Stray

by yudozdump

Summary:

Dohoon had been just a tiny black kitten when he first wandered into the wolves’ territory. Seungcheol, the pack’s leader, found him curled under a fallen log, trembling with fear. But instead of turning him away, the fearsome pack leader gently scooped him up and brought him home.

Notes:

English is NOT my first language so ignore grammatical errors and typos! I was so close to crashing out like Mingyu here, because while I was writing this, nitdohaep was simping at each other's screencaps on weverse. 💀💀 Tired of them.

Dohoon had been just a tiny black kitten when he first wandered into the wolves’ territory—lost, shivering, and wide-eyed beneath the towering pines. He couldn’t have been more than a few moons old, his fur matted from the rain and his cries barely audible over the howl of the wind. Seungcheol, the pack’s leader, found him curled under a fallen log, trembling with fear. But instead of turning him away, the fearsome alpha had gently scooped him up and brought him home.

 

From that day on, Dohoon became part of the wolf pack.

 

"Dohoon-ah!" Wonwoo called out, voice sharp with concern as he spotted the familiar figure emerging from the woods. His hands were already planted firmly on his hips, his brows furrowed. "I told you to leave the hunting to your father! You don’t need to go out there on your own.”

 

Dohoon trudged into the clearing with dirt-smudged cheeks and a proud grin stretching across his face. He walked beside his Pa, Mingyu, and was dragging a deer by the legs—far too big for someone his size. Slung over his shoulder, however, was a smaller prize.

 

"Dad! I'm not a baby anymore," Dohoon whined, tail flicking behind him with mild irritation. "I’m an adult now! I can help feed the pack!" He lifted the rabbit hanging from his shoulder like a trophy. "Look! I caught this all by myself!"

 

Mingyu laughed, clearly amused, and ruffled Dohoon’s messy hair. "I tried to stop him," he said with a helpless shrug, “but he was determined. And to be fair… he did a pretty impressive job today."

 

"Tell him, Pa!" Dohoon added with a proud huff, chest puffed out as he looked toward Wonwoo, who could only shake his head in exasperation.

 

"Yeah, yeah," Wonwoo muttered, biting back a smile. “Just go wash up, both of you. You smell like wet moss and blood.”

 

Dohoon beamed and immediately handed the rabbit off to Mingyu before bounding toward the den, his tail flicking with excitement as he disappeared inside.

 

Mingyu chuckled as he watched him go. "You raised a fiery little cat, Wons."

 

Wonwoo exhaled slowly, glancing toward the trees as if checking for any hidden danger. "He's not like us, Gyu. He’s not built the same. He's still a cat. I just... worry."

 

Setting the deer and rabbit down with care, Mingyu gave a reassuring shake of his head. “He’s safe. I was with him the whole time. Though…” He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “He did try to chase the deer before I stepped in.”

 

Wonwoo’s eyes widened. "Kim Mingyu!"

 

"I said try!" Mingyu laughed, raising his hands in mock defense as Wonwoo shot him a glare. “He barely made it three steps before he tripped over a root!”

 

Wonwoo groaned and muttered something under his breath about “overconfident kittens” and “irresponsible wolf husbands,” but a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he turned toward the den.

 

The days settled into a comfortable rhythm for Dohoon—familiar and simple, like the sound of wind rustling through the trees or the distant howl of wolves during the twilight hour. Each morning began the same: a hearty breakfast of roasted meat or warm broth lovingly prepared by Wonwoo or Mingyu, followed by a check-in with the scouts to see where prey had been spotted.

 

Afterward, Dohoon would head toward the edge of the territory to inspect the foraging sites. He'd gently nudge away ferns or lift the leaves of wildberry bushes to see if anything had ripened. Sometimes he'd come home with armfuls of mushrooms or sweet roots; other times, with muddy knees and nothing more than a handful of sour berries.

 

By midday, the chores were done. That meant only one thing: time to play.

 

“Dohoon-ah! Hurry up!” a familiar voice called out from the clearing, bright and echoing like a chime in the wind.

 

Dohoon stepped out of the brush, a grin already forming on his lips. “You’re early, Jihoon! Did your Pops Hoshi finally let you off kitchen duty?”

 

Jihoon stood with his arms crossed, face scrunched into a pout. “He said I kept eating the stew while ‘taste testing’! How else am I supposed to know it’s good?!”

 

From behind him, another figure leaned casually against a tree. Taller, broader, and quiet as always, Junghwan gave Dohoon a slow nod in greeting. His dark hair was down, almost covering his eyes, and his arms were crossed, giving him that same cool, unreadable air he always carried. Dohoon had known Junghwan for years, but sometimes still couldn’t quite tell what the older boy was thinking.

 

“Junghwan,” Dohoon grinned. “Did your old man make you tag along?”

 

“No,” Junghwan said simply. “I wanted to come.”

 

That made Dohoon blink, momentarily caught off guard. But before he could think too hard about it, Jihoon groaned dramatically and flopped down into the grass.

 

“If you two are done making googly eyes at each other, can we please go do something fun? I didn’t escape stew duty just to stand around.”

 

“I wasn’t making googly eyes!” Dohoon protested, his ears burning slightly as he shoved Jihoon lightly with his foot. “You're such a pain.”

 

Junghwan just smirked—barely—but Dohoon caught it. That tiny tug at the corner of his lips. It made something warm stir in his chest.

 

“Come on,” Junghwan said, straightening up. “Race you both to the stream.”

 

“Bet!” Jihoon leapt to his feet. “Last one there has to do extra chores for Pops Hoshi!”

 

“You’re just mad because that’s already you,” Dohoon teased, before breaking into a run.

 

Laughter echoed through the trees as the three of them bolted down the worn dirt path, bare feet thudding against moss and earth. They weaved between trees, dodging low branches and leaping over rocks. Jihoon shouted insults and encouragement in equal measure, while Dohoon pushed himself to keep up with Junghwan’s long strides.

 

By the time they reached the stream, they were breathless and grinning, clothes damp from stray splashes and wild running.

 

“You cheated,” Jihoon wheezed, pointing at Junghwan. “You totally shoved me.”

 

Junghwan shrugged, expression unbothered. “You’re slow.”

 

“Ugh, you're so infuriating,” Jihoon muttered, kicking water at him.

 

Dohoon flopped onto a large flat rock, staring up at the patches of sky peeking through the trees. “You two are exhausting,” he said with a sigh, though the fond smile on his face said otherwise.

 

This was his favorite part of the day. Not the hunting, not the chores. Just this—the quiet chaos of his two best friends, the sunlight filtering through the canopy, and the feeling of finally, truly belonging.

 

“Exhausting?” Jihoon echoed, throwing a suspicious look toward Dohoon. “You just said that because you lost.”

 

“I did not lose,” Dohoon said defensively, sitting up with a scowl. “Junghwan barely beat me by like—what—half a paw?”

 

“I won by more than that,” Junghwan added coolly, stretching his arms behind his head.

 

“Not helping, Junghwan,” Dohoon muttered, flicking water in Junghwan’s direction.

 

Junghwan raised a brow, but didn’t move. Water hit his chest and slid off his shirt, and for a moment he just stared at Dohoon like he was trying to decide whether it was worth retaliating.

 

It was.

 

Without a word, Junghwan reached down, scooped a handful of cold stream water—and promptly dumped it over Dohoon’s head.

 

Dohoon let out a sharp squeal. “Junghwan! You—!”

 

“Oops,” Junghwan said deadpan, the tiniest smirk tugging at his lips again.

 

“YOU’RE DEAD!”

 

Dohoon sprang to his feet, hair dripping, and lunged at him. The two of them rolled over the grass, laughing and yelling as they wrestled beside the stream. Dohoon tried to pin Junghwan down, but the older boy was stronger, keeping him locked with one arm while using the other to push his face gently into the grass.

 

“Tap out,” Junghwan said calmly.

 

“Never!” Dohoon grunted, wiggling furiously.

 

Meanwhile, Jihoon cackled in delight from the sidelines. “Oh this is better than anything Pops could’ve cooked today! This is entertainment.”

 

“Help me, Jihoon!” Dohoon gasped dramatically. “He’s murdering me!”

 

Jihoon stood up proudly, puffing out his chest. “Fear not, citizen! I shall save thee!”

 

With that, he dove onto Junghwan’s back like a tiny warrior and started smacking him with a stick. “Take this! And that! Release the kitty!”

 

“Are you serious right now?” Junghwan groaned, struggling under both of them now.

 

In the chaos, Dohoon slipped out from Junghwan’s grip, rolled onto Jihoon’s side and hissed like an annoyed kitten. “He almost had me for real. I think I saw my nine lives flash before my eyes.”

 

“I got you,” Jihoon said with a wink. “I’m small but mighty.”

 

Junghwan, now flat on his back with his arms raised in surrender, muttered, “Next time I’m throwing both of you in the stream.”

 

“That sounds like a challenge,” Jihoon grinned.

 

“You won’t,” Dohoon dared him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

 

The next second, Junghwan’s arms moved like a blur, scooping both of them up—Jihoon squawking and Dohoon flailing—and thunk—both of them were tossed into the stream like sacks of flour.

 

“JUNGHWAN!” they screamed in unison as they hit the water with a loud splash.

 

Junghwan stood at the edge, arms crossed, pleased with himself.

 

Dripping wet and glaring, Jihoon pointed at him. “You are so going to regret that!”

 

“I already don’t,” Junghwan replied, completely unbothered.

 

Dohoon pushed wet bangs from his face, trying to suppress a laugh. “Okay. Truce. Just help us out, yeah?”

 

Junghwan took a step forward—just enough for Jihoon and Dohoon to grab his ankles and yank.

 

Another splash.

 

All three of them emerged soaked, sputtering and laughing uncontrollably.

 

The sun dipped lower through the trees, casting golden light over the rippling water. Laughter echoed off the rocks and birds chirped lazily in the distance. Dohoon floated on his back for a moment, eyes closed, listening to the sounds around him.

 

This was his world. His pack. His friends.

 

His home.

 

Dohoon didn’t always feel out of place in the pack—not when he was playing in the sun-dappled woods with Junghwan and Jihoon, or curled up near the fire at night, nestled between his two dads and the rest of the clan. But there were times—rare but unforgettable—when the world reminded him that he was different.

 

That he wasn’t born a wolf.

 

It usually happened near the borders of their territory, when they crossed paths with travelers or wandering wolves from other packs. Most of the time, these wolves passed through without incident, exchanging wary nods or ignoring them entirely. But every now and then, there were those who stopped.

 

And stared.

 

Just like now.

 

Dohoon stood in the clearing, ears twitching, tail bristled as three strangers from a nearby mountain pack loomed at the edge of the trees. They were tall, rough-looking wolves with dark fur and scars littering their bodies—clearly seasoned fighters. One of them let out a bark of laughter as his eyes raked over Dohoon’s small frame.

 

“What’s this?” the largest one sneered, fangs peeking from the corners of his mouth. “A housecat pretending to be a wolf?”

 

Dohoon’s fur on his tail fluffed up immediately. “Excuse me?!”

 

The second wolf, leaner but just as smug, flicked his tail dismissively. “What’s a feline doing here, anyway? Playing pet to the wolves?”

 

Dohoon stepped forward, claws unsheathing instinctively as he hissed. “I belong here! I was raised by this pack. I’m one of them!”

 

The third wolf snorted. “Yeah? Do they make you purr before dinner too? Or maybe you are their dinner!”

 

A low growl built in Dohoon’s throat. He stood his ground, his small figure trembling slightly—not out of fear, but rage.

 

“You want to see how hard a cat can scratch?” he snapped, taking another step closer. “Come on. Try me.”

 

The wolves blinked, visibly taken aback by the ferocity in his voice. One even flinched.

 

Dohoon didn’t notice the pair of shadows flanking him.

 

Behind him, Junghwan stood with his hands on his side, eyes cold and jaw tight. His presence alone was enough to send tension rippling through the clearing. Beside him, Jihoon’s usual playful demeanor was gone, replaced by a rare stillness in his posture and an unreadable look in his eyes.

 

The two didn’t say a word.

 

But they didn’t need to.

 

Their eyes said it all.

 

Junghwan’s stare was like ice—calm but deadly. Jihoon’s, sharper and more calculating, hinted at violence held tightly on a leash. And unknown to Dohoon, his friends are their clan's fighters.

 

The visiting wolves suddenly exchanged looks. Their ears pinned back. The tallest one took a hesitant step backward.

 

“I—we were just passing through,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean to offend.”

 

“Yeah,” the lean one added quickly. “No trouble here. We’ll go.”

 

Without waiting for another word, the three wolves turned tail and vanished into the trees, tails tucked low.

 

Dohoon huffed, puffing out his chest as he turned around, eyes sparkling.

 

“Did you see that?! I scared them off!” he beamed. “Told you! I’m terrifying when I wanna be!”

 

Junghwan nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah,” he said. “You really are.”

 

“Super scary,” Jihoon added, grinning as he stepped forward and clapped Dohoon on the back. “I nearly wet myself, honestly.”

 

Dohoon beamed with pride, tail flicking high in the air. “Told you so!”

 

Junghwan gave him a gentle pat on the head, ruffling his already messy hair. “Good job, brave kitty.”

 

Dohoon purred involuntarily at the contact before quickly clearing his throat and striking another proud pose. “I’ll protect the whole clan someday. You’ll see.”

 

Jihoon exchanged a glance with Junghwan—one filled with fondness and a quiet, shared understanding. Dohoon didn’t know. He didn’t see it. How every time he stood up to bullies, they were right behind him—watching his back. Making sure no one laid a paw on him.

 

They let him believe he was the one doing all the scaring.

 

And maybe, in a way, he was.

 

Because it wasn’t just the glares from Junghwan and the threats from Jihoon that made others back off.

 

It was also the fire in Dohoon’s eyes.

 

Later that afternoon, after the border incident had long passed, the trio lay sprawled across a sunny patch of grass near the den. The trees swayed gently overhead, casting flickering shadows across their faces, and the warm buzz of summer insects filled the air like background music to their silence.

 

Dohoon, still smug from his “victory,” lay on his back, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded behind his head. His tail flicked lazily beside him.

 

“Did you see how they bolted?” he said again for the fourth time. “I didn’t even have to lift a paw.”

 

“Yes, mighty hunter, we saw,” Jihoon said, lying sideways and tossing pebbles into the air, watching them fall back down and bounce off his arm. “Your hiss alone nearly caused a forest fire.”

 

Junghwan, lying on his stomach with his head propped up on crossed arms, gave a soft snort.

 

Dohoon turned his head to look at them. “Don’t pretend you weren’t impressed.”

 

“Oh, I was very impressed,” Jihoon said with a theatrical roll of his eyes. “I mean, the way you puffed up like an angry dandelion? Truly terrifying.”

 

“I do not look like a dandelion,” Dohoon growled, rolling over and shoving Jihoon with his foot.

 

“Yes, you do,” Junghwan said from behind him. Completely calm. Completely serious.

 

Dohoon twisted around. “You too?!”

 

Junghwan just shrugged and closed his eyes like he hadn’t dropped a verbal bomb.

 

Jihoon cackled. “He’s right. The resemblance is uncanny. You’re this little ball of fluff and fury. Like—like this!” He flailed his arms, imitating a startled cat, and made a high-pitched yowl.

 

“You two are the worst,” Dohoon muttered, burying his face into the grass.

 

“No, no, we love you,” Jihoon said quickly, scooting over and patting Dohoon’s head with both hands. “Our favorite angry bean.”

 

“Stop it,” Dohoon grumbled, but his tail thumped on the ground despite himself.

 

“I mean it,” Jihoon said, dropping the teasing just a notch. “You were brave. They were jerks.”

 

Junghwan nodded slowly. “You didn’t back down. That matters.”

 

Dohoon peeked up from the grass. His face had softened just a little. “You guys always have my back.”

 

“Of course we do,” Jihoon said, grinning wide again. “You’re ours.”

 

That made something flutter in Dohoon’s chest, but he couldn’t explain why.

 

Instead, he sat up and grabbed a stick. “Alright. Enough laying around. Who wants to go squirrel hunting?”

 

Junghwan sighed. “You’re going to climb trees again, aren’t you?”

 

“Of course,” Dohoon replied proudly. “What do you think the tail is for?”

 

Jihoon stood and stretched. “I’ll catch you if you fall again.”

 

“I didn’t fall,” Dohoon snapped.

 

“You slipped,” Jihoon corrected. “And screamed.”

 

“It was a war cry!”

 

“A very high-pitched war cry,” Junghwan murmured, rising to his feet.

 

Dohoon growled and took off running. “I’m not talking to either of you!”

 

Junghwan and Jihoon exchanged smirks before racing after him.

 

“Wait! Don’t run! Your tiny paws can’t handle the speed!” Jihoon shouted dramatically.

 

“Say that again and I’ll scratch your face!”

 

Dohoon was already halfway up a tree by the time they caught up, scaling it with a practiced grace. His black hair rippled with each movement, tail curled for balance. Jihoon climbed up after him, though he nearly slipped on the mossy bark halfway up. Junghwan didn’t climb—he simply leaned against the trunk, arms folded, looking up with the same unreadable expression he always wore.

 

“I see squirrels,” Dohoon whispered from the top branch, ears twitching.

 

“Then catch one,” Jihoon whispered back, crouched on the branch below.

 

“You catch one!”

 

“I’m not the tree-cat!”

 

Below them, Junghwan’s voice rose calmly. “If you fall and break a leg, don’t come crying to me.”

 

“We’ll come crying to Wonwoo hyung!” Jihoon called down.

 

Dohoon suddenly leapt, paws outstretched—and missed. He landed in a heap of leaves, groaning. Cushioning his fall.

 

“Ow!”

 

Junghwan sighed and walked over, crouching beside him. “You okay?”

 

“...Dignity’s broken.”

 

Jihoon dropped down beside them a moment later, laughing so hard he nearly fell over. “That was amazing! You looked like a flying rat!”

 

“Okay, I am really done talking to both of you.”

 

They stayed like that until the sun started dipping low, lying in the dirt, covered in leaves and laughter. No one mentioned the earlier encounter again. They didn’t need to.

 

Because the three of them—Dohoon the stray, Junghwan the quiet alpha heir, and Jihoon the chaos incarnate—fit together like pieces of the same wild, beautiful puzzle.

 

The three of them returned to the camp as the sun dipped below the treetops, casting long shadows across the clearing. Smoke from the central fire curled into the dusky sky, and the scent of roasted meat filled the air—dinner was nearly ready. Dohoon’s stomach rumbled, and Jihoon immediately poked him on the side.

 

“Your stomach’s louder than your war cry,” he whispered.

 

“Shut up,” Dohoon muttered, swatting at him.

 

Junghwan walked ahead of them, silent as ever. His long, broad back moved with effortless grace—shoulders squared, head high. Even in his human form, there was something undeniably wolf-like about him. Jihoon, meanwhile, had his shirt untucked and his hair windswept, walking backwards while talking nonstop about the squirrel that “definitely almost fell into his hands.”

 

“—and if I had just a few more inches of reach, I would’ve caught that squirrel. And then what? Dohoon would have owed me his next meal.”

 

“I’m not giving you my food for failing,” Dohoon deadpanned.

 

“I almost succeeded.”

 

“That doesn’t count.”

 

They were halfway through the clearing when they saw the figure waiting for them near the fire.

 

Old wolf.

 

That’s what everyone called him—not because he was feeble, but because he was the oldest living member of the clan. His real name was Sungje, and though his back was slightly hunched and his long hair streaked with grey, his eyes were still sharp as ever. Sharp enough to spot trouble long before anyone else did. He was sitting on a log with a cane leaning against his knee, chewing slowly on a root.

 

He looked up as the boys approached. “Oi.”

 

They all stopped at once.

 

Junghwan was the first to incline his head in respect. “Elder Sungje.”

 

“Sit,” the old wolf said, gesturing with his chin toward the stones near him. “The three of you. We need to talk.”

 

That alone was enough to steal the leftover laughter from Jihoon’s face. All three boys obeyed quietly, sitting on the smooth rocks encircling the fire. The warmth of it soaked into their skin, but Sungje's expression remained cool.

 

“I heard about the encounter near the border,” he said.

 

Dohoon sat a little straighter. “They were being jerks. I stood up to them.”

 

Sungje let out a low hum. “That much, I believe. You’ve got fire in you, kitten.”

 

Dohoon blinked. “…Thank you?”

 

“But fire alone doesn’t scare seasoned wolves,” Sungje continued, eyes now narrowing slightly. “They didn’t back off because you hissed.”

 

A silence settled between the three of them. Dohoon shifted awkwardly. Jihoon stared into the fire. Junghwan said nothing.

 

Sungje's gaze moved slowly between them, like he already knew the answer to a question he hadn’t asked. “It’s not a bad thing—what you did. Wolves protect our own. But you boys need to understand: the tension at the border isn’t just about a couple of idiots trying to rattle the runt.”

 

“I’m not a runt,” Dohoon muttered.

 

“You are when you’re the only cat in a forest of wolves,” Sungje said bluntly. “And right now, we’re getting whispers. That other packs aren’t happy with how things are run here. Some think we’ve gone soft. Others think we’ve gotten... strange.”

 

Jihoon frowned. “Because of Dohoon?”

 

Sungje nodded slowly. “You three have made yourselves known. You’re young, but you’re strong. You’ve got potential. You represent a shift in our future. And not everyone likes change.”

 

Dohoon looked down at his hands, clenched tightly in his lap. “So… they’re mad that I’m here. That I’m part of this.”

 

Sungje leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “They’re afraid. Of what you being here means. That maybe wolves can grow beyond instinct. That maybe family doesn’t have to look the same. That maybe”—he looked at Junghwan and Jihoon—“the next generation of hunters would rather play and protect than dominate and conquer.”

 

Silence fell again, heavier this time.

 

Dohoon didn’t know what to say. His throat felt tight, like something unsaid had curled up there and was refusing to come loose.

 

Junghwan finally spoke, voice low and certain. “If they come again, we’ll be ready.”

 

“We’re always ready,” Jihoon added with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

 

Sungje studied them both, then looked at Dohoon. “And you? You ready to stand your ground without the illusion that it’s just you?”

 

Dohoon looked up, meeting the old wolf’s eyes. “I thought I already was. But… I guess I wasn’t alone after all.”

 

Junghwan placed a steady hand on his shoulder.

