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The washing machine rumbled into life slowly but surely, the sound of the water rushing through the pipes echoing in Seungmin’s ears, cavernous and endless. It was dark in this corner of the dorm, the small window letting in just the faintest sliver of light, tracing patterns over the dust bunnies floating gently through the stillness. Seungmin’s fingers were tangled in a rip in his pillowcase. Two clean punctures where his fangs had torn through the cotton. Blood was stained beneath it, and he could vaguely feel his lips tingling in twin markings. It had been a bad rut, lasting almost a week and his only memories were of searing pain shooting through his legs and back and stomach and head.
Seungmin sighed as he folded the pillowcase up, setting it to the side to bleach later. He knew he wouldn’t be able to tolerate the piercing smell; he had gagged at the scent of the detergent. The backs of his legs were shaking where he stood, his tail tucked neatly between them. He would move soon – he would. But the wall was cool against his neck, and his eyes were caught up in the spiralling load of his bedsheets and Seungmin really couldn’t face up to the reality of stepping one foot in front of another.
He was wearing one of Minho’s hoodies, a huge baggy thing that fell to his thighs. Really, Seungmin should have washed it as well, knowing what it had carried him through, but the faint hum of lemon and ginger that still clung to it like a promise was too precious to remove. Seungmin hoped that it wasn’t too late at night, hoped that he could curl up in bed and fall asleep with Minho on the other end of the phone. Seungmin missed him almost enough to wish that he had been there with him. Almost. He let out a pathetic little whine and shuffled his nose to brush against the fabric of the hoodie.
Seungmin isn’t sure how long he stays there, swaying slightly from side to side, before the sound of a key in the lock makes him jolt. He vaguely remembers messaging Felix and telling him to come home, relieving him from the exile of Chan and Jeongin’s couch. The door squeals on its hinges, and it must be later than Seungmin thought, because Felix practically tiptoes inside, toeing his shoes off in the entry and setting his bag down quietly.
Cherries float down the hallway to meet him and Seungmin feels his knees buckle, his elbows slamming into the hard plastic of the washing machine as he tries to catch himself.
“Fuck!” Felix is at his side in an instant, the noiseless sanctity of the night disrupted as sound erupts in full glow. “Shit, Minnie, are you okay?” The space is too small for them both to fit into, so Felix hovers just in his periphery, hands reaching towards Seungmin but stopping just shy of any actual contact. The cherry scent is closer now, thick and consuming and pack, making Seungmin swallow thickly as something in him clamours about safety.
Seungmin nods weakly, pushing himself up on trembling arms. “Yeah,” he forces out, “You surprised me is all.” It’s a half-lie, one that Seungmin knows he will comfortably be able to live with. Felix has seen the aftermath of his ruts enough times to know that there’s more to it. They don’t always need to talk about it.
Felix accepts that silently, stepping to the side and gesturing for Seungmin to come out into the living room. To come out of the tiny space that Seungmin so often complains about and says is impractical and annoying. “You only just put your sheets on?” He asks, as Seungmin slowly shuffles his way out, “You texted me ages ago.”
Seungmin hums half-heartedly, too tired to formulate a proper response. He doesn’t want to worry Felix, knowing that the other boy would overreact to his lingering discomfort. Felix has always had normal ruts, always seems to think that Seungmin isn’t concerned enough about his own. They stopped arguing about it a long time ago, both tired of inevitably ending up in the same tangled loop of ideas. It still startles Felix to see the physical evidence on Seungmin, though. The weariness and aching limbs and self-inflicted bite marks.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Felix repeats, his nose twitching minutely as he scents the air around Seungmin. The black tea is probably especially sharp and bitter at the moment, but Felix doesn’t even flinch. He keeps telling Seungmin that he finds it comforting, despite its heaviness. More and more, Seungmin thinks that he is probably telling the truth. “You smell different to normal.”
