Han picked up the call, already irritated.
"Han! Where are you right now? Your maids said you never returned home!" Victor's voice came through the phone, sharp with urgency.
Han rolled his eyes. "You don't need to know. I'm doing just fine. Why are you looking for me?"
Victor sighed. "For tomorrow's schedule. I thought we could sit and chat for a while as I go over—"
"Don't waste my time." Han cut him off, his tone cold. "I know my schedule is tight, and I'd like to rest before filming tomorrow. Understand?"
"Yes, dear—"
Han's blood boiled. Jet, who had been listening quietly, tensed at the sudden shift in his energy.
"I'm going to say this once," Han's voice was dangerously low. "If you ever call me anything other than 'sir,' step out of my office and never return."
Without waiting for a response, he ended the call, gripping his phone tightly.
Jet reached for Han's hand, rubbing soothing circles over his knuckles. "Calm down," he said softly. "You need to rest too. Don't overwork yourself."
Han exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing under Jet's touch. Without another word, he let his head fall against Jet's chest, closing his eyes for a moment of peace.
He listened to Jet's steady heartbeat, and just like that, he decided—he'd stay.
—
As the morning stretched on, Jet slowly got up, stretching before slipping on Han's oversized shirt from last night. The fabric draped over him, comfortably loose.
Han, meanwhile, took a shower, borrowing a fresh set of clothes after feeding Melon and Peach.
"Sorry if I made a lot of noise last night," Jet murmured, scratching behind their ears as he handed them extra treats.
But suddenly, a sharp dizziness overtook him. His vision blurred, and a deep ache pulsed through his head. His body swayed before he sank to his knees, his fingers clutching at Han's borrowed shirt.
His breathing was uneven. He pressed the fabric to his nose, inhaling Han's lingering scent. His pheromones helped—but it wasn't enough.
Jet forced himself up, his legs shaky as he stumbled toward the bedroom. His gaze landed on Han's discarded shirt from the night before, lying on the floor. He grabbed it, pressing it against his face, taking in the familiar scent.
The relief was instant. His body stopped trembling, his headache easing slightly.
"What are you doing?"
Jet froze.
Han stood by the bathroom door, his damp hair clinging to his skin, a towel slung over his shoulders. His sharp eyes locked onto Jet, amusement flickering behind them.
Jet panicked, quickly hiding the shirt behind his back.
Han laughed, stepping closer, effortlessly closing the space between them. He towered over Jet, tilting his head slightly.
"My scent relieves you, doesn't it?"
Jet swallowed hard. His face turned red, his grip tightening around the fabric. He tried to avoid Han's gaze, but there was no escaping it.
Jet's fingers curled around the fabric behind him, his face burning, his mind screaming at him to deny everything—but his body moved before he could think.
Instead of answering, instead of letting Han have the upper hand, Jet took a step forward, barely any space between them anymore. Han didn't had time to react before Jet grabbed his wrist and pulled him in.
"Then stay close," Jet murmured, voice quieter but steady.
His forehead pressed against Han's collarbone, and before he could stop himself, he inhaled deeply, drinking in the scent straight from the source.
Han's smirk faltered. His teasing words died in his throat as Jet exhaled against his skin, the warmth making his muscles tense.
For a moment, Han expected Jet to break away, to laugh it off—but he didn't. Jet stayed close, his fingers resting lightly on Han's chest, as if grounding himself.
Han softened, wrapping an arm around Jet's waist, pressing his lips briefly to Jet's temple. "Take all that you need."
And Jet did. He breathed him in, slowly, deeply—letting the lingering ache in his head ease, letting the warmth between them settle in his chest, steady and real.
"You started this," he murmurs, his voice still a little hushed but firm. "So don't get shy on me now."
Han swallows. Hard. His smirk is long gone, replaced by something else—something deeper, something Jet is definitely aware of.
And just like that, the tables have turned.
The rest of the day, after Jet cleaned up, he stayed close to Han, curling up around him on the bed or couch, clinging to him wherever he went. No matter where Han moved, Jet followed, burying his face into Han's scent like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
"You're busy again tomorrow," Jet mumbled against Han's shoulder. "At least you have my scent on your shirt. Just hope I finish early if your rut isn't completely gone."
Han hummed, rubbing Jet's back absentmindedly. "Reincarnated as Alphas… who would've thought?"
Jet smirked. "The Heavens clearly had a reason."
Han chuckled. "Guess they wanted to give us another chance."
Jet relaxed in his arms for a moment before asking, "You don't like Victor, do you?"
Han immediately rolled his eyes. "Hate him."
Jet raised a brow, intrigued. "Why?"
Han let out an exasperated sigh. "He's obsessed with me—"
The second those words left his mouth, Jet's pheromones spiked, filling the air with a sharp wave of jealousy. Han felt it instantly, his body reacting on instinct.
A smirk curled on Han's lips as he continued, teasing, "He calls me pet names, insists on sitting close when we talk… always finding an excuse to touch me…"
Jet's scent flared again, more intense this time.
Han leaned in, grinning. "You're that jealous?"
Jet crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. "Can I not be?"
Han licked his lips, gaze flicking over Jet's expression—possessive, dangerous.
Oh, this was fun.