with a festive red ribbon. A Western tradition that neither of them had ever paid attention to in their entire lives.

“God, you have got to be kidding me,” Jisung practically whined, burying his face into his hands with a dramatic, muffled groan. “Who even put that up? That is so cheesy. It’s embarrassing.”

Chan let out a rich, breathless laugh that echoed softly in the quiet hallway, stepping forward to gently pry Jisung’s hands away from his blushing face.

“It’s tradition, Hannie,” Chan whispered, his dimples digging deep into his cheeks as his long fingers slid down to cradle Jisung’s wrists. “We can’t violate campus holiday décor. It’s against the rules.”

“You make up the rules as you go,” Jisung grumbled, glaring up at him through his dark fringe, though his heart was already hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against his ribs.

“You really are unbelievable.”

Yet, despite his complaints, Jisung didn’t take a single step backward. He didn’t pull his hands away. He didn’t even look toward the hallway exit.

Instead, he stood completely still as Chan’s hands slid up from his wrists to gently rest against his jaw, those warm, calloused palms cradling his cheeks with an agonizing, reverent softness. The rich, intoxicating scent of cedar wood—now mingled with the crisp, sweet bite of winter air—wrapped around Jisung’s senses, cutting out every last trace of the loud party behind them.

“Merry Christmas, Jisung,” Chan murmured softly, his dark eyes dropping to Jisung’s lips before rising back up, holding his gaze with an earnest, overwhelming devotion that made Jisung’s breath catch in his throat.

“Shut up, Chan,” Jisung whispered raspy, leaning up just half an inch. “Just kiss me.” Chan smiled—a small, breathless, beautiful thing—and tilted his head down.

When their lips met, the rest of the world dissolved completely.

It wasn’t a sudden, aggressive Alpha gesture. It was slow, deep, and impossibly sweet, a soft press of lips that carried the weight of every silent glance in the lecture hall, every shared notebook, every defended boundary, and every unsaid confession from the last three years. Chan’s thumb caressed the warm skin of Jisung’s cheekbone, his grip shifting to pull the younger boy flush against his chest, shielding him completely beneath the archway.

Jisung let out a soft, trembling sigh against Chan’s mouth, his fingers tangling tightly into the fabric of Chan’s winter coat, pulling him closer, deeper, until there was no space left between them at all.

All the cynicism, all the defenses he had built up to protect himself, melted away under the undeniable, devoted warmth of the man holding him.

When Chan finally pulled back a fraction of an inch, his forehead rested gently against Jisung’s, both of them breathing heavily in the cool air of the hallway. Chan’s eyes were still closed, a quiet, brilliant smile resting on his lips as his hands smoothed down to rest securely around Jisung’s waist.

Jisung blinked his eyes open, his face flushed a brilliant, burning crimson, his chest heaving as he stared at the Alpha holding him like he was the only precious thing in the world.

“See?” Chan whispered teasingly, his voice a low, honeyed rumble. “Not so terrible, right?”

Jisung huffed, hiding his glowing face right into the crook of Chan’s neck, his arms wrapping tightly around Chan’s shoulders as he inhaled the deep, comforting warmth of his scent.

“It was such a cliché,” Jisung mumbled into Chan’s collar, though his lips pressed a soft, lingering kiss against the warm skin of Chan’s throat. “Do it again.”

Within the time off they had, they spent days together, Jisung embarrassingly overwhelmed by Chan’s attention. It was almost intoxicating. With no walls of faculty, of classes and projects, it was Chan’s undivided attention.

The chimes of the midnight bell vibrated through the floorboards from the main hall, muffled and distant, signaling the turn of the new year. Beyond the archway, the party erupted into shouts, cheers, and the clinking of glasses, but in their quiet, shadow-draped corner, time seemed to stall completely.

Chan’s soft, breathless giggles echoed against Jisung’s mouth—a sound so raw, unguarded, and sweet that it made Jisung’s chest swell until it actually pained him. It was a sound Chan almost never let the rest of the world hear: stripped clean of the smooth, unbothered Alpha persona he wore like armor every day. It was just Chan. Simple, happy, and entirely Jisung’s.

He didn’t stop kissing him. As the clock finished its twelve heavy strokes, Chan kept pressing soft, lingering kisses to Jisung’s lips, his jaw, and the flush of his cheek, holding him with a firm, desperate tightness as if afraid Jisung might vanish into the frosty night air.