Seungmin nods, feeling the thoughts rattle around his brain as he does so, loose and disconnected from one another. “I’m just tired,” he says, putting on a little mock pout to see Felix smile. The words seem to spark recognition in his body, his legs and lower back suddenly aching from overuse. He should probably stop inhaling Felix’s scent as much as he is, the cherry smelling like the melatonin gummies he takes sometimes. Seungmin’s pout becomes more genuine as realisation kicks in, “And my sheets aren’t going to be done for ages.”
“You can sleep in my bed,” Felix offers, shrugging slightly, “With me in it, though, I cannot spend another night on a couch.” Seungmin blinks at him with wide eyes, while Felix is cuddly, he isn’t usually open to sharing a bed, preferring his own personal space. A rush of guilt sparks through him at the idea of forcing the other into something that he doesn’t want. He swallows it down quickly, forcing himself to remember what Minho has been drilling into him about pack and doing things for one another out of love.
“Or…” Felix trails off, fixing Seungmin with a look that he does not have the capacity to decipher in the slightest. “Jeongin went over to help Minho build a nest the other day. You could go sleep at their place.” He quirks an eyebrow at Seungmin, pointedly glancing up and down the length of his hoodie. “Seems like you might have missed him.”
Seungmin practically recoils at the suggestion, ears flattening against his head in an instant. He’s still too dirty, still too wrong. He can’t taint Minho’s nest with the aftermath of his rut, can’t intrude on an omegan space, blundering in all alpha and overwhelming. He shakes his head firmly, “No.” Felix’s eyes are wide, fixated on Seungmin with something between shock and pity. “It’s too early,” Seungmin feels the need to explain himself, “I can’t go over there yet.”
Felix seems poised to argue, the fur on his tail sticking out as if it has been rubbed to the point of static. His lips are just barely parted, words seeming stuck behind an invisible barrier. Felix nods once, slowly, and his scent grows tart. “Okay,” his voice is quieter than before, as if he’s talking Seungmin down from somewhere, “But you can sleep in my bed? That’s alright?”
The washing machine is thumping against the wall now; the spin cycle having reached its peak. Seungmin feels as if his heartbeat is perfectly in time with the knocking. He’s confused about the tension that seems to have formed in the air. Seungmin hates knowing that he’s fucked something up. He hates it more when he can’t quite tell what it is. His tongue feels thick in his mouth when he speaks, “Yes.” And then, because he feels a need to explain himself, “You’re an alpha.”
Everything seems to still at that. Felix paused perfectly in time in front of him. The only evidence is the way that the dust bunnies continue to dance through the air, the way that the laundry continues to sound in the background. Felix unfreezes himself quickly, dragging a hand through his hair and staring at some point just beyond Seungmin. “You said you were tired?” He says, somewhat blithely. He doesn’t wait for Seungmin to respond, “Let’s go to bed then.”
It’s quiet as they get ready, Felix ushering Seungmin into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He feels disconnected from his reflection, watching it move seconds after he does. Seungmin can hear Felix in his room, the screech of a drawer being pulled out and the sound of the air conditioner whirring into life. He spits the toothpaste into the sink, watching it trickle down the plughole. He trades places with Felix, brushing past him in the doorway and perching on the edge of the bed to wait for him. It takes Felix entirely too long to do his skincare, but he eventually returns, coaxing Seungmin under the covers and ruffling his hair gently. His room smells of pack and comfort and home. Seungmin falls asleep in seconds.
~
There’s light streaming into the room when Seungmin wakes up, he can see it behind his closed eyelids and feel the warmth of the sun against his skin. The bed is cold beside him, so Felix must have already gotten up. There’s no reason to get up just yet though. Seungmin knows they all have the entire day off and he will spend as much of it dosing as he so pleases. The responsibilities waiting for him outside of the sheets can wait. He rolls over, drawing the blanket closer to his nose and breathing in the scent of the other hybrids in the pack. The cherry and black tea are the strongest, fresh and clean as he inhales. Jeongin’s woodsmoke is subtle and fragrant in the background, Seungmin actually can’t remember the last time that he was over, so he supposes that makes sense. Minho’s lemon and ginger seems to be rooted higher in the blanket, maybe a spot he tucked his feet under during a film or something. Seungmin follows the trail higher, higher, until his head is poking out of the blanket.
