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When Xinlong turned eighteen, nothing happened.
No warmth spreading through his chest, no sharp ache behind his throat, no whisper of scent curling out from his skin. Just silence.
He’d waited for it—everyone had. Turning eighteen was supposed to mean change, a mark of growth that every alpha, beta, and omega could feel in their bones. His friends had all crossed that invisible line easily, talking about it like a shared secret, a story that started with heat and ended with belonging.
Xinlong just smiled and nodded, pretending not to notice how quiet his own body was.
People had always assumed he’d be an alpha. “He’s too protective not to be,” they used to say—because he was the one who helped when someone was hurt, who stayed calm when others argued, who shielded trainees younger than him from the sharp words of older ones. It was supposed to fit him naturally.
But when weeks turned into months and nothing changed, the whispers began. Not cruel, exactly—just confused. Maybe he’s a late bloomer. Maybe it’s a medical thing. Maybe he’s suppressing it.
He ignored them.
In truth, being scentless wasn’t terrible. In the world of cameras, contracts, and constant exposure, it was almost convenient. No pheromones to control, no way to accidentally broadcast his emotions. He didn’t have to think about suppressants or masks or the way alphas sometimes made rooms feel too heavy with dominance.
And when some of them tried to test him, flexing their scent like claws in the air, he didn’t even flinch—because he couldn’t smell it. They mistook his blank expression for unshakable confidence. He let them.
So when others told him to see a doctor, he laughed it off. “Later,” he’d say, and change the subject.
Then Boys Planet began.
If the world before had been quiet, the show was a storm—bright lights, relentless schedules, exhaustion so deep it lived in his bones. He told himself he’d adapt. But as the days dragged on, the silence inside him started to break in strange ways.
He felt hot more often. Restless. His heartbeat was too loud, his skin too tight. Every small failure stung deeper than it should. Some nights he sat on his bunk staring at his hands, breathing through a rush of emotions that didn’t seem entirely his.
He thought it was stress.It had to be stress.
Then he met Sangwon.
At first it was just a name he heard from others—the omega with the sweet voice and the unshakable calm. People said he smelled beautiful. Like flowers, like warmth, like something you wanted to get closer to without knowing why.
Xinlong didn’t think much of it. He couldn’t smell anyway, and the last thing Sangwon needed was another person hovering too close. He’d seen how others circled around him—alphas, betas, even omegas drawn to his gentleness.
But then came the small moments: a shared practice mirror, the quiet shuffle of shoes side by side, the way Sangwon’s eyes curved when he smiled at someone.
Each time, Xinlong’s skin burned hotter.
He told himself it was just nerves. Cameras, pressure, exhaustion. Except the feeling didn’t fade. It grew, humming in his veins whenever Sangwon was near.
It all changed on an ordinary afternoon.
Sangwon caught him in the hallway between rehearsals, hair damp from sweat, towel slung around his neck.
“You don’t really talk to me much,” he said with a teasing tilt of his head. “You don’t like omegas?”
Xinlong froze mid-step. “What? No! I just—” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly aware of how warm it felt. “I can’t smell you. Or anyone. I never… presented.”
Sangwon blinked, surprised. Then, lightly, “You have eyes though, right? Can’t you see me either?”
The teasing should have made him laugh, but it didn’t. His throat went dry. The skin beneath his collar burned where his scent glands were supposed to be quiet.
“No, that’s not what I meant,” he blurted. “Of course I see you. You’re… really beautiful, actually.”
For a second, Sangwon just stared. Then his mouth curved into that soft, easy smile that seemed to pull light toward it.
“You’re cute, Xinlong-ah,” he said, reaching out to pinch his cheek before walking away, towel bouncing against his shoulder.
Xinlong stayed frozen in the hallway long after he’d gone. His face tingled where Sangwon’s fingers had been; his pulse hammered like he’d run miles.
What’s happening to me?
That night, his neck felt too warm to touch, like fire lived under his skin. He pressed a cold bottle against it, staring at the ceiling and whispering again: it’s just stress. But he didn’t quite believe it.
From then on, Sangwon seemed to find him everywhere. He’d appear at Xinlong’s side during lunch, ask questions during breaks, poke his shoulder just to make him look up. Every time, Xinlong’s composure slipped a little more.
One day, Sangwon leaned closer than usual, eyes narrowing as if searching for something in the air.
“You smell different today,” he murmured.
Xinlong’s heart stopped. “What? Do I smell bad?”
Sangwon laughed, the sound soft enough to melt the tension. “Not bad. Just… different. You smell nice.”
