Min-jae did not mean to sign up for "Introduction to Movement & Expression."
He had been trying to register for "Advanced Systems Optimization." But the university's course registration site glitched, or maybe fate glitched harder, and by the time he realized, he was officially enrolled in a class that required a yoga mat and breathable clothing.
His advisor called it "a chance to cultivate embodied empathy." He called it a mistake that smelled like humiliation.
Si-won, however, had enrolled on purpose. Because dance class meant mirror walls, loose uniforms, trust exercises, and proximity clauses with zero consequences. It was practically pheromone-sanctioned foreplay and some idle training prep. Also, he had heard Min-jae got in by accident.
"I smell fate," Si-won declared, arriving at the studio in lavender warmups and a cropped mesh hoodie that exposed exactly two centimeters of shoulder and full intentions.
"I smell cinnamon," he added, looking at Min-jae. "Are you nervous?"
"There's no cinnamon," Min-jae said, already regretting waking up.
"There's always cinnamon. You just don't admit it."
The studio was a long rectangular space with polished floors, full-length mirrors, and fluorescent lighting that made every inch of sweat look emotionally symbolic. The instructor was a Beta named Sun-jin who wore loose pants, clapped rhythmically, and said things like "remember, the pelvis is the anchor of authenticity."
Si-won grinned the entire time. He smelled faintly like strawberry milk, sunscreen, and rebellion. Min-jae stood in the corner like a tech intern dropped into a sensory nightmare.
"Today," the instructor said, "we're working in pairs."
Si-won's hand shot up before the words even landed.
Min-jae blinked. "You don't even know what the activity is."
"I don't care. It's destiny."
Warm-up began with "connected breathing." Si-won immediately turned sideways, facing Min-jae, and placed his palm flat against his chest.
"Your heart rate is high," Si-won said. "Do I make you nervous?"
"You make everything worse."
"And better."
"Don't scent me."
"I'm not. Yet."
The first activity was mirroring.
One partner moved. The other copied.
Si-won started with slow hip rolls and a deliberate shoulder drop that made two Omegas in the back physically gasp. Min-jae attempted to follow. His body moved like his joints were governed by a Terms of Service agreement.
"You're doing amazing, sweetie," Si-won whispered.
"I'm glitching."
"You're glowing."
"I think I sprained my rhythm."
The second activity was trust falling.
Min-jae froze.
"You're not serious," he whispered.
"We are learning to fall into safety," the instructor said.
Si-won extended his arms and smiled like a glitter-coated disaster. "Catch me, Alpha."
Min-jae did. Too hard.
They both collapsed onto the mat in a flailing tangle of limbs, breath, and pheromones. Someone shrieked. Nari, watching from the hallway, filmed the whole thing. During cooldown stretches, Si-won climbed into Min-jae's space again. The Omega lay flat on his back, letting his pheromones drift up like a fluffy cloud of whipped sugar and soft vanilla heat. Min-jae sat beside him, staring at the ceiling, trying not to breathe too deeply.
"You're inhaling weird," Si-won said.
"I'm surviving."
"You're red."
"I'm overheating."
"You're cute."
"I'm malfunctioning."
Then Si-won stretched his arms above his head and his shirt lifted. Min-jae made a strangled noise. The instructor paused and said, "We love when the body speaks for us."
The final activity was guided improvisation.
"Let your emotions move your bodies," the instructor said. "Follow instinct. Not thought."
Si-won did a spin. Min-jae didn't move.
"Trust him," the instructor said.
Min-jae blinked. Then he reached out. And Si-won jumped into his arms. It wasn't graceful. It wasn't even safe.
But Min-jae caught him. And for three seconds, they locked eyes. And the scent spike hit like a chemical fire. Si-won smelled like desire, warmth, and playfulness. Min-jae smelled like lightning and instinct and a little bit of panic. Everyone in the room reacted. Three Omegas stumbled. One fainted.
The instructor clapped.
"Now that," they said, "was bonding in motion."
That night, the student group chat exploded.
[scenteddoom69]: Did Min-jae imprint???
[nariwitch]: No but his nose twitched like one inhale from collapse
[softbeta]: I want to be caught like that just once
[swanqueen00]: Si-won is a weapon and Min-jae is a nerd who didn't read the fine print
The meme page posted:
"Coded in Java. Flustered in pheromones."
"Min-jae.exe has stopped responding."
"Si-won is the virus and I hope he never gets patched."
That night Min-jae tried to code. He opened the IDE. He stared at the blinking cursor. He adjusted his keyboard. He even cleared his browser history. But every time he tried to type, his fingers twitched. All he could think about was how Si-won had looked midair. The softness of his scent. The way he had smiled like falling was safe. The worst part? He had liked it.
Somewhere deep in his chest, his Alpha instincts had screamed: protect this. And then his brain had screamed: delete system32. He closed the laptop and curled into his pillow.
"I'm fine," he whispered.
He absolutely was not.
Meanwhile, Si-won was thriving. He had taken three selfies in front of the mirror, each with a different post-dance glow aesthetic.
He picked the last one: sweaty, flushed, towel over one shoulder, a hint of neck exposed. Hair a little tousled. Eyes slightly unfocused. The caption was already prewritten in Notes:
📸 @matchamalice
"Trust fall caught. Pheromones spiked. He's glitching and I'm glowing."
#dancelabdiaries #caughtbycinnamon #notmatedjustathletic #postbondpump #brewmatesbondcampaign
He waited four minutes before posting to simulate humility. Then threw his phone across the bed, squealed into his sleeve, and immediately picked it up again to watch the likes roll in.
Nari sent a voice memo.
"You know people are screen-recording your scent spike in slow motion, right? There's a version with a violin remix and subtitles like it's an Omegaverse K-drama."
Si-won giggled. "As they should. I was art."
Then he paused mid-sip of his oat latte. His expression shifted. He leaned back, eyes narrowed, like he was solving a very horny math problem.
"Wait. Do you think he's a virgin?"
"What?" Nari sounded like she had dropped something.
"Min-jae. He's a year younger. No dating rumors. Always flinching. He smells like unprocessed testosterone and encrypted desire. I think he's never even been kissed with intention."
"You're being delusional."
"No. I'm being scientific."
"Si-won, no..."
"Imagine his face if I whispered 'open your mouth' in a locked room."
"You need a prayer."
"I bet he'd freeze. All wide eyes and trembling code. And then he'd make a tiny sound, and I'd short-circuit him on purpose."
"You're sick."
"I would never touch him without consent."
"You are also in love."
"I just want to study his nervous system. Internally. With my tongue."
He opened Notes.
Title: Alpha Malfunction Test Protocol
– Indirect eye contact for 12 seconds
– Whispered compliment + brush of thigh
– Shirt tug experiment
– Phase 4: breath on neck (pending consent)
– Emergency override: strawberry lip gloss
He added a last line:
– Likely outcome: full emotional collapse.
– Probability of survival? Irrelevant.
Min-jae, meanwhile, had renamed his chemistry diagram after accidentally labeling a carbon atom "Si-won's collarbone."
He opened a new browser tab. Typed: "Do Omegas emit scent illusions." Then deleted it.
Opened Discord. Muted every server. Opened Instagram. Saw Si-won's story first. It was a selfie with soft lighting and a strawberry emoji and the words: "Glitched my Alpha. Again."
Min-jae stared at it for three full seconds. And liked it by accident. Then screamed into his pillow again.