“Morning, Kim Seungmin.” Seungmin practically jumps out of his skin, eyes flying open to see Minho sat cross legged on the rug beside the bed. There’s the shadow of a smirk on his lips, his eyes glittering as he leans back on his hands.
Seungmin throws a pillow at him, “What the hell, hyung? Were you watching me sleep?” He stretches his legs out in front of himself, slowly taking note of his body and taking satisfaction in the fact that the pain from his rut has mostly dissipated. There’s still a dull cramp in his stomach, but it’s nowhere near as bad as during the week itself.
“You’re so cute when you sleep, all silent and sweet. I have to remind myself that you’re not always a brat.”
Seungmin glowers at him half-heartedly, “I’m only a brat because I have to be around you all the time.” He reaches up blindly to pat at his ears, combing his nails through them gently to pick apart the knots that always form while he sleeps.
Minho raises an eyebrow at him and huffs out a laugh. “Don’t be like that, kitten,” his voice is cloyingly sweet, and he pretends not to notice how Seungmin narrows his eyes at the nickname. “I know you missed me.” He climbs onto the bed so that he’s straddling Seungmin’s thighs, his own hands batting Seungmin’s away to work the tangles out with practiced care.
“What gives you that impression?” The lemon and ginger is so strong this close that Seungmin can’t resist tucking his nose into Minho’s scent gland for a second. He feels his body relax almost instantly as the pheromones seep into his skin, his rut brain finally satisfied with the idea that Minho is here and safe. There’s a whisper in the back of his mind about his omega, but Seungmin shutters it away instantly.
Minho smiles, whether at Seungmin’s actions or the satisfied tinge to his scent he isn’t sure. He settles his hand at the back of Seungmin’s head, pushing him down until their glands are brushing against one another, scents stamped onto each other for the first time in a week. “Oh, so you didn’t miss me?” He says, pulling back slightly and cackling when an aborted growl sounds from somewhere near his chest. “You just wore my clothes through rut for no reason then?” Minho’s hands were cold as he tucked them under the fabric and against Seungmin’s stomach.
Seungmin whines, affronted, “Hyung! You gave me it especially for this.” A few months ago, Seungmin would have balked at the accusation, would have been triggered into a spiral where he felt the need to justify himself and apologise to Minho continuously for half an hour. Pride settled hot and heavy in his stomach for a moment.
“That was actually for my own benefit.” Minho said, casually, his thumbs now rubbing circles against Seungmin’s hipbones. “I wanted you to drench it in rut pheromones so that I can use it for my heat.”
Blush flooded Seungmin’s ears red and he became hyperaware of everywhere that him and Minho were touching, of the tense thigh muscles caging him into the bed. He had always felt awkward talking about cycles, had hated the mandatory classes that they had all had to attend after the surgery. Classes that had woefully underprepared him for the reality. Seungmin could probably count on one hand the number of times he’s looked someone in the eye while discussing heats and ruts.
He counted his breaths in cycles of four, letting himself hit sixteen before forcing his gaze upwards to meet Minho’s. It had been difficult to adjust to asking for things that he needed and discussing hybrid issues. Honestly, Seungmin has expected Minho to flake somewhere early on. He shouldn’t have doubted so easily, really. Minho had always been a reliable hyung. Diligent in his care to a fault.
“You want my scent for your heat?” He asked, words coming out in dry fragments.
Minho was looking back at him with something like curiosity, hands now tracing over his ribcage. “Yes,” he answered simply, “If you’re okay with it.” Seungmin was always amazed how bluntly Minho could lay out his wants and needs and desires. He had been like that since forever, though, with everything and anything.
Seungmin blinked at him a few times, brain struggling to wrap itself around the mess of words and thoughts that were clamouring at him. “Why?” He eventually got out, lips parting around the word.
“Why do I want your scent?” Minho clarified, waiting for Seungmin to nod in response before he continued. “Probably for similar reasons that you wanted mine for your rut. Your scent makes me feel very safe and content. I need to know that my pack is close during heat, it helps me to relax. I’m way too used to having you around, but I know that you aren’t ready for that during cycles, so I need something to tide me over for the days we’re apart.”
