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the city is drunk. the city is singing badly in the shower. i killed a plant once because i gave it too much water. lord, i worry that love is violence.
Once the day is over, Jooyeon comes to find him.
His breathing is shallow, timid, soft across Gunil's neck when he buries himself in; it was never like this between them, really — Jooyeon’s affection has always been awkward, undisplayed, felt despite the lack of touch, but something’s been weird lately. He’s clingier. He won’t stop asking for things he used to hate, like Gunil speaking after a period of silence, or somebody else’s scent on him. He says it makes him feel better now.
I’m all fucked up, he confesses. There’s fear in him, like there’s fear in everything they do now; Gunil thinks that’s the base chemical reaction coming for him in the end, fear of turning, of becoming, of changing, and Jooyeon might hate it but he will also love it, because he has to, and even in the middle of noticing it he cannot bring himself to fight against it.
If Jooyeon’s fucked up, then Gunil even more so. If Jooyeon’s fucked up, Gunil can’t even begin to think about what that means for himself.
It never takes long to get Jooyeon in the mood. All he ever really needs is Gunil getting too close, staring at him for too long, looking at him just on the side of weird, and Jooyeon starts shifting, avoiding him, flushing pink by his ears. All it ever takes is the feel of Gunil’s palm on his waist, the drag of a nail against his neck. The soft heat of Gunil’s mouth against his skin, anywhere, and Jooyeon’s already melting into him.
He says hyung; single word, just sighed, when he really means more, or I like this, and, I like you. Gunil can read into him better than ever. It’s the consequence of what he’s been doing; Jooyeon’s body gets used to things faster than he can comprehend them, he blinks when he’s confused but Gunil gets it before he does. He’s done his research. He understands side-effects or results or even causes. He has the symptoms between his teeth. Delivers it all straight to Jooyeon’s skin, dosage, give-to-take to making Jooyeon cry about it, shaking, his bottom lip quivering. He blinks tears out of his eyes. Gunil wants to ask him why he gets so sentimental all the time — but maybe he’s just like that.
The bed frame has been changed out. Gunil’s made space for Jooyeon here. He bites Jooyeon’s neck closer to the place where a claim could be and tells Jooyeon he feels good, he always does; Jooyeon likes to hear things like that, you’re so warm, Gunil says, he’s creeping himself out too but Jooyeon shudders, flushes down to his chest, he preens, his scent flares. He’s pretty. He’s quiet when Gunil treats him softer than usual.
He’s never gotten used to Gunil’s knot. He’s not used to anything, yet, but Gunil’s waiting for the moment it clicks. Jooyeon still breathes shallow, takes a stretch he’s not ready for. He grips Gunil’s shoulders with his nails grown too long, leaving crescents. His face is red. His mouth won’t settle, keeps moving, keeps stealing all of Gunil’s attention. He’s so tight it would hurt to move, so Gunil makes him ask for it; when he’s ready, when he thinks he is, his eyes screwed shut and his chest rising, falling, bony all the way through.
The sound he makes is one of acquiescence; he says, I like it, shaped weird, but his scent is happy, sated, floating above the twinge of discomfort that always surrounds Jooyeon and intimacy. He’d been a virgin. Gunil was his first; he’d taken Jooyeon out to dinner, before they were anything. He’d asked Jooyeon if he’d ever dated anyone before. Jooyeon had said yes. He’d been lying. He wasn't any good at it.
Gunil fucks him slow. Measured. It’s the only way Jooyeon doesn't run away from it, or seems to really squirm at. He likes being treated soft, he likes being told off so he can seek comfort in the hurt; he’s got this shine about him that Gunil’s rubbed at furiously but it never comes off despite any force; his eyes stare up at Gunil wide and bright, he won't stop moaning, it’s pathetic and Gunil’s never wanted him more than he does when Jooyeon’s hips squirm against him. He says, hyung, vocalized in deeper tones, his throat bobbing. He blinks fast. His whines escalate. Hyung, I want- can you- like it hurts, but Gunil just holds him steady. Listens with half-focus, body still moving.
Jooyeon’s mouth parts around the words. Hyung, your knot, spilling out a little, drooled out, knot me, hyung, please, hyungplease, Gunil hyung- tighter still, he’s hard and he won't touch himself because he has a thing about only cumming on Gunil’s knot, once Gunil’s plugged him full; maybe there’s a part of him that wanted it all along, to be different, maybe he’d thought about it before it happened and felt the dread of presenting.
