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1.
Felix had his legs folded up beneath him, socked feet hooked around the rungs of Chan’s desk chair as he leaned forward, tongue peeking out slightly in concentration. The controller was warm in his hands, thumbs moving on instinct as his character darted across the screen.
Chan sat beside him, half-slouched, laughing whenever Felix cursed softly under his breath.
It felt normal, comfortable, and easy, which was why the shift in the room took Felix a moment to notice.
The air thickened, not unpleasantly, but noticeable, like the moment before rain when everything goes quiet and expectant. Chan’s laughter faltered first, his eyes flicking toward the hallway as if something had tugged at his attention.
The bedroom door creaked open.
Jeongin stepped out, hair mussed from sleep and hoodie hanging loose on his frame, sleeves pulled down over his hands. He looked soft in that just woke up way, younger somehow, but the second his gaze landed on Felix, something sharp and instinctive flickered behind his eyes.
Felix felt it then, the unmistakable prickle at the back of his neck, the awareness of being seen in a way that went deeper than sight. Before he could turn fully, Jeongin crossed the room in a few quiet strides and sat down beside him, close enough that their thighs pressed together.
Felix barely had time to register the warmth before Jeongin leaned in, nose brushing the sensitive skin beneath Felix’s jaw. Felix sucks in a quiet breath as Jeongin inhaled deeply, once, then again, like he was grounding himself through Felix’s scent alone. A soft, pleased sound rumbled from Jeongin’s chest as he nuzzled closer, arms coming around Felix’s waist, secure and possessive without being rough.
“Oh,” Felix murmured, surprise melting quickly into fondness. His body relaxed on instinct, shoulders dropping as he tilted his head slightly to give Jeongin better access. “Hi, Innie-yah.”
Jeongin responded by pressing closer, cheek against Felix’s neck, breathing him in like he’d been holding his breath all day.
Chan snorted, leaning back in his chair. “You know,” he said lightly, “you could try using words instead of scenting our omega like that.”
Jeognin stiffened just enough for the reaction to be noticeable, a low growl slipping free before he could stop it. It wasn’t loud, but it was unmistakably territorial, vibrating through his chest and into Felix as his arms tightened a fraction, shielding him without conscious thought.
Felix blinked, startled.
Chan burst out laughing. “Oh my god. You’re serious.”
Jeongin finally lifted his head, face flushed pink, eyes flicking guiltily toward Chan before dropping back to Felix. “Hyung,” he muttered, embarrassed, but his hold never loosened.
Felix turned carefully in his arms, concern softening his expression as he looked at Jeongin properly. “Hey,” he said gently. “Are you feeling okay?”
Jeongin hesitated, jaw working like he was trying to decide how much truth to give. Then he nodded, small and shy, eyes flicking away. “Yeah,” he said, though it sounded more like hope than certainty. After a beat, quieter, “Can you… can you stay with me tonight?”
Felix didn’t question it.
“Of course,” he replied immediately, smile warm and reassuring.
The effect was instantaneous.
Jeongin exhaled like something inside him had finally settled, then scooped Felix up without warning, arms secure beneath his thighs and back. Felix laughed in surprise, instinctively looping his arms around Jeongin’s shoulders.
“Innie–!”
Chan groaned dramatically. “You’re stealing my teammate.”
Jeongin shot him a look that was half-apology, half-challenge, then turned and carried Felix down the hall like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Jeongin’s room felt different the moment they stepped inside. The scent was heavier and richer, comfort layered with something restless and instinctual. Jeongin set Felix down on the bed with care, then immediately shoved an armful of blankets and soft clothes into his hands.
“Make a nest,” Jeongin said, voice a little rough around the edges. “Please.”
Felix blinked, then smiled in understanding. Ah. That made sense. The constant flying lately, the irregular sleep, it probably knocked Jeongin’s cycle off. An early rut wasn’t unheard of.
“Okay,” Felix said softly, already moving.
He worked quickly, folding hoodies, layering blankets, creating something warm and enclosed. Jeongin hovered the entire time, pacing once before settling in close again, eyes never leaving Felix for more than a heartbeat.
The second Felix finished, Jeongin surged forward and gently but firmly pushed him back into the nest, climbing over him and pressing close. Jeongin’s scent washed over Felix in waves, thick and grounding, making his head swim just slightly as his body responded without conscious permission.
Jeongin nuzzled into his neck again, breathing him in like oxygen, arms wrapping fully around him.
“Sleep,” Jeongin murmured, voice soft but absolute, protective in a way that felt ancient.
Felix smiled, lifting his head just enough to kiss him with a light, affectionate kiss that Jeongin returned eagerly before settling back against him, satisfied and heavy.
Jeongin’s hand slid to Felix’s stomach, palm warm, and fingers spread wide like a shield, holding him there as if guarding something precious.
