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“You realize at this point you’re just torturing him, right?”
Aside from the words that Jiwoong has spoken, it was almost unnaturally quiet in the dorm. There was a soft ticking coming from the clock on the wall next to the door, and in a muffled way Zhang Hao could hear Taerae and Gyuvin from a bedroom deeper in the hall. But there was peace floating about in the air, and Zhang Hao was trying to savor it. Nine people living in a single dorm hardly ever gave way to quietness, unless it was deep in the night or something was terribly wrong.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Zhang Hao refused to look up and meet the eyes that he could feel burning into his form. Instead, he carefully dipped the thin brush he held in his hands into the inkwell at his right. He’d been working on the letter in front of him for the better part of forty-five minutes, and hadn’t made much headway. However, he’d been taking his time, inclined not the rush, taking pleasure in the careful but confident strokes of his brush and the meaning behind every symbol.
Jiwoong commented, “I’ll be honest, at first, it was kind of funny. But that was months ago. It’s getting sad, now.”
Dressed in a slightly over-sized sweater, one that was comfortable and soft, Zhang Hao brought his free hand up to the dragging sleeve, lifting it away from the paper so the material wouldn’t catch the ink.
Zhang Hao only hummed.
He’d grown, through some trial and error, to love the chaos that was their pack. It certainly hadn’t been easy to adjust to living with eight extroverts, most of whom were loud and brash and sometimes hard to calm down. And though the dorm had three bedrooms, a balcony, and a good-sized living room, it almost always felt too small for them all. There was never a shortage of people around, practically climbing over each other, living atop each other, talking over each other. Zhang Hao loved them all. He loved the noise less.
So these moments, the moments of calm and quiet, were some that he treasured the most.
“Hao.”
With concentration, Zhang Hao finished tracing out the last of the symbols on the white sheet below him. Then, with what felt like infinite patience he’d trained into himself, he offered, “Jiwoong.”
He did look up then, unable to avoid the feeling of being watched anymore, and also hearing the slight edge to Jiwoong’s voice.
There was such a thing as an alpha-voice. It was something that was more instinctive than anything else, a particular camber or pitch that an alpha could do that went straight down into the biology of an omega. Most anthropologists theorized that it had to do with the safety and control of a more vulnerable member of the pack back before things were civilized. Because though no alpha-voice could control anyone—beta or omega—it created almost a feeling of compulsion to comply. In the handful of times Zhang Hao had heard his mother use her alpha-voice, he’d always felt his legs moving before his brain caught up.
Jiwoong was not doing that now. And Zhang Hao doubted he would. That sort of thing was nothing used carelessly or without proper intention. Still, Zhang Hao had heard the hint of aggravation, or maybe even irritation in Jiwoong’s voice. And above all else, Jiwoong was Zhang Hao’s friend.
“I’m not doing anything on purpose,” Zhang Hao assured, though he wasn’t certain if he was doing so for Jiwoong’s benefit, or his own. He stopped to consider his own words, then clarified, “Not anymore, at least. Not for a while.”
Jiwoong sighed.
He looked particularly tired that day, and Zhang Hao had to force back the urge to push his bangs up and use the back of his hand to check for a fever. Jiwoong was wearing his glasses, and Zhang Hao wanted to slip them off gently and rub out the crease between his eyes. His fingers almost itched to do it, and he had to hold down on his calligraphy pen even tighter to fight against it.
“You’re just coming into your nature,” his uncle had assured him on the phone when they’d spoken most recently. Zhang Hao had been calling him more frequently than he spoke to his parents, with questions about dynamics in packs, and instincts that had been hard to keep control of lately. His uncle was the only omega he knew who was in a pack that wasn’t majority blood related, and the best person to ask for clarification related to their shared dynamic.
Zhang Hao had pressed, “My nature of feeling like I have to prowl the dorm all night long to make sure my packmates are safe?”
His uncle had laughed then, amused and gentle in the way he said, “You’ve only been in your pack for six months. You’re living somewhere new. You’re under a lot of stress. Give yourself some credit. The anxiety and worry will settle. You will settle. The longer you’re in your pack, and the more familiar your routine becomes, the less you’ll worry.”
That had been some comfort, at least.
