Archive of Our Own ^beta

The greenroom buzzed with a muted energy. The aftermath of two nights of back-to-back performances hung heavy in the air. The distant roar of the crowd outside was muffled by layers of concrete and insulation, now little more than an echo. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a pale, artificial glow along the scuffed linoleum floors. The air was tinged with the sharp, metallic tang of sweat and the faintest of whiffs of the scents of his pack, their blockers finally wearing off after the nearly three-hour long set-list.

Keeho rubbed a hand over his face, the adrenaline of the night crashing fast and hard. His muscles ached; his throat was raw from the effort of two back-to-back performances. The rest of the night would, hopefully, be spent eating dinner wherever Jiung and Taeyang eventually decided on, and then collapsing into bed at their hotel. They had one more day in Jakarta, then off to Singapore and the rest of the East Asian wing of their tour. Four years into their career, this was their biggest one yet, and it seemed like nothing would be slowing them down now.

Intak’s voice cut through the haze, apparently having inserted himself into the quickly escalating debate about where they would be eating dinner that evening.

“I’m starving,” Intak groaned dramatically, sprawling across the couch like a Victorian noble on his deathbed. "Can’t we just pick something?"

Keeho raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You know, Intak, there’s a vending machine down the hall. It might not have gourmet food, but I’m sure it’ll pair nicely with your constant whining.”

Jiung turned his glare from Intak to Keeho, his phone clutched like a weapon. “The ramen place has the best reviews! Why is that such a hard sell?” He waved his phone in the air as if the screen itself would prove his point.

“Oh my god, no,” Taeyang interjected from across the room, spinning around to face them. “If I have to eat another bowl of ramen, I’m going to throw up. Let’s just get street food somewhere.”

Jiung rolled his eyes so hard Keeho thought he might strain something. “Street food is fine, but do you know how long it’ll take to find a place that’s actually open? This ramen place is right there.”

The three of them went back and forth, their bickering fast paced, each comment punctuated with exaggerated hand gestures and theatrical sighs.

Keeho snorted, watching the verbal tennis match with mild amusement. If these three ever had to make a real decision under pressure, they’d probably starve to death in a grocery store. Normally, he’d step in to mediate before things got too drawn out, but this time, he decided against it. He really didn’t care where they ended up eating, and the others seemed to be enjoying the argument more than actually making a decision.

He let their voices fade into the background, the soft hum of exhaustion creeping back in as his focus shifted. Across the room, Jongseob was curled up in one of the plush chairs, his phone held close to his face as his thumbs tapped furiously on the screen. Keeho’s gaze moved to Shota, who sat slumped against the far wall, knees drawn to his chest. His head rested against the wall, dark lashes fanning over flushed cheeks. Normally, Shota was the one bouncing around with boundless energy, but now he looked like he was trying to disappear. 

Keeho’s chest tightened. Shota wasn’t the youngest in the group, but he had always been the most openly affectionate, especially with Keeho. Quiet by nature, Shota had a playful streak that came out when he felt comfortable, clinging to Keeho like a second shadow whenever he needed reassurance or attention. Despite being a beta, Shota would often ask Keeho to scent him, saying it made him feel close to the pack, comforted, and protected. The memory of Shota’s shy smile as he’d mumble, "Hyung, just a little," always made Keeho’s inner alpha swell with pride. Protecting Shota wasn’t just instinct—it was something he cherished deeply, a responsibility he bore with pride as their leader.

He moved toward him, but a faint scent pulled him up short.

Keeho sniffed the air absently, his brow furrowing. It was sweet and sharp, like freshly peeled tangerines, with an undercurrent of soft cream and sugar. It was unfamiliar, out of place, and yet... soothing. He scanned the room, his gaze brushing over their staff and bandmates, but no one else seemed to notice it. Everyone’s scent blockers were wearing off after the long night—it was probably one of the stylists or crew members.

Keeho pushed the faint scent to the back of his mind, refocusing on Shota. Up close, the beta looked even smaller, his shoulders hunched as if he were trying to disappear into the wall. His breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling in quick, uneven rhythms that Keeho immediately noticed as wrong. 

Keeho frowned, pushing off from the wall to move closer. “Hey, Shota, you alright? Did someone forget to recharge you or something?” he said, his voice light but tinged with concern. When Shota didn’t respond, Keeho crouched down beside him, his tone softening as he gently called again, “Shota? Hey, are you okay?” His voice was steady, careful not to startle him, but his eyes searched Shota’s face with growing worry.

Shota’s eyes fluttered open, slow and heavy, like it took effort just to lift his lashes. Glassy and unfocused, they met Keeho’s with a dazed expression. His cheeks were flushed a deeper pink now, standing out against the pallor of his usually warm complexion.

“Not really,” Shota murmured, his voice raspy and strained. “I think I’m getting sick. My stomach hurts, and I feel... hot.”

Keeho frowned, leaning in closer to rest a hand on Shota’s forehead. The beta flinched slightly at the touch, but relaxed almost immediately, leaning into Keeho’s palm. His skin wasn’t feverish, but it was warmer than it should have been, a faint sheen of sweat dampening the fine strands of blonde hair clinging to his temple.

“You’ve been off for a couple of days now,” Keeho said softly, his brow furrowing. “It’s been getting worse, hasn’t it?”

Shota didn’t respond, but the way his lips pressed into a thin line was enough. Keeho sighed, brushing a few strands of hair back from Shota’s forehead. The faint tremor in Shota’s shoulders and the hitch in his breaths made something twist deep in Keeho’s chest.

“Let’s get you out of here.” Keeho said, his voice soft. He straightened, turning on his heel with purpose and striding toward their manager. His footsteps echoed dully against the floors, his movements brisk and decisive despite the leaden weight of exhaustion pressing down on him.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Keeho said, placing a steady hand on their manager’s shoulder. His tone was calm, carrying a quiet authority. “Shota’s not feeling well. Can we get a taxi back to the hotel? I’ll take him. The others can go out for dinner as planned.”

Their manager immediately nodded, pulling out his phone to arrange the ride. “Of course. Let’s see how he’s feeling in the morning. If it hasn’t improved, we’ll take him to a hospital to get checked out. Did you want one of the staff members to come with you?”

“No, I’ll handle it,” Keeho replied quickly, the words tumbling out almost too fast. He could feel the faint pull of that sweet, tangerine-like scent again, and his instincts were already flaring protectively. He didn’t want anyone else near Shota right now, not until he understood what was happening. “Thanks, though.”

The manager didn’t push, used to Keeho’s firm sense of responsibility when it came to his members.

Turning back to the others, Keeho raised his voice just enough to catch their attention. “Hey! Shota and I are heading back to the hotel.” he announced. “Can you guys please figure out dinner without strangling each other?”

Taeyang, mid-discussion with Jiung, paused and frowned. “No one’s getting strangled, maybe suffocated in their sleep tonight, though. Is Shota alright?”

“Please don’t suffocate each other either. And yeah, he’ll be fine, he’s just not feeling great right now.” Keeho assured him, though the tightness in his chest hadn’t eased.

Jongseob barely glanced up from his phone, wrinkling his nose. “Something smells weird in here, hyung. Let’s just go eat already.”

Keeho’s brow twitched at the comment, but he let it slide, turning his attention back to Jiung and Intak.

Jiung, who had been seconds away from retorting, sighed instead, crossing his arms. “Fine. Street food it is.”

“Oh my god, finally,” Intak said, leaning back with a smirk. “If you’d kept arguing, I was ready to ditch you and go eat by myself.”

“About time, I thought we would never leave.” Taeyang groaned, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. He turned to Keeho with a grin. “Kyo, did you want me to bring you back anything?”

“No, don’t worry about me. I’ll order takeout or something.” Keeho hesitated, his gaze drifting back to the group. His inner alpha bristled faintly at the idea of leaving the rest of his pack unsupervised, but Taeyang caught the look immediately.

“I’ll keep a handle on them,” Taeyang promised, his voice reassuring, but still lightly teasing. “Go, take care of Shota.”

Keeho gave him a small, grateful nod. “Thanks. Try not to get into too much trouble.”

“No promises,” Jongseob chimed in, draping himself along Taeyang’s shoulders. Taeyang swatted his arm, smiling even when he shot the younger man a glare over his shoulder.

Keeho shook his head with a faint smile before turning his full attention back to Shota. He crouched again, his hand brushing gently against Shota’s arm. “Come on,” he said softly, coaxing him up. “The car’s on the way. Let’s get you back to the hotel.”

Shota gave a quiet hum of acknowledgement, leaning heavily against Keeho as he helped him to his feet. The warmth radiating from Shota’s body, coupled with the faint sweetness of that unfamiliar scent, wrapped around Keeho like a persistent haze.

As they left the greenroom, the cool night air from the venue’s back door swept over them. It should have been refreshing, but Keeho’s focus was locked on Shota, on the way his breathing hitched as he stumbled slightly.

Keeho tightened his grip on Shota’s waist, his jaw clenching. That strange scent lingered, thickening in the air around them. It pulled at something primal inside him. Something oddly protective, a feeling Keeho wasn’t unfamiliar with when it came to his members, but more potent, like it was threading into his pores, intense and a little overwhelming.

Keeho shoved the feeling down, focusing instead on guiding Shota toward the curb to wait for the car. For now, all that mattered was getting Shota somewhere safe.