Gunil asks if he wants it. Makes him beg for it, until Jooyeon’s words are full of nonsense, blabbering because Gunil’s told him to but clearly his brain is empty. His grip goes white-knuckled on Gunil’s shoulder when Gunil does finally knot him, his mouth drops open, he’s shuddering but it’s a full-body thing, felt completely. He won’t touch himself. He doesn't. Gunil likes it better when he doesn't; he says, Jooyeon-ah, do you want hyung to keep you like a pet? Because he can see it in Jooyeon’s face — the response, the lack of, the blank slate of his mind turning out.
His fingers press down on Jooyeon’s waist. His hips. Then towards his stomach; Jooyeon twitches, and then cums all over himself, helpless to it. His breathing cuts off. Gunil stares at his face, committing it to memory.
Some nights are worse than others. He’s not sure what category this one falls into.
Jooyeon’s scent has changed. He probably hasn’t even realized. The undertones are different; there’s seeping of obedience, there’s a little bit of hate, Jooyeon might be scared of this but Gunil’s told him he’ll get used to it; he says, I feel weird, tucked against Gunil’s side, his face buried beneath his hair. Gunil runs a palm down his back, the knobby bumping of his spine. The bruises on him. Accidental.
It’s normal, Gunil tells him. He’s lying. Jooyeon wouldn’t know the difference if Gunil ever admitted it. It’s your body changing.
He pretends that Jooyeon is a little bit stupid. It’s not really true. But Jooyeon’s in denial about it, refuses to ever argue about it. He goes along with whatever Gunil tells him to. It’s worse that he never talks back. It’s like he’s not even there anymore. He’s what Gunil has told him to be. Isn’t that what Gunil wanted anyway? What he’d always thought about when he inevitably started planning for the future; he’d wanted Jooyeon to be coaxed into it, to want it as badly as Gunil does, and maybe he’s pretending but that’s the one thing Gunil can never be sure about.
Instead of asking, he tells Jooyeon to go to sleep. The bed is too-warm again. Jooyeon’s essence is now embedded into the pillows. Only Gunil’s is stronger than that. Overpowers it, sinks against it, and Jooyeon has rolled around next to him for days but once he gets up it is like he was never there; Gunil says, you’re just a little bit different, lying, reassuring, he’s breathing so hard he’s afraid he’ll get a heart attack from it. He rubs off against Jooyeon’s ass, jerks him off while he does it so that Jooyeon doesn’t feel neglected. He rubs his nose into the back of Jooyeon’s nape and nips at his skin but does not bite him.
He’s aware of what it looks like. He’s aware of what it is. He’s afraid that one day Jooyeon will look at it from outside this confinement and realize it too — though maybe he already has. It’s just a matter of time before there’s evidence. Jooyeon will wear it before he ever gets the chance to wash his hands of it. And if he ever asks, Gunil will find some way to rid himself of the blame, because being a good person is tangentially easy but he’s never wanted things easy. Not when it comes to Jooyeon. Not like this.
Jooyeon’s rut wasn’t supposed to happen — Gunil had this in mind; Jooyeon would present, it’d be in the middle of practice, Gunil would follow him home and stroke his face and then fuck him. Jooyeon would be an Omega. He’d be part of Gunil, in some way. He’d have a mark on his neck and he’d like it, he’d tell Gunil that he’d been waiting for this moment, he’d take Gunil’s knot with the ease that would be gifted to him by biology.
The first mistake was assuming the universe didn’t have something against Gunil already. He should have kept his head steady, on his shoulders, with his feet planted firmly on the ground, but he didn’t. He’d been laying in bed. Jungsu’s name popped up on his notification bar. There’d been a flurry of messages, worry, concern, exclamation points and misspelled words and the highlight of the moment; Jooyeon’s presenting; some more pointless talk, blurry photos, the lock on the door, what is he, what is it, like it’d be anything but— Omega, Gunil had thought, obviously, at the same time as Jiseok sent back, Alpha, spaced out, and after that Gunil had turned off his phone and stared at his ceiling for half an hour.
He’d gotten a call. From Jooyeon. He hadn’t answered the first ring, and on the second his fingers swiped faster than his brain could comprehend it, and he heard breathing, he heard a whine, he heard the slick noise of Jooyeon’s hand doing- something- he’d imagined it, eyes closed, and then hung up. Stared at his ceiling one more minute before he was out the door and inside Jooyeon’s dorm, pushing past Jiseok, not quite ignoring Jungsu. He’d felt some sort of pull he couldn’t explain. He’d felt some sort of anger; at himself, at the world, maybe a little bit at Jooyeon, but it could not be pinpointed.