His uncle had assured him that the urges would never go away, of course, only quell down a bit. And he only needed to be patient. But it was hard for Zhang Hao to even remember what it had been like before he’d felt constantly compelled to watch Gunwook eat until he was certain the younger omega was full. Had there been a time when he hadn’t wanted to crowd into Matthew and press him about going to bed on time? Or simply watch Gyuvin sleep to ensure it was peaceful?
So, until his biology settled down, Zhang Hao thought of the urges as a storm he simply had to weather.
It wasn’t lost to him, however, that his uncle had commented, “Hao, be careful. All omegas feel this way when they enter into a pack and bond. It’s in our nature. But there is such a thing as imprinting. If you imprint on those betas of yours, or worse, the younger omega, things will be rough for you when the pack dissolves. Don’t forget that.”
The thing was, Zhang Hao was fairly sure it was already happening.
He did not tell his uncle this, worried that he’d tell Zhang Hao’s mother—they talked on the phone almost every day and Zhang Hao knew they told each other everything.
But the writing was on the wall, as far as Zhang Hao was concerned. Classic imprinting typically happened in stressful situations, full of unease and uncertainty. It was a biological occurrence, though usually rare, that further deepened the bond between pack members and created feelings of overwhelming codependency. It almost never happened these days, in modern society, with plenty of food, shelter, and resources to go around. But it could still happen, and if the way Zhang Hao’s skin itched at the mere idea of Ricky or Yujin being even out of his line of sight meant anything, there was imprinting happening.
“And for goodness sake,” his uncle had finished, “whatever you do, don’t imprint on an alpha. I don’t know how I’d ever calm your mother down if that happened. She’s not ready to lose you to another alpha yet.”
In that moment, Zhang Hao had laughed the implication off. Now, he was laughing less.
Jiwoong, with his tablet open in front of him, some book displayed on it, ran his fingers through his hair with a sigh.
Zhang Hao waited to hear what he had to say, carefully setting his calligraphy brush down so the ink wouldn’t spill.
“Hao,” Jiwoong began in almost a diplomatic fashion, “you’re driving Hanbin crazy. You might literally drive him crazy at this point. He’s wearing a grove into the bedroom. He’s pulling at his hair. He’s not eating properly. He’d going to implode soon.”
Zhang Hao folded his hands carefully atop the low living room table that he and Jiwoong were seated at.
Three weeks ago Zhang Hao and Hanbin had spoken on the balcony under the stars.
Since then, the tension had been painfully and agonizingly difficult to wade through.
“When are you going to do something about it?” Jiwoong questioned.
Before Zhang Hao could respond the bedroom door down the hallway opened loudly, and the patter of feet on the ground gave way to the reveal of Gyuvin and Taerae before they even made it out in to the main room.
“Can we do down to the corner for some snacks?” Taerae asked with a gummy smile. “Just one each?”
Next to him, Gyuvin bounced on his feet a little with anticipation.
Zhang Hao questioned, sizing them up individually, “Didn’t we just eat lunch an hour ago?” The time was drifting into the afternoon, but they’d all eaten together not that long ago. Still, there was an urging in Zhang Hao to comply almost immediately. It was nearly nauseating how he wanted to get to his feet and demand to know how hungry the betas were, and what they wanted to eat, and why they weren’t full from their lunch.
There was ball of anxiety in his stomach at the idea that he hadn’t fed them well enough at lunch.
“Yeah,” Gyuvin replied in an easy wall. “But everyone else is out and they’re not going to be back until late.”
“So?” Taerae pressed. “Snacks? Just to the store on the corner. Like two minutes away.”
They were so cute he could barely help himself.
Zhang Hao smothered down a grin and reached for the calligraphy pen once more. He was just moving to dip it into the inkwell when he heard Jiwoong say, “Well, Hao? Do they have permission?”
It was startling for a moment to realize that Jiwoong was deferring to his authority. In part, of course, because Jiwoong was an alpha, and with Hanbin out of the dorm he was the acting head alpha. And also because Jiwoong was older, and usually helped Hanbin handle matters of authority or discipline. Zhang Hao had been known to dole out his own reprimands, but he was more likely to be the one helping the betas calm down after one, than giving one.
But here was Jiwoong, watching him with an amused look, waiting in a patient way.
Zhang Hao steadied himself against the table for just a second, then reminded them, “You know if anyone finds out what building we live in, it’ll cause trouble for the entire pack, right?”