It was only a short wait before the taxi pulled up to the curb, headlights slicing through the dim glow of the streetlamps. Keeho exhaled in relief, the tension that had been building in his chest loosening slightly. He guided Shota toward the car, one hand steady on the beta’s waist as they approached.

“Watch your step,” Keeho murmured, his voice soft as he helped Shota ease into the back seat. Shota let out a quiet hum, his movements sluggish as he leaned heavily against the door.

Sliding in beside him, Keeho shut the door and gave the driver the address for their hotel. The man nodded, glancing back at them briefly before pulling into traffic.

Keeho shifted his attention fully to Shota, his thumb instinctively brushing over the scent gland on the inside of Shota’s wrist in soothing circles. The motion was second nature, something he’d done countless times to calm the younger members of their pack before performances. It worked now, too—Shota’s shoulders relaxed slightly, his breathing slowing as he leaned into Keeho’s side.

“Still hurting?” Keeho asked quietly, glancing down at Shota’s flushed face.

Shota nodded, his brows knitting together. “I don’t know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just feel... weird. Like something’s wrong, but I can’t figure out what.”

Keeho frowned, his thumb pausing for a moment before resuming its steady rhythm. The cab smelled faintly of stale air freshener, but there was something else too—a scent that had been growing stronger all evening. Sweet and delicate, like orange blossoms and whipped cream, now potent enough that Keeho could practically taste it.

Keeho inhaled deeply, the scent pulling at his senses in a way that made his head spin. It was intoxicating, rich and saccharine, and Keeho felt his thoughts blur at the edges, like he was drunk on it.

The driver glanced at them in the rearview mirror, his brows furrowing slightly before he turned his eyes back to the road. Keeho stiffened under the scrutiny, the same unfamiliar, protective surge rippling through him. His hand moved from Shota’s wrist to his knee, his grip firm and grounding.

“It’s okay,” Keeho muttered, more to himself than to Shota. “We’re almost there.”

Shota shifted, his head lolling to rest lightly on Keeho’s shoulder. His body radiated heat, the scent surrounding him intensifying with every passing second. Keeho clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening slightly on Shota’s knee as he fought to keep himself grounded.

His mind flickered back to earlier that day, to the way Shota had clung to him backstage, asking softly if Keeho could scent him just a little. It wasn’t unusual—Shota loved the reassurance, the comfort of being wrapped in Keeho’s scent. Keeho had obliged, as he always did, marking Shota lightly on his wrists before their performance.

Jongseob’s reaction to being scented flashed briefly in Keeho’s mind—the young alpha always pretending to hate it, grumbling about Keeho’s overprotectiveness before darting off to drape himself over Taeyang and rub his own scent on him instead. Taeyang would smile indulgently, but not without scolding him lightly for skipping his scent blockers.

Even then, earlier that day, there had been something about Shota’s normally neutral scent that had seemed... different. Keeho hadn’t been able to put his finger on it, but now, sitting in the taxi, the thought clung to him, persistent and nagging.

Sitting in the confined space so close to Shota, Keeho’s instincts were screaming at him to do more, to bury his face in Shota’s neck and cover him completely, to get lost in this new creamsicle-like scent that seemed to be pouring from his skin. His rational mind pushed back against the urge, but it was a losing battle. The scent was too strong, too consuming, and Keeho’s alpha instincts were louder than logic.

The driver cleared his throat, glancing back again, and Keeho shot him a sharp look, a low growl building in the back of his throat. He stifled it before it was audible, chastising himself for being so rude. Why was he suddenly feeling so possessive? Almost growling at a stranger who was just trying to do his job. Keeho needed to get a grip. The man quickly turned his attention back to the road, but it did little to ease Keeho’s tension. His fingers dug slightly into Shota’s knee, a silent reminder to himself to stay in control.

Shota shifted again, pressing closer to Keeho, his breath warm against Keeho’s shoulder. The small, vulnerable sound he made—a soft, almost whining sigh—shot through Keeho like a lightning bolt.

The hotel came into view, its familiar facade looming ahead. Keeho’s pulse thundered in his ears as the cab slowed to a stop.

“Come on,” Keeho murmured, his voice low and rough as he helped Shota sit up. “We’re here.”

The driver watched them through the mirror as Keeho handed over the fare, his expression curious. Keeho ignored him, his focus solely on Shota as he guided him out of the car and toward the hotel entrance.

The strange, protective pull was still there, stronger now, wrapping around Keeho like a second skin. 

Keeho barely noticed the concerned looks from the hotel staff as he practically dragged Shota through the lobby, keeping the beta tucked close to his side. Shota leaned into him heavily, his steps slow and unsteady.

“Here,” Keeho said softly, shrugging off his hoodie and draping it over Shota’s shoulders, hoping the traces of his scent lingering on the fabric would be enough to soothe the younger man’s aches for now. The fabric pooled around him, far too big, but it seemed to calm him. Shota tugged it closer, burying his hands in the sleeves.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and Keeho guided Shota inside. As the doors closed, sealing them in the small space, the scent hit Keeho like a tidal wave. It was intoxicatingly sweet, swaddling him like a warm blanket, mingling with the familiar spice of his own scent.

Keeho’s scent was distinct—smoked cedarwood and patchouli with a faint note of cherries, bitter, dulcet, and earthy all at once. He had been told many times that it was comforting, grounding, something Keeho knew the pack relied on to steady themselves before performances. He could smell it now, faintly lingering on Shota from the hoodie and the scenting he had done before the show. The two scents mingling together—citrus and vanilla mixed with bergamot and cherries—created a heady combination that made Keeho’s pulse quicken.

His breath hitched. His instincts flared, urging him to pull Shota closer, to bury himself in that scent and let it consume him. His rational mind struggled to hold on, but it was slipping, drowning in the pull of pheremones and emotions swirling in the air.

Without thinking, Keeho wrapped his arms around Shota from behind, pulling the beta flush against his chest. Shota let out a soft, contented hum, leaning into the embrace as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Keeho’s heart thundered in his chest, his nose brushing against the soft strands of Shota’s hair. The scent was everywhere—tangerines and the vanilla cream, fresh and sugary, mixed with Keeho’s own vetiver, smoky warmth.

Shota made a quiet sound in the back of his throat, a soft, happy noise that Keeho could only describe as a purr. It sent a shiver down his spine, setting his nerves alight.

“Shota,” Keeho murmured, his voice rough and strained. “You okay?”

Shota nodded faintly, his head lolling back against Keeho’s shoulder. His usual playful energy was absent, replaced by a quiet stillness that only made Keeho’s concern deepen.

The elevator ride dragged on, each second stretching into eternity. Keeho tightened his hold, his hands gripping Shota’s waist as if letting go would shatter him. His chest rose and fell in time with Shota’s breaths, his own mind at war with the primal urges clawing at the edges of his control.

The scent was everywhere, suffocating and consuming, coiling around Keeho’s senses like a predator sinking its teeth into prey. It wasn’t just in the air—it was under his skin, inside his lungs, pounding through his veins with every frantic beat of his heart. His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out every rational thought, leaving behind nothing but raw, visceral need. The enveloping sweetness seemed to seep into his skin, and Keeho became painfully aware of the knot slowly building in his stomach, sending waves of heat rolling through his veins.

Touching Shota wasn’t just instinct—it was survival. A maddening, primal need that screamed at him to keep his hands on Shota, to never let go. If he did, even for a moment, the world might rip Shota away, and Keeho was certain it would break him. The thought of anyone else near Shota, breathing in his scent, even looking at him—it made Keeho’s chest burn, his jaw clench, his nails dig into his palms.

Shota shifted slightly, pressing closer, his face nuzzling into the crook of Keeho’s neck. The small, innocent movement unravelled Keeho further, pulling a low, involuntary rumble from his chest.

The elevator finally chimed, the doors sliding open with a soft hiss. Keeho blinked, his grip loosening just enough to guide Shota forward. His hands remained firm on Shota’s waist as he led him down the hallway, their steps muffled by the plush carpet.

Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of Shota against him both grounding and electrifying. The strange, desperate pull was still there, thrumming just beneath the surface, but Keeho shoved it down, focusing on one thought:

Get Shota somewhere safe.

As they reached their door, Keeho fumbled with the keycard, his hands shaking slightly. The moment the lock clicked open, he ushered Shota inside, the scent of citrus and vanilla following them like a ghost.

The door closed with a soft thud, sealing them away from the world. Keeho exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against the cool wood momentarily as he tried to gather himself.

Behind him, Shota let out another soft sound, and Keeho turned to see him standing in the middle of the room, clutching the hoodie tighter around himself. His eyes were glazed, his cheeks still flushed, and his scent was stronger than ever, mingling with the leathery, cherry-tinged warmth.

“Let’s get you settled,” Keeho said, his voice thick, as he moved to guide Shota toward the bed. His hands trembled as they brushed against Shota’s shoulders, and his heart hammered in his chest.

Keeho guided Shota toward the bed, his focus fixed on getting the beta settled. But the moment Shota sat down, he froze, his shoulders trembling. His flushed face crumpled as tears welled up in his eyes.

“Shota—” Keeho started, stepping forward, stopping short when Shota burst into tears, burying his face in the oversized hoodie. The fabric muffled his sobs, but the sound still hit Keeho like a blow to the chest.

Shota’s face peeked out from behind the fabric, his flushed cheeks streaked with tears, his eyes wide and glassy. He looked so vulnerable, so small, that Keeho’s chest ached. As Keeho inhaled again, something finally clicked.

