It was unmistakably different from any expression he’d seen on Yuhan before. Not that perfectly composed smile of his — this one felt genuine. What in the world could make him smile like that while calling Jinwoo’s name. The idea that alcohol had loosened his true feelings made even less sense.
Jinwoo’s heart beat hard. It had always beaten, of course — but the speed and force of it were different now. Every vein in his body seemed to vibrate, and sweat was seeping into his palms. It was a sensation he had never felt before.
Startled by it, Jinwoo bolted out and fled to his own room. He couldn’t even begin to process what had just happened. In that moment, he hadn’t even noticed the omega pheromones that had been bothering him all night. It had been only the two of them — Yuhan and himself — filling that space entirely.
He tried his best to ignore the pounding in his chest that refused to settle, but in the end Jinwoo stayed up the entire night. He didn’t fall asleep until he saw the first light of dawn creeping in. The sound of Yuhan’s door opening never came, even then.
It was well into the morning before Jinwoo opened his eyes. The heart that had kept him awake through the night was quiet now, as if nothing had happened at all. The hazy dreamlike quality of the night before lasted only until the moment he stepped out into the living room — where it vanished completely.
“You slept in.”
Yuhan’s voice reached him at the same moment as the omega’s scent he’d sensed the night before. Whether it was lingering traces or his own sensitive nose reacting, something stirred in him immediately.
“What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?”
“The pheromones….”
The moment it left his mouth, he had no idea why he’d even gone that far in explaining, and his mood plummeted.
There was no way Yuhan — dominant as he was — couldn’t have detected those pheromones. Which meant the omega whose scent was on him was someone Yuhan saw often enough to be familiar with. To Jinwoo, the implication was clear: Yuhan knew full well that Jinwoo was sensitive to pheromones, and yet hadn’t felt the need to get rid of the scent.
He felt embarrassed for having lost sleep over the face that had smiled while calling his name.
“Ah.”
Ah?
That was all he had to say — just an exclamation. The deflation of it made a hollow laugh escape Jinwoo before he could stop it.
“I’m sorry. Yesterday, that….”
The way Yuhan hesitated, choosing his words, irritated Jinwoo for no good reason. He’d been about to say there was no need to explain who it was — that whether Yuhan kept a lover on the side or had a one-night stand was his own business, and to just please be mindful of the pheromones going forward — but Yuhan was faster.
“It was probably an employee….”
“…An employee?”
“It’s just…. Don’t keep standing there, come sit down. Your legs must be tired.”
He’d been so focused on Yuhan that he’d completely forgotten he’d been standing this whole time since running into him.
Any other day he would have followed Yuhan’s gesture and sat on the sofa, but right now he didn’t want to. The scent of that omega was still on Yuhan, and it was deeply unpleasant.
Picking up on the reluctance, Yuhan let a familiar wave of pheromones quietly drift out. In an instant the wide living room was filled, and the nauseating scent that had been making Jinwoo’s face pinch vanished. Only then did Yuhan step closer and extend his hand.
A string of words Jinwoo had picked up studying abroad circled in his mouth and went back down. Yuhan had a way of doing things like this at exactly the worst moment and it always irritated him. If he was going to set up a second life outside, he could at least stop being so considerate at home.
Unlike Jinwoo, who was working hard to hide how flustered he was, Yuhan looked completely unbothered — and he was the one who’d come home with another omega’s pheromones on him. Every time Jinwoo became aware of the gap between them, an inexplicable sense of deprivation and indignation washed over him all at once.
“I’m sorry for coming home so late without even a message last night. It wasn’t the kind of occasion that should have gone on that long….”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“No, I want to. Let me.”
The nerves that had been pulled tight began to ease gradually. All it took was one drift of Yuhan’s pheromones. His sincerely apologetic manner had something to do with it as well.
“There was an omega employee at that restaurant who was particularly careless about containing their pheromones. They were in the same room, so the scent must have gotten on me.”
“…….”
“I had meant to use a pheromone neutralizer before coming home…. I’m sorry.”
He had been too drunk to even hold himself upright, so of course he wouldn’t have thought of something like that. The strange thing was that hearing him explain it like this — making excuses — was unlocking the tightness that had been sitting in Jinwoo’s chest. He wanted more of it, and before he knew it, he was waiting to hear Yuhan say that he’d make sure this never happened again. When he realized that, Jinwoo clenched his hand and reined in the feelings churning inside him.