 

Jihoon bumped his knee lightly against Dohoon’s.

 

“Not alone,” they both said, almost in sync.

 

Sungje smiled faintly and leaned back. “Good. Then train harder. Stay sharp. And remember—when trouble comes, it won’t ask if you’re a cat or a wolf. It’ll just ask if you’re strong enough.”

 

The fire cracked loudly between them, embers shooting up like sparks of warning.

 

The boys didn’t speak after that. They just sat by the fire, side by side, watching the flames as the shadows grew long and the moon began to rise.

 

The forest was still heavy with morning dew when the hunting party gathered near the southern edge of the territory. Mist curled along the underbrush, clinging to the wolves’ bare feet as they moved through the clearing, quiet and focused.

 

Wonwoo stood at the front, arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning each member of the team.

 

“You’re not coming, Dohoon.”

 

Dohoon froze, halfway through adjusting the strap of his small pack. “What?”

 

“I said no,” Wonwoo repeated. He didn’t raise his voice—he never did. But the finality in his tone struck like a claw to the chest. “You’re staying here. The others will handle it.”

 

“But why?” Dohoon asked, ears twitching in frustration. “I’ve hunted before. I’ve trained. I’m part of the pack too, aren’t I?”

 

“This isn’t a regular hunt,” Wonwoo said firmly. “It’s deeper into the mountain range. Near disputed ground.”

 

“I can fight,” Dohoon insisted. “I’ve been practicing every day—”

 

“It’s not about how fast you can run or how sharp your claws are,” Wonwoo cut in, stepping closer. “This is about politics, about territory lines, about how other packs see us.”

 

Dohoon flinched at that. “Because I’m a cat.”

 

Wonwoo sighed, and some of the steel in his expression cracked. “Because you’re you, Dohoon. And I won’t risk losing you.”

 

Mingyu, standing off to the side with a nervous half-smile, raised a hand. “We’ll bring back something juicy for you to cook?”

 

Dohoon looked away, jaw clenched. “Yeah. Whatever.”

 

He turned sharply and stormed off without waiting for a reply, leaving both his dads standing awkwardly in the clearing.

 

Jihoon caught up with him a few minutes later near the back edge of the den, where Dohoon was crouched low in the grass, stuffing dried meat and a knife into a satchel.

 

“Stubborn little thing, aren’t you?” Jihoon said with a grin, tossing a small pouch of herbs into the bag without asking. “You know they’ll kill you if they find out you followed the hunting party.”

 

“I’m not following,” Dohoon muttered. “I’m joining. There’s a difference.”

 

Junghwan emerged from behind a tree, arms folded. “They told you no, didn’t they?”

 

“He told me no,” Dohoon said quickly. “And I’m not listening.”

 

Junghwan’s brow arched. “Of course you’re not.”

 

“Are you coming or not?” Dohoon asked, standing and slinging the satchel over his shoulder.

 

Jihoon laughed. “Do you even have to ask?”

 

Junghwan didn’t answer. He just turned and started walking in the direction the hunters had taken. Dohoon and Jihoon exchanged glances, then followed.

 

It wasn’t hard tracking the hunting party. They moved fast but heavy, their scent trail sharp in the damp earth. The trio moved in silence, keeping low and to the trees, careful not to give themselves away.

 

As they neared the first ridge, they heard voices up ahead—deep, murmuring tones and the occasional sharp bark of instruction.

 

Dohoon crouched behind a moss-covered log and peered over the edge.

 

“There they are,” he whispered.

 

The hunting party moved with precision across the river bend, slipping through trees like ghosts. Wonwoo was at the center, speaking quietly to Seungcheol, who had joined the mission unexpectedly. His presence meant only one thing: whatever they were hunting, it was dangerous.

 

“Should we keep going?” Jihoon whispered, crouched beside him.

 

Junghwan scanned the ridgeline. “If we’re caught, we’re in trouble.”

 

“I live in trouble,” Dohoon muttered.

 

Jihoon grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

 

They kept moving—slow, patient, watching from a distance. But then the tone changed.

 

A howl cut through the air. Not a call. Not a signal. A warning.

 

The hunters stopped as shadows moved ahead—too fast, too many.

 

Another pack.

 

They stepped out from the tree line—five or six of them, lean and ragged, fur bristling even in human form. They weren’t strangers.

 

They were from the same group that had mocked Dohoon days ago.

 

And this time, they weren’t laughing.

 

Dohoon froze behind the tree, one hand gripping the edge of the bark. The other pack was fully in sight now, standing just beyond the rocky streambed. Their leader—a tall, wiry wolf with a jagged scar running down his collarbone—stepped forward with an air of arrogance that made Dohoon’s fur itch, even in human form.

 

“You’re far from your den, Seungcheol,” the wolf said, arms crossed, voice cool. “Hunting, or trespassing?”

 

Seungcheol didn’t flinch. “We’re well within neutral grounds.”

 

“Neutral doesn’t mean safe.” The other wolf smiled. It wasn’t friendly.

 

Behind him, the rest of his pack shifted restlessly. One of them—the same one who had mocked Dohoon before—glanced around, eyes scanning the hunters with thinly veiled aggression.

 

Dohoon’s fists clenched. He couldn’t see his dads clearly from here, but he could sense Wonwoo’s tension. Mingyu had shifted slightly toward the back—his eyes scanning for movement, for escape routes, for Dohoon, maybe.

 

“Are we doing something?” Jihoon whispered from beside him.

 

Dohoon hesitated. “We wait.”

 

Junghwan gave a small nod. “If it turns physical, we jump in.”

 

Dohoon hated waiting. He hated feeling useless. He hated—

 

“I smell something odd,” one of the enemy wolves said suddenly, sniffing the air. “Like… feline.”

 

Dohoon’s blood ran cold.

 

“Shit,” Jihoon hissed under his breath.

 

“They can’t smell us from here,” Dohoon whispered urgently, panicking. “Right?”

 

“Depends on the wind,” Junghwan said flatly.

 

The scarred leader turned his head slowly toward the trees—toward them. “Still keeping pets, Seungcheol?” he asked, voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Or did you finally send the little kitty back where it belongs?”

 

Seungcheol didn’t answer. But he didn’t deny it either. His silence was deafening. Wonwoo and Mingyu on the other hand looked like they wanted to rip the scarred leader into shreds.

 

Dohoon stood abruptly, stepping away from the tree. Jihoon reached out to grab his arm.

 

“Don’t—”

 

“I’m not hiding,” Dohoon said through gritted teeth. “I’m not going to let them talk like that.”

 

He broke from cover before either of them could stop him. The sound of his steps drew every head in the clearing.

 

Dohoon walked straight down the hill, through the brush, and into the open space between the two packs. His presence was like a crack of lightning in a quiet sky—unexpected, shocking, impossible to ignore.

 

“Funny,” Dohoon called out, voice sharp and cutting. “You talk like someone who thinks they’re scary. But I remember you running last time we met.”

 

The mocker from before visibly tensed. “You again?”

 

“Yeah. Me again,” Dohoon said, stopping just in front of his pack, not quite between them and the enemy, but damn close. “Surprised I’m still here?”

 

“Thought the wolves would've gotten bored of keeping you around. Thought they devoured you already.”

 

“They don’t keep me. I’m one of them.”

 

A beat passed.

 

Dohoon didn’t notice the way Junghwan and Jihoon had slipped in behind him. Silently. Like ghosts. Like shadows made of steel.

 

But the rival pack noticed.

 

And they hesitated.

 

Because behind the angry kitten was the pack leader’s son—and Hoshi’s. The youngest, fastest hunters in the clan. The ones who didn’t need to raise their voices to be taken seriously. The ones who fought the frontlines when they were kids, and caused their clan to win. The kids who didn't show mercy, and deleted almost half of the other clan while laughing at their faces.

 

Junghwan didn’t speak. He simply stood behind Dohoon like an immovable mountain. Jihoon leaned against a rock nearby, cracking his knuckles in a very deliberate display of boredom.

 

Seungcheol stepped forward, standing beside Dohoon now.

 

“We’re hunting,” he said, voice low and final. “This isn’t your land. If you have a problem, speak it now or move.”

 

The scarred wolf looked at Dohoon, at Junghwan, at Jihoon. Then at the dozen wolves now staring him down from the tree line.

 

After a long pause, he raised his hands. “No problem,” he said. “We’re just passing through.”

 

“Then pass,” Seungcheol said.

 

The rival pack backed away, slow and resentful, but without further protest. They disappeared into the woods like shadows melting into fog.

 

As soon as they were gone, the camp broke into murmurs. The tension released like a wave retreating from shore.

 

Dohoon exhaled deeply—he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath.

 

Then—

 

“DOHOON!”

 

Wonwoo’s voice cracked like thunder through the trees.

 

The clearing fell quiet. Every wolf—young and old, hunter and scout—turned toward the sound of Wonwoo’s voice.

 

Dohoon winced.

 

“Uh oh,” Jihoon muttered.

 

Junghwan stepped aside slowly, as if silently saying, you’re on your own for this part.

 

Dohoon turned, ears metaphorically pinned, as his father stalked toward him.

 

Wonwoo didn’t yell again. He didn’t need to. His expression said everything.

 

“What. Were. You. Thinking?” he asked through clenched teeth, voice low and deadly. “You disobeyed me. You left the den. You followed us on a dangerous hunt—into disputed territory, Dohoon!”

 

Dohoon’s lips parted to defend himself, but the words caught in his throat. He looked down at the ground, the grass, his feet—anywhere but Wonwoo’s face.

 

Mingyu arrived seconds later, breathless from running. He took one look at the scene and sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Sweetheart, we were so worried.”

 

Dohoon’s throat tightened. “I just… I didn’t want to be left behind again.”

 

“Left behind?” Wonwoo echoed, his eyes narrowing.

 

Dohoon finally looked up. “Everyone else gets to prove themselves. Everyone else gets to train and hunt and fight. But every time something big happens, I’m told to stay home and be safe. I am safe. With you. With Junghwan and Jihoon. But that’s not the point.”

 

He took a shaky breath.

 

“I don’t want to be protected anymore. I want to be trusted.”

 

That silenced Wonwoo.

 

Jihoon and Junghwan stood in the background, quiet now, no longer teasing or smiling. The rest of the hunting party pretended not to eavesdrop, but their ears were clearly angled toward the conversation.

 

Wonwoo opened his mouth, then closed it again. His posture softened slightly as he exhaled through his nose. “You’re still our little one,” he said finally. “No matter how strong you get.”

 

“I don’t want to stop being yours,” Dohoon said. “I just… I want to stand next to you. Not behind you.”

 

Mingyu stepped in now, hand resting on Dohoon’s shoulder. “You did stand next to us today.”

 

Wonwoo looked between the two of them—his son, trembling but proud, and his husband, always gentle but firm.

 

“You scared me,” he admitted quietly.

 

Dohoon nodded. “I know.”

 

Wonwoo reached forward and pulled him into a hug—not rough or tight, but steady. Safe. And warm.

 

“I’m still going to punish you,” he murmured.

 

“Fair,” Dohoon mumbled into his chest.

 

“Three weeks of kitchen duty,” Wonwoo said.

 

“Four,” Mingyu added, just to be annoying.

 

“Daaaaad—”

 

“No exceptions,” Wonwoo said, finally stepping back. His expression was softer now, though his eyes were still a little damp. “But… thank you. For standing your ground. And for not getting yourself killed.”

 

Junghwan finally approached, putting a hand on Dohoon’s back again. Jihoon sidled up beside him, sticking his tongue out.

 

“See? Told you we’d get caught,” Jihoon said. “But you looked cool. Just don’t get used to disobeying direct orders or I’ll tattle on you next time.”

 

“You were with me!” Dohoon hissed.

 

“Shh, not in front of our elders,” Jihoon said with a wink.

 

Seungcheol approached the trio then, silent but present. He gave Dohoon a long, unreadable look.

 

“You held your own,” he said at last. “That counts.”

 

Dohoon blinked. “Really?”

 

The pack leader nodded once. “But next time, don’t make your parents fear they’ve lost you.”

 

Dohoon’s chest ached—not with guilt, but with something else. Something bigger. He nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”

 

Seungcheol turned to Junghwan. “Make sure he survives long enough to grow into that spine of his.”

 

Junghwan’s voice was calm. “I will.”

 

Later that night, after the fire had been rekindled and everyone had returned to camp, the three of them lay outside the den, side by side on a patch of mossy ground.

 

Stars blinked overhead.

 

Dohoon sighed. “So... four weeks of kitchen duty.”

 

Jihoon snorted. “Good. You’ll finally learn how to season something without burning it.”

 

“I don’t burn things—”

 

“Sure, sure,” Jihoon said, hands behind his head.

 

Junghwan lay silently beside them, one arm folded over his chest, the other tucked behind his head. “You really scared them today,” he said softly.

 

“The rival wolves?”

 

“No. Your dads.”

 

Dohoon blinked at the sky. “Yeah.”

 

“They care about you,” Junghwan added. “A lot.”

 

“I know.”

 

Silence stretched for a beat.

 

“You scared me too, idiot,” Jihoon muttered, voice unusually quiet.

 

Dohoon turned his head.

 

Jihoon was staring straight up, not looking at him.

 

“Really?” Dohoon asked.

 

“You’re the dumbest brave person I’ve ever met,” Jihoon grumbled.

 

Dohoon smiled a little, and without thinking, he reached out and grabbed Jihoon’s hand.

 

Jihoon stiffened, then relaxed. Their fingers stayed tangled in the moss.

 

Junghwan said nothing—but his hand reached over, too, settling on Dohoon’s arm. A silent presence. Steady.

 

---

 

Dohoon wasn’t blind, just… distracted. There were always chores to do, lessons to catch up on, the occasional patrol to assist with, and now kitchen duty, thanks to his noble act of sneaking into the hunting party.

 

So, he didn’t notice it, not at first.

 

Not the way Junghwan started waiting for him outside the den every morning—even when he said he didn’t have anything planned for the day.

 

Not the way Jihoon always managed to find something for them to do together. “Let’s forage,” “let’s check the traps,” “let’s run a few laps.” Dohoon thought Jihoon was just being clingy as usual.

 

“You two are weirdly available these days,” Dohoon muttered one morning as they sat by the stream, soaking their feet in the icy water.

 

Junghwan looked over at him lazily. “You saying you don’t want us around?”

 

Dohoon blinked. “No. I didn’t say that.”

 

“Good,” Jihoon chimed in, tossing a pebble into the water and splashing Dohoon’s knee on purpose. “You’d be lost without us.”

 

“You just like bullying me.”

 

“I like spending time with you,” Jihoon corrected, with a teasing lilt that Dohoon ignored, brushing it off the same way he always did. Jihoon always said stuff like that.

 

Junghwan was the opposite—quiet, steady. But Dohoon was used to that, too.

 

What he wasn’t used to… was how close Junghwan started sitting.

 

Before, Junghwan always kept a comfortable distance. Now? Their arms often brushed when they sat side by side. Dohoon would shift away—Junghwan wouldn’t.

 

Not that Dohoon minded.

 

They were best friends. That’s how things were.

 

…Right?

 

“Do you want help?”

 

Dohoon glanced up from the roots he was chopping, surprised to see Junghwan stepping into the small cooking area near the firepit.

 

“You never help in the kitchen.”

 

“You never let me.”

 

That earned a small laugh from Dohoon. “Because you’re bad at it.”

 

Junghwan said nothing, but he came over anyway, picked up a knife, and began peeling the bark from a bundle of mountain onions. Slowly. Carefully.

 

Dohoon blinked at him. “You’re… really here to help?”

 

“I said I was.”

 

“Why?”

 

Junghwan’s hands didn’t stop moving. “You looked tired.”

 

Dohoon opened his mouth, then closed it. His face felt warm, though the fire hadn’t been lit yet.

 

“You’re weird,” he muttered, turning back to the roots.

 

Junghwan just hummed under his breath. A content sort of sound. Almost like a purr.

 

And then there was Jihoon.

 

He’d always been affectionate, but lately, his touches lingered. A hand on Dohoon’s lower back when they walked through crowded spaces. A thumb brushing something off his cheek that wasn’t there. That time he tied a new ribbon around Dohoon’s hair after one of the pups tugged it loose—and looped it three times instead of two, just to “keep it secure.”

 

Dohoon had paused that time, fingers brushing the bow, strangely aware of how gently Jihoon tied it.

 

“You okay?” Jihoon had asked, voice light but eyes watching him carefully.

 

“Yeah,” Dohoon said, clearing his throat. “Thanks.”

 

Jihoon had smiled, but there was something unreadable in his expression.

 

Something that made Dohoon feel strangely warm under his skin.

 

They were always close, the three of them. That wasn’t new.

 

But something had shifted.

 

It was in the quiet glances Junghwan gave when he thought Dohoon wasn’t looking. The way Jihoon’s voice dipped when he spoke to him, softer, slower, like every word mattered more now.

 

And maybe… maybe it was in the way Dohoon’s heart stuttered sometimes when he realized they were both looking at him at once.

 

Like during training that week.

 

They’d been sparring in their human forms, practicing hand-to-hand with the senior hunters watching from a distance. Dohoon landed a sharp blow on Jihoon’s ribs, knocking him back—but before he could celebrate, Junghwan caught him from behind and pinned him to the ground.

 

Dohoon gasped, panting, his back flush to Junghwan’s chest, his wrists held in a firm grip.

 

“You’re open,” Junghwan murmured by his ear, not teasing—just stating.

 

Dohoon’s entire face went red.

 

He scrambled up, brushing off the dirt. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. I suck.”

 

“You don’t suck,” Jihoon said, still rubbing his ribs with a wince. “You just get distracted too easily.”

 

“I don’t get distracted!”

 

“You’re red as a tomato,” Jihoon pointed out, laughing.

 

“I’m hot! We’re training!”

 

“Sure,” Jihoon said, grinning.

 

Junghwan said nothing, but his eyes lingered on Dohoon longer than necessary.

 

And Dohoon… didn’t know what to do with that.

 

That night, they sat at the edge of the den again, the moon climbing high above them.

 

Dohoon was tucked between them without realizing it, his arms behind his head, his tail flicking lazily through the grass.

 

Jihoon was on his right, fingers brushing the edge of Dohoon’s as they lay side-by-side. Junghwan was on the left, their shoulders pressed together lightly.

 

Dohoon stared at the sky.

 

“You two,” he said.

 

“Mm?” Jihoon hummed.

 

“You’re acting weird lately.”

 

Junghwan turned his head just enough to glance at him. “How so?”

 

“You’re… I dunno. Nicer than usual. Even when I mess up.”

 

Jihoon grinned. “Maybe we’re just appreciating our resident troublemaker more.”

 

“Maybe,” Dohoon said softly.

 

He didn’t push it.

 

Didn’t question it.

 

But as the silence stretched and the moon climbed higher, Dohoon found himself wondering...

 

Why did their presence feel like gravity lately?

 

And why did it feel like the ground only existed beneath him when the two of them were close?

 

And then his parents started noticing it.

 

Mingyu was the first to bring it up over breakfast, his eyes narrowed as he placed a bowl of stew in front of Wonwoo.

 

“He’s not in his bed again,” he muttered, arms crossed over his apron. “That’s three mornings in a row.”

 

Wonwoo didn’t look up from the wild vegetables he was cutting. “He’s been training more. He probably crashed at Junghwan’s again.”

 

“Oh, Junghwan’s, huh,” Mingyu said, eyes narrowing further.

 

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, amused. “You’ve always liked Junghwan.”

 

“I like him fine,” Mingyu said. “When he’s not standing too close. Or carrying our son. Or giving him water with that—that tone.”

 

Wonwoo smirked. “What tone?”

 

“You know the tone,” Mingyu snapped. “That low, gravelly, let-me-hydrate-you-because-I-care tone.”

 

Wonwoo calmly dropped another chopped stem into the pot. “You’re overthinking it.”

 

But the moment he looked toward the open den door and saw Dohoon outside, laughing softly as Jihoon tried to braid a wildflower into his hair while Junghwan leaned beside them with that look in his eyes, even Wonwoo faltered.

 

“…Okay, maybe you’re not overthinking it.”

 

Mingyu pointed a wooden spoon at the door. “I knew it.”

 

Elsewhere, in a quieter corner of the den, Seungcheol was cleaning his blade while Jeonghan reclined on a moss-covered cushion, watching their son from a small window overlooking the clearing.

 

“He’s glowing,” Jeonghan said suddenly.

 

Seungcheol looked up, frowning. “Who?”

 

“Junghwan.”

 

Seungcheol followed his gaze—and sure enough, there he was: Junghwan, crouched by the stream with Dohoon and Jihoon, offering Dohoon a cloth to wipe his hands. His face had that rare, quiet softness that Seungcheol had only ever seen when Junghwan looked at things he cared deeply about.

 

“You think he knows?” Seungcheol asked, tone low.

 

Jeonghan hummed. “Junghwan? Of course. That boy doesn’t move without reason.”

 

“What about Dohoon?”

 

“Has no clue.” Jeonghan snorted. “He’s too busy trying not to trip over his own tail to notice how many people are staring at him.”

 

Seungcheol grinned. “He’s like you were.”

 

Jeonghan laughed. “Exactly why I’m worried. If he’s anything like me, he won’t figure it out until one of them kisses him or dies.”

 

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. “Do we… let that happen?”

 

“I’m not against speeding things up,” Jeonghan said with a stretch.

 

“You’re not starting anything,” Seungcheol warned.

 

“No promises.”

 

“But… I wonder if that time comes, he'd be able to stand up on his own.”

 

Meanwhile, in the west clearing, Hoshi and Woozi were pretending to supervise the pups’ play sparring, but both were quietly tracking Jihoon with their eyes.

 

“He braided flowers into his hair,” Woozi said flatly, arms crossed.

 

“He always braids stuff,” Hoshi replied.

 

“Not into Dohoon’s hair.”

 

Hoshi paused, then slowly turned to look at him. “You noticed it too?”

 

“Of course I noticed,” Woozi said. “He looks at Dohoon like he’s the moon.”

 

Hoshi sighed dreamily. “It’s cute.”

 

“It’s terrifying,” Woozi muttered. “Our son is in love with a cat raised by wolves, who has two overprotective dads and enough emotional obliviousness to fill a den.”

 

“I said it’s cute,” Hoshi repeated with a grin. “They’re like a storybook.”

 

Woozi gave him a look. “Storybooks usually have heartbreak.”

