Archive of Our Own

Yeonjun is good at his work. It’s essential to have focus, especially in the middle of harvest season: their busiest time of year, when they work from dawn to dusk. Still, he can’t help himself. If he gets to spend every day working with his mate, he’s going to take advantage of these quiet moments.

He knows that Soobin appreciates it, too. Yeonjun turns his nose into Soobin’s scent gland, and Soobin lets out a shaky breath. Vanilla, Yeonjun’s favorite scent in the world. A perfect omega scent, too, sweet and delicate. Only Yeonjun knows what’s underneath.

Yeonjun sticks his tongue out to lick Soobin’s scent gland. Soobin shrieks, pushing him away. “Enough of that! I have to finish these.”

“Later,” Yeonjun promises. Soobin rolls his eyes. “I’ll water these in.”

One by one, he takes the trays of seeds from the work table and lines them up by the floor drains. There isn’t even room for lettuce, since Yeonjun has yet to sort through the fully-grown plants for heads that are ready for harvest.

“We have to harvest,” Soobin says, realizing at the same time. He slides the final tray over to Yeonjun, and Yeonjun sets it beside the others. “And water again.”

Taehyun started investing in flood tables, but most of their plants still need to be watered by hand—multiple times a day in the middle of summer, when Yeonjun spends half of his waking hours with a hose attached to his hand.

“I’ll water. You start on the lettuce,” Yeonjun says. He drags the hose to the seed trays and turns it on, holding the spray high so the seeds won’t be disturbed beneath the soil.

“A few of them are already bolting,” Soobin says. “I honestly didn’t see them yesterday. They were buried.”

“We need new seeds, anyway. We can let them flower,” Yeonjun says. “Let’s leave a few and take the others for kimchi. Kai will appreciate that.”

“Do you think it’s too hot in here? That might be why the algae’s so bad,” Soobin suggests.

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do about it, but I’ll check the temprature.” Even at the beginning of September, it’s still suffocating in the greenhouse. On days like this, Yeonjun will often hose himself down and lie in the shady grass outside, but the relief is always short-lived. He has no envy for Beomgyu, who’s supervising the fields today. They’ve hired help, but with Taehyun missing most days, they’re stretched dangerously thin.

With the seeds settled, Yeonjun joins Soobin beside the mature lettuce. They start a new batch each week so there are always a few plants ready, and although Yeonjun is less than fond of summer’s lingering brutal heat, he can’t complain about the harvest it brings.

Soobin pulls the oldest lettuce from the table while Yeonjun drags the pots outside for composting. They can’t reuse the soil, but Yeonjun will spend his afternoon disinfecting the pots. He piles the lettuce, roots and all, into a new container, and pokes his head back into the greenhouse.

“I have to take these home before they wilt,” Yeonjun says, holding up the tray of lettuce. “Want to come with me? We can do the herbs after.”

Soobin hesitates, then shakes his head. “Once we’re done with this, shouldn’t I go help Beomgyu? If you can handle the herbs on your own, I mean.”

It’ll mean a longer day for Yeonjun, but the harvest is their priority. The herbs can wait one more day, anyway.

“I’ll be fine here. You should help him,” Yeonjun says, setting the tray of lettuce on the table. Soobin’s expression falls with relief. “I have a request, though.”

“Sure. What is it?”

Soobin has looked absolutely exhausted all morning, and Yeonjun can’t stand it. There’s nothing that makes him more anxious than seeing Soobin in this state, the dark circles under his eyes, the bitter hint to his scent, his hollow face. The fall harvest always breaks them apart, and every year Yeonjun comes out of it a shell of his former self. His relationship with Soobin also suffers, since neither of them are able to devote time to each other.

Yeonjun isn’t so foolish as to believe this harvest will be any easier than those in the past—if anything, it’s already more difficult—but that only strengthens his conviction. He’s going to do everything in his power to ensure Soobin’s happiness.

“You come with me to drop these off, and take a break,” Yeonjun says. “Let me distract you for a little while. It won’t be for long, but I think we need it.”

“I don’t need a break. I’m feeling fine,” Soobin says.

“If you’re feeling fine, that’s an even better reason to take a break,” Yeonjun says. “If you stop feeling fine, we’ll be in real trouble.”

“We can’t,” Soobin protests. “We have to get all of this done before—”

“I’ll take care of it, darling,” Yeonjun says, and Soobin’s expression softens at the pet name. “I’ll be out with you and Beomgyu in no time.”

“I can’t keep him waiting,” Soobin says, but Yeonjun can tell—his resolve is already dissolving. The tendril of his scent that curls between them is delectable, sweet, perfect. “It’s not fair to him. I promised I’d be there.”

“Did you tell him what time?”

“...Noon.”

“Then we’re early,” Yeonjun says. “Five minutes, that’s all I need. Five minutes.”

“Taehyun’s going to kill me,” Soobin moans.

“Don’t bring Taehyun’s name into our bedroom,” Yeonjun says. “I must not be doing a good job if you’re still thinking about Taehyun.”

Soobin only lets out a huff, his grip on Yeonjun’s hair tightening almost imperceptibly. Soobin is talkative today, but Yeonjun knows he’s doing a good job. It’s obvious in the way Soobin’s legs tremble, barely able to hold him upright, in the way his inner thighs glisten with slick, more than Yeonjun can lick away—although he certainly plans on trying.

“I think it’s been at least five minutes,” Soobin says. “Y-You said—”

“Hush, darling,” Yeonjun says. “Let me focus. It feels nice, doesn’t it?”

He drags his tongue over Soobin’s clit, and a tremor runs through him. His response comes in the form of quickened breathing, in his scent ripening.

There isn’t anywhere Yeonjun would rather be than between Soobin’s legs. He’s good at it, he’s meant for it—pleasing his omega has to be one of the most fulfilling activities in the world. Hardly anything could rival the satisfaction of watching Soobin dissolve under his hands.

And he’s spent enough years by Soobin’s side to know exactly how to do it, though naturally he finds it more pleasant when he isn’t forced to rush. Why would he want to rush, when Soobin is his reward?

Yeonjun kneads the scent glands on Soobin’s inner thighs with his hands, an unusually sensitive spot for him, drawing out more of his scent. He traces his fingers over Soobin’s entrance, soft and soaked with slick. He doesn’t press them inside, but listens for Soobin’s gasp.

