Chapter Text
A winter night in Seoul had a habit of driving the chill right down to the bone, no matter how expensive the coat was. For Christopher Bang — better known in the music world as Bang Chan, the leader of one of today’s most successful pop groups — that chill tonight was accompanied by an unusual, heavy pressure in his chest. His alpha drive, normally perfectly controlled and disciplined by years of public life, was inexplicably tense.
The day had been chaotic as usual. As leader and main producer, Chan had spent more than twelve hours in the studio, balancing the demands of management with the creative visions of his team. They had tackled a difficult arrangement, finished the vocals for the upcoming album, and the rest of the pack had been sent home early. Minho, with the authority of the second-oldest alpha, simply picked up Hyunjin, Seungmin, and Jeongin on the pretext that the younger omega was in dire need of a break.
So in the end, it was just them — the original trio, 3Racha. Chan, Changbin, and Jisung.
“Hyung, if we don’t get out of this building in the next five minutes, I’m going to turn into a statue in front of this microphone,” Jisung grumbled, tucking his head deep into the collar of his oversized designer jacket. As an omega, he was more sensitive to the drop in temperature, and a long day in the studio had drained him of all his energy.
Changbin, the solid and stable beta who always served as a pillar of sanity in the studio, patted Jisung on the shoulder as he packed his laptop. “Come on, lazybones. A walk to the car will freshen you up. Chan-hyung, shall we go? The driver is waiting for us a few blocks away because of the traffic at the main gate.”
“Let’s go,” Chan replied, tearing his tired eyes from the screen. He stretched his shoulders, feeling his muscles crack with tension.
They stepped out through a side exit, where the wind immediately began to sweep through the dark, back alleys of Gangnam. The lights of the metropolis glittered in the distance, but here, among the concrete walls and containers behind the elite buildings, there was silence, broken only by the whistling of the wind. The snow slowly began to fall, sticking to the asphalt.
Chan walked forward, instinctively keeping Changbin and Jisung behind him. Even though they were in a safe part of town, the role of pack leader was never ruled out. They were talking in hushed voices about the changes in choreography that awaited them in the morning, when suddenly, around the corner of the dimly lit alley, a quick, unsteady step was heard.
Everything happened in a second.
Opportunity emerged from the darkness, moving too quickly and clumsily, as if the ground beneath her feet were unstable. Chan didn't have time to move before the person collided with full force directly into his chest.
"Ah!" came a low, muffled moan.
Opportunity bounced off Chan's solid, alpha-like body and fell backwards onto the cold, frozen concrete. Chan automatically stepped forward, arms outstretched, driven by pure reflex to help.
"Hey, are you okay? Sorry, we didn't see you—" Chan began, but the words died in his throat as his alpha sense registered the air around them.
The smell. It was the smell of an omega, but so faint, so muffled and filled with pure, distilled fear that Chana's chest literally hurt. He smelled like frozen jasmine and something sweet, but that sweetness was covered with a bitter note of lingering desperation and hunger.
Chan looked down and felt his heart sink at the sight before him.
A boy was sitting on the ground. He looked like he was barely twenty years old, but his body was so small and thin that he seemed even younger, like a child lost in a harsh world. He wasn't wearing a winter jacket. In the December frost and the snow that was starting to pile up, he was wearing only one thin cotton T-shirt, torn at the edges and visibly dirty. His pants were too big, tied with some old rope around his waist, and he had on old canvas sneakers that the snow had probably already penetrated.
His skin was as pale as a spilt milk, and his shoulders were shaking in violent, uncontrollable gusts of cold.
"I-I'm sorry... I... I didn't mean to..." the boy from the floor spoke.
His voice was so weak, hoarse, and broken that it barely reached them through the howling wind. It sounded as if his throat was dry, as if he hadn't used his vocal cords properly for days, maybe weeks. It was the whisper of a broken bird.
“Oh my God,” Jisung whispered behind Chan’s back, his own Omega instincts reacting immediately at the sight of a member of his dynamic in such danger. Jisung took a step forward, searching his pockets for a scarf or anything he could give him. “Hey, buddy, you’re freezing, take—”
But the boy on the ground saw only three large, richly dressed figures looming over him. When he looked up and saw Chan—whose eyes had unconsciously sparkled in the darkness with an alpha-like gold glow from shock—the boy’s eyes were filled with panicked, primal terror.
“I-I’m sorry… please…” the boy breathed, barely audibly.
Before either of them could react, the boy was up off the concrete with a speed fueled by the pure adrenaline of survival. He stumbled, almost fell again, then turned and ran down the dark street, disappearing around the corner faster than anyone would have thought a hungry body could move.
“Hey! Wait! No one’s going to hurt you!” Changbin shouted, taking a few steps after him, but the maze of the street and the darkness had already swallowed up the tiny opportunity.
“Stop…” Chan said quietly, raising a hand to stop Changbin.