“We’ll wear our masks,” Gyuvin assured. “And hats. I promise, we won’t get caught. And we’ll even bring stuff back for the others when they get in.”
Jiwoong chuckled out, “What do you say, Hao? Put them out of their misery.”
Zhang Hao sighed, then advised, “Don’t get caught, okay? Do you need money?”
“No, we’re good!” Taerae promised, reaching out to take Gyuvin’s hand in excitement.
Taerae and Gyuvin were scattering away half a breath later, almost looking like they were afraid that Zhang Hao would change his mind. They really should have known better. But a large part of Zhang Hao was thankful that they hadn’t realized just yet how much power they had over him. Particularly when one of them threatened to look even the least bit upset at anything.
“You’re so soft with them,” Jiwoong remarked, switching his tablet off and setting it down.
They waited in comfortable silence as Taerae and Gyuvin left the dorm, money rattling in their pockets.
Zhang Hao lifted his chin a little to remark, “Yujin will be hungry when he gets back. Yujin is always hungry these days.”
“Sure, sure,” Jiwoong laughed.
Zhang Hao forced himself to start up on his calligraphy once more.
He called his parents frequently enough. His father was never much of a talker, a more reserved person who enjoyed spending time in the comfort of his home, and seemed more than happy enough to defer his preferences to his wife. But Zhang Hao enjoyed his long conversations with his mother. She had a succinct way of talking that comforted him, and inspired him to find confidence in his own actions when watching hers. She could be stern and strict with him, but never unfairly.
And though she disliked people to know it, she had a wicked sense of humor. Zhang Hao’s favorite thing was to listen to her tell wild stories of her childhood, usually involving Zhang Hao’s uncle in some way, and enjoy the way she interjected anecdotes and comical jabs into the story as it went along.
But if there was someone Zhang Hao was the closest with, it was his grandfather. His grandfather on his father’s side was a harsh seeming alpha, with deep etches of time across his face, and hardly a smile for anyone. He should have been the kind of family member that could have made Zhang Hao deeply uncomfortable, particularly as an omega. But Zhang Hao had always found serenity in the comfort of his grandfather, and how he’d sit on his grandfather’s knee as a boy and soak in the feelings of protectiveness resonating from him.
Again, it was likely a biological thing. Zhang Hao, before his growth spurt, had been a thin, short for his age omega. His grandfather, despite his age, had been big and stereotypically alpha in every way possible. He’d exuded the kind of alpha that most omegas were attracted to, platonically or romantically. He felt powerful and safe and like a figure of authority.
Zhang Hao, however, liked that his grandfather spoke simply and deliberately, chose his words carefully, and was an honest man. He might have been gruff, but he wasn’t unkind, and he treated Zhang Hao strictly as his grandson, and not his omega grandson. In China, that distinction was not always the case.
So Zhang Hao wrote to him as frequently as he could manage now. His grandfather hated computers, and barely ever wanted to speak on the phone itself. But he and Zhang Hao exchanged long letters of complicated Chinese prose. It gave his grandfather a way to occupy his somewhat mundane days, and gave Zhang Hao a chance to practice traditional Chinese that could be complicated and difficult to master even as a native speaker.
“What are you going to do about Sung Hanbin?”
Speaking of blunt.
“You’re awfully bold, Jiwoong.”
“Maybe you’re not bold enough.”
Zhang Hao exhaled. Then he said, “You insinuate as if I haven’t been trying for quite a while at this point.”
He’d been trying since Boys Planet, to be frank, to work through his burgeoning and sometimes frightening emotions concerning Sung Hanbin.
At first, there’d only been simple attraction. Hanbin was incredibly handsome, and his passion for dance only made him that much more attractive. But as Zhang Hao had gotten to known him, and truly begun to understand the kind of person Hanbin was, those feelings had grown exponentially.
Hanbin was … he was something special. Of that Zhang Hao was sure. Hanbin was a gentle soul who tried his best to support others, sometimes at a cost to himself. Hanbin was friendly and generous and someone who could be admired for his integrity. He hardly seemed aware of how much influence he had on people, and he never took advantage of it. The world was on a silver platter for Hanbin, but he did his best to level the playing field for himself and for others.