Felix didn’t question it. He only sighed, nestling closer, comforted by the weight of Jeongin’s body and the certainty in his touch.
-
2.
Hyunjin had always been good at reading Jeongin.
Not in the obvious ways, not the teasing or the maknae energy he put on when cameras were around, but in the quieter moments when instinct slipped through the cracks before image could smooth it over. Jeongin was careful by nature, thoughtful. He noticed things, but he rarely let those things control him.
That was why Hyunjin felt unsettled almost immediately.
Backstage was its usual controlled chaos: stylists calling out times, staff weaving between mirrors and garment racks, and the low hum of music bleeding through the walls. Felix was perched on a chair nearby, laughing easily while someone adjusted his in-ear. He looked fine. More than fine actually, relaxed, bright, and comfortably himself.
Hyunjin clocked that first, because it mattered.
Jeongin, on the other hand, was off.
He stood too still, weight balanced forward like he was bracing for something. His gaze kept drifting, not snapping or obsessive, just returning again and again to the same point, like his attention had a magnetic pull he didn’t fully understand.
Hyunjin followed his line of sight at first, expecting to catch something wrong in the room. A staff member lingering too close. A loose cord. A schedule change.
Nothing.
Felix shifted in his chair, stretching, then relaxed again, smile still easy.
Jeongin’s shoulders eased just a fraction.
Hyunjin frowned. That didn’t make sense.
Jeongin wasn’t usually this reactive to the environment. He was grounded and steady under pressure, especially before a stage. If anything, Hyunjin or Jisung were the ones to spiral.
Jeongin took a step closer to the makeup station, then stopped himself, hands flexing at his sides like he’d reached for something without meaning to.
Hyunjin moved without thinking, sliding into place beside him.
“You good?” he asked quietly, eyes still scanning the room.
Jeongin blinked, startled, like he’d been pulled out of deep thought. “Yeah,” he said automatically. Then, softer, “I think so.”
Hyunjin tilted his head. Jeongin didn’t look anxious. He didn’t look irritated or overstimulated. If anything, he looked focused in a way that didn’t fit the situation.
Felix laughed suddenly, the sound bright and familiar. Jeognin’s head turned before the sound fully registered, attention snapping into place like muscle memory.
Hyunjin watched that, the speed of it, the instinct, and felt his stomach tighten.
Not because it was about Felix, but because Jeogin hadn't chosen to do it.
Felix shifted again, pressing his hands briefly to his middle as he leaned forward to grab his water bottle. It was an absent gesture, the kind people made without thinking.
Jeongin inhaled sharply, then caught himself, shoulders stiffening as if he’d just realized he was holding his breath.
Hyunjin didn’t understand what he was seeing, only that it wasn’t normal.
“Hey,” Hyunjin murmured, keeping his voice light. “You’re hovering.”
Jeongin flushed, glancing around like he was only now aware of where he was. “Am I?”
“Yes,” Hyunjin said gently. “And you never do that.”
Jeongin opened his mouth to respond, then stopped. His brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face like he was searching for an answer he couldn’t quite reach.
“I don’t mean to,” he admitted quietly. “I just feel… weird.”
Hyunjin’s chest tightened. “Weird how?”
Jeongin shook his head. “I don’t know. Like I’m missing something important.”
That answer sent a chill through Hyunjin that had nothing to do with Felix.
Because Jeongin wasn’t acting like someone stressed by schedules or stage fright. He was acting like someone whose instincts had latched onto something without giving him context.
Felix stood up then, smiling as staff called them for final checks. Jeongin moved automatically to walk beside him, then visibly corrected himself, stepping back half a pace like he’d realized too late that he’d crossed an invisible line.
Hyunjin noticed. Jeongin noticed too. Their eyes met briefly.
Jeongin looked unsettled, not embarrassed or defensive, just quietly shaken, like he didn't trust himself to explain his own reactions.
Hyunjin didn’t push, but as they lined up to go onstage, Hyunjin couldn’t shake the feeling that Jeongin wasn’t reacting to what was happening now.
He was responding to something he couldn’t see yet, and whatever it was, it had slipped past logic and gone straight to instinct, leaving Jeongin to deal with the fallout without understanding the cause.
-
3.
Seungmin liked their kitchen at night.
It was one of the few places where the world felt small again, lights dimmed, schedules forgotten, and the refrigerator humming steadily like a heartbeat. He sat at the table folding a napkin over and over, not because it needed folding, but because his hands liked having something to do.
Felix was perched on a stool by the counter, phone in hand, feet swinging slightly as he sipped from a glass of juice. He was humming softly under his breath, some melody Seungmin didn’t recognize, relaxed in a way that made the late hour feel gentle instead of heavy.
Nothing about Felix seemed wrong.
