POV: Cha Do-yun

Cha Do-yun liked mornings at the lab.

The hum of climate control systems. The faint, green undertone of nutrient mist hanging in the air. The quiet rhythm of people settling into tasks. Typing, sorting, watering, measuring.

No small talk. No emergencies. Just controlled growth.

Today started like most. He moved through the greenhouse wing with the calm focus of someone who had already checked every hose connection and calibrated every timer before anyone else arrived. His hands were still damp from rinsing off sediment when he heard the familiar click of heels.

Yoo Bo-ra.

“Good morning,” she said, breezy and bright as usual.

He glanced up from the nutrient log. “Morning.”

She smiled. Glossy. Perfect. Her bob was sharp enough to cut glass. She moved to her desk—diagonally behind his—and started organizing her notes with a little too much presence.

She wasn’t loud, exactly. She just... existed on purpose.

Do-yun didn’t notice much at first. Not consciously. But when she leaned across her workstation to grab a stylus, her sleeve brushed his elbow.

A moment later, he smelled it.

Pheromones. Omega-sweet. Carefully curated.

It was light, intentional, pleasant.

He blinked and stepped back slightly, giving her space. “Need something?”

She straightened, smiling unfazed. “Oh. Sorry. Just reaching.”

He nodded and turned back to his notes, brushing a fingertip across his sleeve without thinking. The scent was there, faint but clingy. He resisted the urge to frown.

Bo-ra settled back at her desk, but her presence didn’t retreat. Throughout the morning, she drifted close. “Accidentally” swapped their tablet pens. Asked for help double-checking data alignment. Laughed a little too easily.

Her scent lingered every time she walked away.

Do-yun didn’t mind being helpful. He didn’t even mind proximity. But something about her pattern—hover, smile, scent, retreat—started to ping faintly at the edges of his awareness.

He didn’t react.
He never did.

He just filed it in the quiet back room of his thoughts marked as “Unimportant”.

His mind kept drifting anyway.

Back to the rooftop.
To the rain.
To the way I-ram’s scent had hit him like a storm front and disappeared just as fast.

There was something different about that scent. Something wild and real. Something honest in a way that Bo-ra’s never was.

He didn’t fully understand it.
But he remembered it. Clearly.
Too clearly.

At one point, Bo-ra passed behind him again and her fingers brushed his shoulder lightly. Another little gust of scent followed, sweet and flirtatious.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t lean in.
Didn’t turn around.

Just continued typing like he hadn’t noticed.

Bo-ra hesitated behind him—just for a second—before returning to her station.

Do-yun closed his eyes for a breath. Something inside him shifted. Nothing dramatic. Just a small awareness that maybe… this wasn't the kind of closeness he wanted.

And that maybe, just maybe, he’d already started wanting it somewhere else.

Jae-min had three lunch habits:

1. He always arrived five minutes late.

2. He never brought real food—just caffeine and things that came vacuum-sealed.

3. He lived to emotionally harass Cha Do-yun with terrifying accuracy.

Today was no exception.

Do-yun was already seated in the breakroom, sipping miso soup from a thermos and rereading one of his soil health reports, when Jae-min dropped into the seat across from him with the grace of a sleepy bear.

“Tell me everything,” Jae-min said around a mouthful of protein bar. “Your face says ‘please validate my emotional confusion.’”

Do-yun didn’t look up. “I’m having my meal.”

“So? That’s when you’re most emotionally vulnerable.”

He sighed. “I had a weird interaction the other night.”

“Neighbor weird or ‘you finally realized Bo-ra is trying to eat you alive’ weird?”

Do-yun blinked. “What?”

“You do know she’s releasing pheromones like a scented fog machine, right?”

He paused. “…She’s just friendly.”

“She’s omega-flirting, and you’re walking around with Eau de Bo-ra on your collar,” Jae-min said, pointing at his shoulder like it had committed a war crime.

Do-yun stared. “I… what?”

