Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gangwon High stood like a fortress, overlooking an intricate maze of hilly streets and back alleys, most of which were lined with 24-hour convenience stores, cram schools, and the occasional establishment fronting for something illegal. This part of Seoul rarely made it to the glitz and glam shown in K-Dramas —except, maybe, where the male lead got jumped and robbed at gunpoint.

Still, Gangwon High opened its gates to everyone — hoping, perhaps, that someday a fine doctor, lawyer, or politician would spawn from its graffitied walls. It had been four decades. There were less than ten notable alumni. Hope was dwindling.

That was until they arrived.

The four of them ruled this patch of Seoul since middle school, bound together by a chemistry that the faculty no longer tried to understand. Lee Jinki, Kim Jonghyun, Kim Kibum, and Choi Minho: the Untouchables, they were called; not because they said so, but because it was so glaringly obvious. Nobody could touch them in grades, in sports, in style, and most certainly not in popularity.

They refused to be called a gang but they did have a hideout: a rooftop on top of an abandoned study room building that hadn’t seen a student since the early 1990s. Jonghyun stumbled upon it during an afternoon of not-so-subtle fooling around with a classmate. The place was love at first sight. They never asked for permission to invade it. They didn’t need to. Besides, if they get caught, Jinki could smile his way through any situation anyway. Minho could scale the side of the building with ease. And Kibum could argue that the way he decorated the place was an improvement, actually.

Jinki, Alpha, was the oldest and the pack’s de-facto leader. Always calm and collected. Smart in the all-knowing sense. Gangwon High’s best bet to send to Hankuk University Medical School. Girls loved his voice, boys his smile, and the teachers his ability to tame the rest of the Untouchables with a single glance.

Jonghyun came next, another Alpha. Loud, expressive, dangerous. He was known to flirt with girls, boys, and everyone in between. His voice and guitar-playing skills earned him the reputation of a heartbreaker, a reputation he couldn’t be bothered to correct. The SNU Music Conservatory was his ultimate goal—and it wasn’t even a challenge.

Then came Kibum, the sole Omega of the group. He looked like someone who could blow through a million won while shopping and he didn’t deny it. Couldn’t, really. His fashion was always on-point. His tongue, though, was sharper. Quick-witted and not one to back down from a fight, Kibum was the star of the debate club and to whom the school pinned its hope for a future assemblyman. Kibum was rumored to have said “if it pays well, I’ll consider it.”

Then there was Minho.

Alpha, tall, broad-shouldered, and quiet in that difficult kind of way. He often brooded up on the rooftop and brought to the group a certain aloof energy that, somehow, rounded them out unexpectedly. He spoke when necessary and punched when provoked, no regrets. He was Gangwon High soccer team’s MVP three years counting and now on his senior year, he finally made captain. He was sure to land a spot in the national team, his coaches said. This, however, never got to his head—so he still trained like a rookie, like someone who always had something to prove. Maybe he did.

They were four and for the many years since they got together, they never felt like their pack lacked anything.

Fate, however, had different plans.

***********

The beginning of the school year brought with it a sense of panic to every senior in Gangwon High. Graduation loomed near. The CSAT, nearer. A sizable portion of the student body enrolled in different cram schools, which meant that the Untouchables were thinking the same.

“I don’t need a cram school application,” Jonghyun said as he took a swig of his Milkis. “The Conservatory bases 70% of the admission score through the skills test. Music theories make up the 30%. I think I got that down.”

Kibum pointed a finger at Jonghyun. “And that is how you’ll fail, babe,” he said. “There are cram schools for practical courses, too. It wouldn’t hurt to enroll and learn a new instrument. I, for one, am targeting the Design Academy. Not that I need it, but it’s good to have backup.”

Jonghyun only laughed and shifted his attention to Jinki. “Hyung, you’ll definitely try for medical school, won’t you? Then cram school makes sense.” Jinki smiled and nodded. “I already have a few shortlisted. Hard to choose which one’s the best, though.”

A beat passed. Then all three pairs of eyes landed on Minho: “What’s your plan?” Jinki asked. Minho looked at the horizon and smirked. “Got to wait for scouts to come to the games this year,” he said with a shrug. “I always bring my A game anyway.”

Jonghyun stood up then, raising his can to no one in particular. “Then it seems we got it all figured out!” he exclaimed. “Here’s to surviving this last school year together!”

The rest of the pack cheered and for a while they settled into comfortable silence.

Then, footsteps.
Rushing footsteps up the stairwell.

The Alphas went on alert immediately, bracing themselves, forming a semi-circle around Kibum. Minho sniffed the air and scowled.

BAM!

The heavy rooftop door swung open violently then shut close. From the commotion, a small, lithe boy sank down on the floor, back to the door, hands in his hair, panting. His elbows and knees were scraped and his uniform was stained with something dark. Mud? Blood? The pack stayed silent, rendered mute by the unfamiliar scent swirling in the air.

Panic.

“P-please don’t kick me out,” the stranger breathed, not looking up. “Just give me ten, no five! Five minutes. Just until I lose them.” He shut his eyes and waited…

It was Jinki who acted first. He stepped forward and crouched low, lifting the boy’s chin to get a good look at his face. Scratches lined his left cheek, dampened by a sheen of sweat and tears. The boy found Jinki’s eyes and his lips trembled, his face crumpling in helplessness. Jinki couldn’t take it.

“Don’t cry,” he cooed. “We won’t kick you out. Breathe and tell us what happened.”

Kibum’s face lit up with recognition a second later. “You’re an Omega,” he said. The boy turned to him and nodded. Kibum’s face was unreadable, but he asked: “what’s your name?”

The boy took a deep breath. “Lee Taemin,” he said. “I just transferred. I’m in 2-3.”

“A sophomore?” Jonghyun chimed in. There was a glint in his eyes, as if he had decided that this was going to be fun. “Not many Omegas there, I presume.”

Taemin stood up, unknowingly holding Jinki’s arm for balance. “Not a lot. And not a lot of transferees, either,” he said. “I’ve been a walking target since Monday.”

Finally, Minho spoke. “Well your ‘bullies’ are not here so you can scram,” he said dismissively. It cut through the air with a pang that made even Taemin wince.

“You don’t own this rooftop,” the sophomore bit back. “You think I want to be here?! I’m not lying when I said they were chasing me so–”

“Nobody said you were lying,” Jinki interjected. Taemin’s voice softened a little, but it still grated on Minho’s ears. “Well, someone didn’t have to,” he said, glaring at Minho. Minho only scoffed.

“Well, someone better not be lying or I swear to god I’ll throw him out,” Minho threatened.

“I’m not interested in your little Alpha club!” Taemin cried, stepping to Minho now. “And I’m not afraid of wounding your Alpha ego either!”

Without warning, Taemin raised his foot and slammed it down on Minho’s. Minho yelped and jumped back, eyes burning, anger simmering. “What the fuck?! Are you trying to injure me?!” Minho pounced and grabbed Taemin by the collar. “Who sent you, huh? Answer me!”

“That’s enough!” Jinki called, yanking Taemin away from Minho’s grip. Jonghyun put a reassuring hand on Minho’s shoulder, a gesture meant to calm but it only stung deeper. He swatted Jonghyun’s hand away and glared at Jinki. “If that one stays, I’m leaving,” he said, voice low.

“Well, let’s get you out of here then,” Kibum said, taking Minho’s wrist and leading him down the stairs. “See you tomorrow, babes!” Minho had no choice but to follow. Kibum’s grip did not loosen.

On the walk home, it was Kibum who spoke. “We’ve known each other forever, Minho, and I’ve never seen you so worked up about a kid ,” he scolded. “And has being an Alpha dulled your brain so much it no longer knows how to be compassionate? The poor thing came up there with wounds and all. He’s like a stray cat. Harmless, really.”

“Harmless?” Minho countered, gesturing to his foot. “What he did doesn’t look harmful to you?”

“You’re so stupid!” Kibum said. “Cats have claws when provoked, dummy.”

Minho sulked the rest of the way.

Still, as he tossed and turned on his bed that night, the image of Taemin searing itself on his mind, Minho couldn’t ignore the way his stomach twisted when he first saw him. Something about Lee Taemin was going to be a problem—and Minho never ignored problems.

Chapter Text

Minho checked the time: 12:04 AM. He groaned. He had spent the past three hours searching all that he could about the infuriating Lee Taemin—and still his fingers kept on swiping through Instagram photos.

This time, it was a blurry shot of Taemin mid-turn, his eyes focused on something behind the camera, chin up and jaw tight. Beneath it, he captioned the photo “only you amid the chaos.” Minho scowled, cringing.

He saved the photo anyway.

As if that wasn’t enough, Minho found himself walking a sophomore girl to a bus stop one day. Flirting was more Jonghyun’s style, really, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Thankfully, she gave him one crucial piece of information: “Oh that Lee Taemin? Apparently he transferred because he’s following an ex here in Seoul. Gave up scholarships, too. Creepy, really, right, oppa?” Minho’s lips curled in a tight smile but he didn’t answer. He kissed her cheek and told her to take care, then left her at the bus stop.

The next day at the rooftop, Taemin was, as always, stuck to Jinki’s side. Minho glared at him. From what he could hear, the sophomore was apparently struggling about something academic and was asking for Jinki’s help. Minho couldn’t figure him out.

“Something on my face?” Taemin complained as he caught Minho staring at him. Minho frowned and looked away, but not without mumbling “your whole face is wrong, that’s why.” It was childish. He knew it. But for some reason, around Taemin, his usual control kept slipping through the cracks.