Seungmin registered that first, instinctively. He looked tired, sure, but all of them did.
Jeongin entered the kitchen without a sound. He didn’t announce himself, didn’t toss a greeting or complain about being hungry like he usually would. He simply moved straight to the counter, retrieving a bowl of cut fruit from the fridge and setting it down directly in front of Felix.
Felix glanced up, surprised, then smiled. “Oh,” he said warmly. “Thank you.”
Jeongin didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up a piece of fruit between his fingers and held it out.
Felix blinked once, then laughed softly and leaned forward without hesitation, letting Jeongin feed him. “You’re spoiling me tonight,” he said lightly.
Jeongin watched him chew.
Seungmin froze.
Felix hummed, pleased, the sound quiet and content as he swallowed. He didn’t question it, didn’t seem self-conscious, didn’t even register that it was unusual. He simply waited, eyes flicking back to his phone as Jeongin picked up another piece. And another.
Each time, Felix leaned in easily, accepting the fruit with a small smile, a soft hum following every bite like a reflex of happiness. His shoulders stated loose and his breathing stayed steady.
Jeongin, on the other hand, didn’t relax.
He stood close, too close, body angled towards Felix, arm bent protectively as if shielding him from something unseen. His movements were careful, deliberate, like he was counting each piece and gauging Felix’s response with quiet intensity.
Seungmin felt a chill slide down his spine.
“Since when do you hand-feed people?” Seungmin asked lightly, keeping his tone casual even as his attention sharpened.
Jeongin paused mid-motion, fruit still held out. “He wasn’t eating.”
Felix laughed, unfazed. “I was! Just slowly.”
Jeongin’s brow furrowed. “You need more.”
Felix tilted his head, amused. “Okay,” he said easily, and leaned forward again.
Seungmin watched Jeongin exhale only after Felix swallowed.
That was when the unease settled fully into place.
Jeongin wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t flirting. There was no embarrassment or playful edge. His focus was absolute, almost reverent, like feeding Felix wasn’t a choice so much as a necessity.
“Jeongin,” Seungmin said more quietly now. “You good?”
Jeongin blinked, finally seeming to notice Seungmin properly. “Yeah,” he said automatically. Then, after a beat, “I think so.”
Felix hummed again as Jeongin offered another piece of fruit, eyes crinkling happily. “This is nice,” he said, genuinely pleased.
Jeongin’s mouth twitched, something like relief passing over his face, but his posture didn’t change. He didn’t step back or stop.
Felix finished the last piece and smiled up at him. “Thanks, Innie-hyungnim.”
Jeongin nodded once, slow and solemn, like the task had been completed correctly.
Felix hopped down from the stool, stretching with a soft groan before padding down the hall, still humming to himself.
The moment Felix disappeared from view, Jeongin’s shoulders dropped just slightly, as if he’d been holding tension together with sheer will.
“That wasn’t normal,” Seungmin said gently as he stood.
Jeongin frowned, confusion flickering across his face. “What wasn’t?”
Seungmin searched for words, then sighed. “You fed him. You watched him eat. You hardly blinked until he finished.”
Jeongin stared at his hands, flexing his fingers slowly like he was only now realizing what they’d done.
“I didn’t mean to,” he murmured. “I just… it felt important.”
Seungmin’s chest tightened. “Important how?”
Jeongin shook his head, frustrated. “I don’t know. Like if I didn’t, something would be wrong.”
Seungmin leaned back against the counter, heart heavy with a feeling he couldn’t name.
Jeongin wasn’t acting on thought, he was acting on instinct, and whatever had triggered it, it had already rooted itself deep enough that Jeongin didn’t even question it anymore.
-
4.
Changbin had always thought of himself as the hinge.
Not the loudest voice in the room (well…), not the one with final authority, but the one who noticed when things started to bend the wrong way, when tempers flared, when misunderstandings spiraled or when instinct threatened to overtake reason. He was the one who stepped between bodies during arguments and smoothed edges before they cut.
Which was why the meeting made his stomach tighten almost immediately.
They were seated around the long conference table, managers and staff lining one side, the members the other. It was a familiar setup, feedback, notes about teh comeback, and reminders about stamina and cohesion. Everyone nodded along, practiced and professional.
Felix sat near the middle, posture polite, hands folded in his lap.
Jeongin hadn’t been next to him at first.
Jisung had taken the seat, chair scraping lightly against the floor as he settled in. Changbin had barely registered it before Jeongin moved, fast and sudden enough that it drew a few glances.
“Hyung,” Jeongin said quietly but firmly, one hand already on the back of Felix’s chair. “Switch with me.”
Jisung blinked. “What—?”
Jeongin didn’t wait for an answer. He stepped in, shoulder brushing Jisung aside just enough to make space, and sat down hard beside Felix, thigh pressed close and arm immediately draping behind Felix’s chair like it belonged there.