 

“Or threesomes,” Hoshi added cheerfully.

 

“HOSHI.”

 

“What?! I’m just saying! It’s totally a thing now.”

 

Back in the stream, Dohoon splashed a handful of water at Jihoon, who squealed and nearly dropped his flower crown into the river.

 

“Hey! That was delicate craftsmanship!”

 

“You were trying to tie it into my ear fur!” Dohoon laughed.

 

“I was enhancing your aesthetic!”

 

Junghwan, who was sitting cross-legged nearby with a towel, leaned in and wiped a droplet from Dohoon’s cheek. His touch lingered, slow and careful.

 

Dohoon blinked up at him. “Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

Something buzzed in Dohoon’s chest—foreign and soft and strangely pleasant. But he blinked it away.

 

“Anyway, I’m going to make lunch,” he said, scrambling to stand. “I’ve got stew duty.”

 

“I’ll come,” Junghwan said.

 

“Me too!” Jihoon added.

 

“No, no, I have to do it or I’ll get another week added,” Dohoon said with mock seriousness. “You guys stay.”

 

“We’re staying,” Junghwan repeated, already following him.

 

“Obviously,” Jihoon echoed, bumping Dohoon’s hip with his own.

 

Dohoon rolled his eyes. “You guys are like—mosquitoes. Can’t get rid of you.”

 

“You’d miss us if we were gone,” Jihoon said.

 

Junghwan said nothing, but his faint smile said he agreed.

 

And Dohoon—who still hadn’t figured out why his heart always beat faster when both of them were this close—just huffed and muttered, “...Shut up,” as the three of them walked back into camp.

 

---

 

The teasing started like it always did: with Jihoon being annoying.

 

They were lounging near the training grounds after a long day of gathering herbs, their backs pressed into sun-warmed grass and their limbs tangled like puppies too tired to untangle themselves. Dohoon was half-asleep on Junghwan’s arm while Jihoon laid sprawled beside him, throwing a pebble up and catching it over and over.

 

“You ever kissed anyone?” Jihoon asked suddenly, voice far too casual.

 

Dohoon blinked, sitting up a little. “What?”

 

“Kissed,” Jihoon said again, now staring directly at him with a grin. “You know—mouth to mouth, lips to lips, that sort of thing.”

 

“Why are you asking me?” Dohoon muttered, already blushing.

 

“Because you’re the most likely to blush about it, and that’s fun for me,” Jihoon said without remorse. “So? Ever tried?”

 

Junghwan shifted beside him, but stayed quiet.

 

Dohoon frowned. “No.”

 

“Really?” Jihoon raised an eyebrow. “Not even like, a curious peck? You’re practically made of curiosity.”

 

“Not everyone goes around kissing random people!” Dohoon protested.

 

Jihoon gasped. “You think I go around randomly kissing people?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“…Fair, but rude,” Jihoon said with a grin. “Okay then. I dare you.”

 

Dohoon narrowed his eyes. “To what?”

 

“I dare you to kiss someone.”

 

“Why are we daring me to do this?”

 

“Because it’s fun,” Jihoon said. “And because we both know you’re too chicken to do it.”

 

“I’m not—!”

 

“Then do it,” Jihoon said, chin resting in his palm, a spark dancing in his eyes.

 

Dohoon opened his mouth, then froze.

 

Junghwan was watching him now—not challenging, not pushing, just watching, calm and quiet like always. But his gaze was steady. Focused.

 

Dohoon felt his pulse stutter.

 

“I’m not just gonna kiss anyone,” he said finally, flustered.

 

“Then pick,” Jihoon said.

 

Junghwan tilted his head. “Unless you want to save your first for someone who matters.”

 

The words landed too hard.

 

Dohoon’s ears heated up. “I—Wh—That’s not—I don’t—!”

 

“I’m just saying,” Junghwan said with a slight shrug, voice low. “It’s okay to wait.”

 

Jihoon went quiet, staring at Junghwan for a beat longer than necessary. Then he rolled onto his side and muttered, “Ugh. I hate when you get all mature and ruin the moment.”

 

Dohoon, still red in the face, shoved Jihoon lightly. “Next time you do the dare.”

 

Jihoon smiled. But it didn’t reach all the way to his eyes.

 

Later that night, at the campfire, Dohoon was back in his usual spot helping with stew when he heard someone behind him clearing their throat very dramatically.

 

He turned, and—

 

“Hi, Pa,” he said warily.

 

Mingyu stood over him, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, like a wolf on full alert. “So. A dare.”

 

Dohoon groaned. “Who told you?!”

 

“People talk,” Mingyu said ominously. “Especially when they see my son getting pressured to kiss someone like this is some wild love festival.”

 

“It wasn’t pressure!” Dohoon hissed. “It was just Jihoon!”

 

“Oh! So now you’re naming names!” Mingyu said, scandalized.

 

Dohoon buried his face in his hands. “I hate this pack.”

 

Wonwoo walked over, wiping his hands on a cloth. “What’s going on?”

 

Mingyu immediately turned to his husband, voice serious. “Your son almost got seduced by peer pressure.”

 

Wonwoo blinked. “Was it Jihoon?”

 

“Yes!”

 

“Oh,” Wonwoo said, and turned back to the fire like that answered everything.

 

“I’M NOT—NOBODY WAS—UGH!”

 

“Listen,” Mingyu said, crouching next to Dohoon like he was about to deliver a war strategy. “I get it. Jihoon is shiny and sharp-tongued and way too smooth for his age. And Junghwan is tall and mysterious and probably writes poetry about you when no one’s looking—”

 

“What?!”

 

“—but you are our baby. So if any of them try to kiss you under a dare or a falling star or even an apple tree, you better tell them—”

 

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo said flatly, “please let our child live.”

 

“I’m letting him live, I’m just reminding him he’s beautiful and precious and must be guarded like a golden egg—”

 

Dohoon dropped the ladle into the soup with a splash. “I am literally going to exile myself.”

 

Mingyu straightened and ruffled his hair with a big grin. “Too late. You’re stuck with us.”

 

That night, when Dohoon returned to his corner of the den and curled up into his blanket, the dare still lingered in his head.

 

He could still hear Jihoon’s voice—playful, teasing. Could still feel the weight of Junghwan’s gaze when he said, ‘Unless you want to save your first for someone who matters.’

 

And for a moment, Dohoon stared at the ceiling and whispered to himself, “What if you both matter?”

 

Then he shoved his pillow over his face and groaned so loud the pups in the next den over barked in confusion.

 

---

 

The sun was warm against Dohoon’s skin as he sprinted through the trees, bare feet pounding the mossy forest floor. Laughter echoed behind him—Jihoon’s unmistakable cackle followed by Junghwan’s deeper, quieter chuckle. His breath caught in his throat, not from exhaustion, but from the sheer thrill of it.

 

They’d been playing their version of tag for almost half an hour, though it had evolved into something much more chaotic: hide-and-chase, dare-and-dodge, grab-and-tumble. Jihoon had added his usual flair by insisting they shout out something embarrassing if they got tagged.

 

“No repeats!” he had yelled earlier, finger wagging dramatically. “You call Junghwan handsome twice in a row and you’re out, Dohoonie!”

 

“Why would I even say that once?” Dohoon had shot back.

 

Junghwan had only raised a brow and muttered, “You say it with your eyes.”

 

Dohoon had nearly fallen into a bush.

 

Now, weaving between branches, Dohoon could hear Jihoon closing in fast, his footsteps light but wild, probably grinning with every breath. He ducked behind a tree, crouching low, heart racing with the thrill of escape.

 

“I smell your guilt!” Jihoon’s voice sang out from somewhere to his left. “I can taste your fear!”

 

Dohoon bit back a laugh, clapping both hands over his mouth.

 

“I can hear your tail twitching,” Junghwan’s voice added, calm and much closer than it should’ve been.

 

Dohoon didn’t even have time to react before an arm slipped around his waist and pulled him out from behind the tree.

 

“Gotcha,” Junghwan said in his ear, and that low voice sent a whole-body shiver down his spine.

 

“Aaagh! Unfair!” Dohoon squirmed, laughing as Junghwan lifted him clean off the ground and tossed him gently into the grass.

 

“Say something embarrassing,” Jihoon demanded, arriving with a dramatic tumble and a leaf in his hair.

 

“No!”

 

“Rules are rules,” Jihoon sing-songed, flopping onto Dohoon’s stomach and pinning him in place. “Come on. Make it good.”

 

“Fine,” Dohoon groaned. “Uh… I used to think eating flowers would make me prettier.”

 

“You what?” Jihoon burst into laughter, rolling off him with a wheeze. “Oh my god, you actual forest fairy!”

 

“I was five!” Dohoon protested.

 

“And nothing’s changed!” Jihoon declared.

 

Junghwan sat nearby, legs folded under him, quiet as usual but smiling more openly now.

 

“Your turn, Jihoon,” Dohoon said, still panting. “Truth or dare.”

 

“Truth,” Jihoon said, then immediately regretted it. “Wait, no, I mean—”

 

“Too late,” Dohoon grinned, then paused. “Do you… like anyone right now?”

 

Jihoon blinked. And then his gaze flicked quickly—almost invisibly—to Dohoon, then to Junghwan.

 

Junghwan didn’t react, but Dohoon felt the shift in the air.

 

Jihoon smirked. “That’s a dangerous question, kitty.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because if I answer it, the game stops being a game.”

 

Dohoon blinked at him, thrown. “You’re weird.”

 

“Correct,” Jihoon said, rolling onto his back dramatically. “Junghwan’s turn. Truth or dare?”

 

Junghwan glanced at Dohoon. “Dare.”

 

“Dangerous,” Jihoon grinned. “Alright. I dare you to hold Dohoon’s hand until we get back to the den.”

 

“What—?” Dohoon sat up, face already flushing. “That’s not even—”

 

Junghwan stood, then reached down and offered his hand wordlessly.

 

Dohoon stared at it. His heart was thumping in his chest again, this time not from running.

 

“I’m not gonna explode, little forest fairy” Junghwan said softly.

 

Dohoon huffed and took it, trying not to notice how warm it was, or how naturally their fingers locked.

 

Jihoon climbed to his feet beside them. “Aw, look at you two. Like a married couple. Do you accept another one? Let's make a throuple!”

 

“Shut up,” Dohoon muttered, trying to tug his hand away. Junghwan didn’t let go.

 

They started walking back toward the den, Jihoon on one side of Dohoon, Junghwan on the other. It was quiet for a bit, just the sound of wind in the trees and their footsteps on leaves.

 

And then Jihoon said, “I think I like this game.”

 

Junghwan hummed in agreement.

 

Dohoon didn’t answer.

 

He was too busy wondering why his chest felt like it had swallowed a cloud.

 

By the time they reached the den, Dohoon’s fingers still hadn’t been released.

 

Not once. Not even when Jihoon tripped over a tree root and nearly face-planted.

 

And when they entered the clearing—hand in hand, cheeks flushed from running and laughing and teasing—Dohoon barely registered the two adults standing by the fire until one of them gasped.

 

“WONWOO!” Mingyu hissed.

 

“I SEE IT, I SEE IT,” Wonwoo whisper-shouted back.

 

Dohoon blinked. “What?”

 

The dads had locked onto the joined hands like they were seeing something unholy.

 

Junghwan finally, casually, released Dohoon’s hand like nothing happened. Jihoon just waved with a smug grin and plopped himself down beside the stew pot.

 

“Hi Pa, Hi Dad,” Dohoon greeted them, a little wary. “Why do you look like that?”

 

“Look like what?” Mingyu said with a too-wide smile. “We’re fine. Totally fine. Normal. Chill. Cool.”

 

“You said you see it like you were watching someone give birth,” Dohoon muttered.

 

“WHAT did he do to you?” Mingyu asked, crouching beside him instantly and examining him like he was looking for bruises. “Did they say anything weird? Did Jihoon dare you to kiss someone again?!”

 

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“No but seriously!” Mingyu turned to Wonwoo. “They were holding hands. Holding. Hands. For a long time. That’s not nothing.”

 

“They’re best friends.”

 

“So were we, before we—oh my god. Oh my god, it’s happening!”

 

“It’s not happening,” Dohoon snapped, his face red now. “We were playing a stupid game. It was just a dare.”

“A dare?” Mingyu echoed. “This is how it starts! Truth or dare, emotional eye contact, and next thing you know—”

 

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo said again, this time with more force. “Let him breathe.”

 

Mingyu flopped dramatically onto the grass. “I miss when he was a baby and only liked milk and biting my tail.”

 

Dohoon groaned and turned toward the den. “I’m going to wash up.”

 

“Bring him back the way he came!” Mingyu shouted. “Innocent and unattached!”

 

Wonwoo watched him go, then turned to his husband. “You’re the most dramatic creature in this entire forest.”

 

“I know,” Mingyu mumbled into the moss. “And I’m right.”

 

That same evening, Jeonghan found Junghwan sharpening his blade at the edge of the training grounds. The sparks off the whetstone glinted against his steady hands.

 

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Jeonghan said as he approached.

 

Junghwan didn’t look up. “I’m always thinking.”

 

“That’s what worries me.” Jeonghan dropped onto a log beside him. “So. You like him?”

 

Junghwan paused mid-stroke. “...Who?”

 

“You know who.”

 

Junghwan didn’t answer.

 

Jeonghan nodded slowly, as if confirming it for himself. “He’s... different,” he said. “Sharp when he wants to be. Soft when no one’s looking. And oblivious as hell.”

 

Junghwan huffed, setting the blade down. “Very.”

 

Jeonghan studied his son, then leaned back against the log. “You gonna tell him?”

 

“Eventually,” Junghwan murmured.

 

“And Jihoon?”

 

Junghwan finally looked up. “...He deserves him, too.”

 

There was no jealousy in his voice. Just quiet certainty.

 

Jeonghan let out a long breath. “You really are your father's son.”

 

“I thought that was a compliment.”

 

“It is,” Jeonghan said. “But it means you’re gonna suffer before you’re happy.”

 

Junghwan picked up the blade again. “I know.”

 

At the same time, Woozi stood outside the music den, arms crossed, waiting.

 

Jihoon walked up with a lazy smile and a flower tucked behind one ear.

 

“Hey, Dad.”

 

“You held his hand,” Woozi said flatly.

 

Jihoon’s grin widened. “He has nice hands.”

 

“You held his hand, and then you dared Junghwan to keep holding it.”

 

“I’m a matchmaker,” Jihoon said, hands raised. “Sue me.”

 

“Jihoon.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

 

There was a pause.

 

Then, softer than usual, Jihoon replied, “Yeah.”

 

Woozi’s shoulders sagged. He walked over, placing a hand on Jihoon’s head gently.

 

“You’re smart. But be careful. That kind of love—if it happens—it’s not easy. Not with three hearts involved.”

 

“I know,” Jihoon said, and for once, he wasn’t joking.

 

“I just don’t want you to get crushed in the middle.”

 

“I’d rather be in the middle than watching from the side.”

 

Woozi didn’t reply.

 

He just held Jihoon a little tighter for a moment, and then let him go.

 

Later that night, as the trio lay in the grass again—Dohoon in the middle, as always—he spoke up without thinking.

 

“Wouldn’t it be weird if we all ended up mated to different people?”

 

Jihoon laughed. “Why?”

 

“I dunno,” Dohoon said. “We’re always together.”

 

Junghwan’s fingers brushed his lightly, then pulled away. “We’ll figure it out.”

 

Dohoon didn’t understand why his chest felt tight after that.

 

But he didn’t move either.

 

The fire crackled low in the den that night, its warmth spreading only to the outer edges of the furs. Most of the others had already gone to sleep, curled up close to each other in their own clusters of family or lovers. Dohoon lay between Junghwan and Jihoon, like always, but this time he couldn’t sleep. His eyes stayed open, staring into the ceiling of the den as quiet breathing filled the space.

 

Junghwan’s arm brushed against his. Jihoon had curled toward his back earlier, breathing softly into the nape of his neck. Familiar. Comfortable. The kind of closeness that always came easy to the three of them, something that had grown from childhood play into the quiet, physical language of their friendship.

 

And yet, it was different now.

 

Or maybe it had always been this way and Dohoon was only now starting to notice.

 

He turned onto his side carefully, facing Junghwan’s sleeping profile. The future leader of the pack. Strong. Steady. Already trusted by the elders, already respected by wolves twice his age. Even the pups followed him around like ducklings. It was only a matter of time before he was officially named Seungcheol’s successor.

 

And when that happened, he’d be expected to take a mate.

 

Someone from another pack, probably. Someone strategic and useful, strong bloodline, pure wolf. Junghwan would be tied to a whole other family, to new responsibilities, to a bond that lasted for life.

 

Dohoon swallowed and turned his eyes away, heart tight in his chest.

 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it before. He knew. He’d always known. He wasn’t a wolf. Not really. No matter how many times Mingyu or Wonwoo told him he belonged, or how many nights Junghwan and Jihoon curled around him like he was something precious to protect. At the end of the day, he was a cat.

 

A stray.

 

He tried to imagine Junghwan standing at a mating ceremony, adorned in the ceremonial furs, his soon-to-be mate standing beside him. Their hands would be bound, their bond sealed before the entire pack.

 

Dohoon’s stomach turned. He tried to shake the image away.

 

And then Jihoon’s face came to mind. Jihoon, wild and bright, sharp-tongued but so soft underneath it all. Jihoon would find someone too. Someone just as quick-witted, who could match his pace and tame that stubborn heart.

 

They’d both find someone. Wolves always did. Mating was part of the cycle. Tradition. Blood. Legacy.

 

Dohoon wouldn’t.

 

He had no place in that world. No other cat in the clan, no other creature like him to match with. Even if someone ever looked his way, the stares would come—the whispers.

 

He pulled his knees up to his chest under the blanket and exhaled slowly.

 

He wasn’t sure why the thought of Junghwan smiling at someone else like he smiled at Dohoon—quiet and warm and steady—made his throat burn.

 

He wasn’t sure why the idea of Jihoon wrapping his arms around another, laughing in their ear, teasing them like he did to Dohoon, made something heavy curl in his gut.

 

But maybe it wasn’t about jealousy.

 

Maybe it was just the idea that one day, they’d drift.

 

And he’d be alone again.

 

He closed his eyes tight and tried to silence the ache building in his chest.

 

He should be happy for them when that day comes. When they found their mates. He should celebrate with them. Help tie the ceremonial bands. Cook for the feast. Laugh and dance and clap like he belonged.

 

He could do that.

 

He would do that.

 

Because what else was there?

 

Still, as the fire’s light flickered across the wall, Dohoon reached out in the darkness and found Junghwan’s wrist. Just a brush of fingers. Barely a touch.

 

Junghwan didn’t stir, but Jihoon shifted behind him, pressing in closer, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

 

Dohoon stayed there, sandwiched between them.

 

And pretended that nothing would ever change.

 

---

 

Dohoon started waking up earlier than usual. He made sure to slip out of the den before either Junghwan or Jihoon stirred. It wasn’t hard—he’d always been light on his feet, and lately his sleep had been shallow anyway, broken up by too many thoughts and the strange, curling weight in his chest that wouldn’t leave him alone.

 

He took his meals with the elders now. Quietly. Efficiently. Then he’d take whatever tasks were left—cleaning, foraging, assisting the healer wolves who always appreciated an extra pair of nimble hands. He stayed busy on purpose, kept himself out of the clearing where Junghwan usually helped with training, or where Jihoon could be found taunting the younger wolves into games and spars.

 

Avoiding them wasn’t easy, not in a pack like theirs where lives were so tightly knit together. But he managed. A turned corner here. A changed path there. Always with an excuse in his mouth in case someone asked, though no one really did. Most just accepted it as Dohoon being a cat—moody, fickle, independent.

 

Only Wonwoo noticed.

 

He brought it up late one evening while Dohoon was tending to a shallow gash across his forearm.

 

“You’ve been scarce,” Wonwoo said as he sat on a stool nearby, pretending to sort herbs he’d already arranged twice.

 

“I’ve been helping the healer den,” Dohoon replied, not looking up. “It’s busy with all the patrol injuries.”

 

“You used to spend every day with those two like your tails were braided together.”

 

“They’re busy,” Dohoon said.

 

“You’re avoiding them,” Wonwoo countered.

 

Dohoon didn’t respond.

 

Wonwoo didn’t press. He just sighed, standing up and ruffling his son’s hair before walking out of the den with a quiet, “You don’t have to run just because you’re scared.”

 

Dohoon stopped moving, the cloth in his hands tightening in his grip. He stared at the herb-stained bowl in front of him, his breath caught somewhere between exhale and breaking.

 

He wasn’t scared. Not exactly.

 

He just didn’t know what he was supposed to do anymore.

 

The distance didn’t go unnoticed.

 

Junghwan stood outside the training ring one morning, watching the younger wolves spar, but his eyes kept drifting toward the forest path. He’d seen Dohoon earlier, returning with a basket full of herbs and roots, talking quietly with the healer.

 

No wave. No smile. Just a nod.

 

He hadn’t touched his food at breakfast.

 

He hadn’t even looked in Junghwan’s direction.

 

Beside him, Jeonghan grunted. “He’s pulling away.”

 

Junghwan didn’t answer.

 

Jeonghan glanced down at his son. “You gonna let him?”

 

“I don’t want to push him,” Junghwan said. “He’s... figuring things out.”

 

“And what if he figures it out without you?”

 

Junghwan’s hands clenched behind his back. “I won’t let that happen.”

 

Jihoon caught up with him first.

 

Cornered him, actually, in the back of the storage den while Dohoon was carefully rearranging dried herbs and roots on a woven shelf.

 

“Are you mad at us?” Jihoon asked, no preamble, just those sharp eyes watching him.

 

Dohoon didn’t turn. “No.”

 

“Then what is this?” Jihoon stepped forward. “You’re avoiding me. Us. You think I don’t notice?”

 

“I’ve been busy.”

 

“You’re lying.”

 

“Why does it matter?” Dohoon snapped, spinning to face him. “I’m not doing anything wrong. You’ve got the whole pack. You’ve got each other. What does it matter if I take a few weeks alone?”

 

Jihoon stared at him, stunned. “Is that what you think?”

 

Dohoon tried to push past him, but Jihoon caught his wrist.

 

“I miss you,” Jihoon said quietly. “Junghwan does too. We don’t know what we did, but—”

 

“You didn’t do anything!” Dohoon’s voice cracked.

