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Snow stacked heavy across the windshield, blurring the world into white until the wipers cleared it in quick sweeps.
The mountain road curled tighter the higher they climbed, lined with pines bowing under the weight of frost. Inside the van, warmth clashed with wolf instincts, alphas holding steady at the edges, omegas sighing dramatically in the middle, betas pretending they weren’t just as restless as everyone else.
They had left before sunrise—too early for Hyunjin’s constitution and exactly early enough for Seungmin’s patience to be on life support. The van filled with coffee breath and muffled yawns, and Jisung kept announcing “we’re making memories” every ten minutes like that would stop Changbin from threatening to throw him into a snowbank.
Chan checked the tires twice. Minho checked the route once. Seungmin checked everyone else like a disappointed supervisor. Hyunjin checked his reflection in the dark window and sighed like a dying poet.
Now, about one hour later, Felix leaned against the window, cheek pressed to the cold glass. He’d been quiet most of the drive, watching the trees slip by, each one frosted like a cake no one dared cut into. The air was different up here. Thinner, but also cleaner. Every breath stretched his lungs wider, loosening his chest in a way the city never could.
Beneath it all, like a steady rhythm under noise, was sea salt and lemon myrtle over a whisper of coconut sunscreen, Chan at the wheel. Felix could’ve picked out that scent blindfolded. It smelled like someone who’d grown up with sand in his shoes and the sun in his smile, anchoring him whether he wanted it to or not.
He’d felt it from the first week, like stepping into orbit without meaning to, when Jisung dragged him over for “pack dinner” and Chan opened the door smelling like summer and safety. Felix spent months insisting it was nothing but appreciation. Jisung spent months insisting Felix was lying.
A few weeks ago, the truth finally landed: it wasn’t a crush anymore, it was a full-time job, unpaid, with overtime. And Chan… Chan kept meeting every hopeful glance and too-long touch with the gentle confusion of a man who truly believed Felix was simply… extremely friendly.
Jisung’s response, when Felix finally admitted it out loud, was immediate and merciless. “Congrats,” he’d said, like Felix had just confessed to committing a felony. “You’re in love. And he thinks you’re just… emotionally hydrated.”
Felix could still hear it like it was happening now, probably because Jisung had repeated the phrase at least once a day ever since, like it was a public service announcement.
The van hummed beneath them, tires hissing over packed snow, and a slow bend in the road pulled Felix fully back into the present: pines sliding past, breath fogging the glass, Chan’s hands steady on the wheel. From the middle row, right behind Minho, Jisung made a pleased little sound, like he’d just remembered his own joke and found it funny again. Changbin made a warning noise in response.
“Next right,” Minho said calmly from the passenger seat, thumb scrolling on his phone. His alpha scent, woodsmoke, dry leaves and cool soil, matched his voice: even, unshakable. “The cabin should be just past the fence.”
Chan’s hands flexed once on the steering wheel. “Got it.” His voice was low as always, quiet but carrying enough weight that the chatter behind them instinctively dimmed, but not for long.
“Is the cabin already pre-heated?” Hyunjin groaned from the back, omega whine high and tragic. His long scarf was looped three times around his neck like a noose of luxury. “If it’s not, I’m serious, I’ll freeze to death in my sleep. And when I do, I’m haunting you. Forever.”
Changbin didn’t even look up from where he was sprawled against the van door. His alpha scent thickened, iron and dark roast coffee, all hot muscle and quiet armor, protective even when mocking. “You’re already dramatic alive. Dead, you’d be unbearable.”
Hyunjin clutched his scarf tighter. “This scarf is cashmere, Changbin. Cashmere. Do you even understand how fragile that makes me?”
Changbin just reached over, hooked two fingers in the end of the scarf, and tugged it loose until Hyunjin yelped. “You were fragile long before the scarf,” he said, but his scent curled instinctively around Hyunjin’s whine, softening it without thought.
No one even blinked, they’d been like this for years, mated nearly two now, and their bond showed in everything: the way their scents braided together in the air, the way Hyunjin leaned without asking and Changbin adjusted without thinking, the way every spat ended in laughter or a kiss.
From the middle row, Jisung wheezed, eyes scrunched in delight. “Bin’s right. If Hyunjin comes back as a ghost, it’ll be in designer clothes, minimum Gucci.”
“Obviously,” Hyunjin sniffed, already draping himself back across Changbin’s shoulder like he hadn’t just sworn vengeance.
Felix smiled faintly. It was always like this, bickering one second, tangled up the next. A bond already settled, humming steady beneath the noise.
Jisung sat right behind Minho; every time the van took a curve, his knee bumped the gap between the front seats. Without even looking, Minho reached back, hand finding Jisung’s knee and staying there, casual but firm. His alpha scent wrapped lightly around Jisung’s sugar-bubble omega warmth.
Jisung’s wolf did a pleased little circle in his chest. Best seatbelt I’ve ever had, he thought, absurdly fond. His fingers itched to cover Minho’s hand and never move it.
They weren’t mated yet, not officially, but everyone could smell how close they were. Domestic already: Minho grounding while Jisung filled the air with chatter and laughter, the two of them orbiting each other like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And then there was Chan. His scent filled the van, steady and anchoring without effort, a gravity none of them fought. Felix tried not to notice how much he leaned into it.
Technically, they weren’t a pack. No formal bonds tying all eight of them together, no shared surname, no carved-out territory with their name on it. Just a tangle of friends and couples and almosts crammed into one van.
But some bonds were already written in the air. The way their scents layered, the way they moved around each other, the way home seemed to mean the same thing to all of them. Pack or not on paper, everyone already knew they fit together like family.
The trees broke suddenly, and the cabin appeared at the edge of a frozen lake. Two stories of weathered wood, windows glowing amber against the snow, a faint breath of warmth drifting from the stone chimney into the cold air. Snow piled high around the porch steps, soft and untouched.
Felix’s chest ached. The city always pressed in too close, too loud. This… this was space to breathe. A place where, for a little while, instincts could stretch out without hitting walls.
“Home for the week,” Chan said, easing the van into the shoveled driveway. He didn’t mean it literally, but the word carried quiet certainty, and Felix pocketed it anyway.
The doors opened, and cold bit through the air sharp enough to sting. Their scents spiked with it, alphas steady, omegas high and loud, betas long-suffering.
Hyunjin let out a whimper so tragic it echoed. “I’m not built for this. I’m going to die here.”
“Good,” Changbin said, hoisting two duffels like they weighed nothing. His iron-and-dark-roast-coffee scent rolled steady and smug. “Finally some peace.”
Hyunjin spun, scarf nearly smacking him in the face. “Excuse me? You’d miss me in five minutes.”
“I’d miss the quiet in five seconds,” Changbin shot back.
“You’d miss my scent,” Hyunjin sniffed, tugging the scarf tighter. “Everyone does.”
“Smells like overpriced laundry detergent,” Changbin muttered, though his scent softened around Hyunjin all the same.
Seungmin stepped down from the van behind them, tucking his hands into his pockets, breath puffing white. His beta scent was quieter than the alphas’ and omegas’, black tea, crisp apple, and a faint paper-dry edge from too many late-night study sessions, threading through the cold instead of fighting it.
“You’re not dying,” he said. “You’re walking, like, ten meters in the snow. If you pass away from that, it’s natural selection. The only thing in critical condition right now is my patience.”
Jeongin trailed after him with his camera bag, nearly slipping on the packed snow before catching himself. His scent barely stirred at all, warm, freshly baked bread muted to a soft background haze.
Everyone still liked to joke he just hadn’t really presented yet, that one morning he’d wake up alpha or omega and the whole world would tilt. Jeongin just rolled his eyes. Beta was still a presentation, no matter how quiet it ran.
At the trunk, Minho ignored them completely, already hefting a box.
Felix reached for his own bag, the strap slipping against his glove. Before he could fumble, a warm hand covered his, steady and sure.
“Got it?” Chan asked, close enough that Felix caught the sea salt and lemon myrtle of him, a soft whisper of coconut sunscreen underneath, something deeper that made his pulse stutter.
Felix nodded too quickly. “Yeah.” His scent betrayed him anyway, spiking honey-sweet with nerves.
Chan’s mouth tilted soft, unreadable, and then he was already moving toward the porch, carrying more than anyone else without complaint.
Inside, the cabin smelled of cedar beams and faint, old coffee. Floorboards creaked like they were glad to be stepped on again. The fireplace yawned at the center of the living room, embers banked low from whoever had come up earlier to warm the place.
“Room claims!” Jisung sang again, just to annoy Minho. Chirpy as ever, he scampered after him. “We’re taking the bedroom near the kitchen!”
“You mean the one I already unpacked in,” Minho said, flat as stone.
Jisung grinned. “Exactly. Thanks for holding it for us.”
Minho’s sigh could have powered the cabin’s electricity.
Hyunjin ignored him, drifting to the windows like royalty inspecting his kingdom. “The light here is perfect. Prepare to be devastated by my beauty every morning.”
“You devastate me every morning already,” Changbin muttered, though his scent betrayed fondness.
Felix carried his bag upstairs, hesitated between the big lake-view room and the small tucked-away eaves room. His instincts tugged toward the smaller space, safer, quieter, easier to curl into. He set his bag down and padded back down.
Chan crouched at the fireplace, coaxing flame back from the banked coals. As the fire caught properly, his scent drifted out with the warmth, mingling with cedar beams and old coffee until the cabin smelled quietly alive again.
Felix lingered in the doorway, watching. His wolf settled in his chest without asking. The cabin had a heart again, and it was beating in time with Chan.
Heat spread quickly once the fire caught. Coats slid from shoulders, boots were toed off and left in messy pairs by the door.
Hyunjin claimed the biggest blanket like a monarch taking a throne, only for Changbin to rumble low in his chest and yank half back, the sound more playful than threatening. Hyunjin huffed but leaned into him anyway, satisfied as long as he got to keep at least a corner.
Jisung drifted without thought into the space Minho made for him on the couch, slotting in like a puzzle piece. The alpha didn’t say anything, but his hand landed on Jisung’s knee, grounding as always.
Seungmin sat at the table with a notepad, already scribbling what looked more like an official decree than a shopping list. His beta calm scent steadied the air, though the crease between his brows said he’d single-handedly enforce order on eight wolves if he had to.
Jeongin rummaged through a drawer, then gasped, bright and delighted. “There’s tea!” he announced, holding up a box like he’d discovered buried treasure. His scent spiked with innocent pride, and everyone smiled despite themselves.
Felix hovered near the shelf of board games. He told himself he was taking inventory, checking which boxes were intact, which had lost pieces. But really it was about the warm, beach-salt steadiness rolling from the hearth, the kind that seeped into his skin and made it too easy to stand there, breathing Chan in.
Minho reappeared with a rattling tin. “Secret Santa,” he said, tone flat like a referee calling a foul. “Before someone conveniently forgets about it.”
“If I get Changbin, can I write it off as charity?” Hyunjin asked, draping his scarf across his shoulders like a coronation sash.
“You’re my dependent,” Changbin said, reeling him onto his lap by the end of the scarf. Hyunjin squeaked, then hummed in satisfaction, already settling against him.
“Three minutes to draw and memorize your person,” Seungmin warned, folding neatly into the armchair. “Anyone who loses their slip forfeits their gift.”
“One and a half,” Jeongin said serenely, measuring tea leaves with the care of a surgeon. His warm-bread beta ease smoothed the room’s edges, though the corners of his mouth twitched with mischief.
The tin made its way around. Jisung peeked at his slip and clutched it to his chest like it might escape. Minho unfolded his and gave nothing away. Seungmin sighed at his slip and immediately added another column to his notepad. Jeongin smiled down at his slip like he’d been handed a small moon.
Felix reached in. The paper was thin and cool to the touch. He opened it with his thumb.
Bang Chan.
His stomach dipped. Worse, his scent spiked sharp-sweet, betraying him before he could breathe. Of course. Of course it would be him. He snapped the slip shut on reflex and stuffed it into his pocket.
Jisung’s nose twitched. His grin went feral. “Oh?”
Felix scowled. “It’s nothing.”
“Convincing,” Hyunjin sang, eyes gleaming.
Felix tried to tamp down his scent; it only flared brighter, honey-sweet and nervous. Minho’s brow lifted, while Changbin snorted.
Seungmin muttered, “Pathetic,” without heat, and wordlessly handed Felix a coaster like stabilizing his drink might somehow stabilize his entire emotional situation.
Across the low table, Chan unfolded his own slip. For one heartbeat, his sea salt and lemon myrtle pressed warmer, that soft coconut-sunscreen undertone blooming in the air, then he reined it back, folding the paper with neat precision. His gaze flicked to Felix and away, subtle as a shift in the wind. No reason for anyone else to notice. But Felix felt it all the same, like stepping into sunlight.
“Okay, rules,” Minho said, ignoring the undercurrent. “Budget reasonable, we’re not funding anyone’s midlife crisis. Taste encouraged, Emotional damage punishable. And nobody tells anyone who they got or tries to trade, or I’m revoking fireplace privileges.”
“Define reasonable,” Hyunjin said.
“Not your scarf budget,” Changbin replied.
Hyunjin looked at him with profound pity. “Jealousy is unsightly.”
“And yet extremely common in this household,” Seungmin muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
The tin landed with a soft clink on the mantel above the fireplace. The storm of it passed like group storms always did, fast, noisy, and somehow leaving the air lighter.
Unpacking turned into nesting. The kind of nesting that looked like nothing from far away, but everything up close.
Hyunjin lined the window ledge with his travel art stash—mini prints, twine, little charms, a few pressed botanicals—calling it installation work and treating each item like a museum piece.
Seungmin found an empty crate by the door and slid it into place with quiet authority. “All gloves and hats go here,” he announced, like he was briefing a unit.
Jeongin leaned over, read the room, and added, “And if anyone starts drama, it goes outside with the snow.”
Hyunjin scoffed. “Targeted.”
“Accurate,” Seungmin said, not looking up.
Jisung strung fairy lights above the mantel, humming happily, then decided they needed to be five inches higher. Minho held the step stool without a word, steady as stone, which was proof enough he was having a good time.
Somewhere between art pieces and fairy lights, the omegas gave up pretending and started building a real nest.
It began with Jisung dragging every pillow he could find into the middle of the living room. Felix joined him, shaking out the quilt he’d found in the trunk, spreading it over the growing pile. Hyunjin arrived last, sweeping dramatically down with an armful of blankets like a king delivering tribute.
Within minutes the pile became a sprawl, blankets layered into a proper den. Felix’s wolf purred under his skin as he tucked the edges just right, instincts humming with satisfaction. Jisung immediately burrowed in with a chirp, Hyunjin curled up beside him like royalty in exile, and Felix sat back for a moment, chest loosening as the scents of home, warm, sweet and safe rose around him, wrapping around his own honey-bright nerves until they finally eased.
Changbin pretended to scoff, but his alpha scent puffed protectively over the whole mess. Minho and Chan exchanged glances and didn’t say a word; no alpha in his right mind interrupted an omega nesting.
A moment later, Chan pushed to his feet, not to interrupt, not to hover, just to do what his wolf couldn’t stop doing. He made a slow circuit of the cabin. Checked the latch on the front door. Nudged one window fully closed. Tested the back lock twice, like the mountain might try something clever.
Felix watched him without really meaning to. Every time Chan moved, his scent followed, quiet, steady, threading along the walls like a line of safety. And without thinking, Felix mirrored it in his own way: tugging the quilt straighter when a corner slipped, patting a pillow into a better angle, dragging one more blanket from the couch to layer over the top. Instincts doing what instincts did.
When Chan finally returned to the fire, the air felt…finished. Like something had clicked into place.
Felix’s wolf exhaled, deep and relieved, and sank into the den as if it had been waiting for that exact unspoken signal: we’re safe.
Only then did Felix let himself circle once more, slow, satisfied and fold down into the middle of the warmth.
At some point, someone put music on, soft enough to live beneath the conversation like a heartbeat under noise.
By the time the last bags were unpacked, the cabin didn’t feel borrowed anymore. It felt claimed, accepted, layered with scents and laughter until it was theirs.
The day fell open in front of them, wide and unhurried, nothing pressing but the slow, easy work of being together.
For a while, they stayed exactly where they were, sunk into blankets and each other, letting the fire and the low music turn the cabin into its own small world. Conversation rose and fell in easy waves. Someone yawned. Someone else stole a pillow. Jisung tried to start a debate about whether hot chocolate counted as a meal and was immediately shouted down.
Eventually, the den warmth tipped over into restless heat. Jisung’s foot started bouncing. Hyunjin complained that his “creative spirit was being smothered.” Even Felix’s wolf, dozy and satisfied, pricked its ears at the bright white beyond the windows.
“We should go out before it gets dark,” Chan said at last, not quite a command, not quite a suggestion. “See what we’re working with.”
Grumbling and groaning, they peeled themselves out of the nest. Coats went back on, scarves were wrapped (and rewrapped, in Hyunjin’s case), gloves were hunted down from Seungmin’s mitten basket. Chan checked the doors one more time on instinct, then opened the front one to a rush of cold that bit at their cheeks and lungs in the best way.
— ❆❇❆ —
The sky felt huge, cold and clean and endless. The first bootprints of the day looked too crisp to disturb, so Jisung hopped directly into Changbin’s, and Hyunjin minced along the edge like an offended cat until Changbin sighed and lifted him with both hands, muttering, “Enough.”
Felix laughed so hard his breath made a shape in the air that looked like joy.
Snow squeaked under them. The lake was a quilt of white. The tree line wore its best fur.
“Contest number one,” Changbin announced, clapping his hands once, alpha authority turning the air solid. “Snowmen.”
Jisung squinted at him. “Number one? Why is there a number? We just got here.”
Hyunjin wrapped his scarf tighter. “I came out here for ambience and photos, not the Winter Olympics.”
Seungmin crossed his arms. “Yeah, question: when did this turn into a structured event, and who exactly approved the curriculum?”
“You did,” Changbin said. “By coming outside.”
“That’s not consent, that’s entrapment,” Seungmin replied. “Also, ‘number one’ implies there’s a schedule. I’m on vacation.”
“Too late,” Changbin declared. “Contest number one: snowmen. Ten minutes. Winner gets absolutely nothing, just eternal glory.”
“Make it fifteen,” Seungmin said. “Some of us have standards.”
“Fine, fifteen. Teams or solo, I don’t care,” Changbin said. “Just don’t cry when you lose.”
Hyunjin immediately hooked his arm through Changbin’s. “We’re a team, obviously.”
Jisung bounced over to Minho without even asking, already claiming a patch of untouched snow.
Seungmin eyed the remaining space, then jerked his chin at Jeongin. “You. With me. Someone has to keep the documentation unbiased.”
“Terrible choice, I’m absolutely biased,” Jeongin said cheerfully, already documenting with his phone like a historian tasked by the crown, but he went to stand beside Seungmin anyway.
That left Chan and Felix, still side by side in the trampled snow. Chan’s shoulder brushed his, casual and warm.
“Guess we’re a team too,” Chan said lightly.
Felix’s wolf did a slow, pleased roll under his skin. “Yeah,” he managed. “Perfect Team. Sure.”
They spread out across the yard, snow squeaking under their boots. The lake stretched smooth under a quilt of white, and the tree line stood tall, wearing its best fur. Their wolves stirred inside them, humming under skin, sharpened by the crisp cold.
Hyunjin crouched with an artist’s intensity, sculpting cheekbones into his snowman. “Beauty is the foundation of stability,” he said, as if quoting scripture.
“Wrong,” Changbin grunted, patting abs onto his snowman’s torso. “Strength is stability.”
“Your snowman looks like he does CrossFit,” Seungmin said flatly. His own creation was symmetrical, regulation-approved, and labeled with a stick, like he’d filed it with the local government.
If anything, Seungmin looked offended by the concept of whimsy. The label was neat, blocky handwriting.
SNOWMAN.
Under it, in smaller letters:
DO NOT FEED. DO NOT ENCOURAGE.
Jeongin crafted a tiny snow-penguin beside it and announced, “Category was unclear. I win by technicality.”
Minho crouched low, shaping a snow-cat with alarming anatomical accuracy, while Jisung attached a crooked smile that made it look heartbreakingly sweet. “Look, it’s a rescue cat,” he chirped.
Felix and Chan worked quietly. Without meaning to, theirs grew taller than the rest. Felix rolled the middle section, grunting with effort, and Chan lifted it easily into place, his sea salt and lemon myrtle brushing warm against Felix’s shoulder, coconut-sunscreen soft underneath. Their scents tangled without thought, beach-warm and steady, honey-bright rising high to meet it.
They argued over the carrot nose (Felix won, obviously). When Felix pressed it into place, Chan bent down and added two tiny snowballs at the base.
“For stability,” he said, straight-faced.
Felix blinked down to the two small orbs. A snowman family. His wolf surged so fast it stole his breath. His scent burst into the cold, honey-thick, clover-sweet, protective and wanting all at once.
Chan’s sea salt and lemon myrtle deepened instantly in answer, that soft coconut-sunscreen undertone pressing warm around him, steady as a shelter.
“Oh my god,” Jisung gasped, nose twitching. “Did you just—”
“Imagine imprinting on frozen water,” Seungmin muttered, though his mouth tilted up, betraying amusement.
Hyunjin clutched Changbin’s arm like a scandalized aunt at a wedding. “Felix, darling, you’ve imprinted on a snowman.”
“Shut up!” Felix’s ears burned, his hands fluttering uselessly as if he could shove his scent back into his chest. It only flared brighter, sugary-sweet with embarrassment.
Changbin burst out laughing, his alpha rumble filling the air, protective even in mockery. “That’s it, you’ve lost your mind.”
Felix wanted the snow to swallow him whole. Instead, Chan crouched to adjust the scarf around their snowman, his sea-salt warmth still wrapped steady around Felix, as if saying: It’s fine. I’m here.
Felix’s heart thudded against his ribs. “Stability,” he murmured again, quieter this time, but his wolf wouldn’t stop thrumming, curling warm and helpless in his chest.
For a moment, the whole group went still. Even the cold seemed to pause. Then Jisung howled about corrupt judges, breaking the spell.
Seungmin disqualified everyone for “crimes against taste.” Hyunjin kissed Changbin’s nose red and declared spiritual victory. Jeongin insisted his penguin deserved a dynasty.
But Felix couldn’t stop glancing at the lopsided little snow-family at his feet, or at Chan, who smelled like home in the middle of all that cold.
“Alright,” Minho said finally, brushing snow from his gloves. His calm alpha tone cut through the chatter, steady as stone. “Inside, before somebody loses a finger.”
Hyunjin gasped, clutching his scarf dramatically. “My fingers are an artistic necessity!”
“Congratulations,” Changbin said, scooping him up over one shoulder like a sack of flour. “You’re luggage now.”
Hyunjin shrieked, kicking his boots in protest, but his scent purred warm all the same, pleased under Changbin’s steady iron-and-dark-roast-coffee.
Jisung trotted toward the porch, still shouting about corrupt judges, while Minho followed at an easy pace, one hand steady at the small of his back. Seungmin confiscated Jeongin’s phone mid-documentation, grumbling about “evidence control,” while Jeongin whined that history would suffer.
That left Felix in the yard, flexing his fingers in damp gloves, still standing too close to Chan. His wolf tugged at him, wanting to circle the snow-family one more time, but Chan’s scent wrapped around him, coconut-soft and sure, nudging him gently toward the porch.
“Come on,” Chan said, low enough for only him to hear. “Before you freeze solid.”
Felix swallowed, his throat tight, scent trembling honey-sweet. He nodded and followed, steps falling into Chan’s without thought. Together they crossed into the warmth of the cabin, snow melting from their shoulders, laughter already spilling ahead of them like it had been waiting inside all along.
Heat hit them in a soft wave, firelight, nest-warmth, the faint ghost of coffee. Boots thudded off by the door, coats peeled away and hung wherever hooks appeared.
Hyunjin immediately threw himself face-first into the nest with a groan about “losing feeling in my art,” which Changbin solved by dropping on top of him.
Jisung shook snow from his hair like a dog, earning curses from Seungmin, who herded everyone out of their damp layers with the exhausted efficiency of a long-suffering beta.
Jeongin was sent to put the kettle on and came back triumphantly with steaming mugs and pink fingertips.
By the time fingers had thawed and cheeks stopped stinging, the restless edge had worn off the day. Someone dug out a deck of cards from a drawer, no one saw who started it, just that suddenly there was something in the middle of the coffee table that wasn’t tea or snacks.
They sprawled around the coffee table, knees knocking under blankets, the fire working hard to keep pace with the cold pressing at the windows. Jeongin dealt with the solemnity of a judge; Seungmin made him reshuffle because the corners weren’t aligned.
Hyunjin narrated everyone’s stories like a nature documentary. Changbin invented stakes nobody agreed to and honored them anyway. Minho accused Jisung of cheating; Jisung accused Minho of being handsome to distract him. Somehow both were true, and Minho lost a hand he should’ve won because Jisung smiled at him with all his teeth and his heart-shaped smile.
Felix wasn’t good at cards, so he didn’t try to be. He liked the way the room sounded when they all talked at once, the weave of voices, the rise and fall like a tide. He liked having something to do with his hands while the fire popped and hissed. He liked that Chan’s knee kept finding his in the scramble for space, and never moved away.
More than once, his eyes flicked toward the mantel, where the tin sat like both a promise and a dare.
Officially, no one was supposed to ask who anyone had pulled for Secret Santa. Unofficially, the pack was already circling, no questions, just staring, sniffing, and weaponized teasing.
“Your scent’s a mess,” Seungmin told Felix at one point, not even looking up from his cards, like he was commenting on light snow. “Whatever you’re thinking, try thinking it quieter.”
Felix kicked him under the table. Seungmin took the kick with a satisfied hum and laid down a perfect run that made Jeongin gasp like a startled seal pup.
“Disgusting,” Hyunjin decided, flicking a card onto the pile with a dramatic wrist flourish. He leaned back against Changbin and went boneless even as he announced, “I am tense.” Everyone laughed.
Chan didn’t say much. He never did during these lazy parts. He laughed when the room laughed, tilted his head when someone told a story. When Felix forgot a rule, Chan tapped his wrist once with two fingers, steady as a metronome.
Night slid down the windows like a shade. The lights inside grew brighter in contrast, turning the glass into a reflection of themselves, outlined in gold, softer versions, like a memory being made.
Eventually, the cards tucked back into their sleeve, yawns multiplied and blanket piles grew taller. Hyunjin complained that the couch was both too soft and not soft enough, then promptly fell asleep on top of Changbin mid-sentence. Jisung’s head ended up in Minho’s lap, like that had always been the plan, and Minho’s hand found his hair on instinct.
The nest in the middle of the living room had grown during the day, layer after layer of blankets and pillows until it sprawled across half the rug. Felix curled into it automatically, his wolf sighing in relief, and the others weren’t far behind. Jeongin dove straight in with a victorious cheer. Jisung tried to drag Minho down with him, and Minho gave in with the resigned grace of a man who had already lost this argument.
Changbin eventually scooped a half-asleep Hyunjin off the couch and hauled him over, dropping down into a corner of the nest with Hyunjin still draped over him like an extremely judgmental cat. Hyunjin cracked one eye open just long enough to hiss, “Territorial rights,” then tucked his face back into Changbin’s chest and went boneless again.
Felix stayed close to the hearth, which put him close to Chan. The heat prickled his cheeks, the cabin’s cedar beams and Chan’s sea-salt warmth wrapping steady around his edges, and for once he didn’t feel like shifting away.
“You good?” Chan asked, pitched low for him alone.
“Yeah,” Felix said quickly. His fingers worried at the rug fringe. “I just… pulled someone kind of specific. Trying to figure out what won’t suck.”
Chan’s mouth curved faintly, a secret smile. “Sounds like pressure.”
Felix huffed a tiny laugh, eyes on his hands. “Worth it, though.”
Chan didn’t ask who. The space stayed soft, unpried open. Felix’s scent betrayed him anyway, curling sweet in the air. Chan’s scent settled over it like dropping a blanket on restless noise, coconut-soft at the edges.
From across the nest, Seungmin’s dry voice cut through. “If I can’t sleep tonight because any of you decide to christen this pile of blankets, I’ll sue.”
Hyunjin cracked one eye open. “How dare you accuse us of such—”
Changbin pulled the blanket higher over them both. “Fair warning,” he said, grinning.
Everyone groaned, laughed, and rolled deeper into the warmth, the fire still crackling, wolves settling easy under one roof.
The nest broke apart the way clouds do, slow, reluctant, every touch stretching out like a thread that didn’t want to snap. Warmth clung to the air, thick with fur and salt and the steady beat of too many hearts pressed close for too long.
Hyunjin groaned first, dramatic even with bedhead. “If I stay here, I’m going to fuse with Changbin’s thigh forever. Not a complaint, just a biological fact.”
Changbin blinked sleepily at him, wolf-soft, and mumbled, “Could be worse.”
Someone laughed, low and muffled. Someone else hissed when cold floorboards kissed their feet. Wolves whined under their breath as the bond stretched thinner, threads tugging as they pulled away. It felt wrong and right all at once, like leaving warmth for air.
Jisung was the last to untangle, still curled into Minho’s side, whining quiet until Minho brushed a hand through his hair and murmured, “Bed, pup.” Jisung grumbled but went, tail invisible but obvious in the sway of him.
Seungmin and Jeongin lingered by the door. “Don’t reorganize the boot tray,” Seungmin warned.
“One more label,” Jeongin promised, already scheming.
The cabin exhaled as doors clicked shut, laughter and complaints fading into wood and wool. Snow leaned soft against the windows. The night outside was all hush and held breath.
Felix padded down the narrow hall, heart finally steadying after the whirl of voices and bodies. The eaves room waited small and quiet, the air carrying nothing but sleep and cedar smoke from the banked fire.
He slipped inside, toed off his socks, and folded himself beneath the duvet. His bones liked curling small, safe. He pressed his face into his sleeve, breathing in cotton and the soft sweetness of his own honey-scent until his jittery wolf stopped buzzing against his ribs and settled, small and round and warm.
The slip of paper stayed tucked away. He didn’t need to see the name; it lived behind his ribs where warm things went. Every time he tried to imagine a present, his brain just turned to snow-static and flashes of Chan, his hands, his laugh, that stupid steady smile. Chan already had good headphones, hated useless clutter, and deserved more than a panic-buy from the clearance aisle. Everything Felix thought of felt too small, too easy, nowhere near enough to say what he wasn’t brave enough to put into words yet.
His eyes closed, the secret of it tucked close as fur. The house breathed around him, slow and steady, and he drifted off with his wolf curled tight around one stubborn, ridiculous hope: maybe, just maybe… this time he really was lucky.
— ❆❇❆ —
Chan slipped into his room last. The nest had unraveled slowly, everyone drifting off in twos and threes, but the warmth of it still clung to his skin. He could feel it in his bones, the press of bodies, the weight of laughter softening into drowsy breaths.
He lay down on the bed and stared at the beams above. For a moment he didn’t move, just let his wolf replay it: Felix tucked close beside him, soft curl against his chest, their scents braided together, Chan’s sea salt and lemon myrtle, Felix’s honey-bright sweetness, safety humming through the whole pack like a heartbeat. It felt like belonging, pure and simple.
His chest tightened. He missed it already. Missed Felix already, though only a hallway separated them. His wolf huffed, restless with the absence.
The slip of paper sat folded neat in the pocket of his jeans, draped over the chair. He didn’t have to touch it to know the name written there: Felix.
He’d pulled names like this before, family, friends, teammates, group trips just like this and it had never made his stomach twist. Never made his wolf pace the length of his ribs, unsettled. Never made him feel like if he didn’t get it exactly right, he shouldn’t do it at all.
Felix was different. It wasn’t about impressing him. It was about protecting something, holding it careful. About finding a gift that could say the thing Chan’s own mouth always stumbled over: you matter.
He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling slant. What could do that? Clothes, jewelry, too loud. Food, gone too fast. Something funny, didn’t carry enough weight. His wolf flicked its tail, unimpressed with every idea.
His mind circled the same memory from earlier: Felix crouched on the rug by the fire, shoulders tucked in, scent spiking sharp-sweet against the cedar smoke and Chan’s own sea-salt warmth, hands twitching for something to hold. Chan’s wolf had wanted to nose under his jaw, soothe the restless edge of him. But humans had rules, and so did friends.
Still, he wanted to give Felix something that steadied him. Something safe, a place to rest.
Chan exhaled slow, sea salt and lemon myrtle curling from his chest in a faint, tired tide, his wolf pressing against him with the same stubborn plea: make it right. His chest ached with the wanting of it.
“Don’t mess this up,” he muttered into the dark, voice low as the crackle of the fire dying downstairs. His wolf huffed in agreement.
Sleep came late. When it finally took him, his last thought was Felix again, the way his laugh had spilled white into the cold outside, like breath turned visible, like luck. A sound Chan wanted to be the reason for again.
— ❆❇❆ —
The morning broke blue and clean, a shard of sky laid flat over the lake. Frost filigreed the windows; breath fogged inside each pane like the glass was remembering how to be cold. Someone yawned. Someone else groaned. Omegas hummed the way omegas do when the day smells like snow.
Felix sat on the edge of his small bed under the eaves and pulled on wool socks. The floor was cold enough to make him hiss; the hiss turned into a laugh when he remembered Hyunjin’s midnight complaint about “bruising his aura.” Down the hall, doors thumped, water ran, voices overlapped. The cabin stretched and woke around them.
“Hot hands!” Jeongin announced from the hallway, popping his head through Felix’s doorway with two steaming mugs and a grin. “I bribed the kettle.”
Felix took a mug, warm between his palms. “You bribed Seungmin.”
Jeongin winked, then disappeared again in a swish of hoodie and warm-bread beta scent.
By the time Felix made it downstairs, the kitchen was warm with the smell of porridge and butter. Minho stood at the stove, steady as stone, stirring with one hand and flipping toast with the other. His wolf held the air calm, as though breakfast itself depended on him.
Jisung dragged in with his hair sticking up, blanket still around his shoulders. “I’m dying,” he announced, flopping into a chair. “Starving to death. Somebody feed me before I fade away.” His wolf whined low, tail practically thumping on the floor for attention.
Chan leaned down and pressed a bowl into his hands, voice soft. “Eat first, complain after.”
“But I’m weak,” Jisung groaned, already spooning porridge into his mouth.
“Mm,” Chan said, smoothing a hand over his back like he’d soothe a pup, “miracle you survived the night, then.” His wolf curled steady around Jisung’s smaller one until the whining settled into a hum.
Hyunjin tried to steal a piece of toast and yelped when it burned his fingers. Changbin caught his wrist, muttered “idiot,” and blew on the toast himself before handing it back. Jeongin labeled the honey jar for OMEGAS ONLY until Seungmin confiscated the pen.
