Chapter Text
There is throbbing pain all over his body. You would think that he is used to it by now, but guess academic life never gives you a break. Neck, head, back, wrist, and more places, Minho isn’t sure how to name the crack whenever he changes position.
Although lying on his tummy for four hours with his laptop’s brightness at a hundred percent probably isn’t the most ergonomic thing to do. He rolls to face the ceiling, trying to alleviate some of the pressure in his lower back, rolls on the floor, and lets a groan out. His eyes burn from the light coming from the bulb, and he decides to close them instead.
“Hey, everything alright?” Chan asks from his place on the couch, book and a neon highlighter in hand.
He rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands; they feel dry as a desert.
“Yeah, it’s just. I think I'll need to get glasses soon.”
“Tell me about it, dude. The stress is making my hair fall like crazy.”
Minho snorts, a nasal, ugly sound that comes all the way from his nostrils and the back of his throat. He can't really see the difference Chan talks about. It's a little hard when ninety percent of the time he is wearing either a cap or a beanie.
“My vision is the sacrifice I gotta make for a job that is half over the minimum wage and health insurance.”
Chan laughs at the seriousness with which he says it. Dimples showing and eyes closing, it’s so charming and endearing, like everything about him. Minho tries to mask his longing sigh with exhaustion.
“Well, you have that secured either way, so you will be getting your hair back. Don’t worry.”
More than seeing, Minho hears the slap of a book closing, and then there is a weight on his chest. Literally. “If you say so, I trust you.” Chan says, rubbing Minho’s tummy and making him all fluttery and soft. He swallows.
Once again, he is happy for being a beta; otherwise, his scent would be flooding their dorm, betraying his embarrassing reaction to something as simple as a little petting. He would look so stupid.
Since his smell cannot snitch on him, Minho musters all the nonchalance he doesn’t possess to answer a quiet, “Ok, you should.” His voice still sounds higher and pitchier than he'd like.
“There is something else that worries me, though.” The cogs of Chan’s mind turn inside so hard that he can practically hear them screeching. Minho tugs his ear and hisses back when the other grunts in that way alphas do at being disturbed. “I- it’s just. I've been thinking about it for some time, and well… I want to start courting Felix, formally.”
It takes a moment to sink in that the Felix Chan referred to is his cousin. Sweet Felix, the closest thing Minho has ever had to a little brother, and one of his closest friends since childhood. He can’t really say that Chan’s intentions are sudden or that they even surprise him. Sometimes they look at each other in a way that cannot be described as anything else but smitten, and Felix is naturally cuddly, but he seems to seek Chan the most out of all of their friends; even Seungmin has complained more than once about Felix reeking of seasalt.
“Wow. That's- that's amazing, Chan.”
So no, the news doesn't come out of the blue. Either way, it makes his eyes burn, and his chest tightens uncomfortably. Minho guesses that a part of him had hoped they would do nothing about it, just like him.
“Damn, I really need those glasses.”
.☘︎ ݁˖
Since Minho can recall, the distinction between subgenders has been there. He was not always aware of it, but now that he is an adult, he’d have to be completely out of touch with reality not to. Their entire society and systems seem to be catered to alphas and omegas. There is this quasi-compulsory need to pair them up, which is not only a show of Korea’s close mindedness but also a preventive measure against how low the natality in their country is. It’s bullshit, even if he understands the rationale behind it at some level.
Fortunately, Minho has been privileged enough for his subgender to not represent a major obstacle in his life. Count your blessings and always be grateful, he thinks bitterly of his father’s words. He really should; he has so many good things going for him and still, he can’t help but wonder if being an omega would have changed anything. Maybe a sweet scent would have made Chan look at him, or the pheromones of a heat would have tempted him, or perhaps just knowing Minho was able to bear children could have made him see him in a different light.
He could have been an option. But Minho wasn’t, isn't, and won’t ever be. And who could blame Chan when his choice was Felix? Pretty and fun and caring and sweet and all things Minho is not. On top of all that, they look good together, cover magazine worthy. They sway in each other’s arms to the slow sentimental ballad they both chose to be their first dance as husbands, because they are cute like that. A fated match, he hears some call it, and it brings a nostalgic smile to his face while bile fights to rise in his throat.