Taemin’s eyes narrowed. Then he bit back: “still better than your perpetually broody Alpha face.” Jonghyun spit his drink and laughed heartily. Kibum smirked and winked at Taemin. Even Jinki smiled. Minho’s ears turned red. He got up and turned to leave.

Jinki caught him by the rooftop door. “Give him a chance, Ming,” Jinki said. Minho huffed. “I don’t like him,” he emphasized. “He smells like trouble, hyung. Come on, don’t tell me you actually want him up here?”

“I do,” Jinki said, gaze not wavering a bit. “I like him, Minho.”

The way Jinki said it froze Minho in place. Jinki was calm as always, but the softness in his voice gave something away—something that tugged persistently on Minho’s chest. He winced, then caught himself. “I got to go,” he said, then he turned the rusty doorknob and took the stairs two at a time, not waiting for Jinki’s answer.

**********

Minho found himself falling face-first on Kibum’s couch one night, having refused to go up the rooftop again. It had been the third time Minho ditched the pack. Three whole days of brooding by the soccer field, scoring goals for no one in particular until his body gave out.

Which also meant three whole days of not seeing him .

Minho didn’t want to ask. Truly. He didn’t want to indulge the burning part of him that wanted to know where Taemin was, what he was doing, who he was with. So he did the next best thing: he sulked and waited for Kibum to finish showering.

“Get your mopey face off my throw pillow, Ming,” Kibum called. He emerged from the bathroom already in pajamas. “And get to the point about why you’re here. I have to do my skin care routine.”

Minho grunted but lifted himself up. “Nothing,” he lied. “I just haven’t seen you in a while.”

Kibum called his bluff. “We sit next to each other in class,” he deadpanned. “You saw me devour the kimchi pancakes and glared at me for not leaving you some. Cut the crap, spill it.”

Minho sighed. “I said it’s nothing.”

“Taemin hasn’t been up there since the start of the week, if you must know,” Kibum said. Minho’s forehead creased, which made Kibum raise his eyebrows. “Now you’re concerned?” Kibum mocked, then laughed. “Oh this is rich.”

“Shut up!” Minho said. “It’s just… I think Jinki-hyung likes him.”

Kibum plopped down on the couch beside Minho. “No shit, Sherlock,” he said, still laughing. “Hyung has all but built a shrine for Taemin on the rooftop. That kid’s all he could talk about, it’s annoying. But also kind of cute? Jinki never liked anyone before.”

Minho’s heart dropped. “Yeah, I know,” he said, voice going quiet. “It’s just… why Taemin? Hyung could take his pick among girls in our year, no problem.”

Then Kibum rose and paced. “Wait, hold up,” he said, holding a hand out to Minho’s face. He squinted and looked at Minho’s eyes. “Oh fuck, you also like Taemin!”

Minho shoved Kibum away. “I do not!” he cried, but his voice caught—which only made Kibum laugh harder. Minho scowled and made his way towards the door. “You’re useless!” he called.

“And you’re a terrible liar!” Kibum called back.

**********

Minho didn’t realize where he was headed until his feet stopped in front of Class 2-4—the classroom right next to Taemin’s. The sophomore girl from the bus stop looked up from her desk and squealed, “Oppa!!!”

He caught her just as she flung herself forward, but kept her at arm’s length. “Hey, uh…” Minho hesitated, eyes darting to the hallway. “Are any of your batchmates… missing by any chance?”

He immediately kicked himself. What the hell was that? But he forced a smile anyway—charming, disarming. It worked.

“Oh, so you heard?” she said brightly. “That transferee Lee Taemin got jumped by some girls from your year. It was bad.”

Minho’s stomach dropped.

His hands balled into fists before he could stop them. He clenched his jaw. “How bad?”

The girl shrugged like it was nothing. “I’m not sure, but the homeroom teacher said it’s Yulje Hospital bad.”

And then Minho was running before his brain could catch up.

**********

What am I doing here? Minho thought.

He kept walking toward the door marked “Lee Taemin”... and then walking away again. Back and forth, like a coward. He wanted to leave. He wanted to flee. But something—something raw and terrifying—kept him tethered to this fluorescent-lit hallway.

A nurse noticed him pacing. She didn’t say a word, only gave him a sympathetic nod and quietly slid the door open.

Once Minho saw Taemin, the world tilted.

Minho stumbled into the room, breath caught in his throat. Taemin lay still under the sickening green glow of hospital lights, small and pale against the sheets. A monitor beeped steadily at his side. A clean bandage wrapped around his head, and his face—usually so animated, so defiant—was mottled with healing cuts and bruises.

He looked fragile. Breakable. Minho’s knees nearly gave out. He sank into the chair by the bed and—without thinking—reached for Taemin’s hand. His thumb brushed a scraped knuckle. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to it, his lips trembling.

“M-Minho?” Taemin breathed, not really looking at him and still half-asleep.

“Y-yeah, dumbass,” Minho whispered, startled by how hoarse he sounded. Then, as if burned, he pulled his hand away—guiltily, suddenly, like touching Taemin was crossing some sacred boundary. Taemin flinched at the loss before slipping back into sleep.

It wasn’t even a question then. Minho shifted closer, dragging the chair until his head was level with Taemin’s hand. He laid his cheek down on the mattress, mere millimeters from skin. “You’re okay now. I’m here. I’m staying,” Minho whispered. His fingers itched to reach for Taemin again, but he didn’t. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to.

In his sleep, Lee Taemin felt something warm up his chest and he smiled, welcoming sweet dreams of being held without hesitation.

**********

Minho blinked his eyes awake, squinting as the morning sun filtered through the drawn curtains of the hospital. Taemin was still peacefully asleep. Minho felt his chest flutter at the sight of him. He stared at Taemin’s hand again. Maybe he won’t notice if I hold it , Minho thought—but before he could act on it, the door slid open.

Jinki.

His face betrayed nothing but there was purpose in his stride. He put a hand on Minho’s shoulder and said “you can go home now, Minho. I’ll take it from here.”

Minho's jaw clenched again, biting back the words he knew he’d regret. Instead, he said simply: “I told him I’d stay.”

For the first time, Jinki looked like his patience was fraying. “I know that, Minho,” he said, too clipped, too even. “And now I’m staying. Like I should have since last night, if only you had told me he was here.”

Minho’s temper rose and he found himself face to face with his hyung. His friend. His brother. “I didn’t realize I should tell you,” he said, voice laced with acid. Jinki could smell Minho’s anger in the air but he didn’t back down.

“Then don’t make that same mistake again,” Jinki said, final. Then, ignoring Minho, he focused his attention on Taemin’s monitors, leaving the tension razor-sharp above them.

“Min…oh, hyung, you’re here,” Taemin rasped, but he smiled. Beside him, Jinki smiled back. 

Minho saw the way Taemin lit up at the sight of Jinki—and something in his chest cracked wide open. He left without a word, the sound of the door sliding shut following him like a closing breath. He didn’t see the way Taemin’s smile lingered… nor how his fingers drifted toward a scraped knuckle, still remembering the warmth of being held.

Chapter Text

Taemin stared directly at the sun looking down on him, his stomach twisting in a way that didn’t make him want to hurl.

Jinki hyung: the warm, bright sun amid all the darkness of Taemin’s life. He clung to him like a lifeline.

If Taemin thought about it, this feeling started the day he met Jinki. He was running for his life, then his instinct zeroed-in on a scent that smelled safe. Before he knew it, he was following it to the abandoned building, then up and up until it was all that grounded him when he threw the rooftop door open.

Jinki hyung was the first one who welcomed him. And he was the only one who defended him from Minho.

Oh, Minho , Taemin thought. He looked at the chair beside the bed. Jinki now sat on it, thumbing through a book while humming a soft melody. But Taemin knew he wasn’t the first one who sat there.

“Did… did Minho leave because you arrived?” Taemin shyly asked. Jinki smiled again. “Yes, I asked him to,” he said simply.

“Why?”
“I wanted to be the one you see when you wake up.”

Oh . Taemin flushed. He looked at Jinki’s face—still composed, but there was a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Taemin managed a chuckle, but not much else.

I should be happy , Taemin thought but his gaze kept drifting back to the closed door. Hyung is here, I am safe .

Taemin took a deep breath. The scent he followed that day was still in the air—but he couldn’t understand why it was fading even while Jinki was here.

**********

“Welcome back, Baby Omega!”

Taemin beamed at the sign held by Jonghyun and Kibum. The two of them decorated the rooftop with balloons and streamers to mark Taemin’s return. Jinki and Minho stood a little farther back, holding out a small cake.

“What’s this? Why are you all going soft on me?” Taemin asked but the smile on his face did not falter. He walked over to the table filled with drinks and snacks and started handing them out to the rest of the pack. Jonghyun patted his back, Kibum hugged him, and then Jinki stepped in and embraced him tight. Long. Too long.

From Jinki’s shoulder, Taemin spied Minho looking at him. The Alpha’s lips were upturned ever so slightly and Taemin felt something ease in his chest.

“Okay break it up, lovebirds,” Jonghun said, physically tearing Jinki and Taemin apart. Then he took Taemin’s hand and sat him on one of the stools. Jonghyun made a show of inspecting Taemin’s face and body before declaring “yep, he’s all good.”

“Thank goodness ,” Kibum said as he got behind Taemin’s seat and wrapped his arms around his neck. He planted a kiss on Taemin’s head. “I cannot be the sole Omega of this group anymore, Taemin-ah. Don’t you dare disappear on us like that again.”