The room stilled.
Changbin felt it, that subtle collective pause, the way everyone noticed but didn’t comment. Jisung hesitated, then slowly moved to the empty seat without protest, eyes flicking to Changbin in silent confusion.
Felix looked up at Jeongin, surprised, then smiled faintly and leaned closer without thinking.
Jeongin’s shoulders eased.
Changbin frowned.
The meeting continued, but Changbin barely heard the words anymore. His attention kept snagging on Jeongin, the way his knee stayed angled toward Felix, the way his hand rested on Felix’s back, thumb moving in slow, grounding circles. Jeongin barely looked up at the speakers, eyes instead tracking Felix’s posture, his breathing, and the slightest shifts of his weight.
Changbin shifted in his chair, unease curling low in his gut.
Then one of the staff cleared their throat.
“There is one thing we want to flag,” they said, glancing down at their notes. “Felix has gained a bit more weight than expected between check-ins.”
The air went dead.
Changbin felt every member go rigid at once, a collective, instinctive reaction. They all knew that topic. They all hated it.
Felix’s smile froze, polite and automatic, hands tightening together in his lap.
Changbin was already preparing to intervene, but Jeongin beat him to it.
“That’s not a problem.” The words were sharp.
Every head turned.
The staff member blinked. “Jeongin—”
“He’s healthy,” Jeongin continued, voice steady but edged with something dangerous. “His energy’s better, his recovery’s better. Weight gain isn’t a bad thing, and it’s not your place to make it sound like one.”
The room erupted into stunned silence.
Changbin’s heart slammed against his ribs.
Jeongin never spoke like that. Not to elders, not in meetings, and not on record.
The staff member stiffened. “We’re just doing our jobs.”
“And we’re doing ours,” Jeongin shot back, posture rigid, arm tightening protectively around the back of Felix’s chair. “And constantly policing his body isn’t helping anyone.”
Felix turned toward him, eyes wide. “Innie–”
Changbin stood immediately.
“Okay,” he said calmly, voice firm but even, stepping into the space before it could fracture further. “Let’s take a breath.”
He placed a hand on Jeongin’s shoulder, “Jeongin-ah. With me.”
Jeongin didn’t move.
“I’m not done,” he snapped, eyes never leaving the staff member.
Changbin leaned in, lowering his voice. “You are. Right now.”
Jeongin hesitated, jaw tight, eyes flicking to Felix. The hesitation said everything.
Changbin squeezed his shoulder. “Yongbok is fine. I promise.”
Reluctantly, painfully, Jeongin stood, clearly bristling as Changbin guided him out of the room. The door shut behind them, muting the hum of shocked whispers inside.
Jeongin ripped his shoulder free, pacing immediately. “They’re always on him,” he burst out, words tumbling over each other. “Every check-in, every meal, every comment. Like he’s something to manage instead of a person.”
Changbin watched him carefully. Jeongin’s scent was sharp and unsettled, instinct flaring unchecked.
“I know,” Changbin said evenly. “You’re not wrong.”
“Then why does everyone let it happen?” Jeongin demanded, fists clenched. “Why does he always have to smile and take it?”
Changbin stepped closer, grounding his voice. “Because blowing up liek tht puts Felix at risk too. You know that.”
Jeongin dragged a hand down his face, breathing hard. “I just— I couldn’t sit there and listen to it.”
Changbin nodded slowly. “I get that.”
And he did. What he didn’t get was the intensity, the way Jeongin looked like he’d been ready to fight the entire room.
The door opened behind them.
Felix stepped out, expression soft and a little confused. “Bin?”
Jeongin turned instantly. All the tension drained from him like someone had pulled a plug. He was at Felix’s side in two steps, hands gentle and eyes scanning his face.
“Are you okay, hyung?” Jeongin asked urgently. “Do you need water? Or food? I can get—”
Felix laughed softly and leaned into him, forehead resting against Jeongin’s shoulder. “I’m okay,” he said warmly. “You’re sweet.”
Jeongin relaxed immediately, arms coming around him without hesitation.
Changbin stood back, watching the way Jeongin adjusted his stance automatically, positioning himself between Felix and the hallway, voice dropping into something soft and attentive as he murmured reassurances only Felix could hear.
Felix hummed contentedly, clearly thinking nothing of it.
Changbin crossed his arms slowly, eyes narrowing with thought.
He didn’t know what was happening, but he knew one thing for sure.
Jeongin wasn’t just being protective. He was acting like the world had become something Felix needed shielding from, and like Jeongin was prepared to take on that role, no matter the cost.
And Changbin wasn’t sure how long they’d be able to pretend that was normal.
-
5.
Jisung usually liked being alone in the studio.