In the grand scale of things, Minho thinks of himself as a good person; he recycles, feeds stray cats, calls his father regularly, and even donates to foundations. He is a good person, he repeats as a mantra when his mind reshapes the scene happening in front of him and replaces Felix with himself, Chan holding him in his arms, looking at him with so much love in his eyes that it would leave him out of breath. The bedrock of his fantasy is wobbly; there is nothing to sustain it besides his imagination, and that has never been Minho’s forte.
“It’s almost nauseating, right?”
Minho needs to turn to identify who the voice belongs to. Oh, Jisung. It’s been some time since he last saw Chan’s little brother anywhere outside of a picture. He must have arrived late, Minho doesn’t remember seeing him at the ceremony or sliding up next to him.
“What?”
“How perfect they're together.” He clarifies, pointing at them with his index finger.
And what else can Minho do but agree? Because that's the thing, he does agree, and he is happy for them, how could he not when they are the two people he loves the most in the world? It doesn't make fucking sense.
“Yes, it's unbelievable.”
“Wanna dance?”
Minho is unsure if he missed something that led to Jisung’s question and feels too shy to ask him. The other man looks expectant, with an outstretched hand for him to take, and Minho could really use the distraction. He takes the offered hand and gives him a polite smile.
“Sure.”
They mingle among the couples and groups of friends, twirling together to go to a corner of the dancefloor. The music is slow but dancey, kind of like a smooth and sensual bossa nova, one of Chan’s favorite genres. He lets Jisung decide whether he wants to guide and finds himself mildly surprised when he clumsily directs Minho’s hand to his waist. It is unusual for alphas to delegate any kind of control, even in something like this, to anyone. If Jisung grew up to be anything like Chan, it would make sense that he’s not like most.
“You should lead. I remember you being a dancer.” He says, putting his hands on Minho’s shoulders, clearly clueless about what to do besides swaying from one side to the other. “Weren’t you in a crew or something?”
“Yes, I used to do it as a hobby. There is not much time for it now, though.”
Minho moves their bodies to the rhythm of the music. After a few moments, the stiffness leaves Jisung’s body.
“A shame, you were- are incredible at it.”
“Thanks.”
He answers automatically without giving it too much thought if the words are out of courtesy or if Jisung actually feels them. They do a couple more songs before they have to go sit back down at their table. It’s time to cut the cake that Felix himself had baked; it’s beyond delicious, the bread soft and moist with a hint of coffee liquor in it. He engages in casual chitchat with Jisung, meanwhile, and asks him about his job. To be honest, Minho doesn't know much about it besides Jisung taking a career path his and Chan’s mother didn't approve of. Also, Chan doesn't talk much about him, the nature of their relationship being a bit of a mystery for him.
Jisung tells him he works in the music industry as a lyricist and producer mainly, but that he's starting to dabble in arranging. Minho has no idea what the difference is between those, but he hums in acknowledgement so the other will keep talking. Minho notices he talks a lot with his hands, and he has the vague memory of himself doing the same as a teenager.
“Hey guys, having fun?” Felix asks with a wide, cramp-inducing smile that hasn't left his face since this morning. One of his arms is linked to Chan’s, and his free hand reaches for Minho to interlock their fingers.
“Yes, everything is absolutely beautiful, and this?” He points with his fork at his plate. “I’m gonna go to the kitchens and steal some more.”
Felix laughs, bell-like and bubbly, which makes Minho’s heart squeeze with fondness. “Thanks, hyung.” Lia waves at them, trying to call their attention and makes a motion to the couple to get closer. “We'll keep greeting the guests. See you in a bit.”
Chan stays behind and finishes whatever conversation he was simultaneously having with his brother, and moves to clasp one hand in Minho’s shoulder.
“Who would have thought we would end up being family, uh?”
Me, just not like this.
“Did it never really occur to you?”
Chan shakes his head with an open smile on his lips as if he finds whatever is crossing his mind unbelievable.
“I've told you this. It hit me like a train, it was like one day I woke up and realized I wanted him to be next to me the rest of my life, you know?”
He hums. “Not really, sounds nice though.”
“Let's toast to having all my family here with me today on the happiest day of my life.”
The clank of the three glasses is drowned by the guests' chatter and background music.
“Cheers.”
“I'm surprised you didn't give me ‘the talk’ about Felix.”
Minho rolls his eyes and takes a sip of peachy bubbles. He uses that small moment to think his words through.
“You already make him so happy, and I know you'd prefer to walk into traffic than hurt him.” Chan just laughs and raises his glass to clank it against Minho’s once more, but he pulls it away before they can do it. “But if you make him cry, I'll be the one pushing you in front of a car.”
