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The marble-floored corridors of Seoul National University’s Arts & Sciences wing hummed with the low chatter of the many personalities brought by the mid-semester freshmen. Late September sunlight slanted through tall windows, catching on the polished brass nameplates and the faint shimmer of cherry blossom petals that still clung to the courtyard outside.
Kim Juhoon moved through it all like a swan gliding across still water. His posture was the epitome of elegance; back straight and chin lifted just enough to acknowledge the world without ever inviting it closer. His uniform blazer was tailored a fraction tighter than regulation, the crest on the breast pocket gleaming as if personally polished by one of the household staff.
At nineteen, he has already established himself as a well-known campus persona. Of course this did not come without any merits. It was just hard to pretend that he didn't exist with a metaphorical glow that demanded attention, considering that he's on top of every single one of their syllabus. It also added that he was the class president of Section A-1, along with being the principal dancer in their university’s ballet ensemble. And on top of it, the omega had his face pinned to half the dormitory walls with the caption “prettiest omega on campus, change my mind.” So truly it was never an exaggeration when people claimed that he's far too out of anyone's league. And that his existence alone would gather attention very much everywhere he went.
Juhoon was walking along the hallway of their department building, his scent of delicate freesia laced with chilled white tea, trailed behind him like an expensive signature. He existed in a way that one would immediately see he was someone who was born to be on a pedestal. And because of this, students parted for him even without thinking.
At one point, a beta girl dropped her notes while he was quietly passing by. Juhoon caught the folder mid-air with two fingers and returned it with a small, gracious nod that made her blush to the ears. His movements always coming off as graceful despite being calculated. It came rooted from all the character training he had grown up with. A lifestyle so heavily engraved in his system it was merely second nature to him now. Juhoon didn't wait for any response, merely nodded his head, and continued on with his walk.
At the end of the hall, his friends waited for him. Their circle consisted of Lee Minseo, another omega from a shipping dynasty, her violin case slung over one shoulder. Park Jiwoo, a beta heir to a tech conglomerate, scrolling through TikTok on his phone. And Han Soojin, omega scholarship prodigy whose watercolor exhibitions were already sold out in Gangnam galleries. The three were only quick to fall into step around Juhoon like a bunch of quiet honor guards, when he finally reached them.
“President Kim,” Minseo teased, voice soft as always. “You look like you’re about to deliver a state of the nation address.” She giggled. “Relax, it’s just homeroom.”
Juhoon’s lips curved ever so slightly, cool and almost bordering perfect. “Homeroom sets the tone for the entire semester. If I don’t set it, who will?” His voice was low and cultured, every syllable shaped by years of private tutors and debutante etiquette classes. He had been winning spelling bees at six, national math olympiads at twelve, and was receiving full-ride scholarships even before he could legally drive.
Some would say he was spoiled. And perhaps that was true. But the silver spoon had been forged into him like a scalpel. It was not something that was handed to him simply because, but a privilege that came from the expectations of being perfect.
And Juhoon, for all that was beauty and grace, was the closest thing to perfection. Or at least, that's what the people around him have said.
“I understand, but still, you don't have to be so tense so early in the morning, you know.”
Juhoon sighed, perhaps she did make a notable point. “I guess,” he said before finally allowing his shoulders to relax, even for just a bit.
“Let’s go?” Jiwoo said and the rest nodded before finally walking to their class.
When the group reached the lecture hall, Juhoon took his seat at the front row, center to be exact. It was where the class president belonged. He opened his leather-bound agenda, fountain pen already uncapped, and began checking the day’s agenda items in neat, slanted Hangul. Around him, the room filled with the usual mix of scents of nervous beta sweat, sweet omega florals, the sharper tang of alphas trying too hard to seem unbothered and whatever else was wafting across the room.
Juhoon had spent his entire evening last night preparing for everything. Making sure not a single detail of events was left unchecked. He could only hope that today would go as smoothly as he had planned in his head prior to getting here.
But of course, some things just don't go our way.
Right then and there, the door to their lecture hall banged open. The loud sound reverberating across the entire facility surprising many of the students inside.
Juhoon, of course, was unfazed. He merely fought the urge to roll his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose, before going back to reviewing the documents in hand. Of course that person had to make a scene. When did he ever not make one?
As if someone who had managed to escape one of the most highly secured prisons in the country, and survived, walked in; Ahn Keonho strode in with confidence, his demeanor was as if he owned the building and hated every brick of it.
His black hair was tousled from the wind, the top two buttons of his uniform shirt undone, tie stuffed into the back pocket of his slacks. A silver hoop glinted in one ear while a fresh bruise bloomed across his left cheekbone like some signature. Behind him trailed his usual pack: Martin, a tall, half Korean half Canadian alpha with a perpetual smirk, James, broad-shouldered and loud, and Seonghyeon, the quiet one whose knuckles were always split.
All alphas. All radiating the kind of restless, smoky cedar and motor oil scent that made teachers sigh and other students whisper.
Juhoon, though, merely found it repulsive.
Keonho sauntered to his designated seat and dropped into the back row just directly behind Juhoon’s with a loud scrape of chair legs. His long legs stretching out as basketball sneakers thudded against the desk in front of him, jolting the entire row.
Juhoon didn’t turn, his quiet indifference completely undeterred at the rather tackless gesture. He simply continued writing, the nib of his pen never pausing, his mind honed in at the workload at hand.
Their professor, a female beta named Mrs. Lee, quietly sighed in her own corner. She didn't think she was getting paid enough for all this, especially not this early in the morning.
And so, before anything else escalated, Mrs. Lee walked to the podium and then cleared her throat. “Well, I guess that's everyone. Good morning, Section A-1,” she greeted her students before her eyes darted to where Juhoon was sitting. “President Kim, would you like to begin with the announcements?” she asked, catching the young omega’s attention.
Juhoon merely looked up from his desk, bowed his head in acknowledgement, before rising from his seat ever so gracefully, smoothing his blazer as he did. “Thank you, Professor,” he then said when he reached the podium. He put his items neatly on the podium before taking a deep, quiet breath. “First, the mid-term charity ballet showcase is confirmed to be held next Friday. Ticket sales are already at seventy percent, please encourage your friends to purchase through the official link emailed by the student council yesterday.” Juhoon’s voice rang with a calm authority. His professionalism and graceful confidence, both of which have been heavily engraved in his system through many private lectures, immediately shining through as he successfully captured the attention of the audience. “Second, the student council has voted to implement a stricter “no littering” policy in the east courtyard. Fines will be enforced starting Monday. And third–” His gaze, cold and still pretty much indifferent in the way they glimmered under the fluorescent light, flicked once to the back row. “–reminder that repeated tardiness and disruptive behavior will be reported to the dean’s office. We are all here to learn, not to loiter.” His eyes, ever so emotionless, ghosted over to one particular alpha amongst the crowd as if emphasizing a point, before returning to his files like the inconvenience wasn't worth his energy.
At that, a beat of silence immediately fell amongst the hallroom. Multiple pairs of eyes then started darting back and forth towards the front, and to the specific person at the back row their president very obviously addressed in his speech. Somehow none of them spoke.
Heck even Mrs. Lee held her breath for a second or two, already knowing what was about to come. Deep down she was also already praying for this not to escalate, but somehow she knew that was far from happening. She could only hope that the reaction this time wouldn't be as jarring as the one last time.
After a few short seconds, a voice cut through the air, lazy but edged with something sharp. It was an alpha.
Keonho.
“Damn, princess. You sound like my grandmother.” he said, teeth bared in a grin that was anything but good intent. “Except she doesn’t wear ballet tights under her uniform now does she?”
Snickers and some withheld laughs immediately rippled through the room at his statement.
Mrs. Lee was already sighing and shaking her head in disappointment. But she can't even say that she's surprised.
Meanwhile Martin was elbowing James, muttering something about how the two are at it again and Seonghyeon laughing in his seat.
Juhoon’s eyebrow flicked ever so slightly, his hand reaching to cap his pen close, before turning his attention towards the young alpha fully this time. His expression remained calm and somewhat serene, but his dark, almond-shaped eyes held the temperature of liquid nitrogen. He then eyed Keonho in a way that's akin to how one would look at a chewed up gum under their shoe. “Some of us have standards, Mr. Ahn. Standards that include arriving on time and not smelling like last night’s bar fight and cheap soju.” He made sure to meet the alpha's eyes as he spoke every word with finality.
At that the room now fell into a bunch of “ooh” as the tension between the two slowly rose.
“Damn, looks like president cutie isn't holding back on Keonho today,” one of the alphas in the audience whispered loudly which only earned him a smack from one of his beta friends.
Keonho’s grin was once again all teeth. Like a predator just waiting for the right moment to sink its canine onto soft flesh. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the bruise on his cheek catching the light as he clicked his tongue. “And some of us have lives outside playing dress up and kissing professors’ asses. Must be nice, living in that little bubble your daddy’s money built. Real world’s got teeth, sweetheart.” He then pointed a finger in Juhoon's direction. “And you wouldn’t last five minutes.” His tone lilting with a mocking condescension.
Another set of snickers erupted from the other students. Mostly from the other alphas who were all acting like they were watching a boxing match instead of two of their classmates. Martin’s cackling somehow being the loudest amongst the crowd.
Keonho merely finished with a smirk, confidently keeping his ground as he continued to spar with their president in what seemed to be an intense battle of eye contact. Neither one of them backing down nor showing any signs of doing so.
Juhoon felt his jaw clench, the scent of freesia sharpening as its edge hinted with frost following the slow crumble of his usually calm and collected demeanor. He continued to eye the alpha sharply, all while his pheromones flared just enough to make the students nearest to him shiver. “The real world,” he started, voice a contrasting mixture of soft and lethal, “is what pays for the scholarships that let people like you even step foot on this campus. I suggest you try respecting it instead of pissing on it.”
And as if on cue, another onslaught of varying reactions that went from “daaaamn” to “ooooh” had once again filled the premise of their class.
Keonho shook his head, his teeth still bared as he continued to grin in amusement. One thing about their president was that he'll always have something to say. It pissed Keonho off so much his own pheromones started surging, the scent turning sour and almost burnt as his irritation grew. He was about to retort once again.
But before the pissed off, young alpha could even let out a single word, he was immediately cut off when Professor Lee clapped her hands. “Alright, that’s enough dilly dallying from the both of you. Juhoon, you may now go back to your seat. Keonho, please fix your posture. We have a syllabus to cover this morning and I need everyone to pay attention,” she announced.
Juhoon, ever the one to comply with instructions, merely bowed his head and went back to his seat.
Keonho on the other hand only slouched lower, kicking the chair in front of him again just to watch Juhoon’s shoulders tense.
Neither looked at the other for the rest of the hour, but the air between them crackled like static before a storm.
Meanwhile the rest of the students were already on their phones, giggling and whispering amongst themselves at the new discussion being made online.
By the time lunch came, the campus forum was already blowing up with what had just transpired during class early in the morning.
*Thread: A-1 President vs. Delinquent King Round 47*
*Comment 1:* they’re literally either gonna fuck or kill each other i can’t tell
*Comment 2:* ever heard of the phrase, “the more you hate, the more you love” i think that's that
*Comment 3:* honestly, class president could do better than that troublemaking stray dog
*Comment 4:* lmao keonho really got under the porcelain omega's skin today. hilarious!
Juhoon, unbeknownst to the chaos their slight altercation had once again ignited, ate in the private garden courtyard reserved for student council members. Their table was adorned with expensive looking tablecloths, chilled cucumber water was served as an alternative to just regular soda or water, and a salad arranged like modern art was provided at the center.
Juhoon and his group were all in the middle of eating when Minseo spoke while poking at her own plate. “He’s really insufferable, isn't he? Did you see the way he looked at you? He looked like he wanted to set your pointe shoes on fire.”