Most importantly, Zhang Hao had begun to fall quickly for Hanbin as an alpha. Of course Zhang Hao knew plenty of alphas. They were rarer than betas, but there were still plenty of them around. Both Zhang Hao’s mother and grandfather were alphas, of course. And he’d had friends of the same dynamic since he was young.
But none of them had been quite like Hanbin.
Zhang Hao was quite afraid he was in love already.
Or worse.
Jiwoong pointed out, “He’s absolutely got feelings for you. I think everyone and their mother could see it on the show. Neither one of you were subtle about it.”
Zhang Hao felt his face flush.
Jiwoong leaned a little towards Zhang Hao, and gave a mock whisper as he said, “You know, one time I overhead some of the producers on the show talking about how scared the company was that you and Hanbin wouldn’t debut together. You were Haobin from the start.”
Zhang Hao gave him a flat look at the mention of their couple name. Their ship name? Zhang Hao wasn’t certain what to call it.
The fans certainly called them Haobin.
The fans were actually rabidly scary about shipping them together. If he and Hanbin so much as stood next to each other for a photo, the screams increased to a frightening degree. And Zhang Hao wasn’t an idiot. He knew that he and Hanbin often trended together on twitter or any other number of social media sites, and that fans wrote fanfic about them or made fanart. It could have felt uncomfortable. It probably should have. But Zhang Hao was so busy being distracted by his actual feelings for Hanbin, that he couldn’t bring himself to feel that way.
Maybe he didn’t want to. If the fans hadn’t been so adamant about shipping them, the company probably would have encouraged them to be less affectionate or close. And that was an idea that Zhang Hao could barely stomach. He liked the way Hanbin could pull him close on stage and hug him or tease him, and no one had anything negative to say about it.
“What would you like me to do?” Zhang Hao asked Jiwoong. He poised his calligraphy brush over the paper as he offered the question. “Hanbin and I are in a pack. We’re an idol group. We’re not supposed to be having feelings for each other in the first place.”
In an uncouth way, Jiwoong snorted.
Zhang Hao pursed his lips.
Then, in a quite tone despite them being alone in the dorm, he said, “I have tried being subtle with Hanbin. I have tried dropping hints that I’m attracted to him, and that I’m interested. He seems far more interested with protecting my reputation, than anything else.”
“You’re telling me you’re irritated that an alpha is treating you with an increased amount of respect as an omega?”
“No,” Zhang Hao replied immediately.
That was probably one of the biggest draws of Hanbin, if Zhang Hao was being honest with himself. Hanbin felt like a rare find of an alpha, and he continued to prove his value as a potential partner each time he deferred to Zhang Hao, refused to make decisions for him, and exercised caution when encroaching on anything that might have to do with their respective dynamics.
For the most part, alphas and omegas could coexist with a mutual understanding and level of support.
Yet Zhang Hao had run into more than one alpha in his life who wanted to shut him away from the world to keep a household and raise their potential children.
Zhang Hao wanted to sing. He wanted to dance. He wanted to live and work in Korea and do exciting things. He wanted to try new foods, explore new places, and build meaningful relationships. He wanted to do what he wanted, when he wanted, and he didn’t want to answer to anyone.
Hanbin seemed to want that for him too. Hanbin seemed to want for Zhang Hao, whatever Zhang Hao wanted for himself.
“Maybe try being less subtle,” Jiwoong suggested.
With narrowed eyes, Zhang Hao reminded, “I believe our company would never support the idea of Hanbin and I actually being in a relationship. They enjoy the façade of it, and the attention it brings the group, but fantasy and reality are a far cry from each other. Even if we managed to hide it from the public, they would never approve. There are too many risks.”
Jiwoong waved his hand in a superfluous way. “The company probably thinks to the two of you are already fornicating.”
“Excuse me!”
Jiwoong smiled in a wicked way. Then he asked, “Do you know how popular you and Hanbin are on weibo?”
“Is the standard weibo?”
“My point is,” Jiwoong said, “the Haobin ship is profitable—insanely so. The company is probably more afraid you’ll break up, than get together.”
For the most part, Zhang Hao and the others had little input or direct contact with WakeOne. All directions and preferences, or even schedules, were routed through their managers. And though they were all pleasant enough, it was a strictly professional relationship. They kept order outside of the pack, while Jiwoong, Zhang Hao, and Hanbin kept it within. It was a working partnership, but none of the three managers had ever approached Zhang Hao about his relationship with Hanbin. No one in the company, or the mangers themselves, had commented on them.