The scent flared suddenly, sharp and intense, curling around Keeho like twisting vines. It was thicker now, sweeter, almost cloying, and Keeho’s breath hitched as his vision blurred for a moment.

Shota has a scent. Betas don’t have distinct scents like this. Which could only mean one thing. Shota is presenting.

The realisation slammed into Keeho like a freight train, leaving him reeling. The intensity of Shota’s scent, the way it made his head spin and his body buzz, it all made sense now. Shota wasn’t just unwell; he was going into heat.

Keeho stared, his heart pounding as he took in the signs he’d missed earlier: the trembling, the flushed cheeks, the dazed look in his eyes. And now—oh god—there was a damp spot on Shota’s sweats, spreading slowly as his scent grew even stronger.

Keeho swore under his breath, running a hand through his hair. The sharp pull low in Keeho’s stomach grew harder to ignore, his body responding instinctively. Oh god. He thought. He was getting hard just from the pheromones. From Shota’s pheromones. The sight, the scent, the knowledge of what was happening sent his instincts into overdrive, but he forced himself to stay grounded.

Keeho exhaled sharply, guilt clawing at him. Shota didn’t know, and somehow, neither did anyone else. How had the staff missed this? How had he missed this?

The sharpness of Shota’s scent made Keeho’s head swim, and for a moment, he was transported back to Canada, to high school, to the last time he had been around a freshly presented omega. It had been during gym class, the air thick with the familiar blend of adolescent sweat and rubbery gym equipment.

The shift had been sudden, almost imperceptible at first, but then the scent had hit—freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon, spiced and caramelised. Keeho, barely 16 and only two years into his alpha presentation, had frozen mid-drill, the basketball rolling to a stop near his feet. He remembered how the whole gym had gone still as the realisation rippled through the students. The omega, a boy from Keeho’s science class, had stood trembling at centre court, his face flushed and his movements unsteady as the scent intensified. Keeho remembered how his body had reacted almost immediately, his head fogging over from the intensity of the pheromones in the air. The other alphas in his class bristled, squaring their shoulders and standing taller, a subtle show of dominance. Another one of his classmates, a kid a year younger than him who was notorious for skipping his scent blockers, had actually growled low in his throat. 

At the time, he had been grateful for the rut suppressants and scent blockers his parents insisted he take religiously. He’d heard horror stories of newly presented omegas driving unsuppressed alphas into uncontrollable, basal instincts. Even with the medication, the scent of sweet slick had made his head swim. He remembered how the entire class had frozen, wide-eyed as realisation dawned. Their gym teacher, a composed older beta, had quickly stepped in, ushering the trembling student out of the room and to the nurse’s office. The rest of them had been sent to the locker rooms early, their teacher wisely deciding to air out the gym and give everyone time to reset.

Keeho hadn’t forgotten the awkward silence in the showers, the way no one had dared to speak, their faces a mixture of discomfort and pity. For Keeho, the experience had been more educational than anything else—a stark reminder of the fragility of control.

But this— this —was entirely different.

Shota’s scent was nothing like that high school memory. It wasn’t just the sweet, cloying citrus-and-cream tang of his heat, though that alone was enough to make Keeho’s head spin. It was Shota himself, the way he was trembling in Keeho’s hoodie, his flushed cheeks, his tear-filled eyes begging Keeho for help. The way he clung to Keeho like his life depended on it. It was too much. It wasn’t embarrassment Keeho felt now; it was pure, raw need clawing at him to take, claim, protect.

Shota’s scent wasn’t just in the air; it was crawling under Keeho’s skin, flooding his senses, tightening the knot of instinct in his chest. The tang of citrus and cream, laced with the subtle bitterness of fear, hit Keeho like a tsunami, pulling his alpha instincts to the surface.

Scent. Mark. Knot. Breed. 

Keeho clenched his fists so tightly his nails bit into his palms, the sharp pain grounding him. No. Absolutely not.

Stay present. Be a good hyung, a good leader. He forced his breathing to slow, though his body screamed at him to give in, to let instinct take over. He had to fight it down, stay grounded. Shota needed him now—not as an alpha, but as someone he could trust. Keeho would not betray that trust, no matter what his stupid brain was telling him.

He wasn’t 16 anymore. He could do this. For Shota’s sake, he would do this.

“Shota,” Keeho managed, his voice rough, shaking with the weight of his urges and the effort to hold them back. “Do you—do you know what’s happening?”

Shota shook his head violently, his sobs cutting through the quiet of the room. His trembling hands clutched the oversized hoodie tighter, his knuckles white. “I-I don’t know,” he stammered, his voice cracking. “Hyung, what’s wrong with me?”

Keeho swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper. His entire body trembled under the strain of control, and yet the panic in Shota’s voice cut through everything else. He crouched in front of Shota, forcing his frantic gaze to meet his own.

“Shota,” Keeho said gently, though his voice was hoarse and thick with effort. “You’re presenting. You’re—” He swallowed again, his voice faltering as Shota’s scent flared. “You’re an omega. You’re going into heat.”

The words landed like a physical blow, and Shota froze, his wide, tear-filled eyes locked on Keeho. His breath hitched audibly, and panic washed over his face, twisting his features into something raw and vulnerable. “Omega?” he whispered, the word trembling on his lips. “No, I—I’m not. I’m a beta. I’ve always been a beta!”

Keeho’s chest twisted painfully. “Shota,” he said softly, his hands moving to rest lightly on Shota’s shoulders. “I know this is a lot to process, but sometimes it happens. Late presentations aren’t common, but they’re not unheard of.” He paused, his jaw clenching as he fought to keep his voice steady. “And you’ve taken the same health classes as the rest of us. You know what this means. What you’re feeling, what’s happening to your body—it’s normal for an omega’s first heat.”

Shota’s breathing turned shallow, and his hands fisted the hoodie so tightly Keeho thought the seams might tear. “Why now?” Shota asked, his voice breaking. “Why so late? Why me?” His tears fell harder, streaking his flushed cheeks. “I don’t understand. I thought—I thought I was fine.”

Keeho sighed, his thumb brushing lightly over Shota’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. “It doesn’t always happen on time. Sometimes stress or hormones can delay it. You debuted with us so young, Shota. The stress of being an idol, the schedules we’ve kept—it’s a lot. Your body’s just catching up now. It’s not your fault.”

“But—” Shota hiccupped, his voice cracking. “What do I do? I—Hyung, I can’t... I can’t go through this alone.”

Keeho’s gut twisted at the sheer terror in Shota’s voice. He hated seeing him like this, so small and scared, and it only made the possessive instincts clawing at his chest grow stronger.

“Shota,” Keeho began, his voice strained, “you know what needs to happen. I know this is a lot, but this is why we have heat partners, why most omegas go on suppressants after their first heat—so they can prepare, pick someone they trust.” He hesitated, bitter jealousy blooming in his chest as he forced himself to say the next words. “We can call the manager. They can find someone—a heat partner—to help you.”

“No!” Shota cried, his hands flying to grab Keeho’s arms, clutching at him desperately. “No, I don’t want anyone else. Hyung, please—I can’t—I’m scared.”

Keeho’s breath hitched, he balled his fists, nails digging harshly into the skin at the thought of anyone else near Shota in this state. The idea of someone else touching him, helping him through this—it sent a wave of possessive rage through him that he barely managed to shove down. His hands hovered near Shota’s shoulders, trembling as if pulled by invisible strings.

“You don’t mean that,” Keeho said weakly, his voice cracking under the strain. “You’re scared right now, and you don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I do know!” Shota sobbed, shaking his head furiously, his tears soaking into the fabric of Keeho’s hoodie. “I know what happens during a heat. I know what I need—an alpha. But I can’t—I can’t do it with some stranger, Hyung. Please. I trust you. I need you.”

The raw plea in Shota’s voice cracked something deep in Keeho’s chest, and he felt his resolve crumble like ash in the wind. The scent of tangerines and vanilla thickened in the air, snaking around him like a living thing, and his body roared with the need to mark, to comfort, to take.

“Shota,” Keeho rasped, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with the strain of holding himself back. He didn’t have time to think, to rationalise, before Shota leaned forward, burying his face in Keeho’s neck. The soft brush of Shota’s nose against Keeho’s scent gland sent a jolt of electricity through him, and Keeho inhaled sharply, his hands snapping to Shota’s waist to steady him.

“Steph,” Shota whimpered, his voice muffled against Keeho’s skin, his body trembling. “I’m scared.”

Keeho’s resolve cracked, his instincts screaming at him to hold Shota tighter, to bury his face in that syrupy vanilla scent and let it drown him. His nose brushed against Shota’s hairline, and he exhaled shakily, the warmth of Shota’s skin drawing him in like a magnet.

“It’s okay,” Keeho murmured, his voice rough, low, and unsteady. “I’m here.”

Shota groaned, his hands clinging to Keeho’s shirt as his scent flared, impossibly sweet and desperate. Keeho nuzzled his cheek against Shota’s neck, slow and deliberate, mixing their scents together in a way that sent his head spinning. His heart thundered in his chest, his breathing shallow as he tried to keep himself grounded, but it was a losing battle.

Shota shifted, his breathing uneven, and Keeho felt the damp spot on Shota’s sweats press against his thigh. The realisation sent a fresh wave of heat through him, and he swore softly under his breath, his hands tightening on Shota’s waist.

