Chapter Text
The day starts at 6 a.m. with a packed schedule. Radio interviews, show recordings, dance practices. Dokja is already half-dead by the afternoon, slouched in the makeup chair. Still, he keeps the energy up on camera, cracking jokes, tossing sly comments, acting like he just downed six shots of espresso and not three hours of sleep.
Joonghyuk on the other hand goes through the day like a machine. Focused and unsmiling. He rarely talks or smiles during fan meetings, and yet somehow, he remains the most popular in the group. Fans say it’s because of his charisma and looks that gives off a mysterious vibe, while Dokja says it’s all just a scam.
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Later that night, the noise of the refrigerator filled the silence. Kim Dokja stood by the kitchen sink, a mug of barley tea warming his hands, eyes distant.
Joonghyuk lingered in the doorway.
He hadn’t meant to watch—but there was something off tonight. Dokja had been too quiet during rehearsal, his rhythm a half-second late, his hands trembling after the high note in “Let’s Meet Again.” No one else had noticed, not even the leader. But Joonghyuk had.
“You’re masking it,” Joonghyuk said.
Dokja didn’t turn around. “I’m tired.”
“You’re suppressing,” Joonghyuk pressed, sharper now. “Aren’t you?”
The silence cracked like ice. Dokja stiffened. Slowly, he turned, keeping the mug between them like a shield.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Joonghyuk stepped closer. The sharp scent of suppressant clung to the air, his nose wrinkled.
“You do,” he said. “That’s the same brand our manager used to hide his secretary’s heat last year.”
Dokja flinched, just slightly. Then he put the mug down and walked past Joonghyuk like nothing had happened.
“I’ll go somewhere else for the night,” Dokja said through his teeth. His mind growing hazier by each second.
Joonghyuk didn’t move, just reminded him. “You’re in heat.”
“No shit.”
They stared at each other for a breath too long. Joonghyuk took a step forward.
“I’ll get the manager,” he said.
“Don’t.” Dokja’s voice cracked. “They can’t know. We have a concert in less than a week. Please .”
Joonghyuk stopped, jaw tightening.
For a moment, there was nothing but the buzz of the vanity lights and the sound of Dokja trying not to fall apart.
Then Joonghyuk stepped forward, just close enough to block the door from view to prevent him from leaving.
“I won’t touch you,” he said evenly. “But I’ll stay until it passes.”
“…Why?”
“Because you look like you're going to break.”
Dokja didn’t argue, just sat on the sofa in defeat.
The air was thick with heat and pheromones, and Joonghyuk’s self-control was fraying at the edges. He’d intended to stay distant. To just look after him. But the longer he stood there, the more Dokja’s scent clawed at him like a hand around his throat.
Suppressants dulled it, but not enough.Not with Dokja like this: breath hitching, flushed, trying to hold back instincts with sheer will.
Joonghyuk felt his own body beginning to respond, slow and traitorous. He staggered a step back. His head pounded.
Shit. Not now. Not—
“Joonghyuk.”
His name, soft and uncertain, snapped him in two.
The rest came fast. Heat and rut coiled and twisted between them, and Joonghyuk didn’t remember what happened in-between, only the sound of Dokja gasping his name like he hated needing it.
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Next Day:
Kim Dokja woke up to a bed that was too clean to be his, the blankets smelled fresh with faint traces of musk.
His body ached. His head throbbed dully. A shirt several sizes too big clung to his skin. He wasn’t in the dorm. He wasn’t at the agency.
He turned—and saw Yoo Joonghyuk seated at the edge of the bed, arms crossed. Watching.
Dokja flushed a bright crimson red as the memories from last night crashed down on him.Where he was and what happened.
“Oh,” Dokja said hoarsely. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“No,” Joonghyuk replied, voice even. “But it did.”
Dokja looked away, lips twitching downward. “You should’ve left me there.”
“I couldn’t.” Joonghyuk’s voice was steady, quiet.“I stayed because you needed it.” And Dokja realised, he wasn’t being pitied. Joonghyuk had chosen to be there.
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2 Months later…
The studio was quiet except for the soft squeak of sneakers against the floor. The rest of group had left an hour ago, but Dokja lingered, slowly moving through the steps of their new choreography. He was… off. Not sloppy, but slower, less sharp. Joonghyuk watched from the wall, arms crossed.
“You’re late on the drop again,” he said flatly.
Dokja’s eyes flicked to him through the mirror. “I’m tired.”
“You’re always tired lately.”
Dokja didn’t reply.
Joonghyuk’s gaze sharpened. He noticed the way Dokja’s hands trembled slightly when he reached for his water bottle. The way he pressed a palm low on his stomach without realising. The barely-there flush that hadn’t faded in weeks.
He said nothing for a long time. Then, quietly:
“Kim Dokja. When was your last heat?”
Dokja froze. The tension was slowly settling between them.
“A month ago,” Dokja replied. Too quickly.
Joonghyuk stepped closer. “You’re lying.”
“…It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.”
Dokja turned, jaw tight. “If you’re asking what I think you’re asking, don’t.”
Joonghyuk stopped in front of him, searching his face for answers. “You’re pregnant.”
It wasn’t a question. Dokja didn’t deny it.
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The air in the office was too cold, too clean. Dokja sat across from Manager Han Myungoh, his hoodie pulled low over his face, hands tucked into his sleeves looking like he was ashamed to tell him.
Yoo Joonghyuk sat beside him.A quiet wall of support.
Manager Han rubbed his temples, then leaned forward.
“You’re telling me you’re pregnant.”
Dokja didn’t flinch. “Yes.”
“And Joonghyuk is—?”
“Yes.”
A beat of silence.
The manager exhaled and leaned back, jaw working.
“I should fire both of you.”
Joonghyuk stiffened. Dokja’s hands balled in his sleeves.
“But I won’t,” Manager Han continued. “Because you two are the main pillars of this group. And if both of you leaves, our entire revenue chart flatlines.”
He opened a drawer and tossed a thick folder onto the desk. Schedules, endorsements, concert planning. A stack built around their faces.
“You’ll take a hiatus,” he told Dokja. “We’ll say it’s due to health issues.Exhaustion, anemia, something vague but sympathetic. You’ll disappear before anyone notices the weight gain or your scent changing.”
“And after?” Dokja asked. Voice small.
“We’ll revisit. Maybe you come back as a producer. Maybe as a solo act, in a year or two. Depends on how messy this gets.”
“What about the rest in the team?” Joonghyuk asked.
“They won’t know. Not unless you tell them. You think I’m risking Namwoon or Jihye tweeting something stupid at 3 a.m.?”
Dokja almost laughed. Almost.
The manager stood. “You have four weeks left before hiatus. Use them well. And don’t do anything that’ll make my job harder.”
The manager left the conference room, leaving them alone.