“I didn’t do anything different though,” Xinlong stammered, heat crawling up his neck.
Before he could move, Sangwon stepped closer, curiosity bright in his eyes. His hands landed lightly on Xinlong’s shoulders as he leaned in, breath ghosting over the side of his throat.
For a moment, everything slowed—the faint brush of hair against skin, the quiet hum of the hallway, the thud of his own heartbeat.
And then, faintly, impossibly, Xinlong caught it.
A scent.
Jasmine.
Soft and clean, like sunlight through petals. It hit him so suddenly he forgot how to breathe.
Sangwon drew back after a second, cheeks tinted pink, eyes a little dazed.
“You okay, hyung?” Xinlong asked, voice unsteady.
Sangwon blinked, startled. “Wh—what? Yeah. I’m fine. I just… I have to go.”
He left quickly, leaving Xinlong standing in the corridor, the air still trembling around him.
Xinlong didn’t sleep.
He lay in his bunk, ceiling tiles swimming above him, replaying the moment in high definition.
He smelled me. He said I smelled good. But I’ve never had a scent. I’ve never—
His fingers drifted to his neck. The skin there throbbed, tender and alive.
That night, Xinlong lay awake, still feeling the ghost of Sangwon’s breath against his neck, still hearing the soft echo of “You smell nice.”
Something inside him was changing.
He didn’t understand it yet, but he knew it had started the moment Sangwon touched him.
The next week, Sangwon avoided him like Xinlong carried the plague.
No more hallway chats. No more cheek pinches. No more 2 a.m. kitchen lectures about vegetables.
Xinlong told himself it was fine. He had eliminations to survive.
But his body had other ideas.
His sense of smell exploded.
First, the dorm: lemon cleaner, old takeout, the vanilla body lotion Jiahao hoarded like contraband.Then the practice rooms: sweat, rosin, the faint copper tang of stress-sweat.
Then—Sangwon.
Even from across the cafeteria, Xinlong could pick him out like a beacon.
Jasmine, yes—but layered now, shifting with every breath.
Happy: peach and sunlight.
Tired: rain on warm pavement.
Nervous: a sharper edge, like crushed stems.
Wanting: something darker, honeyed, impossible to ignore.
He caught Sangwon staring too.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Can he smell me now? Xinlong wondered, throat dry. What do I even smell like?
He never asked.
It should have been exciting. Instead, it terrified him.
Two years late — no, this couldn’t be happening now. Not here, surrounded by cameras and people he barely knew.
He kept quiet. Smiled when others talked, joked when they teased him, acted like nothing inside him was falling apart.But the scent that followed him everywhere wasn’t detergent or food or air freshener — it was Sangwon.
Jasmine.
It clung to his thoughts, soft and intoxicating, like the trace of sunlight through petals. Sometimes, when he caught Sangwon looking at him from across the room, Xinlong swore the air between them tightened.
Sangwon had started avoiding him lately — maybe feeling the same strange pull. He still smiled when their eyes met, but his laughter was shorter, his gaze darting away too quickly. And Xinlong, despite everything, missed the way Sangwon used to come closer just to tease him.
He told himself to focus. Finals were near, everything was on the line. But then came that night — the dinner before the final evaluation.
Finals week. A rare night off.
Hotpot with Jiahao, Kaiwen, Anxin, Leo, Geonwoo, Sangwon… and him.
They crammed around a steaming pot, passing broth-soaked meat like contraband. Laughter bounced off the walls. For two hours, they forgot the following days might end everything.
Then they stepped outside.
The crowd hit like a tidal wave.
Flashing cameras. Screaming fans. Hands reaching, grabbing, pulling.The staff tried to keep things orderly, but as always, chaos had its own rhythm.
Xinlong was about to follow Jiahao to the taxis when a familiar scent hit him — strong, distressed.
Sangwon.
He didn’t think. Instinct took over before reason could catch up. He pushed through the crowd, his pulse pounding, and found Sangwon a few meters ahead, pressed too close by strangers, his expression tight.
Xinlong’s vision tunneled.
He didn’t even remember moving — just reaching him, sliding one arm around Sangwon’s shoulders, the other out in front to keep people back.
“Don’t worry, hyung,” he whispered, his voice low against Sangwon’s ear. “I got you.”
The omega went still. Then, slowly, he relaxed — the tremble in his shoulders easing as he leaned into Xinlong’s hold.
By the time they made it through to the taxis, Xinlong’s instincts were still humming, unwilling to let go. He opened the car door first. “Hyung, you’re riding with me, okay?”