“Shota,” he whispered, his voice shaking with effort as his instincts screamed louder than ever.

Shota met his gaze, his tear-filled eyes locking with Keeho’s. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered, his voice small and pleading. “Please, Steph, Hyung.”

Keeho’s heart pounded as he whispered back, his voice trembling, “I’m not going anywhere, Shota. I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.”

And he meant it. Whatever this was, whatever Shota needed, Keeho would give it to him. He wasn’t letting anyone else near him—not now, not ever. Shota was his, and he would do whatever it took to keep him safe. Always.

Shota’s breath hitched as Keeho’s words sank in, his trembling body pressing closer, seeking more of the grounding warmth Keeho provided. His scent flared again—sweet, desperate, cloying—and Keeho felt it deep in his chest, wrapping around his instincts and squeezing like a vice. It was impossible to focus on anything else, the fog of pheromones clouding his mind.

Keeho swallowed hard, his grip tightening around Shota’s waist. The omega’s body was trembling, his flushed cheeks streaked with tears that fell unchecked. Keeho’s voice wavered, but he forced it to remain steady, a lifeline for Shota in the fog of his heat. “You’re burning up,” he murmured, brushing his thumb gently over Shota’s hip. “We need to get you more comfortable.”

Shota nodded weakly, the motion small and hesitant, his hands clutching at the front of Keeho’s shirt with trembling urgency. It was as though letting go would send him spiralling, untethered in the storm of his emotions. Keeho hesitated for the briefest moment, his control fraying at the edges, before he gently pried Shota’s hands free and guided them downward.

“It’s okay,” Keeho murmured, his voice low and soothing as he worked the hem of Shota’s sweat-drenched shirt and hoodie upward. The fabric clung to Shota’s feverish skin, damp and heavy, but Keeho peeled it away with careful, deliberate movements. Shota whined softly, leaning into Keeho’s touch as if the simple contact were the only thing keeping him grounded. The trust in that moment was palpable, heavy in the air, and it made Keeho’s chest ache with equal parts affection and longing.

When the shirt was gone, the flood of Shota’s scent hit Keeho like a tidal wave, thick and sweet, with the sharp tang of desperation curling at the edges. The air between them seemed to grow denser, hotter, as Shota’s feverish skin was exposed. Keeho’s eyes roved over him, his breath catching in his throat. Shota’s pale frame was trembling, lean muscles taut beneath his flushed, sweat-slicked skin. There was something achingly delicate yet utterly flawless about him, and Keeho had to will himself to stay grounded, to push through the intoxicating haze of pheromones muddling his thoughts.

Keeho shrugged off his own shirt next, his hands fumbling slightly under the weight of Shota’s pleading gaze. The omega’s wide, glassy eyes followed every movement, his lips parted as if he were about to speak but couldn’t find the words. Shota’s hands reached out instinctively, his fingers brushing over Keeho’s bare chest, and the warmth of his touch sent a shiver down Keeho’s spine. Their bodies drew together like magnets, instinct pulling them closer as though proximity could ease the ache in both of them.

“Hyung,” Shota whimpered, his voice fragile and trembling as his hands tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants. His fingers fumbled, his movements clumsy and fevered. Keeho stilled Shota’s hands, his own trembling as he guided them down before helping Shota peel the damp fabric from his hips.

The moment the sweatpants slipped down Shota’s legs, Keeho froze, the heady, overpowering scent of slick flooding the air. His eyes darted downward, catching the faint glisten trailing down Shota’s inner thighs, and his breath hitched. The omega’s boxers were completely soaked, clinging to his skin and leaving little to the imagination.

Keeho’s composure cracked further, his primal urges roaring to the forefront. “Shota…” he whispered, his voice rough and low, filled with a mix of reverence and unrestrained need.

Shota flushed deeper, his hands fluttering toward his lap as though to hide, but Keeho stopped him with a firm yet gentle touch. “Don’t,” Keeho murmured, his thumb brushing over Shota’s hip in a soothing motion. “You’re okay. Let me help you.”

Shota nodded weakly, his body trembling as Keeho’s hands moved to his own waistband. He hesitated for only a moment before pulling his pants down, discarding them beside the bed. The faint hitch in Shota’s breath as Keeho stripped down sent another wave of heat coursing through Keeho, their mingling scents thick in the air around them. His boxers felt uncomfortably tight, the strain a reminder of just how eagerly his body was responding to Shota’s new scent and proximity. 

“Here,” Shota whispered suddenly, his voice shaky as he gestured toward the pile of clothes they’d discarded. “Nest. I—I need—”

Keeho nodded, understanding even before Shota finished. Nesting. It was a deeply ingrained instinct for omegas during heat, a need to create a safe space surrounded by comforting scents. Shota’s new instincts were driving him, and Keeho knew the only way to soothe him was to help him build what he needed.

“Okay,” Keeho said softly, his voice steady as he began gathering the discarded shirts and hoodies. He arranged them into a haphazard nest, layering the fabrics with trembling hands. Shota murmured soft, needy noises behind him, his voice hitching with each breath, and Keeho’s heart clenched at the sound.

When the nest was complete, Shota didn’t hesitate. He practically dragged Keeho down into it with surprising strength, his hands gripping Keeho’s wrist and shoulder as he pulled him close. Their bodies pressed together, slick with sweat and feverish heat, clad only in their undergarments now. Keeho let out a shaky breath as Shota burrowed against him, his trembling hands clutching at Keeho’s shoulders like they were his anchor in the storm. The press of Shota’s body against his own sent a rush of blood downward, his need growing sharper with each tremble of Shota’s frame. The heat radiating off the omega felt like a brand against him, amplifying the pulse of desire that flowed through his core. 

The contact was electric. Shota’s nose brushed against the curve of Keeho’s neck, his breaths hot and shallow against Keeho’s skin. Keeho’s instincts surged, screaming at him to protect, to soothe, to claim. He nuzzled against Shota’s jawline, his lips grazing the damp strands of Shota’s pale hair as he inhaled deeply. Shota’s scent was mind-numbing—sweet and desperate, tinged with the faint citrus-and-cream notes that were uniquely his. It filled Keeho’s senses, making it impossible to think of anything else.

Keeho rubbed his jaw along Shota’s neck, slow and deliberate, mixing their scents together in a way that felt so natural Shota moaned softly at the motion, his body trembling as waves of relief seemed to ripple through him. His hands tightened on Keeho’s shoulders, his touch clumsy and insistent, as though he couldn’t bear the thought of any space between them.

“You’re okay,” Keeho whispered, his voice rough. He pressed a soft kiss to Shota’s pulse point, his lips lingering for a moment before pulling away. “I’m gonna take care of you. Just relax.”

Shota whimpered again, his body curling closer, his soft breaths brushing against Keeho’s collarbone. Keeho’s composure frayed further with every sound, every touch, every powerful wave of scent. His heart thundered in his chest, his breathing shallow as he fought to keep himself grounded, but it was a losing battle. Shota was too close, too sweet, too vulnerable, and every instinct in Keeho’s body screamed that this omega was his to claim, his to soothe, his to love.

Shota couldn’t relax. The heat was building again, pulling him deeper into its grasp. His breathing grew shallow, his hands wandering over Keeho’s chest and shoulders as if searching for more, his lips brushing against Keeho’s neck.

“Hyung,” Shota murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”

Keeho froze as Shota’s lips trailed softly along his scent gland, leaving delicate, lingering kisses that sent sparks skittering down his spine. When Shota’s blunt teeth grazed his skin, a growl rumbled low in Keeho’s chest, his composure snapping like a taut thread.

In an instant, Keeho flipped Shota onto his back, pinning him against the nest with firm and gentle hands. Shota gasped, his wide, tear-bright eyes locking onto Keeho’s, but he didn’t resist. If anything, he arched into Keeho’s touch, his breath hitching as Keeho buried his face in Shota’s neck.

Keeho bit down lightly, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as he sucked and kissed, leaving marks that bloomed dark and vivid against Shota’s flushed skin. His inner alpha preened with satisfaction, each mark a declaration that Shota was his—his omega, his to protect, his to care for.

Shota let out a trembling moan, his hands clutching at Keeho’s shoulders as he whispered, “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” over and over, his voice breaking with each breathless syllable. His body arched sharply under Keeho’s touch, the motion pressing their bodies closer together, and his trembling hands gripped Keeho’s arms tightly, grounding himself as his heat consumed him. Each shallow, uneven breath spilled from his lips like a plea, every sound driving Keeho deeper into his instincts, his heart thundering as he lost himself in Shota’s scent, his touch, and the mesmerizing sweetness of his heat.

“Alpha,” Shota whispered, his voice breaking as the word fell from him, soft and deliberate.

Keeho froze, the sound crashing over him like a wave, searing through the fog in his mind. Something primal within him snapped into place, the title anchoring him and stoking the fire raging in his chest. His grip on Shota’s waist tightened, his lips finding their way back to the omega’s neck. He kissed down the soft, flushed skin, his movements growing rougher, more possessive, as though his very presence could shield Shota from the overwhelming pull of his heat.

He knew he was losing control. The thin thread of restraint he’d clung to was slipping through his fingers, unravelling with every soft sound Shota made, every pliant shift of his body beneath him. Keeho’s rational mind whispered warnings—this was dangerous, he needed to stay in control—but the animalistic side of his brain roared louder, drowning out caution with the sheer force of instinct. Shota was so soft, so pliant, so utterly his. The omega’s scent, his touch, the way his body responded to Keeho—it was breaking him.