Jae-min rolled his eyes so hard it was audible. “You smell like her, man. Every day when you leave the lab. If someone’s even halfway scent-sensitive, they’d know.”

Do-yun sat very still.

The memory hit him like a snapped cable…
I-ram’s stiff posture in the hallway.
The flat “Fine” when he asked if he was okay.
The fact that he’d turned and practically ran away.

Do-yun’s stomach dropped. “I-ram smelled it.”

“Ya think?”

His chest tightened. “I didn’t realize.”

“Yeah, I got that when you showed up to lunch smelling like floral regret.”

He leaned back, visibly trying not to panic. “I wasn’t… I didn’t invite it. I just… didn’t stop it.”

“Which, in scent-language, is the same as saying ‘please climb me like a jungle gym.’”

Do-yun groaned and buried his face in his hands.

“Let me guess,” Jae-min continued, voice softening just a little. “He was cold. Clipped. Polite in a way that made you feel like trash?”

Do-yun didn’t respond.

“Because he thought you chose someone else.”

The words landed like a slap.

He hadn’t chosen anyone.
He hadn’t even seen Bo-ra that way.
But I-ram didn’t know that.

And he hadn’t told him otherwise.

Of course I-ram pulled away. Of course he was retreating.
Because from the outside, Do-yun probably looked already taken. Already claimed.
By someone who wasn’t him...

Jae-min popped the last of his protein bar into his mouth and sighed. “You should fix it.”

“How?”

“Try talking. Or scent-neutralizer spray. Or I don’t know, a large public display of vulnerability. You’re overdue.”

Do-yun stared at the table.

Jae-min stood, stretching with a satisfied groan. “You’re a mess,” he said, slapping Do-yun lightly on the shoulder as he passed. “But you’re our mess. Now go be awkward and honest with your neighbor before he turns into a tragedy essay.”

A couple of days after, Cha Do-yun didn’t question the knock at his door.

It was early evening, and he’d just finished watering the mint and unpacking groceries when the knock echoed through 502. He wiped his hands on a towel, mildly surprised. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Bori, perched on the counter, let out a suspicious chirp.

He opened the door.

Yoo Bo-ra stood there in casual clothes. Sweater, slim jeans, tablet clutched in one hand. Her hair was loose this time, softer. Intentional.

“Hi,” she said, bright. “Sorry for the intrusion.”

Do-yun blinked. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no, not at all.” She smiled. “I just… There was a detail in the project report from yesterday’s tests. Something about your soil calculations didn’t match what I wrote down. I figured it’d be faster to check in person.”

He hesitated. “You could’ve messaged.”

“I was already nearby,” she said smoothly, stepping closer. “I hope it’s okay?”

It was not okay, but he stepped aside. “Sure. Come in.”

Bo-ra entered with the practiced grace of someone who’d already imagined the room. She scanned the interior briefly—neat, lived-in, full of plants—and gave a soft, approving nod. “Nice place.”

“Thanks.” He gestured toward the kitchen. “Water? Tea?”

“Tea would be lovely.”

He moved to fill the kettle. Bori, having sniffed Bo-ra from across the room, made a low, disgruntled sound and bolted to the top of the fridge like the floor had become lava.

Bo-ra raised an eyebrow. “Your cat hates me already?”

“She’s just dramatic,” he said.

But even he noticed the way Bori’s fur stood on edge.

They sat across from each other, teacups between them. Bo-ra pulled up the shared lab file and asked a few basic questions. Details she could’ve emailed. And slowly, subtly, the air began to shift.

A faint scent spread from her skin. Warm. Inviting. Deliberate.

Do-yun tensed slightly.

Bo-ra was still smiling, casual in posture, but her tone had changed. A softness slipped into her words.

“You’re good at this,” she said. “Balancing work, being gentle, explaining things without making people feel stupid.”

He blinked. “I just focus on what’s in front of me.”

“I envy that,” she said, releasing another small wave of scent. “It makes you seem calm and safe.”

He set his teacup down.

