Their mouths find each other with startling ease, every glide and pull seamless, as if they’ve done it countless times already. Suho pushes him against the wall, crowding in and Hyuntak doesn’t fight it.

Then, it hits him. This isn’t like last night’s fevered desperation. Suho is fully conscious, fully himself. The kiss is neither frantic nor painfully slow, it lingers in that middle ground. Hyuntak sighs against Suho’s mouth, fingers threading through his hair,

shivering when Suho’s palm sneaks beneath his shirt to touch bare skin. He flinches at the warmth but doesn’t pull away. He leans into it. Because the truth is, he loves this. Hell, he loves the softness of Suho’s lips, the way he seems to know exactly where Hyuntak will melt.

Suho is such a damn good kisser. Hyuntak feels it build, his throat catching as a sound escapes him when Suho presses a leg between his thighs. The kiss threatens to tip into something heavier when Suho abruptly breaks apart for air, lips still brushing his.

Suho lingers for a moment longer, planting one last quick kiss at the corner of his mouth before pulling back slightly, chest rising with ragged breaths. “I think we should go,” Suho says but his lips hover close again, like he can’t help it.

Hyuntak isn’t any better. He stays frozen in place, chest rising unevenly, gaze fixed openly on Suho’s mouth. He doesn’t even know what expression he’s wearing. Only that he feels half-expectant, like he’s waiting for something more without even realizing it shows on his face.

Suho notices though, and Hyuntak swears he hears the faintest sound, almost a growl before Suho exhales and eases forward, not for another kiss but to rest his forehead against his shoulder, right by his collarbone.

“We should go,” Suho repeats, quieter this time. It’s more like he’s saying it to himself rather than to Hyuntak. Hyuntak finally breathes out, nodding without thinking, the motion slow and absentminded.

At the laundromat, Hyuntak sits at the back with Suho leaning against his shoulder. They watch the slow churn of the machines in silence. He hears Suho yawn, the sound muffled beneath the mask Hyuntak had insisted he wear earlier.

Hyuntak finds himself yawning too as his gaze lingers on the machine in front of them, lulled by the spin and the mingled scents of detergent and dirty clothes. Time passes lazily, maybe about ten minutes before the first cycle ends with a click.

Suho stands first, stretches briefly before loading in the next batch of laundry. Hyuntak doesn’t bother to get up, letting him handle it. It’s not that he minds doing it himself but there’s something pleasant about watching someone else take over.

It isn’t hard work, just a nuisance one he’s fine handing off. The little bell above the door jingles, pulling Hyuntak’s eyes to the entrance. Another customer steps in and Hyuntak instinctively tracks the newcomer’s movements, likely just here to pick up their laundry.

He doesn’t feel the need to tense, not with Suho busy and unbothered at the machine. The man and Suho make eye contact. Hyuntak catches the moment Suho’s eyes widen, startled recognition flashing across his features.

The man seems just as familiar with him because he closes the distance easily, tapping Suho on the shoulder like they’ve known each other for years. From the back, Hyuntak raises a brow, watching their exchange with vague curiosity. Huh.

But then Hyuntak notices the way Suho fiddles with his mask. Even while talking easily with the guy, Suho keeps tugging at the fabric like it isn’t sitting right. He doesn’t interfere, though, just sits back and watches.

He hears the faint sound of Suho’s laugh and Hyuntak narrows his eyes, staring at the way the other man’s smile crinkles and how his eyes all but disappear when he’s speaking to Suho. So, yeah. They know each other. Probably too well.

Hyuntak doesn’t blink away his focus until Suho finally gestures toward him. The other guy follows the signal and glances over. Their eyes meet across the room and Hyuntak nods politely and a bit restrained before Suho excuses himself and comes back to sit beside him.

The man leaves without another word. “You alright?” Hyuntak asks, keeping his tone neutral, though he feels Suho’s weight press against his shoulder again as he adjusts his mask once more. “Yeah.” Hyuntak isn’t oblivious. He doesn’t need anyone to spell it out for him.

He can put two and two together. That guy earlier was an omega. No wonder Suho kept shifting his mask like he couldn’t quite breathe right. The scent must’ve been clinging to the air and with Suho in pre-rut, of course it would make him uncomfortable.

“Someone you know?” Hyuntak asks again, glancing at his own hands before looking back up at him. Instead of answering, Suho takes his hand, fingers sliding between his and pulls it close until Hyuntak’s wrist rests against his nose, right over the pulse point.

Hyuntak doesn’t even bother to point out the obvious, that he doesn’t have a scent. He just watches as Suho inhales slowly, visibly grounding himself. “My ex,” Suho murmurs against his skin. Oh.

His gaze shifts away. It clicks into place now, why that exchange felt too familiar, too easy between them. He’s used to Suho only having that kind of closeness with Sieun. Seeing it with someone else, even if it’s just the past, grates at him.