Jiwoong added, “Listen, I’ve seen lots of packs come and go. I’ve seen them be amicably dissolved, and explode for all kinds of reasons. I’ve seen packmates get into relationships, and then seen it go really badly. But Hao?”
“Yes?”
Jiwoong reached across the table to catch Zhang Hao’s free hand. Jiwoong’s fingers felt warm in comparison to Zhang Hao’s own cold ones, and it was a comforting hold.
“You and Hanbin feel like the real deal. The real thing. When I look at the two of you being obnoxious with each other, you look like something that can last, or is meant to last, or should last. That’s what I’m saying. Hanbin is a good kid. He’s earnest and kind and above all else, a respectable man. He’d be a good person to you, and you deserve that. If you wanted, he’d be a good alpha to you—the kind an omega like you would do well with.”
Tersely, Zhang Hao asked, “An omega like me?”
Unaffected by the icy tone of Zhang Hao’s voice, Jiwoong merely shrugged and replied, “A strong omega, capable, independent, wise—do you want me to go on? Don’t play coy with me, Hao. We both know you’re not like those simpering omegas who fall over each other when an alpha flexes a muscle or talks about taking care of them. That’s okay, I guess, but you’re more than that. Hanbin sees you’re more than that, and obviously he likes. It’s what I like, too. It’s why Seobin was it for me.”
Zhang Hao cleared his throat, thoroughly uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation.
Jiwoong continued on in an easy way, “So maybe you want to take a chance on Hanbin and the kind of future the two of you could have. I know you’re young, but things take a while in life. It’s not a bad idea to start thinking about the future, and planning a little, or at least figuring out where your life might go in a couple of years. Just … consider letting yourself be happy, especially if happiness is with Sung Hanbin. When you let yourself feel like you deserve things, it usually turns out you do. It worked for me.”
In that moment, Zhang Hao thought of Jiwoong and Seobin.
That, Zhang Hao knew, was something real as well.
Jiwoong had been lucky enough to walk the fine line of keeping Seobin in his life, and keeping their relationship out of the public eye. But Jiwoong had never been shy about where he expected his life to go in the future, after their idol group’s contract was over. If Zhang Hao was sure that he wanted to go on to participate in another group and continue making music, he was just as sure that Jiwoong planned to settle down and mate Seobin. And probably have a ton of kids.
Zhang Hao was certainly going to be looking forwards to the future wedding invitation, and babysitting duty. Or he hoped that even after their group was dissolved, that he’d manage to remain close to someone who’d come to mean a great deal to him.
Suddenly, filled it a lot more confidence, Zhang Hao told Jiwoong, “I tried being blunt with Hanbin.” He squeezed Jiwoong’s hand back.
“How blunt are we talking? Sometimes Hanbin gets lost in his own head. It’s what makes him so endearing.”
If he’d been back in China, it would have been inappropriate to speak on the matter publicly. Or even with someone like Jiwoong that Zhang Hao considered his friend. These matters, in a more traditional sense, were kept close to home. They were matters discussed within a family unit, and not outside.
This wasn’t China, however. And Zhang Hao trusted Jiwoong.
“I,” Zhang Hao started, then gave a strong swallow, “I invited Hanbin into my nest.”
Jiwoong’s mouth formed an O.
“I had hoped,” Zhang Hao eased out, “that would make my intentions clear.”
In retrospect, it had been a mistake from the start.
They were a modern society, living in an era where intelligent thought and self-control dictated actions, and instincts were more considerations than anything else. Zhang Hao was an omega, but surrounded by a progressive community, that only meant so much. Outside of fiction, and likely porn, his omega status was more of a footnote, than anything else.
The thing was, instincts were still instincts. And as much as they could be pushed down and disregarded for being archaic at best, they could also still be unavoidable. Or dangerous.
Hanbin was kind and brave and respectful and even gentle at times. But he was still an alpha. Hanbin was also modern and progressive and highly aware of his instincts, but he was an alpha.