Seungmin set the pen on the counter, sat down, and took a slow sip of tea. “So,” he said, tone deceptively mild. “Which one of you was loud enough to shake the vents last night?”
Every wolf froze. Jisung choked on his porridge. Hyunjin gasped like scandal itself had just been served. Changbin’s ears went pink. Jeongin looked genuinely confused.
“I’m not calling names,” Seungmin went on, “but moaning through the air ducts? Really?”
Felix nearly dropped his spoon. Heat rushed to his face for absolutely no reason. Chan coughed into his mug, neck flushing pink. Minho flipped an egg like nothing had been said at all.
Hyunjin pointed dramatically across the table. “It was definitely Changbin.”
“It was not me!” Changbin’s wolf bristled, defensive, which only made Hyunjin laugh harder.
Felix was almost sure nobody had actually been that loud. Seungmin, he thought, just enjoyed throwing grenades with his morning tea.
Seungmin leaned back in his chair, perfectly calm, clearly satisfied with the chaos. “Whoever it was,” he said, “do it quieter tonight. Some of us like to sleep.”
The room dissolved into noise, protests, denials, laughter that shook the windows. Felix’s cheeks hurt from smiling. His wolf curled soft inside him, full with the sound of pack.
Breakfast ended in crumbs and laughter, bowls scraped clean, wolves soothed and bellies full.
The living room was a soft mess: blankets gut-spilled from their basket, the hearth coaxed to life, Hyunjin in a sweater large enough to be a personal climate, Changbin trying to tug the sleeves back so he could get the omega’s hands into gloves. Jisung hummed under his breath as he tied his boots. Minho laced his own with one hand and fixed Jisung’s knot with the other. Seungmin pointed at hats and assigned them with headmistress energy; nobody argued because Seungmin was always right about warm things.
Chan stood by the door, hat on, cheeks already pinked by the cold that seeped in through the seams. The cedar of the cabin pressed around them, and under it his own sea salt and lemon myrtle ran fuller this morning, grounded like a promise. He pushed a pair of thick mittens into Felix’s hands without comment.
“These are better.”
Felix slid them on. The wool swallowed his fingers until the tips just peeked. “Thanks.”
“Stay warm,” Chan said, like he couldn’t help it, and opened the door to the bright world.
— ❆❇❆ —
Outside, the air bit and blessed them in the same breath. Snow squeaked under boots. The lake lay flat and white, holding itself like a secret. Pines wore their best furs, heavy with frost.
The first steps off the porch felt ceremonial: Hyunjin minced down like an offended cat until Changbin huffed and scooped him up with an arm around the waist. Jisung hopped into Minho’s footprints like a pup chasing shadows. Jeongin stopped every few steps to lift his camera, trying to catch his own breath in pictures.
“Contest number two,” Changbin declared once they were knee-deep in brightness, alpha authority breaking into a grin. “Snowball war in Teams. Glory for the winners, no mercy for the losers.”
“Define terms,” Seungmin said, already brushing snow off the porch railing as if it were his judge’s bench.
“Teams are obvious,” Jisung announced, bouncing on his heels. He swept his eyes over the pack, quick and certain. “Hyunjin with Bin, me with Minho, and Chan with Felix. Jeongin and Seungmin can be the referees.”
Heat flickered under Felix’s ribs. He kept his scent steady. Mostly. “We’re going to lose,” he told Chan solemnly.
“We’re absolutely going to win,” Chan replied, equally solemn, and Felix’s mouth betrayed him with a small, curling smile.
“Rules,” Minho said, because someone had to. “No ice-balls. No direct hits to faces. No tackling.”
“Boring,” Hyunjin muttered, hugging himself as his wolf whined like a spoiled prince. “Also… why is snow wet? Nobody warned me.”
“That’s a you problem,” Seungmin replied. “Write a complaint to the climate or to God.”
Hyunjin sniffed, injured. “Snow should be aesthetic, not hostile.”
Jeongin laughed, voice bright. “This referee is already calling favoritism.”
They split up. Hyunjin and Changbin claimed the left side of the yard, immediately carving a low wall, Hyunjin barking orders from atop a drift, Changbin shoveling with patient strength.
On the right, Jisung dropped to his knees in the snow with a dramatic sigh. “Forget forts,” he declared, already piling snow into towers. “I’m building my castle. Every princess needs a castle.”
“Princesses don’t usually start wars,” Minho said, stacking bricks with one hand while steadying Jisung’s uneven tower with the other.
“This one does,” Jisung shot back, chin high, wolf tail flicking invisible with glee. “And you’re my knight. Protect the throne.”
Minho’s wolf huffed, resigned. Still, he shaped the snow smoother for him.
Chan guided Felix toward the center, where the drifts undulated like dunes. It felt exposed until Chan crouched, scooping snow into curved bricks with quick, practiced hands. Soon a squat fort grew under his touch, small and sturdy and secretly perfect.
“You’ve done this before,” Felix said, kneeling across from him. The mittens were clumsy; he liked the clumsy. It kept him close.
“I was an outdoor kid,” Chan said, tilting his head with a one-sided smile. “And an indoor kid. And a kid who didn’t like to sit still.”
Felix made a sound that wanted to be a laugh but came out softer. He angled the top of the wall so it would shed flying snow and pretended he knew what he was doing. Chan hummed his approval, low and steady. The hum anchored Felix like a hand at his spine.
The first volley came from Hyunjin and Changbin. Hyunjin’s snowball sailed with alarming accuracy; Changbin whooped like a wolf on the hunt. It splashed off the top of Minho and Jisung’s wall, showering Jisung in glittering powder.
Jisung screamed like a full musical number. Minho, unbothered, adjusted their battlement by three degrees and returned fire with a lazy flick. The snowball landed squarely in Hyunjin’s hair. Chaos followed. Pure and complete.
Felix forgot to be careful. He scooped and packed, shoulder bumping Chan’s when they both reached for the same drift. They moved without thinking. Felix popping up to lob shots high, Chan skimming low and fast like the snow itself knew his name.
Hyunjin shrieked every time he got hit, shrieked louder when Changbin pretended to be mortally wounded. Jisung abandoned his castle entirely and ran wild, while Jeongin abandoned referee neutrality to narrate like a documentary host, until Minho nailed Jisung in the hip and sent him sprawling. Seungmin stood like a referee on high ground, calling phantom fouls and writing notes no one asked for.
It was nothing special, yet, it was everything.
“Left!” Chan barked, and Felix’s wolf obeyed before his mind caught up. He ducked, snow slicing over his head and exploding against their wall. He popped up, flung one blind, and crowed when Hyunjin yelped.
“Betrayal!” Hyunjin shouted, swiping powder from his fringe with tragic dignity. His cheeks were burning pink, his scent fizzing sugar-sweet.
“Strategic alliance,” Changbin corrected, then nailed Minho square in the chest.
Minho blinked at the flecks melting on his coat, expression blank. Then he delivered a perfect, surgical strike that sent Changbin sprawling into a drift. Hyunjin dove after him with both hands out and all dignity gone.
“Down!” Chan barked again, closer this time and Felix was already moving, sliding low along the inside of their wall as a barrage tore new curves across its top. His wolf thrilled at the command, every nerve alive.
Then he looked up—
—and saw Chan vault the wall, a blur of charcoal wool and sea-salt heat.
Hands caught Felix at the waist, and suddenly they were both going down in a soft explosion of powder.
The world narrowed. Snow slipped down Felix’s collar, cold against the back of his neck. His hat slid crooked over one eye. Chan’s weight came down tempered and careful, broad shoulders bracketing Felix’s, chest pressed flush to his, thigh to thigh.
The breath left Felix’s lungs in a rush, then came back in clouds. His exhale met Chan’s in the space between them and braided there like steam, wolf to wolf, warm against the winter air.
They both froze. It was snow and sky and the weight of Chan above him. So close Felix could feel every beat of his own heart ricochet into Chan’s body. The cold bit at the edges, snow under his collar, the sting on his cheeks but Chan’s warmth burned straight through the middle.
Sea salt and lemon myrtle swelled around them, deep and wide, a tide rolling in. Felix’s wolf flared to meet it, sugar-bright and too much, pushing against his skin until he couldn’t hold it in. Their scents tangled, sparking sharp and sweet in the air between them.
There was snow caught in Chan’s lashes. Felix watched a fleck melt and trail down his cheek, slow as a secret. He had never been this close on purpose. His wolf clawed at his ribs, wild and hungry and certain, curling around one word he’d never say out loud: mine.
“Sorry,” Chan said, voice husky by accident, not moving. His hands stayed at Felix’s waist like they belonged there. “Didn’t want you to get hit.”
Felix swallowed, pulse racing ridiculous-fast under Chan’s chest. “It’s okay,” he whispered back, softer than he meant.
Without thinking, he tipped his head back that tiny fraction more. His scarf slipped, baring the long line of his throat to the cold. Instinct, pure and simple, his wolf stretching his neck, offering soft skin like a question. Felix barely registered it; he just knew the air felt sharper there, and Chan felt impossibly close.
Chan’s wolf noticed. Sea salt and lemon myrtle surged even thicker around them, warm and protective, that soft coconut undercurrent turning heavier, edged. His fingers flexed once at Felix’s waist, grip tightening before he forced it to ease. For a heartbeat, he leaned in like gravity had changed.
“Foul!” Seungmin barked from somewhere above them. “On principle.”
The spell snapped, the world rushing back in a spray of snow and shouting.
Chan blinked, his scent pulling back slow and reluctant. He pushed up in one clean line, hands skimming Felix’s sides as if his body refused to let go too soon, and offered an arm.
Felix took it. Snow slid off his coat in a cascade as he stood. The air between them trembled like a plucked string. Both of them pretended not to notice, but their wolves didn’t.
“Truce?” Minho called mildly from behind their fort, also pretending not to notice Jisung clinging to his arm like ivy on stone.
“Until after hot chocolate,” Seungmin ruled. “I’m cold, and my power has gone to my head.”
“Retreat!” Hyunjin shouted, already sprinting toward the porch, scarf tails flying like banners.
The rest followed, stumbling after, breathless and wet and young for a minute, wolves buzzing warm and tangled in the cold.
Felix lingered a heartbeat longer, pressing mittened hands over his chest as if he could quiet it, trying to steady his breath and soothe the omega inside him that was still clawing wild for more.
When he finally lifted his head, Jisung was watching him from halfway to the porch, eyes wide and sharp, scent fizzing sugar-high with oh. Hyunjin had slowed too, one hand on Changbin’s arm, gaze flicking from Felix to Chan and back again with the grave seriousness of someone witnessing a live drama. No one said a word, they didn’t have to, Omegas knew.
Beyond them, on the porch steps, Chan was already looking back. Not gentle this time, heated, unguarded, his sea-salt warmth rolled thick across the snow like a tide pushing in, lemon myrtle bright at the edges, soft coconut deepening into something possessive. For a moment Felix swore he could feel it on his skin, as real as touch.
Their eyes locked, hot against the winter air. Then Chan’s jaw tightened, and he turned away, following the others inside.
— ❆❇❆ —
Inside, the cabin fogged with warmth. Boots thudded against wood, snow melting into puddles by the door. Gloves got flung onto the radiator with the kind of reckless optimism Seungmin immediately scolded—“You’ll ruin them”—and was ignored for now. Wolves shook themselves loose from the cold, scents blooming to fill the small space until it felt like home.
Someone set milk to boil for cocoa. Someone else discovered the bag of marshmallows had a tiny hole and declared, with absolute moral gravity, that the ones near the edge had to be eaten first.
Felix dropped onto the couch and tried not to tremble. It wasn’t the cold, his wolf was still pacing circles in his chest, wild from the snow and from Chan’s weight pressed over him only moments ago. He shoved his hands deep into his sweater sleeves and told himself he liked the weight of the knit. His cheeks burned hot, like the sun had touched only him.
“Blanket?” Chan asked. His voice came low, warm as the fire.
Felix nodded before he thought about it. The wool landed heavy across both their knees. Chan tugged the edge down until it covered Felix’s toes, as careful as if he were tucking in a pup. He didn’t look at Felix when he did it. He didn’t need to. Felix’s omega settled at once, soothed by the sea-salt warmth of him curling steady in the air.
Jeongin arrived with mugs balanced carefully, beta calm steadying the whole room. “Careful,” he told Felix in mock-grave tones, handing one over. “It bites.”
“Thanks,” Felix said, meaning the mug, the heat, the way Jeongin’s warm-bread scent smoothed the static from the air and made it easier to breathe.
Hyunjin collapsed into the armchair like a fainting prince, towel draped over his head. Seungmin tossed another towel into his lap.
“Report,” Jisung whispered from Minho’s lap, where he had landed with all the confidence of a cat taking what it already owned. His eyes glittered as he leaned toward the couch. “So,” he hissed, “did either of you actually commit the ‘crime’ Seungmin yelled foul about, or was that just him being a menace?”
“Only fashion crimes,” Seungmin answered dryly, jerking his chin toward Hyunjin. “He tucked his scarf into his coat like a necktie.”
Hyunjin gasped, affronted. “It’s called style.”
Changbin, shaking snow out of his hair like a dog, barked a laugh. “It’s called tragic.”
Hyunjin hurled a marshmallow at him. It missed spectacularly. Jisung caught it midair and popped it into his mouth with a victorious grin. Minho sighed, long-suffering, but his hand curved steady at Jisung’s hip, keeping him anchored.
The cabin filled with laughter, cocoa steam, sugar, cedar smoke from the hearth and the easy tangle of their scents, sea salt and honey, coffee and tea, snowmelt and soft detergent—all of it weaving into one warm, familiar chord. Wolves pressed close in scent and sound, the air heavy with their packs dynamic.
“Pack cuddle, round two!” Jisung suddenly declared, voice ringing like a bell. “Right now! My wolf says yes.” He burrowed further into Minho’s chest to prove it, tail energy wagging invisible and wild.
Groans and laughter rose instantly. Hyunjin cheered, already halfway off his chair, cashmere sleeves flopping. Changbin muttered about damp coats and bad knees and still started toward the blanket pile, iron-and-coffee scent rolling fond and resigned. Even Seungmin didn’t argue, only raised an eyebrow like he’d known this was coming all along, black tea and crisp apple settling over the room like an orderly sigh.
Felix’s omega surged at the demand, claws out for warmth and weight, for the heavy, safe crush of bodies. The nest called, always, sweet and familiar, a collage of sugar and perfume and earth, pack-scent braided thick in the middle of the room. His wolf wanted to go, to tuck himself between Jisung’s chatter and Hyunjin’s drama and disappear into the noise, but he stayed tucked under the blanket beside Chan.
Chan’s scent was louder to him than the whole nest, sea salt and soft coconut underneath, sun-on-skin warmth in the middle of winter. He liked it here, the weight on his toes, the steady heat pressed against his side. It felt… aimed at him, somehow, even if that was ridiculous.
He pretended to stretch deeper into the wool, as if too comfortable to move, and let the others tumble together without him. His wolf whined, pacing once, twice, but his heart had already chosen its spot and settled stubbornly.
Chan sipped from his mug. His cheeks were still pink from the snow, his lashes damp where flakes had melted. A curl of steam rose between them, carrying cocoa and the faint bright note of lemon myrtle. Felix fixed his gaze on the steam, pretending that was what held his attention, not the way Chan’s throat moved when he swallowed or the way his shoulder felt solid and warm against Felix’s.
The couch dipped just enough that their shoulders touched and stayed pressed. The blanket arched over both their knees like one small mountain, sheltering the spot where their legs leaned together. Under the wool, Chan’s knee nudged against his, not a jolt, just a quiet press, … here, I’m here.
Felix’s omega, restless minutes ago, finally sank down, paws tucked under. His scent, which had been spiking honey-sharp since the snow, softened into something warm and clover-sweet, curling around Chan’s sea salt like it belonged there.
From the nest pile across the room came Jisung’s too-loud whisper, “Cute.” His grin was knowing, wicked, impossible to miss, sugar-scent fizzing with delight.
Hyunjin followed his gaze, eyes narrowing with predatory omega interest. “Oh, very cute,” he murmured, already plotting, soft-luxury detergent and expensive shampoo puffing smug around him.
Felix shot them both a glare sharp enough to cut, ears hot, scent threatening to spike again. Jisung only laughed and burrowed deeper into Minho’s sweater. Minho bent his head, mouth brushing Jisung’s temple, cool earth and dry leaves wrapping around sugar-spark omega like a shield. He didn’t say a word. His wolf said enough, claiming, steady and sure.
The fire did the rest. Fingers thawed, voices dropped soft and Marshmallows dissolved into froth. Hot chocolate left mustaches that Hyunjin first called undignified and then proudly wore anyway, chin lifted like a prince accepting his foolish crown. Changbin teased him until he caught one himself, and then tried to deny it until Hyunjin cackled and wiped it away with his thumb. Jeongin kept the peace with quiet patience, warm-bread beta scent smoothing the air every time the volume threatened to spike.
Chan shifted just slightly, like the couch had given him permission. His knee pressed firmer against Felix’s under the blanket, their thighs lining up. Sea salt and lemon myrtle rolled warmer as if he couldn’t quite help it, that soft coconut note deepening into something that made Felix’s ribs ache in a good way.
For Felix, it felt like a den, honey and sea salt, coffee and tea, sugar and smoke and wolves all folded close. Too much, and not nearly enough. And he wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else.
— ❆❇❆ —
By afternoon the cabin smelled like warmth and a dozen small lives braided together. The kitchen woke in its particular chaos, pans kissing heat, spoons clacking, someone arguing whether butter deserved its own food group. It wasn’t a planned meal so much as a collective drift toward feeding each other.
Seungmin played air traffic control, intercepting dangerous instincts before they became disasters. “No, Hyunjin, we do not flambé indoors.” Jeongin moved between stations like a tugboat guiding ships; he found the spice rack and nearly cried.
Hyunjin turned stirring into choreography and then forgot he was stirring at all. Changbin seasoned with the conviction of a man determined to wrestle flavor into submission. Jisung hummed harmonies with the simmer, his omega scent going soft and candy-sweet whenever Minho brushed past him.
Felix and Chan ended up side by side at the counter, half by choice and half because the kitchen naturally pushed them there. Felix zested a lemon, bright curls of peel catching the light and spraying tiny bursts of citrus into the air. Chan chopped with quiet patience, knife ticking a heartbeat against the board. Their elbows knocked; neither apologized. Their wolves brushed, sea salt and honey curling together in the air, steady and sweet.
“You still warm?” Chan asked, not looking up, like it was a casual question and not his wolf checking in.
Felix’s lips quirked. “Depends. You gonna keep me that way?”
Chan’s scent flared, pleased, a tide lifting. “Guess I’ll have to.”
A beat of silence. The sounds of the kitchen blurred at the edges; the center of the room narrowed to knife-ticks, citrus, and the line of Chan’s arm beside his.
Chan nudged a spoon toward him. “Taste?”
Felix leaned in, close enough that their fingers nearly touched on the handle. He could feel the warmth of Chan’s hand even through the spoon, heat soaking along the metal. He tasted, tongue brushing the edge of the spoon. Tartness and cream sparked across his tongue, bright and comforting all at once. He nodded, honest and quick. “Good.”
Chan’s mouth tugged into a smile, eyes flicking up for just a second, enough. “Knew you’d like it. Made it for you.”
The words landed low and heavy, like a stone in water. Felix’s wolf went very, very still, ears pricked, then surged, pressing against his ribs with sudden, greedy joy. For you. His scent kicked up before he could stop it, honey thickening, clover-sweet and wanting. Every wolf in the room stilled.
Hyunjin dropped his spoon with a clatter. Jeongin’s eyes went wide over the rim of a pot. Jisung’s grin sharpened like a secret blooming. Minho raised one brow, the barest shift of earth and leaf. Seungmin closed his eyes like he’d been waiting for this moment since the dawn of time and had finally been proven right.
“Stop flirting with the soup,” Seungmin said finally, brushing past them and stealing Hyunjin’s abandoned ladle before it became a disaster.
“We’re not,” Chan said too quickly, ears pinking. His scent betrayed him, sea salt rolling warmer, lemon myrtle bright at the edges like sunlight.
“No,” Felix echoed, even quicker, voice sugar-sweet. “We’re just… cooking.” His omega betrayed him worse, scent blooming like spun honey across the counter, rising to meet Chan’s like it had been waiting for the excuse.
“Uh-huh,” Seungmin said, flat as stone.
“Wow,” Hyunjin announced, clapping his hands together like he’d just discovered live theater. “This kitchen is officially a rom-com.”
“Cooking with feelings,” Jisung chimed in, eyes glittering. “Tonight’s special: soup à la longing stares.”
Jeongin made a choked sound that might have been a laugh. Changbin didn’t even look up from the pan he was hovering over. “If the food tastes bad because you two are busy eye-fucking the stockpot, I’m filing a complaint,” he said, voice dry but scent rolling fond.
Felix focused very hard on zesting the last strip of lemon, heart thudding too loud in his chest. Beside him, Chan’s knife never faltered, but his wrist brushed Felix’s once, deliberately, a small, grounding touch that said what his mouth didn’t: I meant it.
The kitchen carried on, pans hissing, water boiling, pack voices rising and falling but Felix’s wolf curled around that one simple sentence and refused to let go.
For the first time in a long time, the idea of being “fed” didn’t feel like a joke about his appetite or a throwaway offer. It felt like care, it felt like belonging and it felt like being seen.
And with Chan’s sea salt warmth at his side and honey in his own chest answering it, the whole room smelled like possibilities.
Jeongin nodded seriously. “Four stars on presentation. Five stars on chemistry.”
Changbin nearly dropped the pepper grinder from laughing.
Felix ducked back over the lemon, cheeks pink, while Chan bent lower over the cutting board, chopping like his life depended on it. Neither noticed how bright the whole kitchen had gotten around them, or how every wolf’s scent hummed with shared amusement.
The meal came together not because anyone planned it but because they were all pointed in the same direction. Food landed on the table like gifts from a friend you’d known your whole life. They ate with the hunger of big air and bigger laughter. Complaints disguised themselves as compliments—“too much garlic” meaning perfect, “too spicy” meaning just right. Seconds weren’t offered; they were inevitable. The whole room glowed warmer, brightening from the inside out.
Wolves jostled close, scents weaving: Seungmin’s calm grounding the edges, Jeongin’s brightness lifting the air, Hyunjin and Jisung bickering over the last roll until Changbin split it with the solemnity of a peace treaty. Minho stole Jisung’s drink without asking; Jisung whined and leaned harder into him anyway.
At some point, Chan’s hand landed at the small of Felix’s back when he leaned for a dish. The touch was steadying, casual on the surface, but it lingered a breath too long, like a promise, that if Felix stumbled, someone would be there to steady him.
Sea salt and lemon myrtle wrapped warm around the table, centered where Chan sat. Felix’s omega answered before he could stop it, scent spiking sugar-rich, heart stumbling fast. He had to concentrate, steady his breathing, to keep from giving himself away completely.
Across the table, Jisung caught it instantly. He mouthed cute at Felix for the second time that day, grin sharp and knowing. Hyunjin fanned himself with a napkin like he was witnessing scandal. Jeongin ducked his head, trying not to laugh. Seungmin just smirked into his cup like this confirmed every theory he’d ever had.
Felix ignored them all or tried to. The place under Chan’s palm still burned like it had always been meant to be there.
— ❆❇❆ —
The evening stretched soft and slow. The lake turned from white to pewter to something like ink. Lights inside the cabin doubled in the glass; their reflections looked like a kinder version of them, all edges sanded down by warmth.
The pack piled into the nest of blankets and pillows, wolves pressing close as the fire burned low. Hyunjin had all but melted against Changbin, head tucked under his chin, announcing a temporary truce with the world. Jisung draped himself over Minho and declared him a chaise lounge. Jeongin wrote a label that said CHAIR (MINHO) and stuck it gently to Minho’s shoulder. Seungmin pretended not to smile and reorganized the bookshelf into a system that made sense only to him.
Felix caught the first wince when Chan reached for a log. It wasn’t even a sound, just a quick flinch through the shoulder he’d been using all day. He would have missed it if he hadn’t been watching.
“Hey,” Felix said softly, stepping in before Chan could do it again. “I’ve got it.”
“It’s heavy,” Chan said automatically. Alphas sometimes put habits on before coats.
Felix rolled his eyes, because teasing was easier than saying please let me take care of you. “Relax, I’ve carried Jisung home after bar nights. I can handle a single log.”
That earned a startled huff of laughter from Chan, his sea-salt warmth deepening as his eyes skimmed Felix’s face, searching for the line he shouldn’t cross. He reined himself back, but not completely. “Okay,” he said at last. A small word that felt like trust.
Felix stacked the wood. It wasn’t about muscle, it was about being allowed.
Chan moved past him in quiet loops, close enough their sleeves kept brushing. Felix noticed every time and didn’t step away.
“Thanks,” Chan murmured when the fire had what it needed. He rubbed once at his shoulder with the heel of his hand, impatient with himself.
Felix made a noncommittal sound that meant you’re welcome and also sit down. He nudged Chan toward the couch with his hip. Ridiculous, but it worked. Chan sat and Felix pulled a blanket from the back and tucked it over both of them before he could think too long about it.
“Bossy,” Chan said, amusement low in his voice.
“Efficient,” Felix corrected, pretending to watch the flames. But when Chan’s hand crept up to rub at his shoulder again, Felix didn’t pretend anymore. He shifted, curling one knee onto the couch, narrowing his eyes.
“Take the blanket off your shoulders.”
Chan blinked. “What—why?”
“Massage,” Felix said simply, like it was the only obvious solution. “You’re sore.”
“I’m fine,” Chan muttered. A low sound rumbled out with it, too rough to be just human, more wolf than word, a pleased, restless noise that said want without asking. His scent spiked with protest, sharp with pride, but underneath it, steady as a drumbeat, his wolf purred for touch.
Felix tilted his head, catching that sound in the air. His grin sharpened. “Your wolf disagrees.”
Chan groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Traitor.”
“Sit forward,” Felix said, already pushing the blanket aside. “Don’t make me chase you.”
The words left his mouth before his brain caught up with the double meaning. Heat rushed up his neck, blooming across his cheeks. His omega gave an embarrassing little flutter inside his chest, thrilled at the idea in all the ways he absolutely did not mean out loud.
That earned a helpless laugh, low and warm. But Chan obeyed, leaning forward with the kind of reluctance that wasn’t really reluctance at all. The blanket slipped down with him, and Felix’s breath stuttered. Underneath, Chan wore only a tank top, the muscles in his back and arms standing out in the firelight.
Felix’s omega clawed wild at his ribs, demanding closeness, demanding more. He forced himself to concentrate, to press steady hands into broad shoulders instead of staring. Massage, he told himself firmly. Perfect massage, nothing else.
Felix leaned in, letting his chest hover close to Chan’s back without quite touching. Close enough that Chan felt it anyway. Wolves didn’t need skin for that, they felt the intention.
He worked carefully at first, thumbs pressing deep, then easing off, learning the map of tension by touch alone. Chan’s body answered instinctively, muscles loosening under his hands, shoulders dropping a fraction at a time like something heavy being set down. Each breath Chan took grew longer, rougher, the sound of it slipping free despite himself.
Felix’s omega paced inside him, restless but focused, thrilled by the simple rightness of it. His hands moved with quiet confidence now, palms warm, fingers spreading wide as he dragged slow pressure down and back up again, never rushing, never breaking contact.
Chan’s wolf surfaced more openly with every pass. It rolled through him in low waves, satisfaction humming beneath his skin. He leaned into Felix’s touch without meaning to, chasing it, following the heat of his hands like they were the only steady thing in the room.
A soft sound slipped out of Chan’s throat—half sigh, half growl—before he could stop it.
Felix stilled for half a second, breath catching. His hands didn’t leave, but his thumbs flexed, grounding himself. He let the sound settle between them instead of reacting to it. Wolves heard truths in noises like that. He wasn’t about to pretend he hadn’t.
“Easy,” Felix murmured, not a command, not a tease.
Chan nodded faintly, forehead dropping closer to his knees. He trusted Felix enough to go pliant, to let himself be worked open by careful hands. That trust landed heavy and hot in Felix’s chest.
Felix shifted closer, knee pressing against the couch cushion beside Chan’s thigh, anchoring them together. His hands slid lower again, thumbs bracing at the edges of Chan’s shoulder blades, working slow circles that drew another helpless shudder from him.
Their wolves moved together now, one attentive, one yielding, fitting into an old rhythm neither of them had named out loud yet. Felix’s omega purred deep and satisfied, not hungry, not frantic. Just… pleased to be exactly where he was.
Chan exhaled hard, shoulders finally going slack. “You’re… really good at this,” he said, voice rough, like it had been dragged out of him.
Felix smiled to himself, fingers stilling just long enough to let the compliment land. “I know.” He let his hands rest there a second longer than necessary. Chan didn’t move. Their breathing found the same slow rhythm, close enough that Felix felt it through his palms.
From the nest, Hyunjin sat bolt upright. “Are we seeing this?!”
“Quiet, they’re like wild animals. Any sound will make them run,” Seungmin said flatly, though his mouth twitched.
Jisung leaned into Minho, whispering much too loudly, “Told you they’d end up touching.”
Changbin only tucked Hyunjin tighter into his chest and grinned. “Don’t scare them off. This is better than TV.”
Felix ignored them all, working careful circles lower into Chan’s back, thumbs firm where the muscle knotted tight. “See? Worth it,” he murmured.
Chan tipped his head back with a sound dangerously close to a growl of pleasure, eyes closed, wolf melting loose in his chest. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice rough, almost wrecked. “Worth it.”
Felix hid his smile against the back of his hand and held the moment still in his mind, heat, weight, Chan’s wolf purring under his touch, as if he could keep it.
Later, when the room thinned and the blanket pile got raided for bedrooms, Felix and Chan stood at the same time. Instinct did the rest, steps falling into sync like they’d practiced it.
They made it to the stairs and stopped like someone had put a hand on the back of their necks.
Felix’s fingers brushed Chan’s bare arm without asking permission. Just a pass of skin, warm and real.
Chan glanced down at the touch, then back up at Felix’s face. His expression changed, small, immediate.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “You okay?”
A breath slipped out of Felix, almost a laugh, but not quite. “Yeah. Just… tired.”
It wasn’t a lie. It also wasn’t the whole truth. His omega pressed restlessly against his ribs, whining to stay, to lean, to make this mean something out loud.
Chan’s brow pinched like he could hear that part anyway. “Tired like—”
A creak sounded from upstairs. A floorboard complaining, someone shifting in their sleep. The moment snapped tight and then went thin, like a thread pulled too hard.
Felix’s hand fell away before it could do anything stupid. Before his mouth could, too.
“Good night,” he said, quick and careful.
Chan hesitated, just a beat too long, like he wanted to follow the tired all the way to its source but the upstairs quiet held them both at bay.
“Night,” Chan murmured, softer than before. “Get some sleep, yeah?”
Felix answered with a small, wordless tilt of his head and started up the steps.
The banister was cold beneath his palm. Heat still clung under his skin anyway, it had nothing to do with the fire downstairs. Halfway up he glanced back without meaning to, Chan still there, hand half-curled at his side like he’d been holding himself in place.
At the top, the hallway split them. No good excuse to linger. No safe way to say anything better. Felix turned into his room and shut the door with deliberate quiet.
Sleep took him fast—cold air, full laughter, the kind of exhaustion that doesn’t negotiate. His breathing evened out, honey-soft against the familiar cabin wood.
Across the hall, Chan did not.
His mind went back, stupidly, insistently, to earlier—to the way Felix had stepped in for the firewood like it was nothing. Chan’s first instinct had been to refuse. The word had almost left his mouth on reflex, because for as long as he could remember, being an alpha had meant one thing: you hold the heavy things so no one else has to.
But Felix had stepped into the space with that bright, stubborn look, scent sweet and certain as honey warmed in a cup, and Chan’s wolf had gone quiet in a way that meant listen. He’d opened his mouth to argue, but what came out instead was the word that mattered: “Okay.”
Now, with the hush that settles when a whole house agrees to rest, he lay on his back and watched the shadows stretch and soften across the ceiling. His shoulder ached the way good work aches—deep and steady, not asking to be fixed. He let it sit with him, because he’d earned it: in laughter that steamed white into the cold, in a tumble into snowdrifts, in the easy weight of someone choosing to steady him for once.
But the ache wasn’t only from snow and wood. His body remembered Felix’s hands, firm and careful, pressing knots loose until his wolf had nearly rolled onto its back with relief, showing his belly. He could still feel the warmth of it—the way Felix’s thumbs had known exactly where to push, like Felix had learned him by touch and decided he was worth tending.
Sea salt and lemon myrtle leaked into the room before Chan caught it, heavy and wanting. His wolf pressed hard against his ribs, restless. Change rooms. Go find him.
Chan flopped onto his back and dragged the blanket over his face. “Absolutely not,” he told the darkness.
His wolf shoved back, offended. Go. Our omega. Warm.
“We are not sneaking into Felix’s room in the middle of the night,” Chan whispered, like the walls might snitch. “I’m an alpha. Not a criminal. Stop it.”
His wolf snorted, unimpressed. Don’t care. Go. Now.
“He’s asleep,” Chan hissed. “He needs rest. We’re being normal. Remember normal?”
His wolf, distinctly, did not remember normal. A sharp, anxious note pressed in instead. Check him. Might need you. Hurt.
Chan stared up at the ceiling. “He’s not hurt,” he muttered. “He’s in a locked cabin, in a nest, with seven other wolves in a ten-meter radius.”
Danger, his wolf insisted, throwing what-ifs like rocks. A nightmare. A scent spike. No one hearing.
“That’s emotional danger,” Chan argued, horrified to realize he was genuinely debating this. “That doesn’t count.”
Counts, the wolf shot back, sulky and absolute. Leader checks. Go.
Chan scrubbed both hands over his face, half-laughing, half-dying. “You are so dramatic,” he whispered. “We spent the whole day glued to him.”
Not enough. We want his nest. We want him close.
Chan froze. “He does not,” he whispered at the ceiling. “Felix is just… like that. He’s sweet with everyone.”
His wolf answered with memory instead of words—Felix presenting his throat in the snow without thinking, his scent spiking sugar-bright every time Chan got too close, his hands steady and sure on Chan’s shoulders.
Likes you. Wants you.
Chan groaned into the pillow. “He likes our pack,” he hissed. “He’s an omega. He’s touchy. That’s different. And I’m his friend. His leader. That’s it.”
The wolf disagreed, unimpressed.
Liked touch. Liked scent. Looked at us.
Silence stretched. The wolf pressed a smaller, insistent pulse. Check him. Just see.
Chan stared up at the ceiling. “And what if he’s still awake?” he muttered. “Then what? I stand there in his doorway like some sleep-paralysis demon?”
His wolf offered a bright, unhelpful feeling: good. Close.
