Chapter Text
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Indeed, Huening Kamal Kai is about to get fired— quietly, politely, without anyone ever having to say the words out loud.
Kicked out from the pack he treated as family, from the house that slowly stopped feeling like a workplace and started feeling like home. Cast aside gently, efficiently, as if he was never essential in the first place.
The dread settles in slowly, insidious, crawling beneath his skin and threading itself into his bones. It hums there constantly, a low, anxious thrum that never lets him rest. Every smile feels rehearsed, every kindness provisional.
Every moment feels like borrowed time he’s already overstayed.
The days pass in a meaningless blur— mornings bleeding into afternoons, afternoons into nights. Kai stops counting how many have gone by. It doesn’t matter anymore. All he knows is that he has become obsolete.
In a house once bursting with warmth, he is freezing. In a place once overflowing with affection, he is starving, watching love circulate freely around him while never landing in his hands.
Such is the life of an attendant.
Such is the life of someone small and easily replaceable— someone lonely enough to mistake proximity for belonging. Someone foolish enough to insert himself into a place where he was never meant to stay, then act shocked when the house of cards collapses right on schedule.
Acting as if the affection he was given wasn’t conditional. Acting as if the care was a reward, not a transaction. Acting as if the way they touched him, held him, wanted him meant something more than gratitude for a job well done.
Acting as if he mattered.
Mattered enough to be asked to stay.
Mattered enough to be chosen.
Huening Kamal Kai can’t do anything but swallow the bitterness rising in his throat, laugh under his breath, because if he doesn’t laugh, he might cry— and crying would only prove how stupid he’s been all along.
Huening Kamal Kai is a royally fucked idiot.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Welcome home, Kai.” Yeonjun wrinkles his nose, the reaction immediate and instinctive— vanilla-maple faltering as he catches the lingering traces of other people on him.
For a split second, Kai braces himself for it: the familiar pull, the adorable cornering, the way the Pack omega usually crowds him until the world smells right again.
It doesn’t come.
Instead, Yeonjun steps back. He smiles— awkward, careful— and gestures toward the coat rack like a polite host welcoming a guest instead of someone he usually claims the moment he walks through the door.
The living room is empty, and the absence is loud.
No Soobin sprawled across the couch, ready to cheer Yeonjun on while he fusses and scents the beta until he’s dizzy. No Beomgyu lounging nearby with that pointed, watchful gaze, ready to make a joke and tug Kai closer all at once.
No Taehyun hovering, face scrunched up and tense, clearly displeased by the way Kai smells like other omegas. Just the television humming softly, an old 90’s R&B track playing to no one in particular. The house feels… paused. Like it’s holding its breath.
Kai swallows and forces his expression to stay neutral.
“What would you like for lunch today?” Yeonjun asks, already moving toward the kitchen as Kai slips out of his shoes. His voice is light, casual— a little too rehearsed. “I thought I was cooking…” Kai says, brows knitting together before he can stop himself.
The omega laughs, quick and defensive. “Soobin figured it’d be fun for us to cook for a change. Don’t request anything too difficult, though!” He reaches out to pet Kai’s head, fingers brushing through his hair the way he’s done a hundred times before.
The touch lingers— then cuts off abruptly, like Yeonjun remembered something. He pulls his hand back a second too fast, clears his throat.
“Kimchi fried rice,” The beta murmurs, his tone duller than he means to. He hangs his coat on the rack, movements precise, automatic. The routine feels unfamiliar without someone hovering just behind him.
“Oh— cool.” Yeonjun nods, then adds, “We noticed you ran out of your favorite egg tarts. Soobin went to the bakery earlier to get more.” He reaches out again, fingers brushing Kai’s hair once more— softer this time, then retreats slowly.
The grin he gives afterward doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You should freshen up,” Yeonjun says lightly. “Or focus on coursework. Or take a nap— whatever you prefer, really.” He laughs, a touch too high, a touch too brittle.
“We’ll call you when lunch is ready. Hope you’re not too hungry?” Kai shakes his head, still struggling to keep up with the sudden shift in gravity. “No, not at all, hyung.” He smiles because it’s expected, because it’s easy.