Shota mewled, his body trembling beneath Keeho’s weight. The omega’s hands began to wander, brushing over Keeho’s back with shaky movements. His legs shifted instinctively, wrapping loosely around Keeho’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer. Keeho groaned low in his throat, the sound reverberating against Shota’s skin as he buried his face in the crook of his neck, breathing deeply.

The sweet, citrusy tang of Shota’s scent hit Keeho like a drug, saturating his senses and making it harder to think, harder to hold back. He nipped at the soft skin of Shota’s neck, leaving small marks that blossomed quickly, visible proof of his claim. Each kiss, each graze of his teeth, left Shota gasping, his voice trembling as he whispered, “Thank you, Alpha,” over and over like a prayer.

Keeho pulled back, just enough to look down at Shota. His flushed face, streaked with tears and framed by damp strands of pale hair, was a sight Keeho thought he’d never forget. Shota’s wide, glassy eyes met his, filled with trust and unspoken longing.

Without thinking, he leaned in, capturing Shota’s lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. His mouth moved against Shota’s with unrestrained hunger, his instincts screaming to claim what was his. The kiss was rough, frantic, all-consuming, but Shota didn’t pull away. Instead, he kissed Keeho back with just as much fervour, his hands tangling in Keeho’s hair, pulling him closer still. Keeho groaned into the kiss. He was so hard it was bordering on unbearable. The heat between their bodies sent sparks coursing through him, every movement against Shota causing precum to leak into the already dampening material of his boxers.

Keeho’s hands slid down Shota’s sides, brushing over the curve of his waist and hips as he pressed against him. The heat radiating from Shota’s body was captivating, the omega’s fevered skin slick with sweat and pheromones. The taste of Shota lingered on Keeho’s tongue—sweet, faintly salty, and utterly addictive.

When Keeho sucked gently on Shota’s tongue, the omega gasped into his mouth, the sound a mix of surprise and delight. Keeho groaned in response, the vibration against Shota’s lips sending a shiver through him. He nipped at Shota’s lower lip, teasing it with his teeth before soothing the bite with another deep kiss. Shota responded with an eagerness that left Keeho breathless, his legs tightening around Keeho’s waist as his hands gripped at his shoulders. The weight of Shota’s legs around his waist sent a sharp jolt through Keeho’s body, his hardness pressing insistently against Shota’s own. The friction was maddening, every shift against Shota’s little cock making his pulse thunder louder in his ears.

Keeho pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against Shota’s as their chests heaved in unison. The omega’s scent was everywhere, impossibly sweet and potent, clouding Keeho’s thoughts and making his head spin. He could smell the slick pooling between Shota’s thighs, its sharp tang mingling with the citrus and cream notes of his heat. The scent alone was enough to make Keeho groan softly, his self-control slipping further with every passing moment.

“You’re so beautiful,” Keeho rasped, his voice thick with emotion as he trailed his fingers gently along the curve of Shota’s jaw. His lips hovered just above Shota’s, brushing faintly as he whispered, “You’re like a dream.”

Shota clung to Keeho like a lifeline, his trembling hands fisting the fabric of Keeho’s shirt as though letting go would send him spiralling into the abyss of his heat. “Hyung, Steph,” Shota whimpered, his voice breaking on the word. “Please—need you.”

His touch was hesitant, his hands wandering over Keeho’s chest and shoulders, shaky and fevered. Each soft whimper that escaped Shota’s lips made Keeho’s self-control fray further, the sound wrapping around his instincts and pulling them taut. Shota’s scent was everywhere, honeyed and fresh, filling Keeho’s lungs and driving him closer to the edge.

Keeho cupped Shota’s flushed cheeks, his thumb brushing tenderly over the omega’s damp skin. His voice dropped low, roughened by the effort to keep himself grounded. “I’m going to give you what you need,” he murmured, his gaze steady despite the storm raging in his chest. “I’ll take care of you.”

Shota whimpered again, leaning into Keeho’s touch as though it was the only thing anchoring him. The trust in his wide, glassy eyes was enough to make Keeho’s chest ache, a fierce protectiveness surging to the surface.

“Let me help,” Keeho whispered, his hands moving with deliberate care as he eased Shota’s trembling hands away from his chest. He began peeling away the last remnants of Shota’s clothing, fingers inching under the waistband of Shota’s slick-soaked boxers. The fabric clung to Shota’s fevered skin, and Keeho had to steady his breathing as the omega’s bare form was revealed.

Keeho’s breath hitched. Shota’s body trembled, his flushed skin glistening with sweat, his lean frame radiating heat. The scent of slick flooded Keeho’s senses, sharp and alluring, and for a moment, all he could do was stare. Shota was beautiful—achingly so. His damp lashes framed his wide, pleading eyes, his pale skin flushed a deep pink that spread down his neck and chest. Keeho felt his restraint slip further, his instincts roaring to claim what was his.

“You’re beautiful,” Keeho breathed, the reverence in his voice undeniable. “So pretty, Shota.”

Shota squirmed under his gaze, his face burning brighter, but he didn’t look away. Instead, he reached for Keeho again, his fingers brushing over his shoulders with a soft, pleading whimper.

Keeho exhaled shakily, his body moving on instinct as he pressed a soothing kiss to Shota’s temple. ”Let me take care of you,” he repeated, his voice raw and trembling as he let his hands trail down Shota’s sides.

Drawn by the overwhelming need to comfort, to ease, Keeho shifted downward. Shota’s scent was stronger here, sharp and sweet and utterly consuming, and Keeho felt a growl rumble low in his chest as he pressed his lips to the soft curve of Shota’s inner thigh. The omega shuddered, his hands fisting in the sheets as a shaky breath escaped him.

Keeho moved slowly, tasting for the first time, his tongue darting out to catch the slick that glistened along Shota’s skin. The flavour hit him like a lightning bolt—sweet and creamy, like sherbet and vanilla and sunshine. It was addictive, so delicious that Keeho couldn’t hold back a groan.

Shota gasped at the sensation, his body arching into Keeho’s touch. Soft, needy sounds spilled from his lips, and Keeho swore he’d never heard anything so gorgeous. His hands gripped Shota’s hips, steadying him as he delved deeper, his tongue tracing over every inch of slick he could find.

Keeho’s chest burned with the intensity of his need, but he forced himself to slow down, to savour every moment. Shota was pliant beneath him, his body trembling with every touch, every taste, and Keeho couldn’t stop the flood of possessive satisfaction that surged through him. This was his omega, his to protect, to soothe, to cherish—and he’d give Shota everything he needed.

He traced his tongue along the inseam of his thigh, lapping up the sweet slick that pooled down his legs. When Keeho traced his tongue along the length of Shota’s cock, small and cute and flushed a cherry red, Shota cried a broken sound so gorgeous, so enticing it made Keeho’s head spin. Keeho tongued the head, revelling in the soft moans that poured from Shota’s lips. Shota’s fingers tangled in Keeho’s hair, his touch desperate and insistent, urging him closer.

Keeho lapped at the tip of his flushed cock, sucking the head between his plump lips, desperate for a taste. Shota was so sweet. Keeho knew nothing else would ever come close to this, the heady scent of Shota’s pheromones combined with the salty taste of his precum, the vanilla flavour of the slick leaking from between his legs. Keeho trailed his lips down, sucking on the soft skin of Shota's hips, mouthing over the bush of hair, down to where the sweet slick was pooling between his thighs. 

Keeho shifted his weight, moving both hands to flip Shota to lay on his stomach, barely noticing the soft, punched out sound that fell from Shota’s lips. He was shaking again, trembling like a fawn under Keeho’s ministrations. Keeho barely noticed, too enticed by the taste of vanilla slick. Shota barely had a moment to breathe before Keeho’s hands were on his cheeks, parting them to flatten his tongue against his hole, licking and sucking at the skin like a man starved. Shota cried a low, throaty sound, pushing his hips back against Keeho’s face.

Keeho felt like he could drown in it. His head felt clouded, airy with the addictive taste of oranges and whipped cream, saccharine pheromones thick in the air. He had never felt so mindless in his life as he mouthed over the delicate skin of Shota’s rim, prodding at it slightly with his tongue. He was so sweet, he sounded so pretty crying and whining while Keeho pinned his hips to the bed and fucked him with his tongue. Keeho was so lost in the taste, in the soft texture of Shota’s insides that he didn’t realise how close Shota was until he was pushing back hard against his face, hole fluttering against Keeho’s lips, his pink cock twitching as it spilled rope after rope of cum onto the bedspread below them. 

Keeho couldn’t stop. There was something addictive about the way Shota tasted. He kept kissing at Shota’s rim, alternating between long flat licks against the rim and fucking his tongue in and out of the omega. He didn’t need to breathe, didn’t need to think, the only thing on his mind was devouring Shota, pulling more high keens and low moans from between his lips, revelling in the way Shota shook beneath him. It was mesmerising, mind-numbingly good in a way that Keeho had never come close to experiencing before in his life. It was like every one of his most primal urges was at the forefront of his mind, willing him to take and take until Shota was boneless and sated.

It was Shota’s hands in his hair that eventually caused him to pull away. Keeho blinked a few times as he looked up from between Shota’s legs, vision slightly hazy at the edges as he looked at the boy laid before him.