Chan stood still, staring at the empty spot where the boy had fallen. The faint, broken scent of frozen jasmine still lingered in the air. Chan’s alpha inside him was scratching at the walls of his consciousness, howling at him for allowing such a vulnerable, unprotected omega to escape into the night. His inner voice told him that this boy was homeless, that he had been wandering these streets for years, surviving on the margins of society, alone and abandoned by everyone.
“Chan-hyung? Are you okay?” Jisung asked, quietly, anxiously. “That… that was an omega. How could someone leave an omega on the street in this weather? Without a jacket…”
“I don’t know,” Chan replied, his voice unusually deep and serious. “Let’s go home.”
The drive back to their huge, luxurious house in an elite suburb of Seoul was unusually quiet. The house was a true sanctuary for their pack—spacious, with top-notch security, underfloor heating, and every possible comfort that money could buy. When they entered, the warm smell of home greeted them.
Minho sat in the living room, sipping tea, while Hyunjin lay on the sofa with a mask on his face. Seungmin was in the kitchen talking quietly to Jeongin. Everything looked perfect, warm, and safe. Just the way a successful pack’s nest should look.
But Chan couldn’t calm down. He followed the procedure, talked to the others, made sure everyone was okay, and then retreated to his room.
It was already late at night. The clock on the wall showed three in the morning, and outside the snow was now seriously blowing, covering the city with a white blanket. Chan lay in his spacious bed, wrapped in a warm blanket, but sleep wouldn’t come. Whenever he closed his eyes, he would see those big, scared eyes of the boy from the alley. He would see his torn short sleeves in the snow. He would see how thin and fragile he had been under his arms in that brief second of the collision.
How had he managed to survive? How long had he been there? — those questions rang in his head like a broken record.
The next morning, things were no better.
The pack was gathered in their private rehearsal room in the company building. Music blared from the speakers, and Minho was going through the steps of the new choreography, correcting Hyunjin and Jeongin. Chan stood to the side, supposedly keeping up with the beat, but his thoughts were miles away.
“Chan-hyung, you’re two bars late for the entrance,” Minho observed, pausing the music. His sharp, alpha-forming eyes immediately scanned the leader. “What’s wrong with you today? You’re not focused.”
Changbin and Jisung exchanged meaningful glances, but wisely kept quiet, knowing that Chan had to decide what to say for himself.
Chan sighed, rubbed his temples, and pushed his hair back from his forehead. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night. Go on, it’s okay, I’ll get into the groove.”
Seungmin, who was sitting on the floor drinking water, raised his eyebrows. “Leader, you never miss the entrance because of mere fatigue. If something is bothering you, tell us.”
“It’s really okay, Seungmin,” Chan repeated, trying to make his voice sound convincing and authoritative, but an inner restlessness was eating away at him.
He had spent the entire day in a semi-conscious state. Every time he looked out the window and saw the snow falling steadily, he felt a sharp pang of remorse. He thought about the boy’s stance—that hunched, defensive posture that testified to years of abuse or utter neglect on the street. He thought about how the boy, despite his obvious hunger and weakness, had mustered the strength just to run away from them, as if he were used to people being a danger, not a salvation.
As the hours passed, Chan's fleeting pity gave way to a firm, unwavering fixation. His alpha wouldn't give up. This boy was alone, and he belonged to a dynamic that was designed to be protected and loved.
I have to find him, Chan thought as the workday finally drew to a close. I have to.
He knew it wouldn't be easy. Seoul was a huge city with millions of inhabitants and thousands of hidden corners. If the boy was truly homeless, he probably hung out in places where such people took shelter from the cold.
The next day, as soon as he had a few free hours between meetings, Chan didn't return home. He put on a long, inconspicuous black coat, a cap, and a black mask over his face so passersby wouldn't recognize him, and set off on foot through parts of the city that successful K-pop idols rarely visit.
He began visiting the places where the homeless congregate — the underpasses near major subway stations, the old neighborhoods where soup kitchens were located, and the dark bridges under which some sought shelter from the wind. He walked for hours, searching every face, every small opportunity wrapped in old blankets.
He passed by elderly people, by the sick and forgotten, and his heart broke because of the general injustice of the world, but the boy with the smell of frozen jasmine was nowhere to be found. No one he met had that specific, broken aura and those frightened eyes.
After several hours of searching in vain, as darkness began to fall again and the cold became unbearable even through his expensive coat, Chan had to give up and head back.
He got into his car parked a few streets away, leaned his head on the steering wheel and sighed deeply. He felt a huge wave of sadness and frustration.
Why didn’t I stop him that night? — he kept repeating to himself. I could have been faster. I could have used a calming alpha voice, I could have offered him a jacket before he got scared. He’s out there somewhere now, hungry and cold, and I have no idea where.
But as he started the engine and headed for the house where his safe, warm pack awaited him, Bang Chan knew one thing. He wasn’t an alpha who gave up easily. That brief encounter in the dark alley had left too deep a mark on his soul to simply turn around and forget.
He would be back tomorrow. And the day after. He would search every neighborhood, every soup kitchen, and every deserted corner of this city if necessary. He would find that little omega, no matter how long it took.