“Thanks for the egg tarts.” The beta walks to his room like he’s following instructions, not instinct. Like a good attendant should. The door clicks shut behind him, and the silence settles in fully.
Kai sits on the edge of his bed, staring at nothing, chest tight in a way he can’t quite name. Three days ago, he was smothered in affection— held, scented, claimed so thoroughly it felt impossible to breathe without them.
Now, their devotion hasn’t vanished.
It’s just been put somewhere out of reach.
Kai laughs under his breath, the sound sharp and hollow, and rubs at his eyes. Funny how something that felt so constant could disappear without anyone ever saying goodbye.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Lunch is ready, pup.” Soobin’s knock is soft, wary— nothing like the familiar rap that used to come with a teasing remark or an impatient tug at the handle.
Kai wakes immediately, not because he’s a light sleeper, but because his body has learned to respond, learned to be ready, learned to be needed.
Only now, it feels like the Moon Goddess herself has reached down and tipped the balance, pulling the ground out from under his feet. Stripping away the certainty of his place. Of his usefulness.
Kai pushes himself upright, rubbing at his eyes, blinking at his reflection across the vanity table. Hair a mess, shirt wrinkled, face still creased from sleep. He swallows, suddenly hyper-aware of how he might look.
“I’m coming,” he calls, forcing his voice to sound steady as he slips into his penguin slippers and opens the door. Soobin startles when he sees him— and then smiles like he’s scrambling to remember the right expression.
He reaches out, pinching Kai’s cheek gently. “Did you have a good sleep?”
“I wouldn’t say it was nice,” The beta replies honestly, stifling a yawn as he rubs his eyes again. “But it was needed.” Concern flickers across Soobin’s face, quick and instinctive. His mouth opens, ready to ask why, ready to probe deeper like he always does—
But Beomgyu’s voice cuts in from the dining area before he can. “Come eat, Kai-ya. I heard it’s your hell week.” The young Alpha grins brightly, leaning back in his chair and waving him over. “You’re gonna need fuel.” Relief hits Kai so hard it almost makes his knees buckle.
His shoulders loosen without permission, breath slipping out of him like he’s been holding it too long. Beomgyu sounds normal. Familiar. Like nothing’s wrong.
As Kai walks toward the table, he notices the way Taehyun is seated— wedged neatly between Beomgyu and Yeonjun, posture stiff, eyes deliberately trained on his plate. Not a glance. Not even a frown. Just overlooked, as if he wasn't there.
Something tightens painfully in the beta’s chest.
Kai hesitates, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt as he lingers by the table. The chairs feel unfamiliar somehow, their usual gravity gone, and for a second he can’t tell where he’s supposed to belong anymore.
His eyes flick briefly to Soobin, then to Yeonjun, and finally to Taehyun— who pointedly keeps his gaze fixed on his table, shoulders tight. “Sit beside me?” Beomgyu asks, patting the chair next to him like it’s the most obvious choice in the world.
Kai bites the inside of his cheek. “Are you sure?” The question slips out quieter than he intends, weighed down by everything he doesn’t know how to ask.
Unaware of the turmoil inside Kai’s mind— and the tension curling tightly between him and his mate— Beomgyu nods easily, already pulling the chair out so the beta can sit, like Kai’s doubt never even registered.
“Yeah. Of course,” he says, grinning. “Okay,” The beta murmurs, lowering himself into the seat. His movements are cautious, deliberate, like he’s afraid one wrong motion might break whatever it is that they have— used to have.
Almost immediately, the pack moves around him like a practiced system clicking into place. A plate appears in front of him. Utensils are set neatly at his side. The bowl of kimchi fried rice is nudged closer, meat placed within easy reach.
No one speaks while they do it. No teasing. No familiar hands brushing his wrist or his thigh. Just… efficiency. They watch him instead. Kai swallows, suddenly hyper-aware of every movement as he serves himself, spoon scraping softly against porcelain.
He feels their eyes follow him— alert— waiting until he’s finished before anyone reaches for food themselves. “Here you go, Tyun,” Beomgyu says lightly, serving his mate with practiced ease. Only once everyone has food on their plates does Kai settle on the chair.