 

He pulled his hand away, eyes stinging.

 

“I just... I needed space.”

 

Jihoon didn’t try to stop him again. He just watched him go, his smile gone, shoulders set like stone.

 

That night, Dohoon returned to the den late.

 

The fire was low again. Junghwan and Jihoon were already there, lying in their usual places—but neither of them was asleep.

 

Dohoon stood near the entrance for a long moment, unsure if he should join them. His corner of the furs was empty. Still waiting.

 

Junghwan sat up slowly.

 

“Are you coming to bed, or do you want more space?”

 

Dohoon didn’t answer.

 

He crossed the room in three steps and curled up in the middle like nothing had changed, even though everything had.

 

Jihoon pressed into his back again, slower this time.

 

Junghwan settled beside him with a quiet breath.

 

None of them said anything.

 

But Dohoon’s fingers found Junghwan’s in the dark.

 

And Jihoon’s tail brushed lightly across his ankle, looping around it like a quiet promise.

 

He closed his eyes and didn’t pull away.

 

---

 

The gathering was called at dusk, when the fire at the center of the camp burned tall and steady and everyone could feel the shift in the air. Seungcheol stood with Jeonghan at his side, his expression composed but purposeful. The whole pack had gathered—wolves of all ages surrounding the fire, whispering, murmuring, sensing that something important was about to be said.

 

Dohoon stood in the back, wedged between Wonwoo and Mingyu. He hadn’t been told what the announcement was about, and his dads didn’t seem to know either, though Mingyu was already looking suspicious.

 

Junghwan stood a few steps from the fire, posture straight, hands behind his back, that ever-stoic calm sitting across his face like a mask. He glanced once at Dohoon in the crowd, but didn’t hold the gaze.

 

Jihoon was leaning beside Hoshi, chewing his lip, unusually quiet.

 

When Seungcheol spoke, his voice was deep and steady. “Thank you all for gathering. There’s been recent conversation among the elders, and with input from other packs that have recently allied with us. With the recent skirmishes, we’ve been encouraged to reaffirm our strength and unity through ties—both in blood and in bond.”

 

A murmur swept through the gathered wolves.

 

Dohoon’s brows knit together. He glanced at Jihoon. Jihoon didn’t meet his eyes, but he looked devastated.

 

Seungcheol continued, “After long discussion with Junghwan and the council, it’s been agreed that in the coming full moon, we’ll receive a visit from a prospective alliance pack. Their second-born daughter, Dayeon, will be staying for several days to observe our ways, with the intention of courting Junghwan for a future mating bond.”

 

Dohoon felt his stomach drop so fast it made him dizzy.

 

All the sounds around him—Mingyu’s sharp gasp, Wonwoo’s quiet, “What?”—faded under the ringing in his ears. In front of him, Junghwan didn’t react. Not a twitch. Not a shift.

 

He stood there and said nothing.

 

Someone next to Dohoon whispered, “Makes sense. He’s the heir.”

 

“Strong girl, Dayeon,” another voice added. “Perfect match.”

 

Dohoon tried to breathe, but the air felt thin.

 

Seungcheol’s voice echoed again. “This doesn’t guarantee a bond, only that our families are open to the possibility. It’s an honor to be considered, and Junghwan will continue to serve the pack until that time.”

 

Junghwan stepped forward, voice calm. “I’ll do my duty. And I’ll treat our guest with the respect she deserves.”

 

Respect. Not warmth. Not excitement. But it didn’t matter.

 

The crowd broke into polite applause. A few cheers. Some proud nods.

 

Mingyu turned toward Dohoon, worried. “Dohoonie...?”

 

“I’m fine,” Dohoon said quickly. “I’m just—I need some air.”

 

He didn’t wait for a response. He turned and slipped through the crowd, out of the fire’s glow and into the shadows of the trees beyond the den.

 

Jihoon found him sitting by the stream some time later, knees pulled to his chest, arms wrapped around them. The water glimmered in the moonlight, and Dohoon’s face was unreadable.

 

Jihoon didn’t say anything at first. He just dropped down beside him, their shoulders brushing.

 

“You heard it the same way I did,” Dohoon finally said, voice quiet.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Dohoon hugged his knees tighter. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“I only found out this morning,” Jihoon replied. “Junghwan told me not to say anything until Seungcheol made it public.”

 

Dohoon’s throat was tight. “He agreed to it.”

 

“It’s not like he had a choice.”

 

“He could’ve told me.”

 

Jihoon was silent.

 

After a moment, Dohoon asked, “Is this how it’s gonna be? Junghwan gets mated off, and then you will too. And I just... what? Stay behind?”

 

Jihoon shifted closer. “You think we’d leave you behind?”

 

“I’m not one of you, Jihoon,” Dohoon said, finally looking at him. “I’m a cat. A stray. I don’t get mating ceremonies or diplomatic unions or... or even a chance.”

 

Jihoon’s expression cracked. “You have a chance. You have us.”

 

“I had you,” Dohoon said. “Now I don’t know anymore.”

 

And Jihoon didn’t have a reply.

 

Because it wasn’t his place to say what Junghwan felt.

 

And it wasn’t the time to say what he did.

 

So instead, he just stayed there, beside him in the dark, until the moon moved high overhead and the stream ran quieter than before.

 

The pack was in a quiet frenzy by the time Dayeon arrived.

 

Furs were shaken out and re-brushed, paths cleared of stray roots, and the entrance to the dens lined with wildflowers and fresh herbs to give off a more welcoming scent. The elder wolves instructed the pups not to tumble into the fire pit, the healer den swept clean for show, and hunters who usually walked around with dirt-streaked faces and dried blood under their nails were suddenly well-groomed and presentable.

 

Dohoon didn’t participate.

 

He stayed out of the clearing altogether, spending the better part of the day helping an injured pup practice walking again after a bad fall. It was easier to stay away. Safer. He didn’t want to see Junghwan beside her. Didn’t want to hear the pack murmuring about how compatible they looked. Didn’t want to have to plaster a smile onto his face while something inside of him quietly caved in.

 

He arrived back in camp at dusk, carrying a basket of clean gauze and crushed herbs from the forest, only to find a crowd already gathering.

 

Dayeon was standing in the center of it all—tall, sharp-featured, and graceful. Her coat gleamed with silver accents, and even in her human form she moved like someone born to be watched. She bowed politely to the elders, offered Seungcheol and Jeonghan a respectful greeting, then turned to Junghwan with an easy smile.

 

Junghwan bowed back. Polite. Blank-faced.

 

But it didn’t matter what he was feeling. The pack saw what they wanted to see.

 

A strong wolf. A future leader. And a girl who matched his stride.

 

Dohoon stood on the outskirts, half-hidden behind the healer den.

 

She noticed him almost immediately.

 

“Oh,” Dayeon said, her gaze flicking in his direction. “You must be the cat.”

 

A few heads turned. The word wasn’t meant cruelly, not really—but it hung in the air like it was too sharp, too precise.

 

Dohoon nodded stiffly. “Dohoon.”

 

She smiled at him. Polite. Not unkind. But something in her tone shifted—subtle and low, the way wolves sometimes lowered their ears when dealing with someone beneath them. “It’s good your pack takes care of you. It shows their strength. To protect the weaker ones.”

 

Jihoon’s jaw ticked from where he stood behind her.

 

Junghwan didn’t say anything.

 

Dohoon just dipped his head and walked away without responding.

 

He didn’t go to the evening meal. He sat by the cliffs instead, picking at dry moss and trying not to feel every echo of that moment like it was scratched into his skin.

 

“It's good your pack takes care of you.”

 

“Weaker ones.”

 

He knew she didn’t mean it as an insult. Not really. Just a fact. Just an observation. It wasn’t her fault she saw him the way most wolves did.

 

And Junghwan—Junghwan didn’t correct her.

 

He shouldn’t expect him to.

 

Junghwan was the heir. He was hosting a guest. Mating negotiations were sacred. Public perception mattered.

 

But for the first time since he was a kitten, curled between Mingyu’s paws, Dohoon felt like a guest in the only home he’d ever known.

 

Back in the den, Junghwan found Jihoon standing alone by the fire, poking the coals with a stick.

 

“She found him,” Jihoon said.

 

“I saw.”

 

“And then she said he was weak.”

 

Junghwan didn’t reply immediately.

 

“I didn’t know what to say,” he admitted.

 

Jihoon looked up sharply. “You say that she’s wrong. You say he’s not weak. You say he’s part of the pack.”

 

“I know,” Junghwan murmured. “But if I speak out like that, it starts rumors. It makes it look like I’m defending him personally.”

 

Jihoon stepped in closer, his voice low and cold. “Maybe you should.”

 

Junghwan clenched his jaw, the firelight flickering across the tight lines of his face.

 

“If this is what duty looks like,” Jihoon said quietly, “then I hope you realize what it’s costing.”

 

He turned and left Junghwan by the fire, the coals popping softly behind him. 

 

By the time the moon rose over the camp, most of the pack had quieted. The evening meal was long over. Dayeon had been escorted to a guest den, still surrounded by the elders and a few curious young wolves eager to make an impression. Junghwan had stayed behind, likely dragged into another round of polite questioning and conversation about pack structures and politics.

 

Jihoon didn’t bother staying.

 

He knew exactly where Dohoon would be.

 

The cliffs behind the eastern ridge weren’t exactly hidden, but most wolves didn’t go there after nightfall. The wind picked up hard near the edge, and the slope of the land made footing uncertain. Dohoon never minded. He always liked the space, the sound of wind instead of voices, the wide view of the trees instead of the backs of wolves.

 

Jihoon found him sitting near the edge, legs dangling over the drop, arms looped loosely around his knees. He didn’t turn when Jihoon approached.

 

“You know, if you jump, I’m not dragging your dumb body out of a ravine,” Jihoon said.

 

Dohoon didn’t laugh. Not even a snort.

 

Jihoon’s chest twisted at the silence. He stepped closer, then sat beside him, legs folded in, arms resting on his knees. The wind tossed both their hair, chilled and restless.

 

“I didn’t know she was going to say that,” Jihoon said quietly. “Or that Junghwan would just stand there like a mute statue.”

 

“It’s fine,” Dohoon muttered.

 

“It’s not fine.”

 

Dohoon pulled his legs up tighter, turning his face away. “She’s not wrong.”

 

“Shut up,” Jihoon snapped, sharper than he meant.

 

Dohoon flinched.

 

Jihoon lowered his voice. “You’re not weak. And you’re not some burden they’re stuck with. You’re more wolf than half the mutts who strutted around her today like she was the moon incarnate.”

 

Dohoon exhaled, bitter. “It doesn’t matter. She’s going to be his mate.”

 

“She’s not yet.”

 

“But she will be.”

 

“You don’t know that.”

 

“I do.” Dohoon turned now, finally, and Jihoon could see the storm behind his eyes. “She’s pretty. She’s from a strong pack. She said all the right things. The elders love her. And Junghwan didn’t stop her. He didn’t say anything when she called me weak.”

 

“Dohoon—”

 

“He just stood there. Like I didn’t matter.”

 

The words broke on his tongue, and he looked away again, shoulders hunched.

 

Jihoon stared at him, struggling with the sharp ache that had been building in his chest since the announcement. He hated seeing Dohoon like this. Hated how quiet he’d gotten, how fast he was retreating back into himself. Hated how fast Junghwan had let it happen. Hated how he realized things late.

 

So Jihoon reached out, gently placing his hand on Dohoon’s.

 

It wasn’t romantic. Not really. Just grounding.

 

Warmth in the dark.

 

“I would’ve said something,” Jihoon said, voice softer now.

 

Dohoon didn’t pull away.

 

“I should’ve said something,” Jihoon continued. “And I’m sorry. I should’ve pulled you away. Should’ve told her she didn’t know a damn thing about you.”

 

Dohoon was quiet for a while. Then: “I just don’t want to be left behind.”

 

Jihoon’s fingers closed around his hand. “We’re not going anywhere.”

 

Dohoon didn’t answer. But he didn’t let go either.

 

They sat like that until the wind eased, and the moon climbed higher over the trees.

 

---

 

Junghwan didn’t sleep.

 

He sat by the fire long after the elders had gone quiet, staring into the embers until they turned dull and gray, until even the flames gave up and the cold returned to the ground beneath him. Jeonghan had gently placed a hand on his shoulder at one point, asking if he was coming in. Junghwan said he would. But he didn’t move.

 

He replayed the scene over and over—Dayeon’s words, her smile, the way Dohoon froze, the way Jihoon looked like he was ready to rip someone’s throat out. Jihoon's disappointed look after. And him, standing there, spine straight, jaw locked, and saying nothing.

 

Because he couldn’t. Because it would’ve been a scandal if he’d argued with a potential mate in front of the whole pack. Because it would’ve been seen as weakness if he’d rushed to defend Dohoon. Because that’s what Seungcheol had taught him.

 

But when he thought of Dohoon’s face—blank, quiet, proud even when he was hurting—Junghwan’s gut churned with guilt.

 

When the first light of morning broke over the horizon, Junghwan stood and made his way to the elder den. He didn’t knock. He stepped inside with quiet, firm footsteps.

 

Seungcheol was already awake, sitting by the low window, sharpening his blade.

 

“You didn’t sleep,” Junghwan said.

 

“I could say the same about you,” Seungcheol replied without turning.

 

“I want to talk.”

 

“I figured.” The knife hissed softly against the whetstone. “Sit.”

 

Junghwan didn’t sit. “I’m not marrying her.”

 

The sharpening stopped.

 

Seungcheol’s shoulders tensed. Slowly, he placed the blade down beside him, then turned toward his son.

 

“You agreed to meet her.”

 

“I agreed to listen. Not to be auctioned off like a treaty prize.”

 

“That’s not what this is.”

 

“Isn’t it?” Junghwan’s voice didn’t rise, but there was weight behind it. “She insulted Dohoon. To my face. To everyone’s face. And I stood there. Because I thought that’s what I was supposed to do. I disappointed Jihoon.”

 

“You did the right thing,” Seungcheol said, watching him carefully. “You held your tongue. You kept the peace.”

 

“I let her treat someone I love like he didn’t belong. I let the people I love believe that they're only second.”

 

The words escaped before Junghwan could even second-guess them. Once they were out, the silence in the room stretched thick.

 

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, but his expression didn’t shift much beyond that. “So it’s not just friendship between you three.”

 

Junghwan’s hands curled at his sides. “I don’t know what it is. But I know they matter. I know I can’t stand there again and act like they don't.”

 

“You’re young,” Seungcheol said after a long pause. “And you don’t understand how fragile the alliances between packs can be. One misstep—”

 

“Then I’ll make different alliances,” Junghwan interrupted. “Ones that don’t require me to pretend like Dohoon isn’t part of this pack. Like I can't stand for Jihoon. Like they're not part of me.”

 

Seungcheol stared at him for a long moment. Then he sighed and leaned back against the wall.

 

“I was afraid this would happen.”

 

“You knew?”

 

“I’m not blind, Junghwan. You’ve been looking at them like they hung the moon since you were twelve.”

 

Junghwan’s face flushed, but he didn’t look away.

 

“And Jihoon?”

 

Junghwan nodded slowly. “It’s complicated. He's—”

 

“It always is.”

 

For a while, neither of them spoke. Then Seungcheol said, “If you walk away from this—if you refuse the courtship—you’re burning a bridge. A powerful one.”

 

“I know.”

 

“And if this thing with Dohoon and Jihoon doesn’t lead anywhere?”

 

“Then I’ll still know I didn’t let them stand there alone.”

 

Seungcheol studied his son again, then finally gave a slow nod.

 

“Fine. You want to take your own path? Take it. But from here on, it’s your responsibility. Your choices. Your consequences.”

 

Junghwan bowed. “Thank you.”

 

“And Junghwan?”

 

He paused at the doorway.

 

Seungcheol added, smiling, “If you’re going to fight for them, don’t be late to the battlefield.”

 

 

Mingyu found Dohoon near the old orchard grove, a quiet patch of land just outside the main camp where trees grew crooked and close, their branches tangled like knotted fingers reaching for one another. It has become Dohoon’s refuge these days. He sat on one of the thick, low branches with his legs dangling off the edge, ears tuned to the birds above, eyes fixed on a point far beyond the trees. He didn’t look up when Mingyu approached.

 

The air was crisp, but the orchard was always warmer in the mornings. Mingyu said nothing at first. He just climbed onto the same branch with a soft grunt, sitting beside his son with the kind of heavy silence that came from wanting to say too much and not knowing where to begin.

 

Dohoon eventually broke it. “If you’re here to talk about the ceremony, I already know I should be over it.”

 

“I’m not here to talk about the ceremony,” Mingyu said.

 

That made Dohoon glance sideways. “You’re never not here to talk about something I should or shouldn’t be doing.”

 

Mingyu gave a soft snort. “Fair. But this time, I just want to tell you something.”

 

“Is it going to make me feel better?”

 

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Mingyu scratched the back of his neck. “That depends on how honest you’re willing to be with yourself.”

 

Dohoon frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“It means Junghwan turned down the courtship.”

 

The branch under them seemed to dip slightly, or maybe it was just Dohoon’s breath catching in his chest. He blinked at his father. “What?”

 

“This morning. He spoke to Seungcheol. Told him he won’t go through with it.”

 

“Why?”

 

Mingyu turned toward him, one leg folded up on the branch, the other swinging lazily off the side. “What do you think, Dohoon?”

 

Dohoon didn’t answer right away. He looked down at his hands, at the bark beneath them. “She’s... a good match for him. Strong. Pretty. Respected.”

 

“She’s not you.”

 

Dohoon winced. “That’s exactly the problem.”

 

“No,” Mingyu said gently. “That’s exactly the reason.”

 

Silence stretched again, but this time it was heavier—warmer. Dohoon couldn’t find the words for the things stirring in his chest. He didn’t know what he was supposed to feel. Relief? Confusion? Hope?

 

He settled instead on denial.

 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he mumbled. “Maybe he just didn’t like her.”

 

Mingyu gave a soft, understanding sigh and reached out, brushing Dohoon’s hair from his forehead like he used to when Dohoon was just a tiny black-furred kitten hiding in his arms. “You don’t have to say it out loud, baby. But don’t pretend it doesn’t mean anything. Junghwan doesn’t do things without reason. And he sure as hell doesn’t throw away alliances unless there’s something—or someone—he’s willing to fight for.”

 

Dohoon’s breath hitched, and he looked away quickly. “It doesn’t change anything. He’s still a wolf. I’m still... just me.”

 

“You’re not just anything,” Mingyu said, firmer now. “You are ours. You are his too, whether you realize it or not.”

 

“But Jihoon—” Dohoon started, then stopped himself.

 

Mingyu raised an eyebrow. “Ah. So it’s both.”

 

Dohoon turned bright red. “I didn’t mean—! I’m not—!”

 

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Mingyu said with a laugh, nudging him with his shoulder. “I’ve had my fair share of complicated hearts. What matters is whether or not you’re going to stop running from it.”

 

Dohoon went quiet again. He stared at the way the morning light filtered through the branches, scattered like gold across the mossy ground.

 

“I’m scared,” he admitted, voice small. “Of losing what we have. Of ruining it. Of wanting something they might not really mean.”

 

Mingyu nodded slowly. “You’re allowed to be scared. But you can’t let that fear talk over the truth. Especially not if they’re out there trying to show you what you mean to them.”

 

Dohoon looked at him then. “What if I’m not enough?”

 

Mingyu smiled—soft, fond, tired in that way parents get when their children start asking questions that don’t have simple answers. “Then they’re idiots. But I don’t think they are.”

 

Dohoon blinked fast, trying not to let anything spill over.

 

“Go home,” Mingyu said gently. “Eat something. Sleep. And maybe... let yourself hope, just a little.”

 

Dohoon didn’t say thank you. He couldn’t find the breath for it. But when he climbed down from the tree, his steps felt less like running and more like moving toward something he hadn’t let himself want until now.

 

The den was unusually quiet when Dohoon stepped through the entrance. The morning light filtered through the high opening, catching bits of dust and ash in the air. The fire had burned down low, leaving a warm red glow and the faint scent of cedar. Jihoon sat on a folded mat near the far wall, one leg tucked under the other, his chin propped on his palm like he’d been sitting there for a while. Junghwan stood near the edge of the room, arms crossed, face unreadable but alert—like he’d been waiting.

 

They both looked up the second Dohoon entered.

 

No one said anything for a few heartbeats. The silence stretched thick between them. Dohoon had been playing this moment out in his head all the way back from the orchard—what to say, how to act, how not to let his voice shake.

 

“Are you mad?” Jihoon asked, finally.

 

Dohoon stared at Junghwan.

 

“You’re dumb.”

 

Junghwan blinked. “What?”

 

Dohoon dropped his basket near the doorway and stepped further in, heat rising behind his cheeks, hands fisting at his sides. “You turned her down. You turned Dayeon down. Do you even realize what that means? What you gave up?”

 

Junghwan’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t respond.

 

“You’re supposed to be the next alpha,” Dohoon went on, voice rising. “You’re supposed to lead this pack. And you just... what? Toss away a whole alliance? For what? For me?”

 

Jihoon sat up straighter. “That’s not why he—”

 

“Yes, it is,” Dohoon cut in, sharp. “You both—you both—keep doing these things. Hovering. Protecting me. Chasing off wolves who don’t even look at me wrong. And now this? It’s stupid.”

 

He wasn’t shouting, but the words came fast now, too fast to stop. “I’m not your responsibility. You don’t need to prove anything to me. Because someday, both of you—you’re going to have mates. That’s how it works. You’ll be bonded to someone from a strong bloodline. Someone worthy. That’s what the pack expects. And I—”

 

His throat tightened.

 

“I’m not part of that story,” he said softer. “I don’t get that. And that’s okay. I have to accept that. So don’t make it harder than it already is.”

 

He turned away, the burn in his eyes pushing up too fast to blink away.

 

Junghwan stepped forward. “Dohoon—”

 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Dohoon said, not looking at him. “You didn’t have to give up anything for me. You don’t owe me that.”

 

Silence again. He could feel both their gazes on him, warm and heavy and too much.

 

Then Jihoon stood slowly, walking until he was only a breath away. “You think we’re doing this because we owe you?”

 

Dohoon didn’t answer.

 

Junghwan’s voice came next—low, steady. “It’s not about debt.”

 

“Or duty,” Jihoon added.