Sangwon nodded without hesitation, eyes unfocused, lips parted.
The ride was quiet. Too quiet. Sangwon’s hand was in his — small, warm, trembling — and Xinlong couldn’t let go. Couldn’t, even when his mind screamed that he should.
Sangwon’s head tilted against his shoulder halfway through the ride. His scent filled the small space, too close. It was dizzying.He buried his face in the crook of Xinlong’s neck, breathing him in like a drug. Each inhale was shaky, needy. Xinlong’s scent glands throbbed in response, a low, possessive hum building in his chest.
This is what it feels like, he realized, staring at the passing streetlights. To want. To protect. To be wanted.
By the time they reached the dorms, Leo was already holding the door open. “Come on, guys, let’s go,” he said.
Xinlong stood to exit—
A soft, broken whine stopped him cold.
He turned. Sangwon’s eyes were wet, shimmering under the hallway lights,he looked lost.“Are you gonna leave me?”
The words cracked something open in Xinlong’s chest.
“No, hyung. Never.”
He didn’t care who was watching. Didn’t care that everyone else had gone quiet. He just held Sangwon close, shielding him from the world like he’d done minutes ago in the crowd.One arm stayed locked around his waist; the other rubbed slow, soothing circles between his shoulder blades.
Inside, Sangwon was dazed, his steps uneven. Xinlong guided him to his room, hand firm on his back.
Sangwon fumbled with his door. Took three tries, fingers clumsy.
Xinlong smiled despite himself. “Let me.”
He was about to step back—
“NO!” Sangwon’s hand shot out, grabbing Xinlong’s wrist in a vice. “Don’t go, Xinlong-a. Please.”
His pout was lethal. His eyes were unfocused, pupils blown wide, shimmering with unshed tears.
Xinlong exhaled shakily. “Okay. Let’s get you ready for bed, yeah?”
Sangwon smiled at that — soft and sleepy — and Xinlong’s heart nearly broke from how beautiful he looked.
He helped him wash up—Sangwon whining every two seconds like a needy cat when the face cloth was too cold.
He changed his clothes—Sangwon complaining that the pajama pants were “inside out” even though Xinlong had triple-checked.
When Xinlong tried to slip away to change into his own clothes, Sangwon latched onto his hand and followed him to his room, then back to Sangwon’s like a sleepy shadow.
Finally, Xinlong tucked him into bed. The sheets smelled like jasmine and warm milk and home.
He sat on the edge, brushing damp hair from Sangwon’s forehead.
“Don’t leave,” Sangwon mumbled, already half-asleep, fingers curled tightly in Xinlong’s sleeve.
“Don’t worry, I'm right here,” Xinlong promised, voice rough.
His fingers threaded through soft strands, slow and steady.
Sangwon’s breathing evened out, soft and steady under the faint glow of the bedside lamp. Xinlong kept stroking his hair, fingers threading through the dark strands with a gentleness he didn’t know he possessed. The room smelled like jasmine and something warmer now—something that curled in his chest and made his pulse thud behind his ears.
His omega.
The thought hit him like a bass drum, low and undeniable. Xinlong’s hand stilled.
He’d never had instincts before. Not like this. Not the kind that made his teeth ache and his skin prickle with the need to claim. But Sangwon’s scent was everywhere—sweet, heady, needy—and it was unraveling him thread by thread.
Carefully, he eased his hand free. Sangwon made a small, distressed sound in his sleep, brow furrowing. Xinlong leaned down without thinking, pressing his lips to the omega’s temple. “Shh. I’m here.”
The words came out rougher than he expected. Deeper.
He sat back, staring at his own hands like they belonged to someone else. His nails looked sharper in the dim light. His wrists burned where Sangwon’s fingers had gripped him earlier, like the omega had branded him.
This is it, he realized. I’m presenting.
At twenty. On a survival show. With cameras probably still rolling somewhere in the hallway.
Xinlong laughed under his breath—silent, shaky. Of course. Of course it would happen now, when everything was on the line. When the one person who made his body sing was finally, finally close enough to touch.
He stood, pacing the small space between the bed and the wall. His skin felt too tight. His gums thropped. And Sangwon—Sangwon smelled like he was slipping into heat.
The realization slammed into him.
That’s why he clung to me. That’s why he wouldn’t let go.
Xinlong dragged a hand through his hair, tugging hard. He couldn’t leave. Not like this. Not when Sangwon’s scent was spiking, sweet and desperate, curling around his throat like a leash.
But he couldn’t stay either. Not without—
The door creaked open.