Yeonjun’s mouth is the most exciting part of this for Soobin, anyway, and that’s what he focuses on. Yeonjun drags his tongue over him, tracing his folds, gathering his slick on his tongue. Soobin lets out a breathy noise, nearly a whine, tugging harshly on Yeonjun’s hair. Yeonjun thinks he could spend hours like this, despite how tightly Soobin is holding him.

They don’t have hours, though. Soobin is right; Yeonjun had spent five minutes kissing him and teasing him before he’d gotten on his knees. It’s worth it to see Soobin worked up like this, but Yeonjun is acutely aware of that deadline as he dutifully licks across Soobin’s clit.

“Fuck,” Soobin breathes. “Fuck, fu….”

That’s where it feels best, and Soobin isn’t at all quiet about it today. Yeonjun concentrates his efforts, kissing and sucking in the way he knows will get Soobin off most efficiently, a hurried but still satisfying orgasm. Soobin is often so quiet when Yeonjun touches him, but soon his panting turns into frantic whimpering, the kind of noise he can’t hold back.

Soobin’s hips twitch madly as he comes, but Yeonjun holds him steady, maintaining the persistent pressure of his tongue until Soobin lets go of his hair, instead urging him to stand. Yeonjun’s knees ache from the hard floor, and his face is damp with slick, but Soobin brings him in for a kiss.

“I think I have a few more minutes,” Soobin says. “Come here, hyung….”

Soobin presses him against the wall, yanking down the zipper of Yeonjun’s pants. Yeonjun’s head hits the wall with a soft thump as Soobin slides a hand into his underwear, cupping him.

“Binnie,” Yeonjun whispers. Soobin’s thumb presses into his clit, rubbing in slow circles.

Soobin is gifted with his fingers. Yeonjun clings to him, hiking a leg around Soobin’s hips for a better angle, totally helpless. Soobin nuzzles his scent gland as he sinks his fingers into Yeonjun. He sucks at Yeonjun’s neck, hardly any pressure, but Yeonjun begins to tremble.

There are few things in life that bring Yeonjun such pure, encompassing bliss as this—not even the physical act, but what it means to submit to his omega, to let Soobin give him pleasure instead. A cloud settles over him, his mind entering a haze, his nose filling with Soobin’s sugary scent as he squeezes his eyes shut.

The only things that matter are Soobin’s fingers moving inside him, Soobin’s mouth on his scent gland, his whispers filled with praise. He keeps whispering even after Yeonjun comes, taking Yeonjun’s face in his hands and caressing him, holding him close to his chest, until their hearts finally slow.

“We should go back out now,” Yeonjun murmurs. He runs his fingers through Soobin’s hair, and Soobin watches him with soft, dark eyes. As perfect as this moment is, it can’t last forever.

Despite his earlier protests, Soobin seems reluctant as he lets go of Yeonjun, lingering for another kiss.

They take turns cleaning up, not wanting to raise the suspicions of Kai, who’s home with his son today. Once Soobin has finished and is safely en route to the fields, Yeonjun creeps to the bathroom. He scrubs his face and hands until he’s sure the scent of slick has faded, then splashes the cool water up his arms and down his neck. It’s the most relief he’ll feel until the sun begins to set.

It’s not until he’s on his way out that he runs into Kai, who has started washing dishes since Yeonjun passed through the kitchen earlier. “How long have you been here?” he asks, bewildered. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Not long,” Yeonjun says. “Soobin’s bringing lunch to Beomgyu. I had to bring lettuce to the cooler. I kept the bolted heads for us. We can make sangchu geotjeori.”

“Oh. Alright,” Kai says. “I might be able to start before you’re back, if Daeseongie cooperates.”

“Don’t worry about it. I want to help,” Yeonjun says. If he hurries, he can cook dinner by himself, which will make everything easier for Kai. Kai jokes that caring for Daeseong is a day off, but Yeonjun knows that raising a pup is much harder work than uprooting lettuce. When it’s his own turn to watch Daeseong, he tends to end his day far more weary than he does after hours in the fields. It’s not fair for Kai to have to manage all the housework, too, even if he can squeeze most of it into Daeseong’s naps.

Hell, Kai tends to look even more exhausted than Soobin these days. His black hair is overgrown, much longer than he likes it, but Yeonjun hasn’t had the time to wrestle him into a chair and cut it for him. He’s also thinner than Yeonjun would like, his face too pale—especially since they should be eating better than usual, now that their crops are grown. The lost weight easily shows on his tall, normally sturdy frame.

All of them are falling apart at the worst possible time. It’s Yeonjun’s job, as the oldest omega, to ensure that their youngest is healthy. To ensure that all of them are happy and healthy—that’s the job he shares with Taehyun.

Kai smiles at him. “Then, we’ll see each other soon. Take care today, hyung.”

Yeonjun scrounges up enough of yesterday’s leftovers for a meal—just enough to curb the hunger pangs in his stomach—and returns to the greenhouses. There are dozens of plants to tend to, an assortment of small vegetables and Beomgyu’s medicinal herbs. Several hours of work for one person, but Yeonjun can’t complain. This is his life’s work. His and the pack’s.

“We’re running out of gochugaru,” Kai says, frowning as he rummages through their cabinets. “I wish I’d noticed earlier. I would’ve asked Taehyun to pick it up on his way home.”

“I can go tomorrow,” Yeonjun says. “I’ll make it back before I open the store.”

Kai hums. “We really have to figure out how to make it ourselves, it would be so easy….” He arranges his ingredients—soy sauce, vinegar, sesame seed oil—on the counter. “I can ask Taehyun to do it tomorrow, too. It’s his turn with Daeseong—but I don’t know if I want him to take him outside.”

“We’ll see how he’s doing,” Yeonjun says. He inspects the knife in his hand. All of their best blades have gone dull—usually Taehyun’s the one to sharpen them, but he’s been out too late to do much cooking recently. Yeonjun doesn’t mind taking matters into his own hands, though. He’ll add sharpen the kitchen knives to his list of chores for tomorrow.

For now, the knife will do. Yeonjun rinses the lettuce and shakes the water droplets from the leaves. He slices them into strips, then dices the garlic and green onions, which will undoubtedly leave his hands with an unpleasant smell for the rest of the night.

“What do you think?” Kai asks. Yeonjun looks over his shoulder to find him staring into their refrigerator. “Pork?”