Well, not truly alone, Felix was in the booth and Jeongin was seated nearby, but without stuff hovering and without managers watching clocks or giving nots. It was just eth three of them, lights dimmed low, equipment humming softly, the familiar rhythm of work settling his nerves instead of spiking them.
As producer, this was his space. He trusted them here.
Felix’s voice flowed cleanly through the speakers, warm and steady, filling the room in a way that always made Jisung smile despite himself. He leaned back in his chair, one foot hooked around the base, fingers tapping absently against the desk as he listened.
Everything was going well.
Felix reached the end of the line, took a breath, then coughed.
It was barely a sound, a soft hitch at most, that he quickly swallowed.
“Sorry,” Felix said immediately through the mic, already smiling.
Jisung opened his mouth to tell him it was fine, but Jeongin’s chair scraped sharply against the floor before he could.
Jisung startled, heart jumping as Jeongin stood so fast his headphones slid halfway off his ears. Jeognin’s eyes were locked on the booth, posture rigid, every muscle pulled tight like a string about to snap.
“Stop.” The word cut through the room, sudden and absolute.
The track died mid-beat.
Jisung froze, hand still hovering near the keyboard.
“...Innie?” he said slowly.
Jeongin didn’t look at him. “He needs a break.”
Jisung turned in his chair, fully facing him now. “We’re fine,” he said carefully. “It was just a cough.”
Jeongin finally met his gaze. There was no apology in his gaze, no hesitation. Just certainty, sharp and unsettling.
“No,” Jeongin said. “He's done for tonight.”
The room felt smaller all at once.
Jisung’s chest tightened. This wasn’t how Jeongin spoke. Not to him. Not to any of them. Not in here. Jisung was the one who set the limits, who decided when to push and when to stop.
“You don't get to decide that,” Jisung said gently, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.
Felix’s voice came through the speakers again, soft and confused. “Guys, I’m really okay, I can do another take.”
Jeongin shook his head, slow and firm, still not taking his eyes off the booth. “You don’t have to.”
Jisung swallowed. Something about that phrasing felt wrong.
He pushed his chair back and stoof, moving closer, keeping his tone calm. “Innie-ah, look at me.”
Jeongin didn’t.
“He coughed,” Jeongin said, like that was explanation enough.
“I heard it,” Jisung replied. “I’m the one listening.”
Jeongin’s jaw tightened. “Then you should know.”
Know what?
Jisung didn’t say it out loud, but the question pulsed between them.
Felix stepped out of the booth then, smile easy despite the tension of two posturing alphas. “You’re worrying too much,” he said warmly, reaching for the water bottle JIsung had left on the counter. “I’m fine.”
Jeongin was beside him instantly, taking the bottle, twisting the cap off, and holding it out without thinking.
Felix accepted it without hesitation, humming softly as he took a sip, completely unbothered by the interruption or the way Jeongin hovered closer.
Jeongin watched him drink.
Jisung felt his stomach drop, because Jeongin didn’t relax when Felix had smiled, he had only relaxed when Felix swallowed.
“Innie,” Jisung said again, quieter now. “You can’t shut things down like that. Not here.”
Jeongin finally looked at him, confusion flickering across his face like he was only now realizing Jisung was upset.
“He needed it,” Jeongin said, voice low but unwavering.
“Tha’ts not your call,” Jisung replied, forcing himself to stay steady even as something cold curled in his chest. “You don’t usually—”
“I know,” Jeongin cut in, running a hand through his hair, agitation bleeding through his composure. “I know I don’t. But I couldn't just let it go.”
Felix finished his water and smiled up at Jeongin, leaning lightly into his side. “I’m okay,” he promised.
Jeongin nodded, satisfied, hand hovering near Felix’s back before he seemed to catch himself and pull away.
Jisung watched the exchange in silence.
Jeongin hadn’t overridden him because he didn’t respect his role, he knew that. He’d overridden him because, in that moment, nothing else mattered.
Jisung turned back to the console slowly, heart heavy.
“Let’s call it,” he said at last. “We’ll pick it up tomorrow.”
Felix brightened immediately. “Okay!”
Jeongin exhaled, tension finally bleeding from his shoulders.
Jisung stared at the screen, his hands resting uselessly on the desk. This wasn’t burnout. This wasn’t stress. Jeongin hadn’t reacted to sound or fatigue.
He’d reacted like prevention mattered more than process, like something unseen had set his instincts on a hair-trigger he didn’t know how to disengage.
Jisung had the sinking feeling that next time, it wouldn’t just be a recording session Jeongin was willing to shut down.
-
6.
Minho had Felix balanced easily in his arms, Felix’s laugh bright and breathless as Minho spun him once, then twice, just to hear it again.
“Hyunggggg, put me down,” Felix protested weakly, grinning, fingers clutching at Minho’s shoulders.