Shota’s face was lined with tear tracks, his mouth parted in a quiet gasp even as Keeho pulled away from him. His voice was barely a whisper, but it cut through the haze of Keeho’s arousal like a blade. “Hyung… please… I need you inside me."

Keeho's heart thundered in his chest, every beat echoing the urgency in Shota's plea. He looked down at the omega, his eyes dark with desire and something deeper—something possessive that clawed at his self-control. Shota's flushed face, streaked with tears and framed by damp strands of pale hair, was a sight he thought he'd never forget. The trust in his wide, glassy eyes made Keeho's chest ache with a fierce protectiveness.

"You're sure about this?" Keeho's voice was rough, thick with emotion as he trailed his fingers gently along the curve of Shota's thighs. His lips hovered just above the skin, brushing faintly against it as he whispered, "I don't want to hurt you."

Shota nodded quickly, his trembling hands fisting in the sheets as though letting go would send him spiralling into the abyss of his heat. "Yes, Hyung," he whimpered, his voice breaking on the word. "Please—need you."

Keeho shifted his weight, moving both hands to flip Shota onto his back again, barely noticing the soft, broken sound that fell from Shota’s lips. The omega was shaking again, trembling like a fawn under Keeho's touch, but he didn't resist. Instead, he arched into Keeho's hands, his breath hitching as Keeho positioned himself between his spread legs. Keeho pulled back for just a moment to strip himself of his boxers, his erection bouncing against his abdomen, sending a chill up his spine as the flushed skin made contact with the cool air.

Shota was already so wet, the slick pooling around his entrance, and Keeho could feel the heat radiating from him. It was intoxicating, making it impossible for Keeho to hold back any longer. Keeho watched Shota’s expression closely as he rubbed the pads of his fingers against Shota’s hole, feeling the way the omega trembled beneath him. Shota’s eyes were wide, glassy with desire, and his breath came in shallow gasps. 

Keeho watched Shota's face as he pressed a single finger against the omega's rim, already a little loose from the way he'd fucked him open with his tongue. Shota's brows pinched with pleasure when Keeho's finger breached his entrance, his body taking the digit easily despite its thickness. Keeho couldn't help but think that Shota was made for this—made to be under him, to look so beautiful as Keeho took care of him exactly how he needed.

"You're taking me so well," Keeho murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he added a second finger, stretching Shota slowly. "So good for me, Shota."

Shota whimpered, his body arching into Keeho's touch as he cried out softly, "Steph, please..."

Keeho could feel the desperation in Shota's voice, the overwhelming need that matched his own. He still had enough sense to not rush things, though his instincts were clawing at him to take what was his. He licked at the scent glands inside Shota's thighs while he fingered him, covering his thighs in bite marks and bruises. Shota's scent was so thick that Keeho felt like his whole body was wrapped in it, his musk so thick in the air with arousal that he knew Shota must be equally as overwhelmed by it as he was.

"You're such a pretty omega," Keeho muttered softly, his voice rough with possessiveness as he rubbed another finger along the rim of Shota’s leaking hole, stretching him further. "You're going to take my knot so well."

Shota whimpered in response, his hands gripping the sheets tightly as Keeho pressed all three of his fingers into the tight ring of muscle, scissoring them slowly to ensure Shota was properly prepared. The omega’s breath hitched, and he cried out when Keeho’s fingers brushed against a particularly sensitive spot inside him.

“Ah… Hyung… more…” Shota begged, his voice breaking on the words.

Keeho complied, curling his fingers slightly as he pushed deeper, eliciting another moan from Shota. Shota’s scent was thick in the air, a heady mix of citrus and vanilla that made Keeho’s head spin. His arousal was so intense that he could practically taste it, the tang of his precum mingling with Shota’s slick.

Keeho’s heart pounded as he worked his fingers in and out of Shota, stretching him gently. He could feel his inner walls clenching around him, the slick coating his fingers making each thrust smoother. Shota’s hips rocked instinctively, coordinating with his movements, letting out low moans from his throat.

Shota cried out, his voice breaking into a high, breathless pitch as his body arched off the makeshift nest, trembling with overwhelming sensation. His fingers twisted into the fabric beneath him, clutching tightly as wave after wave of heat coursed through him, leaving him shaking and breathless. His chest heaved, flushed and glistening with sweat, as his muscles tensed and then melted, utterly undone by the careful, deliberate touch of Keeho’s fingers. It only took a few more drags against his prostate before he was clenching hard around Keeho’s fingers, his body spasming as ropes of pearlescent cum coated the lines of his abdomen. The omega's scent flared, and the way it seemed to shade all of his senses made Keeho feel absolutely insane. He could barely think, his mind clouded with the overwhelming need to claim Shota, to knot him and mate him and breed him full of his pups.

"Hyung, Steph," Shota whimpered, his voice breaking as he begged, "Please, I need you inside me. Now. Need your knot."

Keeho's restraint slipped further, his instincts clawing their way to the surface, his brain repeating a mantra of mine, mine, mine. His thoughts spiralled into a haze of possessiveness, his mind clouded with the undeniable reality that Shota was untouched—fresh and unclaimed in every way. The knowledge sent a fierce surge of pride and visceral, bone deep need coursing through him. No one else had touched him like this, no one else would ever have the chance. Shota had chosen him, trusted him, and that trust shrouded Keeho like a binding vow. He pulled his fingers from Shota's tight heat, positioning the head of his cock against the omega's slick entrance. Shota's body was so pliant, so ready for him, and Keeho couldn't hold back any longer.

Keeho rubbed the head of his cock against Shota’s rim, eyes drawn to the way the shiny slick coated his length. Keeho felt drawn to Shota like a madman, enticed by the lines of his body, his sweet scent, his adorable sounds he made as Keeho rubbed his tip against the sensitive skin of his rim. Keeho spared a glance at Shota’s face, his eyes blown wide, iris’s entirely black with desire. His lips were parted, pretty and flushed and swollen. Keeho couldn’t help but lean down to kiss him, overcome with the desire to taste Shota’s lips again, reveling in the sound he drew from the omega’s throat as he sucked on his bottom lip, pinching it gently between his teeth before letting it snap back. Keeho kissed down his jaw, mouthing over the swollen scent gland in his neck.

When he finally pushed the tip of his cock in, Keeho groaned against Shota’s neck, all the air punched from his lungs. Shota was so tight, so soft around him. Keeho could feel the way Shota was trembling around his length, his body tensing and relaxing as he tried to accommodate Keeho’s girth. Shota’s waist was so soft under his hands, his breath hitting Keeho’s lips with muted gasps as Keeho slowly sunk into him. Shota’s scent was everywhere now, clouding his every sense, so thick in their air that Keeho could taste it on the tip of his tongue. Shota was perfect. Tight and warm and soft and Keeho knew he was fucked. He had been with other people before, but nothing, nothing compared to the feeling of Shota around him, his legs wrapped around his waist, his soft pants brushing over Keeho’s cheek as he tried to compose himself. Keeho could never want for anything else, never want for anyone else. It was like Shota was made to take his cock, made to look so pretty under him. 

Keeho watched Shota’s face with a keen awareness as he pushed the last of his length into his body. Shota moaned, high and desperate, like music to Keeho’s ears. A fresh gush of slick pooled between his thighs, coating Keeho’s length as he bottomed out.  Keeho pinched his eyes closed, his grip tightening on Shota’s waist as he willied himself to not just immediately fuck Shota into the mattress like his alpha brain wanted him to.

Shota was trembling beneath him, his hands clutching at Keeho’s shoulders, his voice shaky and desperate. “Please, hyung,” he moaned, his eyes glassy with need. “I need you—please, give me what I need. Please, don’t stop.”

Keeho’s breath hitched, his heart pounding in his chest. The sight of Shota, flushed and vulnerable, was almost too much to take. He had to close his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to collect his thoughts, to steady his hands. Don’t rush this. Don’t hurt him.

He let out a shaky exhale, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Shota’s forehead. “I’m here,” he whispered, his voice low and steady despite the storm of emotions coursing through him. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Shota whimpered, his legs tightening around Keeho’s hips, pulling him closer. “Then stop holding back,” he murmured, his voice barely above a breathless plea. “I want all of you.”

Keeho couldn’t help the low groan that escaped him at Shota’s words, but he forced himself to move slowly, savoring every second. As he started to press inside, his hand came up to cradle Shota’s cheek, his thumb brushing against the soft skin there. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, his eyes locked onto Shota’s. “I’ll stop if you need me to.”

Shota shook his head, his lips parting in a soft gasp. “No. Don’t stop. It’s perfect,” he managed, his voice trembling. “You’re perfect.”

Keeho’s chest tightened at the words, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He leaned down to kiss Shota softly, his lips moving slowly, tenderly, against Shota’s. “You’re the perfect one,” he murmured against his lips, his voice thick with emotion.

As he began to move, each motion was deliberate, unhurried. He wanted to remember everything—the way Shota’s body fit so seamlessly against his, the way his breath hitched with every slow thrust, the way his hands trembled as they gripped Keeho’s arms. “God, you’re gorgeous,” Keeho breathed, his gaze drinking in the sight of Shota beneath him. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

Shota’s cheeks flushed deeper, his head tipping back as he let out a soft cry. “Hyung—” he gasped, his hands sliding down Keeho’s back. “It feels… so good. You feel so good.”

Keeho’s heart swelled at the sound of his name on Shota’s lips, his movements growing fractionally deeper, more confident. His forehead rested against Shota’s as he murmured, “This—being with you—this feels so right.”