 

Dohoon finally turned to look at them. “Then what is it?”

 

Neither answered right away.

 

Instead, Jihoon gave him a small, lopsided smile and reached out to gently flick his forehead. “You really are dumb sometimes.”

 

Dohoon’s eyes narrowed. “I’m dumb?”

 

Junghwan stepped closer now, standing beside Jihoon, gaze steady. “We didn’t turn down the courtship for you to feel guilty. Or to make you feel trapped.”

 

Jihoon nodded. “We did it because it didn’t feel right. Because there’s only one future we want.”

 

Dohoon looked between them, heart hammering, waiting for something more—something they weren’t saying. But both of them just stood there, eyes warm, faces open.

 

They weren’t confessing.

 

But it was something.

 

Maybe even more.

 

Junghwan lifted a hand—hesitant at first—then rested it on the side of Dohoon’s neck, thumb brushing gently along his jaw. Not possessive. Not dramatic.

 

Just there.

 

Jihoon’s hand settled lightly at Dohoon’s back.

 

The three of them stood in that quiet space between words, not needing to fill it, not just yet.

 

And for the first time in days, Dohoon didn’t feel like running.

 

Dayeon didn’t speak much after that morning.

 

She attended the remaining gatherings and training observations with the same polite grace she had when she first arrived, answering the elders’ questions with a poised smile and offering occasional insights about her own pack’s structure. She sparred with a few younger wolves in the training ring and offered thoughtful feedback. She praised the strength of the pack’s hunters. She smiled when expected.

 

But the light behind her eyes had dimmed.

 

She noticed it the same way any wolf with keen instincts would. It wasn’t loud or dramatic. It was subtle—the way Junghwan’s posture shifted when Dohoon or Jihoon entered a space. The way Jihoon’s laughter was quieter when Dohoon or Junghwan wasn’t near, louder and brighter when they were. The way Dohoon barely spoke to her at all, but always lingered just a little too close to the other two.

 

She was no fool.

 

And she wasn’t bitter. Disappointed, perhaps. But not bitter. Also curious of what will come out of the three. Because to her, it was obvious that it wasn't just Junghwan to Dohoon, or Dohoon to Jihoon, it's an equal love for three. And it piqued her curiosity, her fascination, because it's something not unheard of but definitely rare.

 

On her last evening in the camp, she asked to speak with Seungcheol and Jeonghan privately. They met near the edge of the southern field, beneath a cluster of wind-brushed pine trees, out of view from the rest of the den.

 

“I appreciate your hospitality,” Dayeon said, bowing respectfully. “Your pack is strong. Your territory is well-defended. And Junghwan is everything we were told he’d be.”

 

Jeonghan offered a gentle smile. “You flatter us, Dayeon.”

 

She straightened slowly. “But I don’t think the bond we hoped for will form.”

 

Seungcheol studied her quietly. “Because of Dohoon and Jihoon.”

 

It wasn’t a question.

 

Dayeon gave a faint nod. “There’s something already in place. I can see it. Everyone can, if they bother to look.”

 

Jeonghan’s expression softened. “You don’t sound upset.”

 

“I’m not.” Dayeon gave a quiet laugh, though it held little humor. “I’ve been raised for alliances since I was old enough to walk. I understand the way these things work. But I also know the difference between something built on duty and something that blooms without permission. He doesn’t look at me the way he looks at them. And I don’t want a bond that begins in absence.”

 

Seungcheol nodded slowly, his respect for her growing. “We’ll inform the council.”

 

“There’s no need for fanfare,” she said. “Tell them it was mutual. That the match didn’t fit.”

 

“And your pack?”

 

“They’ll understand.” Her gaze lifted toward the distant treeline. “Besides, they trust me to see clearly.”

 

She paused for a moment, then added, “He’s lucky. That cat of yours.”

 

“He's really lucky,” Jeonghan said gently. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”

 

Dayeon smiled faintly. “I think he’s starting to.”

 

She left the next morning, her farewell quiet and efficient. No drama. No tears. Just a respectful bow to the alphas, a nod to the younger wolves, and a single parting glance at Junghwan across the den.

 

He bowed in return, one hand curled at his side, the other resting gently on the back of a sleeping Dohoon beside him.

 

She smiled once, turned, and was gone.

 

When Dohoon finally returned to the hut he shared with Mingyu and Wonwoo, the sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and the crickets were singing their usual nightly lullaby. The walk back had been slow, his thoughts thick and wandering. It wasn’t that Junghwan or Jihoon had said anything definite—there were still no confessions, no declarations—but something shifted. Something he couldn’t ignore anymore.

 

The fire inside the hut was low, glowing orange and casting soft shadows on the wooden beams. Mingyu was stirring a pot of stew lazily over the flames, while Wonwoo sat nearby with his reading glasses on, thumbing through a tattered herb manual. They both looked up when the door creaked open.

 

“You’re home,” Wonwoo said simply.

 

Dohoon nodded and closed the door behind him. His steps were slow as he padded over to the bedding area, where their thick furs were already laid out. He sat down, toed off his boots, then wrapped one of the blankets around his shoulders before looking up again.

 

“Can I ask something?” he mumbled.

 

Mingyu immediately dropped the ladle back into the pot. “Are you hurt?”

 

“No—”

 

“Did someone say something? Did Junghwan—?”

 

“No, no,” Dohoon sighed, pulling the blanket tighter. “It’s nothing like that. I just... I’ve been thinking.”

 

“Always dangerous,” Mingyu said, squinting at him suspiciously.

 

Dohoon gave him a flat look, but didn’t argue.

 

Instead, he asked, quieter this time, “Is it... possible? Like, ever... has it ever happened—someone being mated to two people?”

 

That stopped everything.

 

The air stilled. The fire popped. And across the hut, Mingyu’s mouth fell open.

 

Wonwoo blinked once, then slowly removed his glasses.

 

“You—you mean—” Mingyu gasped, standing dramatically and holding onto the stew ladle like it was a ceremonial weapon. “YOU WANT THEM BOTH?!”

 

Dohoon turned red so quickly, it was as if someone had slapped a warm hand over his entire face. “I said potentially!”

 

“OH MY GOD,” Mingyu wailed, spinning in place and nearly knocking the pot over. “MY BABY’S GONNA BE MATED TO TWO HUNTERS! TWO FIGHTERS! BOTH OF THEM STRONG! BOTH OF THEM ALPHAS-IN-TRAINING! I NEED TO SIT DOWN—WONS—CATCH ME.”

 

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo said dryly, standing up only to pull him gently down by the shoulders. “Sit before you burn the stew and your soul.”

 

Mingyu collapsed beside the fire, dramatically draping his long arms over Wonwoo’s legs. “They’re gonna fight over him. Claw and teeth. Blood. Fur. The moon will tremble at the carnage—”

 

Dohoon groaned into his blanket. “Pa, I said I don’t even know if I like them like that!”

 

Mingyu gasped again. “So you do! Oh my god! What if they break you?!”

 

“NO!” Dohoon’s voice cracked halfway. “I mean—I didn’t think I did. I just thought we were really close. That they just liked hanging around me because I’m fun to be around! I never thought about... mating.”

 

“Sweetheart,” Wonwoo said gently, sliding beside him. “It’s okay.”

 

Dohoon peeked at him warily.

 

“It’s okay not to know yet,” Wonwoo continued. “You’ve grown up together. They’ve been by your side for so long, it makes sense that your bond with them runs deep. And it’s not strange—not at all—that love could grow from that. Even if it’s two people.”

 

Dohoon chewed his lower lip. “But wolves don’t do that. Not usually.”

 

“No, not usually,” Wonwoo admitted. “But it’s not unheard of. Mating bonds aren’t always about numbers or tradition. Sometimes they form where the heart leads them. And the heart doesn’t always care about customs.”

 

Mingyu sniffled, wiping an imaginary tear. “My baby’s going to be a legend. You’re going to rewrite tradition. Wolves will sing about the Cat Who Loved Two Alpha Wolves”

 

“I didn’t say I “L” them!” Dohoon cried, flopping backward onto the bedding and burying his face in the blanket. “Oh my god, you two are the worst. Stop throwing around the “L” word carelessly!”

 

Wonwoo chuckled, smoothing Dohoon’s hair gently. “All teasing aside, you’re not weird, Dohoon. You’re just figuring it out. That’s okay.”

 

Dohoon peeked out again, eyes a little softer. “So you don’t think I’m... broken?”

 

“Absolutely not,” Wonwoo said without hesitation. “You’ve got two people who clearly care for you more than they’re ready to say out loud, and all this time, you’ve just been trying to understand your own heart. That’s not broken. That’s brave.”

 

Mingyu sniffled again, quieter this time, and nudged Dohoon’s foot with his own. “Whatever happens, we’ve got your back. Even if you end up mated to two overprotective wolves who give me gray hairs.”

 

Dohoon laughed—small and shy, but real.

 

“I don’t even know what I want yet,” he murmured, pulling the blanket tighter again.

 

“That’s alright,” Wonwoo said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “When you do, they’ll still be there. I can guarantee that.”

 

Dohoon didn’t say anything after that. He just let himself be still, warm between his fathers, the soft sounds of the crackling fire wrapping around them. And for the first time in days, he didn’t feel so confused. Not fixed. Not certain. But maybe... ready to start figuring it out.

 

The next morning dawned warm and bright, the sun stretching its golden fingers across the treetops and into the clearing near the southern ridge. Dew still clung to the tall grass as Dohoon stepped outside their hut, arms stretched overhead, back arching with a long, satisfied groan. He hadn't slept that well in days, but between the stew, the awkward love lecture from Mingyu, and Wonwoo’s quiet assurance, the tightness in his chest had finally started to ease.

 

He wasn’t ready to confront the feelings just yet—not completely—but at least he didn’t feel like he was going to implode every time Junghwan or Jihoon looked at him now. Probably.

 

“About time you woke up,” Jihoon called from a few meters away, arms crossed over his chest and a wildflower stem hanging from the corner of his mouth like a toothpick. “We’ve been waiting forever.”

 

Dohoon blinked, squinting into the light. “Waiting for what?”

“Hunting assignment,” Junghwan said as he emerged from behind one of the tall rock stacks, his tone even but his eyes warm. “Father said we needed to restock the riverbank storage. They’re low on fish and root vegetables.”

 

Dohoon made a face. “So we’re going on the most boring kind of hunt.”

 

Jihoon shrugged. “Only if you think hanging out with us is boring.”

 

“I do,” Dohoon said flatly.

 

Jihoon gasped in mock offense. “You wound me.”

 

“You’ll survive.”

 

Junghwan tossed a light pack to Dohoon, who caught it easily. “We’re heading down past the third ridge. Mingyu hyung said some wild taro is growing again in the shaded spots.”

 

Dohoon shouldered the pack. “You asked Pa?”

 

“He’s got the best sense for edible plants,” Junghwan replied smoothly, though his ears reddened slightly. “And your dad made me promise not to let you touch any weird-looking roots.”

 

“That sounds like him,” Dohoon muttered, amused.

 

Jihoon nudged him with his elbow as they walked. “He also said if we let you fall in the river again, we’d be banned from dinner for a week.”

 

“That was one time!” Dohoon protested.

 

“You slipped on a rock and screamed like a dying bird,” Jihoon said, grinning. “Then demanded Junghwan pull you out like a damsel.”

 

“I was cold! And the current was fast!”

 

Junghwan chuckled under his breath. “You were clinging to my waist for half the walk back.”

 

Dohoon turned red. “It was survival!”

 

“Sure,” Jihoon smirked. “Survival. Not at all because you wanted to press up against his big, warm—”

 

“Do you want to be tackled?” Dohoon snapped, voice climbing an octave.

 

Junghwan reached out and patted Dohoon’s head. “Settle down, kitty.”

 

Dohoon swatted at his hand, tail flicking behind him even in human form. “You’re both impossible.”

 

But he was smiling.

 

The walk to the river was lively and full of light teasing, the tension between them softened but still present. Junghwan and Jihoon weren’t being obvious, but they were definitely hovering more than usual. Every time Dohoon crouched near the water to look for tubers, one of them was behind him offering a hand, and the other was warning him not to slip.

 

And something… something definitely shifted between Junghwan and Jihoon also, Dohoon just can't pinpoint it yet.

 

“I can walk five feet without tripping, you know,” Dohoon grumbled as he stood upright with a fistful of muddy roots.

 

“Yeah, but can you stay upright?” Jihoon teased, offering him a cloth to wipe his hands.

 

Junghwan was already setting down a mat and their collected goods, organizing things in neat piles. “Just let us help, Dohoon.”

 

“You’re making me feel like a pup.”

 

“You’re smaller than us,” Jihoon said with a shrug.

 

“I’m not that small!”

 

Junghwan looked him up and down. “You kinda are.”

 

Dohoon kicked a clump of grass at him. “Stop ganging up on me. And I'm even taller than Jihoon!”

 

Jihoon nudged his shoulder again. “We’re not ganging up. We’re just...” He trailed off for a moment, looked at Junghwan with that soft look, then finished with a softer smile, “...here.”

 

That gave Dohoon pause. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of the cloth, eyes flicking between them.

 

Junghwan caught the shift in his mood almost immediately. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Dohoon said quietly, not quite looking at them. “Just... weird week.”

 

Neither of them pushed further.

 

Instead, Junghwan reached into the pack and pulled out a soft bundle wrapped in linen. “Your dad packed lunch for us.”

 

“Oh no,” Dohoon said immediately. “Is this Dad’s ‘special’ dried fish again?”

 

Jihoon grinned. “The kind that smells like sadness and tastes like disappointment?”

 

Junghwan unwrapped it and gave it a cautious sniff. “...Might be.”

 

Dohoon groaned. “He’s trying to kill us.”

 

They all sat down near the bank, the sun filtering through the trees, glinting off the water in bright flashes. It was peaceful. Comfortable.

 

And for the first time, Dohoon let himself feel the warmth of their presence—not just as friends, not just as pack—but as something... more. Not yet spoken, but real. Tangible.

 

He leaned back on his hands and tilted his face toward the sun.

 

Maybe, just maybe, he could let himself want something.

 

Even if he didn’t know how to name it yet.

 

Later that evening, after their return to camp, the energy settled into something quieter.

 

The dinner fire was crackling in its pit, casting gold across the packed dirt and flickering against the walls of the hut. The three of them had eaten side by side, pressed close in the way they always were—elbows bumping, Jihoon stealing from Dohoon’s bowl, Junghwan pretending not to notice when Dohoon leaned into his shoulder after his third yawn.

 

By the time the bowls had been stacked near the door and the warmth of a full belly began to drag at their eyes, Dohoon was half-curled under his shared fur blanket, blinking sleepily. His muscles were pleasantly sore from crouching over river rocks all day, and the heat in the room made it easy to relax. The bedding area was wide enough for all three of them, as it had been since they were young, but it had been a while since they'd shared it all at once.

 

Junghwan was the last to settle in for the night. He doused the last lantern and let the room go dim, only the faintest glow of embers lighting their faces. He climbed onto his usual corner of the shared mat, resting back against a pillow with a low sigh.

 

Jihoon didn’t move to his usual side.

 

Instead, he slowly shifted closer—hesitantly, but deliberately—and nudged at Dohoon’s blanket. After that cancellation of the courting, they started sharing mats again… to Mingyu's disappointment.

 

“Move over, fluffball,” Jihoon murmured, voice quiet in the hush of the room. “You take up half the damn bed.”

 

Dohoon, already half-asleep, grunted and scooted without thinking. “I’m smaller than both of you in animal form.”

 

“Yeah, little dandelion,” Jihoon said, then promptly slid in beside him, close enough that their arms brushed.

 

It was a small thing. In the past, they’d shared beds before—after long hunts, during storms, when the den got too cold—but it had been different then. Casual. Unthinking. This time, Dohoon noticed everything.

 

He noticed how Jihoon’s body curled slightly toward his, not aggressively, but seeking. He noticed the quiet exhale from Jihoon’s nose when he settled against the blanket. And he noticed how, slowly, Jihoon’s hand found the edge of his sleeve and rested there. Not gripping. Not holding. Just… there.

 

Dohoon tensed for a heartbeat.

 

Jihoon didn’t say anything.

 

The warmth of Jihoon’s skin seeped through the thin fabric of his sleeve, grounding and steady.

 

Dohoon murmured, voice rough from sleep, “Why are you so close?”

 

“You’re warm,” Jihoon whispered back.

 

“That’s new. You can curl up to Junghwan too, he's bigger.”

 

“I mean it differently this time. Plus, Junghwan already had his fair share of Jihoonie.”

 

That made Dohoon pause. He didn’t turn his head, but he felt Jihoon’s breath at the side of his neck now, felt his words slide just under the surface of his skin.

 

It wasn’t a confession.

 

But it wasn’t nothing, and there's something more.

 

“…We’re not pups anymore,” Dohoon mumbled, unsure why he said it at all.

 

“No,” Jihoon agreed, the smile audible in his voice. “We’re not.”

 

Junghwan didn’t speak, but when Dohoon glanced on his other side, he found the other boy watching them through the dim glow of the fire, expression unreadable, eyes heavy-lidded but awake.

 

Dohoon didn’t say anything.

 

Junghwan didn’t look away.

 

And Jihoon, close and calm beside him, didn’t move.

 

Eventually, Dohoon let his eyes slip shut.

 

He didn’t know what to name what was happening between them, but for now, he let himself rest in it—quiet and safe, wrapped in warmth, and flanked by two hearts he still wasn’t sure he had the right to hold.

 

The pale blue of early morning filtered into the hut, gentle and cold as it passed through the cracks in the wooden walls. The fire had burned down to a faint glow, its warmth still lingering faintly in the air, but the chill of dawn was beginning to settle in. The room was still, untouched by footsteps or voices, the kind of stillness that made it easy to pretend time had paused.

 

Junghwan stirred first.

 

He shifted on the bedding with a quiet breath, eyes blinking open slowly as the silence wrapped around him. It took him a moment to adjust, to reorient himself to the weight and warmth beside him. But when he turned his head and took in the sight, he froze.

 

Dohoon was still asleep, curled loosely on his side. His black hair was messy and flopped over his brow, one hand tucked under the pillow. Jihoon was pressed against him from the front, just close enough that their foreheads almost touched. Dohoon’s breath moved gently across Jihoon’s collarbone. Jihoon, for once, had gone quiet—no restless shifting, no sharp elbows. Just stillness, comfort.

 

Junghwan felt something tighten in his chest. Not jealousy.

 

He hadn't minded Jihoon's place beside Dohoon last night. Not really. It had made sense—they were close. Always had been. Jihoon was loud, persistent, brave. He had a way of drawing warmth out of Dohoon when no one else could.

 

But now, watching the two of them tucked together like that—like they fit—it twisted something low and aching inside him. Not resentment, exactly. Something softer. Something with more longing than he knew how to carry in his chest.

 

He hesitated, fingers curled in the blanket.

 

He could have turned away. Could have gotten up, left the hut for a run around the clearing, or stayed by the fire pretending he didn’t feel the ache of longing.

 

But instead, slowly, carefully, Junghwan shifted forward.

 

The bedding rustled only slightly as he moved closer, not enough to wake them. He positioned himself behind Dohoon, mirroring Jihoon’s shape, his body warm and steady as he gently slid an arm across Dohoon’s waist. His hand rested lightly just below Dohoon’s navel, still and steady, not pressing too much. Just a quiet claim to space he’d always hovered near but never dared to fully step into.

 

Dohoon murmured something soft in his sleep, stirring just enough to press back into the new heat behind him, his body settling naturally against Junghwan’s chest. The sound—content, trusting—cut straight through Junghwan’s composure.

 

He let his eyes close again.

 

There was something peaceful here. Something quiet and full and real.

 

No words had been exchanged. No grand confessions. Just bodies, warmth, breath.

 

The three of them, for the first time, lying close enough for everything unsaid to exist in the spaces between them.

 

The soft scent of ash and pine lingered in the morning air when Dohoon finally stirred. The hut was still cloaked in the gray-blue hush of dawn, the quiet broken only by the occasional creak of wood and the soft rhythm of three steady heartbeats.

 

It wasn’t the cold that woke him, nor the sunlight peeking through the window cracks—it was the weight. The way something solid and familiar pressed at his back, while something warm and steady brushed softly against his front.

 

His mind blinked awake slowly, not with panic, but with awareness.

 

His first thought was Jihoon. The steady rise and fall of the boy’s chest beneath Dohoon’s palm, the way Jihoon’s chin had tucked down toward him slightly during the night, their foreheads nearly touching. His face was soft in sleep, mouth parted just barely, breath slow. Jihoon always carried chaos in his limbs during the day—his laughter, his energy, his sharp words—but now, lying here like this, Dohoon saw the quiet underneath it.

 

The smooth curve of his cheek. The mole just below his eye. The gentle twitch of his brows as he dreamed.

 

Dohoon’s fingers, still curled loosely against Jihoon’s shirt, flexed slightly. He swallowed thickly.

 

Then came the warmth at his back. Solid. Anchored. Protective.

 

Junghwan.

 

Dohoon didn’t have to turn around to know. The arm looped gently around his waist was strong and still. The breath that brushed his hairline came deep and slow, like Junghwan had been there for a while, silently guarding the space they’d fallen into.

 

He shifted a little, careful not to wake them, and when he did, he caught sight of Junghwan’s hand—rougher, broader, bigger—resting just above his navel. A quiet, steady hold. Not clinging. Just there. Present.

 

And suddenly, everything was there.

 

All of it.

 

The lingering glances over the years.

The way Junghwan always moved when Dohoon moved—silent, instinctive, protective.

The way Jihoon always pulled laughter from him when the days were too heavy.

The way neither of them ever let him feel like he was just a cat in a wolf’s world.

 

And now here they were. One curled around his front, one around his back. No words, no demands, no expectations. Just warmth. Just them.

 

And he was between them.

 

His heart kicked hard against his ribs.

 

Because he realized it—finally, fully—what he hadn’t let himself admit before. Not out of fear, or shame, or confusion, but out of something deeper. Something more vulnerable.

 

He loved them.

 

Both of them.

 

Not the way he loved the pack. Not the way he loved his dads. This wasn’t about safety or comfort or history.

 

This was them.

This was his heart.

 

He loved them enough that he'd probably be lost if they eventually got mated. And it frightened him. That thought.

 

Junghwan, with his stillness, his quiet protectiveness, his steady hand that never pushed too hard.

