The morning light filtered through the half-drawn curtains of the hospital ward, pale and soft, as though afraid to intrude. The silence that lingered between the sterile white walls was interrupted only by the faint rhythmic hum of the machines and the occasional footsteps of nurses beyond the door. Lior sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers knotting restlessly in the folds of the hospital sheet. The faint scent of gardenia still clung to him, even though he had tried to steady it. No matter how carefully he tried to control it, it seeped through—the fragrance of a truth he could no longer hide.
Kaein stood near the window, broad shoulders tense beneath the crisp shirt he had thrown on in haste. The faint trace of wisteria that belonged to him was sharp in the air, steady, grounding. He turned his head, gaze sweeping over Lior with that mixture of concern and protective sharpness that made it difficult for Lior to breathe. The memory of the night before—the fever of heat and rut colliding, passion so raw it had left him trembling—still burned in his body. But here, beneath the quiet brightness of the morning, it felt heavier, frightening, real.
A knock at the door broke the silence.
"Mr. Lior, Mr. Kaein," the nurse's voice was gentle, practiced. "The specialist will see you now."
Lior's throat tightened. He stood, though his legs felt heavier than stone, and Kaein was instantly there, his hand brushing against Lior's back as though urging strength into him. Together, they followed the nurse down the corridor, each step echoing too loudly in Lior's ears.
---
The consultation room smelled faintly of antiseptic and old paper. Bookshelves lined with thick medical volumes covered one wall, and in the center sat a polished desk where the doctor—a calm, silver-haired man with sharp but kind eyes—waited. His coat was crisp, his posture steady, as though he carried the weight of too many secrets but had learned how not to let them show.
"Please, sit," the doctor said, his voice low, deliberate. His gaze lingered on Lior for a moment longer than courtesy demanded, not with judgment, but with a kind of studied understanding. "I've reviewed your test results."
Lior sat stiffly, his palms pressed to his knees. Kaein, beside him, reached over to let their fingers brush. Lior glanced sideways, saw the quiet promise in Kaein's eyes—you are not alone—and forced himself to breathe.
The doctor folded his hands on the desk. "Your case is… unique. In fact, it is the first I've encountered directly. You're not Alpha, nor Omega, nor Beta. Your pheromonal patterns, genetic indicators, and reproductive markers all align with a rare classification documented only a handful of times in history." His pause carried weight, as though the word itself demanded reverence. "You are what is called a Lunar."
The syllables seemed to strike the air like a bell. Lior blinked, his pulse stuttering. "Lunar…?" he echoed, as though tasting the word for the first time. It felt foreign, heavy, alien.
The doctor nodded. "Lunars are… a rarity. Perhaps one in a billion. Records suggest that their existence is both revered and feared. They carry traits of both Alpha and Omega, yet surpass them in dominance. Their pheromones are powerful, capable of influencing even a dominant Alpha, and in your case, we saw it last night—the ability to trigger synchronized rut."
Kaein's jaw tightened, his grip on Lior's hand steady but firm. Lior's stomach twisted. "So… I'm neither," he murmured. "Not Alpha. Not Omega." His voice was quiet, as though ashamed.
"Not neither," the doctor corrected gently. "Something more. Lunars are rare precisely because their bodies carry dual potential. They can enter rut as an Alpha would, yet also exhibit heat-like cycles, though stronger, more volatile. And…" His gaze sharpened slightly, as though bracing them for the weight of the truth. "When bonded permanently, a Lunar can do what no Alpha or Omega can. They can impregnate even an Alpha."
The words fell like thunder into the small room.
Lior's breath hitched. His vision swam for a moment, as though the world had tilted beneath him. He heard Kaein inhale sharply, though the man said nothing. The silence stretched, filled with the hum of fluorescent lights and the pounding of blood in Lior's ears.
"I—impregnate…?" His voice cracked, the word strange and jagged on his tongue. His chest tightened, panic clawing. "That's… absurd. That's—wrong. I can't—how could—"
"Lior." Kaein's voice cut in, deep, grounding, but Lior shook his head violently, pulling his hand free.