“Nope,” Minho replied cheerfully, adjusting his grip and lifting him higher just to be annoying. “You chose violence when you tried to steal my hoodie. This is the consequence.”
Felix laughed hard, heard tipping back and completely unafraid.
This was normal.
Minho knew Felix’s body better than almost anyone in the pack, knew how much pressure he liked, how he liked to be lifted, jostled, and pinned just enough to feel held without feeling trapped. Felix liked rough affection. He leaned into it, trusted it, and thrived on it.
Minho had never once hurt him.
That was why the sharp intake of breath behind him made Minho pause. Not because he felt like he was doing something wrong, but because it didn’t belong.
“Put him down.”
The voice was strained, too sharp and too urgent.
Minho turned, still holding Felix easily in the air, and saw Jeongin standing rigid in the doorway with Chan just behind him. Jeongin’s eyes were blown wide, scent flaring so fast that Minho felt it like a pressure change.
“Innie?” Minho said, confused. “What–”
“Now,” Jeongin snapped, stepping forward
Minho lowered Felix automatically, instincts responding to tone before thought. Felix’s feet hit the floor safely, and Minho’s hands were still on his waist when Jeongin surged forward.
Jeongin grabbed Felix, not roughly, but desperately, hands checking his arms, his side and his back like he expected to find damage.
“Are you hurt?” Jeongin demanded, voice tight. “Did he drop you? Did anything–”
Felix blinked. “What? No.”
Jeongin pulled him closer anyway, scenting him deeply, breath shaky as he inhaled over Felix’s scent gland like oxygen. Felix swayed slightly, startled but not distressed.
Minho felt cold creep up his spine.
“What’s wrong with you?” Minho asked sharply, stepping closer. “I didn’t hurt him.”
Jeongin shot him a glare so fierce it made Minho take a half-step back in surprise.
“You need to be more careful,” Jeongin snapped. “You can’t just throw him around like that.”
Minho stared at him. “I wasn’t throwing him around. Yongbok—”
“I don’t care,” Joengin cut in, arms tightening protectively around Felix. “He could’ve gotten hurt.”
Chan stepped forward then, hand lifting placatingly. “Innie-ah, hey. Calm down. Felix’s fine.”
Jeongin shook his head hard, breathing fast now. “No. You didn’t see it. He was in the air. If Minho had slipped, if Yongbok had–”
“He didn’t,” Minho said, incredulous now. “We do this all the time.”
Felix turned in Jeongin’s arms, confusion creasing his brow. “Innie, I’m okay,” he said softly. “Promise.”
Jeongin didn’t seem to hear him.
“They’re always so rough with you,” Joengin said, voice spiraling upward, words tumbling faster now. “Someone’s always grabbing you or pulling you or pushing you and one day, one day someone’s going to go too far and—”
Minho felt his stomach drop.
This wasn’t just about what had happened. This was fear looking for reason.
“Jeongin-ah,” Chan said firmly, stepping closer. “That’s enough.”
Jeongin shook his head again, scent flaring, panic sharp and unchecked. “No, it’s not. Everyone needs to be more careful. All of you. You don’t think about it, but I do. Someone has to.”
Felix’s hands came up gently, resting against Jeongin’s chest.
“Innie,” Felix murmured, voice calm and grounding. “Hey. Come with me.”
Jeongin blinked, breath hitching as if he’d just realized how loud he’d gotten. “Yongbok, I—”
“It’s okay,” Felix said softly, fingers curling into Jeongin’s hoodie. “Let’s take a walk, yeah?” Felix turned, tugging Jeongin with him toward the door.
Jeongin hesitated only a second before following, still wound tight, still shaking slightly as Felix guided him out of the room.
The door closed behind them, and silence flooded the space they left behind.
Minho stood frozen, heart pounding, staring at the door like it might explain itself if he waited long enough.
Chan rubbed a hand over his face slowly. “That’s… new.”
Minho swallowed. He wasn’t angry or offended, because Jeongin hadn’t looked possessive. He’d looked terrified.
And Yongbok, sweet, oblivious Yongbok, had instinctively stepped into teh role of comfort, like this was something he’d done before, like it made sense to him that he should be the one to soothe an alpha who was unraveling.
Minho crossed his arms, jaw tight.
Whatever was happening inside Jeongin, it wasn’t normal. And the fact that Felix was already adapting to it, without question, made Minho’s chest ache in a way he couldn’t quite name yet.
-
7.
Airports were always a test.
Noise, lights, bodies pressing too close, a hundred little stressors stacked on top of each other until instincts started leaking through even the most careful of self-control. Chan had learned how to manage it over the years, how to keep his pack moving smoothly through crowds, eyes up, shoulders squared, and always counting heads.
Felix was in front, as usual.