“No,” Chan hissed. “Not good. Weird.” He swallowed. “He’ll think I’m doing that alpha thing—hovering. Like I don’t trust him to breathe without supervision.”
Felix’s face flashed through his mind, startled, soft, then guarded. Blanket pulled higher.
“He’ll think I’m taking advantage,” Chan whispered. “Or testing him. Or that I expect something because he touched me earlier.”
He dragged a hand over his eyes. “He’ll stop being comfortable around me. He’ll stop being—” He cut himself off, jaw tight.
“He needs sleep,” Chan finished, rougher now. “And I need to be normal for five minutes.”
Needs you, the wolf insisted. If awake, talk. If asleep, safe. Either way—close.
Chan lay there a moment longer, caught between embarrassment and instinct, and knew exactly which side was going to win.
It always did.
“Fine,” he breathed at last, throwing the blanket back. “We’re checking. One minute. Not being weird.”
His wolf preened, smug.
The floor was cold under his bare feet, boards creaking soft as he padded into the hallway. The house felt different like this—quiet, breathing in the dark. He moved on instinct until he stood outside Felix’s door.
Chan hesitated. His palm hovered near the doorframe like touching anything might break the spell. Slowly, carefully, he eased the door open the width of two fingers.
Moonlight cut a thin stripe across the room.
Felix was a warm shape in the bed, messy hair fallen into his eyes, blanket kicked halfway down like he’d lost a fight with it in his sleep. Curled on his side, shoulders tucked in, he looked smaller than he ever did when he was awake. Less glitter and teeth. Just… tired.
Like a wolf pup who’d run too hard all day and finally let the pack keep watch.
Something in Chan’s chest gave way, quiet and sharp.
Protect, his wolf breathed—not an order now, but something instinctive and aching. Keep him warm. Keep him safe.
Felix’s mouth was parted on a slow, steady exhale, a barely-there sound caught in it. Chan watched the rise and fall of his back and felt his own breathing fall into sync before he could stop himself.
The urge to cross the threshold hit hard enough to make him sway. He didn’t.
He stayed where he was, gripping the edge of the doorway like it was the only thing keeping him honest. Like one more step would turn leader checks into something he couldn’t take back.
He let the door fall shut again without a sound and stood there for one stupid heartbeat longer, breathing in honey-soft proof.
Chan’s shoulders dropped. “See?” he whispered, more to his wolf than to anyone else. “He’s fine.”
His wolf settled, tension easing in a slow, satisfied roll. Good. Now sleep.
Chan lingered a second longer, then let his fingers brush the wood once—a quiet, private goodnight—before making himself turn away.
Back in his room, the bed was still warm. The ache in his shoulder had faded to a dull reminder, but his body remembered Felix’s hands, firm and careful.
He couldn’t stop seeing Felix in the snow—hair damp with melt, cheeks bright, laugh caught like sunlight. They’d looked at each other too long, and Chan’s wolf had counted it as something.
Chan just wanted to keep him safe. Not just tonight—always, if he could. His wolf agreed, loud and certain.
He buried his face in the pillow. “He just… likes our pack,” he told the dark, because calling it anything else felt like tempting fate.
His wolf huffed, unimpressed.
Stupid human. Blind.
Chan laughed softly, half protest, half surrender. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Better blind than wrong.”
Underneath the denial, a quiet hope stayed anyway, maybe someday.
— ❆❇❆ —
They slept in the next morning. A whole house full of wolves meant the air stayed warm, heavy with the comfort of shared rest. By the time footsteps creaked toward the kitchen, the light outside had already tilted pale across the lake.
Breakfast was slower than the day before, less chaos, more lingering. Toast passed hand to hand, eggs cooked in batches that disappeared too fast, coffee and cocoa filling every mug in sight. Nobody hurried because nobody needed to. The windows fogged again as bodies gathered, breath and warmth reclaiming the space from the cold outside.
Wolves bumped shoulders at the counter, leaned against each other at the table, half-asleep still but smiling anyway.
“How did everyone sleep?” Jeongin asked at one point, chin propped on his hand as he watched steam curl from his mug. It sounded casual, curious.
“Like the dead,” Hyunjin said immediately. “Tragically, beautifully, with one draft trying to assassinate me.”
“Fine,” Minho said, which for him meant perfectly.
“Dreams were weird,” Jisung announced. “Probably all the snow. Or Hyunjin’s aura.”
Seungmin took a slow sip of tea. “Most of us,” he said mildly, “slept like normal people.”
Jisung blinked at him over his spoon. “As opposed to…?”
“As opposed to the wolf who held a full committee meeting with himself at stupid o’clock,” Seungmin replied calmly. “Pacing, sighing, floorboards creaking like a tragic audiobook. The walls have trauma now.”
Jeongin choked on his cocoa, eyes going wide. “Wait, what? Who was it?”
Seungmin just lifted one shoulder. “Strong sea salt scent, something coconuty, and a lot of guilt. Very ‘I swear this is normal’ energy. I’ll let you do the math.”
Chan, halfway through a sip of coffee, coughed hard enough that Hyunjin patted his back. “Guilty conscience?” Hyunjin asked, amused.
“I just… swallowed wrong,” Chan rasped, ears pinking.
“Sure,” Seungmin said, turning a page of his internal judgment file.
Felix frowned faintly into his mug, curious, but his scent stayed soft with sleep and sugar. Whatever it was, it hadn’t broken anything. Chan was here. Everyone was. That was enough for his omega to let it go.
By the time the dishes stacked and the fire caught again, the day had softened into afternoon. The kind of hush that makes even laughter sound quieter. Outside, the lake lay flat and pale, a pressed coin under a sky the color of wool. Dark seams stitched the clouds where they gathered their skirts, promising more snow before evening.
Inside, the living room was scattered with the proof of wolves at rest, blankets draped over chairs, mugs abandoned on the hearth, socks kicked off wherever feet had gotten too warm.
Felix stood at the window and fogged a small oval in the glass with his breath. The warmth of the cabin pressed against his back; the cold pressed against his front. He liked the balance.
Hyunjin had nested himself into two blankets and a grudge against the draft. Changbin tugged at the edge of one like it was a sport, grin sharp and teasing, but even he was too tired to propose a third contest. He waved a hand and declared the third battle postponed until tomorrow, which Hyunjin accepted like a royal decree.
On the couch, Jisung had decided Minho’s hair needed attention, tugging him down with all the seriousness of an artist facing a masterpiece. Minho let it happen, patient as stone, only raising an eyebrow when Jisung muttered critiques about “texture” and “symmetry.”
Seungmin sat close with a book in hand, pretending not to watch, but his mouth curved every time Jisung crowed about his progress. Jeongin sprawled on the rug with a box of board games he’d dug out from under the couch, announcing each find like treasure.
And in the middle of it all, the air hummed with wolves at ease, content scents weaving together into something whole.
Felix’s chest felt crowded in the way only love could, too many good sounds, too much warmth, not enough space to set his thoughts down without someone stepping on them. The room was so warm it started to feel thick. Scents layered and layered until Felix couldn’t tell where his own ended.
Outside, the pines stood like quiet witnesses, dark and steady against the snow. Before he could talk himself out of it, he set his hand to the door latch.
“I’m going out for air,” he said.
Chan looked up from the hearth. Ash smudged one cheek, and he didn’t seem to know it. Sea salt and lemon myrtle rolled off him in a low, steady line that hummed through the room, coconut soft underneath, wolf-calm and grounding. “I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t—” Felix started, sharper than he meant, and then softened at his own edge. His omega was restless, tugging toward the cold. “You don’t have to.”
Chan’s mouth tilted, that small sideways smile that always meant he’d already made the choice. “Two minutes,” he said, not to Felix, but to the house, to the pack, like a promise they could hear. His wolf folded certainty into the air.
Hyunjin groaned from his blanket pile. “If you let any cold in, I’m putting both of you on my blacklist.”
“We’re already on it,” Seungmin said, still reading. “Just close the door fast this time.”
Chan stood, brushing soot from his palms, and Felix stepped closer before he could think better of it. “Hold still,” he murmured. With the edge of his sleeve, he wiped the smudge from Chan’s cheek, careful, soft. Chan blinked at him, startled not by the touch but by how natural it was, as if Felix had been doing this forever.
The moment stretched, sugar brushing against sea-salt warmth in the narrow space between them. Felix dropped his hand quickly, ears warm. “Better.”
Chan’s wolf purred low in his chest, pleased; his scent deepened, tide-strong for a heartbeat. “Thanks,” he said, quiet but rough-edged, as though the word had to push through something larger.
He held Felix’s coat out then, easy and thoughtless, alpha instinct wrapping in steady lines. Felix slipped into it, and the weight of it settling over his shoulders felt like a hand between his shoulder blades saying go on. Chan tugged the hat low over Felix’s ears before he could do it himself.
Felix’s omega purred back, foolishly pleased. Their shoulders brushed as they leaned into the door together. When the lock clicked open, the cold reached in with open palms, and both wolves leaned forward like they’d been waiting for it.
Snow squeaked under their boots, a sound Felix felt all the way in his teeth. The trail behind the cabin wasn’t really a trail so much as a suggestion, a curve between pines where yesterday’s prints had blurred and new powder had tried to forget them. The air smelled clean: ice and sap, the mineral hush of winter. Felix’s own scent tugged bright and sharp until he breathed it softer. Beside him, that familiar sea-salt warmth moved steady as a heartbeat, lemon myrtle bright on the edges, coconut-soft underneath.
They didn’t talk at first. Chan didn’t fill the silence just to prove he could, and Felix liked him for that. Their shoulders brushed once, then again, until walking in step felt like the only way to move. Their wolves settled into the same rhythm without needing to be asked.
After a while, Felix huffed a laugh into his scarf. “You know you smell completely wrong for this weather, right?”
Chan glanced over, amused. “Wrong?”
“Yeah.” Felix’s eyes traced the line of Chan’s breath in the cold. “Everyone else is, like, forest and hearth and bakery. You’re just—” he wrinkled his nose, searching for it, “—summer. It’s like walking next to a beach that got lost on the way to December.”
Chan’s mouth tilted into a small, lopsided smile. His scent warmed, tide-strong for a beat. “Could be worse. At least I don’t smell like a wet dog.”
Felix snorted, sugar flaring in the air. “Give it an hour, we’ll all smell like wet dogs.”
They crunched on a few more steps. Snow whispered down from a branch above, catching in Felix’s hair. He shook it off, then glanced sideways. “Do you miss it?” he asked. “The heat, I mean. Real heat. Sun trying to kill you and everything.”
Chan tipped his face up, like he could still feel some memory of it. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “There’s a kind of hot where your skin won’t stop buzzing, you know? Crickets, aircon, sunscreen, ocean… feels like the whole world’s awake at once.” His wolf hummed quietly under the words. “But it’s loud, too.”
Felix listened, pulse easing with the honesty in his voice. “And this?”
“This is… different,” Chan said. Snow crunched under his boots; his hand brushed Felix’s sleeve and stayed close. “Up here it feels like the world finally shut up for a minute.” A huff of breath that could’ve been a laugh. “I like that part.”
Felix’s chest loosened. “Yeah,” he said, softer. “Me too. The city gets in my fur. Too many scents, too many people, nowhere to… stretch out.” He made a vague little gesture, like he was trying to express his wolf with his fingers. “Cold’s easier. Feels like it… trims everything down. Makes it quieter.”
Chan looked at him then, properly. “You seem calmer,” he said, simple and true.
Felix’s ears went warm under his hat. “You noticed?”
“Yeah.” Chan’s voice stayed gentle. “Your scent’s still bright, just… not buzzing like it does in town.”
His omega preened quietly at that, pleased at being seen and a little embarrassed about it. “Snow helps,” Felix said. “So do you.”
That slipped out before he could catch it. His scent spiked, honey-quick, then tried to smooth itself flat.
Chan didn’t tease. His warmth just deepened, sea salt and lemon myrtle rolling softer around them both. “Glad I’m good for something,” he murmured.
They fell quiet again, but it wasn’t the awkward kind. It was full, padded with breath and boot-squeak and the shared weight of what hadn’t quite been said.
By the time Felix finally looked around, the cabin was only a memory behind the trees. The pines had thickened, their dark trunks marching in slow rows around them. His breath caught. “We… walked kind of far.”
Chan glanced back, then forward again, unconcerned. His scent spread wider, wrapping around them instinctively, grounding them both. “Guess we did,” he said softly. “Didn’t notice.”
Felix’s pulse answered: me neither.
They came to a little down-slope where the trees thinned, opening just enough to give a view of the lake. Ice stretched wide and flat, dusted with snow like flour across a counter. On the far shore, the pines blurred together, the horizon hazy as if someone had dragged a thumb across the line.
Felix blew out a breath that ghosted white. “We could loop the treeline?” he suggested, even though he could already smell more snow in the air, a change in the cold.
Chan lifted his face to the sky the way alphas do when they check for danger without scaring anyone. The gray clouds above had gathered into something with weight. A fine sift of flakes began to fall, visible only where they caught on the dark of his sleeve and in the dark of his hair.
“We can try a short loop,” he said—not careless, just careful in his own way, weighing need against risk. His summer-warm scent settled in the air. “But it’s going to snow again.”
“Little snow never hurt anyone,” Felix said, trying to be breezy. His omega pricked its ears, delighted at the idea of more white. “We’ll just walk faster.”
Chan huffed, fond. “Famous last words.”
They cut along the edge of the trees, keeping the lake to their left. The flakes thickened slowly, almost shy at first—just a dusting on Felix’s sleeves, a sparkle in Chan’s hair. It felt nice, actually. Quiet. The world softened at the edges.
“Be honest,” Felix said after a while, watching his breath puff white. “Do you ever miss Christmas in shorts?”
Chan laughed under his breath. “Barbecues and sweating through family photos? Sometimes.” His scent warmed, salt-bright with memory. “We used to do beach days, whole pack in the water, sand everywhere, sunscreen fights. It was chaos.”
Felix tried to picture it: Chan with salt in his curls and sunburn on his nose, chasing packmates through waves. His chest ached in a good way. “Sounds perfect.”
“It was a lot,” Chan said again, but it came out soft. “This is… different. Good different.”
Felix nodded. “Yeah. This feels like… inside your own head, but in a nice way. Less noise. More space.” He hesitated, then added, quieter, “Less chance anyone notices when you… breathe wrong.”
Chan’s eyes flicked to him at that, sharp and gentle all at once. “I notice,” he said.
Felix’s scent stumbled, sugar catching on the air like static. “That’s kind of the problem,” he joked weakly.
Chan’s mouth curved. “It’s not a problem for me.”
They walked a little further. The sound underfoot shifted from cheerful squeak to a flatter, thinner crunch, like the snow was tired of being disturbed. Wind slid off the lake in a faint, testing breath, then came back stronger, as if it had found courage out over the open ice and decided to mean it this time.
Felix listened to the trees groan and murmur as the gusts pushed through their branches. Needles hissed. Trunks creaked. The whole forest seemed to lean in.
And then the sift became a fall.
At first it was just more of the same—light, harmless, the kind of snow that looked pretty on postcards. Then the flakes thickened. The air filled grain by grain until the distance began to smear. The horizon faded. The trees lost their outlines, becoming pale ghosts of themselves.
In the space of a few breaths, the world blurred into white.
The next gust hit hard enough to steal the air from Felix’s mouth. Snow slapped into his face sideways, stinging his cheeks, catching in his lashes. When he blinked, the cold felt like glass dragged across his eyelids. His lungs burned on the inhale, the air so raw it felt like it might cut going down.
Beside him, Chan’s wolf surged hot in his chest, sea-salt heat punching through the storm. He stepped closer, not quite touching, but close enough that Felix could feel the bulk of him, the temperature difference, like standing in the lee of a wall.
“Turn back.” Chan’s voice came out lower than usual, iron thread laced through it. Alpha, not friend. The kind of voice that expected to be obeyed because not obeying would be stupid.
Felix squinted into the snow. It was like looking into static. He hadn’t realized how quickly it had turned, or how far they’d gone from the safe, warm rectangle of the cabin. His omega had been pacing delighted circles in his chest minutes ago; now it pressed low and tight, restless but yielding. “Okay,” he said.
Chan glanced back and froze for a heartbeat. The cabin was gone, swallowed whole. The trail they’d followed had been eaten, their own footprints already blurred at the edges. The trees, which had felt companionable on the way out, were just vertical smears now, more suggestion than landmark. Every direction looked like the right one until it didn’t.
His hand flexed, fingers curling and uncurling, like his body was two seconds away from just grabbing Felix and carrying him. His scent spiked sharp in the thin air, sea salt and lemon myrtle cutting against the cold as his wolf shoved forward, fierce and afraid.
“Felix.” The name came out rough, dragged across gravel. Instinct spoke before thought. “Stay with me. Right with me. If I stop, you stop. If I run, you run. My scent, my steps, don’t lose them.”
Felix nodded fast enough to make his hat shift. The wind yanked at his scarf, clawing for his throat. His scent shivered sugar-bright, pulled thin, almost sheared away. For a terrifying second he imagined himself alone in this, no scent, no line to follow, just white.
He latched onto Chan’s voice instead. Chan’s scent. Chan’s shape at the edge of his vision. If the storm wanted him, it would have to go through an alpha whose whole chest was already braced against it.
The snow closed in, thick and merciless.
It didn’t fall in flakes anymore so much as sheets, dense enough to muffle sound. The pines vanished one by one. Wind shoved at their shoulders, at their knees, at the hollow behind Felix’s ears, uncaring and constant. Within a dozen steps, the world shrank to a little circle of white noise and the darker smudge of Chan’s body in front of him.
Wolves pressed closer. Chan’s summer-warm scent wrapped around Felix’s honey-sweet in a tight braid that refused to be pulled apart. Felix angled his body into the shelter Chan created without thinking; Chan shortened his stride half a pace without comment, the way alphas do when they’re making themselves a windbreak for someone else to walk inside.
The world erased faster than they could redraw it. Snow stitched the air shut between tree trunks. The lake vanished, then the far shore, then even the sense of open space. There was only pressure, on their coats, on their cheeks, in their joints. The cold found every gap it could, driving needles into the soft spots: wrists, ankles, the thin skin along Felix’s jaw.
His toes started to go numb inside his boots. His fingers, buried in his gloves, felt like they belonged to someone else.
“Here,” Chan said when the path’s memory failed them, and there was nothing left to follow but instinct. He didn’t offer his hand, too much room to fumble, too easy to lose. Instead he thrust his wrist back, solid and sure, old instinct wrapped in new courtesy. “Hold on.”
Felix’s fingers wrapped around wool and bone, grip tightening when the next gust shoved at them sideways. Chan’s scent came closer, stronger. It gave him something solid to breathe in, something that wasn’t freezing air and panic.
The cold had stopped feeling like weather. It felt personal now.
Snow stung his exposed cheek like a slap. His hat had slipped back without him noticing; fat flakes landed against the skin just below his ear and melted half a second later, leaving wet streaks that burned when the wind hit them. The trees seemed farther apart than they had on the way out, the spaces between them just moving white.
They kept going because that’s what you do: one boot into the faint suggestion of a print left by the last. Trusting the math of it. Trusting the wrist in your hand more.
“Wait,” Chan said, low and sharp.
Felix stopped instantly, tethered by scent and skin. His heart hammered so hard it made the inside of his coat feel too tight.
Chan’s chin jerked toward a darker shape hunched near the treeline, part shadow, part structure, something man-made being slowly swallowed by snow. It loomed up out of the white like a half-remembered memory, wrong angles against the natural lines of trunks and branches.
“A shed?” Felix asked, eyes watering from the cold, trying to blink it into focus. The storm kept trying to fill his eyes back up again.
“Looks like it.” Chan’s voice dropped into the register he used for bad roads, weak beams, conversations that might break sideways—calm, heavy enough to lean on. Underneath, his wolf rumbled, restless and riled. “Follow me.”
He led, Felix followed, boots dragging, calves burning as they trudged through drifts that had crept up past their shins, then their knees. Wind took their breath and hurled it back in their faces. Every step forward felt borrowed.
Up close, the shed barely looked like a shed at all. The walls leaned, crooked but still standing, as if they’d been arguing with gravity for years and refused to lose. The roof sagged to one side, snow piled thick along the dip like a hand pressing down. The door hung off one hinge, half-open, half-frozen, unsure whether it belonged to the storm or to them.
Blankets lay inside near the threshold, stiff and crusted with ice, half-buried under powder that had drifted through the gaps. Someone had left them once. Time and weather had done the rest.
Chan pushed the door open with his shoulder. The wood groaned, old and tired, a deep complaint that vibrated through the frame but it held.
Inside, the air was only a fraction warmer, but that fraction mattered. The wind dropped from a shove to a murmur. Snow still threaded through the slats in the walls, but the worst of it stayed out, finally hitting something it couldn’t just walk through.
The place smelled of old rope, damp wood, dust gone cold. Underneath that: iron from the rusting tools in the corner, the faint ghost of animals that might once have been kept here. Abandonment had its own smell, flat, quiet, too still.
Felix stepped in and shook like a dog, snow flying off his coat in pale arcs. His teeth clacked once, hard, before his jaw caught up. A short breathless laugh punched out of him because sometimes bodies laugh when the other option is giving in to the shaking. His cheeks burned and stung at the same time.
“That escalated quickly,” he managed, voice thinner than he liked.
Chan didn’t laugh. His wolf prowled the corners instead, scent flaring sharp as he scanned the sagging roof, the broken slats, the cracks that still bled white along the edges. He brushed snow off a low bench with one hand, tested its strength with the other, then checked the hinge on the door like he could muscle it into sealing better just by wanting it.
His sea-salt warmth came jagged in the air—protective, uneasy, restless—but underneath all that, his scent anchored hard around Felix, like an unspoken promise: for as long as this flimsy place holds, so do I.
Felix’s omega nudged up in answer, soft and insistent. He stepped close, put his hands to Chan’s arms, slid them up to his shoulders. “Hey.” Just that. A word with the teeth filed down, warm and steady.
Chan turned him gently, started brushing snow off him with brisk, practical passes. When his fingers found the back of Felix’s neck where the cold had snuck down his collar, something in him gentled despite himself. His thumb rubbed warmth into the chilled strip of skin like he could order it back to life. Felix made a small, treacherous sound and pretended it was only about temperature.
“How cold?” Chan asked, even though his wolf already knew, already worried.
“Cold,” Felix admitted. Then, softer, because truth calls truth, “but not bad. Not with you here.”
That landed. Chan’s mouth tilted, but his eyes still searched, still restless, tracking every shiver. “You’re shaking.”
“So are you,” Felix said, and only then noticed the way the wind had pinked his cheeks raw and threaded melted snow into his lashes. His wolf pressed out, sugar curling warm around that summer-salt scent, trying to smooth the jagged edge of it. “You look ridiculous,” Felix added, grinning a little. “Like a snowman that decided to be handsome.”
Chan huffed, caught off guard, and for a second his wolf eased, sea-salt smoothing out. He shook his head but didn’t move away.
The storm pressed at the walls, impatient, making the whole shed creak like an old ship. Inside, two wolves stood close, instincts straining in opposite directions, one to guard, one to soothe and finding the same answer in each other.
Chan dragged one of the half-frozen blankets out from under the snow pile in the corner. It was stiff at the edges, but still fabric, still something. He shook it out, testing the weight between his hands, and then dropped onto the bench with a sigh that was more wolf than man.
“Come here,” he said. Not an order, more like instinct given voice.
Felix hesitated, cheeks hot despite the cold. The bench was narrow, the floor stone-cold, the wind shoving at the walls again like it wanted in. Chan’s sea-salt scent spiked sharp with worry, and Felix’s omega surged toward it before his thoughts could catch up.
He crossed the tiny gap and let himself be tugged down, right onto Chan’s lap.
The world clicked into place. Warmth under him, Chan solid beneath him, the wall at his back and the blanket pulled up and around until it wrapped them both like a den wall. Felix turned into him, tucking sideways across Chan’s thighs until his nose found the warm curve where shoulder met neck. He buried his face there, scarf pulled down enough to breathe skin and wool. Chan bent his head without thinking, nose sliding into Felix’s curls like he’d been waiting to scent him this close all along.
Their wolves reacted first. Chan’s surged protective, wrapping and bracing, every line of him saying mine to guard. Felix’s went molten, sugar-sweet and heavy, pressing back against that sea-salt heat like please, more, closer. The air between them thickened, almost too much, but neither moved away.
Felix slid his cold hands under the hem of Chan’s sweater, clumsy fingers finding bare skin at his waist. The shock of contact made Chan hiss softly, muscles jumping under Felix’s touch, but he covered Felix’s hands with his own at once, big palms rubbing over numbed fingers until the sting of thaw turned into a slow, creeping warmth.
“Better,” he murmured, voice roughened by the wolf crouched just under his ribs.
Felix made a small noise, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. “Better,” he echoed, muffled into Chan’s chest. The sound of his own voice there made Chan’s arms tighten, the blanket cocooning them even closer.
Another gust hit, the shed groaning low in its bones. Snow hissed along the roof seam. But inside, with Felix pressed close and Chan’s scent wrapped thick around them both, the storm felt far away, as if, for the moment, the weather had forgotten they were there.
“Felix,” Chan said, quiet, careful. The name landed like a weight, a promise, a touch all at once.
Felix tipped his head back just enough to look at him.Their faces were so close the world narrowed to breath, lashes, and the bright pulse of heat in their scents. His omega pressed forward, reckless and sure; Chan’s alpha answered with a shudder he barely kept reined in.
They didn’t kiss, not yet. But it would have taken only a breath, only a slip of courage. Chan’s eyes dropped to Felix’s mouth and flicked back up, and the looking alone made Felix’s chest ache.
“Okay?” Chan asked, voice raw.
“Okay,” Felix whispered, wolf-true.
The blanket slipped a little, but neither cared. They stayed like that, one curled into the other, wolves knotted tight and warm against the storm.
Time went strange. Snow does that, turns minutes into something elastic, stretched between wind gusts and the faint rhythmic thud the door made against Chan’s shoulder each time the hinge was tested. Felix watched the steam of their breaths meet in the air, twine together, and drift apart again. He counted heartbeats without meaning to. Every so often Chan’s thumb brushed under his jaw, absent and focused at the same time, like a man thinking himself through a problem by touching the answer.
Felix’s lips tingled with the idea of kissing. He tucked the thought under his tongue where it could warm.
“Tell me if you get too cold,” Chan said at last, because care needs words sometimes or it starts to ache. His voice carried the wolf in it—low, steady, undeniable. “Don’t just be brave.”
Felix huffed into his sweater and tasted salt. “I’ll tell you.”
“Good.”
Felix waited three heartbeats. Then: “You tell me, too.”
A pause. Then Chan’s laugh, soft against his temple, surprised out of him like steam from a kettle. “Okay.”
Another gust rattled the shed. The storm pressed hard. But inside, warmth spread in small circles. Felix’s shivers had mostly smoothed into a softer tremble, the kind that came and went like the second hand of a clock. Chan caught Felix’s hands in his own and rubbed, palms bracketing fingers, breath warming his knuckles. The word warm didn’t need saying—it hung between them like a second blanket.
Felix shifted, tipped his face up just a fraction. Instinct pulled his mouth toward Chan’s like a compass needle north. He didn’t ask for a kiss. He asked to stay where he was and be looked at like that again. Sometimes those are the same thing.
Chan’s eyes softened. His scent swelled, his wolf pressing close like it wanted to mark Felix safe, claimed, kept. Felix’s omega surged in answer—sugar turned to honey, rich and heady, curling into that sea-salt warmth until the air felt braided tight. Felix nuzzled closer without thinking, nose brushing the curve of Chan’s throat, scenting him soft and reverent.
Chan stilled, then bent his head and answered—nose in Felix’s curls, slow and careful, scenting back. His wolf nearly shook with it, desperate to press closer, to taste, to hold. He didn’t. He stayed steady, wrapping Felix in his scent until even the draft through the slats seemed to hesitate.
Felix’s breath hitched. He let his palm spread against Chan’s chest, feeling the heartbeat under wool, quick but anchoring. Chan’s hand slid up Felix’s spine, pressure firm and grounding, the touch of an alpha wolf who didn’t know how not to protect.
They sat like that, sharing breath and scent, wolves circling each other in the cramped dark like two tides meeting. Nothing more, Nothing less.
“It’s going to pass,” Chan murmured again, but what Felix heard in the rumble of his scent was: I’m not going anywhere.
Felix closed his eyes, pressed closer, and let his wolf rest.
“Felix,” Chan said again, and the way he said it—low, careful, like the shape of the name was something you made with both hands—made Felix’s ribs feel too small.
Felix tipped his chin up. Their noses brushed. Breath met breath and turned to steam. For a heartbeat they stayed there, too close, neither quite sure who was going to cross the last inch. Felix’s heart fluttered wild; Chan’s wolf braced around it, steady and shaking at once.
The first kiss barely counted as one. Just a brush. Soft and Questioning. It made Felix’s mouth prickle like nerves waking up after sleep, made Chan inhale sharply like he’d forgotten how. They pulled back a fraction, enough to look at each other, eyes dark and stunned, then leaned in again.
This time the kiss lingered. Still gentle, but slower. Chan’s mouth moved like he was learning Felix by feeling alone, careful not to spook him, careful not to take too much too fast. Felix sighed into it, helpless, and that sound tipped something loose.
Chan chased it.
Their mouths opened together, uncertain and then suddenly not. Tongues brushed, an accidental slide at first, clumsy and surprised and Felix made a soft, broken sound as heat shot straight through him. His wolf purred, loud and unashamed, all trust and want. Chan shuddered like he’d been waiting years for permission, then pressed in deeper, kiss turning hungry without turning rough, like a dam finally letting water through.
Felix’s fingers fisted in Chan’s jacket, grounding himself as the world tilted. Chan’s hand slid from Felix’s jaw to the back of his neck, fingers spreading wide, anchoring him there like an oath. The kiss grew warmer, fuller, all the things they’d swallowed back for too long finally finding a way out every near-touch, every almost, every look held a second too long.
They broke apart only to breathe, foreheads touching, mouths brushing again as if neither of them trusted the distance. Felix laughed softly into the next kiss, breath catching, and Chan answered it like he was memorizing the sound, learning exactly how Felix fit against him.
Snow sifted through the cracks overhead, landing cool on their cheeks, melting between them. Outside, the mountain raged; inside, something steady took shape, bright and alive in the shelter of the shed.
“Careful—” Felix tried, breathless, and then dissolved into a small laugh against Chan’s mouth, purring still, unable to stop. “I mean—be careful, but—”
Chan groaned, low and rough, the sound spilling out of his wolf before he could catch it. His whole body trembled with wanting, with holding himself back, with trying not to scare the very thing he’d been aching to touch. “Felix,” he rasped, a warning that wasn’t a warning. “Tell me if—”
“I will,” Felix whispered, tugging again, shameless. His eyes were bright, his mouth kiss-swollen. “Please.”
Chan kissed him like he’d been waiting a lifetime and maybe he had.
Time unraveled. They lost track of how many times they leaned back in, mouths finding each other like magnets, like instinct, like prayer. Felix’s wolf purred steady in his chest, pressing sweetness into the space between them. Chan’s wolf answered with tremors that shook his shoulders, every line of him taut with the need to protect and to claim.
At some point, Felix shifted without really meaning to, swinging one leg over until he was fully facing Chan, straddling his lap, knees braced on either side. The blanket slipped and then resettled around them, turning the bench into a makeshift den.
It wasn’t perfect, snow in their hair, a draft slipping under the blankets, numb fingers catching on wool but that was what made it perfect. Their first kiss lived inside a nearly broken shed, in the middle of a snowstorm, with nothing holding them together but instinct, warmth, and the undeniable fact that they’d both stopped pretending.
Outside, the storm pressed harder at the walls, snow rattling against the roof; inside, heat fought back, slow and stubborn.
By then they were already worked up, already lost. Chan could smell slick in the air now, sweet and heavy even under the cold, and Felix could feel the hard length in Chan’s pants pressing up between his thighs where he sat astride him. Their eyes caught and held, a silent promise flashing bright.
Chan moved—not away, but closer. He braced one arm over Felix’s head, caging him lightly against the beam, the other hand steady at his waist. The kiss roughened instantly, teeth clicking, tongues tangling, their wolves clawing at the leash. Felix’s hat slid sideways, hanging by one ear. They would’ve laughed if they weren’t gasping too hard.
Scent thickened, honey and summer-warm salt tangling dense in the thin air, their wolves snarling and purring under their ribs. Felix’s chest vibrated helplessly, a low purr that went straight through Chan and made him tremble.
“God,” Felix whispered into the kiss, cheeks burning. “Always wanted—” He broke off, swallowed, tried again. “Like… snow, and us, and—”
The words tangled. His omega shoved past his tongue anyway.
“Sex in the snow,” he blurted, voice wrecked and small at the same time. “With you.”
Chan froze, a disbelieving growl low in his throat. “That’s a terrible idea.”
Felix whined, shameless, shifting in his lap. “Please. Just want it. Don’t care how stupid.” His wolf pressed forward, flooding the shed with need.
“You’re killing me,” Chan muttered, his scent spiking darker, summer-warm salt gone knife-sharp.
“Then die with me,” Felix shot back, purring harder when Chan groaned and dragged him back into another kiss, deeper, rougher, surrendering.
For a few breaths, Chan let himself drown in it, Felix warm and wild in his lap, snow hissing against the roof, the storm outside and a different kind of storm under his hands. His fingers slid under Felix’s coat, catching on the hem of his sweater, tugging it up just enough to feel a line of bare skin, hot against his cold-knuckled touch.
Then he stopped. Broke the kiss by a fraction. Rested his forehead against Felix’s, breathing hard. Sea-salt warmth snapped tight in the air, like a leash yanked halfway.
“Felix,” he rasped. His voice shook. “Are you sure? We’re in a shed, in the middle of a blizzard, you’re freezing, I’m—” He huffed, helpless. “I don’t want you waking up tomorrow and thinking I—”
“Chan.” Felix’s voice came out wrecked and soft. His fingers fisted in Chan’s sweater, anchoring. His omega shoved against his ribs, refusing retreat. “I’m not going to change my mind because there’s snow on the roof.”
His cheeks burned, but he forced the rest out anyway, stumbling but stubborn. “I’ve thought about this. About you. About how it feels when you look at me like that.” His gaze dropped to Chan’s mouth and back up again. “I want you. I want this. I want it now.”
His scent flared honey-sharp, then folded in on itself, shy and bold at the same time.
Chan made a broken sound that might have been a groan, might have been a prayer. His hand flexed where it rested on Felix’s waist, knuckles white under the strain of holding himself back. “You’re actually trying to kill me,” he muttered, half to himself.
“Then at least die happy,” Felix shot back, a little breathless, trying for smug and landing somewhere closer to pleading. He rolled his hips the tiniest bit, enough to make the bench creak. “Stop thinking so much.”