There’s static in Seungmin’s brain and a deep-seated pleasure at knowing he is wanted and of use, it’s not what he was asking, though. He shakes his head briefly, “No, I meant why do you want my rut scent?”
Minho’s grin stretched across his face instantly, tongue tracing over his teeth with intent. “Baby,” he practically purrs, “Are you serious?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, “You smell so good right now that it is taking everything in me not to jump you. The literal only benefit to our cycles being close but not synced up is that I get this.” Minho’s hands are practically fisted in the material of the hoodie now, “That I get to fuck myself for three days in the scent that my boyfriend left while he was in cycle.”
Seungmin is sure that his entire body is glowing red, now. Minho makes him nervous in the best way possible, and there is something about hearing the word boyfriend aloud that always surprises him. His mind is playing a reel of images that he should really shake away, and he finds himself gripping onto Minho’s arms as he tries to centre himself. He absently wonders if his rut is still here, if that could explain the sudden shift into horniness, but there’s no pain, so it seems like it’s just the product of having a feral cat in his lap.
He clears his throat awkwardly, “That’s— Um— You can have it, yeah.”
One of Minho’s hands comes up to cover his own, squeezing gently. “Thanks, Seungmin-ah. Maybe I can bring it back for you after as a treat, huh? You can smell my heat scent mixed up with yours.”
Seungmin thinks that he’s going to pass out. He makes a vague noise of affirmation and Minho finally relents, leaning forward to press an acquiescing kiss to the top of his head through a smear of laughter. “How was your rut, by the way? Felix said it seemed like a rough one.”
“Felix can’t keep a secret,” Seungmin grumbles, but there’s nothing really behind it, he knew absently that the pack was always keeping tabs on him. They were all keeping tabs on each other really.
“Your health is not a secret.” Minho interrupted, his tone light but firm. “Okay?”
Seungmin nods quickly. “It was worse than the last one,” he admits, pulling his hands back to himself so that he can tap his nails against the skin of his palms. “The pain was so bad that my medication basically did nothing and my lower back still really hurts. I was sick on the second day, I think?” His voice feels quiet, free-floating in space, “I bit my pillow as well, I need to bleach it today.” There’s so much more that he could say, so many more moments of hurt and times that his mind turned against him. Seungmin is too tired to unpack all of that, though, so he keeps it to the headlines.
He can practically hear the cogs turning in Minho’s brain, the pathways lighting up as he attempts to problem solve what Seungmin knows is impossible. He probably should talk to Minho about it more. About the pain and discomfort and how he becomes a different version of himself. He knows that. He will act on it at some point, just not this very second.
“Can we not talk about it right now, please?” Seungmin asks, looking up at Minho from under the brim of the hoodie. “I’m really tired.” It’s the truth. A version of it at least. He’s learned that it’s impossible to lie to Minho.
Minho doesn’t look particularly happy about it but seems to accept it at face value. “Alright, Seungmin-ah. We do have to talk about it at some point though, okay? This isn’t normal.” Seungmin makes a vague sound of agreement. “Come on, I’ll make you breakfast.” He walks their fingertips together until their hands are tangled as one.
Seungmin squeezes just once, “I want gyeran bap.”
“I want gyeran bap, please, hyung.” Minho says in return, but he’s smiling.
~
The practice room smells of static and oversteeped tea.
Seungmin breathes in thickly, pulling up the hem of his shirt to divert the sweat dripping into his eyes. Condensation is starting to form on the mirrors, heavy rivulets tracing marks against the glass. The air conditioning is no match for the bodies in the room, but it whines fruitlessly regardless.
Jeongin is panting somewhere behind him, no doubt sprawled on the floor to steal some of the coolness from the linoleum. They had both decided to stay just a little later after dance practice, having missed the first run through when vocal lessons overran. Seungmin can feel a pleasing ache settling into his muscles, satisfaction coating his teeth.