“Oh?” They shouldn’t be able to afford to eat as much meat as they do, but they’ve got a deal worked out with the local butcher. First choice of produce, highly discounted beef. An unequal trade, but Yoongi and his husband are sympathetic—and serious about their vegetables.

“Taehyun was all worried about his meeting today. I want to surprise him with something good,” Kai says. His lips twitch into a frown. “But he’d make it so much better than I could. Maybe I should just leave it.”

“No, make it tonight,” Yeonjun says. “He’ll love it. I’ll help, if you want. Besides, we’ve already had it for a day, and who knows what might happen tomorrow?”

“Good point,” Kai says, but he still looks a little hesitant as he unwraps the meat.

Yeonjun wasn’t able to make it home fast enough to stop Kai from attempting to complete all of their evening chores himself—and Kai is stubborn, so he’d refused Yeonjun’s dinner offer. At least Yeonjun can insert himself into this particular task. He’d planned on playing with Daeseong, but Daeseong is entertaining himself by trying to eat the crayons Yeonjun had gifted him as soon as he’d started to try to hold pencils. It’s an activity that would alarm his absent fathers, but Yeonjun is pleased that the pup is taking after him.

After tending to the herbs, Yeonjun had reorganized the lettuce table, packaged the harvest, and gone down to the fields to check on Soobin and Beomgyu. Apparently there was a minor irrigation issue that they’d employed Riki to fix, while Soobin and Jungwon gathered daikon, and Beomgyu and Sunoo fought with squash. Yeonjun tried to help with the squash, but once Beomgyu caught wind of Yeonjun’s plans to assist Kai, he’d shooed Yeonjun back to the house.

Maybe an extra pair of hands would be more helpful in the fields, but Kai has been alone with Daeseong all day. Yeonjun knows that Beomgyu and Taehyun would prefer him here, helping their mate.

Soobin and Beomgyu return from the fields just as Kai is finishing the pork, after Yeonjun has set the sangchu geotjeori to rest in the fridge. They smell of sun and sweat and dirt, their boots caked with mud where they leave them by the door. Beomgyu’s long brown hair is sticking up in numerous directions, and he combs his fingers through it to rid himself of knots. Soobin stumbles a bit as he walks inside, and Kai hurries to rinse the raw meat from his hands.

“I thought you were never coming home,” Yeonjun says. It’s not uncommon for them to return long after dark on harvest days, but since Daeseong was born, the five of them have been trying to maintain a more family-friendly schedule. At least Daeseong has already been fed.

“I thought we were never coming home, but the kids helped us bring everything back,” Beomgyu says.

“It only just started to cool off,” Soobin adds. Yeonjun had barely noticed the shift in temperature, but it’s much cooler inside than out. He’s still sweating, though, especially after being cooped up in the hot kitchen for the last hour or so.

He steps forward to pull Soobin into his embrace. Soobin drapes his taller form over Yeonjun’s, inhaling deeply to breathe in Yeonjun’s scent. Soobin smells more like greenery than himself, but Yeonjun doesn’t mind. Both are scents of home.

“It’s good to see you,” Kai says. His scent swells, like the flowers Taehyun will bring home from the market when he’s in a particularly good mood. “Was it a good day?”

“It was a productive day,” Soobin says. Yeonjun can feel the vibration of his voice against his chest, heavy and comforting. “But there’s plenty left for tomorrow.”

“I have so much fucking dirt under my nails,” Beomgyu complains. He tugs at the neck of his shirt as though he plans to take it off, but remains decent. “I’m starving, but I need to shower for, like, an hour—”

“Don’t take that long,” Soobin says, slightly miffed. “You’ll take all the hot water.”

“I won’t. I just need to—”

“Appa?”

Beomgyu’s face lights up as his eyes land on his pup. “Dae-yah. My baby,” he says, bending down to scoop Daeseong up from the floor. “Appa missed you so much today.”

Daeseong has grown so much since Beomgyu bore him, but he still looks so tiny in his father’s arms. It hasn’t been that long since Beomgyu became comfortable with being separated from him during the day—before that, he was the one staying home, or he’d bring Daeseong on his errands. It was only for the sake of the harvest that Beomgyu made that leap. His relief is palpable now that he’s been reunited with his baby.

Kai winces. “We have to give him a bath anyway….”

“He has more dirt on him than me, and I’m the one who spent all day digging up radishes,” Beomgyu says. He kisses Daeseong’s forehead. “What happened to you?”

“There was an incident with mud,” Kai says. “He really likes puddles.”

“That’s okay. Sometimes the best thing to do is splash around in puddles, right?” Beomgyu says, stroking his son’s hair. Then he crosses the room to give Kai a kiss, his purr loud enough for Yeonjun to hear. “Kai-yah, you’re such a good chef.”

“Yeonjun-hyung did half the work. I still might burn it,” Kai says, squinting at the meat.

“Mm. I think it’ll be fine,” Beomgyu says, resting his head against Kai’s shoulder. Kai kisses Beomgyu again, then noses the top of Daeseong’s head.

“Don’t listen to him. He did almost all of it,” Yeonjun says. “I just supervised. And minced garlic.”

“I can tell,” Soobin says. Yeonjun gives him a playful glare, finally letting go of him.

“I bet Taehyun’s happy. What did he say?” Beomgyu asks.

Yeonjun exchanges a look with Kai. Tension ripples between them. Neither has had the heart to acknowledge all night—the stale scents hanging in the air, the quiet in their home aside from their own short conversations and Daeseong’s babbling.

“He’s not back yet,” Yeonjun says. “You know how he is. Always working late.”

“Or the train was delayed,” Kai says. He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

Taehyun has never been this late. On his first day of his new job, he’d arrived home two hours later than anticipated, which had terrified Beomgyu and Kai. Taehyun might be an alpha, but it’s still not safe for him to be wandering an unfamiliar part of the city alone. The dangerous commute had been Taehyun’s greatest hesitation when he’d been offered the job. There wouldn’t be a point to any of it if he never returned home.

He’d apologized profusely that day, but the same thing has happened a dozen times since. Taehyun’s supervisors are incredibly strict, and their work is both top-secret and demanding. All factors that contribute to the fact that he’s constantly arriving late, despite his commitment to being present for the pack. He’s been gone more and more frequently, too, leaving him almost no time for the farm.

Yeonjun trusts that Taehyun can take care of himself. He may not have had to fight for his meals as a pup, but he’s picked up plenty of street smarts. He’s not a fighter, but he’s wary, and that’ll keep him out of trouble.