Chan’s wolf lunged at that, delighted. He slid one hand up Felix’s spine, slow, almost maddeningly gentle, fingers tracing each notch like he was counting vertebrae. “You wanted sex in the snow,” he said, voice low and teasing, the edge of his control sharpening his smile. “Then you can handle a little waiting.”
Felix let out a desperate little sound that wasn’t quite a whine and wasn’t quite a curse, grabbing at his shoulders like he could physically pull Chan’s self-control apart. “Tease,” he accused, scent spilling sugar-hot. “You’re mean.”
Chan huffed a laugh against his mouth, kissing him once, slow and lingering, as if to apologize and double down at the same time. “I’m careful,” he corrected, thumb stroking the line of Felix’s throat in a way that promised anything but. “Mean comes later.”
Then he kissed him again, deeper, and this time he didn’t pull back.
Layers became the enemy. Chan was fumbling fast with ties and fastenings. His hand slipped into Felix’s pants, fingers finding his entrance slick already wet and hot. He gasped, unprepared for how much, how easily his fingers slid through it. Heat clung to his skin, coating every ridge, like Felix’s body had been waiting for this and nothing else.
He traced once, just along the edge, because he couldn’t not, because some feral part of him needed to feel exactly where “outside” became him. Felix shuddered, whole body tightening around the touch, a broken, needy sound spilling out of him.
Chan’s control frayed another inch. He dipped, pressed one finger in slow, then another, stretching, working carefully even as his breath came ragged. “God… you’re so wet already, just from some kisses. I want to taste you so bad.”
Felix shook, whimpering at every curl, every thrust of his fingers. “More—please—”
Chan pulled free, fingers dripping, and shoved them into his mouth. He groaned around the taste. “Sweet.” His wolf nearly lost its mind.
“Now,” Felix begged, clutching at him. “God, now.”
Chan gave in. He freed his cock, flushed and heavy, slicking himself with what still glistened on his fingers. Felix kicked pants aside, thighs open, already trembling.
“Please,” Felix gasped, voice wrecked. “Need you so bad.”
“Hold on,” Chan warned, voice breaking as he pressed forward. The first push stole his breath—tight heat, then give, then more, Felix’s body opening around him like it had been carved to fit this exact shape.
He stopped halfway on instinct, every muscle locked, fighting the urge to bottom out in one helpless snap of his hips. Felix clenched down around him, a desperate, fluttering grip that made his vision blur.
“Chan—” Felix gasped, nails biting into his shoulders. “All the way, please—”
Slick heat swallowed him down the rest of the way in a slow, shaking press, easy and perfect from how ready Felix was. They both cried out, wolves howling raw in their chests.
Felix clung to his shoulders, riding down until he was seated full, trembling, purrs vibrating through his chest. “So full—so good—”
Chan groaned, gripping his hips, guiding him up, then down again. Rough, fast, already breaking. “You’re insane,” he rasped, voice shaking. “You’ll ruin me.”
Felix laughed breathlessly, bouncing harder, wolf wild and unashamed. “Worth it.”
The storm raged outside, but inside they found rhythm—messy, urgent, wet sounds loud in the hush. Felix rode him hard enough the beam groaned. Chan bit through knit, wolf howling in his ribs, hips snapping up sharp.
“Need— more, harder, Chan I want… everything” Felix gasped, shameless. “Knot, please—need it.”
Chan swore, nearly undone. His knot was swelling already, every thrust harder to pull back from, catching at the edge and dragging a sharp, electric sting through both of them. He grabbed Felix’s waist, lifted, slammed him down, the knot bumping the rim and refusing to slide in.
Both of them cried out at the stretch—Felix with a broken, high sound, Chan with a guttural growl he barely recognized as his own.
“Careful,” he panted, forehead pressed to Felix’s, every word sawing in and out with his breath. “I can’t—if it locks, I—”
“You can,” Felix choked, nails sharp in his shoulders but his hips pushing down instead of away. His eyes were blown wide, cheeks flushed, scent wild and sweet. “Do it. Please, I need you, I want it—want all of you.”
That was what broke him. Chan groaned like it hurt and snapped his hips up, knot shoving deep, forcing past that last tight ring of resistance. The stretch went white-hot, pleasure knife-edged and blinding. Felix screamed, came hard, body clenching around him in relentless pulses as he collapsed against his chest.
Chan shouted his name and followed, knot locking them tight with a final, decisive push as he spilled deep, wolf howling raw inside his mind.
They clung together, shaking, panting, purring and growling at once. The shed groaned but held. Snow hissed overhead. Inside, nothing moved but two wolves knotted tight, heat spilling in waves.
Only when their breathing started to stagger back toward normal did Chan’s brain come back online.
The bench creaked ominously under them,.one sharp, offended crack that snapped Chan’s wolf from bliss to full alert in a single heartbeat.
“Oh, no,” Chan muttered, voice still wrecked. “Absolutely not. We are not dying because this bench gives out.”
Felix huffed a shaky laugh against his neck, still clinging like he’d decided gravity was optional. “Death by sex in the snow,” he mumbled, words slurring with aftershocks. “Very poetic.”
“Not funny,” Chan said automatically, even as his mouth betrayed him and twitched. His hands slid to Felix’s hips, firm and careful, checking balance, checking everything. “Okay. I’m gonna move us a little. Don’t panic.”
Felix purred, smug and loose. “We’re literally stuck together. Where exactly do you think I’m going?”
Chan groaned, half exasperation, half fondness. He braced his feet and shifted them a few careful centimeters at a time, angling his knees wider, taking more of Felix’s weight onto his own thighs. Every tiny adjustment tugged tight in all the wrong ways, drawing a sharp gasp from Felix and a bitten-off curse from Chan.
“Sorry,” Chan breathed against his temple. “Sorry—almost there. Just… don’t wiggle.”
Felix made a deeply unconvincing wounded sound. “You’re telling me not to wiggle?”
“Felix,” Chan warned, helpless laughter breaking through as the bench groaned again. He adjusted his footing once more, boots scraping on the packed dirt floor, shoulders tight as he took the brunt of Felix’s weight himself.
The next creak was softer. Less like a death sentence. “There,” Chan said, relief threading his voice. “Better.”
Felix sagged against him instantly, boneless and pleased. “See?” he mumbled, eyes fluttering. “Didn’t even break your terrible bench.”
“Yet,” Chan said, but the word came out soft. He tugged the blanket higher over Felix’s shoulders, tucking it in with almost absurd care, then smoothed a hand down his spine, pausing when he felt a faint shiver. “You okay? Warm enough? Nothing hurts?”
Felix nodded against his throat, scent warm and loose, all sugar and smug omega satisfaction. “Yeah,” he whispered. “’m good. ’m warm.” A beat. Then, delighted: “Stuck to you. Kinda perfect, actually.”
Chan let out a breath that shook more than he wanted it to. He pressed his nose into Felix’s hair, breathing him in, wolf finally settling. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Kinda is.”
The storm had eased—wind quieter now, snow a softer hiss on the roof. Their bodies trembled in the same shape, wolves purring low and content. Felix shifted just enough to make Chan jolt.
“Don’t—” Chan groaned, voice cracking. “Please don’t move like that.”
Felix grinned against his skin, absolutely shameless. “Still really stuck, huh?”
Chan shot him a look, flushed and exhausted. “What do you think?”
Felix hummed, curling closer on purpose. “Mm. S’ feels good,” he whispered, pleased as anything. “Told you I knew what I was doing.”
Chan snorted softly, arms tightening around him despite himself. “You’re impossible.”
Felix smiled like that was the highest compliment in the world. “You love it.”
“I do,” Chan admitted, quiet but sure. His wolf rumbled warm under his ribs, pressed nose-to-nose with Felix’s, keeping watch even while his body finally let itself rest.
For a long while, they just breathed together, hearts still thundering. The blankets barely covered them, snowflakes sneaking through cracks to melt on bare skin, but the heat between them made it irrelevant.
Felix finally sighed, cheek on Chan’s chest. “See? Snow sex. Totally worth freezing our asses off.”
Chan kissed his hair, hoarse and affectionate. “I should’ve known better than to argue with you.”
“You’ll learn,” Felix teased, smug and soft at once. Then, quieter: “You always do.”
Chan wrapped him tighter, coat and arms and knot all binding them close. His wolf purred so loud it filled the shed, a sound Felix’s wolf echoed until the air hummed like a lullaby.
And in the wreck of a broken shed, two wolves found not just heat, but home.
The shed steamed faintly with their heat, summer-warm salt and honey clinging thick in the air. Snow battered the roof but it felt far away. For once, they had carved out a den, wild and temporary, but theirs.
For a short while they just held on, noses buried in each other’s necks, wolves purring and whining in the same breath. The blankets barely covered them, snowflakes sneaking through cracks to melt on bare skin, but the knot heat made it bearable.
Then, slowly, reluctantly, it began to ease.
Felix whimpered as he felt the stretch give, clutching tighter like he could stop time. His omega spiked, a sharp, frightened flutter under all the sweetness, some small part of him suddenly, brutally sure that once this ended, it would all be over, just a storm-memory and nothing else. His scent, usually sugar-warm, took on a thin sour edge, fear cutting through the honey.
Chan caught it instantly. His wolf surged up, furious at the idea that after this could mean it’s over. He ducked in on instinct, pressing his nose to Felix’s throat, nuzzling there. His scent wrapped thick and sure around Felix, flooding the cramped shed with steady, summer-warm salt, calm, grounding, unshakable.
“Hey,” he whispered against his skin, voice rough but steady. “Breathe. I’ve got you. This isn’t just now. I’m not going anywhere.”
He drew back just enough to tip Felix’s chin up, making him look. Their gazes locked, Chan’s eyes blown wide but absolutely certain. His thumb stroked along Felix’s jaw as his wolf pushed reassurance into the air, insistent and clear: You belong to me.
Felix’s omega shuddered, then slowly unwound, the sour note in his scent melting back into something soft and sweet, heavy as warmed honey. His grip loosened a fraction, not letting go, just trusting.
Only then did his body finally yield. The tight hold eased, and the lock slipped free. The warmth went with it.
The cold slammed in like a fist. Icy air rushed between their bodies, hitting sweat-damp skin. Felix shuddered so violently his teeth clicked.
“Hey, hey.” Chan’s wolf lurched upright, all pleasure burning off in one flash of fear. He yanked the blanket and his coat higher around Felix, trying to cover every inch. “I’ve got you. Talk to me, is it too cold? Fingers? Toes?”
Felix tried to laugh, but it came out on a gasp. “’M okay. Just… contrast,” he chattered, pressing closer anyway.
Chan didn’t trust “okay” at all. He wrapped him tighter, practically folding Felix into his chest, scent rolling out thick and protective, as if he could push the storm back by will alone. Only when the violent shivers faded to smaller tremors did his shoulders loosen a fraction.
“Maybe not my brightest idea,” Felix admitted, breath puffing white.
“You think?” Chan said, voice still shaking. “We’re going to freeze our asses off if we stay like this.”
“Cute ice sculptures,” Felix muttered. “Limited edition.”
Chan snorted, helplessly fond. “If we die in here, I’m blaming you.”
“You’ll die happy,” Felix shot back, smug even while shaking.
“Unfortunately true,” Chan sighed, and tucked the blanket even tighter around him. He listened to the wind for a few breaths, measuring. It had softened, still sharp, but not as vicious. “We should move before we get cold again.”
Felix groaned like the suggestion was morally offensive and dragged himself upright, blankets slipping off his shoulders. Cold air kissed bare thighs and he flinched. Then he felt it, warmth sliding out of him, slick and sticky against his inner thighs.
His face went hot. “Oh my god.”
Chan saw the way he squirmed and grinned, wolf flashing smug in his eyes. “Leaking?”
Felix shoved at his shoulder weakly. “Don’t say it like that.”
“You smell like me,” Chan said, not even pretending to be sorry. He leaned in, breathing it in like victory. “Finally.”
Felix’s wolf purred despite the embarrassment, traitorous. “You’re impossible.”
“And happy,” Chan said, still grinning. “Come on. Pants first, hypothermia later.”
Getting dressed was a mess of laughter and curses, fumbling with frozen laces and twisted sweaters. Felix complained about how everything was damp now; Chan promised he’d warm him up twice over once they were back. Their wolves grumbled at the layers going on, noses still trying to press through, reluctant to give up skin.
When they finally stepped outside, the world had changed. The storm had spent itself, leaving only drifts piled high and a sky pale as ash. Their footprints from before were gone, but the path home waited, blank and quiet.
Chan reached out, threading his glove into Felix’s mitten as naturally as breathing. “Ready?”
Felix squeezed once, wolf humming steady under his ribs. “Yeah.”
They started forward, crunching through the deep snow. The air was sharp but clean, almost kind after the storm’s roar. Clouds broke in thin places, letting pale winter light spill across the drifts.
When Felix spoke, it came out before he could sand the edges off.
“I dreamed this.”
Chan’s hand went still around Felix’s fingers. Not withdrawing, just listening. “Really?” he asked softly, and Felix could hear the smile in the word, fond, incredulous, a little feral.
“Not the shed,” Felix said quickly, mortified enough that his scent spiked high and sweet and then tried to smooth itself flat again. “Just… winter. The cold and the heat. You and I, together.” He swallowed, staring very hard at his own boots. “I dreamt of you. That you made a place like this. For me.”
Felix risked a glance up at him, at the soft line of his mouth, the way snow dusted his curls and forgot to watch the ground. His next step hit a hidden dip; his boot slid and he lurched with a yelp, grabbing for Chan’s arm.
Chan steadied him with a laugh, grip sure. “Graceful.”
“Stop being pretty, then,” Felix grumbled, which only made Chan laugh harder.
“Shut up,” Felix muttered, cheeks redder than the cold could claim.
“Want me to carry you?” Chan teased.
Felix huffed, nose wrinkling. “If you try, we’ll both end up face-first in the snow.”
“Could be worse,” Chan said, mouth tipping into a grin. “I can think of less fun places to end up lying with you.”
Felix’s ears went hot under his hat, but before he could come up with a comeback, another gust cut through the trees. He shivered hard, the tremor running right through their joined hands.
Chan’s smile softened, then sharpened into focus. His scent shifted with it, still warm, but edged with concern. He tightened his grip on Felix’s mitten. “Okay. Jokes later,” he said, more alpha than tease now. “Let’s get you inside before you actually freeze to death.”
Felix tried to roll his eyes, but his wolf quieted at the determination in Chan’s voice and just leaned closer instead. Chan angled his body a little, putting himself between Felix and the wind without even thinking about it.
As they walked, the air around them stayed thick with the proof of what they’d done, honey-sweet omega, salt-bright alpha, and under it all the warm, unmistakable musk of slick and release clinging to Felix’s thighs. Chan’s wolf soaked it in, smug and glowing, practically prancing under his ribs. Ours, it purred at him, delighted. Our omega, full of us. Perfect. The thought hit Chan so hard he almost missed a step; his ears went scarlet, heat flashing under the cold.
Felix cut him a sideways look, catching the way his scent spiked and then tried to behave. “Stop having dirty thoughts,” he muttered, mouth twitching. “We’re nearly home.”
Chan spluttered. “I wasn’t—”
Felix’s wolf purred louder at the obvious lie. “Sure,” Felix said, letting him keep it. “Whatever you say.”
Every so often their shoulders bumped, not by accident. Wolves pressed through the layers, nosing, scenting, refusing to let the cold undo the closeness. Felix muttered complaints about damp socks and underwear; Chan promised hot tea, then amended it to hot chocolate because Felix made a face.
Another drift swallowed Felix up to the knees. He yelped again, nearly toppling, but Chan caught him by the waist and hauled him free.
“Told you,” Felix grumbled, brushing snow off his coat.
Chan smirked. “You’re just finding excuses to cling to me.”
Felix’s wolf purred before his mouth could argue. He ducked his head to hide the smile, but Chan heard it anyway.
By the time the outline of home appeared through the trees, their breaths were fogging the same rhythm, summer-warm salt and honey soft against the chill. The storm was behind them, but the den they carried, pressed hand to hand, wolf to wolf,.followed all the way back.
Chan hesitated, not with doubt, but with the pause of a man bracing for loud love. Felix understood. He squeezed Chan’s hand once, nerves shifting sweet-slick in his scent, then let go before they crossed the threshold. In wolves and in households, privacy is a kindness you grant on purpose.
The heat met them like a cheer. Boots knocked; cold air spilled; voices rose in an instant.
The cabin looked like a war room. The front door was still propped half-open, extra coats missing from the hooks. A map of the area lay spread across the table, corners pinned down with mugs. Seungmin stood nearest the door, boots on, scarf half-wrapped, phone in hand. Changbin had one arm in his parka, flashlight looped around his wrist like a promise. Jisung paced a rut into the rug, hair a mess, wolf scent sharp with panic.
“Where the hell—” Seungmin’s voice cracked halfway when he saw them. He was already moving, scarf trailing, legal pad with coordinates abandoned on the table. His wolf smelled like iron and worry. “Do you have any idea how long you were gone? Minho and Jeongin are out there looking for you, we were about to—”
Hyunjin burst from the hallway still tugging on gloves, hair damp from where he’d splashed his face awake. “We thought—God, you’re—” He didn’t finish. He just stared, then pressed both hands over his mouth, shoulders shaking with the relief that had nowhere else to go.
Changbin froze mid-step, jaw slack. Then he swore under his breath, rough with leftover fear. “I swear to— Chan, Felix, what the fuck, we thought you were buried in a drift—”
Jisung skidded to a stop in sock-feet right in front of them, eyes huge, wolf spinning anxious circles around him. “You were gone for hours!” His voice came out too loud, too raw. “We thought you froze, or fell through the ice, or—”
He sucked in a breath to keep going and that was when his nose really caught up.
He blinked. Once. Twice. His eyes narrowed like storm glass. “Oh,” he said flatly. “Ohhh.”
The room shifted. Scents tangled. Honey and summer-warm salt hung thick over snow-damp coats and skin, threaded through with the unmistakable musk of slick and release. Felix flushed, ears pink, his wolf rumbling guilty-soft beneath Chan’s. He could feel it, warmth still sliding down his thighs, damp fabric clinging. His omega whimpered for cover and nest and pack, all at once.
Hyunjin’s eyes went wide, then sharp. His wolf surged forward, scent bright, everything in him screaming get Felix warm, get him in the nest. Jisung’s omega answered, one step forward before his brain caught up, hands half-lifting like he could physically drag Felix out of the cold and into blankets by sheer force of will.
Chan moved first. His sea-salt warmth wrapped heavier, protective, rolling out in a low, steady wave that made the air still. “Stop,” he said, not loud, but alpha-deep. It cut clean through panic and pack-instinct both. “He’s freezing. Nobody touches him until he’s out of these clothes.”
Hyunjin’s wolf bristled, then bowed under the command. Jisung rocked back on his heels, half a protest escaping before Seungmin’s hand landed on his shoulder in quiet warning.
Chan’s gaze swept the room, sharp and clear in a way that made it obvious who carried the alpha weight here, even when his hair was full of snow and his cheeks were still pink from fucking against a shed wall.
“Changbin,” he said, voice already in the cadence of orders. “Get Minho and Jeongin back. Now. Call, howl, whatever’s fastest but no one else goes out.”
Changbin’s wolf, already keyed up to run, caught the command and redirected. He nodded once, hard. “On it.” He was already grabbing his phone, shoulders dropping a fraction from kill-mode to stand-down.
“Seungmin,” Chan went on, “as soon as they’re in, you tell them we’re safe before Minho rips the forest up.”
Seungmin huffed out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “That was the plan.” His eyes flicked to Felix, softer for a heartbeat, then back to Chan. “Fine. I’ll handle them.”
“Hyunjin,” Chan said, “more wood on the fire. Make the living room as warm as you can get it.”
Hyunjin nodded sharply, swallowing whatever omega instinct wanted to do instead. “Got it.”
“Jisung,” Chan finished, gentler but still firm, “grab towels and dry clothes for Felix. Leave them outside the bathroom door. Then you can hover all you want.”
Jisung’s shoulders loosened at that; his wolf stopped throwing itself at the walls of his ribs and settled for pacing. “Okay,” he muttered, already turning, “but I’m still yelling at both of you later.”
“You can get in line,” Seungmin said dryly.
Only then did Chan look down at Felix, sea-salt warmth tightening around him like a shield. “He needs to wash and change first,” he repeated, not for the pack this time but for Felix, reassuring his omega that there was a plan, that he was being handled, not just stared at.
Felix nodded quickly, grateful and mortified in equal measure. His wolf, still desperate to dive into the nearest nest, quieted under the steady weight of Chan’s scent. He tugged at Chan’s sleeve, and together they slipped down the hall leaving behind a living room full of wolves exhaling, recalibrating, and pretending not to be listening for any sound from the back of the house.
In the hallway, someone had already been there. A neat pile waited outside the tiny bathroom door: the fluffiest towel in the cabin, a second one folded on top, and a stack of sweatpants and shirts that definitely didn’t all match. Jisung’s panicked sugar was all over them.
Felix’s throat tightened. “They really thought—”
“Yeah,” Chan said softly. “We scared them.” His alpha nudged forward again, firmer. “Shower. Properly hot. No ‘I’m fine’ shortcuts.”
Felix tried to protest on instinct. “I’m not—”
Chan just opened the door and steered him gently inside with a hand at his back. “Full hot,” he said, voice gentle but not negotiable. “If you get dizzy, you call me. I’ll be right here.”
That last bit soothed Felix’s wolf more than the heat ever could. He nodded, swallowing. “Okay.”
The door clicked shut. Water roared to life a moment later.
Outside, Chan leaned back against the opposite wall, arms folded, head tipped toward the sound. His wolf sat right at his ribs, ears pricked, guarding the thin line of door and steam like it was the mouth of a cave. Every time the pipes groaned or the spray hit tile at a different angle, his shoulders twitched.
Inside, Felix stepped under the water and almost sobbed. Heat knifed into frozen skin, then spread, turning teeth-rattling shivers into a deep, bone-heavy ache. He braced one hand on the tile and let the spray hammer the back of his neck, washing away shed dust and snowmelt and the sharp salt-snap of cold. Nothing washed away how full his chest felt.
By the time he washed and rinsed and convinced his omega they were actually clean, the bathroom was a sauna. He shut the water off with reluctance, grabbed the fluffy towel, and scrubbed himself pink. His thighs were still sore, the tender ache of being taken and held and knotted, and the knowledge made his ears burn all over again.
When he cracked the door open, steam billowed out around him. Chan straightened instantly.
“Hey,” Felix mumbled, towel slung low on his hips.
Chan’s eyes swept over him in one fast, assessing pass, color back, shivering less, pupils steady then he relaxed, just a fraction. He nudged the pile of clothes with his foot. “Jisung raided the stash. I, uh… made some edits.”
On top of the mismatched shirts and sweats lay a familiar hoodie and equally familiar sweatpants, Chan’s. Felix blinked. “These are—”
“Mine,” Chan said simply, ears going a little pink, wolf purring smug under his skin. “You’ll smell like me. It’s better that way.”
Felix rolled his eyes on principle, but when he pulled the hoodie on, the truth of it hit—summer-warm salt and lemon myrtle wrapping him from throat to thighs, clean and deep. His wolf melted, relaxing so hard his knees almost went.
Chan stepped close long enough to tug the hood up over Felix’s damp curls and nose briefly into them, breathing in, satisfied. “Better?”
Felix let out a slow, honest sigh. “Better.”
“Good,” Chan said, a little of the tension finally bleeding from his shoulders. “Finish getting dressed. I’m going to steal five minutes of the hot water before Seungmin starts rationing it.”
Felix snorted, but his mouth curved. “You deserve it.”
They switched places at the doorway, Felix padding out, clothes clinging warm to clean skin, while Chan slipped past him into the steam. The shower roared back to life. Felix could hear a low groan of relief through the door and his omega purred at the sound, pleased in a way that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with being back.
By the time Chan emerged, hair damp and curling at the ends, his own clothes had been swapped for soft, dry layers. The same summer-warm salt wrapped him, but now with a clean soap edge beneath it that made Felix’s wolf preen. Chan’s hoodie on Felix, Chan himself warm and scrubbed and steady, it felt right in a way that settled something deep.
When they came back down, the cabin had shifted from war room to aftermath.
The front door was shut now, snow melting in damp circles around abandoned boots. Hyunjin had clearly attacked the hearth; the fire was bigger than before, flames licking high, a semicircle of blankets dragged closer to catch the heat.
Someone had fluffed the living room nest half to pieces and rebuilt it twice, it had Hyunjin’s anxious handiwork written all over it.
Minho and Jeongin had made it back, too, both still dusted with snow. Minho stood near the window, arms folded tight, his wolf a low, leashed growl of leftover fear. Jeongin hovered by the kitchen, fussing with mugs.
The moment Felix sank onto the edge of the couch, Jeongin appeared at his knee, setting a steaming mug of cocoa into his hands with a shy little smile. “For warmth,” he said, voice small but earnest.
“Thank you,” Felix murmured, wrapping both palms around it. His wolf purred at the small, pack-soft kindness.
“Alright.” Seungmin planted himself where he could see both of them, arms folded, eyes sharp though the worst of the edge had softened. “Now talk.”
Jisung immediately started to climb halfway onto the coffee table. “What happened? Where were you? Did you fall? Did you almost die? Did—”
“Jisung,” Minho said, hand dropping to his shoulder, wolf-quiet authority dragging him back into his seat. “Let them breathe.”
“But—” Jisung tried, bouncing on his knees, eyes glued to Felix.
“Later,” Minho repeated, firmer. His wolf pressed down until Jisung’s own huffed and settled, if not happily.
Felix ducked his head, cocoa mug steaming between his hands. “the snowstorm surprised us. We found a shed,” he offered weakly. “The snow came in way faster than it should’ve. One second we could see the lake, and then it was just… white.”
“A shed,” Seungmin repeated, flat. His wolf still paced under his skin, only half convinced. “That’s your whole story?”
Felix’s fingers tightened around the mug. “We weren’t trying to disappear,” he added quickly. “We turned back as soon as it closed in. There wasn’t even enough signal to ping you, we just… couldn’t see anything.”
Chan, unhelpful, leaned down and bumped his nose against Felix’s temple, summer-warm salt rumbling smug where it wrapped over Felix’s honey. “We found shelter and stayed put,” he said. “Didn’t freeze. That part worked.”
Hyunjin made a strangled noise into his hands. Changbin thumped his fist on the table, half laugh, half threat. “Worked,” he muttered. “You’re both lucky we didn’t drag you back by your tails or knots.”
Felix groaned into his mug. “Can we not—”
“No, we can,” Jisung cut in immediately, fighting Minho’s hold again. “You can’t just vanish and then come back smelling like—like that and think we’re not going to talk about it!”
Chan’s grin only widened, his scent thickening protectively until it rolled over Felix’s like a tide. “We misread the sky,” he said, shouldering it cleanly. “That’s on me. But we turned around, found cover, stayed together. Next time we leave a trail.”
“God,” Seungmin muttered, dragging a hand down his face. His wolf was finally settling, but its ears were still tilted back. “You’re impossible. Both of you.” He looked at Felix, then at Chan, then back again. “Just—don’t ever vanish like that again.
Felix peeked out from under the hood of Chan’s sweatshirt, honey scent low and soft now, curled safe under summer-warm salt. “We’ll do better,” he promised quietly.
The room exhaled as one, wolves finally letting themselves settle. Relief had come in with teeth, but it left warmth behind.
The cabin tilted back toward normal, voices overlapping, shoulders bumping as everyone slowly drifted closer again. Hyunjin shoved extra blankets at Felix’s side with more force than strictly necessary; Jisung kept “accidentally” leaning into him until Minho arched a brow and he pretended to be interested in his phone. Jeongin quietly slipped extra marshmallows into Felix’s cocoa despite Seungmin’s long-suffering sigh.
Chan still hadn’t stopped scenting him, nose in Felix’s curls every time he passed behind the couch, wolf smug and soft and unbearably happy. Felix still hadn’t stopped blushing, but his omega purred steady under it all, safe and held in the middle of his pack.
Whatever words they gave the others, the real story was already written in the air: summer-warm salt and honey layered deep, a den built in a storm and carried home through the snow.
— ❆❇❆ —
Dinner was nearly a relief. The table filled fast—bowls passed, spoons clinking, wolves leaning close because distance after a storm felt impossible. Scents layered over food: garlic, broth, plum, sugar, smoke… and over all of it, the warm braid of summer-salt and honey. The cabin steamed with it, thick as a den.
Felix sat tucked between Chan and Jisung. His wolf was shy under so much attention, but every time he tried to shrink, someone pushed something onto his plate. Changbin nudged bread his way, Minho added an extra ladle of stew, Jeongin slid the salt without being asked. It was smothering and perfect at once.
Chan hovered like a wall at his side. He turned Felix’s bowl so the biggest pieces of meat were closest. He cooled a too-hot spoonful with a quick puff of breath and a little stir before nudging it back toward Felix’s hand. When Felix paused too long between bites, Chan’s knee bumped his under the table; when Felix shivered, Chan tugged the hoodie straighter at the nape of his neck.
Nobody commented at first. They just… watched.
Hyunjin watched over the rim of his mug, eyes soft, wolf finally easing. Jeongin watched with open, starry-eyed fascination, like he’d tuned into his favorite show. Seungmin watched with his head tilted narrowly, cataloguing every overprotective micro-move. Jisung watched with his entire body, leaning so far over Felix’s arm his stew nearly sloshed onto the table.
Changbin lasted the longest.
He wiped his bowl clean with a heel of bread, chewed, swallowed, and then pointed his spoon at Chan. “You know he remembers how to use a spoon, right?”
Chan didn’t even look embarrassed. “He was hypothermic an hour ago,” he said, as if that explained the universe. “He can be overfed for one night.”
Summer-warm salt puffed smug around the words, his wolf practically preening: ours, safe, we did that.
Felix made a strangled noise into his stew. “I can feed myself,” he mumbled, even as his wolf settled, pleased, whenever Chan’s scent folded closer.
“Can you?” Changbin drawled. “Because from here it looks like Chan’s about to pre-chew it for you.”
Jeongin choked on his drink. Hyunjin wheezed. Even Minho’s mouth twitched.
Chan finally glanced up, unbothered. “He lost feeling in his hands,” he said. “We’re catching up.” Then, because his wolf was an unapologetic menace he dipped his head and scented Felix’s curls again, slow and content, punctuating the point.
“You’re insufferable,” Seungmin muttered, stabbing his fork toward Chan. “Let him eat before you inhale him.”
Felix muffled a laugh into his spoon, ears hot and scent flickering between shy and smug.
Jisung, meanwhile, kept bouncing. His wolf circled, restless, buzzing with curiosity and leftover fear. Every time the conversation drifted toward weather or food, he dragged it right back.
“So,” he started for the fifth time, practically vibrating, “what exactly happened in that shed—”
“Jisung,” Minho said, hand dropping to his shoulder, wolf-quiet authority dragging him back into his seat.
“But—” Jisung tried, bouncing on his knees, eyes glued to Felix.
“Give them time,” Minho repeated, firmer. His wolf pressed down until Jisung’s own huffed and settled, if not happily.
Dinner rolled on, laughter loosening shoulders, food warming bellies, wolves brushing close. Every so often, someone’s gaze snagged on the way Chan’s hand drifted to Felix’s wrist to check his pulse point, or how Felix leaned back into him without thinking. The storm had turned them all inside-out; seeing one of their own back, flushed and warm and wrapped in someone else’s scent, stitched something steady under the relief.
By the time bowls were empty and mugs scraped clean, the wind outside was only a hush against the windows.
That was when Jisung’s wolf surged again. He slapped both palms on the table and declared, “Omega time. Felix, you’re with us tonight.”
Felix blinked. “What?”
“The nest,” Jisung said, already tugging at his sleeve. His grin was bright, his wolf insistent. “Omegas together. It’s non-negotiable.”
Felix’s omega pricked up at the word nest even as it whined at the idea of leaving Chan’s side, torn cleanly between den and mate-warmth.
Chan bristled immediately, summer-salt scent bracing like a shield. “He’s not leaving my side.”
Seungmin’s wolf rose calm but firm, pinning Chan with steady weight. “Yes, he is. The omegas need each other. You’ll live.”
Chan’s jaw flexed. “I don’t—”
“My room,” Seungmin cut him off. “Now. Alphas’ meeting.” His voice left no space for argument. He shoved back his chair, nodding to Changbin and Minho.
Chan growled under his breath, wolf snapping, but when Felix curled his fingers around Chan’s wrist, a small, steady squeeze, soft and reassuring he exhaled. Reluctant, unhappy, but yielding. He bent, nosed Felix’s temple once more, summer-warm salt pressing down heavy and sure.
“I’ll come get you at dawn,” he murmured.
Felix smiled faintly, wolf easing at the promise. “I’ll be fine.”
Jisung’s wolf practically cheered. Seungmin’s rolled its eyes but opened its paws.
And around the table, the pack, noisy, nosy, still a little shaken finally let themselves believe it: the storm had passed, and their world was holding.
The alphas filed after Seungmin, leaving Chan’s scent trailing heavily in the hall.
The omegas wasted no time. Jisung latched onto Felix’s sleeve like a tow line, hauling him into the living room before he could even blink. Jeongin followed with an avalanche of blankets, nearly tripping over his own feet, wheat-warm beta scent curling after him like fresh bread pulled from an oven. Hyunjin was already draped across the rebuilt nest like a long-suffering prince, rearranging pillows until the pile met his standards.
Felix barely had time to toe off his socks before Jisung and Jeongin pulled him down into the heap. Blankets fell over him in waves. Warmth pressed in from every side, omega scent rising in soft curls, sugar, plum, something floral Hyunjin always pretended not to own braided through with Jeongin’s steady, golden bread-scent: dough and crust and safe kitchen heat. Wolves purred steady until the air itself seemed to vibrate.
Felix’s wolf sank low, shy but grateful, curling up where the den was thickest.
Jeongin wriggled into place against his arm with puppyish ease. He buried his nose in the hoodie, inhaled, and sighed. “You smell like Chan,” he said, muffled. “It’s nice.” His warm bread scent puffed contentedly over Felix’s shoulder, softening the edge of everything.
Felix flushed. “Yeah, well. That’s his fault.” His honey betrayed him, spilling soft and sweet until it clung to every blanket and braided easily into flour and sugar and spice.
Hyunjin watched him over a cushion, eyes softer than his posture. “His fault,” he echoed, amused. “Sure.”
Jisung, eyes gleaming, propped his chin on his hand and leveled Felix with the concentration of someone starting an interrogation. “Alright,” he said. “Spill. Did you really fuck in the snow?”
Felix choked, jerking the blanket up to hide his face. “What kind of question—”
“The important kind,” Jisung said solemnly. “Because that’s insane, and I need to know how cold it was. Like—” He gestured with both hands, helplessly dramatic. “Did your ass freeze? Were you steaming? Did your skin stick to anything? I need data.”
