Jinhyeok didn't sleep.
He sat on the edge of his bed long after the dorm lights dimmed, elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced tightly together. The room was silent except for the faint hum of the academy's security system and the uneven rhythm of his breathing.
His wrist device had stopped screaming.
That didn't mean the danger had passed.
It meant it was waiting.
Across the room, the black case lay open on the desk. Two injector pens were missing.
He had already taken them.
He still didn't feel stable.
The image replayed again and again in his mind—Akira's widened eyes, the glow of the mark, the way his knees had nearly given out when Jinhyeok's scent slipped free.
Forbidden resonance confirmed.
The system had never used that phrase before.
Jinhyeok stood abruptly and crossed the room, slamming the case shut. He shoved it into a drawer and locked it, as if that could somehow contain what was happening inside his body.
"This can't continue," he muttered.
Tomorrow, he would increase the dosage again. Side effects be damned.
Tomorrow, he would avoid Li Akira Moon completely.
He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes.
That was his first mistake.
He was small again.
His hands were too small. His legs too short.
White walls surrounded him, bright and endless, the smell of antiseptic so strong it burned his nose. Someone was crying—loud, broken sobs that echoed painfully in his ears.
"Akira," a woman's voice said urgently. "Stay back."
A boy stood at the edge of the room.
Dark hair. Tear-streaked face. Wrists trembling.
"No," the boy said. "You promised."
Jinhyeok tried to speak, but his throat wouldn't work.
A needle gleamed under harsh lights.
"Seo Jinhyeok," a man's voice said coldly. "For the stability of the system."
The pain came next.
Blinding. Consuming.
And above it all—
"Don't forget me!" Akira screamed. "You said you wouldn't!"
Jinhyeok jolted awake with a sharp gasp.
His sheets were damp. His heart pounded violently, his scent thick and uncontrolled in the air.
Omega.
Fully, undeniably Omega.
He slapped his wrist device awake.
Status: UNSTABLE
Emergency suppressant required
"Damn it," he whispered hoarsely.
He injected without hesitation this time.
The relief came slower.
And with it, something worse.
Clarity.
Morning arrived too quickly.
By the time Jinhyeok stepped into the corridor, his expression was once again perfectly composed. His scent was sealed tight, his posture flawless.
If anyone looked at him, they saw an Alpha.
Only an Alpha.
Ren was waiting near the stairs, leaning casually against the railing.
"You look like hell," Ren said cheerfully.
"I always look like this," Jinhyeok replied.
Ren hummed. "Not true. You usually look like you don't care. Today you look like you're hiding something."
Jinhyeok paused. "Move."
Ren didn't. "You disappeared last night."
"I went to sleep."
Ren's eyes sharpened slightly. "Funny. I smelled panic in the stairwell after curfew."
Jinhyeok's fingers twitched.
Ren leaned closer, lowering his voice. "You sure you don't want to tell me what's going on?"
For half a second, Jinhyeok considered it.
Then he remembered white walls.
Needles.
Separation.
"No," he said flatly. "You wouldn't understand."
Ren studied him for a long moment, then stepped aside. "You're right," he said quietly. "But someone else might."
Jinhyeok didn't ask who.
He already knew.
Li Akira Moon sat two rows ahead of him in class.
He hadn't turned around once.
That was worse.
Usually, Akira was calm, observant—his attention drifting easily. Today, his posture was rigid, shoulders tight, pen unmoving in his hand.
He was listening too hard.
He remembers something, Jinhyeok realized with a sick twist in his chest.
The instructor was mid-lecture when it happened.
Akira inhaled sharply.
Not loudly.
But Jinhyeok felt it.
His device vibrated once.
Then again.
Across the room, Akira's fingers clenched around his pen until it snapped cleanly in half.
"Li Akira Moon," the instructor said sharply. "Is there a problem?"
Akira looked up slowly. His pupils were dilated.
"I feel dizzy," he said honestly.
The room shifted.
Scent spilled.
Not Omega.
Not Alpha.
Something wrong.
Jinhyeok was on his feet before he realized it.
"I'll take him to the medical wing," he said.
The instructor hesitated. "As class representative—"
"I said I'll take him," Jinhyeok repeated, voice low.
Silence.
Then a nod. "Go."
Akira looked at him, startled. "You don't have to—"
"Yes," Jinhyeok said quietly. "I do."
The hallway was empty.
Akira leaned heavily against the wall, breathing unevenly. "This keeps happening," he said. "When I'm near you."
Jinhyeok stood too close.
He knew it.
He didn't move away.
"Your body is reacting," Jinhyeok said carefully. "You should stay away from me."
Akira laughed weakly. "You say that like you're not standing right here."
Jinhyeok reached out before he could stop himself, fingers wrapping around Akira's wrist.
The mark flared instantly.
Light bloomed between them.
Akira gasped, knees buckling.
Jinhyeok caught him.
For a moment, the world disappeared.
There was only warmth. Recognition. A pull so deep it hurt.
Mine.
The thought wasn't possessive.
It was familiar.
Akira looked up at him, eyes shining with something dangerously close to memory. "Jinhyeok… what did they do to us?"
Jinhyeok's grip tightened.
"They erased us," he said softly.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Jinhyeok released him immediately, stepping back as if burned.
"Don't ask me again," he said sharply. "And don't let anyone see that mark."
Akira stared at him. "So it's real."
"Yes."
"And forbidden?"
Jinhyeok's silence was answer enough.
That evening, an encrypted message appeared on Jinhyeok's device.
Unknown Sender:
The bond is awakening faster than predicted.
Containment may no longer be possible.
Jinhyeok's blood ran cold.
A second message followed.
If the Omega remembers fully, the system will respond.
Jinhyeok looked out over the academy grounds, jaw clenched.
Somewhere below, Li Akira Moon laughed softly at something a classmate said, unaware of how close the world was to closing in on him.
"I won't let them take you again," Jinhyeok whispered.
Even if it meant burning the lie he'd lived his entire life.