Chapter Text
Love is a quiet thing. It rarely arrives with grand gestures or perfect timing. Instead, it settles into the smallest moments until, one day, someone's happiness begins to matter as much as your own.
To love is not to possess, but to cherish. It is choosing kindness over pride, patience over certainty, and finding beauty in another soul without asking them to become anything other than themselves.
Perhaps that is love in its purest form: not holding someone too tightly, but giving them every reason to stay.
Love is in other words.........
"Park SungHoon!"
SungHoon gasped at the sudden call of his name, slamming his book shut in panic as his pulse rang in his ears.
The sounds of the bustling campus cafeteria rushed back all at once, making him wince. He had been so absorbed in the book he had just bought, one that explored the many meanings of love, that he had completely forgotten he was sitting with his friends at their usual table in the middle of the cafeteria.
Speaking of his friends...
Five pairs of eyes were fixed on him, each carrying a different shade of judgment. All except his best friend, Sunoo, whose expression was much softer. Even so, the attention alone made SungHoon's stomach twist.
"W... w... what?" he asked quietly, nudging his round glasses higher up the bridge of his nose.
Heeseung, the one who had called his name, rolled his eyes before taking a sip of his cappuccino.
"I don't like repeating myself, but I guess I have to ask again." He leaned back in his chair. "What's your type? What's your ideal guy?"
Ah, right.
That had been the topic of discussion ever since they walked into the cafeteria and settled down for lunch.
SungHoon had never been one to gush over Alphas or squeal about how attractive they were, which was exactly why he had pulled out his book in the first place. His friends rarely included him in conversations because, as Jongseong had once so bluntly put it, he "killed the pace." They had laughed, and SungHoon had smiled with them, despite the lump that had settled in his throat.
So, he couldn't help but feel a little surprised when the question was directed at him.
Especially when it was about his ideal type.
His ideal type.
Hmm.
Contrary to what everyone believed, SungHoon did have an ideal type.
His mind drifted back to a memory he had tucked away in the quietest corner of his heart, one he revisited every night without fail, unlocking it just to relive it over and over again.
Dark eyes that had looked into his own. As dark as the bottomless ocean, yet somehow still shimmering like a hidden galaxy.
A scent that had mingled with his, becoming something warm and comforting, like hot chocolate on a rainy day. Like home.
Soft, luscious lips that had traced every inch of his body, blurring the line between memory and reality.
A deep voice that had killed him with every word, only to bring him back to life all over again.
His ideal type was someone taller than him. An Alpha who smelled of petrichor. An Alpha with moles scattered across his skin. An Alpha who kissed as though he were promising heaven. An Alpha with dark, unwavering eyes.
He was just about to say as much when—
Jongseong scoffed.
"You really are asking him what his ideal type is?"
To put it simply, Jongseong disliked SungHoon the most out of everyone in the group. It had only gotten worse after his boyfriend broke up with him a year ago. Ever since then, it was as though SungHoon had become the easiest target for all his bitterness.
"I mean, look at him."
Jongseong gestured toward SungHoon in that familiar, condescending way of his, dragging his gaze from the top of SungHoon's head down to his waist as though he were looking at something beneath him.
SungHoon instinctively curled into himself, clutching the hem of his purple skirt.
"Is someone like SungHoon even allowed to have a type?" Jongseong laughed dryly. "He should be grateful if someone looks at his face twice."
Sunoo opened his mouth to speak, but Jongseong was already turning fully toward SungHoon.
"Sorry to say this, babes. I don't want to be the villain in your story, but someone has to tell you the truth."
He pointed lazily at SungHoon's face.
"You've got freckles all over your face. You don't even shape your brows. You wear those glasses every single day, and you dress like an '80s high schooler."
There was a brief pause, and SungHoon could hear the silence settling over the tables around them.
"I think the person you'll end up with is just... another version of you."
Another pause.
"...Only in Alpha form."
"Park Jongseong," Sunoo hissed, shooting him a glare.
"What?" Jongseong shrugged, completely unfazed. "Did I lie?"
"You don't always have to say every damn thing that comes into your head".
Beomgyu cleared his throat awkwardly. "Jongseong isn't wrong, though".
"Will you shut the fuck up? All of you".
Heeseung simply stirred his cappuccino, seemingly u bothered by the drama unfolding at the table.
"Look, Jongseong", Sunoo said, his voice eerily calm. "This stupid little attitude of yours is just your insecurities talking. I think that's one of the reasons Ni-ki broke up with you and found someone better".
Jongseong gasped, Just as Heeseung's eyes widened. Jisung and Beomgyu exchanged a quick glance before looking back at the scene.
"You take that back. Right now". Jongseong pushed back his chair and stood, his voice low with barely restrained anger.