And of course, the ex had to be an omega. Because Suho’s an alpha. And who knows how many omegas Suho has dated before. It’s not a question Hyuntak ever wanted the answer to. Suho leans toward him again, trying to scent him a second time but Hyuntak pulls away this time,

standing up to busy himself with the clothes. He shuffles laundry from one machine to another with more force than necessary. Suho follows him, the clingy bastard, like he refuses to let him carry the chore alone, both of them half-arguing through the simple act of doing laundry.

Hyuntak gives up eventually, staring blankly at their clothes while his thoughts drift. “That was three years ago,” Suho finally says, voice muffled behind his mask. “We broke up just before college.” Hyuntak gives him a look. “I didn’t ask.”

He can see Suho smiling beneath the mask. “You seem curious, though.” It’s not the fact that Suho had a boyfriend before Sieun that bothers him. Not really. It’s that said ex was an omega who still felt free to touch him like that and Suho, the dumbass, let him.

All while being in pre-rut and clearly not okay. That’s what pisses him off. “It’s just one person,” Suho says, softer now. “Next was Sieun.” Hyuntak clicks his tongue. “Again, I didn’t ask.” He tries to sound cool about it, but the words are clipped.

“How about you?” Suho presses, shifting the focus. “I know we’re Sieun’s first boyfriends, but what about you?” Hyuntak exhales, eyes on the clothes. “…Sieun’s my first, too.” Suho purses his lips, considering that. “How about your first kiss?”

Hyuntak shoots him a glare, but Suho only shrugs, like it’s harmless curiosity. “Just asking.” “Not Sieun,” Hyuntak mutters. “An alpha?” Suho’s voice carries something else this time, not just curiosity but something near desperation. It catches Hyuntak off guard.

He studies him for a beat, then answers anyway. “Yep.” “Someone I know?” Hyuntak arches a brow, measuring him with a stare. “Why do you ask?” “I’m just curious,” Suho says again, but the words don’t sound casual at all.

And deep down, Hyuntak finds that he doesn’t mind. In fact, he kind of likes the way Suho’s composure cracks around the edges. “He is.” Suho’s eyes narrow thoughtfully. “Baku?” Hyuntak snorts but nods. “Yeah. High school. It was just a dare but we took it pretty seriously.”

The memory makes him grin despite himself. “After Baku?” Suho asks again, almost a whisper. “Another beta,” Hyuntak answers simply, “then Sieun.” “Do I know them?” Hyuntak lifts his head, eyes narrowing as they meet Suho’s. “Why?” “Just curiou—”

Hyuntak cuts him off with an eye roll. “You seem to be curious about a lot of things.” “Are you not?” “Why would I be?” Suho shrugs, like it’s nothing, though the weight behind his words says otherwise. “We don’t exactly know a lot about each other before all this.”

“It’s the past. I don’t get why that matters.” “Still.” Hyuntak exhales sharply, irritation prickling in his chest. He shoots him a glare, finally snapping, “Do I need to know how you’re still so chummy with your ex then?” The words hang in the air heavier than intended.

Silence follows. Hyuntak hadn’t meant to let it slip out like that but now it’s there. Suho tilts his head slightly. “Are you jealous?” “No.” The word flies out of Hyuntak’s mouth too fast, too defensive and he fucking hates the way it sounds.

Suho chuckles quietly and Hyuntak’s fingers twitch with the urge to flip him off but before he can, Suho moves. In a blink, he finds himself pressed against the wall, Suho bracketing him in with arms on either side, body closing the distance until there’s barely space to breathe.

Hyuntak avoids his gaze at first, eyes darting to the machines before he steadies himself, forcing an annoyed look back at him. “What do you think you’re doing?” “You get all pouty when you’re annoyed.” “That’s because you’re naturally annoying. Get off.” His words lack weight,

though his arms stay limp at his sides, making no attempt to shove Suho away. “Where do you think we are?” Suho doesn’t listen as he pulls on his mask downward. He leans in closer, his breath warm against Hyuntak’s ear.

The proximity sends a shiver down Hyuntak’s spine despite himself, his eyes trembling at the thought of someone walking in and catching them like this. “You turn me on.” The words slam into him, doubling his heartbeat.

Hyuntak’s stomach flips and he holds his breath as if that might steady him. His whole body tenses when Suho’s lips brush against his ear softly. His eyes slip shut before he even realizes, like he’s bracing for more, waiting for something, fucking anything, to follow.

But instead there’s only a sigh, ragged and heavy, and then Suho pulls back abruptly. He turns to the laundry, movements shaky, eyes fixed anywhere but on Hyuntak. “Sorry,” Suho mutters. “You’re right. We’re outside.”

Hyuntak stares, chest tight, taking in the sight of him. Suho doesn’t look calculating, not now or earlier inside their house. He doesn’t look like someone who’s scheming or teasing just for the sake of it. He looks like someone straining every muscle not to give in.