“Thank you,” Chan murmured between kisses, his deep voice trembling faintly against Jisung’s skin, warm and breathless. “Thank you, Hannie… thank you.”

Thank you for seeing me. Thank you for staying. Thank you for fighting for me.

Jisung’s heart did a slow, dizzying roll in his chest. He tightened his grip around Chan’s neck, his fingers tangling deep into the soft, damp curls at the nape of the elder’s neck, pulling him down until there wasn’t a single whisper of space left between them. He leaned into every single press of Chan’s lips, offering his own quiet, trembling surrender.

“Stop thanking me, you idiot,” Jisung whispered raspy, his cheeks burning a deep, radiant crimson, though his own voice cracked with an emotion far too big to hide behind sarcasm anymore. “You’re making it sound like I had a choice.”

Chan pulled back just an inch, his long fingers remaining cupped gently around Jisung’s warm face. His dark eyes shimmered beneath the soft, golden glow of the hallway lights, reflecting the string lights like tiny stars. The heavy, rich scent of cedar wood wrapped around them thick and protective, completely walling out the cold draft from the courtyard and the loud chatter from the hall.

“You always had a choice,” Chan whispered, his dimples cutting deep into his cheeks as a soft, breathless smile broke across his face. “And you chose me.”

Jisung stared up at him, taking in the soft, relaxed lines of Chan’s face—the complete, beautiful absence of the heavy, guarded burden he had carried for three long years.

“Yeah,” Jisung admitted quietly, his lips curving into a real, unshielded smile that reached all the way to his eyes. He reached up, his thumb gently tracing the smooth line of Chan’s cheekbone. “I did. So you’re stuck with me from now on, Bang Chan.”

Chan let out a low, happy laugh, leaning down to press one last, sweet kiss to the tip of Jisung’s cold nose before pulling him back flush against his chest, burying his face into the soft fabric of Jisung’s hood.

“Best year of my life,” Chan whispered against his ear, his arms locking around Jisung’s waist as the distant cheers of the party echoed down the hall. “Happy New Year, Hannie.”

“Happy New Year, Chan,” Jisung murmured back, closing his eyes and letting himself sink completely into the steady, unshakeable warmth of the Alpha holding him.

The campus grapevine, naturally, refused to die a quiet death. It merely evolved into something even more unhinged.

​“Don’t even speak his name when Han is around,” a pair of freshmen had whispered near the vending machines just last Tuesday, scrambling away the second Jisung walked into the hall. “He’s wildly possessive. I heard they’re planning a shotgun mating right after finals.”

​Shotgun mating.

​Jisung had nearly dropped his laptop right there on the linoleum floor. Shotgun mating? He wasn’t even close to graduation! He was barely a sophomore finishing his spring requirements, still struggling through intermediate microeconomics, and people were speaking about him like he was currently picking out nursery paint and binding his soul to an Alpha before the semester ended.

​And Chan, for all his newly acquired boundary-setting skills, was absolutely zero help in shutting it down.

​Not because he was enjoying the rumors this time, but because he simply didn’t have the bandwidth to care. Senior year was hitting the Alpha like a freight train. Between capstone projects, final presentations, and endless rounds of interviews, Chan was practically living on three hours of sleep and iced espresso. Jisung barely saw him for more than twenty minutes at a time during the day—just brief, quiet moments where Chan would slump into the seat beside him, rest his heavy head on Jisung’s shoulder, and let out a long, exhausted sigh while Jisung ran his fingers through his soft dark curls.

​The impending reality of it was starting to leave a sharp, metallic ache in Jisung’s chest.

​In a few short weeks, the senior class would put on their gowns, walk across the grand lawn, and leave. Chan would graduate. And campus—the library, the diner, the quiet bench under the oak tree—would just be empty. It would be Jisung, back to navigating the hallways alone, except this time he’d be carrying the memory of holding Chan’s hand through all of it.

​Then came a warm, golden Friday afternoon, just two weeks before commencement.

​The campus was alive with the buzz of finals wrapping up, but Chan had dragged Jisung away to the quiet stone wall behind the economics building, where the commotion of the main quad couldn’t reach them. The breeze was soft, carrying the sweet scent of blooming spring trees.

​Chan looked lighter than he had in months. The dark circles under his eyes were still faint, but the overwhelming, suffocating weight of senior year seemed to have lifted off his broad shoulders. He sat close—so close their thighs brushed continuously—and held a thick manila folder in his lap.