Instinctively, he waits. Seconds stretch. “Why aren’t you eating?” Yeonjun asks, concern slipping into his voice before he can stop it. “Oh— um,” Kai hesitates, glancing toward the Pack Alpha. “I was waiting for Soobin-hyung to start eating…”
The reaction is immediate. Soobin startles like he’s been struck, scooping up a mouthful of rice without hesitation, barely pausing to consider the heat. It’s just rice, with no meat in it. He chews quickly, nodding toward Kai’s plate with forced cheer.
“There. Eat.” Kai stares at him, mouth parting slightly in surprise. “…Oh. Right. Thank you.”
He finally looks down at his food— and his brows knit together.
Nothing is wrong.
And yet everything feels off.
They’re distant, but attentive.
Restrained, but still compassionate.
Like they’re holding something precious at arm’s length, afraid to touch it the way they used to— afraid that if they do, it’ll shatter, or worse, realize it was never meant to be theirs. Kai feels it in the pauses between words, in the hands that hover before settling, in the way their scents soften instead of reaching for him.
His faith falters quietly.
He’s never asked for much. Never expected to be chosen the way Alphas and omegas are chosen— written into stories, blessed in bonds, sung about in heat and rut and destiny. Betas exist in the in-between, useful and steady and easily overlooked. Necessary, but rarely cherished.
Does the Moon Goddess care about betas too?
Does she look down at them with the same warmth, the same careful intent she grants Alphas and omegas? Or are betas meant to be the ones who hold others together, never meant to be held in return?
The thought settles heavy in his chest, unanswered.
Why does it feel like they’re holding him with open palms— only to show him how easily they could let go?
Kai bites his lip, mind reeling with the question he doesn’t dare voice.
Must they sway and play with my heart like this, as if it’s theirs to test how much it can take?
The beta shoves some food into his mouth, chewing slowly, mechanically. The flavors barely register— heat, sourness, oil— all blurred together beneath the thrum of unease crawling under his skin.
Kai’s thoughts are louder than the table: the careful distance, the way they still orbit him without touching, the way Taehyun won’t so much as glance in his direction. It’s dizzying, being served without being shown he’s wanted.
“How is it?” Yeonjun asks, voice too careful, hands clasped tightly in his lap. “I tried cooking kimchi fried rice for the first time. I hope it’s not too sour.” His eyes flick to Kai’s face, searching, bracing.
“It’s good,” Kai murmurs, swallowing. It is a little sour. The rice uneven— some grains burnt, others under-seasoned. Normally, he’d gently tease Yeonjun about it, sneak into the kitchen later to fix the leftovers, and praise the omega for his hard work, making him glow.
But the way Yeonjun’s shoulders loosen just a fraction at his words— the relief trembling through him— makes Kai’s chest ache worse than the food ever could.
“Oh. Good.” The omega exhales, quiet and shaky. They eat in silence after that. No chatter. No playful nudges. No Beomgyu kicking his foot under the table or Soobin absentmindedly refilling Kai’s plate before it’s half-empty.
The tension hangs thick and suffocating, like something waiting to drop— like judgment, or a goodbye. The beta drains the grape juice Beomgyu poured for him and forces himself to eat faster, appetite shriveling beneath the pressure.
He doesn’t want to be here when the silence finally breaks. When chairs scrape back and movement finally stirs, Kai stands, his temple throbbing from the sudden movement. “I’ll do the dishes.” Beomgyu’s head snaps up. “I can—”
Kai turns to him with a tight, brittle smile. “Please?” His voice cracks despite himself, eyes shining just enough to betray the plea beneath the politeness. He doesn’t know what he’s asking for anymore— usefulness, familiarity, permission to stay.
Beomgyu freezes. “O—okay,” he says after a beat, nodding too fast. “Yeah. You can do the dishes. We’ll… clean the table.” Kai nods, grateful and humiliated all at once, already turning toward the sink.
The sound of water fills the kitchen soon after, loud and steady, drowning out the thoughts that are better unsaid—
That being needed felt like love.
That being spared feels like loss.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Huening Kamal Kai has become useless in the household.