At least, he won’t get in any more trouble.

Beomgyu frowns. “Oh, that’s….”

The mood in the room plummets. Yeonjun’s heart beats faster, chilly anxiety constricting his chest.

“You go shower,” Soobin says. “We’ll take care of Daeseong. I’m sure he’ll be back for dinner.” He tips his head at Yeonjun, who makes his way over to Beomgyu and Kai and holds out his arms. Beomgyu closes his eyes, breathing in Daeseong’s milky pup scent for one more moment before passing him to Yeonjun.

“I won’t be long,” Beomgyu says. “Then I’ll give Daeseong a bath—”

“I’ll do it,” Soobin insists. “I haven’t worked half as hard as you today.”

He coos at Daeseong, and a flurry of butterflies shrouds the fear in Yeonjun’s heart.

Soobin helps Kai finish dinner while Yeonjun plays with Daeseong, desperate to keep him awake until his bath—although the pup does seem strangely fond of water. Beomgyu still looks crestfallen as he returns from his shower, though he smiles when Kai greets him with a kiss.

Soobin and Yeonjun share the task of bathing Daeseong, which definitely isn’t a two-person job, but Yeonjun appreciates the company. Yeonjun’s clothes are dripping by the end of it—Daeseong is extra clingy this time of night, and Yeonjun doesn’t have the heart to refuse him.

“I bet he’d be good at swimming. I want to teach him,” Yeonjun says as he watches Daeseong splash in the water.

“He isn’t too little?” Soobin asks.

“No. My parents taught me when I was really young,” Yeonjun says. He’s barely seen his parents since Daeseong was born—he wonders what they might say about him raising his pack alpha’s pup instead of his own. They’re too polite to voice anything rude. “Pups know how to do it instinctively. Swimming reflex.”

“We should bring him to the pond before it gets too cold, then,” Soobin says. “Maybe this weekend. I’ll talk to Beomgyu about it.”

He pushes his hair out of his face, blinking harshly. His eyes are slightly unfocused, his voice sluggish, sleepy.

Yeonjun tries to catch his scent, but his nose is too clogged with the smell of soap. “You should rest tonight, Bin-ah. I’ll put him to bed.”

“Are you sure?” Soobin asks, but relief seeps into his tone. Yeonjun’s chest aches. You know something’s not right. You have to help him.

The realization is shocking even though he’s known all along, deep in his bones. They might not be mated, but years spent together, their lives morphing into one, have the same effect as the bite that scars Kai’s neck.

Soobin will be fine with a night of rest. Yeonjun knows that, too.

“I’m sure.” Yeonjun tips his nose against Soobin’s soft cheek. “I’ll have the food ready for you after you shower.”

It only takes Yeonjun a few more minutes to bundle the pup in clean clothing. As he’d feared, Taehyun still isn’t back by the time Soobin steps in the shower. Yeonjun exchanges uneasy looks with Beomgyu and Kai as he returns to the kitchen.

“We decided we’d eat without him. We were going to try to sleep early, in case Daeseong wakes up,” Beomgyu says. “But we saved some for you and Soobin. And him.”

“Thank you,” Yeonjun says wearily. He hugs each of them good night, rubbing their scent glands together, and hands Daeseong to Kai. “Don’t worry about Taehyun. I’ll stay up for him.”

He feels terrible for Kai, but he knows that Taehyun will make the missed dinner up to him. Neither of them say anything, but Beomgyu can sense their reluctance. It’s the first time the two omegas have slept without their alpha in almost the entirety of their relationship, save for one night after a huge fight a few weeks after Beomgyu had learned of his pregnancy, resulting in Taehyun being banished to the couch and a threat of castration. Yeonjun had thought that was fair. They’ve never fought like that before or since.

“Thank you,” Kai whispers. He holds one of Beomgyu’s hands as he leads him to their room.

The kitchen is uncomfortably silent as Yeonjun reheats the food and piles it onto plates. He hears the shower turn off, and paces until Soobin finally emerges, his hair still dripping. His cheeks are slightly flushed, which strikes Yeonjun as odd—Soobin doesn’t usually take hot showers on days as warm as today. Must be the weather?

“Sorry. I think I could fall asleep now,” Soobin says as he sits across from Yeonjun. “I was really looking forward to eating, but now I have no appetite.”

“Don’t worry. It’ll come back to you. But if you don’t want to eat, I hope you’ll keep me company,” Yeonjun says.

“I don’t plan on going anywhere. And I’m still going to try it, for Kai,” Soobin says. “I’m just not going to be….” He considers his words, wringing his hands. “...a very entertaining companion. Something feels….”

“Pretend it’s a date,” Yeonjun says, unwilling to confirm that he feels the same. “Like when we were kids.”

Soobin snorts. “But Kai was our chef?”

“Exactly.” Yeonjun nudges Soobin’s leg under the table. “If it’s a date, how should I court you?”

“I can’t tell you. That ruins it.”

“I suppose that’s true. Are you the kind of omega who likes flowers?”

“I can grow my own,” Soobin says. “You’ll have to try harder than that.”

“So what should I do? Chase you through the woods like we’re animals?”

Soobin cringes. “Maybe something in-between.”

“It has to be something only an omega can give you,” Yeonjun says. “That’s why you like me so much.”

“Maybe you just got to me before an alpha,” Soobin teases.

The conversation dies soon after that. Yeonjun makes a mental note to compliment Kai on his cooking. Despite how much he enjoys the food, it doesn’t keep his mind occupied for long.

“Go to bed without me,” Yeonjun says. “I won’t be too long. There are a couple things I want to do.”

“Like what?” Soobin says, humoring him. They both know.

“Lighting studies,” Yeonjun says simply. “I don’t want to keep you up by leaving a light on.”

Soobin nods. He doesn’t say a proper good-night before he leaves for their bedroom—he expects Yeonjun to follow him soon. And Yeonjun will. He never keeps his mate waiting, but he has his duty to the pack, too.

To his credit, Yeonjun actually does try to draw. He finds a few spare sheets of paper and a pen and sets up by the living room window. The moon is only half full, but the stars are extra bright tonight, and he turns on a lamp that casts long shadows on a shriveling houseplant that Taehyun had gifted to Beomgyu, to cheer him up on a spring day. It had flowered, once.