Shota’s eyes fluttered open, locking onto Keeho’s, his gaze full of warmth and something that Keeho dared to hope was love. “It is right,” Shota whispered, his voice trembling but certain. “I’ve never felt like this before. Never.”

Keeho kissed him again, deeply this time, pouring every ounce of emotion he couldn’t put into words into the press of their lips. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, Keeho thought, his hands gripping Shota’s hips as he moved. I don’t know if this changes everything between us, or if it’ll fall apart in the morning. But right now, this is everything. 

“Shota,” he murmured, his voice breaking slightly as he slowed for a moment, letting their foreheads rest together. “You’re everything to me. You know that, right?”

Shota let out a soft, trembling laugh, his fingers brushing against Keeho’s cheek. “I know,” he whispered, his eyes shining. “You’re everything to me, too.”

Keeho’s lips twitched into a small, tender smile before he kissed Shota again, his movements resuming, unhurried, filled with purpose. Every second felt eternal, every breath shared between them felt like a promise. Whatever tomorrow held, this moment was theirs, and Keeho would hold onto it for as long as he could

Keeho’s thrusts were deliberate, each one a slow burn that lit up every nerve in his body. He watched Shota’s expressions, the way his eyes fluttered closed, then shot open with a gasp. Each moan was a symphony to his ears. Keeho’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath hitching as he felt Shota’s inner muscles clenching around him, pulling him deeper.

"Steph..." Shota breathed, his voice strained yet full of a fervent need. "Please... don’t stop... please..."

Keeho swallowed hard, his control slipping with every plea. He shifted his angle slightly, aiming for something more, something that would make Shota unravel beneath him. He grazed against Shota’s prostate, feeling the omega’s body shudder and tighten even more around his cock. Shota’s eyes flew open, wide and pleading, his voice barely coherent when he asked, "Oh my god. Fuck me harder, hyung... use me... knot me...please.. Please come in me..."

Keeho could never tell Shota no. Not when he looked at him like that—pleading and desperate, his eyes glassy with need, his lips parted as soft, breathy moans escaped them. Keeho felt a low growl rumble in his chest as his hands gripped Shota’s hips firmly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He didn’t hesitate, couldn’t hesitate, before driving into him hard and fast, each thrust guided by the primal rhythm his brain had been screaming for.

Shota cried out, his head tipping back, exposing the long, elegant line of his neck. Keeho’s breath hitched at the sight, his gaze tracing the curve of Shota’s throat, the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed between moans. The way Shota moved beneath him, so pliant and eager, sent a rush of heat straight to Keeho’s core. His lips found Shota’s neck, pressing against the slick, sweat-dampened skin as he bit down gently, marking him over and over. Bruises bloomed in purples and reds along Shota’s throat and shoulders, and Keeho felt a sharp thrill at the sight of his omega wearing his claim so beautifully.

“God, you feel good,” Keeho growled against Shota’s skin, his voice thick and rough as his hands slid down Shota’s sides, gripping him tighter to keep him steady. “So wet, so soft, so beautiful. All mine.”

Shota whimpered at the words, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him as his body arched into Keeho’s with every thrust. “Hyung,” he gasped, his voice broken and breathless. “Y-you—ah—feel so good. Please, please!”

Keeho couldn’t get enough. He tilted his hips, driving deeper, the slick heat surrounding him sending jolts of electricity through his veins. His mind blurred with the raw, overwhelming sensation of it all—the way Shota’s body fit so snugly around him, the way his cries filled the room like a melody meant only for Keeho to hear. He leaned back slightly, just enough to get a better view, and his heart nearly stopped at the sight before him.

Shota’s face was flushed, his eyes hazy and half-lidded, his lips swollen and parted as he gasped for breath. His expression was utterly wrecked—fucked-out and blissful, the kind of look that sent pride and possessiveness coursing through Keeho like a drug. “That’s it, baby,” Keeho murmured, his voice low and reverent. “Let me see you. Let me hear you.”

Shota’s only response was a broken moan, his body trembling beneath Keeho’s as he moved. He was reduced to nothing but gasps, whines, and pleas, his voice cracking as he begged, “Steph—please—I can’t—” He arched again, his hands clutching helplessly at Keeho’s arms. “So good, so—so full—”

Keeho’s chest swelled with pride, a fierce satisfaction blooming in his chest as he watched Shota unravel. This was his omega, his beautiful, flawless omega, and nothing in the world could compare to the way Shota surrendered so completely to him.

Keeho felt the knot begin to swell at the base of his cock, the sensation sending a wave of heat pooling through his limbs. His movements grew rougher, more desperate, driven by instinct and the primal need to claim Shota fully. “You’re mine,” he growled, his voice thick with possession. “Only mine. Say it.”

Shota’s breath hitched, his eyes fluttering open just enough to meet Keeho’s gaze. “Yours,” he choked out, his voice trembling. “Always yours.” His hands clung desperately to Keeho’s shoulders, his nails digging into the firm muscle as his body arched, overwhelmed by the intensity of their connection.

“Please, hyung,” Shota whimpered, his voice cracking with desperation. “I can feel it—” His words came in gasping breaths, his lips trembling as his gaze locked onto Keeho’s, pleading and full of raw emotion. “I want it so bad. I want you to—” He faltered, his face flushing with both desire and vulnerability before he finally whispered, “Mark me. Claim me. Knot me.”

That was all Keeho needed. He surged forward, capturing Shota’s lips in a searing kiss, his thrusts erratic and desperate as his knot swelled fully, locking them together. Shota gasped into the kiss, his body shuddering as he felt the fullness, the finality of their connection. His cries melted into soft, whimpering moans, his body completely limp in Keeho’s arms.

Keeho’s vision went white when he came, his cherry scent flaring aggressively in the room. Shota gasped, his voice breaking into soft whines as he rocked his hips. "I can feel you—filling me up," he whimpered, his hands gripping Keeho's shoulders tightly. "Hyung... it's so much. I love it."

Keeho’s breath hitched, a low growl escaping him as he ran his hands down Shota’s sides. "That's it, baby," he whispered, his tone rough and encouraging. "Come on my knot. Show me how good it feels."

Shota’s gasps turned into high, broken cries as his body convulsed. He clung to Keeho, his nails leaving faint trails down Keeho’s back as he came for the third time, his body trembling uncontrollably. Keeho watched, entranced, as Shota’s release spilled over his stomach, a testament to how thoroughly undone he was.

"Fuck," Keeho whispered under his breath, chest heaving. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, even as guilt started to creep in at how far he’d pushed Shota tonight. Did I overdo it? Did I push him too hard?

Shota whimpered softly, his body twitching with aftershocks. Keeho immediately moved, rolling onto his side and pulling Shota close by the waist. He shifted them both carefully, cradling Shota against his chest as they lay tangled together on the messy bed. Shota’s skin felt warm under his hands, his breathing still uneven. Keeho pressed a gentle kiss to his temple, murmuring, "You’re okay, Shota. I’ve got you."

The room was filled with the sounds of their labored breaths as they lay there, both coming down from the intense high. Keeho focused on grounding himself, his head slowly clearing as the rush of hormones ebbed away. But as clarity set in, so did the full weight of what had just happened.

Keeho’s gaze wandered over Shota’s body, and his stomach sank. Red marks littered Shota’s pale skin—love bites, faint bruises, and scratches Keeho had barely registered leaving in the heat of the moment. Shota’s hair was a wild mess, damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead. His face was tear-streaked, with dried snot smeared across his flushed cheeks. And the cum and the slick... Keeho swallowed hard. It was everywhere, pooling on Shota’s stomach and smeared across his thighs.

Oh my God, Keeho thought, his chest tightening. What the hell did I do?

Panic gripped him as shame crashed over him in waves. I went too far. I hurt him. What kind of leader does this? What kind of hyung lets this happen? He felt like the worst person alive, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. Shota was so small in his arms, so delicate, and Keeho couldn’t stop replaying the moments where he might have crossed a line.

Keeho’s voice trembled as he croaked out, “Shota, are you… are you okay? Did I—” His words faltered, the fear in his chest tightening his throat. He couldn’t bring himself to finish the question, his gaze searching Shota’s face for any sign of distress.

Shota shifted slightly in his arms, blinking up at him with bleary, half-lidded eyes. His lips curled into a soft, sleepy smile as he nuzzled against Keeho’s chest. “M’okay,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse and lined with content. “Tired… but okay. Really.”

Keeho’s heart clenched, his guilt refusing to release him. “Are you sure?” he pressed, his fingers ghosting over the marks on Shota’s neck, his stomach churning as he took in the bruises and scratches he’d left behind. “I didn’t mean to—” He paused again, his throat tightening painfully. “You just… you look like I hurt you.”

Shota let out a quiet laugh, soft and raspy, but steady enough to ease some of Keeho’s worry. “You didn’t hurt me, Hyung,” he reassured him gently, reaching up to brush a hand against Keeho’s cheek. The touch was light, but it grounded Keeho, even as his guilt lingered. “I liked it. All of it.” Shota’s gaze softened as he added, “I trust you.”

Keeho’s breath hitched, his chest loosening just enough for him to draw in a shaky inhale. “You’re sure?” he asked again, his voice barely a whisper.

Shota nodded, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Yeah. I mean it.”

