As soon as Inho got behind the wheel, he pulled an inhibitor out from the center console and swallowed it.
It was almost the first time his pheromone levels had spiked outside of his rut period. Even as a dominant Alpha, he’d never been so affected by an Omega in heat.
Even accounting for the rain and how off he’d felt all day, his reaction didn’t make sense.
He rubbed at his eyes, trying to steady his ragged breathing, then reached for a painkiller. Forcibly suppressing the pheromones leaking from his body was giving him a pounding headache.
What pissed him off even more was that it had to happen when he was with Haon. Thankfully, Haon was relatively insensitive to pheromones—had he been a typical Omega, he would’ve been swept up in Inho’s scent and gone into heat right then and there. Especially recessive Omegas—they reacted strongly to even the faintest trace of Inho’s pheromones.
“Fuck…”
Thud! Inho slammed his palm against the steering wheel and checked the time. He needed to get back quickly, but his breathing still wouldn’t settle.
He tossed the crumpled painkiller packet back into the console and let loose a string of curses. Had Haon been there, he probably wouldn’t have believed his eyes. Alone in the car, Inho seemed like a completely different person.
“Haah—.”
Only after swallowing one more inhibitor did the medication start to kick in. As his breathing eased slightly, Inho pressed his thumb firmly into his temple. Now that his pheromones were calming down, the headache began to subside as well.
Maybe ten minutes passed. After one last long stroke down his face, he hurried out of the car.
He couldn’t get the look on Haon’s face out of his mind—how frozen he’d looked standing in front of the escalator. Even though Inho had only brushed him off for a second, Haon had worn such a desolate expression, as if Inho had cast him aside entirely.
He should’ve explained everything properly from the beginning.
The sudden pheromone leak had caught him off guard, and he hadn’t been able to check on Haon. The thought that he’d hurt someone as gentle in heart as he was in body weighed heavily on his mind.
Never again, he promised himself, adding one more thing to the list of behaviors he’d sworn not to repeat in front of Haon.
***
Inho’s eyes darted around as he arrived at the ticket booth. He’d assumed Haon would be sitting on one of the waiting benches, but he was nowhere to be seen. Didn’t seem like he’d gone into the nearby café either. Maybe he just went to the bathroom for a moment?
Looking around for the restroom sign, Inho turned toward a noise in the distance. There—he spotted the bathroom sign.
“Move!”
Someone in a security uniform was sprinting toward the restroom, as if there’d been some kind of incident.
A fight?
If it had been the usual Inho, he would’ve passed by without a second glance—but not today. His legs moved reflexively, carrying him straight toward the restroom where the noise had erupted. A sharp instinct stirred a bad feeling deep in his gut.
“How many times do I have to say it?! That bastard started it!”
The closer he got to the restroom entrance, the clearer the voice spewing curses became.
And mixed into the yelling—he heard a thin, familiar voice. The moment he caught that faint sound, Inho’s pace quickened.
As he stepped into the narrow hallway, the first thing that came into view was the back of an angry man, breathing heavily. He was shouting at the floor, jabbing his finger like it was about to pierce through something.
“Hey! You deaf or what? What the hell are you gonna do about my clothes?!”
“Sir, please don’t resort to violence. Try to calm down first.”
A security guard was doing his best to block the man’s path, but the man only grew more agitated, yanking at his shirt soaked in cola and shaking it wildly.
“Just look at this! That crazy fucker started it—I’m telling you!”
Mid-rant, the man froze with a dumbfounded expression. Inho had suddenly stepped in, grabbed his shoulder, and shoved him aside.
“What the hell, who the fuck are you?!”
Already seething, the man snapped at Inho, shouting as he was pushed. But Inho ignored him completely. His eyes lowered to the floor where kernels of spilled popcorn lay scattered, and he slowly parted his lips to speak, but no words came out.
Not even the sound of breathing passed through his parted lips. They only trembled faintly in silence.
Inho was speechless. His entire field of vision was consumed by Haon.
“Hey! I said who the fuck are you?!”
The man, furious, swung a fist at Inho, who stood frozen like a statue. Judging by the way he threw that punch, it wasn’t his first time using his fists when angry.
Inho didn’t dodge. Thud! The man’s fist slammed into the back of his neck, not even his back, making Inho’s upright frame buckle forward.
“You need to handle this with words! This could turn serious!”
The guard, unable to stop the heavier man in time, quickly called for backup. The man, eyes blazing, ignored him and lunged at Inho again. When the guard got in his way, he started kicking instead of punching, screaming in rage.
Inho, rubbing the back of his neck, paid him no attention. Instead, he dropped to his knees on the floor and gently reached out toward Haon, who lay collapsed on the restroom tiles.