Jihoon, with his light, his fire, his unstoppable laughter, and the way he made the world feel less heavy.

 

Dohoon’s throat tightened. His eyes stung.

 

He hadn’t meant to fall in love with both of them.

 

He’d just... grown into it.

 

It had crept in between moments—between long hunts, shared chores, quiet nights and bickering laughter. Between standing too close and pretending it didn’t mean anything. Between every time one of them looked at him like he was something precious.

 

Now it was here. Real. Undeniable.

 

And terrifying.

 

His breath shook as he exhaled, trying not to wake them. His fingers twitched, not knowing whether to pull away or reach for more. He didn’t know what came next. Didn’t know if there was a next.

 

He just knew this—this stillness, this warmth, this space between them—was everything he wanted.

 

Everything he’d never let himself believe he could have.

 

The silence broke gently—almost imperceptibly—as Jihoon stirred against Dohoon’s front with a soft hum. His nose wrinkled from the light, or maybe from the tickle of Dohoon’s hair against his lips, and he shifted just slightly.

 

Dohoon froze.

 

He hadn’t moved in the last few minutes, hadn’t dared to. His heart had only just started to calm after the flood of realization that had pulled the ground out from under him. But now, with Jihoon blinking awake and still this close, he felt that calm unraveling again.

 

“Mmm… Dohoonie?” Jihoon’s voice came out sleep-heavy, quiet. “You awake?”

 

Dohoon cleared his throat and tried to sound normal. “Y-yeah. Just now.”

 

Jihoon pulled back far enough to see his face.

 

Then he grinned.

 

“You’re red.”

 

Dohoon blinked rapidly. “Wha—I’m not—”

 

“You’re blushing,” Jihoon said, pointing at his face with a lazy, triumphant smirk. “Like, full cheeks. Pink ears. That little pouty thing you do with your lips when you’re trying to hide something?”

 

Dohoon tried to pull the blanket over his face, but Jihoon stopped him easily.

 

And then came the voice behind him.

 

“...He's definitely blushing,” Junghwan murmured, still half-drowsy but now clearly awake.

 

Dohoon let out a tiny, wounded groan and buried his face into Jihoon’s chest.

 

“Don’t look at me,” he mumbled.

 

Jihoon laughed, a low sound that vibrated pleasantly under Dohoon’s cheek. “Why? Because it’s cute?”

 

“I hate both of you.”

 

“No you don’t,” Junghwan said, voice closer now, his breath warm against the back of Dohoon’s neck.

 

Dohoon tensed again. He could feel Junghwan move, not just from the shift in the bedding, but from the heat that pressed in more deliberately at his back—closer than before. That arm around his waist pulled just a little tighter. Not possessive. But purposeful.

 

Jihoon leaned in a bit too, his grin softening. “You’re acting really weird this morning, Dohoon.”

 

“I’m not—”

 

“You are.” Junghwan’s voice was lower now, his lips near Dohoon’s ear. “You never let us crowd you this much without biting one of us.”

 

“I’m being normal!” Dohoon sputtered.

 

Jihoon exchanged a knowing glance with Junghwan over Dohoon’s shoulder. “Okay, sure. Normal. Blushing like someone told you we were gonna bite you. Claim you.”

 

Dohoon choked. “I swear to the moon—”

 

“You okay?” Junghwan interrupted gently. “You’ve been quiet since you woke up.”

 

Dohoon hesitated. “I’m fine.”

 

“Did you dream something?” Jihoon asked. “Something spicy?”

 

“Jihoon!”

 

Junghwan didn’t laugh—but there was a hint of a smile in his voice when he said, “You’re not acting like someone who just had a regular dream.”

 

Dohoon flailed in the narrow space between them, only to realize there was no space left. His legs were tangled with Jihoon’s. Junghwan had one arm still around his waist and the other resting near his ribs. The closeness was overwhelming, and yet, not unwelcome. That’s what made it worse.

 

They were too warm. Too solid.

 

And they knew.

 

Dohoon gave one last pitiful whine into Jihoon’s shirt. “Can you two just—shut up? For five minutes?”

 

Jihoon’s hand slid into his hair, ruffling it gently. “Not a chance.”

 

Junghwan pressed his nose lightly to the top of Dohoon’s head. “We like it when you’re flustered. The feisty dandelion disappears. It's cute. You're cute.”

 

Dohoon’s entire body went hot again. “You’re both evil.”

 

“Maybe,” Jihoon said lightly, voice brushing the shell of his ear. “But you like us anyway.”

 

He didn’t answer.

 

He didn’t have to.

 

The heat in his face, the way he stayed tucked between them, the way his heart pounded in time with theirs—it said everything he couldn’t.

 

And both Junghwan and Jihoon knew it.

 

The rest of the morning unfolded slower than usual, not because the day demanded it, but because they did.

 

Once they finally rose from the shared bedding, Dohoon had tried—tried—to go about things normally. He’d washed his face, helped Mingyu stir the morning porridge, even volunteered to haul firewood to the outer pits. But there was no escaping it. Not when Junghwan trailed a little closer than usual, not when Jihoon’s laughter was more pointed, more knowing.

 

And definitely not when his heart kept leaping into his throat every time one of them so much as brushed his hand.

 

“So,” Jihoon said casually, walking beside Dohoon with an arm draped over his shoulders as they carried logs between them. “What kind of dreams did you have last night?”

 

Dohoon shot him a glare that could have withered bark. “Drop it.”

 

“I’m just curious.”

 

“You’re never just curious.”

 

Jihoon grinned wide. “Nope. But you’re still red, and that’s adorable.”

 

“I’m not—” Dohoon cut himself off, then hissed under his breath, “I’m fine, Jihoon.”

 

Junghwan stepped around them from behind, arms full of kindling. “He’s been flustered all morning.”

 

“Exactly!” Jihoon nodded, nudging his side. “And trying really hard not to be.”

 

“I hate both of you,” Dohoon muttered.

 

“No you don’t,” Junghwan said again, voice low and certain. “You just don’t know how to deal with us being right.”

 

Dohoon almost tripped over a root.

 

Jihoon, mercifully, didn’t tease him for that—though the grin said he noticed.

 

Later, while sorting bundles of herbs by the communal hut, Dohoon found his hands moving slower than usual. Jihoon was beside him again, sitting cross-legged and plucking stems from a basket. Junghwan sat across from them, tying roots into bundles, his long fingers working deftly.

 

Dohoon wasn’t even sure when it happened, but at some point, Jihoon’s thigh had ended up pressed against his. Warm, firm. Familiar. Too familiar. And yet, Dohoon didn’t move away.

 

And Junghwan—Junghwan was watching him. Not in a sharp, questioning way. But with the kind of gaze that studied, waited, welcomed.

 

“You’re staring,” Dohoon murmured under his breath, fingers fumbling with a sprig of dried lavender.

 

Junghwan lifted a brow. “You’re worth staring at.”

 

That made Dohoon nearly drop the bundle. “What—don’t say stuff like that so casually!”

 

Jihoon leaned back on his hands. “He’s not being casual. He’s being honest. The flowers you ate must've worked. You're pretty, Dohoonie.”

 

Dohoon glared at the herbs like they’d betrayed him. “Can you both not gang up on me today?”

 

“Then stop looking like a kicked puppy every time one of us gets close to you,” Jihoon said, a little softer this time.

 

“I’m not!” Dohoon huffed, cheeks warming again.

 

Junghwan tilted his head. “You didn’t move away though.”

 

“…What?”

 

“When Jihoon sat next to you. Or earlier, when I touched your back in the hut.” Junghwan paused. “You didn’t flinch. Not like you used to.”

 

Jihoon added with a teasing tone, “You used to hiss when I brushed your tail by accident.”

 

“That was different—!”

 

“How?”

 

Dohoon opened his mouth. Closed it. Then muttered, “I don’t know.”

 

But he did know. And they knew he knew.

 

Which only made it worse.

 

And yet, despite the heat rising to his ears, Dohoon didn’t shift away from Jihoon’s touch. When Junghwan reached across to brush a stray leaf from his shoulder, he didn’t snap or scowl. He just… looked at Junghwan’s hand. Quiet. Thoughtful.

 

Familiar.

 

He found himself leaning closer without realizing it—resting his knee against Jihoon’s for balance, leaning toward Junghwan during conversations, laughing a little louder when either of them smiled. It wasn’t obvious, maybe not even to the others around them. But the boys noticed.

 

And they didn’t call him out on it.

 

Not anymore.

 

They just leaned back.

 

Matched his energy. Pressed close. Shared space.

 

Jihoon started handing him pieces of fruit without asking. Junghwan adjusted his scarf when it slipped off his shoulder. It was easy. Natural. And the more it happened, the more Dohoon stopped resisting it.

 

Later that afternoon, as they sat under the tree near the training grounds watching a few younger wolves spar, Jihoon leaned against Dohoon’s side and said lazily, “So when are you gonna admit you like us?”

 

Dohoon almost dropped the apple he was eating. “Excuse me?!”

 

“I said—”

 

“I heard you!”

 

Junghwan, lounging on Dohoon’s other side, gave a low hum. “He didn’t say confess. Just admit.”

 

Dohoon stared between them, flustered, mouth opening and closing. “I—You—! Why are you both so calm about this?!”

 

Jihoon smirked, cheek resting on Dohoon’s shoulder now. “Because we’ve known for a while.”

 

Junghwan added, “We were just waiting for you to catch up.”

 

Dohoon groaned into his hands. “You two are gonna kill me.”

 

Jihoon chuckled. “Hopefully slowly.”

 

“Jihoon! You two are driving me crazy!”

 

Junghwan smiled faintly and nudged Dohoon’s knee with his own. “Take your time. We’re not in a rush.”

 

Dohoon peeked between his fingers at both of them, still red but no longer pulling away.

 

“…You’re both the worst.”

 

“You already said that,” Jihoon grinned.

 

“And you still haven’t moved,” Junghwan added, brushing his fingers gently against Dohoon’s hand.

 

And Dohoon didn’t.

 

He just let them stay.

 

From their vantage point near the healer’s hut, Mingyu and Wonwoo sat on a bench with half-peeled fruit between them, meant for drying. The chore, once a comfortable routine, had long been forgotten as Mingyu stared across the clearing at the tree line where three familiar figures lounged beneath the shade.

 

Dohoon, nestled comfortably between Junghwan and Jihoon, was visibly relaxed—an arm draped over his knees, the half-eaten apple in his lap forgotten. Jihoon had his head tilted lazily against Dohoon’s shoulder, speaking animatedly about something while Dohoon rolled his eyes, clearly amused. Junghwan was seated on Dohoon’s other side, one leg stretched out, the other bent lazily, his hand resting just behind Dohoon’s back in a protective arc that never quite touched—but was always there.

 

Wonwoo reached for another fruit, slicing it with easy precision. “You’re going to snap that knife in half if you keep staring like that.”

 

“I’m not staring,” Mingyu muttered, eyes still locked on the trio. “I’m observing. Like a concerned parent.”

 

“You’re glaring.”

 

“I’m trying to telepathically tell them to back off.”

 

Wonwoo sighed through his nose. “They’ve been like that since they were pups.”

 

“Exactly!” Mingyu hissed, dropping his voice to a fierce whisper. “And now they’re not pups anymore, and Jihoon was practically glued to Dohoon’s side this morning, and Junghwan—don’t even get me started on Junghwan—he slept behind him like some possessive mate! He had his arms around him!”

 

“He didn’t bite him, Gyu.”

 

“YET.”

 

Wonwoo gave him a long, measured look. “And what would you rather they do? Ignore him? Pretend they don’t care about him when they obviously do?”

 

“I want them to… be careful,” Mingyu grumbled. “He’s our baby.”

 

Before Wonwoo could reply, a deep voice joined them.

 

“You know,” Seungcheol said as he approached, arms folded over his chest and a small amused smirk on his lips, “if you’re gonna threaten my son with that stare, at least be polite about it.”

 

Mingyu jumped. “I’m not—threatening!”

 

“You kind of are,” Seungcheol said dryly. He settled beside them, his eyes following Mingyu’s gaze. “Junghwan’s not careless. You know that.”

 

“I know,” Mingyu admitted with a sigh. “But still…”

 

“I’ve already talked to him,” Seungcheol added. “He told me he hasn’t confessed. Said he’s not going to—not until Dohoon knows what he wants.”

 

Wonwoo blinked. “He said that?”

 

“Word for word.” Seungcheol leaned back, voice more serious now. “And when he does confess—if he ever does—it won’t be to steal him. It’ll be because he wants to be part of his life. That includes protecting him. Loving him right.”

 

Mingyu didn’t answer right away.

 

Another voice chimed in before he could.

 

“And my son would throw himself into a river before letting anyone hurt Dohoon,” Hoshi said, popping up from the nearby storage shed, where he’d apparently been eavesdropping. “I mean, yeah, Jihoon’s got the emotional range of a rock sometimes, but he’s not clueless. He loves that boy.”

 

Mingyu blinked. “Wait—Jihoon what—”

 

“I said he loves that boy,” Hoshi repeated, as if it were obvious. “Has for a while. He just thought he’d have to step back for Junghwan’s sake.”

 

“And Junghwan thought the same,” Seungcheol added, a faint grin curling at the edges of his mouth. “Apparently they’re both idiots.”

 

Hoshi chuckled, clearly unbothered. “Idiots in love.”

 

Wonwoo sighed, exasperated but smiling now. “Why does this feel like watching a slow-motion avalanche?”

 

“Because it is,” Seungcheol said. “But it’s a good one.”

 

Mingyu rubbed his forehead. “You’re all so calm. My son’s going to end up with two wolves.”

 

Seungcheol gave him a sidelong look. “That’s the problem? Not that he’s loved?”

 

“…I didn’t say it was a problem,” Mingyu mumbled, then relented with a grumble. “I just… he’s our baby.”

 

“And he’s strong,” Seungcheol said simply. “He’ll choose what’s right for him. But he won’t be doing it alone. Not with those two hovering.”

 

Hoshi patted Mingyu’s shoulder. “Think of it this way—two overprotective hunters for one feral cat. It balances out.”

 

Mingyu buried his face in his hands. “I’m not ready for this.”

 

Wonwoo handed him a peeled fruit. “You never are. But it’s happening anyway.”

 

Seungcheol smirked. “Better prepare yourself. Something tells me this story’s about to take its biggest turn.”

 

Dinner was awkward.

 

Not obviously so—Mingyu still served stew with his usual flair, piling extra meat in Dohoon’s bowl, and Wonwoo still sat with his legs tucked neatly beneath him, commenting softly about the weather, the vegetable harvest, the state of the western field. But underneath the calm surface, everything felt off.

 

Too polite.

 

Too quiet.

 

Too… carefully normal.

 

Dohoon, who had spent the last few days quietly unraveling, could tell within the first few minutes.

 

They were watching him.

 

Not overtly, not with suspicion or concern—but with a kind of quiet, nervous anticipation that made his skin itch.

 

Mingyu placed another slice of roasted yam into his bowl with far too much gentleness. “You’re eating well today.”

 

“...I always eat well.”

 

“Not always. Sometimes you’re too distracted to chew properly.”

 

Dohoon frowned. “That was one time, and I was thinking about berries.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

He squinted at both of them. “Are you two... okay?”

 

“We’re great,” Mingyu said, smiling too brightly. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

 

“Because you’re acting like I’m about to sprout wings and fly away.”

 

Wonwoo raised a brow, lips twitching. “You wouldn’t. Cats don’t fly.”

 

Dohoon groaned and dropped his spoon. “Okay, what’s going on?”

 

Mingyu hesitated. Wonwoo kept eating.

 

“Pa, Dad,” Dohoon said more firmly. “You’re making it weird. Why are you both looking at me like I’ve committed murder?”

 

“We’re just... watching our son grow up,” Mingyu said delicately.

 

“That sounds like something you say before disowning me.”

 

“No one’s disowning anyone,” Wonwoo said smoothly.

 

“Then what is it? Did Junghwan or Jihoon say something?”

 

Mingyu made a tiny squeaking sound in the back of his throat.

 

Dohoon narrowed his eyes. “You know something.”

 

“We don’t know something,” Mingyu tried. “We just... might have heard some things.”

 

Wonwoo, ever the voice of calm, finally looked up. “Seungcheol and Hoshi talked to Mingyu earlier.”

 

Dohoon blinked. “...About me?”

 

“About Junghwan and Jihoon,” Wonwoo corrected. “And you.”

 

Mingyu was already halfway to another crisis. “They said you’re loved. That their boys—their wolf sons—love you.”

 

“Mingyu.” Wonwoo scolded softly.

 

“We’re not ready for this, Woo. Our baby is going to end up with two wolves—”

 

“Okay!” Dohoon yelped, standing abruptly. “Can we not start throwing the ‘L’ word around like that again?! Also, isn't it normal to love… your friends?”

 

Wonwoo exhaled. “Too late. You’re involved now.”

 

Dohoon stared at both of them, then rubbed at his face. “I was going to talk to you about it later.”

 

Mingyu paused mid-rant. “...Talk about what?”

 

With his ears burning and the weight of two knowing gazes on him, Dohoon let out a long breath and finally admitted, “I think I—I realized something this morning.”

 

Mingyu leaned forward. Wonwoo sat back, suddenly very still.

 

Dohoon didn’t look at them when he said it. “I think I have feelings for both Junghwan and Jihoon.”

 

Silence.

 

Then, a sharp intake of breath.

 

Mingyu immediately slumped in his seat with a whimper. “Oh no. Oh no. He’s in love with both of them?!”

 

“Dad!”

 

“I thought maybe one! One! A single wolf, maybe, we could manage—but both?!”

 

Dohoon turned to Wonwoo, panicked. “Make him stop.”

 

Wonwoo was unhelpfully sipping from his bowl. “You got Seungcheol and Hoshi’s approval without even trying. That’s impressive.”

 

Dohoon blinked. “I—what does that even mean?!”

 

Mingyu waved dramatically. “It means they’ve already accepted you as a potential mate to both their sons!”

 

“WHAT?!”

 

Wonwoo continued, as if he hadn’t just broken their son’s brain: “Hoshi said Jihoon’s been in love with you for a while. Seungcheol said Junghwan’s been waiting for you to catch up.”

 

Dohoon sputtered. “What do you mean their mate? I haven’t even kissed anyone! I haven’t even decided if I like being touched that much!”

 

“You let them touch you just fine,” Mingyu muttered into his hands.

 

“DAD—”

 

“Dohoon,” Wonwoo interrupted gently, setting his bowl aside. “Breathe.”

 

“I am breathing! Loudly!”

 

“You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” Wonwoo said simply. “You just have to be honest with yourself.”

 

Mingyu reached across the table, his tone softer now. “And with them. When you’re ready.”

 

Dohoon slumped back into his seat, burying his face in his hands. “I thought I was just... experiencing a very intense friendship.”

 

Wonwoo smiled faintly. “Affection does that sometimes.”

 

“They’re not even being subtle anymore,” Dohoon muttered.

 

“No,” Mingyu said. “They’re not. They never were, honestly.”

 

“And now their parents are involved?!”

 

“Welcome to courting in a wolf clan,” Wonwoo said lightly. “It’s basically community matchmaking.”

 

Dohoon gave a very real, very distressed meow.

 

Mingyu got up and wrapped him in a tight hug from behind. “My poor baby’s gonna be swept away by two persistent idiots.”

 

Dohoon didn’t move.

 

“…I don’t hate the idea,” he mumbled into his sleeve. “I’m just terrified.”

 

Wonwoo rose, rubbing his shoulder gently. “Then be terrified. But don’t shut down.”

 

“They’ll wait,” Mingyu said, pressing a kiss to his hair. “They always do.”

 

Dohoon closed his eyes and nodded.

 

He wasn’t ready to say anything to them yet. Not out loud.

 

But he was starting to believe—maybe—he wouldn’t have to be afraid forever.

 

By the next morning, Dohoon had convinced himself that things could return to some semblance of normalcy.

 

He was wrong.

 

The sun was barely climbing past the treetops when Junghwan knocked on the hut door with two bowls of stew—one for him, and one already half-stirred with a bit of ginger root, which Dohoon liked. He didn’t even have to ask.

 

“Brought you breakfast,” Junghwan said, stepping in like it was routine. “You forgot to eat last time.”

 

“I didn’t forget—”

 

“You did,” Junghwan said plainly. “You just started overthinking and let it go cold.”

 

Dohoon narrowed his eyes. “You sound like my dads.”

 

Junghwan handed him the bowl with the faintest smirk. “You like it when people take care of you without asking.”

 

Dohoon flushed instantly. “I—shut up.”

 

Before he could muster a better retort, the door swung open again.

 

“I knew he’d be here already,” Jihoon announced as he entered, tossing an arm over Dohoon’s shoulder like he owned it. “Didn’t even give me time to make something for you.”

 

“You don’t know how to cook,” Dohoon muttered under his breath.

 

Jihoon pretended to be deeply offended. “I know how to burn rice just right, thank you very much.”

 

Junghwan didn’t look up from where he sat, taking the space beside Dohoon at the low table. “You’re late.”

 

“Fashionably.”

 

“By half a morning.”

 

Jihoon plopped down on the other side of Dohoon and grinned. “You miss me, big guy?”

 

Junghwan didn’t answer. But the glance he gave Jihoon—dry, pointed, amused—said everything.

 

Dohoon shifted between them, staring into his bowl like it might offer him an escape.

 

Jihoon leaned closer. “You’re doing that thing again.”

 

“What thing?”

 

“Where your ears turn red before the rest of your face catches up.”

 

“I don’t—!”

 

“Cute,” Jihoon whispered with a little nudge.

 

Dohoon shoved a spoonful of stew into his mouth just to shut him up.

 

Junghwan took the opportunity to slide a napkin toward him. “Wipe your lip. Or you’ll stain your shirt again.”

 

And when Dohoon didn’t immediately move, Junghwan reached out and did it for him.

 

Softly. Casually. Like it was something he did every day.

 

The motion made Dohoon freeze—mid-chew, spoon still hovering. His entire face went hot.

 

Jihoon watched the exchange with a small, knowing smile. “You’re getting bolder.”

 

“I’m being practical,” Junghwan replied coolly. “He’s messy.”

 

“Rude,” Dohoon mumbled with his mouth full.

 

“You’re adorable,” Jihoon added.

 

“I hate both of you.”