“I’ll just stop drinking.”
“Sorry?”
“If I hadn’t been drinking, none of this would have made you uncomfortable in the first place. Quitting entirely seems like the best solution.”
“No, wait. Are you always this extreme about things?”
Just saying he’d be more careful going forward would have been enough. And yet this man had picked the strangest moment to abandon his usual composed maturity.
“Ah…. Well, sometimes that’s just how people are.”
He knew better than Jinwoo how many bottles were still sitting unopened in the cabinet. The sight of Yuhan unwinding with a quiet drink after work had always looked so natural — and now he was saying he’d quit because of Jinwoo. That made Jinwoo feel more burdened than anything.
“No, don’t quit drinking. Just be mindful of the pheromones.”
“…If that’s what you want. And I really am sorry about the pheromones.”
For a moment Yuhan looked like a well-trained large dog. Yuhan was someone more accustomed to — more naturally suited to — making decisions and issuing them, rather than asking for them. And yet he respected Jinwoo’s opinion above everything else, and that was something Jinwoo appreciated.
His mood had swung so many times in the span of just a few minutes — only moments ago he’d been twisting everything Yuhan said into something to take issue with, and now he felt fine again. The influence of this little bundle of cells was no small thing.
Cocooned in the warm, gentle pheromones and feeling the tension ease from his shoulders, he found himself growing curious about what had been on his mind the whole night through. What kind of dream could possibly make someone smile like that and call his name. Even if he asked, Yuhan probably wouldn’t remember — but unable to contain his curiosity, Jinwoo inched his way into the question.
“Do you tend to dream much when you sleep…?”
He had no choice but to take the roundabout approach. Blurting out “Did I appear in your dream?” wasn’t something their relationship — not close enough, not casual enough — would allow.
“Dreams…?”
“Yes. Like, being chased by a monster, or falling into a fantasy world… or a specific person appearing.”
The real thing you want to say should always go last — that way the other person, off their guard, accepts it without suspicion. Jinwoo stole a sideways glance, but Yuhan’s mouth was firmly shut.
Did he catch on?
His mouth was going dry and he was about to take back everything he’d said when —
“I don’t think I dream much.”
A deflating answer came back. That can’t be right. Then what was it, if not talking in his sleep? Whether it was Jinwoo appearing in the dream, or some situation that had led him to call Jinwoo’s name — one of those two had to be true for any of it to make sense. Otherwise there was no reason for Yuhan to murmur his name unconsciously.
Jinwoo reflexively opened his mouth to push further, then pressed his lips shut again. Having to explain the situation himself was embarrassing enough, and there was the possibility Yuhan genuinely didn’t remember — so he couldn’t afford to jump to conclusions.
He buried the unsettled feeling with effort.
“I see.”
“I do feel a little sorry not to have had a prophetic dream yet.”
“It doesn’t matter whether you did or not. Something you’ve been… ah, never mind.”
It wouldn’t be a child born from love, welcomed into the world by everyone’s blessings. Yuhan might be happy — but Jinwoo wasn’t. Could I love this child? Could a child born like this feel loved?
It was a worry and a question that had been following Jinwoo around ever since the pregnancy was confirmed. Not every parent in the world loved their child simply because it came from their own body. Jinwoo, who had always believed that maternal and paternal love were constructs people had invented, felt that weight even more deeply.
“A prophetic dream is your unconscious mind telling you about the pregnancy, isn’t it. I can’t imagine I’d forget one if I’d had it… so I suppose I just haven’t dreamed one yet.”
“…….”
“If you have one, make sure you tell me.”
Jinwoo ran a hand over his stomach. Even that didn’t make it feel real — that beneath the flat, unmarked surface, a new life existed.
“Does your stomach hurt? Should we go to the hospital?”
“No. It doesn’t hurt.”
Something just felt strange. Even when Yuhan said he hoped to have a prophetic dream, Jinwoo found himself wishing there was a different reason behind it. I shouldn’t let myself, he thought — and the wretchedness of hoping anyway sat heavy on him.
I think we need to be a little warmer with each other.