He’d stood outside of Jooyeon’s door, breathing harder, and he could hear Jooyeon just inside- he’d heard- his name, slow, soft, rough against the scraping of Jooyeon’s throat ran completely raw, and he’d wanted to open the door but he’d stood there for what felt like an hour, unable to move a single inch. Inside the room was Jooyeon but even more than that; sometimes Gunil’s mind rolled all the way around, sometimes he’d thought about this and it went a certain way, he’d get Jooyeon pregnant, he’d mate him, whatever, it runs- away from him, and he couldn’t swallow down the thought of Jooyeon being an Alpha, he refused to, it wasn’t real if he didn’t think of it as something out of his control.
Jooyeon had said his name, again, this time directed at the door, this time closer, and Gunil’s hand inched up, towards the knob. He’d smelled Jooyeon, repugnantly, stronger than his own scent, and he’d felt revulsion, he’d wanted it so bad, he’d salivated and he’d hated himself for it and then he went in and he’d. Done something. Sometimes the memory also changes, or shifts; sometimes Gunil holds Jooyeon down, hears him struggle a little bit, cry about it. Sometimes Jooyeon does all the work, offers himself ripe for it, smells like an Alpha but doesn’t act like one; all Gunil knows is that he knots Jooyeon there, in that stupid room and that stupid moment and during that stupid presentation, and there’s something vicious in his heart when he does it, something that makes him want to hurt Jooyeon, or stroke his hair, or kiss him senseless.
Jooyeon smells like him afterward. Not even himself — not by his hair or his neck or the bite Gunil leaves on his shoulder, because he can’t mate Jooyeon, because that’s not allowed, not like this, not between them, and maybe there was a choice Gunil made that led to this. Maybe in some part of the timeline he disturbed fate and it turned against him and now he’s stuck reminiscing about what could have been, what is, what this will lead to when Jooyeon finally gets it, when it clicks for him.
It’s not like he ever asks anymore. He says, you want it, assuring himself more than convincing Jooyeon. There’s never a response. At first, Jooyeon would deny it. He’d say no, he’d say he didn’t want it, trapped in a breath, panicked against Gunil’s gaze pinning him down, and Gunil never pushed but he wonders how far Jooyeon’s resistance would have taken them both if he had. Now he’s quiet. Lets it happen. Pulls Gunil closer. Says, yeah, when Gunil asks if he likes it, not if he wants it, because those are two completely different questions and Jooyeon’s only ever going to willingly answer one.
He likes it because Gunil’s not gentle. He likes it because Gunil does what he wants, shuts him up, Jooyeon’s mouthy when he thinks he’ll get away with it, quiet when he won’t. His eyes are shiny. Wide. Glazed over. He smells happy but that might be because Gunil’s feeding him a hormonal concoction of psychological coaxing, stupid shit that works in the name of science, the changes come quicker, they come obvious. Small things. Big impact. Crater of fucked up stumbling, Jooyeon’s first instinct turning away from him, his own body unconvinced of a status.
Gunil could find an Omega for himself. He could. But when he thinks about it, there’s no appeal for him, nothing to make him truly chase it. Maybe he just craves Jooyeon, or what accompanies him. Like a sweet melting on your tongue. The stupid notion that he can get what he wants if he only tries harder, if he sweet-talks Jooyeon enough. Even the best of men fall to temptation. And Gunil's not a very good man, in the end.
Because it’s always different when it’s them. Jooyeon’s thawing out of ice he started in — he’s softer by the hands Gunil uses to mold him, his voice is a shadow of what it should be, but Gunil tells him that it’s okay, that’s a good thing, it doesn't make you less. He crawls into Gunil’s bed with his tail metaphorically tucked between his legs. The hurt that lives inside of him is only soothed by Gunil’s voice against his neck, hushed and quiet. I can’t sleep, Jooyeon tells him. His tone rises. He’s panicked. What’s wrong with me. What did you do to me.
Nothing, Gunil thinks. Everything. He bites Jooyeon hard enough to draw blood. The moon is a faint light shining over a mark he refuses to try at until there’s proof of change; Jooyeon asks him why he won't do it. Hurt. Desperate. All Gunil does is pin him down. Convince him. One more time. Subconscious desire or trying to appeal at the base of his nature, rewiring blood, or instinct, or whatever it is that drives this; he keeps his palm on Jooyeon’s stomach hoping the heat will transfer in, he doesn’t know what it is that he’s doing but Jooyeon’s falling for it anyway.