Juhoon sighed. “He’s a child throwing tantrums because the world won’t revolve around his basketball and bad guitar solos,” he replied, slicing a cherry tomato with surgical precision, before gracefully putting a piece in his mouth. “I don’t waste energy on children.”
“He’s so rude it's not even funny,” said Soojin, picking up an apple slice and eating it.
“He is, it's like he's completely unaware of the concept of decorum. What a weirdo,” Jiwoo agreed, sipping on his stanley cup before continuing to eat.
“Hence, I don't want to waste my time on him.” Juhoon stabbed a single grape piece using his fork, he stared at it for a short while, before eventually placing it in his mouth.
Soojin gave out a slight chuckle before speaking, “well technically you did. You know, with all the back and forth y'all did earlier.” She finished, reaching for a piece of grape as well.
Juhoon decided not to respond.
He merely sighed through his nose and went on to finish his lunch, all while his friends continued on discussing what went down earlier. His mind unconsciously flew back to the earlier event, and his forehead scrunched involuntarily as the memory of their little debacle played quietly in his head. He could physically feel his pheromones flaring ever so slightly as his own irritation shifted at the memory. But ultimately, he forced himself to calm down. Being unable to regulate one's emotions was deemed inappropriate in their household, and he'd be damned if he let that imbecile ruin his lunch break.
Across the quad, under the shade of the old oak tree, Keonho sprawled on the grass with his guitar case open beside him. A half-eaten convenience store bought kimbap sat forgotten next to him. He was with his friends. Martin was demonstrating some ridiculous skateboard trick while James was laughing far too loud every time he failed to land one of his tricks. Meanwhile Seonghyeon was just scrolling fight videos on his phone.
“Man, you really went in on the ice princess today,” Martin said, grinning. “His face went all pinched like you personally offended his entire bloodline.”
Keonho strummed a lazy chord, the sound rough and beautiful despite his bruised knuckles. “He offends me just by existing. Walking around like the campus is his personal runway or some shit.” He clicked his tongue. “‘Standards,’ he says. Like he’s never broken a single rule in his perfect little life. Bet he’s never even been grounded. Daddy probably just writes a check to get him out of trouble.”
Martin snorted. “Still, the way you two go at it… people are saying it’s foreplay.”
At that, Keonho’s fingers instantly stilled on the strings. The smell of burning cedar permeating the small area as his scent spiked with indignation. “Say that again and I’ll break your face. I’d rather chew glass than touch that spoiled brat. He’s everything wrong with this place. Fake. Sheltered. Thinks rules are for everyone else but him when they suit his precious reputation.”
Seonghyeon looked up. “You know he’s in ballet, right? Saw him once in the studio window. Moves like he’s made of melted glass. Kinda… pretty, though.”
Keonho’s lip curled, eyes piercing. “Pretty like a porcelain doll. Smash it and what do you get? Exactly, just expensive trash underneath.”
“Looks like someone is still pissed,” James teased, resting his head on his arms as he laid down on the grass. “It’s like the little princess has you on a chokehold, bro.”
Both Martin and Seonghyeon started laughing at what the eldest said.
Keonho on the other hand grimaced before he started strumming his guitar again, this time with even more force as the two other alphas continued on with their laughing.
“Who’s gonna bet that they're gonna start arguing again later?” Martin asked the group.
Seonghyeon raised his hand. “Fifty-thousand won from me.”
“I’ll double it,” came James’ reply.
Keonho only glared at the sky. “Man, fuck that. I have better things to do than to keep arguing with that one.”
“Oh I’m sure,” was the only thing Martin said before the group settled in continuing their lunch break.
***
Later that afternoon, the clash had somewhat moved to another location, which was the shared arts building.
Juhoon’s ballet rehearsal ran late. The studio smelled of rosin and sweat and the faint sweetness of omega exertion.
He was center floor, wearing black leggings and a cropped white sweater that slipped off one shoulder. His hair was tied back in a severe bun revealing his dewy face, damp from the long day of practice. But even as light trickles of sweat covered his face and forehead, it did little to hide the innate beauty he possessed. If anything, it only made him look more soft, almost ethereal. The pink undertone of his skin now being highlighted even more, making him look more and more like an actual porcelain doll.
Juhoon looked at himself in the mirror, eyes focused. He was his own biggest critique; and he made sure every angle, every choice done and move made were all executed to exactitude. The big dance mirror reflected every line of his body. His long, slender legs, elegant neck, the point of his fingers and toes, all accentuated in the kind of turnout that made instructors weep with both pride and joy.
And when he executed a perfect triple pirouette, landing soft as a sigh, the pianist merely clapped once in approval.
Outside the glass wall, the basketball team had just finished practice in the adjacent gym. Keonho, still in his jersey with his towel slung around his neck, was heading toward the band room with his guitar slung over his back.
But then, he paused.
He and his friends were all walking along the hallway, teasing and joking amongst themselves, when he heard classical music seeping from the inside. Apparently the glass wasn't all that soundproof. Without thinking, his eyes darted inside, just purely out of curiosity. But when he caught sight of Juhoon’s graceful, focused and almost untouchable form, as the omega continued his ballet practice, something ugly twisted in his chest.
He didn’t realize he’d stopped until Martin clapped him on the shoulder. “Yow, don't tell me you're in another staring contest with the ballet princess?”
Keonho didn’t answer. Instead, he found himself suspended as he watched Juhoon rise into an arabesque, one leg extended behind him like a blade; his face devoid of any emotions that would give away any signs of struggling. If anything, the omega’s expression was calm, almost meditative. And somehow, it infuriated the young alpha. Because how dare that sheltered doll look that peaceful when the rest of the world was in chaos?
From the inside, Juhoon lowered his leg as his instructor and pianist once again gave him a round of applause. He bowed to them, ever so gracious and polite, then turned his head. When he did, he caught sight of the group outside, and his serene mask cracked for half a second as his eyes started narrowing to a certain alpha who also appeared to be looking inside.
When their eyes met, Juhoon only turned his back deliberately, completely disregarding the other and began his next combination. He did not want to give him even an ounce of his attention.
Outside, Keonho’s hands were clenched, his teeth gritting. “Fucking show off,” he grumbled lowly before storming off, not bothering to wait for the others.
Later, in the band room, Keonho plugged in his guitar and ripped into a distorted riff that quite literally rattled the walls. The lead singer winced but let him go; everyone knew better than to interrupt when Ahn Keonho was in one of his moods. The music he played was disorienting, but in a way it was also raw, angry, and well, even brilliant. It always was.
Juhoon was showering in the studio locker room, when he heard the distant growl of electric guitar through the vents. He closed his eyes under the spray and imagined smashing the instrument over its owner’s head. The thought was strangely satisfying.
***
The next day that arrived was what brought the real explosion.
It was the annual club fair day in the university, and many booths were lined up at the main quad. Various school communities and club representatives were all out and about giving out flyers and whatnot in hopes of garnering more members. Ballet dancers recruiting newbies, student council members handing out free drinks and other accommodations, the glee club setting up a karaoke space, sport teams doing random contests and many more.
In the middle of all this, Keonho’s band had been roped into a short set on the small stage near the fountain.
Juhoon, on the other hand, was manning the council booth, neat stacks of pamphlets in front of him, smiling politely at freshmen who stammered when they met his eyes.
Then, Keonho’s set started.
The first song was fine, it was catchy and energetic. The second one, though, devolved into an extended guitar solo that included a very deliberate, very loud chord progression that sounded suspiciously like the opening notes of the university fight song played backward and in minor key.
The students laughed and cheered.
Meanwhile, a few of the professors who were around frowned in disappointment. Though they can't say they're surprised. Someone’s banner for the debate club fluttered and fell when the bass amp vibrated too hard.
The entire performance could be described perfectly with one word: chaotic. True to the band’s reputation, the whole thing was a loud, banging cacophony of young liberation.
For a few, though, it sported a challenge to actually focus on the music given how their eardrums were pretty much getting blown all the way off.
And Juhoon? Well he shared quite the same sentiment. A headache already forming, all while his jaw tightened at the vehement lack of public consideration. So, without any second thought, the young omega marched over during the break between songs, heels of his dress shoes clicking sharply on the pavement. His eyes then zeroed in on one particular alpha who was wiping sweat from his brow, and was grinning at the crowd like a wolf who’d just tasted blood.
“Ahn Keonho,” Juhoon called, voice low enough that only the stage area heard. “This is a university event, not your personal rebellion tour. Tone it down or I will have security escort you and your… instruments off campus.”
Keonho hopped down from the stage, towering over the omega by a good three to four inches. Up close, his scent was overwhelming, it was like smoke and adrenaline mixed with something darker, almost like rain on hot asphalt. “Escort me? With what army, princess? You and your little ballet slippers?” he then challenged, a mocking grin set loosely on his lips while his eyes glinted dangerously.
Juhoon didn’t flinch, if anything it made him all the more furious, as quiet rage slowly bubbled in his system. “With the authority of the student council, which you seem to think is optional. I hope you know that you’re not just embarrassing yourself. That you’re actually embarrassing the entire freshman class with your uncouth antics. Some of us actually care about our class and this school’s reputation.”
Keonho responded with a laugh, the sound short and bitter. “Reputation? Right, right, because your daddy’s donations and your perfect GPA are the only things keeping this place shiny, huh? Newsflash, Kim Juhoon, not everyone was born with a trust fund and a silver pacifier. Some of us fight for every inch, and we don’t need your permission to exist.”
“You fight dirty,” Juhoon shot back, his freesia scent now edged with ice cold fury. “And you drag everyone else down with you. Your little stunts last week of spray-painting the fountain, skipping three days of classes, leaving out empty junk food containers at the park and many more have already cost the section points on the attendance record. Points that affect scholarships. Real people’s futures.” Juhoon spoke in a calm and steady manner, but the venom in his voice was impossible to ignore. “But you don’t care, do you? Because apparently, consequences are only for people who aren’t Ahn Keonho.”
Keonho stepped closer. Their scents clashing violently as the omega’s floral frost reigned indignant against the alpha's burning cedar.
And as expected, many of the students nearby had gone quiet, their phones already out and recording. They did not want to miss whatever spectacle these two were about to showcase again. Hey, it's entertaining.
“I care about not being caged by people like you,” Keonho growled. “Uptight, cold, fake ass omegas who think grace and good grades make them better than the rest of us. You look at me and see trash. I look at you and see a walking billboard for everything that’s broken here. Sheltered. Spoiled. You’ve never had to bleed for anything in your life.”
Juhoon’s hands curled into fists at his sides, the only evident crack in his composure. “And you bleed just to prove you can. How very original. How very pathetic.”
During their entire exchange, multiple eyes went back and forth towards them. All breathlessly waiting for what's about to unfold next. The whole thing looked like it was pulled straight out of a telenovela confrontation scene. And the audience? Well, it safe to say that they were all eating that shit up.
For a second, neither one of the two moved. The air was almost thick enough to choke on. But before anything else could escalate more, Martin whistled from the stage. “Yow, Keonho! Song three!”
At that moment, a collective sigh could be heard from the audience who were watching everything. None of them didn't even notice that they were holding in their breath, that's how intense the confrontation was. Absolute cinema as one would say.
Keonho tore his gaze away first, but not before flashing a smile that was all teeth and venom. “Stay in your bubble, princess. Real world’s too dirty for your pretty hands, so don't go reaching onto something you know shit about.” He then vaulted back onto the stage, leaving the omega behind.
And with that, the next song started even louder than ever.
Juhoon stood there another moment, chest tight with a myriad of emotions he couldn't name, they all seemed to conclude one thing, though. And that he hated Keonho. He then turned on his heels and walked back to his booth with measured steps.
His friends were already waiting, eyes wide.
Minseo reached out and touched his arm gently. “Juhoon-ah… you okay?”