And alphas always acted as instigators of romantic or sexual encounters. It was undeniable. Zhang Hao could surely express interest, and give consent, but there was a baser instinct in alphas and omegas that cornered them into dated categories, and pushed instincts to the forefront of actions. As an alpha, Zhang Hao should have known that Hanbin would need to be the instigator of anything between them. It was a dangerous game to try and usurp dominance from an alpha, when there was a possible romantic or sexual encounter occurring. It was, for as distasteful as Zhang Hao found it all, something utterly nonnegotiable in their inherent dynamics.
Truly, as well, if he was being honest with himself, trying to take the lead and push Hanbin into being more aggressive, had felt wrong, too. Particularly in his nest. A good omega knew how to retain control of an alpha in a nest, but a better omega knew how to defer to an alpha when hormones and instincts were taking control. It was a simple biological fact that Zhang Hao acknowledged regardless of how he felt about it.
Worst of all, with the incident in his nest as proof, there was also plenty of instinctive urging in Zhang Hao to want dominance from Hanbin in this regard. It was a little embarrassing how much he wanted Hanbin to assert his right to Zhang Hao’s heart and body, and be prepared to fight off any advances from other potential alphas or betas.
“It’s always messy with alphas,” his father had told him once, in the quiet of the night, when Zhang Hao had only just presented. “You’ll find that out the older you get.” That had always felt like the most daring statement he’d ever heard from his father, who was a quiet man by nature.
Jiwoong’s eyes widened. “Oh. I guess that is bold.”
“It was serviceable for a while,” Zhang Hao allowed. “I think the pheromones from my nest ended up intoxicating Hanbin for the first couple of times he joined me.”
Jiwoong nodded. “Would make sense. Alphas get scent drunk in nests sometimes.”
“It was a mistake,” Zhang Hao said. “I tried to take the lead. I was too bold. I think when the alpha part of Hanbin’s brain caught up to the rest of him, he reacted accordingly.” Zhang Hao puffed out his cheeks in half embarrassment and half annoyance, before he admitted, “I tried to goad him into understanding what my invitation meant. I tried to use you as a catalyst. I might have insinuated something, using your name. It wasn’t my best moment.”
Jiwoong threw his head back and laughed deeply. The sound echoed in the empty dorm, and Zhang Hao was not amused.
He still wasn’t when Jiwoong barely smothered out, “I guess I should be thankful Hanbin didn’t come take my head off.” He laughed some more, at Zhang Hao’s expense. “Seriously, Hao, think next time. Hanbin’s a cool guy. He’s smart and a reliable person. But he’s an alpha who’s got his eye on you. You think he’s just going to take some other alpha coming into his territory like that?”
Zhang Hao felt distain at the idea of being considered Hanbin’s territory, even subconsciously.
“It was a miscalculation,” Zhang Hao repeated. “I tried to be too assertive. Hanbin reacted.”
Jiwoong hummed. Then he asked, “So what do you plan to do?”
Settling back in, Zhang Hao started his calligraphy again, making long, even strokes to complete complex characters.
“I haven’t decided yet,” Zhang Hao settled for saying. “I need to have a plan. If you’re right about one thing, it’s that Hanbin and I can’t continue like this. It’s affecting the betas.”
“A plan?” Jiwoong questioned. “You plan to be a saint, apparently.”
Zhang Hao let his shoulders fall a little. Then he dared to ask, “If it’s not too much trouble … would you … I mean …”
“Hao?” Jiwoong looked at him with a concerned glance, and Zhang Hao could read it right away. Zhang Hao prided himself on being composed and finding the right words before speaking. It was something his grandfather had instilled in him.
Feeling a little daring, Zhang Hao asked, “Would you mind if I had a question about you and Seobin? About how you indicated interest in him?”
Jiwoong deflated in a relieved way. “Hao, we’re friends. We’re packmates. Of course you can ask me about Seobin. You can ask me about anything.”
It was a matter of respect, of course, so Zhang Hao wasn’t certain that was true. But he appreciated the sentiment all the same.
“How did you approach him?” Zhang Hao asked before he lost his courage. “How did you express an interest in him?”
Much more lighthearted, Jiwoong laughed this time with pleasure. “We worked together before anything else, as you know. Things just came organically, the same way things did with you and Hanbin. That’s the best kind of way of growing a relationship. But to be blunt, Hao, I liked him, so I took a risk and I scented him one day after work when we went for drinks. He didn’t try and rip my throat out with his teeth. That’s the short answer.”