What’s happening, Jooyeon asks him, soft, always too-soft, like he knows, like he won’t admit it to himself until Gunil speaks it into existence; maybe he’s not changing, maybe his body has stayed the same and will stay the same regardless of how hard Gunil tries, maybe it’s all in his fucking head and they’re crazy and Gunil’s smelling things that aren’t real. There has to be something wrong with both of them if Jooyeon isn’t breaking it off either. He’s running towards the blank void of Gunil’s will pulling him closer, he’s willingly throwing himself against it. He’s seeking out the hurt. He’s seeking out being wanted in any sort of way. He says he feels wrong but when Gunil fucks him he doesn’t say that it’s wrong, that Gunil shouldn’t. Gunil asks him if he likes it. Not if he wants it.
Jooyeon’s fingers run across his back. His eyes are closed. He says, I like it. He does not say he wants it.
There’s a handprint the size of hate on Jooyeon’s waist. But Gunil doesn’t hate him. Even despite all of Jooyeon’s faults. When he was nineteen and he didn't present. Gunil wanted him then. When they cut off all his hair and Jooyeon kept it sealed on his bedside — Gunil wanted him then. When Jooyeon asked Gunil if he’d ever had sex, what a knot felt like, what it meant to mate someone, his eyes blinking too wide, his voice too steady, only really curious but not any sort of devious. Gunil wanted him then.
The handprint is wide. Bruised. It’s easier to pretend like he’s concerned about it when Jooyeon says he doesn't care; it’s harder to brush off the implication of hurt when that’s all this is based on. Jooyeon says, I never wanted you like this, between Gunil’s hand shoving him to his knees at the back-end of a filthy bathroom on the first stop of their tour. Gunil says, I know, without any sort of remorse.
He should feel it. He doesn't. Maybe that’s why he chased Jooyeon into this. Why he never thought about the consequences of it. Gunil faces none but Jooyeon faces all of them when he crawls into Gunil’s bed without any sort of common sense driving his thoughts. He allows Gunil to talk him into things that don’t make sense. He lets Gunil touch him all over and knot him and lie to him about all the little things going on with his body. He says Gunil’s name like he’s supposed to hate it but when it leaves his mouth it is only ever tender by the syllables he doesn’t bite down on, the sigh curling the end, the hyung that follows it, shaky, broken off, and Jooyeon doesn’t cry, real man, that one, but his eyes are wet, his cheeks are wet, he turns away so Gunil won’t see him.
But Gunil always sees him. Jooyeon is the only thing on his mind.
Sometimes Gunil admits it to him. Stroking Jooyeon’s hair gently, between fingers that have raked themselves raw over Jooyeon’s skin and nails that Jooyeon has pressed against his thighs. There is bruising on Jooyeon’s jaw that Gunil kisses. He feels guilt in some form but it is never enough to stop him.
He says, I always thought you were going to be an Omega.
Even to him it sounds wistful. Even to him it sounds like an excuse; that’s why I’m doing this, you have to understand me, maybe it’s selfish but Gunil’s accepted that part of himself from the moment he first jerked off to Jooyeon’s face right before their debut, without telling him, still looked him in the eye after and asked if he needed help with practicing.
Jooyeon makes a noise. It’s harsh, grating. He doesn't move. The only signal that he is alive is the rise of his chest when he breathes. The soft tapping of his fingers against Gunil’s side. His scent changes. Something new. Gunil’s hold is harsher on his hair. You were nineteen I think. I dreamed about getting you pregnant. Isn't that really fucked up? He laughs. He knows he’s wrong for it. Jooyeon exhales sharply. I was like, Jooyeonnie’s gonna hate me for it. He’s gonna hate me for thinking about this. He wants to be an Alpha so bad.
The silence is heavier. Jooyeon’s breathing turns irregular. He’s hard in his shorts and Gunil won't touch him because he hopes that Jooyeon will make a show of it. He hopes that Jooyeon will ask him to. He hopes Jooyeon won't do anything at all about it. He pulls at Jooyeon’s hair until his neck is tilted all the way back and stares at his throat, his skin, and feels his mouth water, he feels his stomach turn hot, he hears the rush of waves but that’s just his blood. He says, you’ll let me change you, right? Jooyeon-ah, you’re gonna let me do anything to you. Ah, you smell so good. I think you’ll be an Omega. People change. You can change. I know you can. He palms himself through his jeans. Jooyeon doesn't move. He’s swallowing again and again and he’s twitching and he’s hard but he’s good — he’s motionless, he waits to be directed.
