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CHAPTER ONE: CONSTRICTED RELIEF (Part 1: The Parents)
The car ride to Seonghwa's parents' apartment was quiet—not the peaceful kind, but the kind where every minute ticked by louder than the engine.
He sat in the passenger seat, legs crossed tightly, thumb brushing the corner of his phone screen though he wasn't checking anything. Beside him, Jae Yoonsuk gripped the wheel a little too tight. His scent was muted, flat, but Seonghwa could still taste the faint bitterness bleeding through.
They'd fought the night before—again. Nothing dramatic. No yelling. Just quiet, clipped words and a slammed door. Lately, that was all their conversations amounted to.
But today wasn't about their relationship. Not officially, anyway.
Today was about surviving dinner at his parents' place without losing his mind.
He adjusted the collar of his thrifted gray button-up shirt and shifted in his seat. His jeans felt too tight around his waist. He hated dressing like this, like he was trying too hard. But his father always said as an Omega he should carry himself graceful .
"Can we please not say anything embarrassing?" Seonghwa said softly, finally breaking the silence.
Yoonsuk huffed a small laugh, not looking at him. "When have I ever embarrassed you?"
Seonghwa didn't answer.
Because the list was long, and the apartment building was already coming into view.
---
His parents lived in a modest complex—nothing flashy, but clean and well-kept. The elevator creaked faintly on the way up, and Seonghwa tried to calm his breathing. His scent control patch was holding, but stress always made it flicker.
He hated coming here with Yoonsuk.
Not because his family didn't try—but because they saw through it. His father, especially. Every time he looked at Yoonsuk, it was like he was silently asking, This is who you trust to care for you during your heats?
But Seonghwa couldn't explain it.
That it wasn't about trust. Or love.
It was survival.
---
His mother opened the door with a soft smile. She looked tired, apron still tied around her waist, and her hair pinned up lazily. "You're here. Come in, baby."
Seonghwa stepped in first, giving her a hug quickly. "Hi, Eomma."
"Hello, Yoonsuk-ssi," she added politely.
"Good evening," Yoonsuk replied, stiff but civil.
His father was already at the table, newspaper folded beside his plate, reading glasses pushed halfway up his nose. "You're late."
"There was traffic," Seonghwa said quickly, knowing better than to offer an excuse.
The four of them sat at the table. Braised tofu, marinated mushrooms, stir-fried anchovies. Simple food, the kind Seonghwa had grown up on.
For the first ten minutes, it was quiet.
Then his father cleared his throat. "So, Yoonsuk. How is the development on your—what is it again? A skin serum?"
"Skin and scent neutralizing line," Yoonsuk said.
His father nodded slowly, unimpressed. "And when will it launch?"
Yoonsuk hesitated. "We've had delays. Some supplier issues."
His father raised an eyebrow. "Ah. Delays. Again."
Seonghwa closed his eyes briefly.
"Appa…" he said under his breath.
His father didn't look at him. "I'm only asking because Seonghwa's working overtime lately, and I was wondering how long he'll be the only one bringing in income."
The words hit the table like a dropped fork.
Seonghwa felt Yoonsuk stiffen beside him. His scent flared, sharp and defensive, barely masked.
"I didn't ask him to support me," he said, voice low.
"But you accept it," his father replied coolly.
Seonghwa stood abruptly. "I'm going to help Eomma with the dishes."
He didn't wait for anyone to stop him.
---
In the kitchen, the plates were already washed. There was nothing to do. But he stood there anyway, hands braced on the counter.
He was tired.
Tired of defending a relationship that didn't even defend him back.
He could hear the murmur of voices in the other room. His father's even tone. Yoonsuk's quieter responses. His mother trying to smooth things over with thin smiles and refilled water glasses.
By the time they left, Seonghwa could feel Yoonsuk's quiet anger.
They walked out in silence.
Yoonsuk didn't offer to open the door.
Didn't look back.
Didn't even hold the elevator door. But it was fine for Seonghwa.
---
The car ride back to the apartment—his apartment—was quiet.
Not the peaceful kind. Not the easy kind. Just... empty.
Yoonsuk's hands gripped the steering wheel like it had personally offended him, knuckles white, eyes fixed on the road ahead. Seonghwa didn't even bother looking at him. He just leaned his temple against the cool glass of the passenger window, eyes tracking the blurry city lights flashing by.