Zhang Hao blinked slowly at Jiwoong’s words. They’d been delivered with humor, but the gravity of them wasn’t lost on Zhang Hao. Scenting was a dangerous way to declare intent. Seobin would have been more within his right to retaliate in a violent way against Jiwoong, if he hadn’t reciprocated feelings.
“I’d had my tongue down his throat a dozen times by that point,” Jiwoong laughed out. “We smelled like each other all the time. I could feel his heart rate increase when I held him in my arms. He introduced me to his parents. He let me buy him food. I asked him about wanting kids. That’s the real answer, Zhang Hao. I asked the right questions and listened for the right answers. I extended opportunities to him, and I waited to see what he liked or wanted.”
Sometimes it felt like Jiwoong was decades more mature than the rest of them.
Of course he’d known how to play the situation safely, even if it hadn’t seemed that way in the beginning. Likely scenting Seobin hadn’t been the risk Zhang Hao had first perceived it to be, now with context to the story.
It made Zhang Hao want to ask, “Is it possible Hanbin and I haven’t been asking each other the right questions? Maybe we haven’t been going through the correct motions.”
“Maybe,” Jiwoong said gently. “But the truth is, there’s no right or wrong way to go about it. What worked for myself and Seobin, might not work for you and Hanbin. All that matters is that you do what feels right to you.” Jiwoong peered at him for a lengthy pause before asking, “What feels right to you?”
Zhang Hao closed his eyes. He took in several deep breaths and thought deeply about the question.
The answer that came to him was a simple one.
“What feels right,” Zhang Hao stated, “is waiting for Hanbin to be ready.”
Jiwoong gave a simple nod.
That seemed the root of it.
Hanbin wasn’t dumb. He wasn’t dense or stupid. He was someone who was meticulous and careful in his actions. He thought before he acted. He considered the feelings of others, not simply his own. Sometimes he moved at a slower pace, but it was never due to laziness or ineptitude. Hanbin needed a little longer to decide things, at times. He needed a little longer to be sure. And more than anything else, Zhang Hao needed Hanbin to be sure.
If they were interested in trying to properly cultivate something between them, certainty was a must.
Slowly, Zhang Hao reasoned out, “I tried being subtle. I tried being blunt. I need to try being patient.”
“Only you know if that’s the right move.” Jiwoong pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose a little more and picked his tablet up again, flicking it on. “But please start to figure it out. The two of you are unbearable right now, and the pack will be much happier when it’s parents get it together.”
“Parents,” Zhang Hao recoiled.
In a toothy way, Jiwoong teased, “I bet your family would be positively scandalized at you. An omega parent at your age? What would the neighbors say?”
“That’s not funny,” Zhang Hao deadpanned. “My family would kill me if I didn’t bond first. No, they’d kill Hanbin—my mother would for sure.” He was struck then with the idea of bringing Hanbin home to meet his family. He had no doubt Hanbin and his father would fit well together with their calm natures. And Zhang Hao’s mother? She’d poke and prod at Hanbin, but ultimately like him as well. As long as things were done in the proper order, with Zhang Hao’s standing kept in consideration.
Zhang Hao’s grandfather, though … Zhang hao was substantially more concerned about Hanbin possibly meeting him. His grandfather was notoriously territorial over the members of his family, and even with the best intentions, introducing Hanbin to him, with the potential to spirit Zhang Hao away for himself, would not go over well.
It was a little embarrassing how the idea of it thrilled Zhang Hao on some omegan level. The idea of Hanbin coming to his family and proving his worth as an alpha to them? Proving he was capable of being a good mate to Zhang Hao in all ways that his family would measure as necessary?
Zhang Hao felt flustered at the sudden desire for it.
“I think he’s in love with you,” Jiwoong broke in.
It startled Zhang Hao out of his thoughts. “I’m sorry?”
“Hanbin,” Jiwoong clarified. “I think he’s in love with you. He probably has been for ages. So really, if you can be patient, that information right there should be enough to hold you over until he is ready. Agree?”
The idea of Hanbin being in love with him scared Zhang Hao, but not half as much as the idea of returning those feelings.
So simply, in the peace and comfort and protection of their home, Zhang Hao offered Jiwoong a certain smile and replied, “Agreed.”