“Perfectly,” he said, voice like cut crystal. Inside, something hot and ugly burned. He hated Ahn Keonho with every refined, overachieving cell in his body. Hated the way the alpha’s scent lingered on his clothes now, hated the way his own pulse refused to slow down, hated most of all the way the crowd was already whispering again.
“They’re at it again.”
“God, just kiss already.”
“I need a pup or two not later than tonight.”
Disgusting, Juhoon thought, lips curled in unrestrained repulsion. He would rather set his own ballet slippers on fire and chew on the burnt pieces than ever let that delinquent, dunderheaded alpha anywhere near him. The mere thought was already making him nauseous.
Across the quad, Keonho shredded through his solo, fingers bleeding on the strings, and thought mirroring the exact same thing as Juhoon’s.
They couldn’t stand each other.
They never would.
And the campus would just have to learn to live with the war.
–
The week that followed the club fair incident settled into a familiar, exhausting rhythm of friction and frost. Mid October arrived with crisp air and turning leaves that painted the Seoul National University campus in shades of amber and scarlet.
But somehow, even with all this, the tension between the well-known, spoiled campus princess and the infamous, campus troublemaking alpha showed no signs of cooling. If anything, the changing season only sharpened their edges even more. Juhoon’s elegance became more glacial, cold and unrelenting. Keonho’s rebellion? Well it too became more restless, like dry leaves ready to ignite at the slightest spark.
Juhoon arrived at the economics lecture hall fifteen minutes early on Monday morning, as was his ritual. The room smelled of fresh coffee from the campus café and the faint, comforting must of different textbooks lined against the bookshelves on the wall. He claimed his usual seat in the front row, center, and spread out his notes in precise stacks: color-coded highlighters, fountain pen aligned parallel to the edge of the desk, leather agenda opened to the day’s page.
His uniform blazer, as always, was immaculately worn, his faint freesia and white tea scent creating a small, serene bubble that discouraged any casual approachers. His three friends, Minseo, Jiwoo, and Soojin, all settled around him like satellites, exchanging quiet updates about upcoming ballet rehearsals, student council affairs and other school deadlines.
A little while later, the door of their hallroom banged open at the exact moment the clock ticked to the hour.
Ahn Keonho then sauntered in, his basketball duffel slung over one shoulder, while the faint scent of cedar smoke and fresh sweat cut through the room like a challenge. His uniform shirt was half-untucked, the bruise on his cheek from last week fading into a yellowish shadow. Martin, James, and Seonghyeon only followed suit, their combined alpha presence making several omegas and some betas shift uncomfortably in their seats.
Keonho’s dark eyes found Juhoon immediately. A slow, mocking grin spread across his face as he dropped into the seat directly behind the omega, long, athletic legs stretching out until his sneakers nudged the back of Juhoon’s chair with deliberate insolence.
“Morning, princess,” Keonho drawled, voice low enough to carry only to Juhoon and his immediate neighbors. “Slept well in your silk sheets? Or wait, lemme guess, you stayed up late polishing your halo?”
Juhoon didn’t turn, his cold personality undeterred by the alpha's pathetic attempt at a provocation. He continued annotating his notes, the nib of his pen moving in elegant, controlled strokes. “I know this concept is foreign to you, but some of us prepare for class instead of nursing hangovers from whatever back alley dive you crawled out of last night, Mr. Ahn.”
A soft chorus of chuckles rippled through the row. Minseo shot Juhoon a sympathetic glance, while Jiwoo muttered something about “feral strays” under his breath.
Keonho leaned forward, elbows on his desk, close enough that his warm breath ghosted against the nape of Juhoon’s neck. “Careful there, sweetheart, your scent’s getting all sharp again. Wouldn’t want the whole class thinking the perfect omega is losing his composure over a little friendly conversation.”
Juhoon’s shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. His freesia scent flaring with edged, icy steel. “Friendly?” he started, voice still low. “Is that what you call blocking doorways, disrupting libraries, and vandalizing campus property? Because if so, then you have a very skewed understanding of that word.”
Professor Park entered then, cutting off whatever retort Keonho had prepared. Soon after he placed his things down on his desk, the lecture on supply and demand curves began.
But despite it, the air between the front and back rows remained charged.
Keonho spent the hour tapping his pen in an irregular rhythm that set Juhoon’s teeth on edge, occasionally kicking the chair just hard enough to jolt it. Juhoon responded by sitting even straighter, his posture a silent rebuke, refusing to give the alpha the satisfaction of a reaction.
By the time class ended, Juhoon’s jaw was already aching from clenching it too much. He gathered his things with graceful efficiency and stood, only for Keonho to rise at the same moment, deliberately crowding his space in the narrow aisle.
“About that festival performance,” Keonho said, voice casual but eyes sharp. “My band’s still waiting on approval. You rejected us last week like we were some kind of plague.”
“Because your last set caused a huge noise complaint and minor property damage to the fountain stage,” Juhoon replied coolly, meeting the alpha’s gaze without flinching. Up close, Keonho’s scent was overpowering. The smoky cedar mixed with the clean tang of basketball court rubber and something dangerously alive infiltrating the omega's senses unwantedly. It made Juhoon’s pulse spike with irritation. “The student council has standards. Unfortunately for you and your band of circus clowns, we don't deem chaos as entertainment.”
Keonho’s grin instantly turned feral. “Standards? Oh right, I forgot that everything has to be neat and pretty and controlled in your little kingdom, doesn’t it, princess? God forbid someone actually enjoys themselves without your permission slip and you start throwing temper tantrums.”
“You enjoy yourself at everyone else’s expense,” Juhoon immediately shot back, voice low and venomous, still poised and regal despite the gnawing urge to slap the alpha across his smug face. “Your ‘fun’ costs scholarships, damages facilities, and distracts from actual academic progress. Some of us are here to build something lasting. You’re here to burn it down for attention. But that's expected from someone who has zero idea what working for your dream stands for.”
For a heartbeat, Keonho’s expression darkened, the playful mockery cracking into something rawer. “Attention? Wow.” He laughed a humorless laugh. “That’s rich coming from the campus doll who poses for every photo op and bats his lashes at professors for extra credit. You think your ballet spins and perfect report cards make you superior?” He stepped closer to the omega’s space, the sharp glint in his eyes never faltering. “You’ve never had to scrape by. Never had to fight for a single thing. Daddy’s money buys you grace and grades and that fake little smile. So don't go spouting your dream bullshit in my face because I take what I want.”
Juhoon’s hands curled into fists at his sides, the only outward sign of the fury simmering beneath his porcelain composure. “And what you ‘take’ is worthless because you destroy everything you touch. Now move, Mr. Ahn, before I report this as harassment and have you removed from the section entirely.”
Keonho stepped aside at last, but not before brushing past Juhoon’s shoulder with just enough force to make the contact sting. “Run back to your ivory tower, princess. I know you wouldn’t want to get your hands dirty in the real world.”
Juhoon glared at him for the last time, his instincts clawing at him to wipe that agonizingly annoying look of judgement from the alpha’s face. But before he could do any of that, he decided that everything just wasn't worth it and walked away without another word.
His posture as he did was as pristine as ever, spine straight and head held high, but inside the hatred burned hotter than ever. Ahn Keonho… the alpha was everything he despised: reckless, entitled in his own chaotic way, utterly unconcerned with the ripples his actions caused and just absolutely devoid of any semblance of proprietary. The alpha’s very existence felt like a personal affront to the order Juhoon had spent his life perfecting. He was an insult to him, his very own antithesis. And Juhoon, with every morsel of his being, was done with him.
During the afternoon, ballet practice offered a brief sanctuary for the omega. The studio’s wide mirrors reflected Juhoon’s slender form as he moved through grand jetés and intricate footwork, black leggings and a loose white sweater clinging to his frame from exertion. His bun was tied into perfection, not a single strand out of place, and each extension of his limbs was a study in controlled power and intricate elegance. The instructor praised his line, his turnout, his emotional restraint–a bunch of qualities that made him the undisputed lead.
Yet even here, fragments of the morning intruded. During their water break, a fellow dancer and omega named Yunah, leaned against the barre beside him.
Her eyes were gentle when she looked at him. “You looked tense today,” she said quietly. “Another run in with that Ahn Keonho guy?”
Juhoon wiped the sweat from his brow with a monogrammed towel, expression impassive. “He’s a persistent pest. Nothing more.”
Yunah smiled knowingly. “The whole campus is talking about you guys… again. Apparently some anonymous person posted a video from the hallway this morning. The comments are all ‘enemies to lovers’ and ‘the tension is insane.’”
Juhoon’s lips thinned into a line of pure disgust. “How deplorable. These people have way too much time in their hands if they’re inventing romance out of mutual loathing. I can barely stand to breathe the same air as that delinquent. He represents everything wrong with unchecked privilege and zero accountability.”
Yunah raised her hands in surrender, giggling. “Alright, alright. No more teasing. But you have to admit… the way he looks at you… it’s intense.”
“It’s hatred,” Juhoon corrected coldly. “Pure, simple hatred. And it’s mutual,” he finished, reapplying his lip gloss before resuming with their dance piece.
After practice, Juhoon retreated to the student council room.
It was a quiet space with heavy oak tables and walls lined with achievement plaques.
Once inside, the omega allowed himself to breathe for a couple of moments, his mind recalling everything that had unfurled so far. The day wasn't even done, yet he felt like so much has happened already. He slowly breathed in and out, the many yoga lessons coming in handy as it helped to calm him down whenever he was feeling multitude of emotions all at once.
With one last long exhale, his body eventually locked in with the familiar routine he was already used to.
Maximizing the time, he now proceeded to review a bunch of budget proposals for the upcoming university festival, his fountain pen moving steadily across different spreadsheets.
But despite already busying himself, his mind, traitorous little thing, kept circling back to Keonho’s words. “You’ve never had to fight for a single thing.” Juhoon's hand stopped and hovered over the paper he was signing, his chest tightening up with an unwanted sensation. He didn't even notice that he was already clenching his teeth when he decided to continue what he was doing.
What do you even know...
The accusation admittedly stung. But it was not because it was true, rather, it's because it revealed just how little the alpha understood, or cared to understand, about the weight of expectation Juhoon carried. The endless lessons, the pressure to be flawless, the quiet fear that one misstep would shatter the perfect image his family had cultivated since childhood. Keonho knew none of it. And for him to speak with so much finality, as if his opinion on Juhoon was the absolute truth left something almost uncomfortable sizzling in his chest.
You know nothing, Juhoon thought with disdain.
A knock at the door then pulled Juhoon out from his thoughts.
When he looked up, he saw Minseo entering with her violin case in hand. “Council meeting in ten,” she informed. “Also, the basketball team captain submitted another request for band performance slots. Signed by Keonho himself.” She made a face that suggested even she was getting tired of it.
Juhoon’s pen once again paused. “Denied,” he merely said after a short beat, before focusing his attention back on the papers he's working on. “Cite the previous incidents and the need for vetted, professional acts.”
Minseo hesitated. “He’s popular, Juhoon. His entire band is. And the students, they like the energy they bring.”
“They like the facade of a spectacle,” came Juhoon's quick reply, voice edged with frost. “I prefer substance. Next item.”
Minseo could do nothing but sigh. She nodded, then took a seat next to her friend and just busied herself with her own paperwork too.
–
The following evening brought the elite dinner party at the Kim family penthouse overlooking the Han River. Crystal chandeliers casting warm light over tables set with fine china and arrangements of white orchids.
Juhoon moved through the crowd in a tailored black suit that accentuated his dancer’s physique. He exchanged polite conversations with business associates, professors, and family friends. His parents, who were sitting in the middle of a long dining table, beamed with pride as guests praised their son’s academic standing, multiple accolades and ballet achievements.
“Juhoon has always been our little prodigy,” his mother said, resting a manicured hand on his shoulder. “Top of his class since elementary school. Of course that is to be expected, but we know he's able to achieve more.”