He’s learned from all the moments Gunil has spent in this room dousing him in a scent he’ll crave when he’s alone and away from everyone else. Jooyeon swallows hard and doesn’t move and doesn’t fucking look at him and Gunil’s waiting, holding his breath a little, before he pushes him down against the bed and lays a palm against his stomach, from habit, all the times he’d thought it would make a difference. Jooyeon makes a noise, then goes quiet again. If he ever said yes to Gunil it would mean giving in, silence is acquiescence but leaves a space for rebellion too and they both know this; Jooyeon watches him before Gunil’s gaze becomes a prick of hurt he can’t carry around with him, so he looks away, lets Gunil’s hands wander down, lets Gunil’s mouth hover right around his jaw, his neck, no airflow in the room to push away all the heavy emotions draping themselves over his mouth.
I had it all planned out, Gunil tells him. His voice is hard, rough, jagged with edges he can’t force into a softer shape. I thought- you seemed, just, you would be- you still can be. He fingers Jooyeon open with his own spit and Jooyeon takes it silently, hands around Gunil’s face, his thumbs on Gunil’s cheekbones. He doesn’t agree. He doesn’t inquire. He pushes back but the flush of his face isn’t the honesty Gunil’s looking for. There’s time, Gunil tells him. He thinks he’s begging. He doesn’t know why he still chases after the one thing that might never come true. Out in the real world there is someone waiting to meet him and he is here telling Jooyeon he’s going to knot him before time runs out for both of them, even though it’s all in his head, has always been in his head.
He makes Jooyeon feel it. He says, I would have marked you, like it’s going to explode inside of him if he doesn’t let it out, and Jooyeon lets out a sigh, something whinier, cuts it off before Gunil catches it entirely. His silence lulls Gunil into vomiting out everything that he thinks about as it comes, it was always going to be you, because there was never an option, because from the moment they met it was Jooyeon and beyond that, the draw of having something so close, of not obtaining what mattered most, it was never a choice, never anything but forced pull out of his own hands. You smell like me, he tells Jooyeon, thick and cut up, and Jooyeon does, I’m going to turn you, okay, you want it, you do- is he convincing himself, is he even asking Jooyeon, is this happening, is he dreaming it, you’re so pretty, Jooyeon-ah, hyung likes you a lot, hyung cares, okay, I’m doing this because I care, because he cares, because he does.
About his own stupid needs. About the crawling sense of desperation stuck on his tongue when Jooyeon looks at him for too long, wide-eyed, like he’s afraid. He thinks it might be too late for things to ever settle. They’ll be stuck like this until Jooyeon leaves, until he extracts himself from it. Claws and all, teeth, the mark he’ll never get because Gunil’s a coward who won’t try in the first place.
Hyung, he says, rough and too quiet. Pensive. His mouth is pink and it shapes around words like it shapes around being Gunil's.
I like it.
The day before Jooyeon presents, Jiseok makes everyone bet on it. They don’t know that Jooyeon will present soon after. They don’t know when it’ll happen — just that it will, that the anticipation will hang over them until the moment hits and they’re forced to announce a momentary break, move over schedules, all the shit that comes with it. Gunil presented before he even debuted, but everyone else followed sequence a week after they first made an appearance.
Jiseok says it’s for fun. To see who has the best sense of whatever, instinct, maybe, irrational little bell hanging in the back of their heads. Everyone thinks he’ll be an Alpha. Gunil says Omega, then says he’s just assuming from what he’s read online. Jooyeon is at their side looking faintly amused but he doesn’t say anything until Jiseok asks him directly, and then he looks at Gunil, then at the floor, then at Jiseok.
I don’t know, he says. I think I’ll be an Alpha. I hope, actually. He frowns a little. Did you just make me jinx it?
Jiseok laughs. There’s a bitter taste on Gunil’s tongue. They make Jooyeon flush all red from embarrassment with how much they tease him and Gunil doesn’t join in because he’s busy trying to convince himself otherwise; it only makes sense for Jooyeon to be different, it’s dynamics, it’s nature for the good of a pack, the health of one. He thinks about it all the way into his bed. He wonders if Jooyeon even knows what that means for him. He wonders if Jooyeon would be susceptible to anything else. He wonders what it’d be like to have him regardless.
He hopes Jooyeon will be an Omega. That’s all. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Jooyeon comes to be anything else.
i killed a plant once because i didn't give it enough water.