Felix groaned, voice muffled in fabric. His wolf paced, mortified, but it still purred under the weight of omega warmth and beta-bread comfort around him. “Jisung…”
Jeongin’s head popped up, hair mussed. “That sounds dangerous,” he said seriously. Then, after a beat, softer: “But… kind of pretty. All the white and the breath and then… you two.” His scent puffed warm and yeasty, like he’d decided the mental image was acceptable.
Hyunjin let out a low hum, lashes lowering. “I’m just glad you’re back,” he said simply. His wolf purred steady, tail curled around all of them. “The storm was bad. If you’d frozen out there—” He broke off, exhaled sharp, then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here.”
For a second, that hung there—heavy and true. The nest’s purr deepened, like a heartbeat under the blankets. Bread and honey and plum and sugar all settled into one shared scent: safe.
Then Jisung snapped his fingers like a director calling “action.” “Stop dodging,” he insisted, leaning closer. “Felix. Answer. Did you?”
Felix peeked out from under the blanket. His honey flared guilty-sweet, which was answer enough.
The nest erupted in sound, laughter, purrs, incredulous little squeaks. Jisung crowed like someone had just confirmed his favorite scandal. Jeongin giggled so hard he lost his pillow, bread-scent puffing bright and happy. Hyunjin just shook his head, relief and disbelief tangled together.
“Unbelievable,” Jisung declared, half-scandalized, half-admiring. “Do you think Minho would ever try it if I asked?”
“Don’t you dare,” Hyunjin groaned, winging a pillow at his face.
Jisung ducked, cackling. “What? Science!”
Felix finally laughed, too, small at first, then real. “It was stupid,” he admitted, cheeks hot. “Freezing. I thought my thighs were going to file a complaint.” His smile turned soft, unguarded. “But… not when he held me.”
That softened everything in one breath.
The laughter eased into purrs again, sweet and low. Honey swirled warm into the den and was immediately folded into the shared scent—omega-sweet, beta-bread, a hint of floral—accepted, tucked in, kept.
Jeongin tilted his head, blinking up at Felix with quiet, devastating innocence. “Do you love Chan?” he asked.
The nest stilled, even Jisung shut his mouth for once. Hyunjin’s eyes sharpened, then gentled. Jeongin’s scent went very soft and warm, like the first rise of dough.
Felix’s breath caught. His wolf answered first, a steady, sure purr that rolled out of his chest before he could think. He tugged the blanket up again, hiding his face, voice small and honest against the fabric.
“…Yeah,” he said. “I do.”
The purrs rose around him in answer, warm and approving, like the nest itself had given a blessing. Jisung grinned so wide his cheeks creased, eyes bright with delighted chaos and pride. Hyunjin’s smile went soft and fond in a way he’d deny later. Jeongin hummed, satisfied, bread-scent puffing cozy and content as he tucked himself closer against Felix’s side like he’d been waiting for that answer all along.
Felix let himself sink under the weight of it—Chan’s summer-warm salt still clinging to his clothes, omega warmth pressing in, one beta smelling like fresh bread wrapped around his arm. His own wolf curled up in the very middle of it all, safe and purring, as the nest breathed around him.
For the first time since the storm, he didn’t feel cold at all.
— ❆❇❆ —
Seungmin’s room wasn’t large, which was precisely why he chose it. Four bodies filled it easily, wolves pressed shoulder to shoulder, nowhere to pace or bolt. A beta’s best trick was space control, and Seungmin had perfected it: a small room, a shut door, a single chair claimed with unhurried authority. It made alphas listen whether they wanted to or not.
Chan immediately braced against the wall, arms crossed, summer-warm salt spiking sharp in the air. His wolf prowled under his skin, ears flat, tail lashing invisible arcs behind him. Every breath sounded dragged out of him.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “I should be with him right now. I told him I’d come back at bedtime. I keep my promises.”
“And you will,” Seungmin said, tone clipped. He sat on the edge of the bed like a judge about to pass sentence, ankles crossed, hands loose but sharp enough to cut. His beta steadiness spread into the room, quiet but heavy, tilting the air toward obedience. His wolf settled in the doorway of the space like a watchdog, calm and unblinking. “But omegas need their own air. You don’t get to sit on his shoulder just because your wolf and knot are throwing a tantrum.”
Chan’s jaw worked, salt bristling sharper before sagging again. “You didn’t see him in that storm,” he snapped. “I can’t just—” His voice cracked, the words fraying at the edges. Inside, his wolf gave a low, miserable whine, tail tucked even as it kept pacing tight circles, bumping against his ribs like it wanted out, out, back to honey.
Minho leaned against the dresser, arms folded, stone-steady. His wolf radiated calm, immovable, a hum in the marrow. “You marked him so thick the cabin smells like you from the rafters down,” he said dryly. “He’s not going to forget you in one hour. None of us could, even if we tried.”
Chan flinched, ears going pink. His wolf flicked its tail once, embarrassed and secretly pleased, scent puffing smug before shame flattened it again.
Changbin lost it first, nearly tipping his chair back. His wolf thumped its tail hard against the floor, delighted. “Oh my god,” he wheezed. "He's blushing.”
“I am not,” Chan snapped, which would’ve landed better if his ears hadn’t been glowing. His wolf whined again, ears pinned, betraying him completely.
Minho’s mouth tugged up. “You’re walking like you wrestled a knot in a half-frozen shack,” he added, voice mild. “Which, to be fair, you did.”
Chan made a strangled noise. “Minho.”
Changbin leaned in, grin stretching wide. His wolf pressed playful weight into the room, grounding but teasing, like a mountain flicking snow off its shoulders. “Honestly, hyung, about damn time,” he crowed. “We were this close to staging an intervention.”
“I didn’t need an intervention,” Chan gritted out.
“Sure you didn’t.” Changbin snorted. “That’s why you’ve been pacing around smelling like salt and frustration for weeks. Felix sneezes and you look ready to tear the door off its hinges. Your wolf’s been climbing the walls.”
Chan groaned into his hands, summer-warm salt circling once, snapping at nothing. Inside, his wolf paced the same tight loop, ears twitching between defiance and shame.
Seungmin let the noise crest before cutting in, his voice flat as paper. His wolf lifted its head, focus sharpening. “You’re all very funny,” he said. “But if you don’t want the pack doctor having a very awkward talk with you about extra shots and suppressants in a few months, maybe somebody should mention birth control instead of making snow-porn commentary.”
The room stuttered to silence.
Changbin choked, coughing into his fist. Minho actually laughed out loud, the sound sharp and rare. And Chan — poor Chan — made a noise halfway between a growl and a strangled whimper, red climbing all the way down his throat. His wolf jolted like it had been slapped, then went still as a stunned pup.
“Seungmin,” he barked, salt flaring mortification-thick. He could feel his wolf’s ears go back, tail vanishing under its belly.
“What?” Seungmin raised his brows, utterly unbothered. His beta calm sharpened the air. “Somebody has to be the adult. You can thank me later when you’re not explaining anything to the doctor.”
Minho’s wolf hummed quiet amusement. “He’s got a point,” he said. “Snowstorms are already enough of a problem. Winter pups on top of that? Hard pass.”
Chan’s wolf, unhelpfully, seized on the wrong part of that sentence—offering up, in one vivid, possessive flash, the image of Felix round and soft with their scent and pup, tucked in a nest.
Chan swore and shoved the thought away so fast his vision blurred. His wolf yelped, confused and offended, then flopped on its side, sulking.
Changbin wheezed a laugh, tail thumping again. “Yeah, no offense, hyung, but if we end up with little salt-scented maniacs sprinting around this cabin because you ‘forgot,’ I’m not babysitting.”
“I am not—” Chan sputtered, then gave up and covered his face completely, salt curling like smoke to hide his humiliation. His wolf tried to vanish behind its paws, too, ears pinned, tail dragging but finally slowing.
Minho, relentless but softer now, tipped his head. “You can want him,” he said. “You have him. Good. Just don’t forget the part where you’re supposed to keep him safe, too. That includes future consequences.”
Chan groaned into his palms, voice muffled. “I hate all of you.”
Changbin’s grin gentled by a degree. “Love you too,” he said. His wolf wagged its tail just to rub it in.
Seungmin watched Chan’s salt finally start to settle—still bright, but less razor-edged. The moment he saw the wolf inside stop pacing quite so hard, he shifted forward, elbows on his knees.
“Okay,” he said. The word landed like a gavel. “Jokes aside. I’m going to ask this once, and you’re going to answer like a grown alpha, not a panicked knot with legs.”
Chan dragged his hands down his face, breathing hard. His wolf lifted its head, wary. “What.”
Seungmin’s gaze didn’t waver. “Is this just storm adrenaline and an omega who was there, or have you wanted him for a while?”
Silence tightened. Even Changbin’s wolf stilled, ears pricked. Stone hummed low, listening.
Chan’s throat worked. Salt bumped against his tongue, wanting out. “For a while,” he said finally, voice rough. “Longer than I should have.”
“How long,” Seungmin pressed, without mercy.
Chan stared at the floor. “Since before the mountain,” he admitted. “Since before we came up here. Since—” he huffed, frustrated, “—since he moved into the city, probably. He’d hug people and my wolf would lose its mind. I just… I didn’t want to crowd him. Or make him feel like—like he owed me anything for being pack.”
His wolf huddled in his chest, ears low, remembering every time it had wanted to press closer and he’d yanked it back.
Minho’s wolf rumbled, low and approving. “That tracks,” Minho said quietly. “With the way you’ve been hovering like a storm cloud with a leash.”
Changbin snorted, but there was less bite in it now. “You’re terrible at hiding it, hyung,” he said. “We all knew. Even Jeongin knew, and he thinks flirting is when someone passes the salt.”
Seungmin nodded once, like he’d gotten the answer he wanted. “So not random,” he said. “Not ‘we almost died, might as well.’ That’s good.” His beta steadiness pushed out again, smoothing the air. “Then stop acting like if you blink, he’ll disappear. You’re allowed to want him. You’re also required not to strangle him with it.”
Chan let out a breath that sounded like it had been stuck in his lungs for years. His wolf crept closer to the bars of his ribs, ears slowly lifting. “I just—” he tried, then swallowed. “I keep thinking he’ll wake up and realize he deserves someone easier. Someone who isn’t… me.”
Minho pushed off the dresser, his wolf stepping in closer, solid as bedrock. “He picked you,” Minho said simply. “Out there, in that storm. He could have panicked, could have shut down, could have pushed you away. He didn’t.” His gaze sharpened. “Trust his choice.”
Changbin’s wolf huffed, firm. “And trust us,” Changbin added. “If you start spiraling and smothering him, we’ll bite your ass about it before he has to.”
Seungmin’s mouth twitched. “I will bite first,” he said, deadpan. “Emotionally. With charts, if necessary.”
A startled laugh broke out of Chan, helpless and cracked but real. Salt loosened in the room, warmth coming back into its edges. His wolf, finally, stopped pacing and curled up, head on its paws, still watching the door but no longer trying to go through it.
Seungmin leaned back, satisfied. The edge of his beta weight eased, though his eyes stayed sharp. “Good,” he said. “You’re calmer. Stay that way. The omegas need each other’s scents tonight. You’ll survive until bedtime.”
Chan let out a long, wounded sigh, salt finally curling warm instead of razor-sharp. “Guess so,” he muttered, but there was less panic in it now. His wolf gave one last unhappy whine, then settled, ears low but not flat.
For the first time since the storm, he wasn’t pacing.
The silence that followed was soft, heavy with relief. Wolves shifted; tails lowered; shoulders rolled. Stone hummed steady. Ground-sure beta calm stretched like a blanket over the room.
— ❆❇❆ —
Back in the nest, the laughter thinned into warmth. Questions slowed. Wolves that had been buzzing finally curled down.
Felix found himself half-buried under blankets and limbs, Jeongin tucked against his side, Jisung sprawled heavy across his legs, Hyunjin a long line of heat along his back. Every so often a nose nudged at his hair or a hand brushed his arm, not for answers anymore but just to reassure. His wolf purred despite itself, low and steady, humming into the fabric like it had been waiting years for this kind of safety.
The air was syrup-thick with omega scents, under it all was Jeongin’s beta warmth, soft and quiet like fresh bread out of the oven. It pressed Felix flat, softened his edges, made his eyelids heavy. Chan’s summer-warm salt still clung sharp to his clothes underneath it all, like a hidden anchor.
Felix’s cheek rested on a pillow that smelled faintly of cinnamon. His wolf sighed, ears drooping, tail tucked in peace. For the first time in too long, he felt sheltered by more than one heartbeat. Sleep tugged at him, warm and safe.
The door creaked. Chan’s scent rolled in, so heavy it made every wolf in the nest twitch their ears, summer-warm salt pouring through the crack like a tide.
Chan filled the doorway, broad shoulders hunched as if to hold himself back. His wolf shoved forward anyway, ears sharp, tail lashing, scent spilling in waves. “Bedtime,” he said, voice rough like he hadn’t spoken in hours.
Felix blinked blearily, rubbing at his eyes. He was warm, too warm, curled into the den, but the sound of Chan’s voice pulled something deep in his chest. His wolf perked, ears up, tail wagging.
Jisung sat up fast, eyes gleaming. “Already? You can’t steal him yet!” His wolf puffed, playful and defiant, sugar-sweet curling tighter around Felix.
“Mine,” Chan said simply, salt spiking sharp enough to make the blankets rustle.
Hyunjin rolled his eyes, lounging like a cat in the sun. “God, so dramatic.”
Jeongin clung tighter to Felix’s sleeve, mumbling into the hoodie, “But he’s warm here.” His bread-soft scent bumped up, protective in its own shy way.
Chan stepped inside, summer-warm salt pressing heavier. He crouched by the edge of the nest, eyes fixed on Felix. “He’s warmer with me.” His wolf pressed forward nose-first, practically whining to be let close.
Felix’s cheeks heated, his wolf humming eager. He wriggled out from the blankets, tugged free by instinct more than choice.
“Traitor,” Jisung muttered, though his grin was wide and his wolf purred approval anyway.
“Don’t keep him up all night,” Hyunjin drawled.
Jeongin blinked seriously. “Be nice to him,” he added, as if Chan might forget.
Chan ignored them all. The second Felix was within reach, he leaned in close and buried his nose in Felix’s curls, salt rolling thick as he scented him over and over, possessive and shaking with relief. “Always,” he murmured, voice cracked at the edges.
Felix’s wolf purred so hard his chest rattled.
From down the hall, Seungmin’s dry voice carried sharp as a bell: “And don’t forget what I said about birth control!”
The omegas collapsed into laughter. Jeongin squeaked and covered his face. Jisung actually fell sideways into the pillows, wheezing. Hyunjin made a long, despairing noise into the blanket.
Felix buried his face against Chan’s chest, burning. Chan groaned, red to his ears, salt choking the air with mortification, and under it, helpless happiness.
“You’ll never live that down,” Felix whispered, muffled.
“Don’t care,” Chan muttered, nosing his temple, wolf pressing hard enough to nearly growl. “He can yell all he wants, you’re still mine.”
He helped Felix out of the pile, wrapping an arm and half his scent around him like a shield. The omegas chorused exaggerated goodbyes and teasing noises, Jisung calling, “Details in the morning!” until the door shut behind them.
Salt and honey trailed down the hall as they climbed the stairs together, twined and warm enough to banish every draft. The cabin had gone quiet, omegas curled in their den, alphas shut in with their own thoughts. Only the floorboards creaked under their steps, and the hush of snow still whispered against the eaves.
At the top, the hallway split. On one side, Felix’s small room under the slant of the roof, narrow bed, shelves of blankets folded like offerings. On the other, Chan’s room with its wide window looking over the frozen lake, the space of someone trusted with watching.
They stopped between them. Felix’s hand stayed caught in Chan’s even though he’d tried, twice, to pull it free. His wolf was restless in his chest, ears back, tail low, pacing circles. Heat crept up his neck; his scent kept spilling uncertain, sweet with nerves and then trying to flatten out again.
“Um…” He looked at his own door, then at Chan’s, then down at their hands. “Do I—go in mine? Or…”
Chan tilted his head, wolf sharp but waiting, sea-salt warmth wrapping steady around them both. “Where do you want to be?”
Felix swallowed. His wolf whined, low and wanting, pressing at his ribs. “With you,” he admitted, so soft it might have been lost to the walls.
The words snapped something bright through Chan’s chest. His wolf shoved forward, ears high, tail giving one helpless wag. He tugged Felix closer until their noses brushed, salt-clean scent spilling thick and sure. “Then you’re with me.”
Felix’s breath hitched. Relief washed him warm, but another ache opened under it. His wolf pushed again, demanding more than instinct. He looked up, eyes searching Chan’s face like it held a map.
“But… what are we, Chan?” His voice cracked. “I don’t want to just… pretend. Not after—” His scent spiked sharp-sweet, embarrassment curling at the edges. “I don’t want to guess. I can’t.”
Chan stilled. His wolf whined, circling once, then sat heavy in his chest, ears forward, solemn.
“Felix.” He cupped his face, thumbs brushing over pink cheeks like they were something precious. His sea-salt scent deepened, slow and steady as a heartbeat. “I don’t care what name we give it tonight. I just know you’re mine. You’ve been mine for a long time.” His mouth quirked, a little helpless. “I’ve wanted you for a long time. And I’m going to keep choosing you, storm or no storm, snow or no snow.”
He dropped his forehead to Felix’s, breath warm between them. His voice went rough, almost shy. “If you want me.”
Felix’s wolf surged ears high, tail wagging so hard his chest almost vibrated. The purr that climbed out of him shook all the way through his ribs. “I do,” he breathed, trembling with it. “I want you. I… already picked you. A while ago.”
Chan’s fingers tightened, just for a second, as if he needed to hold onto the words. His wolf made a soft, broken sound inside him, ears tipped back with relief.
“Okay,” he whispered. “Then we stop guessing.”
Felix didn’t have more language left, so he did the simplest thing his wolf understood: he leaned in until their noses brushed, letting their breaths mix, letting that yes hum nose-to-nose between them.
Chan laced their fingers together and tugged him gently toward his room. The lake window glowed faint with moonlight, casting silver over the bed already piled with blankets. Chan shut the door with his heel. The sea-salt of him filled the room at once, heavier than the cold air seeping under the eaves, stronger than the thin glow on the frozen water. Felix’s wolf perked, ears twitching, tail giving a small, shy wag.
They stood for a heartbeat in the hush, just looking at each other, the kind of staring that feels like a touch.
Then Chan reached, tugging gently until Felix stumbled against his chest.
The first kiss wasn’t rushed. It was deep, slow, the kind that lingered until their lungs burned. Chan’s hands framed Felix’s face, thumbs smoothing over the hinge of his jaw, then sliding down to cup his throat, like memorizing every line by feel. Felix shivered at the warmth, but this time it wasn’t from snow, it was from how careful Chan was, like every touch was an oath he was writing with his palms.
They drifted toward the bed in a half-tangle of hands and quiet, breathless laughter. Blankets sagged under their weight as they toppled onto them, Felix landing half on Chan. Wolves pressed forward at once, Chan nosing into Felix’s curls, breathing deep like he’d been starved of that scent; Felix purring helplessly against Chan’s collarbone.
Clothes came away in pauses rather than frantic tugs. Each layer peeled slow, traded for kisses on newly bared skin: a shoulder, a rib, the soft dip at Felix’s waist, the warm stretch of Chan’s back. Chan kept scenting him, burying his face in Felix’s neck until sea-salt soaked the air thick, almost dizzying. Felix answered with honey-sweet purrs, low and constant, filling every pause with sound and trust.
“Better like this,” Chan whispered into his throat, voice wrecked but steady.
Felix arched into him, a quiet laugh catching on a sigh. “Warmer.”
“Still greedy,” Chan teased, though his hands shook with gentleness as they mapped familiar-new territory.
Felix tilted his head, offering his throat without thinking, his wolf humming shameless. “Still yours.”
The words snapped something loose and unbearably soft in Chan. His mouth found Felix’s again, hungrier now but still unhurried, like he wanted to experience every possible version of this kiss. They stayed there until the world outside the blankets vanished—only sea-salt and honey remained, thick enough to stitch them together.
Hands roamed, stroking skin, mapping heat, soothing old tensions they hadn’t known they were carrying. Chan touched like he had all the time in the world, like every scar, every line of Felix’s body was something he’d been waiting years to learn properly and was finally being allowed to. Felix traced him back with trembling fingers and whispered purrs, nosing under Chan’s jaw, pressing his mouth to that steady pulse just to feel him shudder and rumble.
They curled tighter under the blankets, legs twined, chests pressed close. Their bodies found a rhythm without needing to chase anything, just moving together because it felt right. Wolves purred so loud the mattress seemed to hum, overlapping in a low, continuous chord. It felt less like heat and more like belonging, two shapes finally dropping into the place they’d been circling for months.
Every kiss grew slower. Every sigh sank deeper. They lingered in it, giving time to each other instead of fighting it, until nothing felt rushed anymore, just full, and quiet, and right.
By the time they finally stilled, Felix was tucked under Chan’s arm, nose pressed to his throat, one leg thrown over Chan’s like he’d decided to pin him there. His wolf hummed like a hearth, low and steady. Chan pulled the blankets higher around them with one arm, the other locked around Felix’s waist, and nosed through his curls one last time, whispering, “Mine,” as if the sea-salt in the room hadn’t already said it a hundred times.
Felix purred against his chest, soft and certain. “Yours.” There was no wobble in it at all.
The lake kept its silver watch outside. Inside, two wolves drifted into sleep, tangled so close it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began, not just from the way they lay, but from the way their wolves finally settled, curled around each other in the same, shared den.
— ❆❇❆ —
The mountain woke clean after the storm, edges sharpened, world rinsed. Sunlight scattered diamonds across the crusted lake; the pines wore bright shoulders.
Inside the cabin, warmth pooled in corners like a housecat. Upstairs, in the lake-view room, two wolves had made their own weather.
Felix woke first, drowsy and boneless, cheek pressed against a sea-salt-scented chest. Chan’s arm lay heavy across his waist, fingers curled like they’d refused to let go even in sleep. Their legs were tangled, blankets a wreck around them, the air thick with salt and honey braided until the room itself felt like it was purring.
He shifted a little and every muscle reminded him of the night, the rough edge of a shed bench under his thighs, the slow give of a mattress later, the way Chan had insisted on “warming him up properly this time” until Felix could barely remember where one round ended and the next had begun. His hips ached in a way that made his ears go hot. His wolf gave a pleased little shimmy under his ribs.
Chan stirred at once, like Felix’s movement tugged on a string. His wolf pushed forward, nuzzling blindly into Felix’s curls with a sleepy groan. “Morning,” he mumbled, voice wrecked but fond.
Felix smiled, eyes still closed, his own wolf humming low. “Morning.”
Chan tightened his hold automatically, dragging him closer until there wasn’t a breath’s space between them. He buried his nose in Felix’s throat and inhaled, long and deep. “You still smell like me,” he muttered, half-asleep but stubbornly satisfied.
“Chan.” Felix tried for a scold, but his cheeks and scent both went sweet and shy. His wolf couldn’t decide between hiding and rolling over to show its belly.
The bruises lit up the memory of last night, Chan stretched along his back, their bodies moving together in slow, relentless rhythm, his mouth never leaving Felix’s skin. He remembered teeth dragging over his shoulders, then higher, grazing the side of his neck and finally right across his scent gland. His omega had gone wild for it, shoving closer, every nerve screaming yes, now, please, mate me.
For one dizzy heartbeat he’d been certain Chan would bite down and anchor everything there forever.
Instead, Chan had gone very still, breath shaking against his throat. Felix remembered the low, wrecked “not yet” murmured into his skin, the way the sharp promise of teeth eased back into soft kisses over the same spot until his wolf stopped clawing and just purred, held instead of claimed.
Looking at the marks now, his omega shivered with the same want, if Chan leaned in and bit for real, he knew he wouldn’t say no. But under the hungry edge there was a quieter warmth, something steady that understood exactly why Chan hadn’t… and loved him a little more for it.
Right now in bed Chan dipped back in, dragging his teeth very gently along the curve of Felix’s jaw before pressing a kiss there. “What?” he asked, soft and smug at once. “You’re the one who asked for sex in the snow.”
Felix made a wounded little noise and hid his face in Chan’s chest. “That was one bad idea.”
Chan huffed a sleepy laugh against his hair. “You didn’t complain when we repeated it. Just… less snow and more blankets.” His hand slid over the small of Felix’s back in slow, soothing circles. When his palm brushed a sore spot on Felix’s hip, Felix jolted and sucked in a breath.
“Careful,” Felix complained, though the way his wolf shivered said otherwise.
Chan froze immediately, wolf’s ears pricking in concern. “Too much?”
Felix shook his head, purring despite himself. “No. Just… reminding me.”
Relief loosened Chan’s shoulders. His hand resumed those lazy circles, gentler now, like an apology and a promise. “Good reminder or bad reminder?” he asked quietly, nose nudging Felix’s temple.
Felix hummed, eyes fluttering shut. “Good,” he admitted. “Really good.”
Chan’s wolf let out a pleased rumble that Felix could feel through his ribs. Chan tilted his head and caught Felix’s mouth in a kiss, slow, unhurried, the kind that tasted like morning and permission. It deepened by degrees, their lips moving in a rhythm that had nothing to do with urgency now and everything to do with keeping. Felix melted into it, hands curling lazily at Chan’s shoulders, fingers digging into warm skin as his purr wound up like a motor.
They kissed until the air under the blankets went warm and humid again, until Felix was flushed and breathless and Chan was grinning against his mouth.
“Now that I finally have you,” Chan murmured, thumb tracing the curve of Felix’s lower lip, “I’m not planning on letting go any time soon.”
Felix’s wolf rolled over belly-up at the words. He bumped their noses together, eyes bright. “Good,” he whispered. “You’re stuck with me now.”
“Tragic,” Chan said, but his voice was full of light. He kissed Felix’s forehead once, then again, unable to stop.
Felix snorted and burrowed closer, tucking himself neatly under Chan’s chin like he’d always belonged there. For a few more minutes they stayed like that, trading lazy kisses and softer smiles, letting the morning creep in around them.
Eventually, Felix’s stomach growled loud enough to be rude. They both froze. Then Chan started laughing, low and delighted. “Was that you or your wolf?”
“Both,” Felix groaned, hiding his face again. “We’re starving.”
Chan immediately tightened his hold. “Solution: we stay in bed forever and live on kisses,” he said, deadly serious for exactly three seconds.
Felix huffed. “You’re not feeding me kisses instead of breakfast.”
“I could try,” Chan offered, already leaning in.
Felix planted a hand in his face, laughing. “No. Food first. Then you can be clingy.”
Chan’s wolf whined, ears drooping. “But you’re warm,” he complained, dragging the blankets higher like that might pin Felix there. “And naked. And did I say warm?”
“And hungry,” Felix said firmly, even as his wolf purred at the possessive. “Also, our pack is downstairs. If we don’t show up soon, Jisung is going to break the door down to ask in what condition my ass is.”
Chan winced. “He absolutely is.”
“So.” Felix shifted, attempting to peel himself out of the tangle of limbs and fabric. Cold air snuck under the blankets and he shivered. “Clothes. Food. Then more… whatever this is.”
Chan caught his wrist, eyes suddenly soft. “You promise you’ll come back to bed after?”
Felix’s wolf leaned into the question, tail wagging. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I promise. After we eat, we come back.”
That soothed something deep. Chan let go, with visible reluctance and flopped back, watching unabashedly as Felix crawled to the edge of the bed, dragging a blanket with him like a cape.
“Stop staring,” Felix muttered, trying to wrap it around his hips and almost tripping.
“Never,” Chan said, utterly sincere.
He rolled out of bed a moment later, bare feet hitting the cold floor with a hiss, and rummaged for the same hoodie and sweats he’d pushed at Felix the night before. “Here,” he said, tossing the hoodie over Felix’s head so it landed like a soft ambush. “Emergency insulation.”
Felix yelped, then laughed, wriggling his way through cotton until his face popped out of the neck hole. The hoodie fell huge on him, hanging to mid-thigh, sleeves swallowing his hands. Chan’s sea-salt scent wrapped him instantly, thick and comforting. His wolf sighed, settling like someone had just smoothed a blanket over its back.
“Better?” Chan asked, trying and failing to pretend he wasn’t pleased with himself.
Felix pushed the too-long sleeves up with his fingertips, cheeks still pink. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Feels like you.”
“Good,” Chan said, smug and soft. He stepped into his own sweats and T-shirt with less grace, then crossed back to Felix to tug the hoodie straight and press a quick kiss to his forehead. “Now we can go down there and you can eat, and they can all pretend they haven’t been smelling and hearing us for hours.”
Felix groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
Chan just grinned, lacing their fingers together as they headed for the door. “Too late.”
By the time they dragged themselves downstairs, both were rumpled, glowing, and carrying a storm’s worth of salt-and-honey scent behind them.
The kitchen told its own story. Hyunjin sighed dramatically at his reflection in the kettle. Changbin stole toast with the self-importance of a man saving lives. Seungmin plated scrambled eggs with surgeon-level precision, scowl sharp enough to cut complaints in half. Jeongin sang to the jam jars, warm-bread beta scent soft around him. Jisung slumped at the table like a tragedy in progress while Minho stood behind him, steadying a cup in his hand.
All of them looked tired.
“Ah,” Hyunjin said without turning, as if the window had informed him. He pivoted, hair too shiny for morning, smile too sharp for innocence. “Look who survived the night. You could have shown at least some mercy.”
Felix flushed hot. Chan just smirked and pulled him closer, summer-warm salt spiking smug.
“Needy wolves,” Seungmin muttered, sliding a plate at Felix. He sniffed once, blinked, then added an extra wedge of toast like a man bribing himself to be kind.
Jisung groaned, dropping his forehead to the table. “Do you have any idea what it’s like trying to sleep with you two shaking the whole cabin? My wolf hasn’t shut up since midnight.”
Minho sipped his coffee with suspicious calm, eyes amused over the rim. Jisung elbowed him weakly. “Don’t look at me like that. You didn’t sleep either.”
Changbin choked on his toast, laughing. “Wait—did hyung get horny just from listening?”
Jisung let out an outraged noise that came out more like a whine. “Don’t say it like that!” His wolf whimpered under the words, tail thumping against the chair. “My back is sore, I hate you all.”
Minho set the coffee down and patted his shoulder with open fondness. “You didn’t complain last night.”
Hyunjin sighed, leaning dramatically against the counter. “This house has no soundproofing. None. Next time, at least warn us so I can put on music.”
Jeongin, still humming at the jam jars, piped up without looking. “It sounded… happy.”
Felix nearly dropped his fork. Chan barked a laugh, summer-warm salt spilling smug across the table, his wolf preening with pride.
“Eat,” Seungmin ordered flatly, shoving another plate down like a gavel strike. “All of you. Before I decide omegas and alphas are banned from sharing beds until spring.”
The table erupted in laughter and groans, wolves purring and whining, scents mixing like the cabin itself was in on the joke.
Felix ducked into Chan’s shoulder, cheeks burning but purr steady in his chest. Chan nosed his hair with a grin, sea-salt warmth wrapping him whole.
For the first morning after the storm, they weren’t just warm. They were home.
Felix’s cheeks heated again; his scent tripped sweet, then steadied because summer-warm salt settled around him, quiet, not claiming, just… there. His body responded like it had learned a new language overnight: instincts stretching, then curling soft.
“Okay,” Changbin said at last, scraping his chair back a little and squinting at the frost on the window. “Somebody remind me what day it is before my brain freezes.”
“Twenty-fourth,” Jeongin answered automatically, still humming as he pried open a new jar of jam.
Felix’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. “Wait.” He looked up, owlish. “Twenty-fourth as in… twenty-fourth?”
Jisung’s head snapped up. “You forgot it’s Christmas Eve?” His wolf flared outraged, tail thumping. “We were supposed to go to town yesterday!”
Hyunjin pointed a dramatic, accusatory spoon at them. “Right. Yesterday. When a certain couple went off for a romantic death wish instead of helping buy presents.”
Felix made a strangled noise. “It wasn’t— we didn’t—”
“Snow,” Changbin said darkly, but his eyes were laughing. “Sex. Negligence. The evidence speaks for itself.”
Chan’s mouth twitched. “We were already on the trail when the sky flipped,” he said, a little sharper, taking the hit anyway. “Even if we’d aimed for town, that whiteout would’ve nailed us. Nobody was getting off this mountain once it rolled in.”
Seungmin exhaled through his nose, conceding with a tiny tilt of his head. “He’s right. The road would’ve been a slip’n’slide to hell.” His gaze still narrowed. “But the timing is suspicious.”
“And annoying,” Jisung added loyally. “I could’ve had my last-minute panic purchases done before the storm.”
“You shop in a panic on purpose,” Minho said mildly.
“That’s my process,” Jisung huffed.
Felix sank a little lower in his chair, honey scent flickering embarrassed and then smoothing out as Chan’s thumb brushed over his knuckles under the table. “We really did forget what day it was,” he admitted, voice small but honest. “I was mostly thinking… ‘don’t die’.”
“And ‘yes, right there,’” Jisung muttered.
“Jisung,” three voices said at once.
Felix tried very hard to disappear into his mug. Across from him, Chan buttered toast with the solemn focus of a surgeon and slid the plate over without looking up. Eat, the gesture said. Warm first, think later. Felix’s chest did something foolish and pleased. He obeyed.
Jeongin, who’d been quietly counting on his fingers, perked up. “Storm’s over, roads look kind of okay. We can still head to town after lunch and grab the last gifts. Then we do Secret Santa tonight, yeah?”
“Assuming everyone actually has gifts by then,” Seungmin said dryly, eyes flicking to Chan like a scalpel.
Chan cleared his throat, suddenly very invested in buttering more toast. Felix went pink in solidarity, honey spilling shy and sweet into the air.
Hyunjin sighed dramatically. “The tree still isn’t decorated. The atmosphere in this house is tragic.”
“The atmosphere?” Changbin said. “We’ve got enough romance fogging up the windows already.”
“Don’t blame me,” Hyunjin countered. “Blame the clingiest alpha north of the river.”
Chan’s wolf growled low, not threatening, more sulky, sea-salt curling thick. “It’s freezing in here,” he muttered. “We’re supposed to be going back to bed after breakfast. Felix shouldn’t—”
“Shouldn’t what?” Felix cut in, amused, honey brightening. “Hang ornaments? Handle tinsel? Walk through town?”
“Exactly,” Chan said without shame. “You promised we’d go back to bed.”
Felix’s wolf purred, but his mouth betrayed him. “After we survive Christmas Eve,” he amended. “Presents first. Sleep and… other things later.”