Juhoon smiled that practiced smile he has always been taught to do. Elegant, distant, flawless, he'd recall one of his instructors saying. His life has always been about grace, perfect image and expectations. Even as a child there had always been a weight of expectations handed to him. It was something he'd been accustomed to by now. But, there were moments like this where inside, the weight pressed just a little too heavier.
His mind suddenly flew back to his confrontation with Keonho. You will never understand.
This world of polished surfaces and measured success was safe, predictable. It had no room for the kind of raw, destructive energy that ignorant alpha embodied.
Later in the evening, Juhoon found himself slipping onto the wide balcony for air. The city lights glittered below like scattered jewels, all while the autumn wind carried hints of distant rain. For a moment, the constant pressure eased.
“Escaping the performance?” a familiar voice asked from behind, surprising Juhoon.
He then turned to see his cousin Minho, another omega several years older, leaning against the railing with a glass of whiskey. Juhoon breathed, his pulse slowing back down. Minho’s presence was a steady reassuring familiarity. He was part of the same privileged circle, yet less suffocating than most.
“Just needing a moment,” Juhoon admitted quietly, adjusting his cufflinks. “These events remind me why I prefer the library.”
Minho chuckled. “Understandable. Though I heard university life has been… lively. Something about a certain basketball playing guitarist causing you headaches?”
At the mere mention of it Juhoon’s expression soured. “Ahn Keonho,” he informed, voice now devoid of any emotion as he went to look at the city scape once again. “He’s a walking, talking disaster. No discipline, no respect for anything beyond his own impulses. And he thinks my achievements are handed to me, as if years of training and study mean nothing compared to his street cred and awful attitude.”
Minho raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like he gets under your skin more than most.”
“Because he’s intolerable,” Juhoon said sharply, the calm cracking just slightly. “He disrupts everything. Classes, events, even my focus in the studio. I hate how he acts like the rules don’t apply to him, like causing trouble is some noble rebellion. It’s childish. Pathetic. And the worst part is that some people actually admire him for it.”
Minho then sipped his drink, watching the lights reflect on the river. “People like contrast, Juhoon. Light and shadow, order and chaos, yin and yang. You get where I’m coming from, right? It just makes things interesting.”
“Not for me,” Juhoon replied, voice firm. “I want order, predictability, excellence without the mess. Ahn Keonho is the mess personified, and I refuse to let him drag me, or this campus, down the gutter with him.”
“I’ve never heard you speak of someone that way. He must really get under your skin, huh, little cousin.”
“He does, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of ever knowing.”
“Who knows, maybe he already does. And well, maybe he likes it.” Minho then continued to sip on his wine.
As the wind picked up, carrying the faint, imaginary trace of cedar smoke that Juhoon was certain was only in his mind, he gripped the railing tighter. The hatred sat heavy and pure in his chest. No matter how many times their paths crossed, no matter how loudly the campus whispered about “tension” and “chemistry,” the truth remained unchanged.
He and Ahn Keonho could not stand each other.
And as long as Juhoon drew breath, it would stay that way.
–
The next morning, the cycle began anew.
Juhoon entered the lecture hall to find Keonho already there, sprawled in the back with his guitar pick spinning between his fingers and a fresh smirk waiting. Their eyes met from across the room, his cold elegant ones defying Keonho’s very own reckless fire, and the air thickened once more with mutual, unrelenting disdain.
And just like that, the war continued. And neither intended to lose.
The days blurred into a relentless parade of friction after the dinner party. Mid-October deepened into late autumn, the campus maples blazing crimson and gold while the air carried the bite of the impending winter.
Kim Juhoon’s schedule remained a fortress of precision. He busied himself with student council meetings at dawn, attended ballet rehearsals until his muscles sang, and attended lectures where his notes filled entire notebooks in flawless script. Ahn Keonho remained a wrecking ball in human form. Like always, he was late to every class, guitar slung like a weapon, basketball practices that ended with him shirtless and smirking under the gym lights. Their paths crossed like clockwork, and every collision drew bigger crowds.
In the cafeteria on Tuesday, Keonho “accidentally” knocked Juhoon’s tray while reaching for extra napkins, causing the pasta sauce to splatter across Juhoon’s pristine white shirt. “Oops,” Keonho drawled, not sorry at all. “Guess even perfect little omegas spill sometimes.”
Juhoon’s voice was ice. “Clean it up, Mr. Ahn, or I’ll have the dean add another strike to your already embarrassing record.”
Martin whistled from the next table. “Damn, the foreplay is getting intense.”
The entire lunch crowd erupted in laughter and catcalls.
“Enemies to lovers arc activated!” someone yelled. “Just kiss and get it over with!”
“So when's the mating? We need updates!” another one said.
Juhoon’s scent all but flared, his normally soothing freesia once again turning cold. Meanwhile Keonho’s scent burned like gasoline on coals. Both snarled the same word at the same time, “disgusting!”
By Wednesday’s group project in literature, the teasing had evolved into full memes. Someone had edited their faces onto a romance novel cover titled “Hate Me, Mate Me”. It was pinned to the bulletin board outside the lecture hall. Juhoon tore it down with surgical disdain and Keonho ripped it in half for good measure before glaring at Juhoon as if the omega had personally commissioned it. Juhoon, of course, only returned the glare with as much fervor.
“You think I want that filth associated with me?” Keonho growled. “Hell to the no!”
“I’m glad we can finally agree on one thing,” Juhoon replied, chin held high. “ Because I would rather chew on burnt rubber than to ever be associated with a daft, undignified bloke like you.”
And again, they glared at each other.
Their classmates, though, only cheered louder. “The more you hate, the more you love!”
Somehow both of them looked ready to commit murder.
On Thursday, the basketball practice overlapped with the ballet warm ups in the shared arts wing. Keonho’s three-pointer swished through the net just as Juhoon nailed a flawless fouetté turn. The alpha’s victory shout clashed with the piano music and their eyes had once again met across the corridor windows. Keonho flipped him off with a shit-eating grin and Juhoon only responded with a single, elegant middle finger hidden behind his water bottle. Apparently it was so out of character even Minseo gasped next to him.
By Friday, the campus forum had a new dedicated thread: *KeonHoon Update: 47 Public Spats This Month–Now when’s the Wedding?*
The comments were absolutely merciless.
***
Juhoon arrived home that evening to the sprawling Kim family mansion in Hannam-dong like a man returning from war.
The marble foyer echoed with his footsteps as he loosened his tie, the freesia scent of him still sharp with leftover irritation. His parents were at another gala; and the staff moved silently, knowing better than to disrupt their young master when he was in this state.
He quickly went to his room and showered until the water ran cold, changed into silk pajama pants and a cashmere robe, then collapsed onto the king-sized bed in his wing of the house.
The city lights twinkled beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, but his mind replayed the latest hallway clash, Keonho’s mocking laugh and the way the alpha’s cedar smoke scent had clung to his blazer like a curse. He wanted to scream, he really did, but he was too dignified to ever succumb to such resort.
His eyes then landed on his phone. Without thinking, he grabbed it and dialed Minseo before he could talk himself out of it.
She picked up on the second ring, violin practice audible in the background. “Juhoon-ah,” she greeted warmly. “Why do I feel like you’re plotting murder again.”
“Because I am,” he hissed, flopping back against the pillows. “Ahn Keonho cornered me outside the studio today. Told me my arabesque looked ‘stiff’ and that maybe I should loosen up like a normal person instead of a wind-up toy. A wind-up toy, Minseo. As if his entire existence isn’t one long temper tantrum with a guitar solo.”
Minseo hummed sympathetically. “I saw the forum. They’re at it again. Looks like someone made a compilation video of your spats set to that one dramatic K-drama soundtrack. It has two hundred thousand views already. The top comment is ‘this is peak slow burn, they’re so in love it hurts.’”
Juhoon made a noise like a cat being stepped on. “I hate them. All of them. I would rather die alone and childless than to ever-EVER-let that tackless delinquent anywhere near me.” Juhoon can't help but grimace. “Eugh, even the idea in itself is revolting. He’s revolting. He thinks my life is some sheltered bubble? At least my bubble doesn’t smell like cheap soju and poor decisions,” he ranted, uncharacteristically so. But being in the privacy of his room and confiding with one of his closest friends made it possible for him to just let it all out. Or at least some of it.
Minseo laughed softly. “You two are legendary at this point. Even the professors are placing bets on when you’ll snap and confess.”
At that, Juhoon’s forehead scrunched. “Confess what? My undying desire to shove him off the roof?” He then rubbed his temples. “I hate how he makes me feel… off balance. Like I’m one step from losing the control I’ve spent my entire life perfecting. And the worst part? He knows it. And he definitely enjoys it.”
“Yep, that's Keonho for you.”
“Yeah and I hope he sprains his ankle tonight.”
Minseo laughed.
The two then talked for another twenty minutes. Their conversation went from ballet, to the festival budget, how Jiwoo was stress-eating over midterms and many other things. They talked about anything and nothing then went back to Keonho again until Juhoon’s voice grew quieter, the fight and irritation now draining out of him.
“Thanks for listening,” Juhoon murmured finally. “I just needed to vent before I imploded.”
“Anytime, president. Now sleep, you have that 7 a.m. council meeting tomorrow.”
Juhoon let out a breath before thanking Minseo once again. He really needed that. He then ended the call, set the phone on the nightstand, and stared at the ceiling.
The hatred sat in his chest like a perfectly polished stone; cold, heavy and immovable. Ahn Keonho was never going to change, and neither was he. If that's how things were going to be, then he's perfectly capable of just letting it be.
Finally, after a few more minutes of quiet contemplation, exhaustion pulled the omega under and eventually, he fell asleep.
***
It didn't even feel like an hour since Juhoon finally went into slumber when he woke to the feeling of sunlight on his face and the unmistakable, yet highly questionable warmth of another body pressed against him.
Juhoon’s eyes fluttered open, still heavy with sleep.
The bed felt… wrong.
No because it felt too soft in the wrong places and too hard in the other.
Hmm?
Also the sheets... why did they smell faintly of cedar and something warm and domestic instead of his usual lavender detergent? His mind lagged, graceful even in confusion, as he pushed himself up on one elbow, brows furrowed. When he looked to his side, he saw black hair spilling across the pillow next to him. Then his line of vision was met by broad shoulders and a disturbingly familiar jawline which was dusted with morning stubble.
It somehow took him a couple of long minutes before the realization settled in. No actually, it dawned on him like holy fire.
This person… was Keonho.
And he... was next to him.
Ahn Keonho.
Ahn freaking Keonho.
Sleeping. Snoring. Shirtless. One arm flung carelessly across the mattress like he owned the entire bed.
Almost instantly, Juhoon all but sat up fully, movements still elegant despite the rising panic in his chest. His silk pajama pants were intact. The oversized t-shirt he didn’t remember putting on smelled like someone else’s laundry. “What the...” he muttered quietly in disbelief.
Suddenly, his eyes grew wide at the thought of the worse case scenario.
His hand immediately flew to his scent glad as turmoil overrode his system, feeling the surface of skin. No mark, no neck bite, no ache in between his thighs. He breathed out, the panic simmered for just a bit but the fear hit anyway.
Had they… no.
That's quite literally impossible. He would remember if anything like that ever happened to him, right? He would rather forget his own name than–
Sharp eyes then snapped towards the sleeping alpha's form.
Juhoon, with all the strength he could muster, shoved Keonho’s shoulder hard. “Wake up, you absolute disaster!” he all but yelled, feeling his throat burn at the sudden exertion despite just waking up.
Nothing.
Juhoon could only watch in exasperation as the alpha continued to snore in his sleep. Completely and utterly unaware of the turmoil that was currently unfolding.