Yeonjun dumps the cup of water he’d prepared for himself into the little ceramic pot, watching it overflow into the dish underneath before he begins to sketch.

Contour hatching usually works for him, but today it doesn’t, and he goes over the drawing a dozen times before it becomes completely unsalvageable. He fills the entire page with blue-black instead, until not a speck of creamy white is visible, glancing into the darkness outside every so often. The dirt path of their front walkway, barely illuminated by starlight, remains empty.

He gives up and goes to bed after an hour, no sign of Taehyun in sight.

Soobin is fast asleep, a blanket draped over his shoulders. His back is to Yeonjun, so Yeonjun slides under the worn material, trying to disturb him as little as possible. He presses his front to Soobin’s back, spooning him, his hands dancing across Soobin’s bare chest.

Yeonjun’s nose aligns with the back of Soobin’s neck, and he inhales deeply, an instant sense of calm washing over him. They only nest during heat, but their entire room is like a nest—familiar scents and belongings, nothing that could bring harm.

Yeonjun touches his nose to Soobin’s scent gland again. He hasn’t gotten to properly scent Soobin today, and it makes him all itchy inside. When he was younger, his friends used to say he should’ve presented as an alpha, that his instincts are all mixed up, but Yeonjun disagrees. If Yeonjun has learned anything from his partnership with Soobin, it’s that omegas are even more fierce when it comes to their mates.

That’s why it takes only an instant for Yeonjun to realize that something has changed in Soobin’s scent. Sickly yet somehow tantalizing, just a little too sweet, like a flower about to rot—

Alarm flares in Yeonjun’s chest. Their mating cycles almost always fall in the middle of the harvest, which is incredibly inconvenient and quite possibly their biggest stressor—the weeks where none of them can work, at least not to their full capacity. Soobin’s is always first, and he’s due any day now.

In one week, his pre-heat will shift into full-blown heat, leaving him more or less incapacitated for another week. Yeonjun is lucky—he has the strength to work during his own heats, which typically start a few days after Soobin’s—but he’ll be caring for Soobin.

I have to tell him. Soobin was perfectly normal this morning, but his confusing behavior later in the day makes sense. But he’s going to be upset, and it’s not fair to wake him up….

Yeonjun is paralyzed, rooted to the spot. He backs away, pressing his face into Soobin’s shoulder instead to stop his heart from skipping a beat every time he catches a hint of Soobin’s pre-heat, barely there. It’s early. Yeonjun doubts he would have been able to smell it if he weren’t on top of Soobin’s scent gland.

He’s still debating on whether to wake Soobin when he begins to stir, Yeonjun’s simple movement enough to jostle him from sleep. He rolls onto his other side, facing Yeonjun, blinking a few times before his eyes lock onto Yeonjun’s.

“Soobin,” Yeonjun says hoarsely.

One look is all it takes for him to know. Soobin’s hands reach for Yeonjun’s, squeezing hard. His hands are cold, and Yeonjun tucks them against his own body.

“I realized after you left,” Soobin whispers. “Knew it was coming.”

“Are you okay?” Yeonjun asks. He still doesn’t really know how to do this, after years of trial and error.

Soobin sighs through his nose. “It’s nothing new. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

Yeonjun didn’t know Soobin before he presented, but he’s heard plenty of stories. Soobin’s first heat was slightly longer than average, but otherwise perfectly normal. Every heat after that was something different, but undeniably more intense. By the time Yeonjun had shared three heats with Soobin, his symptoms had turned from manageable cramps to debilitating pain, from a slight decrease in energy to constant exhaustion.

Every omega is different, and nobody spends much time talking about heats, so it had taken Soobin years to realize that something wasn’t normal. His mother accused him of faking sick until he could barely walk, then tried to arrange his mating in hopes that an alpha would ease her son’s heat pains, but no alpha wants a sickly omega.

Then Soobin had tried to visit doctors, but the only thing omega specialists are really concerned about is whether heatsickness impacts fertility. No matter how sick Soobin gets, he smells plenty fertile—doctors don’t understand why such a fertile omega would be disappointed. The population is dying, shouldn’t he do his part? This is what his body is made for. It’s not an illness, it’s a blessing.

No medication helps, but there aren’t many options to begin with. Except for rarely recognized, extreme instances of medical necessity, heat suppressants are an extinct invention. There are ways to acquire it—all illegal—and Yeonjun has searched far and wide. The few expired medications he’s found have done little good.

It’s not fair that their heats are something to dread rather than look forward to—just about every other omega with a partner enjoys their heats. A chance to conceive, or a time meant for bonding with their mates. A healthy omega has healthy heats, so it’s really not uncommon for omegas in their tiny town to miss heats, or have shortened heats. That makes them all the more meaningful when they do happen.

No matter how hard Yeonjun tries—no matter how many pieces of himself he’s given up, no matter how many risks he’s taken, no matter how hard he prays, he can’t change the hand they’ve been dealt.

“I’m not going to leave your side for a second,” Yeonjun promises. “Not when you need me.”

“I don’t want that, either,” Soobin says. “I’m worried about the harvest. They need you.”

Yeonjun shakes his head. “You’re my priority. If something happens and I’m not there—”

“I need you to be there in my place. Otherwise, we’ll lose everything,” Soobin insists. “We can’t lose our home because of my heats.”

“But it’s dangerous if you—”

“I’ll be fine. Okay?” Soobin’s expression is gentle but stern. Yeonjun hesitates. “You’ve done everything you can. This is how it is for me. We’ll just see how it goes.”

Yeonjun itches to say, “It doesn’t have to be like this. I’m going to figure it out.” But he doesn’t. He can’t say it when Soobin is looking at him like this. Soobin already knows how he feels, and he must be tired of listening to Yeonjun make promises he can’t keep.

It hurts him, though. It makes something deep inside of him ache, something so powerful it haunts him day and night. He’s never been so powerless. And yet, Soobin tells the truth. Yeonjun has already risked life and limb for a cure that likely doesn’t exist. There’s no point in grieving Soobin’s health more than they already have. All they can do is live.

Yeonjun swallows hard. “I’m not comfortable leaving you. Not if it gets any worse.”

“It might not,” Soobin reasons. His summer heat wasn’t nearly as bad as his winter heat, though both of them know better than to hope that change is permanent. “This isn’t just about me. It’s about our family. Our future.”