Bright hoodie, cap pulled low, and walking with that easy grace that somehow drew attention no matter how much he tried nto to. Chan stayed at the back, flanking the line, keeping an eye close on Jisung beside him, close enough that he could grab him if things went sideways.
Jeongin had been… difficult. Not loud about it, but unyielding. He’d insisted on walking directly behind Felix, close enough that his chest nearly brushed Flelix’s back with every step. Chan had almost said something, but he hadn’t.
He told himself it was nerves, travel stress, maknae instincts flaring a little too shrp.
Then the security line broke.
It wasn’t dramatic at first—just a gap—but that was all it took. Fans surged, voices rising, phones thrust forward, and flashes popping too close, too fast. Paparazzi shoved through the confusion like sharks scenting blood.
The formation collapsed.
“Jisung-ah,” Chan said immediately, grabbing his wrist as bodies slammed in around them.
“I’m here,” Jisung panted, panic already edging his voice.
Chan pulled him close, grounding him, forcing his own breathing steady as he scanned desperately for the rest of them.
Changbin and Seungmin were together, Hyunjin was cornered but moving, Minho was tense and alert, and Felix—
Chan’s heart lurched.
Felix stumbled as someone clipped his shoulder, momentum carrying him forward just enough that his balance wavered.
A growl tore through the air. A real, bone-deep sound that cut through shouting and camera shutters alike, heavy with alpha force.
Jeongin’s scent exploded outward, thick and furious, flooding the space so suddenly Chan felt it hit his lungs.
Chan whipped his head around.
Jeongin stood directly in front of Felix, body fully squared toward the threat, teeth bared, shoulders wide, and eyes blazing as he shoved Felix back behind him with one arm.
“Back the fuck up,” Jeongin snarled, voice raw. “Do you have any shame?”
The paparazzi froze, not because they cared, but because instinct always answered instinct.
“You almost took him to the floor,” Jeongin continued, stepping forward aggressively, growing with every word. “You think this is funny? Get away from him.”
Felix clutched the back of Jeongin’s jacket, stunned and breathless, eyes wide.
Chan moved without thinking, barking for security, pulling Jisung closer as guards finally surged back into place, forcing space between the pack and the crowd.
Jeongin didn’t stop posturing until Felix was fully shielded, until bodies were physically pulled away.
Only then did he retreat, backwards, never turning his back and keeping Felix hidden behind him the entire time.
They were rushed into teh cars in a blur of shouting and flashing lights.
Chan shoved Jisung into one vehicle, then climbed into another, the one Jeongin had already ducked into with Felix.
The door slammed.
Jeongin was still shaking. Low, dangerous growls rumbled in his chest as he pushed Felix deeper into the back seat, angling his body to fully cover him, one arm braced protective across Felix’s front like a barrier.
“Jeongin-ah,” Chan snapped, adrenaline still burning hot in his veins. “What the fuck was that?”
Jeongin didn’t look at him. “They got too close,” he said, voice harsh. “He almost fell.”
Chan stared. “That doesn’t—”
Felix turned to Chan then, eyes wide and glassy with shock. “Chris, I–”
Jeongin cut him off, lowering his head and scenting him heavily, breath warm and insistent against Felix’s neck.
Felix gasped softly.
Chan felt his stomach drop as Felix’s shoulders sagged, eyes fluttering as the haze took hold, that familiar, dangerous softness that came when an alpha pushed too much scent too fast.
“Jeongin,” Chan warned sharply.
Jeongin didn’t hear him.
Felix curled instinctively into Jeongin’s chest, hands clutching at his hoodie, breath evening out as the world dulled around him.
Chan shifted in his heat, heart pounding, something cold and terrible settling into place.
Jeongin held Felix like a shield and a secret both, growls slowly easing only as Felix went pliant in his arms.
Chan dragged a hand down his face, dread pooling in his gut.
There was something wrong here. Something he should have seen sooner.
Jeongin wasn’t just being protective. He was acting like he’d almost lose something irreplaceable, like the world had crossed a line it didn’t even know existed.
And the worst part, the part that made Chan’s chest ache, was how naturally Felix fit there, tucked against Jeongin, trusting and unaware.
Chan stared out the window as the car pulled away, the airport blurring past.
He was the leader. He was supposed to notice these things. And he couldn’t believe it had taken something this violent, this raw for him to finally admit it.
Something was very, very wrong with Jeongin, and whatever it was, it revolved around Felix.
-
+1
Jeongin hadn’t meant for it to take this long.
He stood in the convenience store aisle longer than necessary, fingers curling around the small box like it might burn him through the cardboard. He’d picked it up twice already, put it back once, paced, circled, and tried to talk himself out of it.
You’re spiraling, he told himself. You’re tired. Overworked. You’ve been on edge.
