The sleek silence of Siwoo's car was a stark contrast to the tempest of thoughts swirling in his head. He leaned against the plush leather seat, eyes closed, but all he could see was the fleeting vulnerability in Minho's eyes and the poignant, solitary photograph of a lost family.

"He's not just guarded, he's haunted," Siwoo murmured to himself, the city lights blurring into streaks of gold outside his window. The image of Junho—so small and trusting, calling him Mama with such innocent conviction—was etched into his mind. It should have felt strange, absurd even. Instead, it felt like a key turning in a lock deep within his soul, a door he'd kept firmly shut swinging open to reveal a yearning he'd long suppressed.

His phone chimed, pulling him from his reverie. It was a message in the group chat with Jaeho and Seokjin.

Jaeho: Well??? How was Day 2 with the Tiger? Did he growl less?

Worldwide-Handsome: I demand a full debrief over dinner. My treat. The usual spot.

Siwoo smiled faintly. His friends, his pack. They would dissect this with him, but he found he wasn't quite ready to share the depth of what he'd felt. It felt too new, too fragile.

Siwoo: It was... productive. He's brilliant. And complicated. Dinner sounds good.

He needed their light, their normalcy.

Back in his office, Minho stood like a sentinel before the floor-to-ceiling glass. The meeting was over, but the scent of sandalwood and cotton seemed to have permeated the very air, an indelible mark left by Mr. Kim. It was a scent that spoke of creativity and warmth, a direct assault on the cold, controlled environment Minho had built for himself.

He turned from the window, his gaze falling on the drawing Junho had made. It was a chaotic, colorful mess of stick figures: a large one labeled "Appa," a small one labeled "Junho," and another, slightly more elegantly drawn figure with a bright yellow circle for a head, labeled "Mama."

His chest tightened. He picked up the drawing, his thumb tracing the yellow circle. Mama.

A soft knock announced Daehyun's entrance, the Beta's calm cedarwood scent a welcome neutrality.

"You're brooding," Daehyun stated, dropping into a chair without ceremony. "The meeting ran long. I assume it wasn't a disaster, or you'd be breaking things."

"It was... productive," Minho echoed Siwoo's own thought without realizing it. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "He's infuriatingly perceptive. He suggested I model the 'Orion' cuff myself."

Daehyun's eyebrows lifted a millimeter. "And you didn't immediately dismiss it. Interesting."

"It's a good idea," Minho admitted grudgingly. "A powerful one." He hesitated, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. "And Junho... he called him Mama again. In the lobby."

This time, Daehyun sat up straighter. "He what? To his face?"

"To his face." Minho's voice was low. "And Mr. Kim... he didn't flinch. He didn't look uncomfortable. He called Junho 'angel' and said goodbye like it was the most natural thing in the world."

The two men fell into a contemplative silence. Taejoon's theory about the Omega's power suddenly felt less like a joke and more like a tangible reality.

"He's getting under your skin," Daehyun observed, not unkindly.

"He's a variable I didn't account for," Minho corrected, his tone sharpening defensively. "He's a disruption. To the project. To my focus. To Junho."

"Or," Daehyun countered, his voice flat, "he's the first person in a long time who hasn't been intimidated by you. Who sees past the CEO to the... situation. And from what you've said, he's handled that situation with more grace than you have."

Minho wanted to argue, to snap that he was handling it just fine. But the memory of Siwoo's empathetic eyes, the way he'd subtly softened his approach after seeing the photograph, stopped him. Daehyun was right, and that was the most irritating part.

Later that evening, tucked into bed, Junho looked up at Minho with sleepy eyes. "Appa?"

"Yes, buddy?"

"Is Mama coming back tomorrow?"

The question, asked with such simple hope, felt like a physical blow. Minho's heart ached. He smoothed the hair back from his son's forehead.

"Mr. Kim is very busy, Junho-ah. He's not... he can't be here all the time."

"But I like him," Junho whispered, his eyelids fluttering shut. "He smells nice. Like cuddles."

Like cuddles. The simple, profound wisdom of a child. Minho stayed there long after Junho had fallen asleep, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. The Omega's scent, his gentle demeanor with Junho, his sharp mind in the boardroom—it was a combination that was impossible to ignore. And for the first time since the accident, the fortress around Minho's heart didn't feel like just a protection.

It felt like a prison.

And Kim Siwoo, without even trying, was making him aware of the bars.

---

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