Chapter Text
Every conceivable factor can be attributed to the most unfair force in this world: luck.
Luck defines your life. From your family to your social status, to every strand of hair on your head—the circumstances into which you are born are inescapable.
Beomgyu knows this.
He’s been painfully aware of it, being dealt the wrong cards from the very beginning.
Perhaps it’s these very inescapable conditions that have led him here, lying with his face pressed into the sheets, reduced to nothing but his animalistic omega instincts.
“Fuck, Beomgyu-ah. Always so good to me,” the man behind him groans as he plows into him with great strength, their scents intermingling in a beautiful union.
Beomgyu’s omega can’t help but purr—jaw growing slack with every thrust. Dollops of saliva spill from the corners of his mouth as he mewls, so touch-starved that every lie feels like a promise.
But he loves this, he needs this.
After all, it’s the only way he can receive such affection. To deceive himself into thinking he is useful in some, twisted sense.
The only way he can feel real.
It’s not long before the alpha’s hips stutter and Beomgyu muffles a moan, the familiar stretch washing over him like a tidal wave—seeping in to fill the cracks of his every insecurity, his every hurt.
For a brief moment, he is allowed to forget the ill hand he’s been dealt.
“Good boy,” Mr. Choi sighs as he presses a gentle kiss to the side of his temple, muscular arms wrapping around his trembling shoulders. “Does it hurt?”
Beomgyu shakes his head, winded, before melting into the thick fog of sleep.
When he comes to, the knot that's been stuffed so desperately into him just an hour earlier is already deflated enough to be pulled out. He quietly slips out of the sleeping man's hold to gather the clothes that have been left messily askew on the ground, his nose runny and his back sore.
He doesn't need to be told to leave. Beomgyu knows he has no place in that bedroom.
Tiptoeing down the hallway, it’s the portrait that hangs along the intricate staircase that ultimately brings him back to reality.
A giant family photograph of the Chois, four pairs of sharp eyes boring deep into his guilty conscience: the man he’d just slept with, his kind smile so devoid of vice it’s deceptive, his beauty of a wife that Beomgyu has held awkward conversations with on more than one occasion…
And their two sons.
Beomgyu ducks his head in shame, mortified to look at their smiling faces for too long, afraid that the guilt will eat him away until he truly becomes less than nothing.
They are the quintessential family—the epitome of perfection. A complete puzzle, not a single piece defected nor misplaced.
Beomgyu knows it’s wrong, all of it.
Yet it’s the only reassurance he has.
Evidence that he clings to so pathetically, the only tangible proof that he might be capable of being loved. So he cannot, and he won’t, take himself out of the equation, even with the knowledge that he might very well be the catalyst of their family’s demise.
He’s made it half-way across the Choi’s spacious living room floor when he feels a cool gust of wind comb through him—as gentle as a summer’s night breeze blowing over a prairie.
“Still whoring yourself out, I see.”
Shit, Beomgyu curses to himself. It’s the voice of the last person he wanted to run into tonight...
He turns around slowly, schooling his busted expression into one that is well-rehearsed.
“Yeonjun-ssi.”
His eyes meet the figure of a boy around his age, a lit cigarette loosely dangling from his mouth. He stands on the edge of the open balcony like a divine executioner, shrewd gaze dark and judgmental.
The eldest son of the Choi family.
Yeonjun examines Beomgyu’s appearance with a single sweeping motion of his sarcastic eyes, unable to contain the snort that escapes him. Beomgyu stares at the way the embers come to life under his breath, as if the butt of the cigarette is there to jest and mock him.
His cheeks heat up with rapid speed, suddenly incredibly self-conscious. He smooths down his messy bedhead with a fiery palm, hoping to save some face.
“Young master, I apologize. I didn’t expect anyone to be up so late-”
“You’re practically my father’s mistress. No need to be so fake-polite, Beomgyu-ssi. It comes off as disingenuous, you must know that too, right?” Yeonjun interrupts him with an amused look on his face.
The omega’s fists clench at his sides.
It’s so unpleasant to be in Yeonjun’s company that Beomgyu wishes he could just disappear into the ground, perhaps vanish under the earth like one of Mrs. Choi’s well-tended camellia plants during winter.
Beomgyu decides that the best course of action is to politely bid him goodbye—make their run-in as brief as possible.
“Right. Well, I’ll be excusing myself then, have yourself a good night. And sorry to have been a bother.” He says with a rigid smile, beginning to back away from the figure obscured by rippling silk.
Yeonjun, on the other hand, seems to have no intention of ending their conversation.
“So, what sweet lies did he spoon feed you tonight? Did he promise to marry you? To take you on an overseas trip and run away together?”
Perhaps it’s the way he’s been conditioned all his life to defend the little dignity he has left, but Beomgyu feels his anger rising at Yeonjun’s passive aggressive remarks.