"No, Kaein. Don't—you don't understand." His breath came too fast, trembling. "I thought I was Omega once, maybe. Or maybe Alpha. Something normal. But this—this makes me a monster. Something unnatural." His hands curled into fists against his thighs. "To… to burden you with this—"
"Lior." This time, Kaein's voice was sharper, carrying the command of an Alpha yet tempered with fierce protectiveness. He reached forward, cupping Lior's jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze. "Look at me."
Lior's eyes, glassy and panicked, lifted unwillingly. The wisteria scent pressed against him, heavy and steady, a wall that refused to let him drown.
"You are not a monster," Kaein said, each word slow, deliberate, absolute. "You are mine. Whatever name the world gives you—Alpha, Omega, Lunar, rare, impossible—you are still you. And I will never see you as a burden."
The words shook something loose in Lior's chest, but the fear did not vanish. His lips trembled. "But what if—what if they treat me like an anomaly? What if people see me as dangerous, as… unnatural? What if I can't control it? What if being with me drags you into the same—"
"Then let them talk," Kaein interrupted, his tone steel. "Let them fear. I don't care. They don't decide what you are. I do. And to me, you're the only one I want." His thumb brushed against Lior's cheek, steadying, grounding. "You're Lior. That's enough."
The raw conviction in his voice cut through Lior's panic, though his chest still ached. He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. The gardenia scent flickered in the air—strong, alluring, betraying the storm of his emotions. The doctor, sensing the intimacy of the moment, politely lowered his gaze to the files on his desk, giving them space.
Still, Lior's mind spun. Lunar. A word that separated him from the world he thought he belonged to. A word that gave him strength but also set him apart. He thought of last night—the way his body had burned, the way he had pulled Kaein into the storm with him. Passion, yes, but frightening too. Was this who he was now? Someone whose love was too fierce, too consuming, too dangerous?
The doctor finally spoke again, his tone gentle. "Mr. Lior, I understand your fears. Many Lunars in history have hidden their nature, for fear of being hunted, misunderstood, or used. But you are not alone. You have someone who understands. And with careful guidance, your pheromones and cycles can be stabilized. You are not an anomaly to fear—you are simply rare."
Lior exhaled shakily, his shoulders sagging. Kaein's hand remained on his face, steady and unyielding, as though reminding him that even if the world turned cold, this warmth would remain.
---
By the time they left the hospital, the sun had risen high, washing the streets in gold. The city outside bustled as though nothing monumental had been revealed inside those walls. Lior walked beside Kaein, silent, his thoughts heavy. Every step felt like carrying a word he could not yet speak: Lunar. It pulsed in his chest, frightening and strange.
Kaein walked steadily, a half-step closer than usual, his hand brushing against Lior's now and then, as though ensuring he wouldn't drift away. The scent of wisteria clung to him, strong, grounding. At one point, Lior whispered, almost too softly to be heard, "What if I can't live up to what you see in me?"
Kaein turned his head, his eyes narrowing slightly, sharp with unshaken certainty. "Then I'll remind you every day until you believe it yourself."
The words lingered between them as they reached the car. Neither spoke much on the drive home. Lior leaned his head against the cool glass of the window, the gardenia in the air soft but restless. Kaein drove with one hand on the wheel, the other reaching occasionally to rest against Lior's knee, a quiet promise. No matter how heavy the truth felt, no matter how uncertain tomorrow seemed, the present was still theirs. And for now, that was enough.
When they finally stepped through the door of their home, the silence was different—less sterile than the hospital's, more intimate, warmer. Lior paused in the entryway, staring down at his hands. The word still echoed in his mind, but when Kaein's arm slipped around his waist, pulling him close, the fear eased—if only a little.
"Welcome home," Kaein murmured against his hair, voice low, steady. And Lior, for the first time since hearing the word Lunar, allowed himself to breathe.