Like holding back costs him. If Hyuntak were being rational, he’d almost call it admirable. The restraint, the control, especially in pre-rut. Either the inhibitor’s really doing its job, or Hyuntak’s mind flickers to the thought he doesn’t want to dwell on,

to the corner of his mind he avoids at all costs. Maybe it’s because he’s a beta. Maybe that’s why Suho can resist him. Because there’s nothing in him to draw out that desperation, nothing to strip Suho of control the way Sieun, an omega and his mate, can.

Hyuntak longs for Sieun, too. Loves him, misses him, aches for him in the steady way betas are capable of. But he knows he doesn’t understand the gravity of it, the bone-deep pull between alphas and omegas, the kind of need that shapes instinct as much as affection.

He can’t feel that, not fully. Not like Suho and Sieun do. The thought stings, irrational and unwanted but it roots itself in him anyway, persistent. Okay. Time out.

Hyuntak drags himself back from the edge of it, forcing the whole spiral down before it takes him somewhere he can’t afford to go. Not here, not now, not with Suho so close. The rest of the laundry goes by in silence.

When they return home, Hyuntak settles into the living room. He plants himself on the couch with the laundry basket and a show running on the TV, folding clothes in absentminded motions. Suho, meanwhile, heads straight for the kitchen as he starts simmering beef for lunch.

Hyuntak works slowly, folding one shirt after another until he’s built up a decent pile. Instead of putting them away, he stacks them beside him, letting the folded clothes crowd the space. He’s sprawled out across the couch, legs bent, his whole lower body taking up the sofa,

back propped lazily against the armrest. The cluttered pile blocks the open spot near his feet, claiming over the space. Suho finishes tending to the pot and wanders over.

He pauses at the edge of the couch, staring at Hyuntak for a beat as if waiting for him to move the clothes, to make room. Hyuntak doesn’t. His eyes stay fixed on the TV, unbothered, giving Suho nothing. So Suho sighs under his breath and takes matters into his own hands.

He nudges the neat stacks closer toward the edge, freeing up enough space to sit. Then, without waiting for permission, he drops onto the cushion, close enough that his knee is only a few inches from Hyuntak’s toes. Hyuntak doesn’t give him a reaction.

Minutes pass like that, the silence filled by the steady hum of the show. It’s actually interesting enough for both of them to watch, until Hyuntak suddenly feels something. Suho’s touch, feather-light against his sock. It starts small, almost careless.

Suho doesn’t even glance his way, eyes fixed on the screen, laughing . The touches seem unconscious but Hyuntak feels each one burn into him. He pretends he’s not hyperaware, doesn’t let his body flinch or stiffen, but his chest tightens every time Suho brushes against him.

Then, somehow, he finds both his feet are on Suho’s lap, Suho’s forearm rests casually over Hyuntak’s shins, fingers sliding down to tug lightly at the edge of his sock. He flinches when fingertips slip inside at his ankle, the warmth of Suho’s palm startling against bare skin.

He reins himself in before he can jerk away. It isn’t uncomfortable. Far from it actually. It’s ticklish, yes, but the way Suho traces his skin leaves a fluttering in his stomach he doesn’t want to admit. Not after what happened earlier.

He tells himself it’s innocent, maybe even affectionate. But that lie is harder to hold onto when Suho starts gliding his palm up and down his shin, creeping closer to his knee. His other hand toys lazily with the tips of Hyuntak’s socked toes.

Hyuntak risks a sideways glance and catches Suho shifting, adjusting his position. That’s when he feels it, the faint but undeniable press of something hard beneath where his heel is resting. Hyuntak swallows hard. Fuck.

He tries to be as subtle as possible with what he does next. His heel presses down, just enough to test it and he nearly jolts at the sharp intake of breath Suho makes. Suho’s hand clamps around his ankle, grip hot and firm.

Neither of them looks at the other. They keep their gazes pinned to the television but every so often, when one thinks the other isn’t watching, their eyes flick sideways, glimpses caught and lost in a game they’re both pretending not to play.

Hyuntak presses down a little more, this time with the soft skin just below his toes. His heartbeat spikes at the feel of Suho’s arousal beneath the thin fabric of his shorts. Hard, heavy, the same heat he’d felt pressed against him just last night.

The faint image of Suho’s cock flashes in his mind, something he thought he’d shoved away but it surfaces now with startling clarity. He dips his toes against the outline and Suho exhales sharply, almost a shudder.

Suho’s fingers stay hooked inside his sock, unmoving, anchored there like he has no intention of letting go. The contact, the pressure, paired with the uneven sound of Suho’s breath, makes Hyuntak’s own chest rise and fall faster, his breath starts to get ragged.

When he presses hard this time, Suho’s other hand flies up to clamp around his ankle. “Tak.” The way he says it — low, broken, half-warning makes Hyuntak’s chest clench. Suho’s gaze drops to his toes, to what he’s doing, while Hyuntak keeps his own eyes fixed on Suho’s face.

Honestly at this point, he doesn’t give a damn. Because it seems that today, for some fucking reason, Suho is holding back. Maybe it’s the inhibitor still coursing through his system. Maybe it’s sheer force of will.