“Bo-ra,” he said gently, “you don’t have to…”

“I know,” she said, and her smile faltered, just a little. “I just thought maybe… maybe we were circling something.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he meant it. “We weren’t.”

Silence fell between them.

And then, quietly, she nodded. “You really don’t react at all, do you?”

He shook his head. “Not to what isn’t mine. Not to what I don’t want or like.”

Bo-ra sat back. Her scent cooled. Not angry, just disappointed. She started to pack up.

Do-yun stood politely as Bo-ra gathered her things, her movements quieter now, less poised. She walked toward the door with the grace of someone who knew when to admit defeat.

“I should let you get back to your evening,” she said, soft.

He nodded. “Thank you for understanding.”

Bo-ra gave a tight-lipped smile. “For what it’s worth, you’re not as unreadable as you think.”

He didn’t quite know what to say to that, so he just opened the door.

They stepped out into the hallway together.

And that’s when the sound of footsteps echoed up the stairwell.

Go I-ram showed up at the top of the stairs, a grocery bag in hand, a faint flush on his face from the cold. His eyes flicked up automatically… and locked on them.

Do-yun was still holding the door open like a scene from something romantic and unfortunate.

I-ram stopped.

His eyes shifted. Bo-ra. Do-yun. Bo-ra again.

And then Do-yun imagined it probably hit him.

The scent. The same floral sweetness that clung to him the last time they’d spoken. Stronger now, unmistakable.

It filled the hallway, soft and persistent, like a perfume someone had meant to forget but never quite could.

He could see I-ram’s grip on the bag tightening.

Do-yun took a step forward, concern already rising in his chest. “I-ram…”

“Sorry,” I-ram said, voice too calm. “I think I forgot something. My mistake.” His voice didn’t wobble, but his scent flickered, fast and hurt.

And just like that, he pivoted, his footsteps vanishing down the stairwell before either of them could say a word.

And then he was gone, footsteps already echoing down the stairs.

Do-yun stood there, mouth open, useless. Bori hissed from the fridge.

Cha Do-yun was staring at the stairwell like it might offer a do-over. Something he could rewind. Rewind to the part where I-ram hadn’t looked at him like that. Rewind to the part where the scent around him didn’t feel like a betrayal.

Bo-ra shifted beside him. Her hands were folded in front of her now, neat, calm, composed in a way that didn’t match the air between them.

“I should go,” she said gently.

Do-yun finally nodded. “Right.”

She glanced down the stairs where I-ram had disappeared. “That was him?”

His throat tightened. “Yeah.”

There was a long pause. The scent she’d left in his apartment was still clinging faintly to the collar of his shirt, even though she’d stopped releasing it.

“I didn’t mean to… ruin something,” she said. “I didn’t know.”

“I know.”

Bo-ra’s eyes met his, clear and unflinching. “But you like him.”

It wasn’t a question. He didn’t deny it.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and there was no trace of bitterness in it. Just regret. “I thought maybe you hadn’t noticed. I thought maybe you’d smell me and…” she trailed off, giving a wry smile. “Wishful thinking.”

Do-yun exhaled slowly. “I didn’t pay attention to what I was carrying around.”

“Most people don’t. Until someone else feels it.” She shifted her weight, voice soft. “You should tell him.”

“I don’t know if it would help.”

“Then at least let him see that you care enough to try.”

He didn’t answer.

Bo-ra turned to go. “Goodnight.”

He offered a quiet, “Goodnight," back.

She walked down the hallway alone.

After spending a few minutes remembering I-ram’s face from moments ago, he finally stepped back inside 502.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Silence fell like dust.

He leaned against the frame, forehead pressed lightly to the door.

Somewhere near the window now, Bori stretched and yawned, a judgmental little meow following it like punctuation.

Do-yun didn’t move.

He let the silence linger and the scent fade. Let the guilt settle like mist on his skin.

And then, under his breath, he muttered:

“I really am clueless.”

No one disagreed.

End of Episode Nineteen