Chan’s face did a very visible sulk. His wolf whined behind his ribs, ears drooping. “You’re moving the goalpost,” he muttered.
“Welcome to a pack,” Seungmin said, not looking up from his plate. “You want unsupervised snow missions? Prove you can handle normal ones first. Tree, town, then you can glue yourselves together again. In that order.”
“God,” Jisung groaned, dropping his fork like a gavel. “Can’t even let him touch pine needles, but he’ll tackle snowstorms?”
Minho patted his head. “Even my grandparents didn’t whine this much.”
“Mine did,” Jisung shot back, then slumped against him dramatically, wolf sighing in sympathy.
Hyunjin hummed, smug. “I think it’s cute.”
Changbin made a face. “Cute? It’s disgusting. He hasn’t let go of Felix’s hand all morning.”
Felix blushed harder and tried to pull his hand back, but Chan only tightened his grip, sea-salt wrapping firm. “Not planning to,” he said simply.
That earned a collective groan from the table. Seungmin rapped his fork against a plate. “All right. Tree first, then we go to town after lunch. Everyone gets their last-minute gifts. Then Secret Santa. No excuses.”
Jisung puffed up. “Already done.”
“Impulse-bought the first shiny thing that screamed Christmas at you,” Hyunjin said. “Doesn’t count.”
“Still a gift,” Jisung muttered, wounded. “And it’s good.”
Minho didn’t comment, but his wolf’s tail gave a small, smug wag.
“Christmas Eve in town,” Changbin said with a groan. “We’re going to die.”
Felix hid his laugh against Chan’s shoulder. Chan nosed into his curls, voice warm. “You promised we’d go back to bed after,” he murmured, for Felix alone.
“After,” Felix repeated, grinning. “If you behave.”
“Unlikely,” Hyunjin said. “Statistically impossible.”
The table dissolved into laughter and mock complaints, wolves purring and whining, scents tangling warm until the cabin itself felt alive again.
— ❆❇❆ —
After breakfast, the kitchen emptied into the living room like a river breaking its banks. Jeongin carried the ornament boxes like treasure; Hyunjin floated behind him with spools of ribbon; Changbin had the lights tangled around his arms, muttering death threats to whoever had packed them last year.
Seungmin appeared with mugs of cocoa, steam curling. “Drink before anyone electrocutes themselves with fairy lights.”
Felix cupped his mug in both hands, nose buried in the sweetness. His wolf purred, tail swishing. Chan took one sip of his own cocoa, then swapped mugs without asking. “Too hot for you,” he muttered, sea-salt wrapping low around the honey.
Felix blinked at him, amused. “You just wanted extra marshmallows.”
Chan didn’t deny it. His wolf nosed into Felix’s curls instead, satisfied.
The tree stood tall in the corner, bare but proud, branches waiting. Jeongin hung the first ornament like he’d been chosen by destiny.
“Too low,” Hyunjin said immediately, sweeping in with all the confidence of a man holding tinsel. “Ornaments need balance.”
“You need balance,” Changbin grunted, fighting the lights into submission. Somehow most of the string ended up around his shoulders and waist instead of the branches.
“Hold still,” Minho said, already reaching for the plug.
He jammed it into the socket. The lights flared to life—and so did Changbin. The half-dressed tree stayed mostly dark while the alpha beside it glowed in multicolored misery.
Jeongin let out a delighted shriek. “We did it. We evolved the first bioluminescent wolf.”
Hyunjin actually clapped. “Don’t move,” he said, scrambling for his phone. “This is art. This is the Christmas card.”
Chan wheezed. “We said decorate the tree, not cosplay it.”
Seungmin gave a solemn, reluctant nod. “Honestly, this is the best the living room has ever looked.”
Changbin was losing his battle with the lights. At some point they’d looped around his shoulders and across his forehead; a single blue LED blinked accusingly between his eyebrows.
“One of you is dying when I get out of this,” he announced, glaring at the room at large.
Still laughing, Felix reached for an ornament, but Chan intercepted. “Careful.”
Felix raised a brow. “They’re glass, not grenades.”
“You could cut yourself.”
“I could also breathe wrong and die dramatically,” Felix said, placing one firmly on a branch.
Jisung groaned from the couch, wolf sprawled out. “Hopeless. Hand-holding, cocoa-sharing, scenting in public. We’re trapped in a romance movie.”
Hyunjin smirked. “I think it’s adorable.”
“Adorable? It’s nauseating!” Jisung cried. “My eyes are bleeding.”
“Oh, shut up,” Changbin snorted, finally freeing one arm from the lights. “When you and Minho got together, the rest of us needed hazard pay.”
Jeongin perked up instantly. “You used to sit on his lap to eat cereal,” he said helpfully. “Every morning.”
“That was one time,” Jisung protested.
“Try three months,” Seungmin corrected, deadpan. “You refused to use your own chair.”
Hyunjin sighed, nostalgic and pained. “And the neck-biting. Constantly. In the kitchen. In the hallway. On the stairs. Near the laundry basket. Some of us still smell the soap you dropped.”
Felix choked on his cocoa. Minho pressed his lips together, visibly fighting a smile.
“Oh my god, stop,” Jisung wailed, half-buried in a cushion. His wolf flopped onto its back, paws in the air like it had given up. “That’s slander.”
“It’s a documentary,” Changbin said. “You two invented public indecency.”
Seungmin didn’t even look up from untangling a hook. “You once tried to make out during a pack meeting,” he added. “While I was explaining emergency procedures.”
“In my defence, his mouth was right there,” Jisung muttered.
“And now you’re judging them?” Hyunjin lifted an eyebrow. “Glass house. Rocks. You know the proverb.”
Minho finally stepped in, voice mild but devastating. “He also whined for twenty minutes because I forgot to scent his scarf once.”
“That was a serious situation,” Jisung snapped, sitting bolt upright, ears blazing. “It was cold and I was emotionally vulnerable.”
Changbin barked a laugh. “You’ve been emotionally vulnerable since birth,” he said. “Minho didn’t cause that, he just kindly agreed to manage the condition.”
Hyunjin wheezed. Jeongin choked on his cocoa.
“You should be sending him thank-you notes,” Changbin went on mercilessly. “Daily. ‘Dear Minho, thank you for staying with me even though I cry at commercials and need my scarf scented to go to the mailbox.’”
Jisung gaped at him, scandalized. “I do not cry at commercials.”
Three wolves made the same disbelieving noise at once.
“—that one with the lonely snowman doesn’t count,” Jisung added quickly. “That was entrapment.”
Seungmin sipped his drink, unimpressed. “You’re the reason warning labels exist,” he said. “‘Do not expose this omega to unscented fabric or holiday advertisements.’”
The room dissolved into helpless laughter.
Felix tried to hide his grin, but Chan wrapped him closer anyway, sea-salt smug. Together they hung another ornament, Chan’s hand steadying his.
When it came time for the top of the tree, Felix grabbed the star and made for a chair.
Chan was on him immediately. “No. Absolutely not.”
Felix looked over his shoulder, grinning. “You think I can’t climb a chair?”
“I think,” Chan said, already scowling at the chair like it had personally offended him, “you’re the kind of omega who trips over flat ground. You’re not climbing unstable furniture with pointy branches and breakable glass underneath.” His wolf bristled hard, tail up, ears pinned on the danger. “No chance.”
Felix rolled his eyes, wolf tail flicking. “I’m doing it.”
He climbed anyway, because of course he did, only for Chan to lunge in behind him the second one foot left the floor. Hands locked fast around Felix’s waist, hauling him steady before he’d even wobbled. Felix yelped, then burst into laughter, clinging to the star with both hands.
“Chan!”
“You are not dying by Christmas tree,” Chan muttered into his curls, voice low and fierce. His wolf planted itself like a wall, braced solid, tail wagging once in grim satisfaction. “Star first, death wish never.”
Felix’s laugh melted into a bright purr as he reached up and fixed the star into place. The tree glowed complete, light scattering across the windows.
The room, however, lost its mind.
“Whipped,” Changbin announced, nearly dropping his cocoa. “Like… medically concerning levels of whipped.”
“Honestly tragic,” Jisung groaned, flopping back onto the couch like the sight had taken years off his life. “I’m getting secondhand leash-burn.”
“Disgustingly sweet,” Hyunjin sang, twirling tinsel like ribbon. “If this were a drama, this is the poster shot.”
Jeongin clasped his hands together, eyes shining. “He’s like a safety harness with feelings.”
Even Seungmin’s mouth twitched. “Put him down before I start charging rent for sap overload,” he said.
Chan set Felix carefully back on the floor but didn’t actually let go, keeping him close a moment longer than necessary, sea-salt still wrapped tight around him like bubble wrap.
Felix, flushed and glowing, leaned back into him anyway, honey purring warm through the whole room.
The lights shimmered, ornaments glittered, cocoa steamed. Pack scents layered under the pine, sea-salt and honey, coffee and paper, sugar and warm bread, smoke and spice until the whole cabin smelled like one thing only: home.
Hyunjin clapped once. “Now that’s a tree.”
“High praise,” Minho murmured.
Felix ducked into Chan’s side again, cheeks warm. Chan’s hand found his automatically, thumb tracing lazy circles.
For a moment, the pack just stood there, watching the glow messy, loud, happy. A den in perfect chaos.
“Great,” Jisung sighed at last, but his wolf’s tail was thumping. “Stage two of the disease: festive lighting.”
Seungmin didn’t miss a beat. “Then pray it’s not contagious,” he said dryly.
Jisung glanced up at Minho, caught the soft way he was looking at the tree and at him and went a little pink. “…Too late,” he muttered.
That cracked the room open again. Laughter stirred the air, lights blinking, wolves purring.
Jeongin shuffled a half-step closer to Seungmin, eyes still on the tree. After a beat, he tipped sideways until his shoulder bumped Seungmin’s arm, then stayed there, warm and solid, like it was an accident he wasn’t going to correct.
Seungmin’s face did something complicated annoyed, resigned, fond all at once. His mouth flattened like he wanted to object, but his wolf exhaled and settled, and he didn’t move away. After a second, he even tilted his arm just enough that Jeongin fit better.
“Clingy,” he muttered.
Jeongin smiled into his mug. “Contagious,” he corrected quietly.
Laughter rolled around the room in answer, soft and easy, lights winking along with it. Sea-salt and honey braided warm under the pine, threaded through with ink and bread and smoke and sugar, until the whole cabin felt like a single, contented heartbeat.
Jisung, apparently deciding the tree had received enough of everyone’s attention, suddenly turned and grabbed Minho’s wrist. “Okay, enough standing like museum guards,” he declared. “Sit.”
Minho blinked. “I am not a dog.”
“Good, because I’m stealing the lap, not the breed,” Jisung said, already tugging him backward toward the couch.
Minho let himself be dragged with all the dignity of a man who absolutely could have resisted and very much didn’t. He dropped onto the cushions and, in the same breath, Jisung climbed right into his lap, folding himself in like it was muscle memory. His wolf curled there too, pleased and smug, tail thumping against Minho’s ribs.
“You’re heavy,” Minho said mildly, hands settling around Jisung’s waist anyway.
“You’re biased,” Jisung shot back, tipping his head against Minho’s shoulder and sighing like he’d just achieved enlightenment. “Tree view is better from here.”
Hyunjin made a gagging noise. “Oh sure, but we’re the disgusting ones.”
Changbin snorted. “You literally spent an entire movie night lying across my chest like a weighted blanket and complaining when I breathed.”
“That was structural support,” Hyunjin replied, offended. “You’re built like a sofa.”
“Romantic,” Changbin muttered, but his wolf was wagging.
Jeongin, eyes suddenly sharp, squinted up at the doorway. “Uh, speaking of romance,” he said, pointing. “You two might want to look up.”
Changbin and Hyunjin did, straight into the small sprig of mistletoe someone (probably Jeongin, definitely Jeongin) had taped to the beam above them.
Hyunjin’s grin turned slow and wicked. “Well, well,” he purred. “Tradition is tradition.”
Changbin stared up at the mistletoe, then at Hyunjin. “This is entrapment.”
“Correct,” Hyunjin said cheerfully, already looping his arms around Changbin’s neck. “Complain later.”
The kiss started as a put-on Hyunjin dramatic, Changbin grumbling into his mouth but it softened fast, wolves bumping noses behind their ribs, spice and smoke curling together. When they finally broke apart, Hyunjin looked thoroughly pleased with himself; Changbin looked like he wanted to protest and also never move again.
Jisung pointed with his spoon. “See? Stage three. Nobody’s safe.”
Seungmin rolled his eyes, but his hand had somehow ended up resting easy between Jisung’s shoulder and Jeongin’s, fingers brushing both like he’d forgotten to move them. “Eat your cocoa,” he said, which didn’t make sense and no one bothered to correct.
Under the glow of the tree, with wolves tucked into each other in every corner Felix against Chan, Jisung in Minho’s lap, Hyunjin leaning into Changbin’s side, Jeongin pressed against Seungmin’s arm the cabin felt less like a rented house and more like something wild and permanent.
For the first time since the storm, it didn’t just look like Christmas. It felt like it.
Then Jeongin broke the quiet: “Okay! Game plan: quick ramyeon, then town raid. If we don’t leave soon, the shops will be hell.”
A chorus of groans answered, Jisung’s the loudest.
“We just sat down,” Jisung complained, already dragging himself toward the kitchen anyway. “My wolf needs emotional preparation.”
“Your wolf needs noodles and to shut up,” Seungmin said, opening the cupboard and tossing instant ramyeon cups onto the counter like rations. “Ten minutes. Boil water, inhale, then we dig the car out.”
That lit a fire under everyone. Kettles went on, lids peeled back, seasoning packets ripped. The cabin filled with the sharp, salty smell of instant broth and wolves moving in barely organized lines mugs clinking, chopsticks clattering, someone (Jisung) arguing that he deserved two packets because he’d “suffered the most.”
They ate standing, perched on counters and chair arms, slurping too fast and yelping when the noodles were still lava-hot.
As soon as the last cup hit the sink, boots thudded down from the rack, scarves were flung over shoulders, lists were scribbled in frantic last-minute scrawls. The cabin shifted from cozy to launch-ready in seconds—the familiar chaos of wolves pretending they weren’t panicking.
Chan didn’t move. He stiffened instead, sea-salt bracing sharp, wolf pacing hot beneath his skin. He bent low, mouth close to Felix’s hair. “You don’t need to go,” he murmured. “Tell me what you want—I’ll get it.”
Felix tipped his face up, smiling softly. “That’s not how Secret Santa works. Everyone gets their own.”
Chan’s jaw worked, sea-salt snapping once like a log in the fire. “So you expect me to just let you run loose in the city without me?”
Felix brushed his nose along Chan’s throat until the growl broke into a low whine. His wolf purred steady, ears forward. “Not without you,” he said gently. “With the others. We’ll all be there.”
“I don’t like it,” Chan muttered. His wolf circled tight, bristling.
“I know.” Felix threaded their fingers together and squeezed once, firm as a promise. “But you’ll survive a few hours without hovering.”
That, unfortunately, was the pack’s cue.
“Somebody put a GPS tag on him,” Jisung called from the hall, already half-wrapped in Minho’s scarf. “In case he forgets how to function when Felix is out of sight.”
“Level-eight attachment disorder,” Seungmin diagnosed, deadpan, tugging a hat down over Jeongin’s curls. “If it gets any worse we’ll need paperwork.”
Hyunjin hummed thoughtfully. “We could start a support group. ‘Hi, my name is Bang Chan and I haven’t let go of my omega in fourteen hours.’”
Changbin snorted. “Fourteen? Be serious. Try ‘ever.’”
Heat crawled up Chan’s neck; sea-salt spiked embarrassed, his wolf whining low in betrayal. Felix only laughed and kissed his cheek, quick and sure, leaving honey clinging to sea-salt like balm.
“Fine,” Chan muttered at last, sulky as a pup forced to heel. “
Felix’s cheeks flushed, wolf purring low enough to hum through the whole room.
By the time the last laces were tied and the door swung open to cold, Chan was still at Felix’s side, sea-salt heavy as a shadow. Outside, the snow caught the light in a thousand sharp sparks. Inside, the star gleamed at the top of the tree, steady as a promise.
The town welcomed them in a rush of light and scent, roasted nuts, pine, sugar strung through the air. Wolves spilled over cobblestones like marbles, scarves flapping, mittens mismatched, voices a little too loud.
“Remember,” Seungmin said, tone clipped like he was briefing soldiers, grocery bag already hanging from one hand, “Secret Santa is secret. That means you do not announce what you’re buying. You do not parade it down the street in a clear bag. You—”
“Hyunjin, that means you,” Jisung cut in at once.
Hyunjin clutched his scarf to his chest, scandalized. “As if I would ruin the mystique.” He promptly floated toward the first boutique window glittering with sequins.
The pack groaned. They began to scatter like marbles on tile, each wolf peeling off the second a shopfront caught their eye. Jeongin pretended not to see Changbin heading for the sporting goods store. Changbin pretended not to see Jeongin doing exactly the same. Jisung dragged his feet until Minho gave him a pointed look and nudged him toward a side street lined with smaller shops.
Seungmin, who had finished his present weeks ago because of course he had, muttered something about “groceries, tape, and emergency snacks” and vanished with the air of a man who refused to be responsible for anyone’s panic purchases—only their survival.
Felix lingered on the curb, mittened hands in his pockets. Chan lingered too, sea-salt braced sharp, his wolf circling as if it could block traffic by itself.
“You don’t have to stick so close,” Felix murmured.
“I'm not hovering,” Chan said instantly. “Just… walking.”
“Walking so close you’re basically his coat,” Jisung called over his shoulder.
Chan’s ears went pink. Sea-salt puffed embarrassed. Felix’s wolf purred anyway, leaning closer just because he could.
At the next corner, necessity tugged. Felix tilted his head, giving Chan a small, soft smile. “I’ll be quick.”
Sea-salt curled warm over him, stubborn and low. “I’ll find you after,” Chan said.
Felix’s cheeks heated; his wolf hummed steady. “I know.”
They turned separate ways, wolves still circling, tugging invisible threads between them.
The sporting goods store smelled like sad wolves all over.
Changbin stared at a wall of thermoses like it had personally wronged him. “Why are there thirty kinds?” he muttered. “Who needs this many thermoses?”
From the next aisle over, a familiar voice said, “Thermoses are practical. Practical is good.”
Changbin peered around the shelf. Jeongin stood there with a completely different thermos in his hands, clutching it to his chest like state secrets.
“You’re in my store,” Changbin accused.
“You’re in my store,” Jeongin shot back. His beta scent—warm bread and clean paper—curled calm around his own little shopping bubble. “Secret Santa rules. No peeking.”
They both turned their backs at the same time like badly coordinated spies.
“We could… both get thermoses,” Jeongin said after a second. “For different people.”
“That’s not illegal,” Changbin allowed grudgingly. “As long as I don’t know who yours is.”
“And I don’t know who yours is,” Jeongin agreed.
There was a brief, solemn pause while they silently promised not to look.
“Also,” Jeongin added thoughtfully, “we can test mine at home. If it sucks, I’m keeping it and drinking smug cocoa out of it all winter.”
Changbin’s wolf flicked its ears, grudgingly impressed. “That’s… actually smart.”
“Thank you,” Jeongin said, and immediately sidestepped down a different aisle so neither of them had to see the other walk to the register.
The town wrapped around them in lights and breath.
Jisung’s complaints could be heard half a block away.
“This is impossible,” he announced from inside a crowded homeware store, arms full of blankets, candles, and something that might have been a mug shaped like a wolf. “How am I supposed to buy something meaningful for someone who literally glares at emotional vulnerability?”
“Maybe get them something practical,” Minho suggested, long-suffering, taking half the pile out of his arms before he dropped it. His wolf hummed patient, tail swaying once.
Jisung squinted at a display of slippers. “What says ‘I care about you but I also want to bully you’?”
“Anything you give them,” Minho answered dryly.
Hyunjin vanished into a tiny store that smelled like incense and glitter and reemerged ten minutes later with a sleek bag and a dazed smile.
“You found something already?” Seungmin asked, skeptical, when they crossed paths on the street.
“I was moved by fate,” Hyunjin said serenely, clutching the bag to his chest. “And by a sale.”
“Was the sale the fate?” Seungmin asked.
"Time will tell,” Hyunjin replied, nose in the air.
Seungmin’s beta calm pressed flat and unimpressed. “If that bag contains anything that plugs in, lights up, or sings when you walk past it, I reserve the right to revoke your shopping privileges next year.”
Hyunjin only smiled wider.
Felix’s wandering carried him away from the brightest streets, past the louder shops and blinking lights, until the noise thinned. He followed a side alley tucked between a bookshop and a bakery, drawn by a softer glow.
A small sign hung over a narrow door, hand-painted and a little faded:
HANDMADE LEATHER – JOURNALS • BINDINGS • REPAIRS
The bell over the door chimed low when he stepped inside.
The world narrowed instantly: warm air, the rich smell of leather and beeswax, the soft rasp of a cloth over a workbench. Shelves rose on either side of him, lined with journals and notebooks, each one slightly different, each one touched by human hands.
His wolf went very quiet. Ears forward. Tail still. Yes, it breathed, all at once.
An older man looked up from the counter. Silver at his temples, glasses low on his nose, hands stained faintly with dye. “Afternoon,” he said, smiling like he had all the time in the world. “You look a little lost.”
Felix blinked, breath catching on the scent of polish and paper. “Just… looking. For a present.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” the man said. He stepped out from behind the counter, moving with the ease of someone who knew exactly where everything belonged. “Tell me about them.”
Felix’s first instinct was to say alpha, then realized that wasn’t what the man was asking. His fingers brushed a journal with a soft brown cover and careful stitching.
“He…” Felix swallowed, cheeks warming. “He makes lists. All the time. Plans, schedules, ideas. He writes songs, too. And… he never does anything halfway.”
The man’s eyes crinkled. “Sounds like he needs something that will keep up.”
He led Felix along the shelves until he stopped in front of a row near eye level. From it, he pulled a journal a little larger than the others. The leather was a deep, warm brown, not glossy, but matte, soft-looking, something that would pick up touch over time. The spine was stitched in a neat, even pattern, the corners reinforced.
“Try this,” he said, holding it out.
Felix took it carefully. It sat in his palms with a kind of quiet weight. When he opened it, the pages were thick and cream-colored, faintly lined, ready. His thumb ran over the first page; the paper didn’t catch, didn’t crinkle.
His wolf stilled completely. Heartbeat slowing. Ears up. This. This one.
“I like it,” Felix said, throat a little tight.
“Mmm.” The man watched his face, not the journal, and nodded as if Felix had confirmed something. “We can make it his properly, if you’d like.” He tapped the cover. “I do embossing and engraving. A name, initials, a phrase. Won’t take long.”
Felix’s heart tripped. “You can put his name on it?”
“Of course.” The man gestured toward the back, where a small press and metal type waited. “What would you like it to say?”
The question shouldn’t have made his ears burn, but somehow it did. His wolf practically rolled over, tail thumping. Mate, it whispered unhelpfully. Ours.
“Just his name,” Felix said quickly, then paused. The idea of seeing it there, permanent and precise, made his chest feel too full. If he was doing this, he wanted to do it properly. “Um. His full name. Bahng Christopher Chahn.”
The man’s brows lifted, impressed. “Someone important,” he said mildly, reaching for a pad. “Spelling?”
Felix spelled it out carefully, watching each letter land in ink, something in his ribs loosening with every stroke.
“Give me ten minutes,” the man said. “Look around as much as you like.”
Felix drifted while the man worked, fingers trailing over different textures, dark leather, light, smooth, lightly pebbled. He didn’t really see them. His wolf was still fixated on that one journal on the workbench, on the press, on the small, decisive clicks of metal being set into place.
It felt like watching a promise being built.
“Alright,” the man said at last. “Come see.”
The name had been pressed into the lower corner of the cover in small, clean letters:
BAHNG CHRISTOPHER CHAHN
No flourishes, no curls. Just simple, steady lettering that caught the light when he tilted it.
Felix’s breath left him in a rush. “Wow,” he whispered.
“Good?” the man asked.
“Perfect,” Felix said, voice soft and sure.
He paid, fingers reluctant to let the journal out of his hands even long enough for it to be wrapped. The man slid it into a plain brown box, then, without comment, tied a dark green ribbon around it that matched the mountains they’d driven down from.
“For the important ones,” the man said, as he passed it back.
Felix’s throat squeezed. “Thank you,” he said, meaning more than just the paper and leather.
“Happy Christmas,” the man replied.
Felix stepped back out into the cold with the box tucked carefully under his arm. Snow had begun again, soft and fine. His wolf hummed around the gift, satisfaction and nerves tangled sweet.
By the time the sky shifted toward blue-grey, the square was glowing. Strings of lights crisscrossed overhead; a huge tree at the center glittered with ornaments and a star that would make Hyunjin judge it but grudgingly approve.
Jeongin and Changbin converged first, stamping snow from their boots, each clutching an anonymous paper bag like it might explode if questioned.
“Did you survive?” Seungmin asked, appearing with a grocery bag on one arm and a roll of tape sticking out of his coat pocket.
“Barely,” Changbin said. “I fought a wall of thermoses and may or may not have won.”
Jeongin hugged his bag closer. “Mine allegedly survives volcanic conditions. If it doesn’t, I’m keeping it and drinking smug cocoa out of it all winter.”
“That sounds like a threat,” Hyunjin commented, drifting in with a sleek little shopping bag that screamed trouble.
“It is,” Jeongin replied sweetly.
No one asked who anything was for; that was the rule. They just complained about capitalism and crowds and let their wolves nose curiously at the anonymous crinkle of bags.
Jisung and Minho arrived next. Jisung’s scarf was crooked and his hair a mess; Minho looked exactly the same as when he’d left, apart from the faint spark of victory in his eyes.
“You got something?” Changbin asked.
“Yes,” Jisung said, then squinted at his own bag like he wasn’t sure how. “I think.”
Minho’s wolf wagged its tail once. “He did,” Minho confirmed.
Finally, Felix turned the corner into the square, bag hugged close to his chest. The moment Chan spotted him, he straightened from where he’d been pretending not to pace near the tree.
“Cold?” he asked, already crossing the distance, sea-salt stretching out to wrap Felix before the wind could.
Felix leaned in without thinking. “A little.”
Chan’s eyes flicked to the bag. “Success?”
Felix’s wolf purred, ears high. “Yeah,” he said. “I found… exactly the right thing.”
Sea-salt folded over honey instantly, steady as breath. Chan didn’t ask what was inside. Felix didn’t offer. That was the game.
“Hopeless,” Jisung groaned, clutching his own bags dramatically. “Absolutely hopeless.”
“Eat your feelings later,” Seungmin said. “For now, car. We still have dinner and the actual gift exchange to survive.”
The drive back up felt different than the night before. No whiteout, no panic, just a slow climb through a world scrubbed clean, snowbanks glittering under the headlights.
Jeongin fell asleep almost instantly, cheek mashed into the window, beta scent of warm bread filling the car. Changbin sighed and carefully nudged his head so it wouldn’t slam the glass every time they hit a bump.
“I’m not soft,” he muttered when Hyunjin smirked at him from the front seat. “He’s just annoying when he wakes up.”
In the second car, Jisung spent ten minutes narrating how cold his toes were until Minho reached over, grabbed his ankle, and shoved his foot under his own thigh.
“There,” Minho said. “Live.”
Jisung went quiet, wolf purring so loud the whole backseat could feel it.
Felix spent the trip with his journal box tucked safely between his feet and his fingers twined with Chan’s over the center console. Every now and then, Chan would lift their joined hands to his mouth and kiss Felix’s knuckles like he couldn’t help it.
“Eyes on the road,” Seungmin grumbled from the passenger seat once, but his scent was warm and easy.
By the time they pulled back into the cabin’s driveway, the sky was fully dark and the star on their tree glowed like a beacon through the window.
Felix stepped out into the cold, snow crunching under his boots, journal safe in his bag, Chan’s sea-salt already curling around his shoulders again.
The storm was over. The mountain was quiet. The den waited, lit and warm and noisy, ready for dinner, presents, and whatever came after.
For the first Christmas Eve of this new thing between them, Felix’s wolf didn’t feel alone at all.
— ❆❇❆ —
By late afternoon the sky had gone pearl-gray again, not storm-dark but softly lidded, like the day was closing its own eyes. The cabin pulled them home—boots thudding on the porch, bags thumped down in the hall, wolves shaking the cold from their coats as they stepped back into warmth.
They barely had time to shove presents into bedrooms and swear not to peek before Seungmin clapped his hands once, sharp as a starter pistol. “Alright. Christmas dinner. Positions.”
Somehow, without anyone actually agreeing, a kitchen brigade formed.
Minho took the knives by silent decree, sleeves pushed up, wolf steady as he set to work. Vegetables surrendered under his hands in clean, precise slices; herbs fell into neat piles. Every time someone tried to help with chopping, he simply slid the board out of reach and handed them something less lethal.
“Knife goblin,” Jisung muttered admiringly, stealing carrot slices off the side.
“Missing fingers,” Seungmin warned, which only made Jisung grin wider.
Chan ended up at the stove with the main dishes: roast and pan sauce, something cheesy in the oven, three different pans going at once. Steam curled around him as steadily as sea-salt, his wolf focused and intent. Every so often he’d reach back, hook two fingers in Felix’s hoodie like a leash, and tug him out of the traffic pattern without even looking.
“I was just standing,” Felix complained, laughing.
“You were standing in the splash zone,” Chan said, flipping something that sizzled too close to his wrist. “You attract disaster.”
Felix’s wolf flicked its tail, pleased. “You’re just mad the oil likes me better than you.”
“You can flirt with the oil after dinner,” Chan replied, bumping their shoulders.
Felix got assigned “safe” jobs: washing potatoes, stirring bowls, tasting things “to check seasoning.” His wolf purred the entire time, tail swishing as he moved between packmates, collecting stray touches and scents like decorations.
Changbin, predictably, took charge of anything that required brute force. He mashed potatoes like they’d insulted his ancestors, whisked gravy until it shone, hauled heavy trays in and out of the oven with bare forearms and a running commentary.
“This is how you know I love you,” he told the room at large, elbow-deep in starch. “I could be sleeping. Instead I’m doing arm day with tubers.”
Hyunjin floated around like a decorative spirit, somehow avoiding all actual work and still making everything prettier. He fanned cucumber slices into flowers, arranged tomato halves like ornaments, and had a passionate argument with the cranberry sauce about whether it should be in one big bowl or three little ones “for visual balance.”
“This is food, not a fashion show,” Seungmin said, but he still handed over an extra sprig of rosemary when Hyunjin demanded “drama.”
Jeongin moved wherever there was space, beta scent of warm bread and paper stitching gaps together: basting the roast, taste-testing sauces, rescuing a near-disaster when Jisung forgot he’d put rolls in the oven.
“You had one job,” Seungmin told Jisung, yanking the tray out before it tipped from golden to charcoal.
“I was emotionally distracted,” Jisung argued. “By hunger.”
“You are always emotionally distracted by hunger,” Minho said without looking up from his cutting board.
Jisung stuck his tongue out at him, then immediately leaned over his shoulder. “Ooh, can I steal one of those—”
“No,” Minho said, popping the piece of roasted carrot into Jisung’s mouth himself before he could grab it. Jisung’s wolf wagged its tail so hard the whole room felt it.
Smells layered as the afternoon deepened: onions softening in butter, garlic hitting hot oil, rosemary and thyme waking under heat, bread crisping, cheese browning, meat going glossy and rich. Pack scents wound through it all—sea-salt and honey, coffee and paper, sugar and warm bread, smoke and spice—until the kitchen felt like a pot of every good thing they’d ever shared.
At one point, Hyunjin tried to sneak a candlestick onto the table “for ambiance” and nearly set a napkin on fire. Seungmin caught it with a look alone.
“New rule,” he said. “No open flames near Jisung or Hyunjin.”
“Rude,” they chorused.
When everything finally made it to the table, it looked less like a magazine spread and more like a miracle: platters overlapping, bowls crowding in, cutlery slightly mismatched, steam rising from every surface. Wolves hovered for exactly three seconds, manners battling instinct—then Seungmin said, “Go,” and instinct won.
By the time they sat down, the table was crowded—bowls and platters squeezed between elbows, candles burning low, napkins already crooked despite Hyunjin’s best efforts. Dinner made its own storm: chopsticks clacking, someone always reaching across someone else, Jisung moaning theatrically over the potatoes, Changbin pretending not to preen at the praise, the kettle hissing in the background like it had grievances.
They ate until plates were bare and seconds were gone and even the hungriest wolves were leaning back, breathing hard, scents heavy and content.
When dishes were finally stacked and Hyunjin had solemnly completed his vows with the napkins for the third time, a quiet fell over the room, not empty, just expectant. The tree glowed in the corner. Wrapped shapes waited underneath.
The air changed at once. Not tense but bright. That particular crackle that comes when secrets are about to stop being secrets.
Seungmin clapped his hands once, the way other people rang a bell. “Before we start, ground rules—”
A chorus of groans rose instantly.
“Oh my god,” Jisung said, throwing his head back. “He turned Secret Santa into a briefing.”
“It’s called preventing chaos,” Seungmin replied. “Rule one: we go one at a time. Rule two: we do not pretend to be surprised when every nose in this room knows exactly who touched what. Rule three: anyone who says ‘Santa was here’ in a sexy voice eats plain rice for the rest of the trip.”
Hyunjin snapped his fingers. “There goes my whole personality.”
Changbin pointed at Seungmin with his mug. “What happens if we break a rule?”
“I reassign all good gifts to myself,” Seungmin said without hesitation. “And you get dish duty.”
Silence. The pack considered this, scents tilting wary.
“See?” he added, satisfied. “Effective regulation.”
“Festive tyrant,” Jisung muttered, but he was already bouncing in place. “Fine. Start before I chew open a present with my teeth.”
Jeongin popped up like a launched cork. “Great, I’m Santa,” he declared, already beelining for the tree. “The competent kind, not the criminally overworked one.”
The pile of presents waited underneath, messy and shiny, a chaos of paper and ribbon. Jeongin crouched, studying it like evidence at a crime scene.
“This one,” he said, plucking up a small rectangle wrapped in paper that had clearly fought back, “has the structural integrity of a wet tissue but a lot of heart.” He squinted at the tag. “To Jisung.”
He handed it over with both hands and a solemn nod, like he was presenting an award.
Jisung clutched it to his chest. “It feels like destiny.”
“Destiny doesn’t use this much tape,” Seungmin murmured.
Jisung flipped the tag, caught Minho’s neat handwriting, and his wolf did a full-body wag.
He tore in like a kid. Paper flew. A lyric pad emerged, thick, good paper, cover already speckled with tiny star doodles. Inside, the first page was lined with color-coded sticky tabs waiting in a neat row, ready to be deployed.