If the harvest is unsuccessful—if they can’t profit off of it, if the plants don’t produce enough—they might not have another year on their little farm. They might have to cut down more than they already have, or start from scratch. More loss would be devastating.

Anything can go wrong in a second—a disease could wipe out all of their plants, like it did Taehyun’s parents’ crops after their pups were born, or they could all fall victim to a virus and need an additional week off, like the time a few summers ago. At least they can prepare for Soobin’s heats.

“I would never do anything that could jeopardize us,” Yeonjun says weakly.

“I want you to help them until you go into heat, at least,” Soobin says, his eyes falling shut. “I know you can’t make up for my absence, but it’s better than both of us being gone.”

“I’m going to check on you all the time,” Yeonjun says. “The pack won’t want you to be alone for too long, either.”

Soobin nods. It’s an acceptable compromise. “I only want you to stay if your heat makes you sick, too. Then you have to take care of yourself.”

It’s not fair that Soobin is worried about Yeonjun’s heats, which are completely stress-free and almost painless. They’re only hard on the days Soobin is also in heat, where Yeonjun’s body overworks itself to give him the strength to keep up with Soobin. Watching Soobin is far worse than his body betraying him.

He’ll do what he can. Returning to Soobin every few hours has worked in the past, but there have also been days when Yeonjun has come home to find Soobin in a complete state of distress, consumed by agony and terror and barely able to register Yeonjun’s presence. If he’s going to spend time away, he has to make sure that his moments with Soobin count.

There are only a few things he can do, though. Scenting and nesting are a necessity, sex is typically effective. At least, Yeonjun hopes that sex with an omega is truly helpful, and not a coincidental placebo like he’s been taught.

Actually, according to his schooling, sex between two omegas isn’t sex at all. It’s something they’d had to explore all on their own, something Yeonjun had been both thrilled for and terribly anxious about since he’d discovered his… proclivities.

“It’s funny,” Yeonjun says, rolling onto his back. Their ceiling is pitch-black in the darkness, like a starless sky. Yeonjun hates the dark.

“What?”

“Earlier today I had to beg you to take a break with me,” Yeonjun says. “And now you’re warning me to take care of myself if I need to.”

“I know my limits. I can never cross them.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to….”

“And I knew this was coming. I want to work for as long as I can so that the others don’t suffer because of me,” Soobin says.

“All the more reason to rest,” Yeonjun points out. The rest of their pack doesn't think of it as suffering. Taehyun and Soobin were each other’s first friends—both of them knew exactly what they were getting into when they agreed to form the pack.

Soobin sighs. “Sometimes I think we make each other worse.”

“Don’t say that. Think of it like this—we’re like one whole, reasonable person when we’re together.”

Soobin gives a short, derisive laugh. Neither of them have ever cared much about reason.

“Soobin, I love you,” Yeonjun says. He pulls Soobin’s hands close to his face, to his nose, ignoring the tang of illness in favor of familiar sweetness. “I’ve always loved you.”

“Not right away,” Soobin says. “We fought so much.”

“Let me be romantic, okay?” Yeonjun asks, and Soobin quiets. “I think a part of me always knew, even though you hated me then.”

“It’s not that I hated you,” Soobin says. “You confused me. Still confuse me, a little bit—”

“But you love me, too.”

“Yes. I love you a lot, hyung.”

“And you know I’ll do what you ask of me. Even though I’m worried.”

Soobin doesn’t respond. Yeonjun can sense his unease, like smoke in the air, a bitterness in his scent.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Soobin whispers back, eventually. “I don’t want to hurt.”

It doesn’t matter that Yeonjun hasn’t been the one to cause him to suffer, it’s still excruciating to watch. “Rest now, dove,” Yeonjun murmurs, and Soobin nestles against his side, immediately relaxing. We’ll keep each other safe. A promise that goes unsaid, one they’ve made to each other dozens of times.

It isn’t long before Soobin’s breathing turns deeper, the wild flutter of his heartbeat slowing. Yeonjun stares into the inky darkness of their bedroom until his eyes begin to ache, sleep as distant a memory as his life before Soobin.

TAEHYUN

Taehyun clings to the nearest grab rail for dear life, his heart pounding so hard the blood rushing in his ears nearly drowns out the train’s ominous screeching, the rattling that has nearly launched him from his seat three times since departure. One more stop, and he’s one of three passengers on the train. The others are alphas, related, judging by their scents—and equally as queasy as him.

The train is never comfortable, but Taehyun is usually able to relax during his commute. He’ll organize paperwork or review lab results or scan through catalogs for next year’s seeds. If there isn’t work to do, he’ll write to his mates. He becomes anxious when he’s not occupied, so taking advantage of the downtime has become an integral part of his routine.

Today, though, he’d been beyond anxious even before stepping onto the train. Namjoon had apologized profusely, but they’d had an incident in the lab that required hours of cleanup and redoing a week’s worth of work. With their deadlines, late days ahead are simply unavoidable—the only reason Taehyun won’t be repeating this day tomorrow is that Namjoon has a son of his own and seems to pity the family that Taehyun leaves behind.

He's never returned this late before, and he knows that Beomgyu and Kai are going to be upset. Taehyun hasn’t been able to stop rubbing at his mating bite, the mark that clued Namjoon into his situation in the first place.

It’s extremely inconvenient that they don’t have a secure way to communicate with one another while Taehyun works his new job—not just inconvenient, dangerous. But there’s nothing Taehyun can do other than stay alert. And carry a very large knife, though he doesn’t know much about fighting.

With another ear-splitting screech, the train slows to a stop. Taehyun stumbles as he stands, and one of the other alphas shoots him a concerned look. Clutching his bag to his chest, Taehyun races out of the train as soon as the door opens, nearly sprinting across the platform to the adjacent street.

On most days, at a brisk walk, the walk home takes twenty-five minutes. Taehyun knows he can shave it down to twenty, maybe even fifteen if he sprints the whole way. The route isn’t particularly treacherous, but once the dim light from the train station has faded, there aren’t any streetlamps to guide him. Taehyun has had a few alarming encounters with local wildlife in the last few months.

And more than just wildlife. Decades ago, alphas may have been feared for their supposed superior physical prowess, but none of that matters now. Taehyun is alone. Small. Easy pickings. He’s far from nobility, but he looks out of place in the too-proper clothing he dresses in for work, the most he’s owned aside from what he was married in. This job may be the thing that keeps his family afloat, but it makes him a target on nights like this, when everyone is on edge, hungry and desperate ahead of the coming winter.