Without looking away, Juhoon grabbed a pillow closest to him and smacked Keonho square in the face without any preamble or hesitation. “Wake up!”
At that, Keonho finally stirred with a grunt, eyes cracking open. For half a second his expression was soft, almost content. Then after a pulse, recognition slammed in. He then bolted upright, the visceral shock that overcame his entire body forcing him to move in an almost inhumane speed while nearly headbutting Juhoon in the process.
“What the fu–Kim Juhoon?!” His voice cracked with sleep and pure shocked outrage. “Why the hell are you in my bed?!”
“Your bed?” Juhoon’s tone could have frozen lava. “This is clearly not my room, but I assure you I would never willingly share space with you. What did you do? Drug me? Drag me here after I fell asleep? Tell me!”
Keonho’s scent immediately spiked. “What the...? What do you mean 'drug you'? I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole, princess. I went to sleep in my own dorm after practice. Last thing I remember is Seonghyeon laughing at some dumb meme about us.” He looked around wildly. The room was… nice. Too nice. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a different city skyline, a massive walk-in closet visible through an open door, children’s toys neatly stacked in one corner. Fuck this wasn't his room. “This isn’t even my dorm. Where the hell are we?”
Juhoon’s stomach twisted. He clutched the sheet to his chest like armor. “I swear to God if anything happened between us–”
“Nothing happened!” Keonho snapped, but somehow his ears were red. “I’d know if I’d–ugh. No, just no. I hate you too much to even consider it. Hell I’d rather knot a cactus than to ever do that with you, you hear me?!”
Juhoon finally felt like the metaphorical clog was pulled out of his throat. “Oh thank goodness.” His voice shook with relief and some residual panic. “Because I’d rather die young than to ever let your dumb self knot me.”
The mental image brought by the omega's statement made Keonho’s ear burn once again. “Can you not say that?! It's weird!” he exclaimed, rubbing his face with both his hands as he groaned in frustration.
Juhoon ignored whatever it was that was going on with him and started eyeing the room once again. “Explain why we’re sharing a bed like some cheap drama trope.” His eyes then bore daggers into the alpha's frame as he questioned him.
“How the hell would I know?! I told you, I was in my dorm before all this!”
“How does that even make sense?!”
“Do I look like I know shit?”
“No, because you're stupid. God!”
And just like the countless times the two have done it, they then started arguing again. Voices rising, insults flying like daggers, profanities branching out in different directions and scents spiking all over the room.
“I can't believe I slept next to you. Who knows what kind of toxic chemicals they used on you just to keep you looking like a mannequin instead of being human,” Keonho said, acting like he was gagging while his face contorted in disgust.
Juhoon felt his left eye twitch upon hearing the alpha's words. Now he wasn't one to shy away from handing out insults, especially not to some hotheaded punk whose main source of nutrition were cigarettes and bed bugs. So before he could even think about anything else, his lips already started moving as words filled with passionate loathing poured prolifically out of his mouth. “Trust me when I say I would rather gauge my own eyes out than consciously agree to be in the same zip code as you. Breathing the same air as you is already bad enough, you think I’d purposely sleep in bed with you? Please have some shame, have several of it actually.”
Keonho looked visibly taken aback, it was as if even he was surprised that Juhoon was capable of saying all that. Definitely caught him off guard. But just like the omega, he too wasn't one to mince his words. He glared at Juhoon, who in return was also throwing daggers at him with how sharp he was looking back. And then Keonho retaliated with his own choice of colorful words as well.
And just like that, the two were dead lock in their argument once more.
They were actually so caught up in their verbal warfare that they didn't notice when the bedroom door clicked open.
When it slowly swung open, the two of them froze almost instantly. Their entire back and forth completely going into a halt.
Now standing in the doorway were two figures. Adults? Probably around their mid-thirties. The taller one had Keonho’s sharp jaw and messy black hair, now threaded with the faintest silver at the temples, wearing sweatpants and a faded band tee that stretched over a much larger, more muscular and still athletic frame.
The other one, though…
Juhoon’s eyes slowly grew wide at the realization that his own face was staring back at him. What the…
He looked… older, softer around the edges, hair longer and tied in a loose bun. Huh?
His mind couldn't seem to process what he was seeing. Was that him? How would that even be possible? This... person... this adult who looked just like him was dressed in an oversized sweater that did nothing to hide the unmistakable swell of a pregnant belly. One hand resting protectively over it while the other held a toddler on her–his–hip.
Suddenly a second child, maybe around four-year-old, peeked from behind the leg of the adult who looked like Keonho, clutching a tiny guitar.
The adult versions looked at the younger pair.
The younger pair looked back.
Silence then stretched between all of them, thick and cracking.
Young Juhoon’s brain short-circuited. These people had their faces. Their exact faces. But somehow older. And the omega who looked just like him was visibly, heavily pregnant.
Don't tell me…
No.
Keonho was the one to recover first, scrambling off the bed like it had burned him. “Who the hell are you people?!” he screamed. “Doppelgangers?! Crazy stalkers?! I swear to god if this is some elaborate prank–”
The much older version of Keonho raised an eyebrow, the gesture so painfully familiar it hurt. “Prank? Right.” His voice was deeper, calmer, laced with the same smoky timbre but without the sharp teenage edge. “We’re you, idiot. Just from about fifteen years in the future.”
Both the younger alpha and omega's jaws dropped at the same time. “Huh?!” they then said in unison.
The adult version of Juhoon, the pregnant one, let out a tired breath as he sighed, shifting the toddler higher on his hip with the effortless grace of someone who had done it a thousand times. His scent rolled into the room: freesia and white tea, but warmer now, sweeter, layered with something unmistakably maternal and somewhat content. “We felt the ripple when you arrived last night. Time displacement isn’t subtle. The kids were excited; they thought it was a game.” The toddler waved a chubby hand at younger Juhoon’s direction. “That's right, my love, that's mama’s mini-me,” adult Juhoon added, voice calm and steady.
Young Juhoon’s mouth hanged opened, closed, and then opened again. He couldn't help the heat that was slowly spreading across his face as his nape and cheeks burned. “This is… a hallucination. A stress induced hallucination. I fell asleep ranting about you,” he pointed at younger Keonho, “and now my subconscious is punishing me with–with whatever this is.” He gestured wildly at the pregnant version of himself. “I would never–”
“You did,” adult Juhoon said mildly, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Several times, actually. We have two already and a third on the way.” He rubbed his belly once, almost absentmindedly. “Oh and by the way, boys are exhausting. Takes after his father.”
At the side, young Keonho made a strangled noise. “Father?! I– we– no! I hate him. He hates me. This is some kind of sick joke and I swear I’m gonna beat the crap out of the one who's behind all this bullshit.”
“Language,” adult Juhoon only gently scolded before telling the toddler in his arms not to copy the bad words. The small one only giggled and nodded before kissing her mama’s cheek.
Adult Keonho then crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe with the easy confidence of a man who had long since won whatever war they were still fighting. “Hate’s a strong word for what we were doing by the time you hit our age. Took us a while to admit it, though. The campus forums were right, by the way. All that fighting was foreplay.”
Both the younger men looked like they wanted the floor to swallow them.
“God, that's disgusting,” younger Keonho said, brows furrowed, his head turning away to look at anywhere else but the others.
Meanwhile, the younger Juhoon had to cover his face with both hands in embarrassment, his face once again heating up. “Please, I want to wake up from this nightmare already,” he whispered to himself. After that, he then looked back up at the adults. “I refuse to believe any version of me would let you–would carry your–”Juhoon’s voice cracked with mortification, he couldn’t finish.
Adult Juhoon’s eyes softened, serious beneath the amusement. “You will. Because you already did. And it’s worth it. Every argument, every reconciliation, every late night guitar session where he finally learned to play something soft.” He glanced at his mate with a look so fond it made young Keonho physically recoil.
Young Keonho pointed accusingly. “Stop looking at him like that! That’s–that’s my face! I don’t do soft things!”
“Oh trust me, punk, you will,” adult Keonho said simply.
The toddler carrying a small guitar giggled and reached for young Juhoon, babbling something that sounded suspiciously like, “mama pretty.”
Young Juhoon instantly backed up until his knees hit the bed, face flaming hot while still in disbelief. “This can’t be real.”
Adult Juhoon only stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind them with quiet authority. The pregnant omega filled the space with a calm, graceful and undeniably powerful presence. “It is. And before you both spiral into another screaming match or try to climb out the window, we have some explaining to do.” He exchanged a glance with his mate, the look heavy with years of shared history, love, and the kind of understanding that came from hating someone so thoroughly you accidentally fell forever.
Adult Keonho’s smirk was smaller now, gentler in the way he took his mate’s appearance. He then set his eyes on their younger versions. “Sit down, kids. This is going to take a while.”
***
The adult versions of themselves now stood in the room like living proof of some cosmic practical joke.
The younger Juhoon remained frozen on the edge of the unfamiliar bed, silk pajama pants twisted around his legs, while young Keonho had backed himself against the nightstand, one hand gripping it so hard the wood creaked. The toddler, a dark-haired and sharp-eyed little boy who was clearly carrying Keonho’s stubborn chin, kept waving chubby fingers at young Juhoon and repeating “mama pretty” in a sing-song voice that made the younger omega want to disappear into the mattress.
Adult Juhoon shifted the child higher on his hip with the effortless grace only years of ballet training and actual parenting could produce. His sweater rode up slightly, revealing the rounded curve of his belly. “We should probably start with names,” he said calmly, voice carrying the same cultured lilt but warmed by time and quiet amusement. “The little one trying to climb your leg is Minjun. He’s four. The baby on my hip is Haneul, she just turned two last month. And this one…” he rested a hand on his swollen middle, “is due in December. We’re still arguing about the name. Keonho wants something that'll make them stand out. I, for one, only want a name that'll exude warmth and love.”
Young Keonho let out a strangled laugh that sounded closer to a cough. “Stand out? Warmth? Lo–man, this has got to be some kind of simulation! I don’t even like kids!” he exclaimed, hands flying to pull at his own hair.
Adult Keonho snorted, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms. The years had added a few faint lines around his eyes and a steadier presence to his now bulkier frame, but the lazy smirk was still unmistakably his. “You say that now, but wait until Minjun drags you out of bed at 3 a.m. because he wants to ‘practice guitar like Appa.’ Trust me, you fold faster than cheap origami.”
Young Juhoon’s face burned with a mix of unbridled horror and secondhand embarrassment. He kept glancing at the pregnant version of himself, unable to reconcile the sight.
That was him. That was literally him. He had the same eyes, same elegant bone structure, same freesia scent. But only now, it was layered with something softer, milkier, and undeniably content.
Juhoon couldn't help but shiver involuntarily. The mere thought that his future self had not only mated with Ahn Keonho, but was actually carrying the man’s third child made his stomach perform an uncomfortable flip. “This isn’t possible,” he whispered, voice tight. “I hate him. I’ve always hated him. He’s loud, reckless, disrespectful–”
“–and you’re uptight, snobby, and allergic to fun,” young Keonho finished, cutting him off and glaring at him. “Exactly. So how the fuck did we end up… like this?” He gestured wildly at the domestic scene before them. He couldn't quite make sense of it all. The large, sunlit bedroom with framed photos on the walls (one showed a younger them kissing at what looked like a wedding), scattered toys, and the unmistakable scent of a shared life hanging in the air. All these were all too unbelievable to even think of, let alone accept that it was going to be their future.
Adult Juhoon sighed, the sound fond rather than exasperated. “Sit down, both of you. Standing there looking like startled cats won’t change the facts.” He moved to a nearby armchair with surprising ease for someone so heavily pregnant, settling into it while Haneul played with the collar of his sweater. Minjun toddled over to his father and climbed into adult Keonho’s arms without hesitation.