Jisung shrieked like he’d been electrocuted. “Whoever did this knows my soul!” he cried, immediately peeling off four tabs and plastering them to Minho’s forehead. “Look at him. He’s a system now.”
Minho’s mouth twitched. His wolf wagged exactly once.
Jeongin was already fishing out the next one. “We have here,” he declared, holding up a beautifully wrapped, perfectly squared box with crisp corners and a single, elegant bow, “someone with terrifying fine-motor control and too much free time.” He checked the tag. “For Hyunjin.”
Hyunjin gasped. “Finally, a package that matches my soul.” He took it with a flourish and peeled the paper back carefully, like he was undressing a lover.
Inside: a selection of imported face masks, all sleek packaging and promises of radiance.
Hyunjin pressed a hand to his heart. “Seen. Cherished. Validated,” he announced.
Jeongin tried to look innocent and failed immediately.
Another rustle, another prize. Jeongin pulled out a lumpy, suspiciously heavy bundle that looked like three different kinds of paper had been involved in its survival. “Okay,” he said. “This one is… a cry for help.” He flipped the tag. “Changbin.”
Changbin pointed at himself, offended. “Why does that feel like an attack?”
“If the tape fits,” Hyunjin said sweetly, already petting the messed-up edges like they needed reassurance.
Changbin ripped it open with all the subtlety of a landslide. A heavy knit scarf spilled out—thick, soft, clearly expensive, dyed a color that made his eyes look warmer.
He groaned, but his wolf purred low, tail thumping once. “Fine. I’m loved. Whatever.” He wrapped it around his neck. Twice. Then a third time. He did not take it off.
Jeongin snorted and dug deeper. “Ah. Compact. Efficient. Tag written like a threat.” He held up a cleanly wrapped insulated cylinder with no ribbon at all. “This radiates Seungmin energy,” he narrated. “And it is, in fact, for Seungmin.”
Seungmin accepted it with a long, put-upon sigh. “I look forward to seeing which of you failed basic folding.”
“That’s the opposite of failing,” Changbin muttered, suddenly very interested in his own lap.
The paper came off in one neat peel. Inside waited a sturdy thermos, matte and criminally practical, with I’M RIGHT embossed on the side.
Seungmin stared at it for a beat, then held it aloft, deadpan. “Finally,” he said. “Proof in writing.”
The room howled.
Paper rustled again. Jeongin surfaced with a parcel that looked like someone had started out strong and then lost the will to live halfway through. One corner was slightly crumpled; the ribbon looked like it had been tied during an earthquake.
“This one,” he announced, “has big ‘I tried and then panicked’ energy.” He squinted at the tag. “For Jeongin.”
Jisung immediately tried to look innocent and also failed.
Jeongin tore it open. Out spilled a pair of novelty socks, thick and ridiculous, printed with tiny wolves and cartoon moons and some glitter that probably shouldn’t go in the wash.
His tail wagged like a flag. “Oh,” he breathed, already pulling them on over his current socks. “These are a personality.”
“You’re welcome,” Jisung said, preening. “Now you can leave little paw prints everywhere.”
“You’re the paw print,” Seungmin muttered, but his mouth was soft.
Jeongin dove back under the branches. “We have here,” he said, hauling out a long, narrow box wrapped in simple brown paper and tied with dark string, “a minimalist cry for help that smells like sharp things.” He checked the tag. “For Minho.”
Minho took it with both hands, expression steady. His wolf wagged its tail once like a metronome.
The paper parted cleanly. Inside lay a chef’s knife, sleek as moonlight, handle balanced perfectly in his palm. He tested the weight automatically. The room held its breath while he reached for the nearest apple, set it on a plate, and sliced. The blade went through like the fruit had only dreamed of resistance.
His wolf hummed reverently.
“It’s fine,” Minho said, but the quiet in his voice made it sound like a prayer.
Seungmin looked away like it was indecent.
Finally, Jeongin plucked up a flatter parcel with snowflake paper and slightly uneven edges. He turned it over in his hands like it might purr. “This one’s trying very hard to be neat,” he decided. “Got betrayed by the scissors, but the bow is cute. For Chan.”
Chan’s ears went a little pink. Felix’s wolf did a guilty roll under his ribs.
Chan opened it the way he opened everything that mattered, with patience. Paper sighed, ribbon yielded, leather emerged. Dark as good coffee, soft and simple. On the bottom corner, blind-debossed in small, clean letters: Bahng Christopher Chahn, quiet as a promise.
Inside, a note peeked from the pocket. He slid it free, read it silently, but the air shifted when the words landed:
For your future songs, I like how you write in the quiet.
Sea-salt deepened, buckling through the room like the fire had flared. Chan looked up, eyes bright in a way that made Felix’s stomach swoop.
“I—” He laughed on the exhale, soft and a little wrecked. “Thank you,” he said, and the thank you carried weight enough for all the unsaid things.
Hyunjin clutched his chest. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be deceased.”
“That leaves one,” Jeongin said finally, fishing out the last small box from under the tree. The wrapping was clumsy but determined, the ribbon stubborn at one corner like it had refused to cooperate. “This,” he declared, “was definitely a fight. For Felix.”
Felix’s parcel sat waiting in his lap a heartbeat later, small and oddly heavy. He tore the paper loose, lifted the lid, and found a snow globe nestled in velvet. Small enough for his palm, heavy enough to insist on being held.
Inside, two snowmen leaned together in a tiny drift one taller, one with a crooked smile. Two smaller snowballs at their feet, placed off-center just enough to look like family rather than decoration.
Felix blinked twice. He shook it gently, flurries swirled, catching the lamplight like the mountain had been caught and made kind.
“It’s stupid,” Chan blurted, sea-salt spiking sharp with nerves. “I saw it and… they had this guy in town who makes custom ones? And I thought you said stability, so I showed him the picture of our snowmen and then it was too late and—”
Felix pressed the globe to his chest. His throat closed; his wolf hummed steady and low, curling around the tiny glass family like it wanted to guard them.
“It’s perfect,” he said, and the word broke clean in the middle. “I love it.”
The pack exhaled in a chorus, some dramatic, some fond, some quietly envious.
Then Seungmin, mug tapping against his knee like a gavel, cut through the warmth. “You two do realize this was Secret Santa?” His voice was dry enough to chafe. “The point was mystery. Suspense. Not—” he gestured vaguely at the sea-salt and honey wrapped so thick it was practically dripping from the rafters, “whatever mating ritual you’ve just staged here.”
Jisung wheezed into his sleeve. Hyunjin declared, “History’s most obvious reveal.” Changbin laughed loud enough to shake the ornaments. Jeongin blinked at Felix and asked, guileless, “But you really do love it, right?”
Felix flushed scarlet, globe still clutched to his chest. Chan ducked his head, ears pink, wolf purring anyway.
Seungmin sighed the sigh of a man doomed to live among children. “Fine. I’ll allow it. But next year, I’m instituting rules.”
Hyunjin dabbed at nothing under his eye with a napkin. “So brave of you to flaunt your joy like this in front of the tragically beautiful,” he told the room, then beamed when Changbin’s arm landed around his shoulders and tugged him close. “Fine,” he amended, “we’re all disgusting.”
Felix tucked the snow globe back into its box as if tucking in a child. He held it against his chest like it might slip away if he didn’t. When he looked up, Chan was already looking at him, steady, warm, with the kind of focus that felt like a door opening only wide enough for one person.
Around them, the rest of the exchange spilled out in softer waves of laughter and chaos: Seungmin calling a hand-knit hat “functional” like it was a sonnet; Jeongin flexing his new socks like they were a superpower; Jisung reorganizing his tabs by color; Hyunjin arranging his face masks in a halo on the table; Minho still, every so often, glancing at his knife like it might vanish.
Paper littered the floor; ribbons coiled like shed fur. Wolves leaned into each other, brushing shoulders, brushing scents, the tree blinking gentle approval over all of it.
For a little while, there was nothing but warmth: sea-salt and honey, ink and bread, smoke and spice, coffee and paper, all threaded together into one, dense, den-scented thing. The first Christmas Eve of this new thing between them, none of their wolves felt alone at all.
“Enough sentimentality, off to the kitchen,” Seungmin declared, clapping his hands once. “Hot chocolate and cleanup. If you’re not doing one, you’re doing the other.”
The pack broke apart in a tide of motion, some dragging dishes, others reaching for mugs. Wolves brushed shoulders in passing, scents weaving into the air like threads in a blanket. Felix rose with them, ready to follow, until he felt sea-salt curl tighter around his own honey.
In the shifting, Chan was suddenly there between him and the hall, not blocking, just there. His scent pressed close, steadying. For a heartbeat the cabin seemed to hush: voices muffled by walls, the fire’s crackle softened, even the clatter of dishes faded.
Chan bent his head, low enough that only Felix could hear. “Come here,” he said. Not loud, not for anyone else. Just for him.
His fingers brushed Felix’s wrist, light, not a grip, but a call. The kind that carried more than hands could: a wolf’s tug, a heart’s pull.
Felix followed. He couldn’t not. The hallway felt like it belonged to them alone as Chan led him toward the stairs, steps quiet, sea-salt wrapping every inch of space they passed.
— ❆❇❆ —
They stood in Chan’s room in front of the lake window. Night pressed close outside, folding the water into shadow, but the glass gave them back their reflection: lamp-warmth, two wolves standing in the same breath. The bed was messy in the way of a real nest, blankets pushed into heaps, pillows scattered. A sweater hung from the chair like a flag of truce left behind. On the desk, a plain brown box sat beside a dark leather journal, the green ribbon still half-curled around it.
Felix’s honey curled thick in the air, nerves sweetening it, while Chan’s sea-salt burned steady, low and grounding. They didn’t move for a beat, just let their wolves circle each other tails brushing invisible arcs, ears tipped forward.
Then Chan lifted a hand and cupped Felix’s cheek, like the shape had been waiting for his palm since forever. His thumb swept the curve of a smile. “Thank you,” he murmured, voice rough but soft. “For the journal. For everything.”
Felix leaned into it instantly, no hesitation, his wolf purring loud enough it rattled in his chest. “Thank you,” he whispered back. Then he rose onto his toes and kissed him.
It was gentle at first, kisses meant to soothe, to reassure, to linger. Chan’s hand slid to the back of Felix’s neck, pressing steady warmth there like a seal. Felix’s fingers snuck under his shirt, brushing hot skin, and Chan groaned into the kiss like his wolf had been waiting years for that touch.
“Stay,” Felix breathed against his mouth, a little desperate. “Forever.”
Chan’s jaw worked, like language was too small for what he wanted to give. “Always,” he said at last, and the word went through Felix’s bones like a spark catching kindling.
Undressing turned ridiculous fast, sleeves catching, socks flung, Felix laughing when Chan cursed softly at a stubborn button like it had personally betrayed him. Chan’s fingers fumbled; Felix’s weren’t much better. Every time they got one layer off, they found a new excuse to stop and touch.
Wolves purred the whole way through. Chan nosed into Felix’s curls like he needed to memorize every strand, breathing sea-salt against his scalp. Felix licked his jaw in retaliation, quick and playful, like a pup grooming back. Chan huffed a laugh and chased his mouth, catching it in a kiss that started out grinning and turned slow, deep, hungry.
“Impatient,” Felix teased against his lips, voice already gone a little breathless.
“Making up for lost time,” Chan muttered, hands sliding under the hem of Felix’s shirt, palms hot and reverent on bare skin. His wolf pressed close behind his ribs, tail beating, ears tipped forward like yes, here, finally.
They kissed between every half-fumbled layer, shirt, then hoodie, then the soft drag of fabric over shoulders. Felix giggled when Chan’s sweater got stuck halfway over his head. Chan growled at the sweater, Felix tugged it free, and then Chan’s hands were back on him like they’d been waiting years for the interruption to end.
Somewhere in the middle of it, Felix’s back found the mattress. Not hard, not careless just Chan following the line of his body down, guiding him with a hand at his waist. The bed caught them; the blankets rose around them in a nest, warm and familiar. Pillows slid to the floor in soft thumps. The lamp threw a golden pool over the sheets; on the desk, leather and glass glinted, journal and snow globe silent witnesses in the corner of Felix’s eye.
Chan hovered over him for a heartbeat, braced on his forearms, breath shaking, pupils blown. “You okay?” he asked, wolf holding itself just back, chest heaving with the effort.
Felix’s answer was to curl both legs around his hips and drag him down properly, honey spilling hot and sure into the air. “I’m perfect,” he said, and the word landed like permission.
Sea-salt sank deeper, thick and warm, wrapping him like a tide. Chan dipped his head to Felix’s throat, mouth following the map he’d left the night before, fading marks, tender skin. He kissed each one like an apology and a promise at once, teeth grazing just enough to make Felix shiver. Felix’s hands skimmed over his back, tracing the lines of muscle, nails biting in when Chan found a spot that made his wolf stutter and keen.
Blankets tangled; their legs did too. The room narrowed to heat and breath and small, helpless sounds. Scents thickened, honey dripping low, sea-salt flooding deeper, until the air itself felt like a den carved from gold and warmth and mine. Hands learned, mapping new paths over familiar skin. Mouths thanked, over and over, in kisses that were more vow than question. Wolves pressed closer and closer until there was nowhere left they weren’t touching.
Words frayed first. Laughter broke apart into gasps, into whispered names, into small, broken yeses that weren’t really language anymore,just feeling.
When it finally became too much to talk at all, they stopped trying. They just held on and let the night write the rest.
Afterward, the world narrowed to breath and warmth. Felix lay with his cheek on Chan’s chest, palm spread over the steady thump of his heart like he was keeping time.
Chan pressed a kiss into Felix’s hair. Then another, softer. “Still okay?” he asked, voice rough with joy.
Felix answered by nosing closer, breathing him in like sea-salt was oxygen. “More than.”
They stayed like that, trading small touches that didn’t ask for anything, a thumb tracing a collarbone, a nose tucked into curls, a quiet laugh when Felix licked Chan’s jaw just to feel him huff.
Eventually, Felix spoke, voice small but steady.
“I don’t want this to be just Christmas.”
Chan exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for days. He cupped Felix’s face, thumbs warm against flushed skin. “It won’t be,” he said. “Not for me.”
Felix’s lashes fluttered. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
Downstairs, the house shifted, laughter, a cupboard, life continuing and then settled again.
Felix reached for the snow globe on the nightstand and pressed it into Chan’s palm. “Shake it.”
Chan did. Snow spun around the two crooked snowmen inside, soft and endless.
“See?” Felix murmured. “It keeps snowing. And they’re okay.”
Chan swallowed. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “They are.”
He set it down and pulled Felix closer until there was no space left to fill.
“Sleep,” he murmured.
Felix purred, already drifting. “Staying,” he mumbled. “Always.”
“Good,” Chan breathed. “Stay.”
Outside, the mountain kept watch.
Inside, under tangled blankets and braided scent, two wolves slept — finally, unmistakably home.
— ❆❇❆ —
Weeks Later
Winter in the city never looked like the mountain. Too much gray, too much noise. But on some mornings, when the air pushed through the window clean enough, Felix could close his eyes and taste pine anyway. He kept the snow globe beside the bed, two tiny snowmen under glass, two smaller snowballs at their feet. If he shook it before sleep, the flurry always settled by the time he woke, and he liked that. Proof that even small storms knew how to rest.
They weren’t officially living together. On paper, Chan still had his own place, his own rent, his own set of keys. In practice, his sea-salt scent lived in the hallway, his extra hoodie lived on the back of Felix’s desk chair, and his toothbrush lived in Felix’s cup like it had never belonged anywhere else. Some nights he texted "staying at mine,” and still ended up here, shoes half-tied, journal under his arm, like his wolf had walked on autopilot.
Life folded itself into new shapes anyway: shared breakfasts, shared playlists, shared laundry because apparently Chan had a vendetta against shirts living on chairs.
They wrote side by side on the couch, Felix with a pencil tucked behind his ear, Chan with the leather journal balanced across his thigh. Sometimes Felix caught him rubbing his thumb over the embossed name without noticing. Sometimes Chan caught Felix doing the same to the globe.
The first difference arrived on a Tuesday, the kind of Tuesday too dull to expect anything from. Felix stood rinsing an apple, and something inside tilted. Not sickness, just… off. Breakfast made him queasy, then ravenous, then sleepy, all in sequence. His body burned warm where it shouldn’t, then shivered cold where it shouldn’t, as if the world had shifted half a degree and left his wolf fumbling to adjust its paws.
Then Chan stepped behind him, reaching for a mug. Sea-salt spilled over Felix’s shoulders, low and steady, and Felix’s stomach calmed instantly, like someone had pressed a hand over it and said hush.
He didn’t overthink it. Not yet. Bodies had moods. Wolves had seasons.
But the days began arranging themselves into a pattern.
In the mornings, his scent went soft and pale, sweet as custard; by evening it turned dense and warm, like there was a low fire under his ribs. Sleep grew heavy and greedy, nesting sleep. He wanted blankets, softness, the weight of Chan’s sweater stretched into his shape. One afternoon he caught himself rearranging couch pillows into a circle, then curled in the middle and laughed at his own ridiculousness until the laugh faded and he realized he didn’t want to move.
At movie night, it got harder to ignore.
They’d all crammed into Changbin and Hyunjin’s living room, wolves draped over every surface. Halfway through the film, Jisung suddenly squinted across the sofa, nostrils flaring.
“You smell weird,” he announced.
Felix, halfway through a handful of popcorn, froze. “Thank you?”
Jisung frowned, nose twitching like it was personally offended. “Not bad weird. Just… different. Like—” He waved a hand helplessly. “Like honey, but… heavier? Warmer? Ugh. Minho, translate. My brain is buffering.”
Minho inhaled once, thoughtful. His alpha softened around the edges, something quiet and instinctive smoothing out his stare. “It’s deeper,” he said slowly. “Richer. Like it’s… folded around something.”
Chan’s shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly. Sea-salt thickened, instinctive and close, wrapping around Felix’s honey like a shield. “He smells like Felix,” Chan said flatly. “That’s enough.”
Jisung blinked, taken aback by the edge in his voice. “Okay, territorial much?”
Chan muttered something about the movie and shoved more popcorn into his mouth. Felix forced a grin, but his wolf shuffled its paws, suddenly too aware of every breath.
— ❆❇❆ —
Two days later, Felix’s kitchen was crowded again, one of those loose pack mornings where everyone drifted in for coffee and somehow stayed.
Minho slid in behind Felix to grab a pan from the rack, close enough that his breath brushed the back of Felix’s neck.
Felix didn’t even notice; he was busy trying to decide if he wanted toast, eggs, or to lie down on the floor and never move again.
Chan noticed.
The growl came out of him before anyone’s brain had time to catch up: low, rough, the kind that came from the spine rather than the throat. Sea-salt snapped sharp in the air, all teeth and waves hitting rock. He stepped between them without thinking, one hand landing on Felix’s hip like a claim.
Minho froze mid-reach, pan in his fingers. Slowly, carefully, he set it back down.
The whole kitchen went still. Even Jisung stopped chewing.
Chan blinked like he’d just woken up. “Shit,” he breathed. “Sorry. I don’t— I wasn’t—”
Minho held his hands up, palms outward, voice calm. “It’s fine. No harm done.” His wolf eased back a step, making space. But his eyes stayed sharp, taking in everything.
From the table, Jisung whispered, “We’re all gonna die, aren’t we,” like it was a documentary voiceover.
Chan scrubbed a hand over his face, mortified. “Maybe my rut’s coming early,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “That’s probably it. Hormones. Whatever.”
The word rut landed in Felix’s chest with a strange, precise weight.
Heat answered it.
Not in his body, not yet but in memory. A calendar page flipping over in his mind. He counted backwards without meaning to. Last full heat, last set of cramps-that-weren’t, last time he’d shoved the thought away because there had been storms and cabins and survival and Chan, Chan, Chan.
The numbers didn’t line up.
His wolf went very quiet. Not scared, just careful. Like it had stepped up to the edge of something big and was peering down without breathing.
He didn’t say anything. Not then. Not when Chan busied himself making eggs and apologizing again. Not when Minho nudged Jisung with his knee until the dramatics restarted and the moment blurred under noise.
But that night, when Chan fell asleep first, sprawled half on top of him like always, Felix lay awake with his hand spread over his own stomach, counting days in the dark and losing track on purpose.
The pattern only sharpened.
Smells that had never bothered him suddenly hit too bright, coffee grounds too bitter, dish soap too chemical, Jisung’s cologne an unprovoked attack. He burst into tears over a stupid ad where a grandma burned cookies and then laughed, and then cried harder because she laughed.
His wolf refused to let him leave the apartment without one of Chan’s hoodies, even if Chan wasn’t coming with him.
Nesting went from funny to nonnegotiable; he woke up one morning halfway through building a blanket fort around the headboard like some kind of honey-scented goblin.
He was still blinking himself awake in the middle of the heap when the bedroom door creaked.
Chan paused in the doorway, hair messy, sweatshirt half on, taking in the scene like he’d walked into a crime he was somehow proud of.
Felix stared back, eyes puffy, blanket wrapped around his shoulders like armor.
"…Hi,” Felix said weakly.
Chan’s expression melted, soft first, then amused, then so tender it made Felix’s chest hurt. “Baby,” he murmured, like the word slipped out before he could stop it. He crossed the room and climbed into the fort without hesitation, knees sinking into the blankets. “You look like a pastry someone forgot to plate.”
Felix made a sound that was half laugh, half whine. “I’m… having a day.”
“I can tell.” Chan tugged the blanket higher around him with careful fingers, like tucking in something precious. Then he pressed his nose briefly to Felix’s hair, breathing in slow. His wolf purred, pleased, as if it had found the den it was looking for.
“Good fort,” he added, voice warm. “Very secure. Very… dramatic.”
Felix laughed and it cracked into a sudden, stupid sob.
Chan didn’t flinch. He just wrapped an arm around Felix’s waist and pulled him closer until Felix’s face ended up pressed into his shoulder, hoodie-soft and salt-warm.
“Shh,” Chan murmured, rocking him a little. “It’s okay. You can be weird. I like you weird.”
Felix sniffed, muffled. “I’m not trying to be weird.”
“I know,” Chan said, kissing his temple once. “Your wolf is.”
Felix’s wolf huffed in offense. Chan’s wolf huffed right back, smug. The omega giggled through tears. “You’re both awful.”
Chan smiled against his hair. “Yeah,” he said softly. “But we’re here.”
Seungmin noticed first, because Seungmin paid attention to bodies the way other people paid attention to weather—subtle shifts, pressure drops, the warning signs before a storm.
He texted once—you home?—and showed up twenty minutes later with soup, extra bread, and his usual glare, which never fooled anyone. There was also a little paper bag in his hand that clinked softly when he set it down, like he’d brought supplies for a disaster he refused to name. He took one look at the living room and went very still.
The couch was no longer a couch. It was a big nest, pillows arranged with intent, blankets layered like insulation, Chan’s hoodie folded dead center like an offering. Felix sat in the middle of it all, hair a mess, eyes too shiny, his wolf curled tight around… something.
Seungmin’s glare didn’t soften. It sharpened. “You’re nesting,” he observed flatly.
Felix opened his mouth to deny it, looked around, and had to shut it again. “I like blankets,” he tried.
“You hate clutter,” Seungmin countered. He stepped closer, not into the nest, never into the nest, but close enough that his beta calm smoothed the air like a hand over a fever. His eyes narrowed, not unkindly, just precise. “You’ve cried at three adverts in a row. Your scent’s shifted. Chan nearly bit Minho’s head off for existing within a two-meter radius.”
His gaze dipped, quick and clinical, to Felix’s middle. “And your heat’s late.”
Felix’s heart stuttered. His wolf pushed closer to the surface, quiet, braced, not panicking, just… present.
Seungmin exhaled slowly, as if the last piece had clicked into place. He turned, set the soup on the counter with unnecessary care, and because he was Seungmin, adjusted the spoon so it wouldn’t fall off the rim. Then he came back to the edge of the nest.
“Congratulations—” he started, then stopped himself. His eyes flicked up, reading Felix’s face like a chart, and he corrected smoothly, without making it a big thing. “Or: you deserve to know something might be happening.”
Felix swallowed. “You think—”
“I think,” Seungmin said quietly, “that you already know enough to be scared.” His voice gentled. Not soft, exactly, Seungmin didn’t do soft but careful. “So don’t do the thing where you sit with it alone until you implode.”
He tipped his chin toward the bedroom, where Chan’s things had been migrating for weeks like they’d been claiming territory one sock at a time. “Tell him.”
He didn’t say what. He didn’t have to.
Then he reached out and squeezed Felix’s ankle through the blanket, brief, awkward, very Seungmin, like he’d googled how to comfort someone and picked the least embarrassing option. After a beat, he also tugged the blanket edge up over Felix’s foot, like he hadn’t done anything at all.
“The soup’s on the counter,” he added, businesslike again, already backing away. “Eat before you pass out.”
He paused at the door, hand on the handle, and looked back like an afterthought.
“Oh, and if Chan tries to blame his rut again, remind him I own a calendar.”
Seungmin nodded once, satisfied, and pointed at the little paper bag on the counter. “Electrolytes. Ginger chews. And vitamin gummies. Don’t argue with me.”
Then he left with the same quiet he’d come in with, the door clicking shut behind him like punctuation.
Felix stared at the door a second too long, heart beating fast and careful. He didn’t text Chan. If he typed the words, they would become real in a way he couldn’t take back.
So he did the only thing his wolf would accept: he went out.
He dressed like he was committing a crime. Hoodie. Cap. Sunglasses even though the sky was the color of wet concrete. He paused at the mirror, blinked at his own reflection, oversized glasses, tense mouth, too-bright eyes and felt briefly ridiculous. Then his wolf nudged, impatient. Go.
The corner pharmacy was only five minutes away, but Felix took the longer route anyway, ducking down side streets like the city might recognize him by scent and point. Cold air bit his cheeks; his hands stayed damp inside his sleeves.
Under fluorescent lights, he moved fast, head down, sunglasses still on like that would make him invisible. He grabbed a pregnancy test without looking at the brand, the price, the consequences. The box felt absurdly small in his hand. Like something that couldn’t possibly hold a whole future. Panic hit two aisles later.
He doubled back and started shoveling “normal” into his basket—batteries, dish soap, toothpaste he didn’t need, a pack of gum, a sponge, anything. Anything that said I’m just a person doing errands instead of I’m terrified.
At the register, he kept his face carefully blank. The cashier didn’t even glance up, just beeped items through with the bored mercy of someone who’d seen everything.
Felix nodded like a normal person. Smiled like a normal person. Walked out like his knees weren’t shaking.
Outside, he peeled the sunglasses down for one breath and stared at the bag in his hand. His wolf sat heavy in his chest, very still. Find out, it insisted. Now.
Back in the apartment, he dropped the camouflage items on the table, gummies, batteries, dish soap, all spilling out in guilty silence and took just the small white box with him down the hallway.
He might have tried to stall, make tea, tidy something that didn’t need tidying but his wolf had other ideas. It pushed, firm and insistent, nudging him toward the bathroom with the same steady urgency it used for den now in storms.
Find out, it kept insisting, tail up, ears sharp. Now.
Felix shut the door with his heel, hands clumsy as he opened the box, read the instructions twice even though they weren’t complicated, did what he had to do. When he set the test on the sink, his fingers shook so badly he had to grip the edge of the counter to keep from knocking it over.
He sank down onto the closed lid of the toilet, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. For a moment he just listened to his own breathing and the faint hum of the pipes.
Then he smelled it. Not in a sudden, dramatic wave, more in layers, like someone had turned up the volume on something that had been playing under the surface for days. His own honey was still there, familiar and warm, but softened and deepened; under it, something new had crept in. A faint, milky warmth. The barest edge of salt that wasn’t Chan’s sea-salt, but echoed it, gentler, like a memory.
His wolf went very still. Ears forward. Tail curled close, trembling. Ours, it breathed, awed. Not a question, just a Fact.
Felix swallowed hard, throat tight. His first thought wasn’t this can’t be happening. It was of course it is, like his body and his wolf had simply been waiting for his brain to catch up.
By the time the timer on his phone buzzed, some part of him already knew. The test was only going to put ink on what his scent had already written.
He stood on unsteady legs and leaned over the sink. Two lines.
His wolf exploded, pure joy, tail whipping, a rush of warmth so intense it made him dizzy. It pressed up against his ribs, yipping wordless delight, already trying to tuck itself around the new, fragile center of him.
Felix… didn’t break so cleanly. The first sound that escaped was a laugh, wet, shaky, disbelieving. The second was a strangled little sob he caught in the sleeve of Chan’s stretched-out hoodie. Not fear, not exactly. More like standing at the edge of the mountain again: the drop terrifying, the view enormous, the air too big for his lungs.
“Okay,” he whispered to nobody, eyes burning. “Okay.”
He sat there until the sweep hand circled twice, letting his wolf spin out happiness while his human brain catalogued worries: money, timing, his overdue heat, Chan’s next rut, the future shifting shape around them. Through all of it, that new note in his scent stayed steady, honey, with a soft, milky-salty undercurrent that felt like a hand on his back, guiding. Here. This way.
Finally, he picked up the test like it might bruise and walked to the bedroom on legs that had been asked to be both roots and wings.
On the nightstand, he set the test down next to the snow globe. For a moment they sat side by side: tiny winter, tiny future. A stripe of lamp light crossed both like underlining. Felix’s chest swelled until he thought it might float him off the floor.
To keep the feeling from slipping away, he picked up the globe and pressed it to his sternum.
He found himself smiling through the last of his tears. “Okay,” he told the room again, voice hoarse, but a little steadier now. “Okay.”
His wolf purred, low and certain, tail curling around the truth even as the human part of him still shook, already worrying about how to tell Chan, what this meant, how big their life had just become.
— ❆❇❆ —
Chan came over at dusk, the city still clinging to him, cold on his coat, sharp air caught in his hair. His sea-salt hit the doorway first, then the hall, warm and anchoring, like his body had brought the ocean home on purpose.
He toed off his boots, shook his head once like a dog flinging off snow, and Felix’s eyes stung for absolutely no sensible reason.
“Hey,” Chan called, voice soft, ordinary. Then he paused, reading the air the way only he could. The grocery bag in his hand lowered an inch, forgotten, like even the fruit didn’t deserve to be dropped in a moment like this. His wolf leaned forward, ears pricked.
“You okay?”
Felix had meant to be smooth about this. Maybe light a candle. Maybe rehearse a sentence that didn’t sound like he was about to faint.
Instead he just stood there in the living room, test hidden behind his back like contraband, palms damp, heart doing small violent things in his ribs.
“Can you…” His voice caught. He cleared it, tried again, softer. “Can you come here?”
Chan crossed the room instantly. Concern sharpened in his sea-salt, protective and ready, but Felix stepped into him before it could crest. He pressed his face into the scarf still looped around Chan’s neck and breathed him in, salt and winter and home. It settled his whole body like a warm hand placed right between his shoulder blades.
“Felix.” Chan’s hands found his jaw, thumbs gentle at the hinge. His wolf whined, low and pleading, like tell me, tell me, tell me. “Talk to me.”
Felix pulled back just enough to see his eyes. His throat tightened.
He took Chan’s left hand in both of his and placed the test into it, careful, like it might shatter. Chan looked down. Two lines. Plain ink. Simple.
For half a heartbeat, nothing moved. His brain tried to catch up to what his body already knew. Then his wolf did what wolves always did, it inhaled, deep, and landed on the truth in Felix’s scent: honey, rounder now, softer at the edges, carrying a new warmth underneath. Milk-sweet. Familiar in a way that made Chan’s chest go painfully tender.
Sea-salt flooded the room, no warning, no teeth, just overwhelmed. Like a wave that didn’t knock you down so much as make you forget you’d ever been standing.
“Oh,” Chan breathed. It came out small. It came out broken. His knees almost gave.
“God.” He blinked hard, like it would help. “How—” A laugh cracked out of him, helpless, disbelieving. “It’s you. It’s— Felix, it’s you.”
Felix let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob, and wiped his cheek with the back of his wrist like that would make him dignified. “Yeah.”
Chan looked up, needing the word from Felix’s mouth anyway, like his wolf wouldn’t let him hold it unless it was spoken.
“Yeah?” he whispered, voice shaking.
Felix’s smile wobbled, but it was real. “Yeah.”
They both stared at each other for a stupid second, like two idiots who’d just been handed a miracle and didn’t know where to put their hands.
Chan’s mouth opened like he was about to say something responsible. He did not.
He made a soft, wrecked sound and carefully set the test on the coffee table as if it were holy. Then he dropped to his knees on the rug like someone had unplugged him, palms braced on Felix’s hips with an instinctive gentleness that made Felix’s throat ache.
“Okay,” Chan whispered, as if to himself. “Okay, hi.”
He leaned in and pressed his mouth to Felix’s abdomen through cotton, reverent and warm, and Felix’s entire soul went soft.
“Hi,” Chan said again, voice cracking on the smallest word. “Hey there. It’s me.” His wolf hummed so hard it felt like it vibrated through the floorboards. “I’m—” Another broken laugh. “I’m your… I’m here. I’m already here.”
Felix slid his fingers into Chan’s hair and laughed because joy without sound hurt. Tears slipped anyway. His honey went thick and sweet and enormous, filling the apartment until it felt like even the walls leaned closer to listen.
Chan kissed him again, one more, and then one more, like he couldn’t stop himself, like each kiss was a promise he didn’t have language for yet. Then he rested his forehead there, still, breathing.
“I’m going to be so good at this,” he whispered, ridiculous and completely sincere. “The best dad. I’m gonna—” He hiccuped on a laugh, wiping at his face with the heel of his hand like that wasn’t allowed to happen to him. “I’m gonna make lists. I’ll make binders. I’ll—”
Felix sniffed, trying to look stern through tears and failing. “If you make a binder, I’m divorcing you before we’re even married.”
Chan looked up, eyes bright and wet and completely wrecked by happiness. “Okay,” he said earnestly. “No binders. Just… aggressive note-taking.”
Felix tugged gently at his hair. “Come here. I want to see your face, not just the part talking to my stomach.”
Chan scrambled up like he’d been summoned, all limbs and urgency, and the second he was standing he wrapped Felix up, careful, careful, like Felix was made of something precious. His sea-salt pressed in close, warm and steady, and his wolf curled around Felix’s wolf like it had found its place at last.
“I love you,” Chan said into Felix’s hair, like it was the simplest fact in the world. Then, quieter—almost scared by how big it felt—“I love you so much.”
Felix squeezed his eyes shut and let himself lean. “Yeah,” he whispered, smiling into the scarf. “I know.”
Chan’s mouth trembled into a grin. “We’ll tell the others when you’re ready,” he said. “No rush. A day. A week. A month. Just us, if that’s what you want.”
“Maybe… just us, for a little,” Felix admitted. “I want to breathe first. Though Seungmin already knows.”
