Jaemin lay curled on the floor beside his bed, his knees drawn up to his chest, shivering violently despite the sweat that soaked through his shirt. The world had contracted to the size of his dorm room, and it was burning.
It wasn't just a fever. It was a biological riot. The liquid heat that had started in his belly during the party had solidified into a heavy, molten weight that dragged at his insides, an unfamiliar, terrifying ache that pulsed in time with his racing heart.
He tried to stand, to crawl to the bathroom for water, but his limbs felt like rubber. He collapsed back onto the floor with a wet gasp.
The flu, his mind supplied frantically, grasping for logic in the haze. It's just a bad flu bug. Or food poisoning. But that wine should have prevented it...
But deep down, a primal part of his brain was screaming a different truth.
The air in the room was thick, suffocating. He could smell it—a sickly, cloying scent that reminded him of fallen flowers left out in the sun until they began to rot.
It was sweet, nauseating, and distressingly familiar. It was coming from him.
Another wave of nausea rolled over him, and he gagged, clamping a hand over his mouth. If his neighbors heard him... if they smelled him...
The thought awakened a sudden panic, sharp and cold, pierced through the fever.
He couldn't let anyone get wind of this. To the academy, to the professors, to the world, he was a beta. He had managed to maintain that facade for the last four years, using scent blockers to mask the faint, irregular scent he'd had since his late presentation.
He wasn't on suppressants—he'd never needed them. His cycles had always been dormant, silent ghosts that never materialized. He didn't know why this strain of flu was suddenly triggering his pheromones, but he needed to put a lid on it, before anyone found out.
Scrambling up, he stumbled against the desk, sending a stack of sheet music sliding to the floor. He ignored it, lunging for the window to make sure it was latched tight, then checking the deadbolt on the door for the third time.
Just then, his phone buzzed on the desk, the vibration rattling against the wood like a drill. Jaemin startled, backing away into the corner of the room. He stared at the glowing screen.
Hyung.
A sob caught in his throat. Seungcheol. His savior. If anyone could help him, if anyone would know what to do without judging him, it was Seungcheol.
He snatched the phone up with shaking hands.
"Hyung?"
"Jaemin-ah." Seungcheol's voice came through, warm and steady, a lifeline in the dark. "I called to check on you. You didn't look too well when you left my place in such a hurry last night, and you haven't been answering my texts. Are you alright?"
"I'm sorry, Hyung, I... I'm sick," Jaemin rasped, sliding down the wall until he hit the floor again. "It's bad. I think it's food poisoning. I'm burning up... it hurts. My stomach... it feels like it's being twisted."
There was a pause on the line. Then, Seungcheol's voice shifted, casual concern dropping away to be replaced by a sharp, clinical focus.
"Describe it to me. The pain. Is it constant, or does it come in waves?"
"Waves," Jaemin whimpered as a fresh cramp seized him, wringing a pained moan from his lips. "Hot waves. And... and the smell. It's so sweet, Hyung. Too sweet…"
Silence stretched on the line, heavy and pregnant, until finally the man he'd come to trust with his life said, "Jaemin-ah. Listen to me carefully. This isn't the flu."
"What?"
"You're in heat."
The words hung in the air, impossible and terrifying.
"No," Jaemin denied instantly, shaking his head even though Seungcheol couldn't see him. "No, no, that's impossible. I don't get heats. I never have. I'm... I'm a… I'm practically a beta."
"Your biology has been dormant, not absent," Seungcheol corrected, his tone gentle but unyielding. "It happens sometimes with late bloomers. The stress of the final project, the pressure... It must have triggered a full cycle this time."
"No..." Jaemin whispered, tears spilling hot and fast down his cheeks. "If the school finds out... if they know that I'm an omega, that I'm in heat in the dorms..."
His carefully constructed life was crumbling. The scholarship, the reputation, the music… it was all dissolving in a puddle of sweat and pheromones. He would be expelled, sent home in disgrace. And his father would have all the evidence he could ever need that he had been right.
"Please don't tell anyone," Jaemin gasped, his breath coming short and fast. "Please, Hyung, you can't… you can't tell anyone about this, please, please please—"
"Shh, Jaemin-ah. Breathe." Seungcheol's voice dropped, becoming a soothing, authoritative rumble that vibrated against Jaemin's ear. "I won't tell anyone. You know I would never do that to you. Do you have any medicine?"
"I can't… I don't have any," Jaemin whispered brokenly, the words squeezing thin past the lump in his throat. "What should I do? I don't know what to do. Help me please, Hyung. Please. Don't tell anyone."
A heavy gust of air from the other side as Seungcheol paused, as if deliberating.
"Don't call a doctor," he told Jaemin. "Don't open the door for anyone but me. Do you understand?"
For the first time that morning, hope bloomed in his chest. "You're… You're coming?"
"I'm coming," Seungcheol promised. "I know exactly what to do. Just wait for me."
…
The wait was agonizing. It felt like hours, but it couldn't have been more than twenty minutes. Jaemin tried to crawl to his desk to find water, but the pain in his abdomen doubled him over, leaving him gasping on the rug.
He was helpless. A prisoner in his own body.