“I- I won’t,” Taemin said, overwhelmed by the sudden outpouring of affection. Of belonging. Of being part of a pack . He blinked the tears away.

Jinki crouched in front of him, gaze searching. “We’ll keep you safe,” he said. Taemin nodded, fighting the urge to look at Jinki’s eyes because he knew he’d break. Instead, he focused on Minho.

Minho was quiet, canned soda in hand as usual, but he was looking . Not glaring, not staring. Looking. As if he was seeing through Taemin’s defenses.

That did it.

“I was so scared,” Taemin cried, tears falling unabashedly now. “I don’t even want to go to school anymore because they… they’ll be there. Waiting for me. Waiting to hurt me.”

The sound of crumpling aluminum made Taemin and the rest of the pack turn to Minho. His eyes burned with something Taemin didn’t want to name. And when he spoke, it was final. Lethal. Dangerous.

“Give me their names. I’ll make sure they never come near you again.”

Minho stunned everyone into silence—a silence that stretched uncomfortably. Taemin felt his skin prickle. In front of him, he felt Jinki tense.

Taemin swallowed and wiped his tears away. He forced a laugh. “Go back to being broody,” he tried to joke, but his voice wavered. “I’m not used to you being all... protective.”

Thankfully, that broke the tension. Kibum and Jonghyun started distributing snacks. Jinki started a song on the guitar. But none of that mattered to Taemin.

Because now, he was looking at Minho and Minho was looking at him—and for some weird, fucked up reason, Taemin had never felt more safe.

**********

Taemin started having lunch with the Untouchables—not because he asked to, but because Kibum pulled him by the sleeve one day and said, “You’re sitting with us now, Baby Omega. No arguments.”

So he didn’t.

Most days, they claimed their usual table at the back of the cafeteria—uneven benches, chipped linoleum, and all. Jonghyun brought the noise, Kibum brought the color, Jinki brought the calm. And Minho… well. Minho didn’t always bring words, but he brought his presence. That had to count for something.

Then, slowly but surely, Taemin noticed the whispers fading then disappearing completely. He no longer needed to walk past the tables with his head down. He didn’t need to brace in fear of some upperclassman tripping him on the way to a table. Instead, he breathed. Easy, like a relief. Like a thorn was pulled out from his side and to his surprise, he wasn’t left bleeding.

Of course it was Jinki , Taemin thought. Jinki whose laugh could disarm anyone, whose rare stern words could bring even the cruelest students on their knees. Of course it had to be him that told Taemin’s bullies off. Because of Jinki, he felt like he could survive the year. Taemin held on to the feeling and allowed it to wrap around him like armor.

But one Friday, when he reluctantly walked with the Untouchables on the way back to class, he heard them: the boys from 2-5, snickering like they meant trouble. Kibum, Jonghyun, and Jinki waved goodbye as they continued walking to the fourth year classrooms. Taemin’s heartbeat quickened as he braced for a punch when he turned the corner.

It never came.

Instead, the boys scattered, eyes kept glancing back at the figure behind Taemin. Taemin turned and gasped.

Minho.

He wasn’t doing anything. He just stood behind Taemin like a shadow until the boys disappeared. “Walk,” he said, and Taemin obeyed without thinking. Minho watched him go inside his classroom, then turned back the other way as if nothing monumental had happened.

Taemin slumped into his seat, hand over his chest. His heart still pounded—but it wasn’t fear that lingered. Not this time.

**********

It hit him hard, without mercy—between fifth and sixth period.

Taemin had barely made it up the stairwell to the rooftop, gripping the railing with fingers that shook more from fever than fatigue. The scent clung to him thick and dizzying, sweet and feral—his own, spilling out uncontrollably in waves. His uniform clung to his back. The tie at his neck felt like a noose.

He stumbled onto the rooftop, slammed the door shut behind him, and bent over with both hands on his knees, panting.

“Shit. Shit—Kibum.”

No pills. No patches. The little bottle that was always in his bag was missing—probably rolled under his bed, probably forgotten in his rush this morning. He’d come up here hoping Kibum, with his never-ending stash of emergency suppressants, would save him.

But Kibum wasn’t up on the rooftop. Only one other person was there.

Minho .

Minho’s eyes widened as the scent hit him. His nostrils flared. “You’re in heat,” he said. Taemin laughed bitterly and cursed. “Yeah, Captain Obvious,” he rolled his eyes. “Fuck my luck. Just what I need, an Alpha around while I’m in fucking heat.”

Minho took a step forward, which made Taemin retreat to the door. “Stop,” Minho warned. “Let me through. You need to stay up here. It’s too dangerous for you below. You won’t make it five steps before someone corners you.”

Taemin whimpered— actually whimpered. But it didn’t matter now, because Minho had told him to stay on the far side of the wall… and Minho had begun moving towards the door. It was as if they were circling each other.

Once Minho shut the door behind him, Taemin relaxed. His heat began climbing and in his fevered rush, he thought he was hearing things.

“You breathing okay?”

What? Taemin shut his eyes and blindly followed the scent, the sound. It led him to the door.

“Taemin, I asked if you’re breathing okay,” Minho said from the other side.

Taemin melted. He sank down on the floor and leaned back against the metal separating him and Minho. “Y-yes, I think,” he rasped. “You can go. I’m fine. I can just–”

“Shut up. I’m not going anywhere,” Minho cut in. “And uh, I’m not going to lose control either. Don’t worry. As long as I’m out here you’re safe.”

Taemin buried his face in his arms. “You’re a bastard.”

“You’re welcome.”

His voice was rough but quiet, like it had to climb through whatever emotion was twisting inside him. Taemin could feel it. Could feel Minho’s grounding weight through the steel. His scent, barely-there but strong enough to anchor him. His presence was like a steady flame behind the fog.

“Tell me something stupid,” Taemin murmured.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Anything. Talk.”

He needed it—needed Minho’s voice more than he was willing to admit. Something about the way it curled around him like smoke, solid and safe and impossibly there.

Minho cleared his throat. “When I was ten, I tried to give myself a buzzcut with an electric razor and cut a chunk out of my eyebrow. Jinki had to pencil it in for three months.”

Taemin wheezed a laugh. “Of course he did.”

“I got stuck in a baby swing when I was thirteen. At a park. Cried for twenty minutes until Jonghyun lifted me out.”

“You cried?”

“I was upside down and humiliated. Shut up.”

Taemin smiled. His body was still burning, but something was easing in his chest.

The silence between them now was different. It demanded nothing. Although from time to time Taemin could hear Minho breathing in and out heavily, as if he, too, was slipping.

“I’m afraid, Minho,” Taemin admitted, his voice small but honest. Through the door, Minho shifted in his seat.

“I’m afraid, too,” he said. “I’m afraid for you.”

Taemin stifled a sob but he allowed himself to cry silently. Hours passed. The heat wave didn’t vanish completely, but it ebbed into something manageable. Something he finally could breathe through.

Taemin stood and opened the door. He knew Minho had gone but his heart still dropped when he didn’t see him. “Thank you,” he whispered to the silence. And even as he said it, he knew something in his heart was already settling.

**********

Taemin had been dancing around a feeling all week.

He wouldn’t name it—couldn’t. Not when it curled beneath his ribs and tightened every time Minho passed him in the hallway without looking. Not when every attempt at conversation landed with a thud, like a song ending too early. Minho had become… distant. Polite. Controlled.

And that, more than anything, gutted him.

Taemin tried not to care. He filled the silence with questions that Minho barely answered. Tossed out jokes Minho didn’t return. Even in the safety of the rooftop, where they once traded quiet understanding, Minho now stood a little farther, spoke a little less.

Maybe it was the rooftop heat. Maybe Minho regretted being there—regretted hearing him whimper, seeing him fall apart, holding him together from the other side of a steel door.

Maybe I made him uncomfortable , Taemin thought as he leaned against his locker, exhausted from pretending he didn’t notice the distance.

He reached inside to pull out a textbook, but something small tumbled out and landed at his feet—a blue box, tied neatly with string. Everyone stared. Taemin’s cheeks burned.

He picked it up.

A note was tucked beneath the twine:
“Taemin-ah, I saw this and thought of you. —Jinki”

The butterflies that exploded in Tamin’s chest nearly knocked the breath out of him.

He unwrapped the box carefully, heart pounding. Inside: a sterling silver frog keychain—elegant, minimal, but unmistakably Taemin. A subtle nod to the time he’d jokingly said frogs were his “energy animal.” No one else would’ve remembered that.

But Jinki did. Taemin clutched the keychain to his chest. He really cares , Taemin thought, barely fighting the smile that was curling at his lips. He was happy—too happy to care that the hallway had once again erupted in whispers and gossip.

Everything faded—because the next thing Taemin knew, a familiar hand wrapped around his wrist and dragged him away.

Minho.

“Let go of me!” Taemin cried as he tried to wriggle himself free of Minho’s grasp. “Not here,” Minho said through gritted teeth. His face was angry. His strides were furious.

When they reached the stairwell that led to the under-renovation fourth floor, Minho dropped Taemin’s hand with a force that sent the Omega stumbling back. Minho turned his back on Taemin. Then, in a voice that Taemin had not heard before, Minho finally spoke.

“You don’t see them anymore, do you?”

Taemin seethed. “Who? Those people who hurt me? Please. I see them, I just don’t care about them anymore.”

