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.

Either way, it grates at Hyuntak, a quiet implication that he hates admitting, that some part of him likes Suho better when he isn’t restrained. When he’s all over him. Or maybe it’s not even about that. Maybe it’s the insecurity crawling under Hyuntak’s skin.

It’s reckless. It’s insane. But Hyuntak lets go of the last thread of sanity and deliberately shifts, slotting the space between his toes around Suho’s cock. Bold, shameless, a provocation he knows he can’t take back.

Suho reacts instantly, a strangled sound in his throat as his hand leaves Hyuntak’s ankle and lands heavy on his thigh instead. The grip is hot, firm, pulling at flesh in a way that sends a jolt straight to Hyuntak’s groin.

Suho’s breath ghosts over his knee, each exhale burning, making his pulse trip over itself. (Oh my fucking god.) Hyuntak swallows as he continues, toes dragging up and down over the thick outline beneath the thin fabric of Suho’s short, which isn’t helping either.

His fingers clench hard into the couch cushion unconsciously, while Suho comes apart in silence right beside him, head bowed, jaw tight, one hand bruising the inside of his thigh as if holding back from more.

And the sight, fuck, the sight is undoing him. Hyuntak watches Suho with wide, fevered eyes, every detail burned into memory. The way he grips. The way his breath shakes. It’s enough to drive Hyuntak insane, if he isn’t already there.

He bites down on his lower lip, pushes just a little bolder. His toes hook into the waistband of Suho’s shorts, dragging it down by a fraction. Just enough. Just an invitation. He stops there, breath ragged, waiting for Suho to finally break, to yank his shorts down

and let Hyuntak press further, to his skin. Suho moves. At last. His fingers shift, tug at the waistband like he’s seconds from giving in and then the loud sound from the kitchen cuts through the moment. They both gasp and turn toward the sound.

But before Hyuntak can even pull his foot back, Suho is already on his feet, face flushed, obvious hard-on pressing against his sweats as he bolts toward the kitchen. Hyuntak freezes, gaping, until the embarrassment hits him like a punch.

He sits up too fast, scooping the stack of clothes into his arms and nearly stumbles on his way to his room. He shuts the door behind him, chest heaving, pressing a palm to his burning face. His heart feels like it’s hammering in his throat.

And then the irritation creeps in. The way Suho jumped up, like it was easy to walk away. He tells himself it makes sense. Suho is cooking, after all. The pot was already simmering and Sieun would not appreciate it if the apartment burned down while he was gone.

But the reasoning doesn’t soothe him. If anything, it only makes the sting worse. Because Hyuntak was the one who took the initiative. He was the one pushing, testing, wanting. And yet Suho backed away again. Whatever excuse he’s making, whatever line he’s refusing to cross,

Hyuntak is left standing there like a fucking fool. “Asshole,” he mutters, shoving his clothes into the wardrobe. He drops onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, biting the inside of his cheek until it hurts. But the more he thinks, the more his pride kicks in.

Ahn Suho isn’t the only asshole here. Hyuntak’s never been the type to quit halfway. Right now, he wants Suho to crack. To stop acting like he’s got all this restraint. He wants him to fucking lose it. He isn’t Go Hyuntak if he’s not competitive, stubborn and reckless.

So he strips off his sweats and pulls on shorts so thin and short they might as well be boxers. His skin prickles at the exposure, embarrassment crawling hot under his collar but he forces it down. This isn’t about shame. This is about proving a point.

If Suho’s going to keep holding back, then fine. Hyuntak will just push until there’s nowhere left for him to retreat. Even if he’s just a beta. he’ll make Suho lose his mind.

At the back of his mind, deep, deep down, he just wants to be touched. By Ahn Suho. But that’s not relevant. Not really. And he doesn’t think about it. He pushes the thought aside and steps out of his room, shoulders squared like nothing happened.

Suho glances up, clearly surprised at how fast he’s recovered and that pisses Hyuntak off. This asshole. Still, Suho’s eyes drop for a second, wandering down to his bare legs, lingering on the hem of his shorts. Hyuntak almost smirks at that. Embarrassed, sure but whatever.

Suho is standing near the counter and the wide open path toward the cupboard is clear. But Hyuntak intentionally takes the smaller gap, sliding between Suho and the countertop. His ass brushes against Suho’s lower body briefly, but enough contact.

He hears the sharp intake of breath right beside his ear and he acts like it’s nothing, reaching for a glass. His heart is beating so loud he swears Suho must hear it. That tiny act of seduction messes with his head. It’s petty and stupid but he tells himself it has to be done.

He pours water from the fridge and gulps it down like he’s calm. They eat in silence. Hyuntak steals glances at him across the table, watching how Suho keeps quieter than usual, jaw set, eyes down. Good. Let him stew in it.

After lunch, Hyuntak takes the dishes. Suho moves out of habit, leaning near the sink as if he can’t help but hover. And Hyuntak… Hyuntak stops thinking altogether. He grabs one of the cups, still dripping wet, and instead of leaving it to dry in the rack by the sink,

he lifts it to the cupboard above Suho’s head. No logic. Just an excuse to lean in close, stretching across Suho’s space until their faces are just a breath apart. His arm is raised, his neck bared and he swears he can feel Suho’s breath warm against his skin. Then it happens.

Suho’s hand, almost without thought, finds his waist. Not his shirt, not brushing fabric but bare skin. Hyuntak’s body hums at the touch, and for a second he lets himself stay there, milking the closeness, letting Suho’s hand burn into him. But eventually, the excuse runs out.

Hanging there any longer would look obvious. So he pulls back, taps the water off his hands, shakes them over the sink. Suho’s hand slips away, slow and reluctant. He stares down at his own palm and Hyuntak can’t help the slight grin that tugs at his lips. And it keeps going.

This little game. The push, the tease, the international brushes and stolen proximity. Hyuntak knows it’s stupid, knows it’s immature and he’s been pulling stunts like this for the past two weeks, pushing Suho’s buttons.

He keeps telling himself it’s competition, that he just wants to make Suho crack. He just wishes it wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass this time like all those times it did. They stay in the living room for a while, the air thick with silence.

Hyuntak keeps catching himself doing unnecessary little things like leaning too close, brushing shoulders, reaching for things he doesn’t need. Things that aren’t like him at all. Suho, in pre-rut, doesn’t call him out or tease him the way he normally would.

He’s too focused, too distracted, as if every move Hyuntak makes pulls him deeper into his own head. In his defense, that’s exactly the effect he wants. At one point Suho sprawls across the sofa like an asshole, taking up the entire space.

Hyuntak climbs on him anyway, something he usually does just to piss him off. But this time, instead of sitting anywhere else, he drops himself directly onto Suho’s crotch, pressing down hard with his ass. The sound Suho makes is quite loud.

For a second, Suho’s hand lingers tight at his waist, almost like he won’t let go. But then Suho jerks upright so fast it nearly sends Hyuntak tumbling. Hyuntak stands too, slipping away to the corner of the couch with a mask of nonchalance, acting like nothing happened.