The realization doesn’t arrive all at once. It creeps in gently, dressed as consideration, as progress, as the pack finally learns to stand on their own. It settles in his bones slowly, heavy and undeniable.
As if mocking him— or maybe sparing him— the pack wakes up an hour earlier than they’re supposed to. They do the laundry, clean the house, prepare breakfast, all before Kai even stirs.
If he wakes at eight, they’re already in the laundry room at seven, watching the washing machine spin like it’s some kind of quiet victory.
The folding station appeared as quickly as the complaint came. Installed neatly against the wall, at a comfortable height, with enough space for everyone to use it properly— a direct response to Taehyun’s concern about Kai folding clothes on the floor.
It stands there now, pristine and untouched, staring at him like proof that his hands were never necessary to begin with.
Like proof that he imagined his place.
“Oh, Ning. Good morning.” Soobin’s eyes crinkle with delight when he sees him hovering at the doorway, basket hugged to his chest. “Are you here to do the laundry too?” He gestures with his free hand, easy and warm.
“Should I do it for you?” Kai shakes his head immediately, the smile stiff on his lips. "You can fold it on your own if you'd like." The Alpha adds.
“It’s okay, hyung. I’ll do my share when you guys are done. Thanks.” He leaves the laundry room before anyone can insist, walking down the hallway and setting his basket near the dining area like it belongs there— like he still belongs somewhere.
The pattern repeats.
If he wakes at seven, they’re already up at six. The house hums with movement, coordinated and efficient, chores divided evenly between them like a well-rehearsed routine. There is no room left for him to slip into, no gap waiting to be filled.
They’re sending him a message.
Kai wishes— stupidly, desperately— that they’d just say it out loud. That they’d be kind enough to tell him they don’t need him anymore instead of letting him trip over the evidence every morning.
He turns toward the kitchen, hoping— foolishly— that there’s still something for him to do. Taehyun is there, slicing fruit carefully, arranging them into a bowl for hwachae. Kai’s footsteps startle him. The omega jerks, knife slipping dangerously close to his fingers.
“Shit.” Taehyun mutters, breath tight. He doesn’t look at Kai. “I—it’s okay. I didn’t get hurt.” He swallows. “Uh. Do you… need the kitchen?” Kai shakes his head immediately.
The discomfort is unmistakable now— the rigid posture, the tense shoulders, the way Taehyun holds himself like Kai’s presence is something to endure rather than welcome. Like he’s intruding on something he no longer has permission to touch.
“No. Sorry.” Kai whispers. “I’ll leave.” He power-walks back to his room before his composure can fracture, closing the door behind him and sliding down until he’s sitting on the floor, chest heaving.
If he had a wolf, it would be whining by now. Howling. Scratching at the inside of his ribs, mourning the loss of the pack. But he doesn’t. All he feels is the quiet, crushing weight of goodbye hovering over his head.
Kai has outlived his usefulness.
Rendered inoperable by the pack.
He can’t cook. He can’t clean. He can’t do the laundry. He can’t even service them the way he used to, because they won’t let him. They’re avoiding the touches, the reliance, the moments where his presence once mattered.
The beta exhales shakily and pushes himself to his feet, crossing the room to his vanity. The scent of his matcha clings thickly to the air— bitter now, sour with distress. He winces and reaches for a scent patch, slapping it firmly over his gland.
They don’t need to smell this.
They don’t need him.
If the pack wants him out of the way, he’ll stay out of the way.
And if the pack wants him to leave—
Kai swallows, staring at his reflection.
He’ll leave.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Good morning. Um— Kai.” Soobin’s voice catches awkwardly, soft but hesitant, as he sits on the edge of the sofa.
He watches the beta step out of his room, hair neatly fixed, clothes pressed, bag slung over his shoulder like any other ordinary morning. Except nothing about this morning feels ordinary anymore.
“Do you… want me to scent your stuff too?” The question hangs in the air, uncertain and fragile. Kai blinks, caught off guard. This used to be automatic— Soobin already standing, already reaching, already insisting with a laugh and a hand on his waist.