“Well you should!” Minho faced him now, his face a picture of worry. Taemin blinked, stunned. Minho kept going, his voice rising. “Stop giving them another fucking reason to hurt you!”

Taemin shoved Minho then. “They’re none of your business! My life is none of your business! What? You think you can ignore me all week and then drag me away because you felt this heroic Alpha instinct to protect me?!”

“I WORRY ABOUT YOU!” Minho growled. Taemin stepped back. Minho shut his eyes and drew a deep breath. “Fuck, Taemin. It drives me insane thinking that you’re… getting hurt and I can’t do anything.”

Tears stung Taemin’s eyes. A mix of emotions dared to pour forth—but he stopped himself.

Taemin squared his shoulders and turned his back on Minho. “I don’t need your protection,” he said simply.

He walked away clutching the frog keychain—Jinki’s gift—as a kind of talisman. But the thing about talismans was: they only worked if you believed in them. And Taemin, at that moment, wasn’t sure he believed in anything at all.

**********

Minho didn’t follow Taemin when he left. Instead, he ran. Towards the school gate, all the way down three blocks, across the street, and in front of a convenience store where he stopped the one he sought.

Jinki.

Minho didn’t mean to grab Jinki’s shoulder, but somehow he did—and the older Alpha bristled, already territorial. “What do you want?” he snapped—not kind, very much unlike what Minho was used to. It made his forehead crease.

“You seriously thought giving Taemin a public gift was safe?” Minho demanded. “Did you even think about him at all?”

Jinki’s mouth upturned in a half-smile. “I can protect him just fine if those bastards ever try to lay a hand on him again.”

“Well they almost did!” Minho spat, breath sharp with fury. “Your little stunt painted a target on Taemin’s back. And you know what’s worse? You weren’t even there to see it !”

They said nothing for a while, only looked at each other—sizing each other up, calculating who would win if they devolved into a fistfight right now. Neither wanted to back down… until Jinki exhaled sharply, his calm words more wounding than any punch Minho could have endured.

“You are my friend, Minho,” Jinki began, eyes locked on the younger Alpha. “But know where you stand. Taemin is my Omega.”

And then Jinki left—like Minho, his friend and brother, was nothing.

Minho spent most of that night staring at his ceiling, figuring out what to do next. Because amid all the chaos and confusion and pain, he came to one terrifying conclusion:

He wouldn’t—couldn’t—let Taemin go.

Chapter Text

For the first time in Lee Jinki’s life, he wanted something.

He didn’t want something when he and Kibum were up for the student council presidency. He knew what Kibum could do, so he campaigned for him instead.

Seventh grade, Jonghyun really wanted to be part of the school band but they had wanted Jinki. Jinki screamed at the top of his lungs at the rooftop the night before auditions, then came to school with a hoarse voice the next day.

Freshman year, both he and Minho were up for the striker position in the soccer team tryouts. Jinki feigned a bad ankle twist and convinced himself he didn’t need the sports scholarship, Minho did.

Now, all Jinki ever wanted was Taemin. “Taemin is my Omega,” he had said—and he had turned his back on Minho as he said it.

He sighed. Above him, the stars seemed mockingly bright. Fuck the cram school class. Jinki took out his phone and dialed instead.

“H-hello?” Taemin picked up from the other line after three rings. Jinki felt his shoulders instantly relax. “Hey, Taemin,” he said. “I was just wondering… if you would like to uh… go to the fair with me?”

Jinki’s heart beat double-time as the seconds dragged on. Then, miraculously, Taemin finally spoke.

“Yes, hyung. I’d love to go with you.”

They hung up. Jinki put his phone back in his pocket and skipped on the way home. Up in the sky, the stars no longer seemed to mock. Now, they were the lights cheering him on.

**********

The annual Gangwon High School Fair was all everyone could talk about the following week. Kibum, as the student council president, was beyond busy. He took Jonghyun on errands all week, leaving Minho at the rooftop, awkwardly crashing Jinki and Taemin’s… closeness.

He considered not going up there multiple times but his feet always betrayed him. The sound of Jinki saying “Taemin is my Omega” never seemed to fade in his mind—and every time he remembered it, his hands instantly balled into fists. He decided he would have another talk with Jinki about it just as he pushed the door open.

Then stopped.

Bathed in the glow of the sunset, Taemin was dancing in front of his phone. He was alone. The choreography was new, something he hadn’t shown the pack before. It could be for a class, it could be for whatever viral trend there was. In any case, Minho didn’t care. He stared, even if some part of him knew that he shouldn’t. He couldn’t help it.

“Stop staring, you’re ruining my video!”

Minho blinked rapidly and averted his gaze. “Wasn’t staring,” he mumbled, then cursed under his breath as he felt his cheeks turn scarlet. He kicked an empty plastic bottle as Taemin watched the take on his phone with a frown on his face.

Neither of them spoke for a while. Then Taemin sighed. “I hate that we’re awkward. I mean, you’ve always been confusing. I mean…” Taemin closed his eyes then took a deep breath. “I mean you’re infuriating, Minho. But I don’t want you to hate me.”

Minho felt like an arrow pierced his chest. “I.. I don’t…” he stammered. Then he groaned. “God, Taemin, I don’t hate you at all.”

Taemin only stared at him. “Good,” he said. “So help me, then.”

Minho sat down beneath the tripod, right where the camera wouldn’t catch him. “Help you how?”

Taemin lit up instantly. “Okay, okay. Don’t make a big fuss out of this alright? I will hit you if you do,” he pouted until Minho nodded. Then he beamed again. “Jinki hyung asked me to the fair. What should I wear?”

And just like that, Minho’s world came crashing down again. He lost count of how many seconds he just sat there, staring at Taemin’s smile, and wishing it was for him instead. Finally, with a strength he didn’t know he had, Minho cleared his throat and helped the best way he knew how.

“Kibum,” he said, forcing a smile of his own. “Go to Kibum.”

**********

Following Minho’s advice, Taemin found himself ringing the doorbell of Kibum’s house that same night. Kibum greeted him with a distracted hug. “Hey, Baby Omega,” he said, still cheerful. “I’m sorry but I don’t have much time. Jonghyun’s not even halfway done with the buntings and I just have to swoop in…”

“I’m almost done, calm down!” came Jonghyun’s voice from inside the house. Kibum rolled his eyes. Taemin felt like he was interrupting something intimate. “I can come back,” he offered. But Kibum scoffed. “Ugh, just come in!”

The living room was a literal warzone. Taemin folded his arms against his chest, afraid that one wrong move and he’d send Kibum and Jonghyun over the edge. Kibum had paint on his hands, Jonghyun had his tongue out as he carefully cut out their school’s logo from a legal-sized sheet—the first of what appeared to be a full ream of paper.

Taemin stood rooted on his spot and watched Kibum and Jonghyun for a while—more specifically, how Jonghyun orbited Kibum: handing out paints, tools, or refreshments even when Kibum didn’t ask.

Oh, Taemin thought, something clicking to place in his brain. Oh!

“Whatever you’re thinking, you’re probably right,” Kibum interrupted like an omniscient. “But maybe not a hundred percent spot-on. So let’s talk about it some other time. What brings you here?”

Taemin no longer hesitated. “Minho told me to go to you for uhm… wardrobe concerns.”

Jonghyun paused his cutting and squinted at Taemin. “That idiot asked you to the fair, didn’t he?” Across him, Kibum’s eyes widened.

“No! No!” Taemin swiftly corrected. “Jinki hyung asked me and I said yes. But I don’t have anything to wear.”

Kibum concentrated on painting the kissing booth’s sign on the floor. “And you’re asking me for clothes? Figures.” Then he and Jonghyun exchanged a look.

Taemin suddenly got irritated. “What does that mean? What’s that look?” But the pair only smiled and went back to work. Taemin pouted. “Fine, don’t tell me.”

Kibum finally looked up. “It’s just funny, Taem, that you want to go with hyung to the fair wearing clothes that are not yours.”

“But I don’t have anything decent!” Taemin countered.

“I would take Kibum to the fair in his ugliest pajamas is all I’m saying,” Jonghyun interjected with a shrug.

“Unhelpful, both of you,” Taemin complained. But he sank on the nearest chair, contemplating. “I just don’t want to look stupid in front of him.”

“Fine, I’ll pick out some clothes for you to try tomorrow,” Kibum offered. “Happy?”

Taemin smiled and felt his mood lighten. “Yay! Of course, hyung, thank you!” Kibum gave him his signature eye roll. “Go, close the front gate on your way out!”

Taemin thanked them again and went on his way, thinking about how they made a really good pair.

And how, deep inside his heart, he recognized the devotion in Jonghyun’s eyes. Because he had seen it. Because someone had looked at him like that—and because even now, he knew they were still running away from it.

**********

Minho didn’t really plan on getting anything when Jonghyun dragged him to the mall after class. “Kibum is making me get all these styrofoam boards. I need your muscles. You cannot refuse,” was all Jonghyun said. “Fine,” Minho grunted and followed.

Now, Minho had a dozen boards under each arm and yet he stopped to stare at a hoodie. Plain black except for an embroidered little yellow chick on the left. Jonghyun had complained but Minho still stared.

“For fuck’s sake man, just get it!” Jonghyun laid the heavy cans of paint he was carrying on the ground. “Jinki will likely forget that not everyone runs hot like him and that Taemin would be cold. So please, for the love of everything that is Kim Kibum, just buy the damn hoodie. I really don’t feel like being scolded for this!”