"What did you say earlier?" Sunoo tilted his head. " ' Sorry, babes. I don't want to be the villain in your story, but someone has to tell you the truth' ". He gave Jongseong a saccharine sweet smile. "I'm just being honest, babes".
A long moment passed broken by the sound of Jongseong's breathing. "And if you keep acting like this, I'll kick you out of the friend group myself".
"That's not..."
SungHoon shot up from his seat so suddenly that his book slipped from the table and landed on the floor with a dull thud.
"...I..." His voice caught in his throat, he swallowed. "I... I n... need t... to..."
Jongseong clicked his tongue, grabbed his blue channel bag, and stormed out of the cafeteria, Heeseung following close behind.
Beomgyu had already gone back to scrolling through his phone, while Jisung looked uncertainly between Sunoo and SungHoon.
"Hoon?" Sunoo asked softly.
SungHoon forced the corners of his lips into a smile that never quite reached his eyes.
"I... I j... just n... need t... the b... bathroom."
Sunoo frowned, already pushing his chair back. "I'll come with....."
"N... no". The answer came to quickly. SungHoon clutched his purple bag tightly against his chest like a shield.
"W... w... won't b... be l... long."
Sunoo watched helplessly as SungHoon disappeared into the crowd of students before vanishing through the cafeteria doors.
The janitor's closet was barely big enough for one person. It was an old, forgotten space that was rarely used anymore, now serving as a dumping ground for broken equipment.
A battered steel bucket, snapped mop handles, and half-empty bottles of cleaning supplies crowded the narrow room, leaving SungHoon curled up on the cold tiled floor with his knees pulled tightly against his chest.
The moment the lock clicked into place, the tears he'd fought so hard to keep in came spilling over.
One after another, until he couldn't stop them anymore.
His shoulders shook with silent sobs as trembling fingers fumbled through his bag until they found the small purple hand mirror he always carried with him.
He stared.
Mascara had bled beneath his eyes, leaving faint black trails that mixed with his tears. His nose was blotchy, his cheeks flushed.
Ugly.
He looked so ugly.
His gaze drifted to the tiny spots scattered across his face.
Too many freckles. All ugly. All disgusting.
His fingers brushed over his eyebrows. Maybe Jongseong was right. Maybe he should've shaped them.
He adjusted his glasses with trembling fingers. Maybe he should stop wearing them.
His lips quivered as another sob escaped him.
Maybe...
Maybe nobody would ever look at him twice. Maybe he would never get to be with the one he loved.
All because of his flaws.
His grip around the mirror tightened until his knuckles turned white.
What if Jongseong lost his voice? The thought slithered into his mind like venom.
What if someone finally made him cry instead?
What if I...
He squeezed his eyes shut. "S... stop." The whisper was barely audible.
He wasn't sure whether he was talking to his reflection...
...or to the thoughts in his own head.
This is not me.
This is not me.
This is not me.
SungHoon could hardly hear anything over the sound of his own ragged breathing, the quiet sniffling he kept drawing back in, and the heavy sobs that refused to leave him alone.
Which was why he hadn't noticed the faint commotion outside.
A sharp rattle echoed through the tiny room, startling him into silence. His sobs ceased almost instantly.
The doorknob rattled again. Whoever was outside gave it another impatient shake.
"O.... occupied". The word barely made it past SungHoon's trembling lips.
A low, irritated click of a tongue came from the other side. "Seriously?" The voice was deep. Very deep.
It made SungHoon's Omega stir from where it had curled itself away, lifting its head in quiet recognition. Something twisted low in his stomach.
That voice.... It was familiar, and forever unforgettable. SungHoon's breathing stopped altogether.
It can't be...
Without thinking, all movement from instinct, he shuffled closer to the door on his knees. A warm scent drifted beneath the narrow gap at the bottom of the door.
Petrichor. Fresh rain on dry concrete. Earth after a storm.
The scent wrapped itself around him like the first bloom of spring, pulling him back to a night he had replayed in his mind a thousand times.
His grip on the mirror loosened. It was him. His Alpha.
The one who had unknowingly stolen a piece of his heart a year ago.
Outside, he sighed.
"Great".
Another sniffle escaped SungHoon before he could stop it as he leaned back against the door.
".... You're crying?"
SungHoon bit down hard on his lower lip.
"Who made you cry? Your boyfriend? Some stupid misunderstanding?" His tone wasn't gentle, if anything, it sounded mildly inconvenienced, as though comforting a stranger had never once appeared on his list of priorities.
SungHoon only curled further into himself. He didn't want to think about what had happened half an hour ago. He'd much rather listen to his voice.
When no answer came, he let out another quiet exhale.
"Tch. If you're gonna cry, at least breathe properly. Passing out in there would just be announced for everyone".
Despite the words, SungHoon felt his heartbeat begin to steady. The tears didn't stop, but somehow....his heart didn't hurt as much.