Keeho opened his mouth to apologize again, the weight of his earlier panic still heavy. “Shota, fuck, I didn’t mean—”

Before he could finish, Shota leaned up, pressing his lips softly to Keeho’s. The kiss was tentative, warm, and Keeho froze for a moment, caught off guard by the suddenness of it. When Shota’s lips moved against his, all the guilt and doubt swirling in his chest melted into something warmer, something brighter. He kissed Shota back, his hands cradling Shota’s face as if he might disappear if he wasn’t careful.

When they pulled apart, Shota’s cheeks were flushed, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you… for taking care of me.”

Keeho blinked, startled by the sincerity in Shota’s voice. The words hit him square in the chest, tugging at something deep and raw. How is he the one thanking me when I’m the idiot who lost control?

Shota hesitated, chewing his bottom lip nervously as his gaze flickered away. “Steph, can I tell you something?”

Keeho’s heart thudded painfully in his chest, his mind racing. Oh no. Here it comes. The part where he says this was a mistake. Bracing himself, he gave Shota a small nod. “Of course.”

“I’ve liked you for… a while now,” Shota admitted, his voice quiet. “Like, really liked you. I thought maybe it was one-sided, so I never said anything.”

Keeho’s breath caught, his mind reeling as memories flooded back—stolen glances, lingering touches, the way Shota’s laughter had always seemed to brighten his world. And, Oh, God. I’ve liked him for so much longer than I’ve let myself believe.

“Shota,” Keeho began, his voice thick with emotion. “I—I’ve liked you too. For longer than I care to admit.” A sheepish smile tugged at his lips as he added, “I just thought I didn’t stand a chance. You’re… you, and I’m just—well, me.”

Shota laughed softly, nudging Keeho’s shoulder with his own. “You’re ridiculous,” he teased, his voice light. “I’ve always thought you were amazing.”

Keeho let out a breathless chuckle, his chest feeling lighter than it had in years. “We’re both idiots, huh?”

Shota smiled up at him, his eyes sparkling with happiness. “Yeah, but at least we’re idiots together now.”

Keeho pulled him close, wrapping his arms tightly around Shota and resting his chin on top of his head. For a moment, they simply lay there, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s presence. Then, Keeho let out a low laugh.

“You know,” he murmured, “we’re gonna have to have a really awkward conversation with our manager tomorrow. Like, really awkward. Especially when we need to go buy Plan B.”

Shota groaned, burying his face in Keeho’s chest. “God, you’re doing it. I’m not going into a store with you for that.”

Keeho smirked, pressing a kiss to Shota’s hair. “Fine. I’ll do it. But you owe me.”

Shota huffed, his arms tightening around Keeho in quiet affection. Keeho smiled to himself, his heart full as he held Shota close. For the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt exactly as it should.

Keeho held Shota close, their bodies still intimately connected, the knot keeping them joined even as their breathing began to slow. Their skin was sticky and slick with sweat, the heat between them still palpable, making every shift of Shota’s body against his feel electric. The press of Shota’s chest against his own was grounding, the steady rise and fall of his breath syncing with Keeho’s as though their hearts were trying to beat in unison.

The room was thick with the mingled scents of their arousal, earthy and warm, but also something sweeter—the unspoken happiness that lingered in the air between them. Keeho’s senses were alive, every inch of him hyper-aware of the way Shota felt against him: the soft hum of a purr vibrating through Shota’s chest, the warmth of his breath against Keeho’s neck, and the comforting weight of his body nestled into his arms.

Keeho tightened his hold instinctively, unable to help the grin spreading across his face. He wants me, Keeho thought, his heart swelling. Really, truly wants me. It was a realization so profound it made his throat tighten and his chest ache in the best way. He brushed his hand lightly over Shota’s back, savoring the way Shota’s muscles shivered under his touch, the way he melted further into Keeho’s embrace.

Shota let out a soft, contented sigh, nuzzling closer as though he could disappear into Keeho’s chest entirely. The sound of his purring grew louder, a vibration that Keeho could feel through his skin, and it was all he could do not to bury his face in Shota’s messy hair and lose himself in the moment.

Keeho chuckled softly, his voice low and warm. “You’re purring,” he murmured, his hand drifting to trace lazy circles along Shota’s damp skin.

“Feels good,” Shota mumbled against him, his voice slurred with exhaustion and satisfaction. “You feel good.”

Keeho’s heart stuttered, his chest tightening with a mix of pride and pure adoration. He pressed a kiss to Shota’s temple, breathing him in, their combined scent an intoxicating reminder of everything they’d shared. In that moment, with Shota pressed so completely against him, purring softly as if Keeho were the only thing that mattered in the world, Keeho couldn’t imagine being anywhere else—or being anyone else’s.

As the warmth of the moment began to settle into quiet stillness, Shota’s purring softened, his breaths growing slower and deeper against Keeho’s chest. Keeho held him close, their bodies still intertwined, their skin cooling in the aftermath of their passion. The weight of Shota in his arms felt like home—steady, grounding, and just right.

Shota let out a small, sleepy hum, his fingers curling lazily against Keeho’s side. “Stay like this,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, muffled against Keeho’s chest. “Don’t let go.”

Keeho smiled, his heart full as he pressed another kiss to Shota’s temple, letting his lips linger. “Never,” he whispered. “I’ve got you, always.”

Shota’s response was a soft sigh, his body relaxing completely into Keeho’s embrace. Keeho tightened his arms around him, feeling Shota’s heartbeat slow, matching the steady rhythm of his own. The room was quiet now, save for the faint sound of their breaths mingling. 

Keeho’s eyelids grew heavier as the moments stretched on, the warmth of Shota in his arms pulling him into a peaceful haze. For the first time in what felt like forever, there were no doubts, no fears—just the simple, undeniable truth that they were exactly where they belonged.

The morning sun filtered lazily through the blinds, casting warm stripes of light across the rumpled sheets. Shota lay sprawled beneath Keeho, his cheeks flushed, his lips swollen from their ongoing makeout session. Keeho’s hands were firm on Shota’s hips, his kisses growing deeper, more insistent. The remnants of their shared heat-induced chaos still lingered in the air, a heady mixture of arousal and affection.

Shota let out a breathy giggle, his fingers threading into Keeho’s messy hair. “You’re insatiable,” he murmured, his voice breathless.

Keeho grinned down at him, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Can’t help it,” he replied, leaning down to brush his nose against Shota’s. “You make it impossible to stop.”

Just as their lips met again, the door burst open with a bang.

“Shota! I brought—oh my god!” Taeyang’s voice echoed through the room as he stopped dead in his tracks. His wide-eyed stare took in the scene before him: Shota pinned beneath Keeho, the two of them tangled in each other, the unmistakable scent of heat and sex hitting him like a freight train.

Keeho froze mid-kiss, his body going rigid as he turned to look at Taeyang, a mixture of irritation and panic flashing across his face. Shota let out a horrified squeak, attempting to tug the blanket up to cover himself, but Keeho’s weight made it a comical struggle.

“Taeyang!” Shota shrieked, his face turning an impressive shade of crimson. “Knock, you idiot!”

“Oh, I’m the idiot?” Taeyang shot back, dramatically shielding his eyes with one hand while pointing accusingly at them with the other. “You’re the one having round two of omega Olympics, and I’m the idiot?”

Keeho groaned, running a hand down his face as he sat back on his heels. “Could you not barge into his room unannounced, maybe?”

Taeyang let out a loud, exaggerated groan. “I was coming to check on my sweet, innocent Shota, but apparently, he’s been ruined—” He paused, taking an exaggerated sniff of the air before making a gagging noise. “—absolutely defiled. God, it’s so strong in here. Do you two not know how to turn on the air conditioner?”

Shota buried his face in his hands, muttering, “Oh my god, Taeyang, shut up.”

Ignoring the protests, Taeyang turned his attention to Keeho, his expression shifting into something vaguely approving. “Well, I guess congrats are in order. Welcome to the omega gang, Shota. Happy for you both. Love wins and all that.” He paused, his lips curling into a smirk. “But you’re still gross. Just thought you should know.”

Keeho rolled his eyes, though a faint blush crept up his neck. “Thanks for the glowing support.”

Taeyang shrugged, stepping back toward the door. “Look, I’ll talk to the manager. Handle all the boring stuff so you two don’t get in trouble. But for the love of all that’s holy, please stop traumatizing me.”

“We weren’t traumatizing you!” Shota protested, finally peeking out from between his fingers.

“Tell that to my nose!” Taeyang shot back, waving his hand in front of his face like he was swatting away flies. “This is gonna haunt me for weeks.”

As Taeyang turned to leave, he called over his shoulder, “Get some air freshener. And lock the door!” The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Keeho and Shota in stunned silence.

Keeho let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding before glancing down at Shota, whose face was still hidden in his hands. “Well,” Keeho said, his lips twitching into a grin, “that was... something.”

Shota groaned, finally dropping his hands to reveal his still-flushed face. “I’m going to die. Right here. Just bury me under these blankets.”

Keeho chuckled, leaning down to nuzzle Shota’s cheek. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

Shota shot him a look. “Not that bad? He sniffed the air, Steph!”

Keeho laughed, his chest shaking against Shota’s. “Okay, okay, maybe it was a little bad.” He kissed the corner of Shota’s mouth, his voice dropping to a teasing murmur. “But at least we have his blessing. That’s something, right?”

Shota groaned again but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re irresistible,” Keeho replied, leaning in to capture Shota’s lips again.