So Minho did. Back home, he ran the hoodie in the washer twice. Then he placed it in a zip bag like it was sacred.

He even wore gloves while packing it—refused to let his scent touch the fabric. It took ridiculous effort, and he cursed himself three times during the process, but he did it.

Just in case , he told himself. Just in case Jinki forgot. Just in case the wind picked up. Just in case Taemin got cold. Just in case no one else thought of him the way Minho did.

And for that, Jinki would just have to forgive him.

**********

Minho stood near the student council booth, hoodie still zipped inside the sterile bag in his pocket. Taemin was laughing with Kibum, dressed in a borrowed striped turtleneck and some beige jacket Minho had never seen before. His hair was neatly parted, a soft flush on his cheeks from the morning sun. He looked perfect.

But not comfortable.

From across the lot, Minho caught it—Taemin tugging at the sleeves, shoulders rolling subtly like the fabric was wrong. He shifted again, arms tightening over his stomach, and then it happened:

A shiver.

Small. Barely there. But Minho saw it. And it hit like instinct to the gut.

He didn’t think. He just moved.

“Hey.” His voice came out rougher than intended. Taemin turned, confused. “Minho?”

Minho reached into his pocket, yanked out the bag, and all but shoved it into Taemin’s chest. “Here. Wear this.”

Taemin blinked at the plastic. “What—”

“It’s clean,” Minho snapped. “Unscented. I ran it twice. Just… wear it.”

Taemin hesitated for a beat, then opened the bag. His breath caught. “A chick?”

Minho looked anywhere but at him. “Whatever. It looked like you.”

Something in Taemin softened. He slipped the hoodie on—and as soon as the fabric touched his skin, he visibly exhaled. Shoulders dropping. Posture uncoiling. Like his body recognized something it couldn’t explain.

Minho caught that, too. Every molecule of it.

“…Thanks,” Taemin said quietly, hands clutching the sleeves like they were precious. “It’s warm.”

Minho nodded. “Don’t catch a cold.”

And then he walked away before his eyes could reveal anything to Taemin.

**********

The night air had cooled, but Taemin didn’t notice—not with Minho’s hoodie snug around him like a second skin. The embroidered chick on the chest peeked out from beneath the carnival lights, tiny and unassuming. Familiar.

Jinki noticed it too.

He had seen Taemin earlier that afternoon, in a different outfit. Kibum’s clothes. Which meant sometime between the dance booth and the corndog stand, Taemin had changed. Now, as they stood in line for the Ferris wheel, Jinki glanced at the hoodie once more, then asked, “That’s new?”

“Hm?” Taemin blinked. Then looked down. “Oh. This? Minho gave it to me. Said I’d be cold.”

Jinki’s jaw tensed. “Really.”

“Yeah. Unscented, too. Said he ran it through the washer twice. That weirdo,” Taemin added with a laugh, shaking his head like it was just another of Minho’s quirks.

But Jinki wasn’t laughing.

Because that—that was restraint. That was love disguised as precaution. Love folded, sealed, and laundered into a hoodie just to make sure it didn’t mark what it couldn’t claim.

Jinki composed himself. “Well, it looks good on you.”

They stepped into the ferris wheel compartment. The door shut behind them with a soft clunk. The ride jolted, then began its slow, circular climb above the fair. Beneath them, the world sparkled with motion: color, noise, youth. But in the quiet of their cabin, everything felt suspended.

Taemin leaned against the glass. The city lights reflected on his skin like candlelight. Jinki wanted to freeze this moment—not for what it meant, but for what he wished it could mean.

“I had fun today,” Taemin murmured.

“I’m glad,” Jinki replied. “You deserve that.”

Another beat of silence.

Then, softly, “Can I kiss you?”

Taemin didn’t answer right away. He didn’t look startled, didn’t even blush. He just turned slowly to face Jinki, eyes wide and steady.

Then he nodded.

Jinki cupped Taemin’s face in his hands, watching as Taemin didn’t close his eyes. It was too much for Jinki to look at. He shut his eyes then and imagined how this kiss—gentle, earnest, and full of every unspoken want—was with Taemin in his own clothes, up on the rooftop. The kiss was soft at first, then got firmer as Jinki wished for Taemin to need him back.

Taemin’s lips moved with careful precision and Jinki allowed himself to hope that he, too, was feeling all that was being left unsaid.

When they parted, neither of them said anything for a while. The ferris wheel creaked upward. The lights swirled far below.

Then, as if on instinct, Taemin pulled the hoodie tighter around himself.

“Does this mean we’re… dating?” he asked quietly.

Jinki looked at him. His heart squeezed, but he smiled anyway. “That’s up to you. I obviously like you. I hope there isn’t any room for doubt in that.”

Taemin scrunched his nose, fiddled with the hoodie sleeves, and stared out the window. “I want to think about it,” he said softly.

Jinki nodded. “Okay.” His voice never broke. Not once.

But when the ferris wheel made its slow descent, and the lights of the fair came back into view, Jinki kept his hands folded in his lap, fingers digging into each other—because Taemin was still wearing that hoodie.

And even when they kissed, he never once took it off.

Chapter Text

Taemin tossed and turned on his bed. Sleep evaded him. Something in the air felt wrong and offensive. He brought his fingers to his lips that still tingled with Jinki’s kiss. But then, against his will, his focus zeroed in on the heat prickling his skin—all because Minho cared enough to give him a hoodie.

Damn hoodie , Taemin thought as he buried himself under the sheets. If it weren’t for that hoodie I wouldn’t have hesitated with Jinki hyung.

“I want to think about it.”

Taemin said the words to Jinki even before his mind could catch up. He wanted to take the words back. What was there to think about? Jinki liked him. Jinki kissed him. Jinki chose him—and that should be enough.

“Whatever. It looked like you.”

Taemin groaned. Minho, you fucking bastard . He flipped on his side and peeked at the hoodie he draped reverently on the chair. The yellow chick smiled back at him as if it knew what was peck, peck, pecking on Taemin’s chest.

In the morning, nothing had changed—except that when Taemin wore the hoodie again, it felt like he was already choosing.

**********

Monday arrived with the bite of early winter trailing its fingers through the wind, and Taemin’s steps quickened as he climbed the stairs to the rooftop. He wasn’t late—these rooftop hangs weren’t exactly scheduled—but something in his gut pulled him upward, as if something important was waiting.

When he pushed the rooftop door open, he was met not with the usual loud banter or idle lounging of the pack, but with a tranquility that told him he was stepping into something sacred.

Candles. Blankets. Pillows. Snacks in neat rows. Heat packs. Soft music playing from a phone propped up on a folded scarf.

And Kibum. Meticulously arranging a pile of fleece throws like he was staging a photoshoot.

“What… are you doing?” Taemin asked, blinking.

Kibum looked up and lit up like a chandelier. “Welcome, Baby Omega,” he declared dramatically, “to our divine duty to this pack: curating the Alpha Rut Night care piles.”

Taemin gawked.

Kibum gestured broadly to the three distinct set-ups he was curating, each one nestled in a corner of the rooftop, spaced apart like little shrines. “Once every few months, our boys stop suppressing and ride their ruts out up here. Keeps the balance. Natural release. Unbothered by the world.” He stood and adjusted a pillow with flair. “My job—well, our now—is to Omega-fy the place.”

Taemin walked closer, inspecting one of the spaces. “So… you just set this all up for them?”

Kibum nodded. “I don’t know exactly what they do up here, and I don’t want to. But every time I leave stuff like this around, they always look a little less rabid the next day. Any Omega thing calms their fucked up brains so I guess it helps.”

Taemin grinned, suddenly intrigued. “That’s kind of… beautiful. Gross. But beautiful.”

Kibum winked. “Like all true intimacy.”

Taemin knelt down beside one of the setups, peeking at the little snacks and neatly folded flannels. There was something warm in his chest—participation, maybe. Inclusion.

Then he frowned. “I don’t really have anything to contribute.”

Kibum didn’t look up from sniffing a tiny soy candle. “I think you do.”

Taemin looked at him. “What?”

“I think you do,” Kibum repeated, with that sly, knowing smile he wore whenever he was five steps ahead.

Taemin paused. His fingers brushed the hem of his hoodie. Minho’s hoodie. He hesitated… but something in his chest pulled tight.

And then, without thinking too hard about it—before the nerves could catch up—Taemin pulled the hoodie over his head. The cool air kissed his skin. He folded the hoodie carefully and placed it right on top of one of the pillow piles.

Minho’s.

He didn’t have to ask, he just knew.

“That’s gonna hit hard,” Kibum murmured, smirking.

Taemin sat back on his heels, suddenly flushed. “It’s stupid.”

“No,” Kibum said, his voice quiet but firm. “It’s instinct.”

And instinct, as Taemin was beginning to learn, didn’t always wait for permission.

**********

The sky was a velvet black by the time the Alphas arrived, moonlight spilling silver over the rooftop like someone had spilled secrets in the dark. The wind had died down. Everything else stilled.

One by one, they came in silence—Jinki, Jonghyun, Minho. No words exchanged, just the instinctual pull toward their corners, their nests, their temporary sanctuaries. The rut was beginning. It hummed beneath their skin, low and rhythmic, like a tide building in their blood.

Jonghyun was the first to speak as always.

“Oh, Kibummie went all out tonight,” he muttered, already toeing off his shoes and tossing his bag aside. He poked through the snacks, the weighted blanket, the three perfectly stacked romance novels clearly meant for him. “Lavender soy candles, again? That man is consistent.”