Taehyun’s shirt is damp with sweat by the time he reaches his street, the product of both stress and exertion. His chest heaves as he attempts to catch his breath. He digs through his bag for his keys as he approaches the front door, and jams them in the lock before remembering that everyone else is likely asleep.

The thought sends a fresh wave of pain through him. He hates the nights when he isn’t home in time to wish his mates or pup good night. At least he’s home now—finally, finally home.

There’s a light on in the kitchen, casting the room in a warm glow. Taehyun removes his shoes and sets his bag on the table, safely out of reach of his pup’s prying hands. Aside from Taehyun’s footsteps, the house is completely silent, the rustling of trees in the wind outside nearly deafening in comparison.

The door to his bedroom is ajar. He nudges it open a bit further to find both of his mates asleep, Beomgyu tucked up against Kai’s chest. Daeseong is asleep, too, thankfully—he’s been keeping all of them up lately, more than he did when he was a newborn.

The sight of them sends such a rush of fondness through Taehyun that it’s a wonder he stays standing. He’s lucky to have them, people he can provide for, people who love him. It makes days like today far easier to stomach.

He wants nothing more than to join them, but he can’t go to sleep now. There are lab results to review in preparation for his next day at work, and if he hasn’t finished going through them before his next work day, he doubts Namjoon will be as sympathetic. If Taehyun wants to make a difference in the world, he has to accept that his goal requires sacrificing a bit of himself.

He slips out of the bedroom without waking his mates, instead returning to the kitchen. He pulls his folders out of his bag, each stuffed with papers that he’s too nervous to remove in case they’re the missing piece to all the puzzles he’s trying to solve with Namjoon. He arranges them on the table, flipping to their most recent data set. He finds a pencil rolling around one of their drawers, along with a set of fountain pens that Yeonjun will kill him for touching.

Working with the county government on its strange hybrid plant projects was exciting for the first three months. They’re mostly medicinal, but Taehyun’s rank isn’t nearly high enough for him to get to know all of the details. After six months, he thinks he’s starting to grow premature gray hairs. His first failures had multiplied rapidly, and he’s sure he would have been fired had his supervisors not struggled equally.

Truthfully, Taehyun is convinced that none of their assigned projects will come to fruition, but it’s good pay and a job he’s uniquely qualified for. No amount of determination will make the work more tolerable, though. He doesn’t even have that much to do, but it’s tedious, and he can’t afford to make mistakes.

Minutes drag on as Taehyun flips through the pages, a headache already building. He removes his glasses and rubs at his eyes. The text is so tiny, crammed together in blocky paragraphs, and he has to read each sentence three times to comprehend them.

I’m definitely going to miss something. Taehyun sighs, resigned, and starts at the beginning of the paragraph. At least the data tables are easy to comprehend. He’d arranged most of them himself.

In the distance, a door creaks. Taehyun goes rigid, even though he knows who it’s going to be. Yeonjun steps into the kitchen, his concerned face illuminated by the lamp. “I thought I heard you. Where have you been? Are you okay?”

“I’m so sorry,” Taehyun says. He sets down his papers and gestures for Yeonjun to sit. “I’m okay. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You never come home this late,” Yeonjun says, his tone nearly accusatory but lacking in bite. He sits across from Taehyun and holds out a hand.

Taehyun takes it. Yeonjun’s hand is smaller than his as he curls his fingers around it. Smaller, but no less worn and calloused than Taehyun’s. His rough edges are probably an undesirable trait for an omega, but Taehyun finds that kind of thing sexy in Beomgyu and Kai.

“There are problems at work,” he says. “We keep having delays. We can’t get anything to grow. My supervisor wants to give me more responsibility, but neither of us know what to try next.”

“More responsibility is good, isn’t it?” Yeonjun asks. “They must like you.”

Namjoon likes Taehyun, but Taehyun is convinced that it more has to do with the fact that he was a student under Namjoon in university, not that his performance at work is remarkable. His university connections are why he’d found the job in the first place.

“If I get a promotion,” Taehyun says. “They’d pay me more.”

“You don’t have to pretend it’s all about the money,” Yeonjun says. “You have dreams.”

“I’m not going to pretend they’re achievable.”

Yeonjun shrugs. He lets go of Taehyun’s hand, leaning back in his seat. “What are you working on now?”

“I have to review this before I go back,” Taehyun says. “Look for mistakes. Maybe do some calculations. A lot of our data got deleted today.”

“Is it something you can do in the morning?”

“Maybe. I don’t—”

“You should go to Beomgyu and Kai,” Yeonjun says. “They were really worried about you. We all were, but… they thought something happened to you. I could tell.”

He looks so tired. Taehyun wonders when he last slept. Seeing Yeonjun in distress hurts almost as much as seeing his mates suffer—they belong to each other in a different way, and Taehyun would be denying his most basic instincts if he were to ignore Yeonjun’s pain.

Knowing that he’s been the one to cause this pain is pure agony. A part of him aches to crumble, to beg for forgiveness, even though it’s not his fault.

“Or if you don’t go to them now, you should at least have dinner. Kai made it. He was excited for you to see,” Yeonjun continues.

Taehyun hadn’t even noticed the pain in his stomach on the train, too preoccupied with trying to make it home in the first place. Now, he’s sick with it, sicker still at the thought of Kai’s disappointment.

“I don’t want this to hurt them,” he says. “I’ve hurt them enough.”

Yeonjun’s brow furrows. “Eventually you have to stop blaming yourself for needing to knot your omega and start blaming the condom that broke.”

Taehyun brushes his thumb over the thin silver band on his ring finger. “You get along just fine without a knot.”

“Do you wish you didn’t have Dae, then? Even knowing how much Beomgyu loves him?”

Taehyun bites back a ferocious growl. He can’t be growling at his packmates.

“It’s simple, then,” Yeonjun says.

“It’s not really about that,” Taehyun says.

Yeonjun pauses. “I know.”

Yeonjun has always been beautiful, but the last few months have visibly worn him down. His face is thin, the lines of his jaw too sharp, the roundness missing from his cheeks. His scent, earthly and clean, has lost some of its sweetness. But the biggest change is in his eyes, sharp and foxlike, his stare far more guarded and cold than it ever was in childhood.

Change is natural. Change is expected. But in the seven years Taehyun has known Yeonjun, he’s never worried like this.