The adult alpha ruffled the boy’s hair with surprising gentleness. “We felt the time ripple around midnight. The kids thought a bunch of fireworks went off. We’ve had… experiences with weird occurrences before. Mating an omega with your level of control and an alpha with my type of chaos tends to attract strange energy.”
Young Juhoon’s ears turned red. “Mating. You keep saying that like it’s normal. Like I would ever let him bite me, or–or–”
“You begged for it, actually,” adult Juhoon said mildly, one eyebrow raised. The younger version made a mortified squeak. “Not right away, of course. It took years of fighting, making up, fighting again, and one very dramatic rainy night on the rooftop of the arts building where you finally admitted you’d been in love with him since the third public screaming match.”
Young Keonho looked like he was calculating how fast he could jump out the window. “What the hell do you mean by in love?” he scoffed. “I don’t know if y'all actually know me but I don't do love. I do hate. Haaaaate. I hate his perfect little smile, his perfect grades, the way he looks at me like I’m garbage on his designer shoes–”
Before he could even finish his entire monologue, adult Keonho laughed outright, a deep, warm sound reverberating from his. “Yeah, that’s what I said too. Right up until I realized every time I picked a fight with him, it was because watching him glide through campus like he owned it made my chest hurt.” His eyes then settled on his mate who was also looking back at him, eyes soft with what could only be described as fondness. “You were this untouchable, elegant thing, and I wanted to ruin it. Then I wanted to protect it. And then I realized I just wanted you.”
The room fell into awkward silence. Young Juhoon stared at the floor, fingers twisting in the sheets. The idea that his hatred could twist into something else; something that led to marriage, children, a home that smelled like both of them, was too absurd, too crack-like to even begin to process. Yet here they were, two older versions handling the situation with the tired patience of parents who had survived worse than temporal displacement before breakfast.
Minjun pointed at young Juhoon again. “Mama!” Then at young Keonho. “Appa mad?”
“Not mad, buddy,” adult Keonho said, bouncing the boy lightly. “Just confused. Your mama and appa used to argue like this every single day back in university. The whole campus thought we were one bad day away from killing each other. Instead…” He shrugged, glancing at his mate with open affection. “We built this.”
Adult Juhoon only returned his affection with a smile of his own, his eyes conveying the love he had for his alpha.
Young Keonho wanted to cringe so bad.
Young Juhoon, on the other hand, finally found his voice, though it came out higher than usual. “This has to be a mistake. Maybe we got swapped with some parallel universe where I lost all common sense. Because there is no scenario, no reality at all, where I let Ahn Keonho anywhere near my neck, let alone have his children. Three of them!”
Adult Juhoon’s lips twitched, obviously humored as he reminisced about his own past self back in the days. “It’s actually two and one on the way. And yes, you did. The first time was an accident during our heat. The second was very much on purpose, actually it was us who brought it up to Keonho. And the third…” He rubbed his belly again, a soft smile breaking through along with gentle eyes hovering over the life growing inside him. “We wanted one more.” He then looked at his younger self again. “You’ll understand when you’re older. Or rather, when you stop pretending you don’t already feel the pull.”
Young Keonho groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “Stop. Just stop talking about ‘the pull’ and whatever else you're talking about. I feel nothing but the urge to punch him. And maybe throw up. This is too weird.”
The pregnant omega stood up slowly, graceful even with the extra weight, and walked closer. Up close, the resemblance was uncanny and unsettling. Same dark eyes, same delicate features, but the future version carried a quiet strength that came from years of balancing perfection with real life. “It is weird,” he agreed seriously. “For us too. Seeing you both so young and so full of pure, unfiltered hatred… it’s almost nostalgic. We fought like cats and dogs for months. The teasing only made it worse. Every time someone said ‘the more you hate, the more you love,’ we wanted to scream.”
“Still do,” young Juhoon muttered.
Adult Keonho set Minjun down and stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on his mate’s lower back out of habit. “Look, we’re not here to force anything. Time brought you here for a reason. Maybe it's to see that all that fire between you doesn’t have to burn everything down, who knows. But all I know is that it built something everlasting. But hey, you’re both stubborn as hell. We know, ‘cause we were you.”
Young Juhoon swallowed hard, eyes darting between the pregnant version of himself and the alpha who was currently staring at him like he was a bomb about to go off. The fear that something intimate had already happened between him and Keonho in this timeline was fading, replaced by a deeper, more terrifying dread: the possibility that it could.
“So what now?” he asked, voice quieter. “We just… go back and pretend this never happened? Keep hating each other while the entire campus makes wedding memes?”
Adult Juhoon exchanged another look with his mate, it was one heavy with shared memories and the kind of understanding that only came after years of turning hate into home. “No,” the older omega said, tone turning serious beneath the lingering humor of the situation. “We have some explaining to do. Sit properly. This might take a while, and the kids are already getting hungry. Keonho, go start the coffee. I’ll handle the timeline basics.”
Adult Keonho grinned, the expression so familiar it made young Keonho scowl on reflex. “Yes, dear.” He dropped a quick kiss on his mate’s temple before heading toward the kitchen, Minjun toddling after him.
Young Juhoon and young Keonho remained on the opposite sides of the bed, glaring at each other with the same intensity as always, while their future selves moved around them with the calm efficiency of people who had long ago stopped fighting the inevitable.
The hatred was still there, ever so bright, ever so sharp, and very much still alive. But for the first time, it felt just a little less permanent.
The older Juhoon settled back into the armchair, one hand resting lightly on the curve of his belly while Haneul played with the hem of his sweater. The toddler kept glancing between the two young men on the bed like they were the most interesting toys she’d ever seen. Minjun had already wandered off after his father, the sound of small feet and adult Keonho’s low voice drifting in from the kitchen area.
Young Juhoon sat rigidly on the edge of the mattress, knees pressed together, trying to look anywhere except at the pregnant version of himself. Young Keonho leaned against the wall now, arms crossed tight over his chest like he could physically hold reality at bay.
“You two are still glaring at each other like you want to set the room on fire,” older Juhoon observed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “It’s… familiar. We had that same look for a long time. Even after we stopped pretending it was pure hate.”
Young Keonho made a disgusted noise. “Don’t start with the ‘it wasn’t hate’ speech. I’m not ready for that level of bullshit this early.”
Older Juhoon chuckled softly, the sound warm and unhurried. “Fine. But you will live some of these moments soon enough. The first time Keonho showed up at one of my ballet performances, uninvited, of course. He stood at the back of the theater in that ratty leather jacket, arms crossed, trying to look bored. I spotted him during the curtain call. After the show he waited outside in the rain just to tell me my fouettés were ‘passable for a rich kid.’ Then he shoved a crumpled pack of cigarettes at me like it was a peace offering. I told him to choke on them.”
Young Juhoon’s face twisted. “I would never accept anything from him. Especially not cigarettes.”
“You didn’t,” older Juhoon said. “You threw them in the nearest trash and called him an idiot. But he kept coming back. Every showcase. Every recital. He learned the difference between an arabesque and an attitude just so he could criticize them properly.”
Young Keonho gagged audibly. “Stop before I actually throw up. Me? Watching ballet on purpose? Lying to myself that it was just to annoy you?”
“That’s exactly what happened,” older Juhoon replied, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Then there was the night the student council gala got crashed by his band. You tried to have security throw them out. Instead he dedicated the worst, most off-key love song imaginable to ‘the uptight omega who thinks he runs this campus.’ Half the audience was laughing, the other half filming. Some of the professors were surprisingly in on it as well. You stormed the stage in your tailored suit and poured a glass of champagne over his head. Let's just say the photos were everywhere the next day.”
Young Juhoon buried his face in his hands. “That sounds mortifying. I can’t believe I’d ever do something so undignified.”
“You did. And you looked beautiful doing it,” older Juhoon said gently. “Keonho still has the soaked shirt framed somewhere in the studio. He calls it his favorite battle scar, whatever that means.” Adult Juhoon laughed.
Young Keonho made another retching sound and slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. “This is actual torture. Future me is a sap. I hate it.”
Older Juhoon’s expression softened, the teasing fading into something more soft. “It wasn’t all silly fights and public scenes. There was the night Keonho finally saw behind the curtain. He broke into the mansion actually, and don’t ask me how because he still won’t tell me the details. Anyway he found me in the music room at 3 a.m. practicing the same variation over and over because my parents had just spent dinner reminding me that second place at the national ballet competition would be unacceptable. I was exhausted, shaking and almost close to tears but refusing to let them fall because Kim Juhoons don’t cry over pressure.” He was looking at his younger self when he said this, and something in the way younger Juhoon’s eyes shifted with understanding made something in his chest twist ever so slightly. He smiled softly, as if assuring his younger self that everything will work out in the end. “To continue, Keonho stood in the doorway watching me for a long time before he finally spoke. Told me my life looked perfect from the outside but felt like a cage. That maybe I wasn’t as sheltered as he thought, just trapped in a different kind of fight. And well, he was right”
Young Juhoon’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t speak, couldn't speak. He felt as if he was slowly getting unwrapped in front of an audience. It felt… uncomfortable. But somehow, it felt freeing.
Older Juhoon then continued quietly, “That was when Keonho started to understand. He’d grown up scraping by. Single mother working double shifts, no money for lessons or tutors, learning guitar from borrowed instruments and basketball from cracked asphalt courts. He thought you had everything handed to you without effort. When he realized the effort was there, just invisible, and the expectations were crushing you in ways he’d never had to deal with… something shifted. He stopped pushing just to watch you break. And started pushing because he wanted you to breathe.”
Young Keonho looked away, jaw tight. “Don’t make it sound noble. I’m not some savior.”
“You weren’t,” older Juhoon agreed. “You were still an asshole most days. But you started listening. And I started seeing that beneath all the delinquency and noise was someone who fought for everything he had while I was fighting not to lose what I was given. We stopped seeing each other as opposites and started seeing the parts that hurt the same way.”
Young Juhoon’s voice came out smaller than he intended. “You’re not telling us everything on purpose.”
“No,” the older omega admitted, rubbing slow circles over his belly. “There are some things you need to discover for yourselves. The late nights talking instead of fighting. The first time he stayed over and didn’t leave before dawn. The way he learned to cook basic meals because he hated watching you survive on protein bars and anxiety during exam week. Those moments belong to you two, not to us handing them over like spoilers.”
From the kitchen came the clatter of dishes and adult Keonho’s low laugh as Minjun demanded “more syrup.” The domestic sounds felt jarring against the tension in the bedroom.
Older Juhoon straightened a little. “As for how you got here, well time displacement isn’t common, but it happens when strong emotional bonds create echoes. The hatred you two carry is so intense it leaves marks across years. When you fell asleep last night, the friction between you hit some kind of peak. You slipped through and we felt it immediately. The kids genuinely thought it was new year again.”
Young Keonho rubbed his temples. “So we’re stuck here until… what? You wave a magic wand and send us back?”
“Not stuck perse,” older Juhoon said. “You’ll go back soon. Probably by tonight. But while you’re here, you can see what’s possible if you stop treating every interaction like a battlefield. Or you can keep hating each other and waste more years pretending the pull isn’t there. Your choice. It always was.”
Young Juhoon glanced sideways at young Keonho, who was still sitting on the floor looking like he’d been hit by a truck. Their eyes met for a brief second. And in there there were still fragments of irritation, confusion, and the tiniest flicker of something neither wanted to name. They then looked away quickly.
Haneul suddenly reached out from her mama’s lap, grabbing at young Juhoon’s sleeve with sticky fingers. “Mama,” she said again, smiling wide and toothless.
Young Juhoon froze, then very carefully extracted his sleeve, cheeks flaming. “I… am not ready for this.”
Older Juhoon smiled, tired but genuine. “None of us were. But here we are.”
Adult Keonho appeared in the doorway again, holding two mugs of coffee and balancing a plate of toast with one hand while Minjun clung to his leg. “Breakfast is ready. And before you two start another round of ‘this is impossible,’ eat something. Future you learned that arguing on an empty stomach just makes everything worse.”