His mind wandered.
Not to the awkward dinner they just left.
Not to the way his father had looked at Yoonsuk like he was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
No—he was thinking of how far he'd come to end up exactly here. Small. Unwanted. Forgotten in the passenger seat.
---
He had worked hard.
So hard.
Back when dreams meant something, back when he believed he could be more than what the world expected of an Omega. He trained, danced until his knees bruised, practiced vocals until his voice cracked raw. Starred in every school performance. Got accepted into a pre-debut program. Almost made the final lineup.
Almost.
But being an Omega in the entertainment industry was like climbing a ladder with half the rungs missing.
They didn't want someone who'd need "time off" for heats. Or risk "scandal" if they presented unexpectedly during a performance. The industry liked their idols clean, controlled, and conveniently unaffected.
And Omegas? Were none of those things.
His final rejection didn't even come with feedback—just a sterile email.
> "We regret to inform you…"
That was the moment it all changed.
---
Seonghwa buried the dream and went back to school. Rebuilt himself. One stone at a time.
He graduated top of his class in business administration, landed an internship at Kim Entertainment, and clawed his way up. Not through charm. Not through backing. Just sheer grind.
Now, five years later, he was the HR director of one of the most competitive companies in the field. Paid his own rent. Paid Yoonsuk's bills. Paid for every hope he used to carry.
And still—somewhere between his job title and his perfume shelf full of heat suppressants—he never stopped being "just an Omega" in everyone's eyes.
---
In their world, biology defined you.
Alphas were leaders. Aggressive, ambitious, driven by instinct and dominance. Society carved paths for them, cleared roads, handed them power.
Betas were the balance—unaffected by ruts or heats, they moved through the world with the freedom of neutrality.
And then there were Omegas.
Rare. Fragile. Desired—but always in the way you desire something to own.
Heats came every few months. Like a curse. A fever of craving that twisted in your gut, soaked your sheets, and made your skin feel too tight for your bones. Most Omegas took suppressants. Seonghwa did too—for years. But the older he got, the more his body resisted.
Heats weren't gentle.
They were demanding.
Painful without a knot to ease the pressure, without an Alpha's scent to calm the storm. And for male Omegas, the burden came double. Not only did society expect them to be soft and passive, but biology cursed them with fertility.
Yes—male Omegas could conceive. Carry life. It was a miracle and a curse. One more thing to be feared for. Controlled for. Denied opportunities for.
That's why Seonghwa learned to build walls.
High ones.
He kept everything locked behind good suits, neat smiles, and long hours at the office. He used his work as armor. He used Yoonsuk as convenience.
Because the truth?
He didn't love Yoonsuk.
He never had.
But he had clean heats with him—clean, meaning manageable. Less pain. Less burning. Less screaming into his pillow while sweat pooled at the curve of his back and tears leaked down the bridge of his nose.
Wooyoung always called Yoonsuk his "booty call"—and he wasn't wrong. Yoonsuk needed his money, and Seonghwa needed a knot.
Simple.
Transactional.
Or at least, it had been.
Until the moods started. Until the phone buzzed constantly with other names. Until the yelling. The accusations. The scenting of jealousy masked in fake concern.
> "You're probably out getting knotted by someone else."
As if Seonghwa was that careless.
He was picky. Painfully so. And Yoonsuk knew it.
But he also knew something else—
Seonghwa would never let himself be seen as weak. Not even by the Alpha in his bed.
---
The elevator dinged, pulling him out of his spiral.
Seonghwa didn't say anything as they stepped out.
Just followed Yoonsuk to the door, shoulders heavy but eyes sharp. His skin still smelled faintly like the cologne he'd sprayed before dinner. The scent clung to him—a soft floral-amber blend with notes of sea salt. He made sure to wear one that didn't scream Omega.
When he remembered his father's words to Yoonsuk," how much more money and time would you waste?"
Seonghwa smiled to himself. It wasn't always his dad showed he cared. And it touched him.
Yoonsuk had sulked the whole ride home because of that comment.
But what he didn't know was that Seonghwa wasn't even mad about it.
Because his father wasn't wrong.
And this time… Seonghwa didn't feel like defending him.
Not anymore.