Leo stood there, eyes wide, taking in the scene: Sangwon curled on his side, flushed and restless even in sleep; Xinlong pacing like a caged animal, pupils blown wide.
“Xinlong-ah,” Leo whispered. “You’re—”
“I know,” Xinlong cut in, voice gravel. “I know.”
Leo glanced at Sangwon, then back. “He’s close. You smell—” He stopped, nose wrinkling. “You smell like alpha.”
Xinlong’s laugh was bitter. “Yeah. Surprise.”
Leo stepped inside, closing the door softly. “You need to get out of here. Before he wakes up. Before you—”
“I can’t.” The words tore out of him. “He’ll panic. He’s—he’s mine.”
Leo’s expression softened. “I know. But you’re not in control yet. And he’s not either. You stay, you risk—”
A whimper from the bed.
Sangwon shifted, kicking at the blanket. His shirt had ridden up, exposing the soft curve of his waist, the faint flush of skin. His scent flared—jasmine and honey —and Xinlong’s knees nearly buckled.
“Xinlong-a…” Sangwon mumbled, eyes fluttering open. Glassy. Unfocused. “Don’t go…”
Xinlong was across the room before he could think. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, gathering Sangwon’s hands in his. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Sangwon nuzzled into his palm, lips brushing his wrist. “You smell… so good…”
Xinlong’s breath hitched. The omega’s tongue darted out, tasting his skin, and Xinlong growled—low, possessive, alpha.
Leo swore under his breath. “I’m getting Geonwoo. And a suppressant. Now.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
Sangwon blinked up at Xinlong, pupils blown wide. His fingers curled into his shirt, tugging weakly. “Stay. Please. Need you…”
Xinlong climbed onto the bed without hesitation, pulling Sangwon into his arms. The omega melted against him, nose buried in his neck, breathing him in like oxygen.
“I’ve got you,” Xinlong murmured, pressing his lips to Sangwon’s hair. “I’ve got you, hyung.”
Sangwon made a soft, broken sound—half sob, half moan—and clung tighter.
Outside, the dorm was quiet. Inside, the air thickened with jasmine and something new: pine and storm and mine.
Xinlong closed his eyes, holding his omega close, and let the rut build like thunder in his veins.
Xinlong’s pulse hammered in his ears, each beat a drum that said mine, mine, mine.
Sangwon was trembling in his arms, skin fever-hot through the thin cotton of his sleep shirt. Every breath the omega took dragged more of Xinlong’s scent into his lungs, and every exhale pushed jasmine-sweet heat back into Xinlong’s face.
The rut wasn’t a wave. It was a crack—like ice splitting under too much weight.
It started behind his eyes: pressure, white-hot, blooming outward. Then his teeth—fuck, his canines—lengthened with a sting that made him gasp. His gums throbbed in time with his cock, already half-hard and straining against his sweats.
Sangwon whined, high and needy, and the sound shredded the last of Xinlong’s restraint.
“Hyung,” he rasped, voice cracked open, raw. “Tell me to stop. Tell me now.”
Sangwon answered by arching into him, thighs parting instinctively, one leg hooking over Xinlong’s hip. “Don’t you dare.”
The words were slurred, drunk on pre-heat, but they lit Xinlong’s blood on fire.
He rolled them in one motion—Sangwon beneath him, soft and pliant, wrists pinned gently above his head. The omega’s pupils were blown wide, lips swollen from biting them.
Xinlong’s scent poured out of him—pine needles crushed under storm rain, sharp and electric. It flooded the room until the air felt too small.
Sangwon’s back bowed. “Alpha—”
The title snapped something inside Xinlong’s chest. He buried his face in Sangwon’s neck, teeth grazing the swollen gland there. Not biting. Just tasting—salt and jasmine and the faint copper of Sangwon’s pulse.
Sangwon’s hands scrabbled at his back, nails digging in. “Please—please—”
Xinlong’s hips rocked forward without permission, grinding against the omega’s thigh. The friction was agony. His cock leaked, soaking the front of his sweats, and the wet spot rubbed against Sangwon’s bare skin where his shirt had ridden up.
“Need to—” Xinlong’s voice broke. “Need to taste you.”
Sangwon nodded frantically, spreading his legs wider.
Xinlong’s hands shook as he pushed the omega’s shirt up, mouth following the path of exposed skin—collarbone, nipple, the soft give of his stomach. Every inch smelled like heaven and mine.
When he reached the waistband of Sangwon’s shorts, the omega was already slick—wetness seeping through the fabric, the scent of it obscene.