 

They kept eating, the banter easy, but the air had shifted again. Subtly. Tactile and charged.

 

And it didn’t stop there.

 

When Dohoon stood to fetch water from the jug by the window, Junghwan reached out and tugged gently on his wrist—fingers curling around Dohoon’s with the kind of familiarity that made him pause.

 

“You don’t have to,” Junghwan said simply. “I’ll get it.”

 

“I’m fine—”

 

“You should sit. Rest.”

 

“Why?”

 

Junghwan looked at him. “Because I want you to.”

 

Dohoon stared at him for a long second, then slowly sat back down.

 

From behind, Jihoon reached up and started fussing with Dohoon’s hair. “You slept weird. This one strand’s been sticking up like a baby owl’s all morning.”

 

“Jihoon,” Dohoon hissed, ducking away—but not really. “What is wrong with you?!”

 

“You’re soft,” Jihoon grinned. “Let me fuss.”

 

“I’m not a toy!”

 

“No,” Junghwan said, returning with the water. “You’re ours.”

 

That made everything in Dohoon’s brain short-circuit.

 

Jihoon grinned wider. “Look at him glitch.”

 

“I am not—”

 

“You are,” Junghwan said, completely unfazed.

 

“Seriously, what has gotten into you two lately?” Dohoon said, voice wobbling just slightly. “You’re acting like—like—”

 

“Like we’re courting you?” Jihoon said without missing a beat.

 

Dohoon choked. “You’re not!”

 

“Not officially,” Jihoon said with a wink. “But we’ve been practicing for years.”

 

Junghwan didn’t add anything, just reached out and gently took Dohoon’s hand again. Not playful. Not teasing.

 

Just steady.

 

And that—more than the jokes or the touching—made Dohoon’s chest throb.

 

“You don’t get to do this to me,” Dohoon whispered, barely above a breath. “Not if you’re just... waiting for your real mates.”

 

Junghwan’s brows drew together. “Who told you that?”

 

Dohoon looked away. “No one. It’s just how it works, isn’t it?”

 

Jihoon’s smile slipped. “It’s not how we work.”

 

“You’ve been part of us since day one,” Junghwan said, voice softer now. “And we’ve only ever looked at you.”

 

Dohoon’s fingers curled in Junghwan’s palm. Jihoon leaned in again, resting his chin on Dohoon’s shoulder from behind.

 

“Just let us love you a little, okay?” Jihoon whispered. “We’ll be patient.”

 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Dohoon admitted.

 

Junghwan squeezed his hand gently. “We’ll figure it out.”

 

No declarations. No pressure.

 

Just warmth. Constant. Familiar. And terrifying. But Dohoon didn’t pull away.

 

---

 

It was just past dusk when Junghwan and Jihoon stood outside Dohoon’s hut, shifting awkwardly under the soft glow of lantern light, the buzz of crickets surrounding them in a familiar nighttime hum. The faint chatter of the other wolves near the bonfire in the clearing sounded distant, irrelevant compared to the pounding in their ears.

 

Mingyu opened the door first, blinking at the two boys with a half-raised brow and a suspiciously full bowl of honey-glazed nuts in hand.

 

“...What did Dohoon break?”

 

“Nothing,” Jihoon said quickly.

 

“We just wanted to talk,” Junghwan added.

 

That earned them a squint. “About?”

 

Wonwoo’s voice came from further inside, gentle but alert. “Let them in, Gyu.”

 

Mingyu stepped aside reluctantly, and the boys entered, their posture too stiff, too polite, too guilty. Wonwoo closed the book he was reading and gestured to the seating mat across from them.

 

Junghwan sat first, calm as always. Jihoon plopped down a second later but avoided Mingyu’s eyes. That alone made the silence heavier.

 

Mingyu sat last, arms crossed. “Alright. Start talking. No dramatic build up. I just ate.”

 

Jihoon cleared his throat and looked to Junghwan, who offered a subtle nod.

 

Junghwan started. “We’d like your blessing. To court Dohoon.”

 

Mingyu blinked. Then blinked again. “...As in you, singular?”

 

Jihoon shook his head. “Both of us.”

 

“Together?” Mingyu looked between the two like they’d just announced they were moving to the moon. “You both want to—?”

 

“Mate him,” Junghwan said, voice steady. “Eventually. If he’ll have us.”

 

Wonwoo leaned back slightly, watching with a carefully blank face, while Mingyu just sat there in stunned silence.

 

“We talked about it a long time ago,” Jihoon added quickly. “But we didn’t want to bring it up unless Dohoon ever started feeling the same.”

 

“And now we think he might,” Junghwan said. “So we’re asking.”

 

Wonwoo was the first to break the silence with a quiet exhale. “How’s that going to work?” he asked, calm but curious. “You’re both alphas.”

 

Jihoon scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, we know. That’s... not really traditional.”

 

Junghwan didn’t flinch. “We’ve never followed tradition with Dohoon. Even with Jihoon right here.”

 

Mingyu finally found his voice—and unfortunately, it came out very loud.

 

“Wait, wait, wait—so you two are—you’re also in love with each other?!”

 

Junghwan paused, then nodded. “We are.”

 

“But—!” Mingyu dropped the nut bowl. “So what is Dohoon?! The third wheel?!”

 

“NO!” both boys shouted at once, panicked.

 

“Absolutely not,” Jihoon said, eyes wide. “We love him. Just as much as we love each other.”

 

Junghwan added, quieter but no less intense, “If he says yes, it won’t be you-and-me-plus-him. It’ll be us. All three. Equal.”

 

Mingyu looked at them like they had just grown tails out of their heads. “You two can barely share food! How are you planning to share a mate?!”

 

“We already do share him,” Jihoon argued. “His time. His attention. His moods. His bad sleeping habits.”

 

Junghwan nodded. “We’ve been orbiting around him since we were kids.”

 

“And the difference now,” Jihoon added, “is that we’re old enough to admit we want it for life.”

 

Wonwoo, who had been watching with a faint hint of a smile, finally spoke. “Dohoon’s lucky.”

 

Mingyu choked on air.

 

“Wonwoo.”

 

“I’m just saying,” he said mildly. “You two could’ve fought over him and ruined everything. But instead, you’re offering something steady. With care.”

 

“We’d never ask him to choose between us,” Junghwan said quietly. “We’d rather lose everything than make him feel alone again.”

 

“Plus… I realized I can't stomach the image of Junghwan not being mated to me.” Jihoon laughed nervously.

 

Mingyu covered his face with both hands. “I’m too young for this.”

 

“You’re forty-eight.”

 

“Too young!”

 

Wonwoo chuckled softly. “He’s going to panic when he hears about this.”

 

Junghwan’s expression turned sheepish. “We won’t rush him. We just needed your blessing.”

 

Jihoon nodded, eyes earnest. “We’re serious about him.”

 

Mingyu slowly lowered his hands. He looked at both boys, long and searching, then finally exhaled and said, “If you hurt him—”

 

“We won’t,” Junghwan promised.

 

“Not even once,” Jihoon added.

 

Wonwoo leaned back into Mingyu’s side with a faint smile. “You have our blessing. But stars help you if you make him cry.”

 

Mingyu held up a finger. “I make him cry. From rage.”

 

“Fair enough,” Jihoon said quickly, already pale.

 

Junghwan nodded solemnly.

 

“Good,” Mingyu muttered. “Now leave before I accidentally hug you both and start sobbing.”

 

The boys scrambled out of the hut with rushed goodbyes, leaving Mingyu staring at the door with wide eyes.

 

“They’re going to mate our son.”

 

Wonwoo reached over and patted his thigh. “You’re doing great.”

 

Mingyu didn’t move. “I need to lie down.”

 

The courting began loudly.

 

At first, Dohoon thought it was just a new wave of strange behavior from his best friends, or that he's looking at everything through pink lenses because of his newly found feelings—Junghwan arriving at his hut at dawn just to help him gather his clothes, Jihoon insisting on fixing Dohoon’s hair with soft, practiced fingers even when they were just lounging at the clearing. Their touches lingered longer than usual, their words got softer, their glances warmer.

 

Junghwan carved him a new set of combs from pinewood and lacquered them smooth. Jihoon surprised him with sweet almond cakes, still warm from the hearth. They sat too close. They laughed too easily. They never left his side.

 

“Have you two hit your heads?” Dohoon asked one afternoon as they flanked him on both sides while he napped in the shade. “Why are you being so... weird lately?”

 

“Weird?” Jihoon said, dramatically offended. “Weird? I bring you snacks, brush your hair, and defend your honor every day and this is what I get?”

 

Junghwan didn’t even look up from sharpening a blade. “He means you’re clingy.”

 

“I mean both of you are.”

 

Jihoon huffed, tossing a leaf at him. “This is how we express affection, you oversized kitten.”

 

Dohoon blinked. “Is that what it is?”

 

Neither of them answered him directly.

 

It kept building—small gestures growing bolder, touches turning softer, longer. Jihoon whispered teasing things that made Dohoon’s ears burn, and Junghwan began holding his gaze like it meant something more than comfort. Dohoon didn't know what it was anymore. They were louder with their love, but it was still hidden beneath layers he couldn’t quite unravel.

 

Until one night.

 

Dohoon was walking back from the riverbank, having bathed late after a long day of fieldwork. His skin was still damp, his shirt stuck to his back, and the moon was silver-bright above the treetops.

 

He took the long way around the clearing—he didn’t mean to eavesdrop.

 

But when he passed by the edge of the training den, he paused at the sound of low voices. He knew them by heart.

 

Junghwan and Jihoon.

 

They were sitting side by side near the fire pit, heads leaning close, voices soft.

 

Dohoon’s breath caught when Jihoon’s hand reached across and intertwined with Junghwan’s.

 

Fingers curling deliberately, tenderly, with the kind of ease that made Dohoon’s stomach twist in a way he didn’t recognize.

 

“Do you think he knows?” Jihoon asked, quiet.

 

“No,” Junghwan murmured. “Not yet.”

 

“Then how the hell do we tell him?” Jihoon laughed softly. “I mean—we’re kind of failing at being subtle here.”

 

Dohoon stepped on a twig.

 

Both boys turned immediately. Jihoon froze, his hand still laced with Junghwan’s. Junghwan straightened slightly, eyes locking with Dohoon’s under the pale moonlight.

 

“Oh,” Dohoon said, voice a little too high, a little too cracked. “I... didn’t mean to—um.”

 

Jihoon pulled his hand away like he’d been caught stealing. “Dohoon—”

 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Dohoon said quickly, voice hitching. “You don’t have to explain. Congratulations. I guess.”

 

“What?” Junghwan stood up, frowning.

 

“You two. You’re... together now, right?” Dohoon tried to smile. “That’s nice. Makes sense. Honestly, I’m kind of surprised it took this long. Does that mean I've been third wheeling you? Oh. Are those—the gestures… so that I won't feel alone?”

 

“Dohoon,” Jihoon whispered, getting to his feet. “That’s not what this is.”

 

“You like each other,” Dohoon said. “I saw it.”

 

“Yes,” Junghwan answered, no hesitation. “We do.”

 

Jihoon nodded, his voice softer now. “I think I knew the night Junghwan was announced for courtship. When Dayeon stepped forward, he didn’t look at her once. I kind of confronted my feelings first before finding you.”

 

Junghwan stepped closer, his eyes fixed on Dohoon. “But what about you?” he asked, voice low. “Do you not like us?”

 

Dohoon’s heart thundered in his chest. “I... I like you both. I mean… you're my friends. Best friends.”

 

Jihoon let out a quiet, breathless laugh. “Dohoon-ah,” he said, his tone a mix of exasperation and affection, “we know you’re not stupid.”

 

“I’m not—” Dohoon started, before swallowing tightly. “I mean, I can’t like someone who already has a mate.”

 

“We’re not mated yet,” Junghwan said.

 

“You have each other.”

 

“We want you, too.” Junghwan’s voice didn’t waver. “Do you like us, Dohoon?”

 

Dohoon hesitated, eyes wide, flickering between them.

 

Jihoon took slow, measured steps toward him. “Dohoon,” he said again, softer this time. “Would it be okay... if Junghwan and I took you as our mate too?”

 

Junghwan’s eyes were dark with feeling. “We’ve loved you longer than we realized we loved each other. You were always at the center of it. Everything always comes back to you.”

 

Dohoon didn’t breathe. He couldn’t. His throat was tight, his chest too full.

 

He managed a nod. A stunned, shaky nod.

 

“Are you sure?” Junghwan asked, stepping forward too now, his voice impossibly gentle. “We know this isn’t done. That a three-way bond isn’t normal. That it’ll be confusing, hard, even strange for the clan.”

 

“I don’t care,” Jihoon said firmly. “I’d rather have something real than something acceptable.”

 

Dohoon blinked up at them, dazed. “But... how is this going to work?”

 

“It already is. We've been doing it for years. We've been making it work,” Junghwan murmured. “We’ve got our parents’ blessings. Even yours.”

 

Dohoon froze. “What?!”

 

Jihoon smiled. “They’ve known. We told them. Mingyu hyung nearly passed out.”

 

“Wonwoo hyung gave us advice,” Junghwan added. “And told us what to watch out for.”

 

“You didn’t even ask me yet,” Dohoon said, voice cracking, overwhelmed.

 

“We’re asking now,” Jihoon said, standing right in front of him. “Not because we’re confident. But because we’re sure.”

 

Junghwan reached forward and gently cupped Dohoon’s cheek. “We love you.”

 

“Both of us,” Jihoon said. “Not one more than the other. You’re not the third wheel. You’re the center of this.”

 

Dohoon didn’t know what to say. His knees felt weak. His eyes burned.

 

But in the warmth of their hands, the softness of their voices, and the fierce steadiness of their presence—

 

He felt loved.

 

Even if he didn’t understand all of it yet.

 

Even if he didn’t know how this would look tomorrow, or next week, or next year.

 

He leaned into Junghwan’s touch. Reached for Jihoon’s hand.

 

“I’ll try,” he whispered. “I’m scared. But I want to try.”

 

And that was all they needed.

 

---

 

Even before words were spoken and promises were made, Junghwan had always been a quiet constant beside Dohoon.

 

But now that everything was out in the open—now that Dohoon had admitted he liked them both, had let their touches linger, had let himself be held a little longer—Junghwan changed. Not dramatically. Not in a way most people would notice. But Dohoon did.

 

Junghwan began to hover.

 

It wasn’t possessive—at least, not in a way that made Dohoon feel smothered. It was subtler than that. He walked just a step closer now, brushing shoulders more deliberately. His eyes swept the area around them more often, scanning for any signs of discomfort. He was quieter than Jihoon about his affection, but his presence was weighty, like he was ready to step between Dohoon and the world if need be.

 

And apparently, that instinct didn’t stop at just Dohoon.

 

It happened during one of the clan’s weekly gatherings, when a few wolves from neighboring territories had come to trade herbs and share hunting updates. The bonfire crackled brightly in the center of the clearing, laughter and conversations blending together into a lively hum.

 

Jihoon had wandered off for a moment to greet someone—someone Dohoon didn’t know. A sleek-looking wolf boy with silver-streaked hair and too-sharp eyes. His grin was wide, his stance too close, and he leaned in as he spoke to Jihoon with easy familiarity.

 

From across the clearing, Junghwan watched.

 

His expression didn’t change, but his entire body tensed, jaw tight, arms folding across his chest. Dohoon noticed immediately.

 

“You okay?” he asked, nudging him.

 

Junghwan didn’t respond for a second. Then: “Who is that?”

 

“Not sure,” Dohoon said. “One of the forest border pack, I think.”

 

Junghwan’s eyes remained fixed across the flames.

 

The stranger laughed—Jihoon smiled in return, casual but polite.

 

Then the stranger touched Jihoon’s arm.

 

Junghwan stood up.

 

Dohoon blinked. “Wait—what are you—”

 

Before he could finish the sentence, Junghwan was already moving. Long strides. Silent. Purposeful. He crossed the clearing in seconds and stepped directly between Jihoon and the silver-haired wolf without saying a word.

 

The stranger blinked in surprise. “Uh—”

 

“He’s taken,” Junghwan said flatly.

 

Jihoon stared. “Junghwan—”

 

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” Junghwan continued, his voice low and even. “But this isn’t the place.”

 

The stranger raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Didn’t know. Chill.”

 

Junghwan didn’t move until the wolf turned and walked away, looking more amused than offended. Only then did he finally glance at Jihoon, who looked torn between flustered and smug.

 

“Subtle,” Jihoon muttered.

 

“He was hovering.”

 

“I can handle a conversation.”

 

“You didn’t look like you wanted to.”

 

Dohoon had made his way over by now, eyebrows raised. “Okay, so... that just happened.”

 

Junghwan’s hand landed on Jihoon’s lower back, gently guiding him back toward their spot, possessive. “Let’s stay away from border wolves.”

 

“I wasn’t gonna run off with him,” Jihoon muttered, cheeks faintly red.

 

“I know,” Junghwan said simply. “But still.”

 

Dohoon stared after them, blinking. Then hurried to catch up.

 

But that wasn’t the only time instincts kicked in.

 

Later that week, Dohoon had wandered out on his own—he’d meant to carry two full baskets of dried roots and nuts from the northern storage hut to the streamside lodge for the elders. He insisted he could manage it. That he was strong. That his arms were built just fine for the task.

 

Halfway there, the strap snapped, sending the contents scattering down the hillside.

 

And of course, that was exactly when Junghwan and Jihoon showed up—neither of whom had been anywhere nearby a moment ago.

 

“I told you not to carry both,” Jihoon huffed as he scrambled up beside him. “Your arms are like twigs.”

 

“I can carry stuff!”

 

“You clearly can’t!”

 

Junghwan didn’t say a word. He just crouched down, brushing his hands over Dohoon’s wrists, inspecting for bruises. His brows furrowed as he turned Dohoon’s hand over in his palm.

 

“I’m fine,” Dohoon muttered, ears red.

 

“You strained this one,” Junghwan said, voice too serious. “You didn’t wrap it properly.”

 

“I didn’t think I needed to!”

 

Without a word, Junghwan tugged the scarf from his own neck and began to wrap Dohoon’s wrist with slow, careful precision. Jihoon gathered the spilled contents and muttered about how Dohoon was going to give them all gray hair before they turned thirty.

 

And then there was the scenting.

 

It happened more and more.

 

Jihoon would loop his arms around Dohoon’s neck and press his cheek into the crook of Dohoon’s shoulder with a purr and a satisfied hum. “You didn’t smell like us today. That’s not okay.”

 

Junghwan would lean in when Dohoon wasn’t looking, brushing his nose along the side of Dohoon’s neck in passing, the faintest rumble in his chest as he did.

 

Dohoon, for his part, would turn beet red every time. “You’re doing it again!”

 

Jihoon only smiled. “We’re wolves. Scenting is normal.”

 

“Not like that!” Dohoon cried, squirming as Junghwan’s arms looped around his waist from behind.

 

“I like the way you smell,” Junghwan murmured, nose pressed behind Dohoon’s ear. “I don’t want other people smelling it too.”

 

“You’re all insane.”

 

“Mm,” Jihoon agreed, pressing a kiss to Dohoon’s cheek. “And you’re ours.”

 

Dohoon meowed from sheer flustered panic.

 

Still, he never pulled away.

 

---

 

The air was cool and quiet by the time the moon rose high over the tree line, casting a soft silver glow across the glade behind Dohoon's hut. Crickets chirped lazily in the grass, and the scent of pine and damp earth hung in the air like a blanket.

 

Dohoon had slipped outside to escape the warmth of the fire pit where his dads were still talking with some of the older hunters. He wanted a moment of peace—not because he was upset, but because lately, everything had felt so full. Full of touches and glances, warmth and closeness, and emotions so thick they clung to his skin like dew.

 

He didn’t notice Junghwan and Jihoon had followed until Jihoon’s voice broke the silence.

 

“Should’ve known you’d run off.”

 

Dohoon turned to see Jihoon leaning against the wooden fence, arms folded over his chest, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. Junghwan was right behind him, carrying a thin blanket and two steamed dumplings wrapped in cloth.

 

“I wasn’t running,” Dohoon mumbled, cheeks warm. “It was just stuffy in there.”

 

“We thought you might’ve turned into a bush and disappeared,” Jihoon teased.

 

Junghwan said nothing as he spread the blanket over the grass. He sat first, motioning for the other two to join him.

 

Dohoon hesitated for a breath, then padded over barefoot and sat down between them.

 

Jihoon passed him one of the dumplings without a word, and Dohoon took it with a small, grateful smile.

 

For a while, none of them spoke. The breeze stirred gently through the trees. The stars blinked in the sky like sleepy eyes.

 

Junghwan was the first to break the stillness.

 

“You looked like you were thinking too hard again.”

 

Dohoon didn’t answer at first. He stared at the small bite he’d taken from the dumpling, then wiped the crumbs from his fingers on his pants.

 

“I was,” he said softly.

 

Jihoon tilted his head. “About?”

 

“...You.”

 

That made both of them sit up slightly.

 

Junghwan leaned in. “Me?”

 

Dohoon swallowed hard. “You. Both of you.”

 

Jihoon’s teasing grin softened. “What about us?”

 

Dohoon didn’t answer right away. His hands trembled slightly in his lap, barely noticeable—except to two wolves who knew every inch of him by now.

 

He took a breath and moved slowly. Not rushed, not panicked.

 

Junghwan was closest, so he turned to him first, crawling a little closer on his knees. He hesitated just an inch from Junghwan’s chest, then reached out gently and touched the collar of Junghwan’s shirt. He dipped his head hesitantly and brushed his cheek near the base of Junghwan’s neck. His nose skimmed over the skin just beneath the line of his collarbone.

 

Junghwan stilled completely.

 

Dohoon pulled back, eyes flicking up.

 

“I’m trying,” he whispered.

 

Junghwan’s gaze softened, every edge melting away. “You’re doing more than trying.”

 

Then Dohoon turned to Jihoon.

 

The other boy was already frozen, wide-eyed and pink at the ears, clearly not expecting to be next.

 

Dohoon scooted closer again. He leaned forward and pressed the bridge of his nose against Jihoon’s jaw. A little scenting nuzzle, shy and uncertain, but full of sincerity. Jihoon sucked in a breath when Dohoon lingered there—just long enough to leave his own presence behind.

 

“You always do it to me,” Dohoon murmured, voice muffled against Jihoon’s skin. “I thought... I should try too.”