Young Keonho eyed the coffee like it might bite him. Young Juhoon stared at the toddler still trying to climb onto the bed.
The hatred between them hadn’t vanished. It still sat there, sharp and familiar and strangely comforting in its intensity. But for the first time, seeing the future versions of themselves laughing quietly, moving around each other with years of practiced ease, somehow made the idea of it changing feel a little less like the end of the world and a little more like the start of something neither of them was ready to admit.
“Alright lets eat!” adult Keonho announced and the two children babbled on happily while the young alpha and omega could only sigh in unison.
After the moment in the room, the rest of the morning dragged on in a thick fog of awkward silence and forced politeness.
When the initial explanations were given, the four of them moved to the open living area of the spacious apartment. It was clear that the design was meant to be a family home with high ceilings, warm wooden floors, and walls lined with framed photos and children’s drawings.
Young Juhoon sat stiffly on one end of the long couch, back straight as if attending a formal council meeting, while young Keonho claimed the opposite armchair, legs sprawled out in deliberate defiance. They avoided looking at each other entirely, the air between them crackling with leftover hatred mixed with the new, uncomfortable weight of everything they’d just been told.
Adult Juhoon moved around the space with quiet grace, still in his oversized sweater, one hand occasionally resting on his belly. He brought over a tray with fresh coffee, tea, and simple toast with jam, setting it down without fanfare. “Eat something,” he said softly to his younger self, voice gentle and understanding in a way that felt almost intrusive. “I know this is overwhelming. And I’m sure your mind is probably racing through every possible way this could be a mistake. But let me tell you this, it’s okay to feel unsettled. I remember exactly how it felt the first time reality cracked open like this.”
Young Juhoon accepted the tea with a small nod, fingers tight around the cup. “It’s… a lot,” he admitted quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “Seeing you like this. Knowing that somewhere down the line I… chose this life… with him.” His eyes flicked involuntarily toward young Keonho, then away again. The idea still made his stomach twist.
Adult Juhoon sat beside him on the couch, close but not crowding. “You didn’t choose it all at once. It happened in pieces. Small ones. And yes, it was terrifying at first. But you’re stronger than you think, even when you feel trapped by expectations. You always have been.” His tone stayed kind, almost soothing, like he was talking to a younger version of himself who needed reassurance more than scolding. “For now, just breathe. The day will pass, and you’ll go back. Nothing has to change until you’re ready.”
Across the room, adult Keonho was handling things very differently. He dropped into the chair next to young Keonho with a loud, lazy grin, slapping a mug of black coffee into his younger self’s hand. “Here, kid, drink up. You look like you’re about to explode. Or cry. Probably both.”
Young Keonho glared, gripping the mug like a weapon. “I’m not a kid. And I’m not about to do either. This whole thing is bullshit. Me? Playing house with him? Having kids? I’d rather jump off the campus roof.”
Adult Keonho laughed, the sound deep and unbothered. “Yeah, that’s what I said too. But look at me now, making toast for an omega who used to pour champagne on my head. Life’s funny like that. You keep pretending you hate every second, but deep down you’re already curious. Admit it, the thought of him carrying your kid is messing with your head in all the wrong ways.”
“Shut up,” young Keonho snapped, ears burning red. “It’s not messing with anything. It’s making me want to punch something. Preferably you.”
The adult alpha only smirked wider, clearly enjoying himself. “Keep telling yourself that. I used to say the same thing every time I saw him in those ballet tights. ‘Disgusting,’ I’d mutter. Then I’d go home and think about it for hours. You’re doing the exact same thing right now, aren’t you?”
Young Keonho looked ready to throw the coffee. “I hate you. Both of you. Especially the older one.”
Adult Keonho just ruffled his hair roughly, ignoring the way his younger self swatted at him. “That’s the spirit. Hate’s a good start. Got us this far.”
“Oh fuck off,” younger Keonho only muttered before sipping his coffee. His ears still felt hot but he chose to ignore them.
Later, as the day continued to move its course, the younger pair decided to spend most of it doing their best to pretend the other didn’t exist.
Young Juhoon helped adult Juhoon fold laundry in the living room. Small, precise movements that matched his future self’s graceful efficiency, all while carefully keeping his back turned towards the alpha side of the room.
Young Keonho retreated to the balcony with adult Keonho, where the older alpha tried to teach him a new guitar riff on an old acoustic, teasing him relentlessly every time he missed a chord.
“Sloppy, kid. You play like you’re still mad at the strings. Just like I did when I was trying to impress a certain uptight omega who pretended not to watch.”
“Man, shut up,” young Keonho muttered, but he kept playing anyway, fingers stubborn on the frets.
Lunch was a simple spread of rice, grilled meat, and a variety of side dishes. They all ate at the big dining table, the two younger ones seated as far apart as possible. Conversation stayed surface-level with adult Juhoon asking gentle questions about current classes and ballet. Meanwhile, adult Keonho was throwing in sarcastic jabs about basketball and band practice that made young Keonho scowl into his bowl.
Every time the younger alpha and omega's eyes accidentally met across the table, both looked away immediately, faces tight with embarrassment and lingering disgust.
By mid-afternoon, the kids grew restless.
Haneul toddled over first, clutching a stuffed rabbit, and planted herself right in front of young Juhoon on the floor. “Play?” she asked, holding up the toy with big, expectant eyes.
Young Juhoon froze, elegant posture crumbling into pure panic. “I… don’t really know how to–”
Before he could finish, Minjun appeared beside her, dragging a small plastic guitar and a pile of building blocks. “Appa play too!” he demanded, pointing straight at young Keonho.
The two younger versions exchanged a horrified glance, the first direct look they’d shared since breakfast, before adult Juhoon smiled softly from the couch. “Go on, they don’t bite. Much.” He then winked before giggling softly.
Cornered, the two had no choice.
Young Juhoon ended up sitting cross-legged on the rug, awkwardly helping Haneul stack blocks into a wobbly tower while trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. Young Keonho crouched nearby, strumming nonsense chords on the toy guitar to make the kids laugh, his usual cocky attitude cracking under the pressure of tiny demands.
It started innocently enough. Haneul clapped when young Juhoon made the blocks into a neat little house. Minjun cheered when young Keonho played a silly, off-key melody. But then Minjun decided the block house needed a “stage” for his guitar, and the competition ignited without warning.
“That tower is crooked,” young Keonho muttered, reaching over to adjust a block with one finger. “My stage needs to be stronger. Move.”
Young Juhoon’s eyes narrowed, the familiar frost returning. “It’s perfectly balanced. Your so called stage will collapse in ten seconds if you keep banging that toy like a caveman.”
“Oh yeah?” Young Keonho smirked, deliberately placing another block on top with exaggerated care. “Watch this. This is what real architecture is, princess.”
They started building side by side, shoulders almost touching, voices rising in that old cat-and-dog rhythm. Young Juhoon insisted on symmetry and clean lines. While young Keonho kept adding chaotic towers and “reinforcements” that looked like they belonged on a demolition site. Haneul and Minjun giggled wildly, crawling between them and handing over random pieces, turning the whole thing into a messy, colorful disaster.
“See? Mine’s taller,” young Keonho boasted when his lopsided structure reached higher.
“It’s unstable,” young Juhoon shot back, adding one final block with precise fingers. “Mine will actually last longer than five minutes.”
They kept going, competing quietly but fiercely while still trading insults under their breath as the kids cheered them on.
“Your blocks are placed like you throw basketballs, sloppy and loud.”
“At least mine doesn’t look like it belongs in a museum no one’s allowed to touch.”
From the couch, the adult versions watched with open fondness.
Adult Juhoon leaned against his mate’s side, a soft smile on his face as he rubbed his belly. “Look at them,” he murmured. “Still fighting over everything, even blocks. Some things never change.”
Adult Keonho wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pressing a lazy kiss to his temple. “Yeah. But they’re playing. Together. That’s a new milestone for them. Give it time, they’ll figure out the rest.”
The younger pair remained oblivious, too caught up in their miniature war to notice the warm, amused gazes following their every move. The block tower eventually collapsed in a dramatic crash, sending Haneul into delighted laughter and Minjun demanding they build it again.
Young Juhoon and young Keonho sat back on their heels, breathing a little harder, faces flushed, though it seemed to not entirely be from hatred this time.
For a moment, the room felt strangely peaceful despite everything.
The dislike was still there, sharp and still familiar.
But the future kids giggling between them, and the two adults watching with quiet, knowing affection, made the day feel just a little less impossible.
The whole day felt like something neither younger Juhoon nor younger Keonho could properly name. It wasn’t peace, far from it actually. It was more like being dropped into a warm bath while still fully dressed in armor: uncomfortable, disorienting, and impossible to ignore.
They spent hours orbiting each other in that bright, lived-in apartment, stealing glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking, then immediately pretending they hadn’t. Young Juhoon helped adult Juhoon organize the kids’ toys with meticulous care, while young Keonho ended up on the floor building increasingly ridiculous block structures with Minjun, grumbling the entire time about “tiny dictators.” Every shared laugh from the children, every casual domestic sound like adult Keonho humming an old band riff while making more coffee, or adult Juhoon gently correcting his younger self’s posture during a stretch, it all left both of them unsettled in ways they refused to admit.
By late afternoon they had settled into a strange, reluctant rhythm. They still avoided direct conversation, but the sharp edges of their hatred had dulled just enough to let small, awkward moments slip through. At one moment, young Keonho wordlessly handed young Juhoon the remote when the TV remote fell, meanwhile young Juhoon found himself quietly moving a glass of water closer to the young alpha when he noticed him rubbing his temples after too much guitar noise.
Neither commented on it.
Neither wanted to.
But somehow they just let it happen.
When evening finally settled in, painting the apartment windows in deep oranges and purples, the tension crept back like an old habit.
Young Keonho paced near the balcony door, jaw tight. “This is ridiculous. We’ve been here all day watching you two play happy family, and I still want to punch something every time I look at him.”
Young Juhoon, standing by the kitchen counter with his arms crossed, shot back without missing a beat. “The feeling is entirely mutual. If this is supposed to be some grand revelation, it’s failing spectacularly.”
Adult Juhoon smiled softly from the couch, one hand resting on his belly as Haneul dozed against his side. “It’s not failing. If anything, it’s actually just beginning. You don’t have to figure everything out tonight, or even this year. We didn’t. We fought longer than we should have.” His voice stayed gentle, the same calm reassurance he’d offered all day. “Just remember that beneath all the noise, there’s something real there. You’ve both been carrying weights the other couldn’t see. Let yourselves look. That’s all.”
Adult Keonho leaned against the wall nearby, arms loose at his sides, but his eyes were steady. “And you–” he pointed at his younger self with a half-grin that didn’t quite hide the seriousness underneath, “–stop pretending you’re too cool for this shit. I know exactly how loud your head gets when you’re scared of wanting something. Also you have no idea how excited you got when you first heard Juhoon was pregnant. Dude, you literally almost passed out screaming.” Adult Keonho let out a laugh as he remembered exactly how he acted when he first found out his mate was pregnant. It was scary as hell, but even that wasn't enough to hide his overall excitement.
Of course the two younger alpha and omega immediately made disapproving faces, younger Keonho gagging once more while younger Juhoon hid his face in embarrassment for the nth time. Adult Juhoon couldn't help but giggle himself at his mate's story, also remembering how things unfolded.
“Anyway, what I’m saying is that it worked out for us. It’ll work out for you two. Just don’t be as stubborn as I was. Or honestly… be exactly as stubborn. Either way, you’ll get here eventually.” Adult Keonho finished, placing a loving kiss on his mate's cheek.