Then he paused. Sniffed. His forehead creased.

“…Something smells different.”

Minho looked up. Jinki froze halfway through unzipping his coat.

Jonghyun sniffed again, frowning. “Omega.”

All three of them looked around the rooftop, then down at their respective spaces.

Jinki moved first, sifting gently through the items laid on his setup. It didn’t take him long. There, tucked under the hoodie Kibum always left for him, was a sterling silver frog keychain—the very one he’d given Taemin before the fair. And beside it, a note written in neat, slanted handwriting:

Thanks for always being gentle. And patient. —T.

Jinki smiled so hard, his cheeks hurt.

But on the other side of the rooftop, Minho hadn’t moved.

Not at first.

He stood by his pile like it might explode any minute. But his pupils were blown wide, his nostrils flared—because his pile didn’t just smell like Taemin.

It reeked of him.

Not in an overpowering, unpleasant way, but in the unmistakable, dizzying way that only a freshly-worn hoodie could. The scent wasn’t from a casual brush. It clung to the fabric like sleep, like trust, like Omega comfort at rest.

Minho’s pulse thundered.

His knees buckled a little as he crouched, eyes fixed on the folded hoodie like it might vanish. The yellow chick stared back at him. He grabbed it with trembling fingers, pressed it to his face, and inhaled deep.

Taemin.

Minho felt the scent settle in his chest, down to his bones, wrapping around the thrum of rut like a balm. His jaw loosened. His heartbeat slowed. His body, taut and ready to fight or break or claim, simply… calmed.

So he put the hoodie on, a soft smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. Taemin didn’t leave a note but that was fine. He left his scent—and to Minho, that meant more than anything in the world.

Across the rooftop, Jinki watched Minho lie down looking content as ever. He recognized what he was wearing: the yellow chick on his chest seemed to mock. Jinki’s smile dimmed.

Then, their eyes met, and they held each other’s gaze—not as friends, not as packmates, not as boys on the cusp of manhood.

But as Alphas. Caught in a quiet, growing stalemate.

**********

The night deepened and settled into something akin to peaceful. For the Untouchables, Alpha Rut Night usually involved smashing bottles and loud music, before quieting down to be wrapped in Kibum’s consistent Omega comfort. Sleep came shortly after.

Tonight, though, Jinki couldn’t sleep

The rooftop was quiet, save for the faint rustle of wind threading through the edges of the structure. Seoul stayed lit and noisy and distant. From Jinki’s vantage point, it was supposed to be peaceful. It wasn’t.

He lied back against his pile, arms crossed behind his head, staring up at the stars with a scowl tugging at his mouth. His rut had begun hours ago—dull, heavy heat pulsing in his blood—but it was nothing compared to the sharp irritation curling under his skin.

Because Minho looked… content.

Fast asleep, music blasting from his earphones, arms sprawled behind his head, legs tangled lazily in the blanket Taemin had probably helped choose. And most of all—he was wearing that damn hoodie.

Jinki sat up and hissed toward the pile next to him. “Psst. Jjong.”

Jonghyun didn’t answer. Just groaned.

“Jjong,” Jinki whispered louder. “That’s Taemin’s hoodie, right?”

Jonghyun pulled one earpiece out. “Hyung, you’re whispering like this is a heist. What?”

“The hoodie Minho’s wearing.” Jinki pointed furiously. “That’s Taemin’s. Right? It reeks of him. I’m not crazy. It smells like he bathed in it.”

“Yeah. I noticed.”

“Why does Minho have it?” Jinki hissed. “What does that mean?”

Jonghyun turned his head slowly to squint at Minho, who was snoring lightly under the moonlight.

“I kissed Taemin,” Jinki added abruptly. “We kissed. At the top of the ferris wheel.”

Jonghyun’s eyes widened so hard they practically bugged out of his skull. “YOU WHAT?!”

“Shhh!” Jinki flailed. “Shut up! He’s sleeping!”

Jonghyun slapped a hand over his mouth and whispered hoarsely through his fingers, “Hyung. What the hell. You kissed him? Like a real kiss? On the lips? With tongue?”

“Okay, now you’re being weird.”

“I knew the fair was suspicious. I knew something happened.”

Jinki dragged a hand down his face. “He said he wanted to think about it. Then he gave me the keychain. But now he’s out here giving Minho his hoodie?! What does that mean?! Why do I get a sterling frog keychain and Minho gets… scent markers?!”

Jonghyun sobered.

“It’s instincts, hyung.”

Jinki blinked at him.

Jonghyun sighed and rolled onto his back, folding his arms behind his head. “Just like the way I… kinda love this pile that Kibummie curated for me. I hate that Taemin touched anything on it tonight. Dilutes Bummie’s scent.”

There was a beat of silence. Then: “Ohhhh…” Jinki muttered.

Jonghyun closed his eyes again. “Yeah.”

Jinki stared at Minho, who shifted slightly in his sleep and snuggled deeper into the hoodie, looking like the most comfortable Alpha in all of Seoul.

Jinki hated him a little. Not in the I’ll-punch-you way. In the why-do-you-look-so-natural-in-something-I’m-trying-so-hard-to-earn kind of way.

He flopped back down into his pile and covered his face with his arm. His rut felt heavier on his hands and feet, urging him to throw, hit, kick something. Anything.

But in the end Jinki just sighed, exhausted, still restrained. It wouldn’t end like this , he swore just as his temples started throbbing. It can’t. I won’t let it.

**********

The cafeteria was unusually mellow for a Wednesday.

The Untouchables gathered at their usual table—backs slouched, trays half-eaten, eyes low-lidded. They looked like boys who had gotten too much sleep, when the truth was the opposite. Ruts had that strange effect: it exhausted them and reset them. And today, they were lounging like lions fresh out of the den.

Taemin approached, balancing a tray of kimbap and soup. As always, Kibum spotted him first and scooted over to make space. Jonghyun greeted him with a grin and a soft nudge of his knee under the table.

Then, in a move so fluid it barely registered at first, Jinki murmured something to Jonghyun and swapped places with him—sliding directly beside Taemin with a small, lopsided smile.

Taemin blinked. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Jinki said gently, his voice lower than usual.

They began eating. Or at least, Taemin pretended to eat, stealing quick glances around the table. Then, Jinki reached into his bag and pulled something small from its pocket. He didn’t make a show of it—just placed the object on the table and leaned toward Taemin with a hushed, “Thanks for the note.”

Taemin looked down. Jinki held out the sterling silver frog keychain. Then, he reached for Taemin’s bag and clipped it back where it used to hang—deliberate, unfussy, familiar.

Taemin’s breath caught. His heart fluttered. The keychain gleamed like a tiny promise. He smiled, bashfully, lowering his head to hide the heat in his cheeks.

But his eyes—traitorous, stupid eyes—kept darting to Minho. Minho, who looked relaxed for once. Leaning back, arms folded, no twitch in his brow or clench in his jaw. Not even glaring at the broccoli on his tray.

And more importantly: the hoodie was gone.

A sick, irrational thought crossed Taemin’s mind: he hated it.

Maybe Minho tossed it aside the second his rut ended. Maybe it didn’t matter at all. Maybe it was just comfort, not meaning.

Shame colored Taemin’s cheeks so quickly he turned away.

Jinki, misreading the blush, chuckled quietly. “Too much?” he teased, gently touching the keychain. “It felt like you were saying yes.”

Taemin only smiled and didn’t correct him. But in that moment, out of the corner of his eye, he caught the smallest flicker—a twitch of Minho’s jaw. A single, almost imperceptible clench.

So small. So brief. Yet, it set off fireworks in Taemin’s chest.

Taemin spooned soup into his mouth as his heart pounded in his ears like war drums. Shit , he thought helplessly. I’m so fucked.

**********

The moment Minho got home after rut night, he didn’t even pause to drink water or kick off his shoes. He beelined for the laundry room, peeled off the hoodie—Taemin’s hoodie—and threw it into the wash like it had personally betrayed him.

He stood there for a second, chest heaving… because what the hell was that?

He’d worn it through his entire rut. Clung to it, if he was being honest. And it helped. It grounded him more than he thought was possible—soothing the sharp edges of instinct with every breath he took. Taemin’s scent reeked off it. Strong and potent. Thick like it had sunk into the fibers and fused there. It wrapped around Minho like a memory he didn’t know he wanted.

He didn’t think something so simple could make him feel so… seen. Like someone had cared enough to say “I thought of you;” and not just in cheap theory. It was specific . The way the hoodie was folded. The absence of any lingering perfume or cologne. The deliberate lack of a note, as if the gesture was personal enough without words.

It scared the crap out of him.

So he did what any emotionally constipated Alpha would do: he washed it. Twice. Fabric softener. Extra rinse cycle.

Because he couldn’t take the risk—couldn’t return it smelling like Alpha rut and pheromone confusion. Couldn’t make things messier than they already were. Especially not after he saw Jinki grinning like a fool at his own pile with a handwritten note and some fancy frog trinket clipped to his bag.

Minho had gotten a hoodie. No note. So yeah, probably a fluke.

By the time Wednesday came around and they were all at lunch, Minho kept it cool. Barely looked in Taemin’s direction. But he saw it. Of course he saw it: Jinki swapping seats just to sit beside Taemin. The keychain getting clipped back like it belonged there. The way Taemin smiled… soft and fluttery and so fucking fond.

Minho’s jaw clenched just a little. Reflex.

This was the answer then. Taemin had chosen. And that was fine. It wasn’t like Minho expected anything.