Chan brings their glasses together again, this time with success.
“I wouldn't expect less from you.”
Minho gulps down his glass, and Chan goes looking for Felix; it's like he's physically unable to spend more than two minutes away from him. He's heard that happens to recently mated couples. The separation anxiety during the first months is almost as strong as the peak of a heat or a rut.
“Another drink?”
Minho flinches; he forgot for a second that Jisung was there. He shakes his head, pats around his suit jacket, feeling for the small tin in his inside pocket.
“No, thank you. I’m going out to have a smoke.”
“Can I come with you?
The last thing Minho wants is for someone to tag along with him to his brooding hiding spot, where he thought he would finally be able to have some space to breathe and get his mind out of everything that’s happened today. But then, Jisung’s whole body language reads fake nonchalance; big eyes, neck scratching, and tense shoulders, and Minho is reminded of that eager kid, always trailing behind Chan and him during the summers he got to visit.
“Yeah.”
The dance floor is full once again, but this time the lights blink and swirl to the beat and drops of the newly arrived DJ. It’s easy to go out of the salon through the back door and cross the garden to the half-concealed pool behind high flowering bushes. Minho takes one of the deckchairs, leaning back on it. Jisung takes the one to his left, sitting on the border, and resting his forearms on his knees. He takes out the tin with rolled joints and the lighter. Minho wets his lips before putting the cigarette between them and lighting it up. He offers one to Jisung, and he politely declines with a hand gesture.
“Why did you come out then?”
Outside is cold, as expected for December. Felix had thought a snowy wedding would be beautiful. There is no snow yet, but Minho can still feel his face going numb every time the warm smoke leaves his mouth. Jisung’s own nose looks red under the moonlight.
He hums and looks at the sky.
“It is a beautiful night, and even more so the company.”
That makes Minho genuinely laugh out loud and nearly choke when he inhales the wrong way. He straightens on the deckchair and takes a deep breath to tame the burn in his chest. Jisung is looking at him with something akin to interest, and Minho decides to play into it because, why shouldn’t he?
He taps the blunt in his hand and watches the ashes fall on the cobblestone floor.
“Wow, who would have thought? Little Jisung got rizz.”
“Honesty is not exactly rizz.”
It's hard to say who got closer to whom —probably Minho— but their knees are touching, faces a few centimeters apart.
“If you say so.”
He turns his face slightly to the side, takes another drag of the cigarette, and just to be cheeky or perhaps annoying, he blows it on Jisung’s face, who remains unfazed besides a little twitch on the corner of his mouth.
“I’m not little anymore.”
“Really?” Minho asks with high eyebrows, like he doesn't quite believe it.
Besides his voice, now low and calming instead of squeaky and high, not much has changed. Actually, that's a lie, Jisung got hot… very. He's handsome in a different way from Chan, where Chan has a strong jaw, big lips, and a distinctive nose. Jisung's features are softer; round cheeks, round eyes, small, round mouth. Some would even consider those characteristics more common in omegas. Still, there is something intrinsically heavy in Jisung’s aura that gives him away.
Jisung’s eyes shamelessly fall to his mouth, his upper body following every minute movement Minho does. Another drag, and this time Jisung leans in to take the smoke into his mouth, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. He’s about to take the blunt to his lips again when the alpha takes it off his hand, making sure their fingers touch, and throws it to the floor before stepping on it.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to kiss you.”
Jisung gets in his space, hands hovering up his waist and arms, never actually touching, but he can feel the tension radiating off Jisung, desire tangible in the space between. “Why don’t you stop trying and do it?” His nose runs up Minho’s neck, body heat warming Minho despite the layers of clothes between them. A smile presses in a sensitive spot behind his ear that makes him shiver.
“Do you want it?”
The vibrations of Jisung’s voice run down his spine, and his breath raises goosebumps in every patch of exposed skin. “Yes, I want it.” He says, and in a way, it’s true. He wants to feel desired and validated, wants to be someone's whole focus, even if it's not for longer than a night. He wants to want these lips pressing against his and exploring his mouth with so much passion, he wants to feel the craving and the burning so his heart will finally understand that there's more to life than the man that just married into his family. Minho closes his eyes and tries to forget everything around him. He tangles his tongue around Jisung’s; he can’t taste anything besides alcohol and weed.
Choosing the brother of the man you're in love with to try to get him out of your head is probably a bad idea. He'll leave it at that.