He drops down on the floor beside Jeongin, reaching over to smack the exposed skin of his calf. Jeongin makes a weak noise of protest, kicking loosely in Seungmin’s direction, but his scent turns mellow and sweeter. A curl of contentment settles in Seungmin’s gut. “Are you staying for much longer?” Jeongin asks, his voice surprisingly steady given how tired he seems.
“You trying to get rid of me?” Seungmin says, taking a long drink of water. The ice has long melted, but a glimmer of coolness still clings to his throat.
Jeongin props himself up on his forearms, groaning softly as he lifts his own weight up, tail darting out to curl over his thigh. He’s squinting at Seungmin, eyes half closed against the harsh lighting of the practice room. “No,” he says, “We have to leave soon, though, or your pre will hit properly here.”
Seungmin stares at him blankly, lips turning up to the barest hint of a smile. “My rut isn’t due for over a week, Ayen-ah. You really think Minho-hyung would let me forget?” There’s a calendar in the hallway of his dorm, with his and Felix’s estimated start dates circled in thick blue marker. Felix is pretty much regular, and Seungmin only tends to vary by a few days either side, ten days is way too early.
There’s a moment of silence as Jeongin scents the air between them, his nose twitching cutely from side to side. It’s a habit that Seungmin has never seen in any other hybrid, but he always resists pointing it out, he would hate for Jeongin to stop. Jeongin’s brow is furrowed with intent, lower lip trapped between his teeth. Seungmin goes willingly as Jeongin tugs his wrist to his nose, stopping just shy of the thin scent gland there.
“No, you’re definitely in prerut,” Jeongin nods a few times as if to reassure himself more than Seungmin. “Your scent is more orange than normal.” He states it like a simple fact, “Warmer.” Something in Seungmin flashes jealous and hot. He wonders if he will ever be able to pick out scent changes like Jeongin can, or if he lost that ability somewhere earlier on in life. Maybe Jeongin can teach him at some point.
He can smell himself, though, now that Jeongin brings it up. Can smell the tinge that creeps into his scent during rut. Fear hits him like a knife.
Seungmin can feel panic rising up in him, red hot like lava. Jeongin is normally right about these things, which means that his rut is far, far too early and he is entirely unprepared. He shouldn’t even be around Jeongin if it’s ripe enough for him to smell it. He should be shut somewhere far, far away from the omegas so that he won’t hurt them when his alpha instincts take over. He remembers that vividly from lessons. Remembers recoiling in horror at the stories of alphas losing their minds and harming any omegas close to them. What if he hurts Jeongin? Something bitter comes up in his throat, tasting sour and nasty.
“Hyung.” Jeongin’s voice cuts through the noise, demanding and insistent. He’s staring at Seungmin, sat fully upright now. His fingers are wrapped neatly around Seungmin’s wrist. Nails digging into Seungmin’s skin, kitten claws sharp and unforgiving. Every instinct screams at Seungmin to keep him close – pack and joy and comfort – and he feels sick. “Hyung,” he repeats, “It’s okay, we have time to get you home.”
Seungmin looks at him with abject horror, his instincts don’t seem to have locked on to Jeongin yet, but it’s only a matter of time before they do. He has been so extremely careful to stay away from the omegas at every sign of heat. Seungmin cannot believe how calm Jeongin seems. He shakes his head quickly, “You can’t come with me.”
“What?” Jeongin says, laughing softly as if Seungmin is being silly. As if this is a normal situation to find themselves in, “Hyung—”
“You can’t come with me!” Seungmin knows that he sounds frantic, now. His voice too loud in his own ears and echoing against the mirror wall. Jeongin’s smile has dropped now, concern colouring his expression in luminescence. “You’re an omega, Jeongin, I’ll hurt you.”
Jeongin’s grip on him only tightens, woodsmoke flaring hotly, the youngest’s muscles tensed in some sort of anticipation. He doesn’t look scared, though, and Seungmin worries that nobody has ever warned him of the dangers of a dog in rut. That they lose their minds. Seungmin’s hands are shaking now, his whole body feeling loose and untethered. “When have you ever hurt me?” Jeongin asks, quiet and earnest, “Why would you start now?”