Silence settled between them once more. SungHoon remained curled against the door, listening.
There was the faint scrape of shoes against the concrete floor. The unmistakable sound of a zipper being pulled open, more shuffling followed, accompanied by the soft crinkle of what sounded like a cigarette pack, then finally a lighter flicked to life.
The tiny flame burned for only a second before disappearing, replaced by the soft crackle of tobacco catching fire.
SungHoon's Alpha mother had always disapproved smoke, because it's injurious to health, and is a habit of a delinquent. She had made sure her children have it engrained in mind and SungHoon believed it.
But at this moment, he closed his eyes. He could almost picture him standing on the other side of the door. One hand tucked into his pocket. The other holding a cigarette between long fingers. Fingers that has traced every part of his body.
He let out a slow exhale. "I came here because nobody uses this place. And now you're taking up my spot". He took another drag of his cigarette.
Despite the complaint, he made no move to leave. Smoke slowly seeped beneath the gap at the bottom of the door, carrying with it the familiar scent of Petrichor.
"If you're gonna stay in there", he muttered, "don't start whining about the smell. I smoke and I'm going to smoke".
He took another drag before adding as an afterthought, "if you've got a problem with it, that's your problem".
SungHoon's fingers tightened around the little mirror in his lap. He didn't mind, not even a little. If anything, the smoke, mixed with the Alpha's scent, reminded him of a night he'd never managed to forget. That night, the Alpha's leather jacket had been smelling of cigarette, and regardless of how much he doesn't like the scent of cigarette, he had been addicted to it.
"Omegas are dramatic as hell". The words came out in an unhurried drawl, rough around the edges. "One bad day and suddenly you've locked yourself in a Janitor's closet to cry your princess eyes out".
He clicked his tongue, blowing smoke out. "Then tomorrow you'll walk back out there and start acting like the same bitches you were yesterday".
SungHoon breathed out, wanting to merge against the door and listen to the Alpha talk forever.
"I'm curious.." There was the faint sound of ash being tapped onto the floor. "What crawled up your ass? Actually, don't answer that. I don't care".
His voice dipped into something almost lazy, almost like a purr.
"At the end of the day, you'll probably go home, whine to your daddy, and wake up with a whole new boutique hanging in your closet.... Must be nice".
There was silence again, SungHoon using that opportunity to take his wipes from his bag and wipe his face of any tears.
"A word of advice for you though. People talk, they'll always talk. You could be ugly, you could be pretty, you could be rich or poor, you could be quiet or the loudest. They'll still find something to run their mouths about"
"So crying because some idiot opened theirs sounds like a waste of tears".
The hallway fell quiet again, broken only by the soft crackle of the burning cigarette.
"If you spend your whole life trying to shut everyone up, you're gonna end up exhausted. So let 'em bark..... They're usually all noise anyway triggered by insecurities".
The cigarette burned down to its filter.
A faint scrape echoed from the other side as the sole of a shoe ground the remaining ember into the concrete.
Then... Something nudged against the bottom of the door.
A half-empty bottle of water slid through the narrow gap, rolling across the dusty floor before coming to a stop against SungHoon's knee.
He clicked his tongue.
"Drink."
There was no concern in his voice, nor warmth.
Just another order.
"You've been crying your lungs out, hydrate or whatever."
SungHoon stared at the bottle.
His fingers hovered over it, almost afraid to touch it.
Outside, footsteps shifted. "I'm leaving."
Another pause.
"And unlock the door when you're done."
He shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Oh..."
His voice came one last time, quieter now.
"Next time......pick a better hiding spot." Then he walked away.
His footsteps gradually faded into the distance until the hallway fell completely silent.
SungHoon didn't move, not for a long while.
The bottle rested quietly in his lap.
His breathing had evened out without him realizing it.
The ache in his chest was still there. Jongseong's words still lingered. His reflection hadn't changed. His freckles were still scattered across his face. His brows were still untouched. His glasses still sat crooked on the bridge of his nose.
Nothing about him had changed.
Somehow...
Everything felt lighter. The faint scent of petrichor still lingered beneath the door, mixing with the fading traces of cigarette smoke.
He closed his eyes. The memory of that night. The sound of that voice. The roughness hidden beneath every careless word.
They wrapped around his heart with a tenderness he himself would probably deny existed.
SungHoon carefully picked up the bottle of water, turning it over in his hands as though it were something precious.
A laugh escaped him, almost embarrassed.
"...Thank you."
He knew the hallway was empty. He knew the Alpha had already gone.
Still...
The words felt right.
His thumb brushed absentmindedly over the place where Riki's fingers must have held the bottle.
Then, for the first time since leaving the cafeteria... SungHoon smiled. It was tiny, fragile, but real