​“I got it,” Chan said, his voice quiet, vibrating with a breathless, disbelieving kind of joy.

​Jisung blinked, looking up from his lap. “Got what? The capstone grade?”

​“The offer,” Chan murmured, a deep, beautiful dimple breaking through his left cheek as he turned to look at Jisung. “The small financial corporation in the city—the one I did the three-round panel for last month? They offered me a full paid internship. It starts two weeks after graduation, with a guaranteed track to a junior analyst position if I hit my quarterly metrics.”

​Jisung’s heart leaped in his chest, a wave of fierce, blinding pride crashing over him so fast it took his breath away. “Chan! That’s—that’s incredible! You worked yourself to the bone for that!”

​“It’s a really good starting salary, Hannie,” Chan continued, his fingers nervously rolling the edge of the paper folder, his dark eyes searching Jisung’s face with an intensity that suddenly made the quiet afternoon breeze feel still. “And the advance stipend comes through as soon as I submit my final transcript.”

​Jisung smiled softly, reaching out to cover Chan’s fidgeting hands with his own. “Which means you’re officially a working adult. Look at you. No more university dorms.”

​“Yeah,” Chan whispered. He swallowed hard, his pulse fluttering warm beneath Jisung’s palms. He flipped his hand over, lacing his long fingers firmly through Jisung’s. “Which brings me to what I wanted to ask you.”

​Jisung tilted his head, amused by the sudden, rare flicker of nervousness on the senior’s face. “What is it?”

​“I’m getting an apartment as soon as I get my complete check from the internship,” Chan said, taking a slow, grounding breath. He leaned in half an inch, his scent of rich cedarwood wrapping around Jisung, warm and familiar. “It’s close to the transit line—only twenty minutes from campus. It has a balcony, a decent kitchen, and enough space for two desks.”

​Jisung’s thumb froze against Chan’s knuckles.

​“Move in with me,” Chan said softly, the words coming out completely unshielded, raw and steady. “Once I get the keys and set everything up… move in with me, Jisung.”

​The quiet courtyard seemed to drop into complete silence. The rustle of the spring leaves, the distant chatter of students—everything faded into white noise against the loud, hammering rhythm of Jisung’s heart in his ears.

​“Move… move in?” Jisung squeaked out, his voice cracking slightly as his face flushed a brilliant, burning crimson. “Chan, I—I still have two years left of school! The campus rumors are already saying we’re doing a shotgun mating, if people find out I’m moving into your apartment, they’re going to think—”

​“Let them think whatever they want,” Chan interrupted gently, a soft, breathless laugh escaping his lips as he reached up with his free hand to cradle Jisung’s burning cheek. His thumb caressed the warm bone with an agonizing, devoted tenderness. “I don’t care about the rumors, Hannie. I care about coming home to you.”

​Jisung’s breath hitched, his throat suddenly tight as he stared into Chan’s dark, unwavering eyes.

​“I don’t want to spend my first year out of school walking into an empty apartment, waiting for the weekends just to see you for two hours between your lectures,” Chan whispered, his voice dropping into that deep, honeyed register that anchored Jisung directly to his core. “I want to make you breakfast before your morning classes. I want to study at the same table. I want you there.”

​The lingering fear of being left behind on an empty campus vanished in an instant, replaced by a warmth so deep and overwhelming that Jisung felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

​There was no pedestal anymore. No false rumors, no dramatic misunderstandings, and no hiding in the back row. Just Bang Chan—hardworking, devoted, and completely, hopelessly in love with him—offering him a home.

​“You’re ridiculous,” Jisung mumbled, his voice thick with emotion as he leaned his face deeply into the warm cup of Chan’s palm, his fingers clutching the lapel of Chan’s jacket. “You’re asking a sophomore to move into your first adult apartment. You really have no survival instincts.”

​Chan’s dimple cut deep into his cheek, a brilliant, breathtaking smile spreading across his face as he pulled Jisung closer, forehead resting gently against forehead.

​“Is that a yes, Hannie?”

​Jisung let out a soft, trembling laugh, closing his eyes as he wrapped his arms tightly around Chan’s neck, pulling the Alpha down into a deep, lingering kiss right there under the warm spring sun.

​“It’s a yes, you idiot,” Jisung whispered against his lips. “Of course it’s a yes.”