But that didn’t explain the ache.
Being away from Felix felt wrong in a way that Jeongin couldn’t rationlize. Not lonely or anxious, but painful. Like something vital was out of reach, like he’d left a limb behind. His instincts hadn’t quieted in weeks, not even when he slept. He woke up restless, heart racing and scent flaring for no reason he could name.
All of it centered on one person.
Jeongin paid quickly, stuffed the box into his jacket pocket, and headed back with is head pounding so hard it made his ribs ache.
Tonight, he was going to prove it.
When he got back, everyone was gathered in the living room, Chan standing instead of sitting, Changbin leaning against the couch, the others tense and watchful. Felix sat on the far end, hands folded in his lap and brows knit with confusion.
Chan looked up. “Innie. Sit down.”
Relief surged through Jeongin at the sight of Felix. Instinct pulled him forward without thought, steps angling toward the couch.
Changbin moved. He caught Jeongin by the arm and gently but firmly redirected him, pulling him down into the seat beside him instead.
“No,” Changbin said quietly.
Jeongin snarled before he could stop himself. A low, warning sound. “Why can’t I sit next to Yongbok-hyung?”
The room went still.
Chang sighed, rubbing at his temples. “That’s exactly why.”
Jeongin twisted in his seat, eyes locked on Felix. “He needs—”
“He’s fine,” Seungmin cut in softly. “You’re not.”
Jeongin stiffened. “Excuse me?”
Changbin’s voice was steady but serious. “Innie, you’ve been snapping at staff. Breaking formation, growling in public. The incident at the airport?”
“You shoved me,” Jisung added quietly. “To get to him.”
Jeongin clenched his fists. “Because people were too close.”
“They’re always close,” Hyunjin said. “That’s our job.”
Minho crossed his arms. “You’ve been hovering like Yongbok-ah is made of glass.”
Felix looked between them, startled. “Guys–”
“This isn’t about Felix,” Chan said firmly. “This is about you. You can’t keep doing this. We’re a pack. We’re idols. You don’t get to override everyone else because you feel–”
“Because I feel what?” Jeongin snapped, standing abruptly. “You won’t even let me explain!”
Chan opened his mouth. Changbin did too. They all talked over each other, voices overlapping, listing incidents, concerns, and consequences.
Jeongin’s chest burned, frustration and fear tangling until he couldn’t breathe around it anymore. They weren’t listening. They weren’t hearing him.
Jeongin’s hand slipped into his jacket pocket, and he didn’t think, he just acted.
The pregnancy test hit the coffee table with a sharp thud.
Silence fell so hard it rang, and everyone stared.
Jeongin dragged in a breath, forcing his voice steady even as his hands shook. “Yongbok needs to take that.”
Felix blinked. Once. Twice.
“...Me?” he asked faintly, pointing to himself.
Jeongin nodded. “Yes.”
Chan’s face drained of color. “Innie–”
“Let me talk,” Jeongin said sharply, then softened his tone as he looked at Felix. “Please.”
Felix swallowed. “Why?”
Jeongin exhaled slowly, grounding himself. “Because my instincts have been wrong in every way that only makes sense if they’re actually right. Because I can’t be away from you without it hurting. Because I’ve been nesting, posturing, guarding, and scenting like I’m preparing for something instead of reciting.”
He swallowed hard. “And because your last heat was two months ago.”
The room didn’t breathe.
“I’m not choosing this,” Jeongin said, voice quiet now. “It chose me. And it chose you.”
Felix stared at the box. Then slowly, he nodded.
“I’ll take it,” he said. “If you come with me.”
Jeongin didn’t hesitate. “Always.”
Felix stood up and grabbed Jeongin’s hand, tugging him down the hallway after him.
Jeongin opened the package with trembling fingers, reading the instructions twice, then again, just to be sure. He handed everything over carefully, like it mattered how gently he moved.
Felix followed the steps without complaint, then washed his hands and leaned back into Jeongin’s chest while they waited. Felix curled against him easily, familiar and warm. “You know,” he said softly, voice light despite the tension, “I haven’t minded the extra attention.”
Jeongin smiled despite himself, lowering his head to scent him just a little. “You’re my favorite maknae-hyung,” Felix added, teasing gently.
“I’ll give you this much attention forever,” Jeongin murmured. “If that's what you want.”
Felix hummed, content, tucking his face into Jeongin’s hoodie.
The timer beeped.
They froze.
Jeongin reached out, then stopped, looking at Felix. Felix nodded, eyes wide.
Together, they picked up the stick.
They peeked, and the word stared back at them, undeniable.
PREGNANT
Felix gasped.
Jeongin’s breath left him in a rush, knees nearly buckling as every instinct inside him surged into perfect, terrifying clarity.
There you are.
And suddenly, everything made sense.