Seungmin shakes his head, tears forming in his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he insists, “But alphas—”
“But nothing.” Jeongin interrupts, he’s pushing something soothing into his scent, the woodsmoke curling around Seungmin in a protective haze. “I think you misunderstand it, hyung. Feral alphas might hurt an unknown omega if they see them as a threat during rut.” His grip relaxes ever so slightly, nails no longer cutting crescents into Seungmin’s skin. His eyes are wide and honest, fixed on Seungmin with a care that he doesn’t think he can possibly deserve. “I’m not unknown, you’re as tame as they come, and I know that you would never hurt me.”
He’s too sure of himself for it to be a lie, but Seungmin can’t quite find it in himself to believe him. He remembers the videos, he remembers being told by the company to be careful, because dogs bite. Dobermans especially bite. They had been scared during his first rut that he would be excessively reactive, Seungmin remembers growling at the handlers through the bars of his cage. “My ruts are bad, though,” Seungmin practically whispers, the fight flooding from his body in the face of Jeongin’s stubborn refusal to back down. “They told me, after the surgery, that they would always be bad.” He has spoken the words over to himself so many times, but something about them rings hollow this time.
Jeongin blinks with something like pity in his eyes, his ears are drooped in a clear indicator of some sort of sadness that Seungmin wishes he wasn’t responsible for. “Bad as in painful, Seungmin. Not bad as in they change you into some sort of monster. Did you really think—” He cuts himself off, letting out a heavy sigh as his thumb traces a spiral over Seungmin’s scent gland. “It’s just a cycle. Every hybrid has them.” Jeongin sounds weary but firm, leaving Seungmin no choice but to nod. “You aren’t bad, hyung. When have you ever been bad?”
Woodsmoke coats Seungmin’s lungs, his ribs expanding beneath him and something falling loose. He’ll need to dissect this later. Write it down in his journal and do some research and pick apart everything that Jeongin has said. Minho will probably want to be there for it. There’s no way that Jeongin won’t tell him about this conversation. The whole group all have this same sad look sometimes when talking to him. It means they’re going to tell Minho. Means it’s another entry on the list of things that’s wrong about Seungmin.
For now, they’re both crying, silent tears dripping down in time with the condensation on the mirror. Their bodies are practically curled into one another, not quite touching and not quite apart. It can’t be long before Jeongin is finally releasing his wrist, slowly gathering their things from around the room and packing them away. Jeongin carries both bags, coaxing Seungmin to his feet and guiding him downstairs to the car park in silence. There are a few times on the journey home when Jeongin turns to him, mouth poised as if to speak, but the words never form.
Jeongin was right about the rut, at least. By the time he makes it home, the car is heavy with black tea and oranges, Seungmin’s head pounding in time with the engine and a persistent cramp pulsing in his stomach.
~
Seungmin isn’t exactly surprised by the persistent knocking that echoes through the dorm five days later. Isolating himself from everyone during rut was difficult, and isolating himself from Minho was borderline impossible. He had texted Felix half an hour ago to let him know the coast was clear and hadn’t checked his phone since. No doubt there were a series of piecemeal messages letting Seungmin know that Minho was on the way. Minho could have at least picked up a key, though, instead of forcing his post-rut boyfriend to make the arduous journey from the couch.
Seungmin fumbles slightly with the lock, brain and body still not fully in coordination with one another. He can already smell Minho, lemon overpowering ginger to sit sharp on his tongue. The door is barely open an inch before Minho is directly in front of him, scanning Seungmin up and down quickly. His bunny teeth are poking out slightly in concentration, eyes narrowed. He seems satisfied with whatever he sees, turning to line his shoes up against the skirting board. Minho makes his way to the couch, Seungmin following behind. He’s not quite sure what to say, not quite sure what Jeongin will have told Minho. Seungmin is saved from that particular conundrum quickly.
“Are you uncomfortable with sharing cycles with me because you think that you’re going to hurt me?” Minho’s tone is blunt and steady, body language betraying nothing of how he feels. Seungmin swallows thickly. He had expected an interrogation, that didn’t mean he was prepared for one.