“Of course he does,” Chan groaned, fond and exasperated at once. “He probably knew before you did.”
“He brought soup and said ‘congratulations’ with his eyebrows,” Felix confessed.
“That tracks,” Chan said, and wrapped him up again until the edges of the world blurred and the future fit between their chests.
They spent the evening doing ordinary things that felt like magic because of whose hands were doing them. Soup warmed on the stove, steam curling through the kitchen. Chan fussed with the kettle, then the couch blanket, then the thermostat, twice, until Felix caught his sleeve and tugged him down onto the cushions.
“Enough,” Felix said, amusement tugging at his mouth. He nudged a pillow into place with unnecessary precision. “My turn. Sit.”
Chan blinked at him.Then, like a dog hearing his favorite word, his whole body gave up on pacing at once. He folded down with a soft huff, shoulders dropping, gaze flicking up to Felix’s face like he was waiting for the next instruction.
Felix’s mouth twitched. “Good.”
Chan made an offended little sound that wasn’t offended at all, and stayed exactly where he’d been told. Every time Felix shifted, he was there, nose pressed to curls, lips brushing temple, sea-salt curling close like he could weave protection into the air itself.
“You’re obsessed,” Felix said quietly, not really complaining.
“Yeah,” Chan admitted, unashamed, voice muffled into his hair. “Can’t help it. You smell… different. I don’t want to miss a second.” His wolf purred so hard Felix could feel it through his ribs.
Before bed, Felix carried the test to the bedroom and set it beside the snow globe. Chan followed like he thought Felix might tip over if he breathed wrong, one hand hovering near his back, ready to catch.
Two tiny objects on the nightstand: one glass winter, one plastic future.
Chan stared at them for a long second, like his brain needed to see it to believe it. Then he reached out and adjusted them, careful, absurdly gentle, lining them up perfectly side by side. He even nudged the snow globe a millimeter so the little snowmen faced forward, like they were included in the meeting.
“Okay,” he murmured, more to himself than anything. Then he looked at Felix, eyes bright with that stubborn, soft kind of certainty. “Teamwork.”
Felix’s mouth twitched. “You’re really doing this.”
“I’m really doing this,” Chan said, solemn as a vow, and then his wolf huffed smug approval.
When they lay down, Chan curled in close like it was instinct, like his body had already decided Felix was the whole center of the room. His arm tucked around Felix’s waist; his hand settled over the gentle curve of Felix’s belly, protective without thinking, reverent without words, warm like a promise.
Felix’s honey sweetened in response, round and soft, filling the apartment until even the walls seemed to loosen.
Felix found the hem of Chan’s shirt and slipped his hand underneath, palm over his heart like always. Chan made a quiet sound, content, wrecked in the best way
and pressed his mouth into Felix’s hair.
“Sleep,” he whispered, voice low and sure. “I’ve got you. Both of you.” His wolf hummed it too, a steady, satisfied thrum, guarding, grateful, completely gone.
As Felix drifted, Chan shifted just enough to tuck himself lower. He hesitated, like he was asking permission from the air, then bent and pressed a gentle kiss to Felix’s abdomen, over cotton, over warmth, over something still impossibly small.
“I love you,” he whispered there, voice barely sound. Then, steadier, like a promise his wolf had already sworn: “I’ll keep you safe.”
Felix’s breath hitched in his sleep, honey blooming warmer, deeper. His wolf purred, pleased, certain.
Chan lingered for a heartbeat longer, forehead resting there, smiling like he’d been handed something sacred, then curled back around Felix, satisfied down to his bones.
Felix’s wolf purred, curling tight and careful around the new tiny warmth they couldn’t feel yet but somehow already knew.
He drifted off with the snow globe catching a faint glint on the nightstand—two crooked little snowmen standing in their drift—and the rare, impossible sense that forever had shifted quietly, making space without complaint. For one more.
— ❆❇❆ —
Next Christmas
The mountain a year later was all the same and all new. Snow found the same grooves, wind tested the same seams, the lake wore its glass like armor. The cabin smelled, before anything else, like memory layered thick into the walls.
They didn’t arrive together this year.
The first car pulled up mid-afternoon, tires crunching over old tracks. Hyunjin spilled out first, dragging two suitcases and a tote bag labeled FRAGILE: SKINCARE. Changbin unfolded himself from the passenger seat in three scarves and one questionable hat, making Seungmin sigh before the door was even shut. Jisung narrated the last curve of the road and then promptly fell asleep face-first into Minho’s shoulder when they parked. Jeongin climbed out last, arms wrapped around a still-warm casserole like it was crown jewels.
Inside the cabin, boots thudded, coats shook off snow, wolves padded through the rooms reacquainting themselves with every corner.
“They’re late,” Hyunjin announced, already rearranging the shoe rack for aesthetic purposes. “I want my baby time. I was promised baby time.”
“They had parents to visit,” Seungmin reminded him, checking his phone like it had personally offended him. “Plural. Grandparents outrank thirsty uncles.”
“We’re not thirsty,” Hyunjin objected. “We are emotionally invested.”
“You zoomed in on her toes for twenty minutes,” Jeongin said helpfully.
Hyunjin sniffed. “They’re proportionally perfect.”
Minho, stacking groceries on the counter, hid a smile. “They’ll come when they’re ready,” he said. “You saw the schedule. They’ve spent a week rotating between families.”
“And doctors,” Seungmin added, because someone had to. “And naps.”
“And Chan drives like there’s a Fabergé egg in the backseat,” Changbin muttered. “He sent a video. He took that highway exit at, like, three kilometers an hour.”
“He’s an alpha with a mate and a two-month-old,” Jisung said around a mouthful of chips. “He’s basically a hazard cone now.”
They laughed, grumbled, unpacked, and pretended not to check the window every ten minutes.
An hour later, the second car finally appeared, engine taking the last curve slow. It had snow on the hood and the look of a vehicle that had been stopped more often than it had been driven.
On the way up from the city, they’d pulled over three times: once because Seora fussed, once because Felix’s back did, once because Chan decided the windshield “looked wrong” and insisted on wiping it by hand. He had refused, flatly, absolutely, to let anyone else drive, even Felix.
“Snow, mountain, mate, pup,” he’d said, knuckles white on the steering wheel. “That’s a four-variable situation, so no.”
Now, as he cut the engine and the quiet pressed close, Felix unbuckled the small, precious weight from her seat with the kind of care that made his hands shake. Seora was more snowball than pup—swaddled in a padded white snowsuit with tiny ears on the hood, only the tip of her nose and the sweep of her lashes visible. His wolf hovered around the tiny wolf-scent like clouds around a peak.
“Ready?” Chan asked softly.
“Yeah,” Felix breathed.
They stepped up onto the porch together.
Felix crossed the threshold first and had to stop.
The cabin met him in a rush of inside smell, woodsmoke, pine, dinner still clinging to the air, the faint, layered ghosts of pack-scent from last year soaked into fabric and wood. Home, even before anyone spoke.
Then the air shifted as he and Chan fully stepped in. Sea-salt rolled in first from Chan, warm and bright from the cold; Felix’s own honey followed, deeper now, rounded with a new note, soft and milky at the edges, pup-sweet. The cabin answered with a soft, instinctive hush. Eight wolves, all at once, went very still around the smallest new presence among them.
No one could really see her yet, tucked deep in her ridiculous snowsuit. But they could smell her: the smallest new thread woven into their pack, bright and fragile and already theirs.
They’d all seen photos in the group chat. They’d screamed over grainy videos, argued about whose nose she had, sent far too many heart emojis. But this was the first time they could scent her properly, first time that tiny wolf heartbeat was real in the same room as theirs.
Felix looked down at the bundle in his arms, then up at Chan, who was grinning like a man stepping into sunlight after a year of tunnels.
“Home for the week,” Chan said, voice low and reverent. He bent and kissed Felix’s temple like it was his right, permission granted last Christmas, never revoked. Sea-salt folded thick around them both, his wolf practically curling a tail around Felix’s spine. “For all three of us.”
Hyunjin’s squeal could’ve cracked ice. “Give me my niece,” he demanded immediately, hands outstretched. “I want to meet the little princess… hand her over.”
“Absolutely not,” Changbin barked, widening his arms like a bouncer. “Fun uncle privileges come first.”
“You’re chaos uncle,” Seungmin corrected, already confiscating the diaper bag from Chan with long-suffering competence. “Fun uncle auditions will be held after you prove you can support a newborn’s head without flexing.”
Chan growled under his breath, sea-salt spiking sharp. “Nobody’s holding her yet.” He tucked Felix and the baby closer, shoulders braced, wolf bristling. “Not until she’s settled in. Back up.”
Felix laughed, tired and full and bright in a way that made the whole room feel warmer. His wolf purred low, pleased with all the fuss, tail curling possessively around both mate and pup. “You’re impossible,” he told Chan, fond.
“And you’re still standing in the doorway,” Seungmin cut in, voice all business with something stupidly soft underneath. “She’s going to overheat in the snowsuit. Couch, now, Snowsuit off.”
Felix huffed a laugh. “See? Uncle Min’s already in dad-mode.”
Chan grumbled but obeyed, shepherding Felix and Seora gently toward the sofa like he was escorting royalty through a war zone. The others flowed after them in a loose half-circle, jostling and shushing each other, all pretending they weren’t one second from breaking into a full-on stampede.
Felix sat carefully, cradling Seora in his lap. The snowsuit made faint crinkling sounds; somewhere under all that padding, a very small wolf shifted and huffed.
“Okay,” Felix murmured. “Let’s get you out of the marshmallow.”
Chan hovered so close his knee bumped Felix’s, hands half-lifted like he wanted to help and was terrified of doing it wrong.
Seungmin paused, eyebrows lifting in a silent question.
Felix nodded once, please, before he combusts and Seungmin moved in.
“You’re in the way,” Seungmin observed. “Alpha, hands off. Emotional guarding only, three centimeters to the left.” Then he popped the tiny snaps open with practiced fingers.
Chan actually shuffled three centimeters. No more, no less.
Seungmin slid the zipper down, and the world seemed to narrow with it—
the cabin, the snow, the mountain, everything funneled into the small, pink face slowly emerging from fleece and fluff.
First: the soft dark sweep of lashes.
Then a button nose, the faintest flush of cheeks.
Then a sleepy little mouth making tiny o shapes in the air like it was testing the concept of breathing.
And hair—so much hair—already curling at the edges the second the hood fell back. Seora wriggled once, offended at being unwrapped, and a tiny fist punched free, like she was ready to fight whoever put her in the marshmallow. The room stopped breathing.
“Oh,” Hyunjin whispered, one hand flying to his mouth. “Oh, she’s… unfair.”
“Tiny,” Jeongin said, eyes huge and instantly shiny.
“Please don’t drop her,” Changbin begged no one in particular, even though Felix’s grip was perfect. “I will die. I’ll just die.”
Jisung leaned in as close as Chan’s low warning rumble allowed. “She looks like a steamed bun,” he whispered reverently. “A really pretty steamed bun.”
“That’s somehow the highest compliment you’ve ever given,” Minho murmured.
Seora blinked, eyes trying and failing to focus, and let out a soft little noise, half sigh, half squeak.
The sound rolled through the room like a stone into still water. Eight wolves flinched, melted, rearranged around her.
“Hi, baby,” Felix crooned, voice going instinctively soft. His honey scent deepened, milk-sweet at the edges. “There you are. You did so well.”
Right on cue, Chan’s hands found her feet through the too-big pajamas, cupping gently, grounding himself. His sea-salt rolled warm and dizzy, protective and utterly gone.
“Okay,” Jeongin said, whispering for no real reason except that it felt right. “What’s her name? Like… official, real-life, on-record name.” A beat.
Because technically, they’d answered this a hundred times already, group chat spammed with guesses, polls, dramatic full caps but Chan and Felix had only ever given them nicknames. Bean. Snowball. Little Wolf. Anything but the real thing.
Felix and Chan looked at each other, something quiet and bright passing between them. Then, perfectly in sync—
“Bahng Seora Aeri,” they said.
The name landed softly. Like snow settling. Like a door clicking shut on the outside world.
“Aeri,” Hyunjin repeated, tasting it like it was sugar on his tongue. His expression softened like someone had smoothed a thumb over his whole face. “Oh my god. That’s— that’s unfair. That’s a storybook name.”
Seungmin made a small noise that was almost approval and absolutely not emotion. “Good,” he muttered, but his eyes stayed on Seora like he’d been trusted with something sacred. “It suits her.”
“Big name for a small wolf,” Minho added quietly, and there was something warm in his voice that he didn’t bother hiding. “But… yeah. Fitting.”
Jeongin smiled so wide it looked like it might split his face. “You guys were gatekeeping her government name,” he breathed, delighted.
Chan huffed, ears pinking. “We weren’t gatekeeping. We just—” He looked down at Seora, thumb brushing the tiny sole through her pajama foot like a promise he could keep with one touch. “Wanted to tell you in person.”
Felix’s honey rounded, fuller at the edges, and he tipped his head toward the baby like he was sharing the punchline of the best secret. “Also you all would’ve spammed heart emojis for a week straight.”
“We would’ve,” Jisung confirmed immediately, unrepentant. “I already have them queued up.”
“Okay,” Hyunjin said, composure already disintegrating, hands out like he was approaching a wild animal. “Okay. But when do I get to hold Bang Seora Aeri. I bought three different baby carriers. Emotionally, I’ve been training—”
“Wash your hands,” Seungmin said immediately, without looking away from Seora.
“I already—”
“Again,” Seungmin and Chan said together.
Hyunjin huffed, but he went.
“Same rule applies to chaos uncle,” Seungmin added, side-eyeing Changbin.
“I am extremely hygienic,” Changbin protested, already sidestepping toward the sink.
Jisung rested his chin on Minho’s shoulder, watching Seora with soft, wrecked eyes. “She’s so small.”
Minho’s hand found his thigh and squeezed, wolf humming. “She won’t stay that way,” he said quietly. “They never do.”
Jisung swallowed, eyes still glued to the tiny fist flexing against Felix’s shirt. “Minho,” he whispered.
“Mm?”
“I want one,” Jisung blurted, voice going embarrassingly wobbly on the last word. He didn’t look away from Seora, like if he did the courage would evaporate. “Like… one of those. A tiny steamed bun but ours.”
Minho choked on a laugh, wolf kicking hard behind his ribs. He squeezed Jisung’s thigh again, firmer this time. “You’re asking me that in front of witnesses?”
“I’m begging you in front of witnesses,” Jisung corrected, still whispering furiously. “Please.”
Minho’s mouth curved, soft and dangerous. “Let’s go try later,” he said, just as quietly.
Hyunjin made a strangled noise. “I wanted a quiet night,” he complained, already pink.
“You won’t get one,” Seungmin said, dry as snow on stone. He tapped Hyunjin’s arm with sharp precision. “There’s a pup in the house.”
Felix glanced up and saw all of it, the bickering at the sink, Jeongin vibrating with barely contained eagerness, Hyunjin scrubbing like he was prepping for surgery, Seungmin standing guard, Minho and Jisung leaning into each other, Chan pressed against his side like a second spine.
His wolf curled tighter around Seora, then uncurled just enough to make room for the rest of them.
“Okay,” he sighed, smiling, tired and wildly happy. “You can all say hi. One at a time. Slow, don't scare her.”
Chan opened his mouth, clearly ready to argue. Felix nudged his shoulder. “We brought her to the mountain for a reason,” he reminded him. “She should meet her pack.”
Chan’s jaw worked. Then he let out a breath, long and reluctant and utterly gone. “Fine,” he muttered. “But if anyone breathes too loud, I’m taking her back.”
“Obsessed,” Jisung whispered.
“Obviously,” Chan said.
And so they came—one by one—kneeling beside the couch, offering fingers to tiny fists, names in soft voices, promises half-spoken, half-scented. Seora blinked at them all, wolf-scent imprinting, pack weaving itself tighter with every awe-struck hello.
Jeongin went first, because of course he did. He crouched down like he was approaching a rare forest creature, eyes wide, beta scent careful and warm. “Hi, Seora,” he whispered, offering one finger.
She ignored the finger completely and went straight for his nose.
Her mitten had been peeled off together with the snowsuit—tiny fingers finally free—and they closed around the tip of it with shocking accuracy, squishing it flat.
Jeongin froze, eyes crossing. “Oh,” he said faintly. “Strong.”
The room cracked up. Hyunjin wheezed. Jisung folded in half. Seungmin actually smiled.
“Congratulations,” Seungmin said. “You’ve been chosen.”
Seora tightened her grip like she agreed. Jeongin’s tail (metaphorical, unfairly enthusiastic) wagged anyway. “It’s fine,” he said, eyes shining. “I didn’t need to breathe evenly.”
Minho gently pried her fingers loose before she could permanently remodel his face. Seora protested with a tiny, indignant noise, half squeak, half offended wolf,.which sent the entire room into immediate emotional collapse.
Changbin made a sound like he’d been punched directly in the chest.
“Oh no,” he said, clutching his heart. “No, I’m done. I can’t. That noise just rewired my DNA.”
Seora blinked at him, unimpressed, then kicked one socked foot with startling force.
Changbin gasped. “Did you see that? She’s powerful. That’s my niece.”
“You are not related,” Seungmin said automatically.
“Emotionally, I am,” Changbin shot back. He crouched down, hands out but not touching, voice dropping into something reverent and ridiculous. “Hey, little wolf. Uncle Bin is here. I lift heavy things and I will absolutely cry at your school plays.”
Seora responded by burping.
Changbin froze. Then nodded solemnly. “Understood. We’re on the same page.”
Across the room, Jisung had gone very quiet. Too quiet.
He was staring at Seora like she was the answer to a question he hadn’t known how to ask. His wolf pressed hard against his ribs, pacing in frantic, excited circles.
“Minho,” he whispered.
Minho didn’t look away from the baby. “Mm.”
“I need one,” Jisung said, voice tight with urgency. “Not eventually. Like—soon. I think my body just decided.”
Minho snorted softly. “Your body can’t decide things without your brain.”
“My brain is on board,” Jisung insisted, still whispering like volume might keep the universe from hearing him. “Did you see her fingers? She grabbed a nose with intent.”
Minho finally looked at him, eyes warm and deeply amused. He leaned in just enough to murmur, “You are having baby fever.”
“I am having a medical episode,” Jisung corrected.
Minho squeezed his thigh, fond and grounding. “Breathe. We’ll survive the evening first.”
Jisung nodded, visibly trying. Then, very softly: “I would buy her tiny hats.”
Minho smiled.
A few minutes later, the noises changed—less curious, more searching. Small rooting movements, mouth turning toward Felix’s shirt, little brow furrowing.
“Oh,” Felix murmured, feeling the tug through his shirt. “She’s getting hungry.”
Chan was on his feet before the sentence finished. “I’ll get it,” he blurted, already halfway to the kitchen. “Bottle. Water. Temperature control. Nobody move her.”
“She’s not a bomb,” Seungmin called after him, but the fondness in his voice ruined the scold.
While Chan clattered around in the kitchen like an overqualified barista for one very important customer, Felix shifted Seora carefully and looked up at Hyunjin. “You can hold her,” he offered. “If you sit. And don’t scream. Or sprint. Or do… Hyunjin things.”
“I don’t always scream,” Hyunjin muttered, but he was already sitting, hands held out, suddenly very, very gentle.
Felix settled Seora into his arms. Hyunjin’s whole body changed, spine softening, shoulders curving in, wolf going quiet and huge. He bent his head and, almost without meaning to, scented along her little cap and down to her cheek.
His eyes went luminous. “She smells so good,” he whispered, completely undone. “Like… warm milk and honey and snow.”
That was the moment Chan reappeared with the bottle, sea-salt wound tight around him. He stopped dead at the sight of Hyunjin cuddling his pup, nose buried in her scent.
“Okay,” Chan said slowly. “Respectful sniffing only. No imprinting. That’s my job.”
“Relax,” Hyunjin murmured, not looking up, smiling like he’d swallowed starlight. “I’m just worshipping.”
Changbin was supposed to be rolling his eyes, but his wolf had other plans. He watched his mate cradle the tiny bundle, watched Seora’s fingers curl in Hyunjin’s sleeve, and something low and new thumped in his chest.
“Don’t,” he told his own wolf under his breath. His wolf wagged its tail anyway.
Hyunjin glanced sideways, caught the look on Changbin’s face, and his grin turned slow and wicked. “What?” he asked softly. “You want a turn?”
“With the baby,” Changbin said quickly, ears pink. Then, quieter, half to himself, “Maybe… later with the other part.”
Hyunjin’s eyes went wide and bright. If he hadn’t been holding a newborn, he’d have launched himself across the couch.
Jeongin slapped a hand over his own ears. “No S-E-X talk in front of the baby!” he yelped. “Her brain is still loading!”
Changbin snorted. “Do you mean the actual baby in the room or yourself?”
Jeongin glared at him over his fingers. “Both!”
Seungmin didn’t even look up from adjusting the blanket. “Relax,” he said dryly. “The only thing she’s absorbing right now is milk and the fact that her uncles are disasters.”
Chan cleared his throat pointedly and claimed Seora back, tucking her into Felix’s arms before offering her the bottle with the focus of a man defusing a bomb. “Here you go, angel,” he murmured, guiding it to her mouth.
The first latch hit him like weather. His wolf’s tail curled so tight Felix could feel it in the air. “Look at her,” Chan whispered, uselessly, because no one was doing anything but looking at her. “She’s so smart.”
“She’s eating,” Seungmin said. “That’s the baseline of survival, not gifted child behavior.”
“She’s a genius,” Chan insisted.
Felix laughed, tired and dreamy, honey-milk scent puffing round and content. “She’s perfect,” he corrected gently. “Genius can wait.”
For the first Christmas Eve of this new life between them, none of their wolves felt alone at all.
When night folded the day into itself and the pup slept under the eaves, the same small room where Felix had once dreamed about Chan and courage, Chan tugged his coat from the peg and crooked a finger. His sea-salt curled low, coaxing, protective.
“Let’s go outside for a moment?” he asked, babyphone in one hand.
Felix slid his hand into Chan’s glove without ceremony. Their wolves brushed tails as if it had been decided years ago. He let himself be led outside.
The cold had that silver taste it gets when the sky is clear enough for stars. Snow fell in shy spirals, soft enough that you could almost hear it land. The porch light spilled a circle of gold at their feet, marking them as the center of the world.
They didn’t rush. Wolves never rush when it’s safe. Felix leaned into Chan because his body knew that answer, and Chan angled around him automatically, instincts satisfied in a dozen directions at once: shelter, shield, show. His sea-salt made a low roof in the night air; Felix’s honey spread beneath it, rich with milk and den, content.
They made it exactly three steps off the porch.
Chan stopped dead, staring down at the babyphone like it might grow teeth. “Do you think the signal reaches the whole yard?” he asked. “What if there’s interference? Mountains probably—do mountains interfere? Maybe we should stay closer to the door, just in case, or crack the window, or—”
“Chris,” Felix said softly.
Chan kept going anyway, voice dropping to a frantic whisper. “We haven’t been more than five meters away from her since she was born, what if she—”
Felix turned, rose on his toes, and kissed him.
It wasn’t a long kiss, or a hungry one—just a sure, steady press of mouths, his gloved hand curling into Chan’s coat. His wolf pushed calm through the contact, a warm, honey-thick hush. When he pulled back, Chan’s sea-salt had stopped spiking; it rolled slower now, like waves against a safe shore.
“She’s asleep,” Felix murmured. “The monitor works. The whole pack is downstairs. If anything even thinks about going wrong, the whole house will know.”
Chan’s shoulders eased a fraction. His fingers tightened around the babyphone instead of crushing it. “I know,” he said, sounding like he was still convincing himself. “I just… my wolf hates it.”
Felix smiled, eyes soft. “Mine too. But we’re still here. Just on the porch.” He bumped their noses together. “Two minutes. Then we can go back and sniff her like weird parents again.”
That finally punched a quiet laugh out of Chan. His wolf huffed, relenting, and settled closer around Felix instead of racing upstairs in its head.
“Okay,” he agreed. “Two minutes.”
“Generous,” Felix teased.
“Reckless,” Chan corrected, but his mouth was curving now.
“Remember?” Felix murmured then. He didn’t have to specify. The shed. The storm. The way the world had broken and remade itself under white.
“Every minute,” Chan said. He bent and pressed his mouth to Felix’s temple, not just a kiss but a lingering, because sometimes worship looks exactly like staying. “I think about it every time it snows.”
Felix smiled, cheeks round, eyes bright. “Me too.” His voice tilted shy, but he didn’t care if it was sappy. “I didn’t know snow could feel like… us.”
“It does now.”
Through the window, the cabin looked like its own globe. Warmth glowed across glass; firelight tangled with shadows. Their family moved in small domestic orbits: Hyunjin scolding Changbin for existing incorrectly while tucking a blanket with terrifying precision; Jeongin haloed in lamplight, defending casserole samples like a pup with treasure; Seungmin at the table making a list that began MILK and ended with everything a baby could need. Jisung perched dangerously on the counter, narrating Minho’s cooking until Minho set a steadying hand at his hip without looking up.
Felix’s chest swelled full, but not in a way that hurt. It had room for air, for sea-salt, for the quiet brightness he hadn’t known how to ask for a year ago.
Chan’s mouth found his ear, voice a warm thread in the cold. “Our family’s already here,” he whispered. “It’s been here. We just had to open the door.”
Felix turned and kissed him, soft, deep, not chaste, not rushed. His wolf purred low, honey spreading wide and sweet across the porch; Chan’s sea-salt folded over it, steady as a roof beam. They stood forehead to forehead, letting the night be big around them.
Inside the babyphone crackled once—just a soft sigh, the tiniest rustle of blankets—and then settled. Both wolves checked the sound at the same time, instincts on a string, then relaxed when it smoothed out again.
“See?” Felix whispered. “Still okay.”
Chan exhaled, long and slow, sea-salt easing back into its steady rhythm. “Yeah,” he said. “Still okay.”
“Come on,” Felix added after a moment, squeezing his hand. “Let’s go back in before Jisung eats all the leftovers.”
Chan brushed one more kiss against his temple, slow and sure. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Back to our den.”
They stepped inside together, sea-salt and honey, milk-sweet and pack-warm, bringing the quiet of the porch in with them.
Inside, the snow globe they’d brought back sat on the mantle and caught the firelight. Tiny flurries drifted around two small figures and their two even smaller ones. The storm inside would always be harmless, by design. The storm outside came and went, by nature. What stayed was this: a porch, a promise, a pack, nine wolves breathing the same air.
Snow fell. The lake held still. The cabin tucked itself deeper into the night and kept watch.
— ❆❇❆ —
Later, the comedy came creeping in, as it always did.
Jisung tiptoed into the eaves room like a thief in socks, breath held, wolf hushed to a whisper. He stood over the crib with his hands braced on the rail, eyes huge, like he’d never seen anything more sacred than the tiny chest rising and falling under the quilt. He whispered something tuneless—maybe a lyric, maybe a prayer, definitely off-key.
Seora slept on, oblivious. One fist near her mouth, lashes dark against her cheeks, the smallest wolf in the house and already the calmest.
Minho appeared in the doorway, shoulder resting against the frame. He watched for a moment, taking in the hunched shoulders, the way Jisung’s ears tipped forward like he was listening for a beat only she could make.
“She’s sleeping,” Minho murmured, crossing the last steps on quiet feet. He set a hand on Jisung’s shoulder, thumb rubbing slow circles, soothing out a tension Jisung didn’t even know he held. “You should be too.”
“I am sleeping,” Jisung whispered back, deeply offended. “On the inside.”
Minho’s mouth twitched. “Tragic medical condition.”
Jisung didn’t move. He leaned closer, nose almost to the rail, trying to memorize the exact rhythm of her breaths. His wolf circled tight, tail tucked in awe, not fear. “She’s so small,” he breathed. “What if she needs me and I’m not here? What if she grows up and doesn’t even know I was the first one to—”
“Stare at her like a security camera?” Minho suggested gently.
Jisung shot him a look, but it was soft around the edges. “I just…” He swallowed. “I want to make sure she never feels alone. Ever.”
Minho’s hand slid from his shoulder to the back of his neck, warm and steady. “She won’t,” he said simply. “Look at this pack. She’d have to file paperwork to be alone.”
Jisung huffed a tiny laugh, quiet but real. His wolf’s tail thumped once against his ribs. He still didn’t step back.
Minho hesitated a beat, then dipped his head, voice dropping even softer. “You know,” he murmured, “if we go to bed instead of standing guard all night… we could start on giving her someone to team up with.”
Jisung went very still.
Then he turned, eyes huge in the low light, mouth parted. “You mean—?” His voice cracked around the shape of it. “You mean it?”
Minho’s expression went gentle in that way that always wrecked him. “Yeah,” he said. “You’ve been looking at her like that all day. Like you’re already missing someone who isn’t here yet.” His thumb brushed Jisung’s jaw. “I’d… like that too. A pup who’s ours. A cousin for her. Another little wolf running around this place next winter.”
All the air left Jisung in a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh or a sob. His wolf did a clumsy, delighted circle, tail wagging so hard it felt like his whole chest shook. “Next winter?” he echoed, breathless. “You want— you actually want—”
“Yes,” Minho said, and kissed him once, short and sure. “But not three meters from somebody else’s crib.” He tugged lightly at Jisung’s wrist. “Come on. Bed. Before you start composing her college recommendation letter in your head.”
Jisung finally let go of the crib, though his fingers skimmed the rail like a goodbye. He bent down and whispered, “Goodnight, tiny future co-conspirator. I’ll get you a cousin. Or a chaos partner. We’ll workshop the title.”
Minho snorted softly. “Stop promising things to the baby and come let me keep my promise to you.”
They eased the door mostly shut, leaving just a sliver for Minho’s own peace of mind. The little room under the roof settled back into deep, uncomplicated quiet.
Downstairs, only one lamp still burned. Seungmin lay stretched on the couch with a blanket over his legs and a notebook on his chest, pen still in hand as if he’d fallen asleep mid-list. One eye cracked open as Jisung and Minho tried and failed, to sneak past without creaking a single floorboard.
“If you two are going to expand the population,” he said, voice dry with sleep, “please do it on the opposite side of the house from the baby monitor.”
Jisung squeaked, then immediately grinned, too full to pretend embarrassment. “You heard that?”
Seungmin shut his eye again. “I hear everything,” he muttered. “I will be asleep. Pretend you have privacy. I’ll pretend I don’t have to baby-proof for two pups next year.”
“Love you,” Jisung whispered, giddy.
“Unfortunately mutual,” Seungmin mumbled into his blanket.
Minho steered Jisung toward their room, hand warm at his back. Their voices dropped to soft, excited murmurs, the kind that meant plans, and futures, and terrible baby-name arguments waiting to happen behind a closed door.
In the little room under the eaves, Seora slept on under her patchwork quilt, unaware of anything but warmth and heartbeat and the faint, blended scent of pack rising through the floorboards. One tiny wolf, safe.
Across the small upstairs hallway, in the bedroom tucked under the same sloped roof, two more lay awake in the dark.
Felix was curled into Chan’s chest, one hand splayed over his sternum like he could keep the heartbeat there from ever slowing.
On the nightstand beside them, the baby monitor sat next to the snow globe, its soft green light blinking in time with the faint hush of Seora’s breathing from the room across the hall.
Felix’s gaze kept drifting to it, counting the little pauses and sighs, then back to Chan’s throat, to the steady rise and fall under his palm.
The door to their room was left slightly ajar, a thin slice of hallway spilling in. From the hall came the muffled sound of Jisung’s voice, too excited to really whisper: “Goodnight, tiny future co-conspirator. I’ll get you a cousin.”
Minho’s low reply rumbled after it, something fond and amused, and then quiet footsteps padded past their door. A click, a soft creak of floorboards settling. The house exhaled.
Felix snorted into Chan’s shirt, shoulders shaking. “They’re really gonna try,” he murmured, delighted. “She’s gonna have a cousin soon.”
Chan huffed a quiet laugh, the sound warm against Felix’s hair. “Yeah.” His hand shifted, slow and careful, and settled over Felix’s waist like a bookmark. “Good luck to Minho. He’s about to get scheduled.”
Felix made a tiny, helpless noise, half laugh, half sigh. “Jisung’s gonna make a checklist.”
“A color-coded one,” Chan agreed solemnly. “With tabs.”
Felix tipped his head back to look at him, eyes bright in the low light. “You like the idea?” he asked softly.
Chan’s mouth did something small and shy, like he hated that he couldn’t hide it from Felix. His thumb traced the same little circle again, again, grounding, absentminded. “I do,” he admitted. “But not just—” He jerked his chin vaguely toward the hallway. “Not because of them.” Felix stilled, listening.
Chan swallowed, then smiled like he was about to say something ridiculous and true. “It just… makes me picture it,” he said, like the truth was too big for his mouth. “You and me, here. Seora asleep over there.” His hand slid lower without thinking, resting where Felix’s belly was soft beneath the blankets. “And one day…”
He huffed a quiet laugh at himself, cheeks warming in the dark. “God. Okay. Sorry.”
Then, softer: “If you ever… if you ever wanted another pup. A sibling for her. Another little one that’s… ours.” He looked at Felix like he was asking permission to hope. “I’d be really happy.”
Felix’s honey warmed, rounded, his wolf turning slow and content in his chest. “Not right away,” he said, honest. “I kinda want to just… stare at this one for a while.” His thumb traced the back of Chan’s hand. “But one day? "Yeah."
Chan’s breath hitched—quiet, stupidly happy. “Yeah?”
Felix smiled into the dark. “Yeah.”
Chan’s face softened like something in him finally unclenched. He kissed Felix’s forehead, then his nose, then his mouth, soft, unhurried, the kind of kiss that felt like tucking a blanket around the future.
“We’ve got time,” he murmured.
Felix tucked closer. “Mhm.”
On the nightstand, the monitor blinked its small green proof, steady as a promise, while the snow globe waited, two crooked snowmen inside their drift, still standing.
Felix settled back down, tucking himself closer until they fit into the same shape they’d fallen asleep in a hundred times before, only now with one more heartbeat down the hall, and the echo of another promised somewhere in the future.
Sea-salt wrapped around honey; honey curled around sea-salt; both reached, invisible and instinctive, toward the tiny wolf sleeping under the eaves.
“Sleep,” Chan whispered.
Felix listened. His eyes fell closed, his fingers relaxed against Chan’s shirt, and his wolf purred itself toward dreaming, wrapped in the easy certainty that whatever came next, they wouldn’t be facing it alone.
Two more wolves down the hall, grinning in the dark over plans for a pup of their own. A house that finally knew it wasn’t just holding memories, it was holding everything that came next.
Up in the eaves, Seora slept on, safe under her quilt. The mountain kept its watch. The cabin breathed. And for the first time, it felt less like the end of a story and more like the very beginning.
The End.