In the hallway between sixth and seventh period, Minho caught up to him. Steeled himself. Reached into his backpack and pulled out the now-scentless hoodie—neatly folded, fresh, smelling like citrus detergent and resignation.

“Here,” he said, holding it out.

Taemin blinked in surprise. “Oh. Thanks.”

He took it, lifted it to his nose, and sniffed without thinking.

Minho caught the motion, his ears instantly pinking.

Taemin wrinkled his nose a little. “It smells like… soap.”

Minho gave a half-smile, more self-deprecating than amused. “Yeah, well. I didn’t think you’d want it smelling like me and Alpha rut.”

Taemin hugged the hoodie close. Then, softly—so soft Minho almost didn’t hear it—he said, “Well… what if I do?”

Minho short-circuited.

He stared. Taemin glanced up through his lashes, like he knew what he’d just done. Minho opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Nothing came out. His brain had entered a loop, playing only static.

Taemin didn’t wait for a reply. Just gave him a sly, half-smile and walked away, the hoodie still clutched in his arms. And poor Minho just stood there long after the hallway emptied, still glitching.

**********

As soon as Taemin turned the corner and Minho was out of sight, he collapsed against the nearest wall and dragged both hands down his face.

Did I just say that? Did I actually say that?

His ears were burning. His chest was tight. His entire body buzzed like he’d just confessed to a crime.

“Well… what if I do?”

He wanted to crawl into a hole. A very deep, scent-sealed hole. He wasn’t supposed to say that. Not to Minho.

Jinki was the one who made him feel soft and light and wanted. With Jinki, he felt seen in ways that were tender. Safe. Easy.

Minho was not that. Minho was tension and chaos and fire. Minho was every nerve ending alight, like his body was responding before his brain could process anything. Minho was heat coiling low in his stomach with a single glance.

Minho makes Taemin feel like wanting to self-destruct—and he didn’t know what to do with that. So instead, he stormed into the nearest bathroom stall, locked the door, and promptly threw up into the toilet.

The worst part was: it didn’t even feel like nerves. It felt like instinct. Like his body had already chosen and was now dragging his mind behind it like a leash. Like what Kibum said while Jonghyun looked at him all devoted and whatnot.

He flushed. Washed his mouth out at the sink. Tried not to look in the mirror because he already knew what he’d see: flushed cheeks, foggy eyes, hoodie clutched in his arms like some stupid Omega cliché.

“You look like you need a spa day,” a voice said behind him.

Taemin whipped around. Kibum emerged from one of the stalls, expression unreadable for all of two seconds—then it twisted into a knowing smirk.

He nodded at the hoodie. “That’s the same one from rut night, right? The Minho hoodie?”

Taemin opened his mouth, ready to deny, deflect, spin—but all that came out was an embarrassed puff of air. Kibum just grinned wider.

“Bring pajamas tonight,” he said, walking past Taemin like he hadn’t just witnessed his emotional meltdown. “We’re having a sleepover, Baby Omega. I’ll cook. You panic. It’ll be cute.”

Taemin blinked. “Wait, what?”

“8 PM. sharp. No excuses.”

And with that, Kibum sauntered out of the bathroom like he had just orchestrated the next stage of the revolution.

Taemin looked at his reflection. Then down at the hoodie. Then back at his reflection.

“Fuck,” he muttered. And this time, he didn’t throw up. But he really, really wanted to.

Chapter Text

Taemin felt pathetic.

Not that that was anything new, exactly. But standing outside Kibum’s room, in threadbare pajamas, while lugging a knock-off duffel bag containing skincare products with unreadable labels had him feeling like a fish out of water.

”Well don’t just stand there. Come sit here!” Kibum patted the bed, inviting Taemin away from the doorway. Taemin tentatively stepped forward—but the moment his toes felt the soft carpet, all his inhibitions melted. He ran and plopped down on the bed, eliciting a fond laugh from Kibum.

”Yes, Baby Omega, let my mattress embrace you,” Kibum teased. “Get under the covers, too, so I don’t have to look at your hideous PJs. Jeez. Those belong in the trash, Taem.”

Taemin laughed despite himself. “Shut up, they’re comfy!” He felt himself relaxing. Gangwon High seemed too far away and everything else felt small. He pulled the covers up to his chest, barely suppressing a content sigh. Kibum sat beside him cross-legged, phone in hand, backlit by the soft, orange glow of the bedside lamp.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Kibum murmured, almost too casually, “I’ve never had another Omega in my bed before.”

Taemin blinked. “What?”

Kibum shrugged. “Not like this. Not for sleepovers. Not for comfort. Not for… this.” He gestured vaguely between them. “Most Omegas at school either tiptoe around me or pretend they don’t see me. Alphas respect me because I don’t give them a choice. But Omegas?” He smiled thinly. “They’re afraid I’ll make them feel small.”

Taemin looked down, heart thudding quietly.

“I used to think I didn’t need this kind of friendship,” Kibum continued. “But now that you’re here? I kind of want to wrap you in a weighted blanket and whisper affirmations until your dumb little heart catches up with your instincts.”

Taemin laughed—wet and surprised. “You’re so weird.”

“And you’re so lost,” Kibum said fondly, reaching for his phone. “But don’t worry. I’ve got a game for that.”

He tapped his timer. “One minute. Say the first thing that comes to mind—no lying, no hesitating. Ready?”

Taemin gulped but nodded. Kibum tapped the button.

”Who did you notice first?”
”Jinki”
”Who do you want to go on a date with?”
”Jinki”
”Who do you want to fall asleep next to while wearing those pajamas?”
”Minho”

That raised Kibum’s eyebrows but he pressed on.

“Who gives you butterflies?”
”Jinki”
”Who makes you feel safe?”
”Minho”
”Who do you want to kiss?”
”Uhm…”
”You already kissed one of them, haven’t you?”
”Yeah.”

Kibum smirked as if he already knew.

”Do you still want to kiss the other one?”

”Y-yes.”

Kibum shook his head as he smiled. “Last question. What do you remember about the fair?”

Taemin didn’t even think, he just answered. ”Minho giving me the hoodie.”

Kibum’s timer blared on cue and suddenly, the weight of all his answers crashed on Taemin’s stomach.

”Oh shit,” he said, feeling sick again. “Shit, hyung. Shit, shit, shit.”

Kibum just sighed and chuckled as he, too, got under the covers. “Sweet dreams, Baby Omega,” he said—and with a clap of his hands, the lights turned off and Taemin’s world got swallowed in darkness.

**********

The morning announcements were barely audible over the usual classroom chatter—until their homeroom adviser raised his voice over the din.

"Quiet down, please! I have something you'll actually want to hear."

That earned a ripple of attention. Minho straightened in his seat while Kibum nudged Jonghyun, eyes already dancing with curiosity.

"Next week," the teacher began, adjusting his glasses with practiced flair, "we’ll be having our class field trip-slash-retreat in Busan. It’s overnight—just one night—but it’s part of the senior enrichment program. Attendance is mandatory unless you’re hospitalized."

The class buzzed with excitement. Minho felt Kibum practically vibrate beside him.

"Overnight?" Jonghyun echoed in a whisper. "Bet they booked a seaside lodge."

"Hopefully with decent food this time. Remember when we were sophomores and had to accompany the seniors class?" Kibum muttered, rolling his eyes.

The teacher raised a hand, silencing the swell of murmurs. "And, before you ask, yes, another class will be joining us. Sophomore section 2-3."

The room went still for a beat. Then Kibum and Jonghyun turned slowly toward each other, the realization dawning like a sunrise.

"Taemin," Kibum whispered, eyes wide.
"Oh, this is going to be so good," Jonghyun grinned.

Across the room, Minho blinked once. Then twice. His pencil paused mid-word in the margin of his notebook. 2-3. Taemin’s class.

He sat back, eyes narrowing just slightly as he processed what this could mean. A whole night. Shared lodging, shared meals. Shared schedule. His brain clicked into gear. He needed to think. Plan. Keep calm. Don't be obvious.

On the opposite side of the room, Jinki remained composed on the surface. But he, too, had gone very still. He hadn’t expected this. And if Taemin would be there… what then? What would this look like? What would they look like?

Jinki’s hand clenched beneath the desk. He needed a strategy. A way to reclaim space. Maybe a way to take the lead again.

Meanwhile, Kibum leaned in closer to Jonghyun.

“I’m packing all my skincare,” he whispered. “And matching pajamas. He’s going to need someone to talk to. I volunteer.”

Jonghyun snorted. “As if you weren’t already ready to adopt him.”

“Excuse me, I am mentoring him.”

“You’re plotting.”

They both cackled softly while their teacher continued handing out permission slips.

Across the room, Minho stared at his copy, his thumb running along the edge. Jinki did the same.

Neither of them looked at the other. But both of them were thinking the same thing.

This changes everything.

**********

The bus was already buzzing with chatter when Taemin stepped on, backpack slung over one shoulder, his sweater sleeves pushed up nervously. Rows of students lined the aisle, half-asleep or already halfway through their breakfast chips. He scanned quickly, his heart beating out of rhythm.

Jinki was already there. By the window, third row from the back, smiling gently when their eyes met. He even patted the empty seat beside him.

Taemin faltered.

His first choice—his safe choice—had been Kibum. But the moment he asked, Kibum had shut him down with a sharp, knowing smirk and an arm already linked with Jonghyun’s. “Nope. This one’s for me and my Alpha, baby.”

Now, standing awkwardly in the narrow aisle, Taemin’s eyes kept moving. And then he saw him.