He stares at a loose thread on one of the cushions that Felix’s mum had sent over. “That’s one reason,” he says, careful and uncertain. The windows are all open in an effort to air out his stink, and Seungmin can hear the traffic rushing below them. The world turning on as usual.
“What are the others?” Minho’s gaze is hot and heavy against his skin, but Seungmin keeps his own turned down.
“Do you know that dog hybrids are incredibly reactive after the initial surgery?” Seungmin says, and the words are surprising even to him. He can feel Minho tense beside him, can feel the tension hanging in the space between them like fireflies. The cats have asked what it was like for him, being alone, so many times. The three of them were allowed in recovery together, and Seungmin had been kept away. “I’m told that I was particularly reactive. They had to cage me the first night because I posed too much of a threat to myself and the people around me.”
A horn sounds from the street, Minho doesn’t even flinch. Seungmin is tracing over the loose thread now, wrapping the yarn around his pinky finger. “I was 16. And because I was going through puberty, I actually entered rut basically immediately after the operation. It took a few days for anyone to realise that, and I had no idea what rut even was at that point.” He hasn’t told this to anyone before, and the words are spilling faster than he can think of them. “They thought that I was just being difficult, showing dog typical reactivity. So, I spent the start of my first rut in a cage surrounded by strangers and doped up on painkillers because I was supposed to be in recovery anyway.” Minho’s scent spikes momentarily, but it is gone before Seungmin can truly smell it.
He lets himself glance towards Minho for a moment, the older hybrid focused on him with rapid intensity, mouth set in a perfect line. “When the painkillers wore off after a few days, I was in agony. Again, they told me that it was just the effects of becoming a hybrid and that I was being a bad dog. That I wasn’t listening well and that they would postpone my return to the dorms if I didn’t cooperate.” Minho’s jaw flexes hard enough for Seungmin to hear his teeth click together.
Seungmin can remember it all perfectly, can remember the storm of panic and hurt and pain. He mostly remembers feeling so cripplingly alone, remembers thinking that he would do anything to return to the dorms. This was before everything, before the survival show, when they were still just coming to know one another. Even then he supposes that he knew who his pack was.
“I wanted to go home so bad that I just did whatever they told me. I ate and drank and played nice and acted as if everything was okay. Everything hurt, though. I know now that it was my rut because they all feel the same. I get nauseous and have migraines and my body lags behind my brain. I have cramp in my stomach the whole time and sometimes in my lower back and I usually can’t move. I bite my arms and my pillows because my fangs burn and ache. And the pain makes me really tense and horrible. It’s why I can’t be on my phone; I don’t want to lash out at any of you because I can’t keep my own symptoms under control.”
He’s too dehydrated to cry, but he can feel his throat clogging up uncomfortably and clenches his eyes shut. “I dealt with it for a while, and then after we debuted, we finally had the lesson about heats and ruts. And I went to the managers and tried to explain that mine were wrong, that something was wrong. And before I could explain they just started showing me all these videos of dog hybrids losing control and biting and hurting omegas. And they told me that if I was going to be like that – if I was going to be a bad dog – I would have to sort it out or get kicked from the group.”
Minho’s breath catches at that, like a clover hitch tied perfectly in space. Seungmin supposes that it’s a deep-rooted fear, even after all this time. Sometimes he still wakes up in a panic when he can’t smell Felix in the room next door.
“I became really scared of hurting you or Jeongin, and my ruts were just getting worse, but nobody seemed to know what to do about it. At my health checks they couldn’t find anything wrong with my hormones, so they just gave me medication to help with the pain. And that’s it, I guess. There’s nothing anyone can do. So, yes, I’m very scared of hurting you but I also really don’t want you to see me in that state and I don’t want to be fucking awful to you because I can’t think straight and—.” He takes a shuddering breath, his throat feeling narrow and rough.
The stillness in the room evaporates instantly, Minho’s arm wrapping firmly around his shoulders, pulling Seungmin so that his face is tucked into Minho’s neck. The cat hybrid is purring beneath him, Seungmin can feel it rumbling between their chests. He takes a few gasping breaths, suddenly aware of and how torn open and exposed he feels. Minho rocks him slightly, projecting warm ginger into the space around them. It’s a few moments before he’s breathing properly again, and he pulls himself back to sit upright. Minho lets him go with just the slightest bit of resistance. “Sorry,” Seungmin murmurs weakly, but he’s not really sure what he’s apologising for.