When the soft, rhythmic knock finally sounded at the door, Jaemin sobbed with relief.
The room spun wildly, but he managed to drag himself up. He fumbled with the lock, his fingers slippery with cold sweat, and finally threw the bolt back.
The door opened, and Seungcheol stepped in.
Immediately, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The stifling, rotting sweetness of Jaemin's distress was cut through by a powerful, dark wave of black tea and bergamot. It was sharp, distinct, and overwhelmingly alpha.
Jaemin stumbled back, his knees giving way. Seungcheol caught him before he hit the floor, his arms strong and sure.
"I've got you," Seungcheol murmured. He kicked the door shut with his heel and quickly turned aside to lock it, the metallic click echoing with finality.
He didn't look surprised by the state of the room or the heavy, slick scent of an omega in crisis. He looked... focused. Intense, but controlled, except for the slight hitch in his breath, his jaw tightening as the heavy floral sweetness washed over him, his pupils blowing wide.
He held Jaemin upright, his eyes scanning the omega's flushed face, his dilated pupils, the sweat-dampened hair plastered to his forehead.
There was no disgust in his gaze. Instead, there was an intense softness that made Jaemin want to weep.
The hand Seungcheol raised to Jaemin's face was gentle, brushing the wet hair back from the omega's brow, his palm blissfully cool against the burning skin.
"My poor Jaemin," he whispered, a sad smile touching his lips. "I'm here. I knew this day would come eventually."
"It hurts, Hyung," Jaemin sobbed, clinging to Seungcheol's lapels. The alpha scent was heavy, almost suffocating, but it was also grounding him, pinning his frantic mind to the present. "Make it stop. Please."
"Come."
Seungcheol guided him to the narrow single bed, handling him with a tenderness that belied his strength. He set Jaemin down, then pulled his jacket off and sat beside him, drawing the trembling omega into his arms.
The contact was electric. Jaemin's body, starved and confused, reacted instinctively to the alpha's proximity. He buried his face in Seungcheol's neck, inhaling the black tea and bergamot, seeking relief from the hollowness aching in his belly.
"I think I'm dying," he whispered feebly into the fabric of Seungcheol's shirt.
"You're not dying." There was a rasp in the alpha's voice now, but his touch was soothing, rubbing slow, firm circles on Jaemin's back. "But your body is in crisis. You've suppressed this part of yourself for too long, Jaemin-ah. It's fighting back. A heat this violent... it can be dangerous if it's not managed properly."
Jaemin pulled back slightly to look at him, eyes wide with fear. "Dangerous?"
Seungcheol nodded, his expression grave. He looked at Jaemin with such deep, aching affection that it made Jaemin's heart stutter.
"Your system is crashing. Without suppressants, without preparation... the fever could damage you. It could damage your mind, your ability to play."
The threat to his music was the ultimate terror. Jaemin clutched at Seungcheol's arms.
"Then what do I do? Get me pills, Hyung. Get me anything."
"It's too late for pills," Seungcheol corrected gently, shaking his head. "They won't work now. The storm has already started."
He reached up, cupping Jaemin's face in both hands. His thumbs stroked Jaemin's cheeks, wiping away the tears.
"There is a way, Jaemin-ah. A natural way. The only way to stop the pain instantly and guide your body through this safely."
Jaemin stared at him, uncomprehending. "How?"
Seungcheol leaned in, his forehead resting against Jaemin's. His dark eyes bore into Jaemin's, intense and persuasive.
"A bond," he whispered. "If I mate with you, and mark you... if I claim you... my pheromones will stabilize yours. The pain will stop. The fever will break. You'll be safe."
"A... a mark?" Jaemin's breath hitched. Even in his delirium, he knew what that meant. A mating bite. A permanent tie. "But... we're not—"
"We're everything to each other, aren't we?" Seungcheol cut in softly. "We're partners in music. We understand each other better than anyone else. I care about you, Jaemin. More than you know."
He moved his hand to the back of Jaemin's neck, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin over the scent gland. Jaemin shivered, a jolt of unfamiliar pleasure shooting down his spine.
"I can save you from this agony," Seungcheol promised, his voice low and hypnotic. "I can take care of you. You won't have to hide anymore. I'll protect you from the school, from the world. We can be together, fully."
"But..." Jaemin's mind was a fog. It sounded like a solution. It sounded like safety, like everything he had been wishing for with all his heart.
But it also felt huge, irreversible. He wasn't prepared to make such a big decision when he was barely able to hold himself up straight.
But Seungcheol was speaking again.
"Don't you trust me?" he asked, his voice laced with a hurt vulnerability that shredded through Jaemin's resistance. "Do you think I would ever hurt you?"
Jaemin looked at the man who had championed his music, who had shared his meals, who had been his only real friend in this foreign land for the last three years.
"No," he whispered. "I trust you."
Seungcheol smiled, a look of pure, relieved devotion. He pulled Jaemin closer, until Jaemin was straddling his lap, pressing the fever-hot body against his own.
"Then let me help you," he murmured, tilting Jaemin's head to the side to nuzzle into the pale, sweating column of his throat. "Let me take the pain away. Just for you, Jaemin-ah. Just for us."