Now the Pack Alpha stays seated, hands clasped together like he’s afraid of moving too much, afraid of crossing a line Kai didn’t know existed until now.
In front of the sofa, Beomgyu stands shirtless, tugging a shirt over Soobin’s head with lazy familiarity, laughing when the older Alpha bats his hands away in protest. He turns mid-motion and catches sight of Kai, eyes lighting up instantly.
“Oh— morning!” Beomgyu waves, completely unbothered, grin bright as ever. “I should be mad that you skipped breakfast,” he adds, squinting at Kai like he’s trying to be serious, “but you look way too cute right now.”
The beta lets out a small giggle, warmth blooming briefly in his chest. “Just promise me you’ll eat at the cafeteria, yeah?” Beomgyu continues, stepping aside as Soobin finally frees himself from the shirt.
He wears it immediately, relaxing at the scent of his mate. “I’ll know if you skip lunch too. I’m friends with the lunch lady.” The young Alpha narrows his eyes dramatically, pointing at Kai like it’s a threat. “Yes, hyung,” He says, smiling despite himself.
For a moment— just a moment— it almost feels normal.
Kai moves toward the living room slowly, savoring the brief lightness Beomgyu leaves behind. It doesn’t last long. The space feels emptier than it should. Yeonjun and Taehyun are already gone, and Taehyun hasn’t shown his face once this morning.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The Pack omega, who had suddenly stormed into his room while Kai was getting ready, froze the moment his eyes landed on the scent patch at the base of the beta’s neck.
Whatever strong resolve Yeonjun had came in with visibly crumpled, his shoulders sagging like the air had been knocked out of him. “Oh,” he murmured softly. “Hyung.” His fingers twitched uselessly at his sides.
“What’s up?” The omega bit his lip, teeth worrying the skin until it flushed red, his hands coming up to scratch anxiously at his nail beds. The familiar nervous habit made Kai’s chest tighten before the omega even spoke.
“I just—” Yeonjun exhaled, shaky. “I wanted to apologize. For being too possessive of you. I thought maybe… maybe you found it uncomfortable.” His gaze flicked briefly to the mirror, then back to the beta.
“And the over-scenting. Uh— you know you can tell us when you’re not happy with what we’re doing, right?” His voice wavered. “We wouldn’t hold it against you. Ever.” Kai paused mid-motion, fingers still tangled in his hair.
He slowly turned toward Yeonjun, eyes immediately narrowing at the sight of reddened skin around his nails. “First of all, hyung,” he said gently but firmly, “stop doing that.” Kai looked at Yeonjun’s hands until they stilled.
“You know I hate seeing you hurt yourself. We can use other things to pick onto. Taehyun bought you a picky pad, didn’t he? Don’t— use your skin. Okay?” Yeonjun’s hands dropped instantly, obedient, almost relieved. “Okay.” Kai hummed softly, satisfied, before continuing.
“And you’re right,” he said, voice calm, steady. “If I was bothered by anything you guys were doing, I would’ve told you. You know that.” He met Yeonjun’s eyes in the mirror. “And I know you wouldn’t hold it against me.”
Despite the confusion curling in his stomach, Kai could see it clearly now— the strain behind Yeonjun’s careful distance, the guilt layered under restraint.
Whatever decision the pack had made, it wasn’t easy for them either. In a strange, almost cruel way, it made things easier to swallow. They still cared. He was still… something. “But I’m not uncomfortable,” Kai continued softly.
“And I don’t feel like you’re overstepping.” The words he didn’t say pressed against his throat.
The distance you’re putting between us, on the other hand—
The beta stopped himself, shaking his head slightly as if to physically dislodge the thought. This wasn’t the moment. He wasn’t ready to face it yet. “Anyway,” Kai said instead, tone lightening with effort, “is that all, hyung? Do you have any other worries I can help you with?”
Yeonjun’s lips parted. He hesitated, eyes flickering with something raw and unsaid, before he closed his mouth again and shook his head slowly. “I— no. I don’t think so.” A pause. “No.”
Kai nodded, accepting it the way he always did. “Alright, hyung. Get to work safely.” He offered a small smile.