Minho. A few rows ahead of Jinki. Not alone.

There was a girl beside him—a senior. Pretty. Confident in that effortless way girls with naturally straight hair and long lashes often were. She was laughing at something Minho had said, and Minho, goddamn him, was smirking like the world hadn’t tilted sideways last week. Taemin’s heart twisted, ugly and violent. He blinked hard and moved.

“Hi, hyung,” he said quietly as he slid into the seat beside Jinki.

Jinki beamed, immediately reaching into his backpack. “I brought snacks. Do you want Choco Pie or the banana one?”

Taemin forced a smile. “Anything’s fine.”

There were candies in the middle seat pouch, a small fleece blanket folded neatly at their feet. Jinki even offered to share his earphones, queuing up a shared playlist on his phone.

It’s so easy to choose you, Taemin thought, looking long and hard at the Alpha beside him. Jinki’s warmth was calming. His voice low and steady, talking about the beach itinerary and wondering if the resort had karaoke. Taemin nodded, gave small laughs, accepted a candy without even realizing he was eating.

He didn’t look forward. He shouldn’t look forward.

But of course his traitorous eyes did—and there it was: the girl’s head, now resting gently on Minho’s shoulder. Taemin’s stomach turned to stone.

He froze. The back of his neck tingled. His jaw tightened so hard it ached. He couldn’t breathe.

Jinki noticed the shift. “Taemin?”

“I’m gonna sleep,” Taemin muttered.

“Oh. Do you want the blanket—?”

“No. Just—” He curled up against the window, face turned away. “Just… leave me alone for a bit.”

Jinki’s silence was immediate. Respectful, but heavy.

Taemin closed his eyes. Tried to will himself into slumber. Tried not to think of Minho, of a damn hoodie with a yellow chick in front, of what it meant to feel so irrationally tethered to someone so… confusing.

The road stretched on, and so did the icy silence. Taemin felt Jinki covering him up with a blanket somewhere along the way. You’re so perfect, Taemin thought. Why am I even hesitating?

Slowly, shyly, Taemin reached for Jinki’s hand. “I got you,” Jinki whispered as he clasped their fingers together. Taemin kept his eyes closed and nodded back to sleep.

**********

That morning, Minho had boarded the bus just minutes after Jinki. He wasn’t in a rush—at least, he tried not to look like he was. But he’d scanned the rows quickly, fingers already curled around the strap of his duffel bag, looking for one face. Taemin hadn’t arrived yet.

But Jinki had.

Minho paused mid-aisle when he saw the older Alpha meticulously unpacking snacks from his bag and lining them on the empty seat beside him. A fleece blanket, neatly folded. A pouch of hard candy. Two water bottles.

“Is that for Taemin?”

Jinki looked up, not even surprised. “Of course.”

Minho’s lips parted. He hesitated. “Did you ask him to sit with you?”

“Yes,” Jinki replied simply, without bravado. “I told him he could. No pressure. Just… in case.”

That was all it took.

So when a girl—one of the seniors—asked Minho if the seat beside him was taken, he said no. He let her sit. Let her talk. Let her lean close and laugh like they were sharing some kind of moment.

He played along. It was easier than to admit that it shattered him when he saw Taemin finally board the bus, hesitate for a second, and then move toward Jinki anyway. Their eyes never even met. 

I never even had a chance, Minho thought. What did he expect, having prepared nothing at all? Jinki brought his A game—and, even though he hated his guts right now, Minho respected what Jinki had done.

It was always gonna be you, hyung, Minho conceded. His shoulder where the girl’s head rested now ached dully—a fitting punishment. Behind him, Taemin and Jinki laughed. Minho closed his eyes shut, ignoring the way the air turned colder the closer they got to the sea.

**********

Now, on the beach, the sun was setting in a haze of orange and lavender. The seniors had their own villa. The sophomores had another. Thank god for that. At least Minho could breathe without thinking about the bus…

But she wouldn’t leave him alone.

The girl from the bus kept finding him. At the bonfire. During group games. Even when he tried to slip away under the pretense of helping clean up, she followed, asking if he liked her hair tied up or down. He didn’t care.

Because his eyes kept drifting. Every crowd, every circle, they scanned for only one being: Taemin.

It was like instinct.

But every time he found him, Taemin wasn’t alone. If he wasn’t laughing quietly with a classmate, he was with Jinki.

Minho didn’t know what bothered him more—the fact that Taemin seemed comfortable there, or the fact that Taemin never caught him staring.

It doesn’t matter, Minho sulked. Then he kicked Jonghyun and Kibum’s sand castle down.

******

The bonfire cracked and spat sparks into the air as laughter circled around it like smoke. It was loud, chaotic, alive—the way most school events tried to be. But Taemin kept mostly quiet, huddled on his seat with a paper cup of lukewarm soda, eyes flicking across faces until they landed on him.

Minho.

It didn’t make sense to Taemin why he sought him; not with the context of the bus ride with Jinki and the warmth and the hand-holding. But for the first time since then, Minho was alone. With an empty seat beside him.

Taemin didn’t hesitate.

He plopped down beside Minho, brushing sand off his jeans. Minho didn’t say anything for a second. Then, as if trying too hard to sound bored, he said, “Is that… glitter on your face?”

Taemin rolled his eyes. “Kibum.”

Minho gave a short laugh, one of those rare, real ones that came from deep in his chest. “Should’ve guessed. You look like a cursed disco ball.”

“Well,” Taemin sniffed, “you look like a boy who packed nothing but a toothbrush and soccer shorts.”

Their eyes met. They both smiled. Taemin felt his stomach stir.

“So,” Taemin said, nudging him with a knee. “Do you swim?”

Minho shook his head. “Nah. I’m strictly sand-bound. Water and I have a mutual agreement—I don’t test it, it doesn’t kill me.”

Taemin snorted. “Wow. Brave striker, terrified swimmer.”

“I didn’t say terrified—”

“That’s implied.”

Before Minho could fire back, Taemin glanced around, then dropped the question casually, like it didn’t claw at him. “Where’s the girl from the bus?”

Minho stiffened. Just slightly. Taemin noticed anyway.

But before Minho could find an answer—before he could come up with some dismissive quip or vague, pride-laced brush-off—the answer arrived. Loudly. The girl from the bus came bounding across the sand in a bikini that made absolutely no attempt to cover anything. She called out Minho’s name with a high-pitched sweetness, latching onto his arm before either of them could react. Taemin’s jaw clenched.

Minho stood. Didn’t say anything. Let her pull him toward the waves like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Taemin didn’t follow.

He stayed there, knees hugged to his chest, watching the figures at the shoreline—hers glowing under moonlight, Minho’s tall and quiet and unreadable. His soda tasted flat now. The glitter on his face felt stupid.

And then… a scream.

Someone yelled from the water. “Hey! Hey, someone’s drowning!”

Voices rose in alarm. Feet scrambled on sand. A couple of seniors rushed forward. Taemin shot to his feet, heart stuttering.

“Minho?” he breathed.

And suddenly, he wasn’t standing anymore.

********

Taemin hit the water before his brain could tell him no.

The cold shocked his body into full awareness, but he didn’t stop. He kicked hard, arms slicing through the waves, heart pounding so loud he could barely hear the shouts from the beach.

Where is he?!

He surfaced, scanned the frothy black water, then dove again—lungs burning, panic climbing.

Please… please, no—

Then he saw it.

A flailing arm. A flash of Minho’s pale shirt under the surface, dragged just slightly under by the tide.

Taemin swam harder than he ever had in his life, closed the distance with his throat tight and his limbs screaming.

He reached him.

Minho was semi-conscious, disoriented, sputtering. His arms didn’t even know where to grab.

“Hold onto me!” Taemin shouted, half-choked on seawater.

Minho groaned something incoherent, but Taemin didn’t wait. He hooked an arm under Minho’s and kicked toward the shore with everything he had left. The tide fought back. Every inch felt like hell.

But finally—finally—they broke through the shallows. Hands grabbed Minho. Someone helped haul him the rest of the way onto the sand.

Taemin collapsed beside him, coughing, gasping, drenched, and shaking.

Minho was alive. Breathing. No CPR needed. Just—alive. Taemin sat up, chest heaving, the world spinning around him.

Then the rage hit.

“What the fuck, Minho!” he shouted, slamming a fist into Minho’s chest—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make a point. “You know you can’t swim! What the hell were you doing?!”

Minho blinked up at him, dazed but smiling faintly. “You’re crying.”

“No shit, I’m crying!” Taemin cried, tears streaking down his cheeks, salt from sea and heartbreak blending. “Because you’re an idiot! You think with your dick, that’s why!”

Minho actually laughed, wincing slightly. “Okay, that’s fair.”

“You could’ve died!” Taemin yelled, voice cracking now. “You could’ve died and—god, I hate you.”

Minho’s arms came up slowly, gently. He pulled Taemin in, wrapped around him like he’d been waiting to do it for years.

“I’m sorry,” Minho whispered, lips brushing Taemin’s wet hair. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Taemin didn’t resist.

He sobbed into Minho’s chest, fists bunching weakly into his shirt. His whole body trembled—not from cold anymore, but from sheer fear, adrenaline, and the terrifying relief that Minho was okay.

The bonfire crackled somewhere in the distance. People muttered. Teachers called for towels. But in that moment, on the wet sand, wrapped in Minho’s embrace, none of it mattered.

Minho was alive.

And, Taemin finally realized... he was in love with him.