“This wasn’t exactly what I thought you meant by hanging out for your birthday,” Kaiseng said, his nose wrinkling as he took in the room.

Bodies packed closely. Laughter too loud, music thumping through the walls, the air thick with heat and cheap alcohol. Some faces he recognized from school, others older—already graduated, already drifting somewhere beyond this neighborhood. A few he didn’t recognize at all, strangers pressed into the corners of Rian’s home like they belonged there.

Rian just laughed. One arm was looped easily around Hana’s waist as she leaned into him, his other hand lifting a red cup to his mouth. “It’s called having fun, Park,” he said, eyes bright. “Relax. I’ll clean everything up before my aunt and uncle get back.”

“So no one will ever know,” Leo added, bumping Kaiseng’s shoulder lightly.

The four of them hovered in the kitchen, wedged between the island and the sink, voices raised just enough to carry over the music spilling in from the living room. Someone brushed past Kaiseng, leaving behind the sharp scent of cologne and sweat.

Hana smiled, turning fully into Rian as if the space wasn’t overwhelming. The back of her black jacket creased beneath his hand, bold white lettering stretched across it—Iron Pulse Gym—with Rian’s name stitched just below. She tilted up to kiss him once, lingering and familiar, before glancing back over her shoulder.

“We should play a game,” she said brightly, eyes flicking between Kaiseng and Leo. “Something easy.”

After passing around a few half-baked ideas, somehow Kaiseng and Rian ended up clearing the dining room table. Cups were arranged. Someone explained the rules loudly… and incorrectly. Beer pong devolved into truth-or-dare somewhere between the second round and the third drink.

Kaiseng was paired with Leo, nursing his cup more than actually drinking it. Across the table, Rian and Hana were winning, and it showed—every time Kaiseng had to answer another stupid truth, his annoyance deepened.

“Nice shot, Hana!” someone shouted when her ball landed cleanly in a cup.

She didn’t hesitate. “Kaiseng—truth or dare?”

He sighed, the sound hovering somewhere between playful resignation and irritation. “Dare.”

“Mm, I dare you to… Kiss Leo.”

Kaiseng turned slowly. His brows pulled together as he looked at Leo.

Leo snorted. “I mean—dare’s a dare.”

It was quick. Harmless. A brief press of lips, followed by laughter. But the room reacted anyway—murmurs, whistles, exaggerated ohs as two alphas kissed. Kaiseng stepped back, rolling his shoulders, instinctively scanning the room.

His gaze landed on Rian.

“Bold,” Rian said easily, shaking his head as he lifted his cup. “She never said it had to be the lips.”

Then—

Crash.

Glass shattered somewhere down the hall.

“Shit,” Rian muttered, already setting his drink down. Host instincts kicked in immediately. “I’ve got it.” He disappeared toward the back of the house before anyone could argue.

Kaiseng hesitated only a second before following.

The hallway was dimmer, the music muffled as they moved farther from the heart of the party. Rian was crouched near the laundry room, gathering shards of glass from a fallen bottle.

“You don’t have to—” Rian started.

“I know,” Kaiseng said, kneeling anyway. “But I’m here.”

They worked in silence for a moment.

“Fuck,” Rian muttered suddenly, pulling his hand back and bringing it to his lips.

“Hey—don’t do that,” Kaiseng said quickly, catching his wrist. “What if there’s glass?” He inspected the finger, then huffed a breathy laugh. “Damn. You might actually die from this.”

Rian yanked his hand free. “You are never going to make it through doctor school.”

Kaiseng laughed. “It’s not called doctor school.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Rian straightened, glancing at his finger again.

“You should clean it,” Kaiseng said. “Put a bandage on.” He turned toward the bathroom. “You got a first-aid kit or—”

“Under the sink,” Rian replied, leaning back against the counter, arms crossing loosely.

Kaiseng crouched, pulling the plastic kit out and setting it on the counter. He tore open an antiseptic wipe and cleaned the cut carefully before pressing a bandage over it.

When he looked up, Rian was watching him. Not sharply. Not playfully. His face was flushed. His eyes half-lidded, unfocused in a way that made Kaiseng’s chest tighten.

“Are you okay?” Kaiseng asked, lifting a hand to Rian’s forehead.

Too warm.

Rian exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the edge of the counter. “Yeah. I’m just—” He frowned faintly. “Why is it so hot in here?”

Kaiseng stilled. The air had changed. There was something warm and sweet beneath the stale beer and sweat—something he was used to when he was around Rian. But this was different. Stronger. It made his pulse spike and instincts flare sharp and sudden like something waking up inside him. His skin prickled. His focus tunneled.