The kids delivered their goodbyes in their own chaotic way. Minjun hugged young Keonho’s leg tightly, mumbling “Appa come back soon” against his knee. Haneul toddled over to young Juhoon and offered him her stuffed rabbit with a serious little face. “Mama keep,” she said, as if it were the most important thing in the world.
Young Juhoon accepted the toy with careful fingers, cheeks dusting faintly with pink. Young Keonho ruffled Minjun’s hair once, awkwardly, before stepping back.
When the ripple came again in a way that was subtle at first, almost like static under the skin, the two held their breaths. The apartment lights flickered and adult Juhoon nodded once, calm and knowing. “Time to go. Take care of each other, okay? Even when you’re still pretending you don’t want to,” he said, smiling warmly at the two.
The two looked at each other briefly, eyes meeting for just a moment, before finally looking away and nodding once, the movement so small it was easy to miss. But both the adults saw it and they only shared a smile and looks of understanding.
After a few more moments, the world folded in on itself and the shift finally happened.
—
Juhoon woke up in his own bed, heart hammering. The familiar lavender scent of his sheets, the soft glow of the city through his windows, and the silk pajama pants he’d fallen asleep in were all exactly as they should be. His phone showed the same time it had been when he’d called Minseo, barely past midnight. No hours had passed here. Only in that other place.
He sat up slowly, clutching Haneul’s small stuffed rabbit in one hand without realizing it. His chest feeling a little too tight for reasons he did not know.
Across the city, back in the campus’ dingy dorm, Keonho jolted awake in his own narrow bed, guitar still leaning against the wall where he’d left it. He stared at the ceiling for a long minute, then dragged a hand down his face. “Fuck,” he muttered. His head was spinning.
—
The next morning at school was… unbearable.
They spotted each other in the east courtyard before the first period. Juhoon was walking with Minseo toward the lecture hall, posture perfect, uniform crisp, the faint freesia scent trailing behind him like always. Keonho, on the other hand, was lounging against a tree with Martin and James, basketball under one arm, but his usual smirk looked strained.
When their eyes met, both immediately froze for half a second too long.
Minseo noticed this instantly and raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay, pres?”
“Fine,” Juhoon said quickly, too quickly, and kept walking. But his steps weren’t quite as smooth as usual.
Keonho, without even thinking, pushed off the tree, completely ignoring his friends’ curious looks, and jogged a few steps to catch up. Why he was doing that? The hell he knew. But somehow he fell into pace beside Juhoon without asking, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
Juhoon felt his presence before he could see him. And for a moment, neither spoke. The only thing louder than the silence was the thudding of their hearts.
Finally, Keonho cleared his throat, voice somewhat rough. “So… that thing last night. Or… whenever it was. My head’s been spinning since I woke up. If I don’t talk to someone about it, I’m gonna lose my shit. Probably explode in the middle of economics and get us both kicked out.”
Juhoon didn’t look at him, but his fingers tightened slightly on the strap of his bag. “And you want to talk to me?”
“Who else?” Keonho muttered. “You’re the only other person who was there. Unless you want me ranting to the entire campus about how I apparently end up playing house with the ice princess and having three kids.”
Juhoon’s ears went pink. He stopped walking. “It’s not a date.”
“Obviously not,” Keonho said immediately, almost too fast. “Just… coffee. Or tea. Whatever you drink. Somewhere quiet so we can… I don't know, figure out if we both dreamed the same nightmare or whatever the hell that was. Before I actually start believing any of it.”
Juhoon hesitated, glancing sideways. Keonho looked as uncomfortable as he felt. His shoulders were tense, and his jaw was working like he was chewing on words he didn’t want to say. It was almost… cute. In a pathetic, stray-dog sort of way.
“Fine,” Juhoon said at last, voice cool but not quite as sharp as yesterday. “After last period. The café behind the library. Not the main one. And if you’re even five minutes late, I’m leaving.”
At that Keonho’s mouth twitched. It was not quite a smirk, but rather something smaller and maybe even softer. Totally uncharacteristic of him. “Wouldn’t dream of it, princess.”
“Don’t call me that,” Juhoon replied automatically, but there was no real bite in it. Just the old rhythm, worn smooth at the edges.
They stood there for another moment, the autumn wind stirring leaves around their feet. Students passed by, whispering and giggling when they noticed the two of them standing unusually close without arguing.
Keonho shifted his weight. “I guess I’ll see you later.”
“Try not to cause any trouble before then,” Juhoon said, already turning to walk away.
“Can’t promise anything,” Keonho called after him, but his voice carried a reluctant lightness. “But I’ll try. For once.”
Juhoon didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth lifted, just barely, before he caught himself and smoothed it away.
They were still butting heads. Still prickly, still quick to snap, still convinced the other was impossible.
But when they walked away in opposite directions, the space between them felt a fraction smaller than before. Softer, somehow. Like the first crack in armor neither had ever planned to let the other see.
***
The café behind the library was small, tucked away from the main campus paths, and blessedly quiet in the late afternoon. Only a few scattered students occupied the corner tables, headphones on, nursing oversized lattes while the autumn light slanted through the windows in warm gold streaks.
Juhoon, as always, arrived exactly on time, as always. His uniform blazer still impeccable, the designer leather bag slung over one shoulder, and the faint freesia scent cutting through the smell of fresh coffee and baked pastries. He chose a table near the back, ordered a white tea with no sugar, and sat with perfect posture, fingers tapping once against the side of the cup before he forced them still.
He told himself that there was no reason to be on edge. This wasn't a date. Of course it's not. That would be absurd. They both made it clear that this was only a means for them to discuss what they both experienced. A formal setup meant to be approached in a professional manner, nothing more, nothing less.
But even though Juhoon has repeated the same explanation in his head over and over again, the slight thumping in his chest still ceased to stop. He could do nothing but sigh, as he slowly sipped at his tea in hopes the hot beverage could at least settle his nerves before the alpha came.
It, of course, didn't.
Keonho showed up four minutes later, hair still damp from a quick post-practice shower. He wore his basketball jacket unzipped over his wrinkled uniform shirt. Upon entering, he immediately scanned the room. When he spotted Juhoon, for a second he looked almost nervous, like he might turn around and bolt. Then he squared his shoulders and walked over, dropping into the chair across from him with a scrape of wood on tile.
“Not late,” he announced like it was an achievement.
“Four minutes,” Juhoon corrected, voice cool but lacking its usual arctic edge. “Close enough that I actually considered leaving.”
Keonho huffed a laugh that didn’t quite land right. “Yeah, well. I had to ditch Martin. He kept asking why I was in such a hurry to meet the ‘ice princess’ after class.” He leaned back, trying for his usual slouch, but his knee kept bouncing under the table. “So uh, that… thing. From last night. You remember it the same way I do, right?”
Juhoon stared into his tea for a long moment. The stuffed rabbit from little Haneul was still tucked inside his bag; he hadn’t been able to leave it behind for some reason. “Every ridiculous detail,” he said finally. “The apartment. The children. The… version of me that was–” He couldn’t finish the sentence. His ears burning as his mind recalled the state of his future self. Pregnant, mated and oh so happily in love. He felt his face slowly heat up. “It felt all too real.”
Keonho dragged a hand through his damp hair. “Same. Woke up and thought I was losing my goddamn mind. Then I saw you in the courtyard and my brain just… short-circuited. I kept thinking about Minjun calling me Appa and wanting me to play guitar for him. And you–” He gestured vaguely at Juhoon. “Looking all graceful and pregnant and weirdly okay with it. Made me want to scream.”
Juhoon’s lips twitched despite himself. “It was horrifying.”
“Disgusting,” Keonho agreed immediately, but the word came out softer than usual, almost fond in its exaggeration.
A beat of silence stretched between them. Not the heavy, angry kind they were used to, but something new. This one felt almost… awkward? Tentative in a way where two people seemed to be testing thin ice.
Keonho leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and voice dropping. “Look. I’m not saying any of that future crap has to happen. I still think you’re uptight as hell and you still think I’m a walking disaster. But… after seeing all that, my head won’t shut up. The way older me looked at older you. Like he’d burn the world down and then rebuild it just to keep you safe. And the way you–future you–talked about me like I wasn’t just some delinquent who ruined your perfect life.” He swallowed. “It’s messing with me. Badly.” The look on Keonho’s face when he spoke was nothing but seriousness. The words coming out as if he meant every single one of them.
Juhoon was caught off guard. His fingers tightened around his cup. He then met Keonho’s eyes across the small table, no longer just mocking but ultimately searching. For what? He still didn't know. But yet here he was. “I hated seeing it,” he admitted quietly. “Hated how comfortable it looked. How… possible. I’ve spent my whole life making sure everything stays controlled, stays perfect. And then I see a version of myself carrying your child and folding laundry like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It… terrifies me.”
Keonho’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “Good. I guess that means we can be terrified together.”
They heard the barista call out another order in the background while someone laughed softly at a nearby table. Yet neither of them moved.
Juhoon took a slow breath. “I still don’t like you.”
“Hey, the feeling’s mutual,” Keonho said, but his eyes lingered a second too long on Juhoon’s face. “You’re still a snobby, sheltered omega who thinks rules are a religion.”
“And you’re still a reckless alpha who treats consequences like suggestions,” Juhoon countered, but there was no real venom behind it. Just the familiar rhythm, now carrying an undercurrent of something warmer. “But… I suppose talking about it once won’t kill us.”
Keonho nodded, relief flickering across his features. “And again, this isn't a date. Just… clearing the air before my brain actually melts out from my ears.”
“Not a date,” Juhoon repeated firmly. Then, after a pause. “Though I’m glad you didn't show up smelling like yesterday’s soju again, I would've left immediately.”
Keonho grinned, it was smaller than his usual cocky flash of teeth, but also more genuine. “I guess I’ll be taking note of that.” He then smiled fully this time. “I’ll try to smell like a functioning human being. For once.”
Juhoon only smiled as well. He didn't quite meet his eyes, but nodded lightly nonetheless, before taking another sip from his tea.
The two then sat there a while longer, the conversation drifting surprisingly into much safer territory. They talked about the upcoming festival, how Keonho’s band had been rejected again, how Juhoon’s ballet showcase was already sold out. Every few sentences one of them would slip back into old habits. Keonho would start calling him “princess” just to watch Juhoon’s eyes narrow, Juhoon reminding him that “some people actually care about their GPA” and what not. But even as they still took jabs at each other, the barbs landed lighter now.
Softer.
Like they were testing how much they could push without drawing blood.
When the sky outside began to darken and the café lights clicked on warmer, they finally stood to leave. Keonho held the door open without thinking.
Juhoon stepped through, then paused on the sidewalk, turning back. “This doesn’t change anything,” he said, chin lifted in that elegant way of his.
“Obviously,” Keonho replied, shoving his hands into his jacket’s pockets. “We still can’t stand each other.”
“Exactly.”
But even so, neither of them moved away immediately.
The autumn wind tugged at Juhoon’s hair and ruffled Keonho’s jacket. And for a moment they just stood there, two freshmen who had a glimpse of a future neither had asked for, still prickly, still proud and just stubborn as ever.
Keonho tilted his head. “Same time tomorrow? Not a date. Just… making sure I keep my head intact.”
Juhoon considered him for a long second, the corner of his mouth lifting in the tiniest, most reluctant smile. “Only if you’re on time. And bring better insults. A lot of these are getting stale.”
“Deal,” Keonho said, voice rough but warm.
They then walked off in opposite directions, shoulders brushing once as they passed. The campus lights flickered on around them, casting long shadows across the path.
They were still pretty much butting heads. Still convinced the other was impossible. Still ready to argue at the drop of a hat.
But beneath the familiar friction, something new had settled in; quiet, tentative, and just so stubbornly alive it was impossible to ignore.
But the most notable one, the most notable feeling, was that certain softness neither of them was ready to name.
Well, at least not yet.
🐶🐢