“Good morning, and don’t forget your picky pad. I put it on your nightstand. Won’t miss it. And please have Beomgyu-hyung disinfect your wounds before you put some band-aids on. I wouldn’t want it to scar. I know you don’t either. There are some in your to-go bag. Okay, hyung?”
Yeonjun returned it faintly, there were tears pricking at his eyes, but they both didn't address it, no matter how much the beta wanted to wipe them away. “Yeah. Thanks, pup. Good morning.” The door clicked shut behind him.
Kai stared at his reflection for a moment longer than necessary before turning back to the mirror, fingers lifting to resume styling his hair— as if nothing had happened at all.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Soobin grunts, peeling the sweater away from his face with a huff, the fabric already heavy with Beomgyu’s scent. He brings it closer again anyway, fingers curling into the knit as he scents it thoroughly, deliberately, like he’s making a point of it.
“There,” he mutters, voice low and rough with instinct. “Now don’t throw it in my face again, you little shit.” He catches Beomgyu by the wrist before the Alpha can fully pull away, teeth sinking briefly into his scent gland in a nippy, playful bite.
Beomgyu laughs, breathless, grabbing the sweater from him and smelling it briefly. The beta pauses just short of the sofa, hovering in that familiar in-between space— close enough to be included, far enough to feel uncertain. His fingers curl around the strap of his backpack.
“Can I really have you scent my stuff?” He asks softly, the question carrying more weight than it should. Soobin looks at him immediately, expression smoothing into something earnest, almost careful. “Of course, Ning,” he says without hesitation. “What would you like me to scent?”
Kai sets his bag down slowly, movements measured, and unhooks the soft bear keychain dangling from the zipper. It’s worn from being handled too often, fabric flattened where his fingers usually fidget with it. “This,” he says, stepping forward and placing it into Soobin’s palm.
Before anything else can happen, Beomgyu is already tugging the sweater on properly, rolling his shoulders into it like it belongs there. He tilts Soobin’s chin up and presses a loud, exaggerated kiss to his lips.
“Bye, babe,” he chirps, then turns toward Kai with the same bright grin. “Bye, Kai-ya!” He’s halfway out the door before he skids to a stop.
“Oops. Sorry, I forgot.” He spins back, leans in, and plants a quick peck on Kai’s cheek— warm, familiar, unthinking— before bolting out again for real this time.
Kai bites back a grin before it can fully form, watching the door close behind him. He clears his throat and turns back toward Soobin, suddenly very aware of the quiet that settles in Beomgyu’s absence.
“So… is this all?” The Pack Alpha asks, handing the keychain back.
The scent hits Kai immediately.
It’s overwhelming— thick and grounding. Too much for something so small. His knees nearly buckle as he curls his fingers around it, chest tightening painfully as the comfort sinks in alongside something sharper, crueler.
This scent belongs on fabric meant to wrap around him, to be worn and lived in— on shirts, blankets, anything big enough to hold it properly. Confined to a tiny plush keychain, it feels like pressure. Like longing. Like a promise pressed into something that can’t carry it.
“Yeah,” Kai manages, voice unsteady despite his efforts. “Thanks, hyung.” He clips the keychain back onto his bag with hands that tremble just slightly. “I’ll be home before midnight, so…”
‘Don’t wait up’ stays lodged in his throat. It feels wrong to say now. Too… chummy.
“I’ll tell the others,” Soobin says, nodding once, tone neutral but not unkind. Still, there’s darkness flickering in his eyes when he realizes the beta will be away from the house for a long time.
“Take care, Kai.” He bows his head instinctively, a habit he hasn’t broken yet. “Bye, hyung. Good morning.” Soobin watches him for a moment longer than necessary. “Good morning.” The door clicks shut behind Kai, the sound echoing louder than it should.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
He hadn’t meant to come home this late. He really hadn’t. But after Taehyun had ignored him at university— cleanly, deliberately, right in front of his friends— Kai knew he wouldn’t survive another dinner spent pretending everything was fine.
So he stayed at Renjun’s longer than planned, sitting on the couch while the omega flirted openly with his mate, all soft laughter and easy affection, each touch landing like a bruise Kai didn’t know he had.