“Do you… do you smell that, Rian?”

Kaiseng stepped closer without meaning to, his body instinctively parting Rian’s legs as he moved between them. His fingers traced along Rian’s jaw, grounding himself in the solid warmth of him before leaning in. He inhaled slowly at the curve of Rian’s neck.

The scent hit him fully then—sweet, heady, intoxicating. It curled low in his chest and sent an unwanted thought flashing through his mind: how he might taste.

“Kai,” Rian breathed.

The sound of his name made Kaiseng pause, his mouth hovering just a whisper away from Rian’s skin. Rian’s hand came up, tracing Kaiseng’s cheek, gentle but sure, guiding his face upward until their eyes met.

It was slow. And then suddenly it wasn’t. Their lips brushed—soft, uncertain—then lingered. Kaiseng felt the warmth of Rian’s mouth, the unfamiliar tenderness of it, before the kiss deepened instinctively, unthinking. The scent that filled his senses now had a taste, and that—that—was what finally made him pull back.

Rian’s breath came uneven.

“Rian,” Kaiseng said quietly, grounding himself with the sound of his own voice. “I’m going to send everyone home. You’re—” He swallowed. “You’re going through differentiation right now.”

Rian didn’t seem to hear him.

His fingers fisted in the fabric of Kaiseng’s shirt, tugging him closer again, lips brushing his jaw, his mouth. “Don’t leave,” he murmured, voice unfocused, warm. “Do I not kiss as good as Leo?”

“Just—stay here,” Kaiseng said, cupping Rian’s face firmly this time, forcing him to look at him. “I’ll be right back. I promise.” He held Rian’s gaze until it stuck—until the haze flickered just enough to make him nod.

Kaiseng paused at the doorway, breath shallow. After a beat, he pushed his pheromones outward—controlled, deliberate—just enough to smother the sweetness bleeding from the room. Only then did he step out, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Birthday boy’s sick,” he announced, voice firm as it carried through the space. Too firm for a party. “Everyone needs to head out.”

The music faltered. A few groans followed.

Hana was at his side almost immediately. “Is Rian okay?” Worry creased her brow, lips pulling into a small, anxious pout.

Kaiseng couldn’t quite meet her eyes. The warmth of Rian still lingered on his skin, on his mouth. “Yeah. He was throwing up. Passed out now—too much to drink.” A pause. “I’ll clean up for him.”

“We can stay and help,” Leo offered.

“No,” Kaiseng said quickly, then softened his tone. “Don’t worry about it. Just help me get everyone out.”

They listened.

It took longer than he wanted—shoes, laughter, complaints—but eventually the house emptied. The door shut. The lock clicked. Kaiseng turned—and nearly ran into Rian. He was halfway up the stairs, unsteady, fingers scraping along the banister. Kaiseng was at his side in an instant, arm wrapping around his waist.

“Easy,” he murmured. “Just a few more steps.”

Rian leaned into him heavily. They made it to the bedroom, but instead of falling back onto the mattress the way Kaiseng intended, Rian shifted—deliberate or not, Kaiseng couldn’t tell—and suddenly Kaiseng was the one hitting the bed, Rian sprawled over him, face buried against his neck.

“Rian,” he said softly.

“I’m going to lose everything,” Rian mumbled, breath warm against his skin. “Aren’t I?”

Kaiseng froze. “What?”

“I’m an omega.” The words came out muffled, shaky. “No one takes omega fighters seriously. I won’t get a scholarship. Hana’s going to leave me… Omegas don’t marry omegas.”

Kaiseng’s chest tightened. His lips parted, but nothing came out.

Guilt crept in, unwanted and sharp. What if this is my fault? The thought was irrational—he knew that—but it still rooted itself deep. They’d been spending so much time together. Training. Studying. Then the kiss, right at the cusp of differentiation—

He forced the thought away.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” he asked quietly.

Kaiseng shifted just enough to look at him. “Because,” he said, voice small but certain, “we’re friends.”

Rian let out a slow breath. “Friends, huh?” A weak huff of laughter. “Long way from study partners.”

It was true. Not just because Hana and him were a package deal—but because Kaiseng liked him. The time. The quiet. The loud. The way Rian filled space without asking permission.

“There are omegas who train at Iron Pulse,” Kaiseng said after a moment. “But sometimes… their pheromones spike when stressed or injured. The gym keeps suppressants on hand.” He hesitated. “I can take some. It won’t fix everything—but it’ll give you time. You don’t have to tell anyone until you’re ready.”

Suppressants weren’t perfect. Not under stress. Not during cycles. But they would help for now.