“Tell me what’s wrong. I can tell something happened,” Taehyun says.

Yeonjun pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. It’s already been bitten raw.

“Soobin’s pre-heat started tonight. He’s nervous about what’ll happen if you lose another set of hands, so he doesn’t want me to stay with him,” he says. “I’m worried about him. I don’t think he should be left alone during his heats anymore.”

He puts his head in his hands, tugging at his hair. “But he’s right. We can’t fall behind. You’re going to have your cycles right after, and it’ll just be me and Soobin. Can we afford to hire more people on such short notice?”

Soobin’s heat isn’t a surprise, but Taehyun’s heart sinks. “We can afford it. That’s what my job is for, right? As long as we spend the next week preparing, it won’t be a problem.”

There have been bumps in the road, but they’ve managed the past three years. Taehyun is confident that this year will be the same—if they could handle last fall, when Daeseong was born, this one will be easy.

Yeonjun lets out a breath. His shoulders tremble.

“After tomorrow, you and Soobin can manage the fields with Kai,” Taehyun continues. “Beomgyu can do the greenhouses himself. When I’m here, I’ll take care of sales and join you when I can.”

“What about Daeseong?”

“He’ll stay with me, or you can take turns with Soobin and Kai,” Taehyun says. There’s no way Beomgyu can look after his pup and the greenhouses singlehandedly. “Then, once Soobin’s heat starts, you can stay in the store. That way you can be close to him, and take breaks when he needs you. If it’s really busy, you can get one of us.”

“...Okay. Okay. We can try that,” Yeonjun says. He lifts his head. “...Fuck. I wish I could… I need to help him.”

He sounds like he’s saying it more to himself than to Taehyun, but Taehyun feels the same urgency. Soobin is his oldest friend, from long before they presented. It would be a huge scandal if an omega were caught talking about their heats with an alpha other than their mate, but Taehyun can distinctly remember when Soobin had started returning from his “colds” looking like he’d fought in a battle. It’s never been easy to watch.

“Taehyun-ah?”

Taehyun jumps up from his seat. He hadn’t noticed Beomgyu come into the kitchen, but he’s here now, Daeseong clutched to his chest. Taehyun hurries to cross the room and brings them both into his arms, tucking his nose against Beomgyu’s neck.

“Where have you been?” Beomgyu asks. He holds onto Taehyun with his free arm, so tight it hurts. “When I caught your scent, I thought I was dreaming.”

“Work was hard today. Disaster after disaster. They wouldn’t let me go,” Taehyun says. Under the overwhelming relief in Beomgyu’s floral scent, he can detect the slightest hint of fear. “I’m so sorry, hyung. I’m going to try not to let it happen again.”

“You’re safe now,” Beomgyu says, like he almost doesn’t believe it. He pulls Taehyun’s head up and tilts his head to kiss him. Taehyun melts into it, instantly soothed.

“You should be asleep,” Taehyun says when they part, tipping his forehead against Beomgyu’s. Beomgyu’s eyes close, his long, pretty eyelashes fanning against his cheeks.

His hand skitters across Taehyun’s shoulder as he speaks. “I have, a little bit. But Daeseong keeps waking up. He’s been sniffling a bit today.”

“Any coughing?”

“Only a little. But I think he’s uncomfortable.”

Taehyun frowns, letting go of Beomgyu to pull his pup into his arms. Daeseong is sleepy, but mumbles something as Taehyun holds him.

Is it normal for babies to get sick as often as Daeseong does? All babies get sick, but Daeseong seems to be sick more than he is well, and it’s exhausting. Over the past few months, Taehyun has nearly run himself into the ground trying to care for him. Most of his issues are minor, and Taehyun feels a little more secure now that Beomgyu has begun studying medicine, but his instincts tell him something isn’t right.

It’s just about the most painful thing in the world to admit that something might be wrong with his baby, that he hasn’t done a good enough job of caring for him. Even if nothing is truly wrong, he can’t help but wonder whether he’s missed something. If he could be doing better.

“We’ll keep an eye on it,” Taehyun says. “I’m sure it’ll clear up in a day or two.”

A sick baby, another excruciating heat for Soobin, and an endless list of problems at work. What else could go wrong?

“Yes. Probably,” Beomgyu says, frowning as he strokes the top of Daeseong’s head.

“Go back to bed. I’ll get him to sleep,” Taehyun says. It’s not fair that Beomgyu and Kai have had to handle their pup without him, but they have yet to perfect their system. Daeseong certainly wasn’t planned, and their lives have flipped upside-down since.

No matter how dearly Taehyun loves his pup, no matter how much he would give up for him, he’s certain that he’ll never have another. Not unless there’s another accident. How could he bring another pup into this world, a world that will never be friendly to them, when he hasn’t even figured out how to be a good parent to his first?

“No, I’ll do it,” Yeonjun says. His chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. “You should both go to bed.” He gives Taehyun a stern look. “Let Kai know you’re here. I’ll bring Daeseong when he’s asleep.”

“Are you sure?” Beomgyu asks.

“I’m not tired. Let me see him,” Yeonjun says.

Taehyun spent all day missing Daeseong, but he knows that he’ll be safe with Yeonjun. He lets Yeonjun lift Daeseong into his own arms, holding him carefully.

“Ap-pa?” Daeseong mumbles.

“Keun appa,” Yeonjun corrects gently. Truthfully, Taehyun doesn’t mind what Daeseong calls Yeonjun and Soobin—they’ve done plenty of work raising him—but appa is really the only word Daeseong knows. Taehyun’s been trying to teach him puppy, for all the dogs they encounter when Taehyun brings him on walks, but he’s not sure it’s sticking.

Beomgyu weaves the tips of his fingers between Taehyun’s. Taehyun doesn’t have to look at his face to understand his question.

“Good night,” Yeonjun says. He holds out one of his fingers for Daeseong to cling to. “We can talk more tomorrow.”

“Good night,” Taehyun says. He continues holding Beomgyu’s hand as he leads him to their bedroom.

Kai is still asleep, but he looks lonely by himself. Beomgyu urges Taehyun to lie between the two of them, latching onto Taehyun’s side as soon as he's laid down. Taehyun holds Kai’s face in one hand, tracing his cheekbone with his thumb, and rubs their noses together until Kai begins to stir.

“Hi,” Taehyun whispers. “I’m home.”