Minho just shakes his head; his palm settled warmly on Seungmin’s knee. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he says, and his tone is so sure that Seungmin finds himself believing him. “None of that should have happened to you, Seungmin-ah.” His thumb presses hard into the bone of his knee, grounding and protective all at once. There is an intensity to his voice, to his positioning, that Seungmin has seen only rarely in the past.
“I didn’t—” There is a pause as Minho seems to search for the right words, “I’m sorry for asking you so many times about after the surgery.” Seungmin looks up at him with eyes blown wide, “I had no idea that you were treated like that and I need you to know that I would never have prodded you about it if I had known it was traumatic for you.”
Seungmin goes to interject, but Minho shushes him gently. “Just let me speak for a second, baby.” He can feel his cheeks heat up at the words and hopes that the lighting is dim enough to hide it. “You’ve been so brave for so long, and I’m so proud of you for telling me all of this.”
“Thank you,” Seungmin murmurs, and Minho’s smile is like a nightlight.
“You’re so good, Seungmin-ah,” he says, fingers carding through Seungmin’s hair. Seungmin can feel his tail slowly tracing patterns in the air behind him. “You did everything that you could to look after me and Jeongin, even if it was unnecessary. I know you would never hurt us, but when you thought it was possible, you stopped it from being possible. You suffer quietly because you’re concerned about worrying us and you always prepare so carefully for your ruts. Nobody should have ever convinced you that you were bad.” Minho stops for a moment, tongue tracing over the points of his teeth, “I’ll help you look at treatment options, okay? I know how awful some hybrid doctors can be, but there has to be something better than this.”
Seungmin bites his lip, nodding slowly and letting himself tip back towards Minho. The older hybrid takes his weight with ease, falling backwards so that Seungmin can arrange himself comfortably on top. He feels sore and vulnerable, but something at the back of his mind itches of pride. It’s only solidified by the steady reassurance of Minho’s hand scraping along his spine and his full blooming scent lingering in his nostrils.
The traffic from the window seems louder now, and Seungmin slowly synchronises his breath with the rhythmic rushing of the cars. Something in him is screaming that Minho doesn’t believe him, that it will be just like the managers all over again. It is quashed pretty quickly when he feels Minho’s tail brush against his own, gentle and sweet. His body is tired and heavy, weakened by his rut and emotion, but Seungmin is beginning to think that might be okay.
Minho’s hand doesn’t stop moving, moulding to the contours of his back as if they were craved from one another. “We’ll figure it out together,” Minho says again, quieter this time.
Seungmin doesn’t answer straight away, a little thrown off by the statement. The idea of going to a doctor, being seen as a medical anomaly sits awkward and sharp in his throat. Outside, a bus breaks too hard and metal sighs against the tarmac.
“What if I never want to spend a cycle together?” He asks, his fangs wanting to prod until Minho exposes a weakness, until he proves Seungmin’s innermost turmoil right.
Minho hums, thumb tracing over a notch in his spine, “Then we’ll never spend a cycle together. You think I can’t work around that?” His sounds confident, assured in himself and in Seungmin. Assured in the two of them together.
“What if you get sick of it eventually, though?” Seungmin insists, black tea becoming slightly more bitter and unsure.
Minho laughs at him, fond and natural, “Sick of you?” Lemon and ginger reach out to tangle with Seungmin’s scent, twisting around one another. Minho takes Seungmin’s chin between his finger and thumb, tilting his head up so that Seungmin can’t look away. “Cats are very territorial, Seungmin,” he says. “You won’t get rid of me that easily.”
Seungmin smiles at him, slow and a little tired, “Oh,” he says softly, fingers curled in Minho’s sleeve, “you really do like me a bit too much, don’t you hyung?”
Minho makes a quiet rumble, an ambiguous sound somewhere between agreement and protest, but he doesn’t let go.