“Haon-ssi.”
The moment Inho’s hand touched him, Haon’s trembling shoulders jolted violently. He was curled up tightly, head pressed to the floor.
And then, just like that day—
“I’m hungry…”
The same words spilled from his lips like a prayer. Crimson blood trickled down from his mouth, which only repeated that line over and over again. His lips were wet, smeared with red—maybe from licking the cola spilled across the filthy tiles.
Inho forced Haon’s upper body up and looked closely at his face.
“I’m hungry…”
Crushed bits of popcorn tumbled from between Haon’s split lips. One of his cheeks was grotesquely swollen—he didn’t even seem to have the strength to chew properly anymore. And yet, he kept seeking food without end.
I’m hungry. I’m so hungry…
His voice, blurred by sobs, trailed off in a slurred mumble.
Not long after, blood started trickling from his nose. Seeing it, Inho shut his eyes tight. The background noise buzzing around him now sounded distant, like rain falling far away. Only Haon’s voice pierced through sharply, ringing clear in his ears.
“Let’s go home and eat more.”
He wiped the blood and sticky cola from under Haon’s nose with his bare hands as he spoke.
Then he reached out and gently took the popcorn tub Haon had been clutching to his chest. The paper container was crumpled, stomped down like someone had ground it underfoot.
Just like Haon.
Holding the crushed container, Inho turned toward the man who was still screaming. The man, now restrained by a security guard, faltered when his eyes met Inho’s—but then he raised his voice even louder, trying to hide his fear.
“He said he was hungry.”
Inho spoke in a calm, measured tone—and flung the popcorn container straight at the man’s face.
“Why’d you hit him?”
In the same breath, he shoved the guard aside and slammed his foot squarely into the man’s abdomen. Thud. The man let out a choked gasp and flew backward before he could even think to defend himself.
Inho stalked toward the fallen man. The guard tried to stop him again, but Inho’s strength was on another level. One shove, and the man crumpled like a ragdoll.
“You don’t beat someone up just because they got your clothes dirty.”
Grabbing the man by the collar, Inho landed three hard slaps across his face with the flat of his palm. The man didn’t even resist—he was too busy clutching his stomach, completely limp. Judging by the way he lay there, he’d already lost consciousness.
“You don’t even feel sorry?”
Inho stared down at him with cold, honest contempt as he asked. He couldn’t understand how anyone could look at Haon and still throw a punch.
How could you hit that face? I feel like I’m falling apart just touching him.
Only after throwing one final punch did Inho finally release the man’s collar. Brushing off his hands—completely unscathed—he turned and made a phone call as he walked back to Haon.
Crunch. Crunch.
With the crowd gone, the restroom had gone silent, except for the sound of Haon chewing. He sat there trembling, tears streaming down his face as he gnawed at blood-soaked popcorn.
But the one he feared most in that moment wasn’t the man who hit him.
It was Inho.
Even in his frayed mental state, Haon had fully registered what he’d seen—Inho beating someone senseless.
“Haon-ssi.”
Inho called his name with the same voice as always, but Haon didn’t respond. Instead, he watched Inho warily, then scrambled to grab a piece of popcorn off the floor and shoved it into his mouth.
Inho gently caught his wrist, stopping him from cramming in more than he could even swallow. When Haon tried to shake him off, Inho tightened his grip—not to restrain, but to pull him close.
“Stop eating.”
But Haon, terrified, kept pushing at Inho with trembling hands. His tear-filled eyes never left the popcorn scattered on the ground.
“G-give me that, please…”
“Don’t eat it—it’s dirty.”
“Please, please…”
Haon broke down sobbing, crying that he wanted the popcorn. The sound of his wailing, more pitiful than a child’s, filled Inho’s heart with unbearable heaviness. It didn’t even compare to the night he first saw Haon at the club—this was on an entirely different level.
“I’ll give you something better when we get home.”
Inho gently stroked Haon’s back as he panted and whimpered, his breathing labored. His body was burning hot, just like his sweat-drenched face.
“You can eat as much as you want when we get there.”
He whispered sweetly, asking him to hold on just a little longer—but his voice never reached Haon. His rational mind had already slipped away, consumed entirely by a singular, overpowering need to fill the emptiness in his belly.
He didn’t even recognize the hands that wiped his tears or patted his back. All he knew was that he was starving. If he could just make the hunger go away, he’d do anything. Even half-chewed scraps from someone else’s mouth—anything to stuff his mouth right now.
I’m hungry…
Even as he teetered on the brink of unconsciousness, Haon kept searching for food.
And just like always, the memory of that day left no trace in Haon’s mind.
Only Inho remembered it all—etched into him, painfully and completely.
