It was supposed to be a normal return to campus. Drop off the other students. Go their separate ways. Act like nothing had happened in the mountains, like no hot night bonding had occurred, like no cameras had captured Si-won all inviting and glowing under an Alpha's scent trail.
Instead, they got mobbed.
There were edits. Too many. Slow-motion zooms on on their cabin as Alpha walking in holding his down blanket. Lo-fi remixes of the cinnamon moment with sparkly filters and captions like "when he scents you but respects your trauma." Someone made a fake fan account called @GlossOnSheets that posted seventeen clips in twelve hours, all tagged #SunbaesInLog.
The moment the bus pulled into the university lot, a small army of students holding phones, iced drinks, and pheromone stickers came charging toward them like it was a K-pop fan meet. There were shrieks of "He's the one from the cinnamon scene!" and someone shouted "Straddle footage supremacy!" while climbing onto a bench with the energy of a cult leader.
Min-jae didn't hesitate. He yanked his black baseball cap off his own head, shoved it over Si-won's mess of pink hair, snatched a pair of knockoff sunglasses from someone's open bag on the seat behind them, and shoved them onto the Omega's face without ceremony.
"Put your head down," he muttered.
"What are you...?"
"You're a limited-edition pop-up mascot now. Move."
They fled through the crowd with the kind of urgency reserved for boyband scandals and unlicensed scent bombs. Si-won clung to Min-jae's hoodie sleeve like his life depended on it, which, judging by the flash of three very determined Alpha dance majors closing in from the quad, it did.
By the time they reached the campus gates, Si-won's disguise was halfway down his face, his jeans were sliding off one hip, and Min-jae had made an executive decision.
"You're not going to the dorm."
"I live there."
"Not anymore."
"This is kidnapping."
"This is witness protection."
"You're kidnapping me to your apartment?..."
"You'd rather face OmegaTok live?"
Si-won shut up.
Min-jae's apartment was much bigger than Si-won expected. Not a penthouse, not a hidden chaebol hideout, just tastefully modern with cool lighting, sleek walls, and one suspiciously well-stocked espresso machine. The air smelled like cedarwood cleaner and the faintest trace of cinnamon, as if the space had absorbed his presence over time.
Si-won wandered the living room like a shellshocked fugitive while Min-jae quietly opened the hall closet, pulled out a small laundry bin, and gestured.
"You reek of fear and fandom. Clothes off."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"Your hoodie's still damp from panic sweat."
"It's called pheromone layering."
"It's called washing it."
Si-won insisted on doing laundry the "K-drama way," which meant dramatically smelling every detergent option before flinging a scoop into the machine like he was summoning a spell. Min-jae ignored him completely until the dryer settings were misclicked and both of them had to wrestle the vibrating appliance like it was trying to escape the wall.
Later, Min-jae disappeared into the city for twenty minutes and came back with a brand-new toothbrush, Omega-safe conditioner, oversized slippers, and a bag of strawberry puffs that Si-won pretended not to love. He dropped everything onto the bathroom counter like it was a hostage negotiation.
"Here. Essentials."
"Where's my face mist?"
"Online order it."
"And scented toner?"
"Card's on the table."
"Min-jae, I am an Omega with needs."
"And a login to the skincare site."
"This is emotional neglect."
"This is room service."
Si-won stormed off to online shop with the determination of someone trying to rebuild his identity through retail therapy. He added five different types of pajamas, two uselessly expensive hair tools, and a limited-edition diffuser shaped like a sad bunny before getting distracted by his own reflection and forgetting to check out. Min-jae never blinked at the cart total. He paid without comment.
"Did you tell anyone you're staying here?" Min-jae asked.
"Only Nari. And maybe the barista who asked if I was the one from the 'lap straddle scene.' I told her I was just a body double."
"You straddled me."
"It was for science."
"You moaned."
"It was for the fans."
They lapsed into silence. Si-won chewed on a crunchy snack dramatically. Then he asked the question he had been sitting on all afternoon.
"Are you rich?"
Min-jae didn't look up. "No."
"Okay, but like, you have matching chargers for your devices."
"So?"
"You have two bathrooms and no roommates."
"Coincidence."
"Your oat milk is imported from Jeju."
"They make it good."
Si-won scrolled through his feed like it owed him money.
"Fantastic. I'm trending again. #FoamSlut, #GlossOnSheets, and someone made a remix of me moaning with slow jazz in the background. Those are fake moans, not me."
Min-jae looked up from folding laundry, one eyebrow raised.
"Congratulations. You've officially become a genre."
"I'm serious! I look like some desperate mesh-wearing pheromone chaser. Who's going to take me seriously now?"
Min-jae blinked. "You mean besides the guy currently folding your underwear?"
Si-won flopped dramatically onto the couch.
"No one's going to want me. This looks like a scandal."
"Oh no," Min-jae deadpanned. "A scandal. Involving you. How unprecedented."
"I mean it," Si-won said, quieter now. "This was supposed to be a fake bond. A strategy. Not a meme. Not a career-ending pheromone collapse."
Min-jae folded another shirt with surgical precision.
"Right. Because fake bonding with someone for a week and then sleeping in his bed for two nights straight was a flawless PR move."
Si-won shot him a look. "You're mad."
"I'm folding," Min-jae said flatly. "That's what people do when they're not mad."
"Are you mad that I said no one's going to love me?"
Min-jae didn't answer right away.
"Little bit," he muttered. "But it's fine. You've got your jazz remix."
Si-won fell asleep mid-scroll, one leg thrown over the armrest, lip gloss slightly smudged, phone still glowing with unread comments. The blanket had half-slid off his shoulder, revealing the curve of his neck and a line of glitter that refused to be defeated by three rounds of cleansing oil.
Min-jae found him like that. curled into the cushions, cheeks warm, breath steady, hair a mess of pink strands stuck to his temple. He stood there for a moment. Just watching. Then sighed, turned off the phone screen, and gently slid his arms under him. Si-won stirred once, made a soft noise in his throat, then settled against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"You're impossible," Min-jae whispered, but it came out like affection.
He carried him to the bedroom with careful steps, avoiding the laundry pile and the banana pillow that had somehow already claimed a corner of the bed. He laid him down gently, tucked the blankets around his shoulders, and left the light on low.
Only then did he pull out his phone.
Min-jae: He fell asleep on the couch. Moved him to the bed. Still breathing. Looks like a powdered strawberry pancake.
Nari: Thank GOD. Is he drooling?
Min-jae: Lightly.
Nari: I want pictures but also that feels illegal. Bring him to class tomorrow or I'm calling the cops.
Min-jae: He's safe. I promise.
He slid the phone onto the nightstand, glanced back at the sleeping form tangled in fuzzy blankets and too many pillows, and let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Then he turned off the light. In the morning he posted for provate audience only.