Xinlong groaned, pressing his face there, breathing him in. His tongue darted out, licking a stripe up the damp cotton. Sangwon sobbed, hips jerking.
“Off,” Xinlong growled, tugging the shorts down with trembling fingers.
Sangwon kicked them free, and then he was bare—thighs slick, leaking, hole fluttering and glistening.
Xinlong’s rut roared.
He didn’t think. He dived.
His tongue speared into Sangwon without warning, and the omega shrieked—back arching off the bed, hands fisting in Xinlong’s hair.
The taste—fuck, the taste—was better than anything. Xinlong licked deeper, nose buried in, drinking him down like he’d die without it.
Sangwon’s thighs clamped around his head, trembling. “Xinlong—alpha—gonna—”
Xinlong pulled back just enough to growl, “Come. Want it on my tongue.”
He sucked Sangwon’s clit into his mouth—hard—and the omega exploded.
Sangwon came with a broken cry, slick gushing over Xinlong’s chin, body shaking so hard the bed creaked.
“Alpha,” he sobbed, twisting in Xinlong’s grip. “Need—need you—inside”
Xinlong gently settled Sangwon on his back. The omega’s legs fell open without hesitation, thighs trembling, slick glistening on his skin.
“Shh,” Xinlong murmured, pressing a kiss to Sangwon’s temple. “Let me take care of you.”
His hand slid down Sangwon’s stomach, fingers trembling with restraint.
Sangwon’s breath hitched as Xinlong’s thumb brushed his clit—swollen, sensitive, begging.
“Please—”
Xinlong’s rut roared, but he held it.
He slid one finger inside Sangwon—slow, deliberate.
The omega keened, back arching off the bed. His walls fluttered around the intrusion, slick coating Xinlong’s hand.
“More,” Sangwon gasped, hips rocking down. “More—”
Xinlong added a second finger, scissoring gently. The stretch burned so good, Sangwon’s eyes rolling back.
“Fuck,” Xinlong growled, watching his fingers disappear into Sangwon’s heat. “So wet for me. So ready.”
Sangwon’s hands fisted in the sheets, knuckles white. “Alpha—gonna—”
“Not yet,” Xinlong rasped. He curled his fingers, brushing that spot inside, and Sangwon sobbed.
A third finger pushed in, stretching him wider. Slick squelched with every thrust, the sound obscene in the quiet room.
Sangwon’s heat sang.
His scent spiked—jasmine turning cloying, desperate. His cock leaked steadily onto his stomach, untouched.
“Xinlong—” he begged, voice breaking. “Need your knot—need—”
Xinlong’s control snapped.
He pulled his fingers free, slick dripping from his hand, and lined himself up.
Sangwon whined at the loss, but then Xinlong thrust in to the hilt in one brutal stroke.
The omega screamed.
The stretch was perfect—Xinlong’s cock thick and hot, filling him exactly where he needed.
Xinlong set a punishing pace, hips snapping, bed slamming against the wall.
Sangwon’s heat purred.
Every thrust lit him up—his nipples hard and oversensitive, his clit throbbing where Xinlong’s pelvis ground against it.
“Breed me,” he chanted, legs wrapping around Xinlong’s waist. “Want your pups—alpha—”
Xinlong snarled, teeth sinking into Sangwon’s shoulder—marking.
The pain tipped Sangwon over.
He came with a sob, untouched, slick squirting around Xinlong’s cock.
Xinlong didn’t stop.
He fucked Sangwon through it, knot swelling, catching on his rim.
“Mine,” the alpha growled. “Gonna fill you up—”
Sangwon’s heat clenched.
Another orgasm built, faster. “Yours—alpha—claim me—”
Xinlong slammed home, knot popping past the rim with a wet sound.
Sangwon’s world shattered.
“Gonna—” he warned, voice shredded.
“Inside,” Sangwon begged. “Fill me up—please”
He came with a roar, cock pulsing, knot locking them together as he flooded Sangwon’s insides. The omega clenched around him, milking every drop.They collapsed sideways, still tied, Xinlong’s arms banded around Sangwon’s chest.
Sangwon’s heat ebbed into a warm, sated haze.
He turned his head, nosing at Xinlong’s jaw. “Alpha,” he mumbled, voice small and wrecked. “Stay…”
He pressed shaky kisses to Sangwon’s nape, scent glands pulsing in time with their hearts. “Not going anywhere, hyung. You’re mine.”
Sangwon smiled, drowsy and happy.
The night was long.
And his alpha was far from done.