 

Jihoon looked like he was either about to faint or burst into flames. He grabbed Dohoon’s wrists gently, like touching something precious.

 

“You just marked me.”

 

“I didn’t bite you!”

 

“That’s not the point!” Jihoon wheezed.

 

Junghwan chuckled softly, his chest shaking with it. “I think he’s short-circuiting.”

 

Dohoon’s face burned as he pulled back, looking between the two of them with wide, sheepish eyes. “Did I do it wrong?”

 

Junghwan shook his head. “You did it perfectly.”

 

Jihoon exhaled, still flustered. “You did it too well.”

 

“You said scenting was normal!” Dohoon argued, panicked.

 

“It is,” Junghwan said, pulling him back into his side. “But when you do it, it feels different.”

 

“Because it means something,” Jihoon added, his voice softer now as he took Dohoon’s hand. “Because it’s you.”

 

Dohoon didn’t know what to say. His heart was pounding, his fingers tingling.

 

Junghwan leaned closer, his lips brushing the crown of Dohoon’s head. “That was your first time, wasn’t it?”

 

Slightly embarrassed, Dohoon nodded.

 

Jihoon kissed his knuckles. “Thanks for giving it to us.”

 

They lay back together after that, curled beneath the stars. Dohoon pressed between them, safe and steady, cradled on either side by the ones he loved.

 

Maybe he still didn’t understand exactly how this would all work—but in moments like this, it didn’t matter.

 

What they had was real.

 

And more than enough.

 

Dohoon found that warmth came easier now.

 

Not just the kind of warmth from fur and fire, but the kind that settled in his chest when Junghwan wrapped an arm around him absentmindedly during idle moments. The kind that made his toes curl whenever Jihoon rested his chin on Dohoon’s shoulder and stayed there like he belonged.

 

They didn’t rush him. They never did.

 

But they didn’t hold back either.

 

Every touch, every look, every accidental graze of fingers—Junghwan and Jihoon gave Dohoon the space to lean in or pull away. And more often than not now, Dohoon leaned in.

 

Then there were hugs. Dohoon was used to Jihoon hugging him—he’d always been a tactile little thing, full of energy and affection. But now those hugs lingered. Jihoon would sneak up behind him and wrap both arms around his waist, chin hooking over his shoulder.

 

“Morning,” he’d murmur softly.

 

“Mmf,” Dohoon would grumble sleepily, trying not to smile as he tilted his head to the side, brushing it against Jihoon’s.

 

Junghwan’s hugs were rarer, quieter—but when he gave them, they meant something. He’d catch Dohoon when he wasn’t looking—after training, or when Dohoon was drying vegetables by the river—and simply pull him in. No words. No need. Just the broad curve of his chest pressed against Dohoon’s back, arms wrapping around his waist.

 

Once, Junghwan rested his chin lightly atop Dohoon’s head and whispered, “I missed you today.”

 

Dohoon had to pretend he didn’t hear it or else he might’ve melted into the ground.

 

The kisses came slower.

 

Not to the lips, not yet. But cheeks, temples, the tip of his nose. Sweet little things that made Dohoon's heart beat faster every time.

 

Jihoon was the first to do it.

 

They were foraging together near the edge of the woods, crouched side by side, when Jihoon reached over and brushed dirt off Dohoon’s cheek. Dohoon turned slightly toward him just as Jihoon leaned in, and for a breathless second, they were nose-to-nose.

 

Then Jihoon pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

 

Dohoon froze, eyes wide, ears flaming.

 

“I, um,” Jihoon stammered, instantly flustered. “There was a bug. Probably.”

 

Dohoon stared at him, still too shocked to say anything.

 

Jihoon turned redder. “Okay, there wasn’t. I just—wanted to.”

 

“Oh,” Dohoon whispered, looking away. “Okay.”

 

“...Okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Dohoon said. “I liked it.”

 

Jihoon bit back a grin and nearly kissed him again right then and there—but caught himself. Instead, he reached for Dohoon’s hand, their fingers lacing together easily.

 

Junghwan kissed him the first time in the garden behind their hut.

 

It was late in the afternoon, sun golden and low, and Dohoon was tying bundles of herbs into small clusters to dry. Junghwan came to help without saying a word. Just sat beside him, knees touching, hands working quietly beside his own.

 

When they finished, Junghwan handed him the last tied bundle and watched as Dohoon set it carefully on the rack. He didn’t speak. Just leaned in—slowly, so Dohoon could pull away if he wanted—and pressed a gentle kiss in the middle of Dohoon's forehead.

 

Warm. Steady. Certain.

 

Dohoon sat frozen for a second, eyes staring at the ground.

 

Then he said, barely above a whisper, “Why do those keep making me feel like I’m going to cry?”

 

Junghwan’s hand curled over his. “Because they mean something.”

 

“I don’t know how to do this,” Dohoon said honestly, looking down at their joined hands. “Any of this.”

 

“You’re already doing it,” Junghwan said softly.

 

Dohoon’s throat tightened, and he let himself fall against Junghwan’s shoulder. He stayed there until the sun dipped fully behind the trees, arms locked around Junghwan’s waist, the beat of his heart loud in his ears.

 

Later that night, Jihoon crawled under the shared blanket without asking, pressing himself against Dohoon’s back. Junghwan was already lying on Dohoon’s other side, arm draped protectively over his middle.

 

“I’m being swallowed,” Dohoon grumbled softly.

 

“You love it,” Jihoon mumbled into his nape.

 

Junghwan kissed the back of Dohoon’s hand, murmuring, “You smell like home.”

 

Dohoon smiled into the pillow, heart aching in the best way.

 

He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, or how their lives would shape around this new bond forming between them.

 

But wrapped between Junghwan’s steadiness and Jihoon’s warmth, Dohoon felt something he'd never known in his life until now.

 

It was the biggest gathering of the month—perhaps of the entire season. A seasonal festival, meant to celebrate the first full moon of harvest, and every den and corner of the valley had spilled into the clearing. The fire in the center roared high, drums beat low, and food lined every table. The night buzzed with excitement and chatter. Even the pups, usually herded close to the elders, darted about gleefully in wolf form, yipping and tumbling through the grass.

 

Dohoon stuck close to Junghwan and Jihoon, as always, but he’d noticed something… strange.

 

The way Seungcheol kept looking their way. The way Jeonghan had whispered something to him and smirked. The way Hoshi winked at Jihoon. Most damning of all: the way Mingyu kept eyeing the three of them like he was preparing himself for disaster.

 

Dohoon leaned toward Jihoon and whispered, “What’s going on?”

 

Jihoon smiled innocently. “What do you mean?”

 

“You’re smiling weirdly. Everyone’s smiling weirdly.”

 

Junghwan didn’t say a word, only took Dohoon’s hand in his and pulled him a little closer. Dohoon went easily, but his brow furrowed as he glanced around again.

 

Then Seungcheol stepped forward, standing at the edge of the firelight.

 

All conversations dimmed immediately. He didn’t speak often in gatherings unless it mattered, and the weight of his presence fell across the crowd like a ripple.

 

“Everyone,” he began, voice deep and measured, “before we begin the offering and the rites, I would like to make an announcement on behalf of my son, Junghwan.”

 

The crowd stirred, curious. Some turned to glance at Junghwan, who stood beside Dohoon, calm and steady as ever.

 

Seungcheol continued, gaze sweeping across the pack. “As you all know, Junghwan has long been trained to succeed me. But a pack leader, to be strong, must also have strength behind him—not just in skill or authority, but in heart. Tonight, I share with you that Junghwan has chosen his mates.”

 

Gasps rippled like a wave.

 

Chosen? Already?

 

Dohoon stiffened.

 

Wait... mates? Plural? He's announcing—

 

Seungcheol went on, unwavering. “As of last week, Junghwan came to us with the names of those he wishes to walk beside him—not one, but two.”

 

More murmuring now.

 

Seungcheol smiled faintly, pride quiet and unmistakable in his eyes. “Junghwan has chosen Jihoon, son of Hoshi and Woozi. And Dohoon, son of Mingyu and Wonwoo.”

 

The clearing erupted. Not with chaos, not with disapproval—but with confusion, exclamations, laughter, shock, and curious joy.

 

Some older wolves looked puzzled, whispering to each other.

 

Others began clapping, and pups barked and yelped happily in response to the energy.

 

And in the middle of it all—

 

Mingyu screamed.

 

“HE CHOSE MY BABY?!”

 

A few heads turned as Mingyu, eyes wild and teary, clutched at Wonwoo’s shoulder.

 

“HE CHOSE BOTH?! NOT JUST ONE?! MY DOHOONIE’S GONNA— THEY’RE GONNA—” He let out a dramatic wheeze. “HE’S TOO SMALL TO BE MATED!”

 

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo sighed, steadying his husband with one hand as if he were used to this kind of meltdown. “We already talked about this.”

 

“I THOUGHT IT WAS A PHASE, WONWOO!”

 

Dohoon stood frozen between Junghwan and Jihoon, his entire face flushed red.

 

The crowd continued reacting around them, and Seungcheol only chuckled low, stepping back beside Jeonghan, who grinned and elbowed him with pride.

 

Junghwan leaned down to Dohoon’s ear. “You okay?”

 

“Did you know he was going to say that?!”

 

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell me?!”

 

“You would've hidden in the woods.”

 

“I still might!”

 

Jihoon wrapped an arm around his waist, laughing under his breath. “Too late now, kitten. You’re stuck with us.”

 

“We’ll protect the clan together,” Junghwan added, his hand finding Dohoon’s. “With you.”

 

“I—I’m still trying to figure out what kind of tea I like!” Dohoon hissed, overwhelmed. “Now I’m someone’s mate?”

 

“Two someones,” Jihoon corrected with a wink.

 

Before Dohoon could respond, a sudden crowd of wolves came up to them—congratulations, back pats, excited questions, and too many teasing comments about “the little cat who tamed two alphas.”

 

Junghwan never let go of Dohoon’s hand.

 

Jihoon never moved away from Dohoon’s side.

 

And Mingyu, somewhere in the background, had fainted in a chair as Hoshi fanned him with a platter of grilled meat.

 

Dohoon groaned into his hands, but under the embarrassment, a smile bloomed.

 

He was no longer just the lone cat in a wolf’s den.

 

He was theirs—and the whole world knew it now.

 

The night had barely calmed down after the announcement, but the weight of it lingered around Dohoon like smoke. He found himself half-hiding behind Junghwan’s side as the clan slowly drifted back to their normal revelry. There were still lingering congratulations being thrown their way, wolves coming up to slap Junghwan and Jihoon’s backs, and others pinching Dohoon’s cheek like he was a pup who’d just managed to bring home his first rabbit.

 

He eventually managed to slip away to the quieter edge of the firelight, feet kicking lazily at the grass, his thoughts swirling in quiet panic.

 

Junghwan and Jihoon didn’t leave his side, of course.

 

Their quiet was a comfort—but the questions in Dohoon’s chest burned louder than the fire.

 

“…So,” he started, voice just above a whisper, “what exactly does it mean to be… mated?”

 

Jihoon choked on the water he was drinking.

 

Junghwan blinked, turning to him slowly. “You mean no one told you?”

 

“I mean—people said things, but no one really explained it!” Dohoon defended, glaring at Jihoon, who was coughing into his sleeve. “I just thought it meant… you’re, you know, together together. Like… close. Emotionally. Married. Maybe with some biting. I don’t know!”

 

“What do you think wolves do when they go on ruts and heats…?”

 

“Don't you go through it too?”

 

A new voice chimed in, gleeful.

 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Hoshi drawled, walking up with Woozi not far behind, a drink in hand and mischief written all over his face. “It’s a little more than that.”

 

Dohoon stiffened.

 

Jihoon sighed. “Pops, don’t—”

 

“I’m just helping!” Hoshi laughed, throwing an arm around Dohoon’s shoulder. “You see, kitten, being mated isn’t just about staying close and cuddling. Though those are great. But, you know—clans don’t grow from cuddling. We’ve got to keep the bloodline alive.”

 

Dohoon froze.

 

“What.”

 

“We need an heir,” Hoshi said sweetly, patting Dohoon’s head like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

 

There was a loud, sharp gasp—not from Dohoon, but from Mingyu, who came barreling through the crowd like a man hearing blasphemy in real time.

 

“AN HEIR?!” he shrieked, grabbing Dohoon by the shoulders and whirling him around. “You’re still a baby! You don’t even clean your ears properly! You’re going to be what?!”

 

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo sighed, trailing after him. “Not now.”

 

“NO! I let this happen. I thought it was just hugs! I thought maybe a kiss down the line. But heirs?!”

 

Dohoon looked like he was about to evaporate.

 

And it got worse.

 

Seungcheol strolled over with Jeonghan in tow, wearing a smile far too pleased for anyone's comfort. “Funny you bring that up. I made a bet with Hoshi the other day about it.”

 

Dohoon blinked. “About what?!”

 

“Whose kid the heir would take after,” Seungcheol said casually.

 

“You WHAT?!” Dohoon yelped.

 

Jeonghan sipped his tea. “I said it’d have your ears. Hoshi thinks it'll have Junghwan's temper.”

 

“I bet on the hair,” Hoshi added. “Something ridiculous like Jihoon’s, but fluffy like yours.”

 

Seungcheol clapped Mingyu on the back. “You’re welcome to join the pool, by the way.”

 

Mingyu was shaking. “I don’t want to be in the pool! I want to throw the pool off a cliff!”

 

Dohoon covered his face with both hands and let out a strangled, muffled scream.

 

He was ready to dig a hole under the campfire and dive in.

 

But then he felt it—a small tug on his wrist, and the soft thump of a solid chest pressing against his back. Arms wrapped around him, strong and steady.

 

Junghwan.

 

Dohoon didn’t move, but he leaned back just slightly, letting Junghwan’s warmth shield him from the ridiculousness around them.

 

A second later, a hand slipped into his.

 

Jihoon, on his other side, was tracing slow, soothing circles into his palm with his thumb.

 

“We’ll figure things out,” Junghwan murmured close to his ear, voice calm and low.

 

“Yeah,” Jihoon added with a smug grin. “But I bet it’ll look like me.”

 

Dohoon lifted his head just enough to glare between them, red-faced and exasperated.

 

“Can you all shut the fuck up?!”

 

They burst out laughing, and even Mingyu, amidst his spiraling, cracked a small grin behind his hands.

 

 

---

 

Epilogue

The moon had risen quietly above the treetops, casting long beams of silver through the open window of the trio’s shared den. The one where Wonwoo had to drag Mingyu out, because Mingyu doesn't want to leave his baby with the wolves. The air inside was warm, soft with the scent of herbs from the satchels Dohoon had strung up earlier that day—lavender, mint, and a hint of chamomile. The fire in the pit had long since died down to glowing embers, casting a dim orange flicker that barely reached the corners of the hut.

 

Dohoon sat between Junghwan and Jihoon on the thick pile of furs they often shared for sleep. The silence was comfortable. Familiar. The kind that settled deep into the bones after a long day of training, chores, and surviving the teasing looks from the rest of the clan now that everyone knew the truth. He was mated to not one, but two alphas. And somehow, he was still alive.

 

Jihoon’s arm was loosely looped around his shoulders, while Junghwan leaned slightly into his other side, thigh warm against his. They were watching the moon climb its slow path, the lull of night sinking them deeper into a drowsy comfort.

 

Dohoon felt the words building in his throat long before he found the courage to say them.

 

“Hey…” he mumbled, eyes on the ceiling.

 

Jihoon hummed. “Hm?”

 

Junghwan didn’t move, but he tilted his head, gaze sharp in the low light. Waiting.

 

“Did you two…” Dohoon paused, lips twitching with nerves. “Have you… already kissed?”

 

There was a beat of silence.

 

Then Junghwan nodded. “Yeah.”

 

“Of course,” Jihoon said with a grin, glancing up at him. “I kissed him first. Just to be smug. Then he kissed me back and—Junghwan’s wild.”

 

Dohoon’s ears turned red. “Jihoon—!”

 

“I’m just saying!” Jihoon laughed, wiggling his eyebrows. “He looks all quiet and noble, but that man kisses like he’s trying to devour your soul.”

 

Junghwan snorted. “You’re exaggerating.”

 

“Am not.”

 

Dohoon’s heart fluttered. “Oh.”

 

Junghwan's voice was quiet, not teasing. “Does it bother you?”

 

“No!” Dohoon blurted quickly, sitting up a little straighter. “No. I mean—it’s not that. I was just wondering. Because… I haven’t, um. Not even once. Not with anyone.”

 

Jihoon blinked, then leaned closer, amused. “Not even with that tabby from the market last summer?”

 

Dohoon turned red. “That was not a date. I thought we were looking for fish bones.”

 

“Fish bones and romance,” Jihoon teased under his breath.

 

Junghwan rolled his eyes fondly, then let his hand settle on Dohoon’s knee. “It’s okay, you know. There’s no pressure.”

 

“Yeah, no rush,” Jihoon added. “But if you’re curious…”

 

Dohoon looked between them. They were so close. So warm. So theirs.

 

“I just…” He twisted the fabric of his tunic nervously in his hands. “I don’t know the right time. Or how to ask.”

 

The air shifted.

 

Junghwan and Jihoon exchanged a look over Dohoon’s head. It wasn’t even subtle—one of those silent conversations they had when they were on hunts or dealing with sparring drills. Just a glance, an entire agreement.

 

Dohoon looked between them, confused.

 

“Why are you—”

 

Jihoon moved first. Smoothly, easily. He leaned in, fingers grazing Dohoon’s cheek, brushing a loose curl from his forehead. His thumb rested just near the hinge of Dohoon’s jaw, warm and steady.

 

“Dohoon-ah,” he whispered, eyes soft. “Do you want your first kiss?”

 

Dohoon’s breath hitched. His lips parted, eyes wide.

 

“I…”

 

Jihoon smiled at him, gentle and slow.

 

“It’s okay. You don’t have to be ready.”

 

But Dohoon swallowed his nerves, cheeks burning. “I think I am. I just don’t know how to… do it.”

 

“You don’t have to do anything,” Jihoon murmured. “Just feel it.”

 

He leaned in slowly, his breath brushing Dohoon’s skin before his lips ever touched him. It was feather-light at first, more of a question than a claim—a whisper of a kiss at the edge of Dohoon’s mouth.

 

And Dohoon… melted.

 

It was soft and slow, the kind of kiss that asked permission and gave reassurance all at once. Jihoon pulled back just a little before brushing their lips together again, lingering longer this time. His fingers slid gently along the curve of Dohoon’s jaw, thumb stroking a line to his cheekbone.

 

When he finally pulled away, Dohoon’s eyes were still closed, lips parted slightly, breath shallow.

 

Jihoon chuckled, his voice low. “You’re really sweet, kitten.”

 

Dohoon blinked at him, dazed. “Oh.”

 

Junghwan shifted then, and Dohoon turned toward him instinctively, heart still thudding against his ribs.

 

“You okay?” Junghwan asked, his voice like velvet.

 

Dohoon gave the tiniest nod. “You’re going to kiss me too?”

 

Junghwan’s mouth twitched. “Only if you want me to.”

 

Dohoon didn’t answer with words. He simply leaned forward.

 

Junghwan met him halfway.

 

It was different than Jihoon’s—firmer, deeper, but just as careful. Junghwan pressed into it with slow, measured intent, lips brushing over Dohoon’s in a way that made his breath catch. Dohoon reached up, grabbing softly at Junghwan’s sleeve, grounding himself. Junghwan responded by tilting his head, parting Dohoon’s lips gently, his mouth warmer, hungrier—but not overwhelming.

 

Dohoon whimpered against his lips, caught off guard by the heat that bloomed in his chest. Junghwan’s hand found the back of his neck, cradling him there as his lips tilted, mouth grazing Dohoon’s lower lip.

 

Then—Junghwan nipped.

 

Just a little, a tiny bite and tug to his bottom lip.

 

Dohoon gasped into his mouth, jolting slightly as a shiver raced down his spine.

 

Jihoon cackled from beside them. “I told you. Junghwan’s wild.”

 

Dohoon pulled back, face scarlet, and buried it against Junghwan’s chest with a groan.

 

“Why are you like this,” he mumbled into the fabric.

 

Junghwan let out a low laugh, wrapping both arms around him and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Sorry,” he murmured, utterly unrepentant.

 

Jihoon snuggled up on Dohoon’s other side, nuzzling against his shoulder and looping their legs together. “Now you’ve been kissed by both of us. Feels a bit more real now, doesn’t it?”

 

Dohoon, still hiding in Junghwan’s shirt, nodded mutely.

 

“You liked it,” Jihoon teased, poking his side.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dohoon mumbled back.

 

Junghwan’s voice rumbled through his chest. “We can stop, if you want.”

 

Dohoon finally peeked up. His cheeks were flushed, eyes glassy—but he was smiling.

 

“I don’t want to stop,” he admitted.

 

And when Jihoon leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth again, Dohoon giggled softly.

 

When Junghwan kissed his temple a moment later, it was all he could do not to burst into tiny sparks of warmth.

 

Jihoon leaned in, his mouth beside Dohoon’s ear. “Dohoon-ah.”

 

“Mm?”

 

“We’re gonna kiss you again someday. Everyday in Junghwan's book because he's kiss hungry. I'm honestly shocked at how oblivious you were when he was just blatantly staring at your lips when you talk.” Jihoon wheezed, hand patting Junghwan's shoulder.

 

Dohoon peeked up slightly, pouting. “You both are insufferable.”

 

Junghwan smiled. “And you’re ours.”

 

They lay there afterward, curled up like knots—Dohoon in the middle, flanked on both sides by the boys who had slowly, quietly become his whole world. Fingers intertwined. Breath shared.

 

Junghwan whispered something against the shell of his ear, words half-lost to sleep.

 

“We’ll keep taking care of you.”

 

Jihoon hummed. “We’ll make sure you always know you’re loved.”

 

And Dohoon, sleep-heavy and warm in their arms, whispered back the only thing he could manage.

 

“I already know. And I'll do the same to both of you.”

 

There was no “i love you's” said, not because they're afraid to say it, but because in that quiet, tangled moment, they felt it down to the bone.

 

This was home.

 

This was love.

 

And they didn’t need to ask for it anymore.

Notes:

Had to release this before Pride Month ends! My bias line, everyone!

Not my best, but I hope you like it!

*Screeches in NitDoHaep*