It was fun, in its own way. A change of pace. No pack hierarchy, no expectations, no hands tugging him into place or scents pressing him into stillness. He missed that closeness— God, he did— but he hadn’t realized how suffocating it had become until he was outside of it.
He and Renjun hadn’t hung out properly in months, not since Kai had been “employed,” not since his world had shrunk into one house and four people.
His friend had noticed immediately, of course. The way Kai’s scent patch had frayed at the edges, curling loose against his skin, his pheromones leaking harshly with disappointment.
Kai had been welcomed into the omega’s house without question, the door opening almost immediately after he knocked. Renjun’s mate waved at him from the couch with an easy smile, already getting up to rummage through the kitchen cabinets for finger foods.
There was no hesitation, no careful politeness— just quiet acceptance, like Kai’s presence was expected rather than accommodated. They put on an animated movie, something bright and loud, but Kai barely registered any of it.
Normally he would’ve remembered every detail, every joke and plot twist. This time, the scenes blurred together, his mind too crowded with thoughts he didn’t want to examine.
Every spare second seemed to fill itself with questions— how long until he was asked to leave, what he was supposed to do next, whether he had imagined the warmth he once belonged to.
Renjun noticed before Kai said anything. His scent had grown uneven, spilling into the room in jagged waves, distress clinging to it like static. After a while, Renjun shifted closer and gently took Kai’s wrist, pressing a careful, soothing scent there.
He murmured, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” again and again, voice soft and grounding, until Kai’s shoulders finally loosened. Exhaustion overtook him embarrassingly fast, his head tipping against the cushions as sleep dragged him under.
He hadn’t slept properly in days— his mind had been running nonstop, thinking and thinking about what would happen when he was finally told he wasn’t needed anymore.
When Kai woke, he found them sitting beside him. Renjun was watching him with open concern, eyes soft and searching, while Jeno distractedly soothed his mate by nibbling at his ear. The sight was intimate in a way that didn’t feel invasive— just honest, unguarded affection.
“Am I intruding?” Kai had asked groggily, blinking sleep from his eyes. “No, no. Of course not,” Renjun replied immediately, smiling gently. “You can stay as long as you like, dongsangie.” It took a moment for the situation to fully sink in.
“Oh shit. I fell asleep. Sorry, oh my God,” Kai blurted out, sitting up too fast and rubbing at his face. Jeno only laughed softly. “Dude, it’s okay. You looked like you really needed it. You were completely knocked out.” He stood and stretched.
“We’re going to prepare dinner. Anything you want?” Kai bit his lip, hesitation creeping in despite the reassurance. “Are you sure I’m not overstaying?” Jeno shook his head without missing a beat.
“You’re my mate’s precious friend. How could I just cast you aside like that?” He paused, then added more gently, “Besides, you didn’t look like you wanted to go home yet. You’re welcome to stay whenever and however you like. Just give us a heads up so we can clean the guest room.”
Kai nearly teared up at that. It was ridiculous— he barely knew Jeno, just knew him as his friend’s mate. And yet the softness in his voice, the complete lack of restraint or calculation, hit harder than anything else that week. It was so open. So freely given.
“Meat and eggs,” Kai finally said, his voice cracking, emotions bubbling over. “I don’t care how it’s cooked.” Renjun scoffed affectionately and stood, pulling the beta into a hug and pressing a kiss to his head.
“Ugh, you big baby. We’ll be in the kitchen,” he said fondly. “You can chill for now. Or maybe you want to come help us?” Kai nodded slowly. “Maybe I will.” That was how he ended up watching the couple bicker in the kitchen, their dynamic painfully familiar.
Jeno ordered Renjun around with amused authority, clearly confident and skilled, while Renjun complained loudly and obeyed anyway. “You’re just using your Alpha authority to order me around!” He’d said.
“You’re completely useless in the kitchen, honey. Just put down the knife.” It reminded Kai too much of Soobin and Yeonjun— of the way love showed itself through teasing and comfort, through shared space and easy routines.
He sighed quietly, missing the pack all over again.
Too bad he was getting fired.
Maybe… maybe he should take them up on their offer and crash there for a while.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~