“Please don’t be so absurd.”
The older boy blows a raspberry, his mouth tugging into a shit-eating grin.
“This entire situation is pretty fucking absurd, if you couldn’t tell by now.”
Beomgyu feels his lips parts stupidly.
Well, it’s not like he can say anything to refute that. Yeonjun is right. It’s nothing short of downright absurd, to be discussing with him his own father’s affair.
Yeonjun takes a long drag, filling his lungs with woody, spicy smoke. His eyes study Beomgyu carefully, as if he’s trying to read his every micro expression, like he’s trying to get inside his mind, flesh out his motivations.
He must have figured out there isn’t much worth seeing as he finally turns around, leaning on the railing to spectate the Seoul traffic flashing below them.
“Did he kick you out already? It’s not even dawn yet.” He laughs monotonously, almost as if talking to himself. “But I guess that’s not entirely surprising, knowing him.”
That question hurts him more than anything else that Yeonjun has carelessly thrown at him tonight.
Beomgyu knows he has no right, but he can’t help the frown that begins to set deep into his features. He doesn’t want to be reminded of how disposable he is. Doesn’t want to keep questioning what is so broken about him that makes him so easy to abandon.
Thankfully it’s way too dark, and Yeonjun seems to have lost interest in judging his sweaty, post-fuck state.
“I’m leaving.”
He walks away briskly before the other can squeeze another snarky word in, fists clenched tightly at his sides as if to anchor himself from entirely losing it.
It’s when he gets to the entryway of the Choi’s luxury penthouse that he is forced to turn around, a newfound fire licking at his ribs and intertwining with the bones like poison ivy. Even Yeonjun looks surprised to see him back so soon, eyes wide and expectant but not kind enough to hide his disdain.
Beomgyu boldly steps onto the balcony, the texture underneath the pads of his feet changing from cool hardwood to cold, rough tile.
With his own upset features illuminated by the city, he can now make out the detail of Yeonjun’s handsome face, finally seeing the man in front of him eye to eye.
“Give them back.”
Annoyingly, the other seems to be clueless about the object of Beomgyu’s demand, staring back at him with a blank expression.
“… Give what back?”
Beomgyu feels his ears grow hot, entire body washed over with humiliation. Are they in grade school? It’s really too childish, to be mocked in such a way—no matter how much he may deserve it.
He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, holding back tears of frustration. He doesn’t want to cry, not in front of a rich, egoistical alpha like Yeonjun.
“My shoes? Look, I get that you cannot stand me, but if you’re playing some cruel joke, please cut it out because it’s really not funn-”
Something akin to realization flickers in Yeonjun’s dark irises.
“Oh, that. I hid them under the couch in case Kai came down,” He says, one brow raised. “It would spark many questions, if he knew you were here at three in the morning.”
Oh. And suddenly, things click into place.
“I-I see,” Beomgyu sounds out after a beat of silence, his angry glare replaced by awkwardness.
Yeonjun is right, how could he be so careless?
The mention of his brother causes a visible shift in the older boy, as if he’s remembered a painful memory, triggered by its violence and destruction.
“You’re getting too comfortable. The one thing we agreed on is that Kai absolutely cannot know about any of this fucked-up shit,” he snarls, giving Beomgyu a look so cold that be feels the skin on his neck stand up.
Yet the accusatory tone also rubs him the wrong way, that familiar spark of defiance making its return.
“Why are you so scared? I have more to lose if any of this gets out…” he counters, not missing a beat.
Without warning, Yeonjun closes the distance between them, grabbing the omega’s wrist with a harsh hand.
Beomgyu winces at the sudden contact.
“You’re wrong,” he says. It burns where the alpha’s fingertips press into his skin. “If something happens to Kai-yah because of you, I’ll ruin you tenfold. Remember, Beomgyu-ssi. We are a very powerful family. You will not win.”
Beomgyu swallows his shock, ripping his wrist away from Yeonjun’s iron grip before the other can feel his shaking trepidation.
“I understand. It would never be my intention to hurt Kai anyway. I don’t expect you to believe me, but I care about him too…”
They lock eyes in a heated stare-down but Beomgyu doesn’t waver, glaring back with equal intensity. He doesn’t want to let Yeonjun have the last laugh, not when enough has been taken from him tonight.
…
“Get out,” The offender spits out with finality, the low, commanding growl making Beomgyu shrink back in fear.
Then, his gaze flickers down to the younger boy’s bare feet.
Beomgyu isn’t sure if his vision is failing him, but for a split-second, Yeonjun seems to hesitate.
“Go home. Cigarette smoke isn’t good for omegas,” He concludes dismissively, a bit softer this time.
Beomgyu doesn’t have time to react before the glass sliding door is slammed in his face.