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Chapter Text

                                                                                                         Chapter 1 - the oath

Shen Wenlang was already irritated by what happened at the restaurant with Sheng Shao you. Did that heat prone alpha had to show up there, especially when he wanted to celebrate Gao Tu's birthday.

That alpha not only ruined the celebration but also made his beloved secretary sick. Gao Tu has always been weak due to his asthma and he had to trigger it right at that moment. If it were not for that lunatic Hua Yong, Shen Wenlang would have beat up that idiot for hurting his secretary.

Shen Wenlang wanted to beat up Huo Yong first, because of that lunatic's plan his beloved secretary misunderstood him and thinks of him as a immoral pervert who pushed his subordinate into prostitution for revenge.

Looking at his secretary who had fainted and has a high fever because of all the adversity that happened today and his health condition, he couldn't help but sigh. He was glad that he was there when Gao Tu fainted or he would have hurt himself. He was already too fragile. It hurt Shen Wenlang to see him like this.

He could not understand why he felt so hurt when Gao Tu misunderstood him. He wanted Gao Tu to believe in him a little. He wanted Gao Tu to know that he would never hurt anyone, even a omega despite his hatred for them.

He sat beside the bed watching the other breath weakly. Looking at his pale face and thin structure, Wenlang wanted to protect him from everything, to take care of him, but Gao Tu already had someone and that made him feel hurt.

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice the faint sage scent drifting through the small apartment. Shen Wenlang rose quietly, searching for something to help with the other’s fever. When he opened the bedside drawer, he froze. Inside were pheromone suppressors—both injectables and inhalers—alongside painkillers. Gao Tu is a beta, he didn’t need these. The sight left Shen Wenlang unsettled, a mix of confusion and curiosity twisting in his chest.

His first thought was that it belonged to Gao Tu’s omega but they didn’t live together. Last time Shen Wenlang had asked, Gao Tu insisted he lived alone. Yet what unsettled him most was that the inhaler suppressor looked identical to the one Gao Tu used for his asthma. A cold knot of unease tightened in his chest. Without thinking, he fetched Gao Tu’s inhaler from the bag and inspected it carefully. His eyes widened as he saw the label had been switched. His mind raced, questions forming faster than he could grasp.

He could not believe it. There was no way Gao Tu would lie to him. Maybe there was another explanation, he told himself, but even the thought felt absurd. He could ask Gao Tu when he woke up but what if, after that, there was no turning back? Confusion, anger, and fear churned in his chest. His eyes drifted to the beta in the bed, pale and breathing slowly. The sight of him so weak sent a sharp surge of pain through Wenlang. He moved closer, senses suddenly alert, his mind combing through memories he had never noticed before, the faint sage scent lingering in the air, the subtle tremor of Gao Tu’s fingers, the slow rise and fall of his chest. Every detail pressed on him, sharpening his worry even as his heart twisted at the thought of being deceived.

He could smell the faint sage scent slowly drifting from his beloved secretary. Inch by inch, he moved closer to where the scent glands should be, and the truth hit him like a blow. How could this be? His beta secretary… suddenly an omega.

So many questions filled his mind, and yet all the memories of him belittling omegas in front of Gao Tu resurfaced, the details he had missed—the way Gao Tu’s expression turned pained whenever he insulted omegas. His rage overpowered every other emotion. He wanted to wake the omega up and demand an explanation, but the moment his eyes fell on the pale, weak figure in front of him, his anger vanished. He couldn’t do anything that might hurt his Gao Tu. Maybe Gao Tu had his reasons. Even if he dosen't, Shen Wenlang couldn’t even bring himself to think of harming him. It wasn’t about trust or anger, he simply couldn’t bring himself to hurt him. The idea felt impossible, as if some instinct refused to let him do anything that might cause Gao Tu pain.

Thinking of that, he realized that Gao Tu was pretending to be a beta even before he met him. All his documents showed he was a beta and not an omega. Everyone he had known has always said that he was an beta. With that Wenlang felt a little less hurt but that didn't last long as soon as he remembered his every word and every action against omegas resurface again.

He felt guilty, angry and devastated at the same time. Guilty for hurting his Gao Tu unintentionally, angry that Gao Tu had hid his identity from him and devastated that Gao Tu did not feel comfortable around him to be himself and unintentionally he had become another source of pain in Gao Tu's already burdened life.

Suddenly, the doctor’s words made sense. When Gao Tu had placed himself between Sheng Shaoyou and Shen Wenlang during a fight and ended up in the hospital, Shen Wenlang had met Gao Tu’s doctor.

"Stop torturing him, that’s better than any medicine. Hating the scent of omegas. Grow up, young man."

Those exact words replayed in his mind, and Shen Wenlang realized how he had hurt Gao Tu last time as well. His chest felt as if it would burst; he hated the amount of pain he had inflicted on him.

All the signs had been there, right in front of him, how Gao Tu never even had a picture of his omega, the faint scent of sage,something he had pretended to hate, lingering on him all day.

He couldn’t go on. The more he thought, the heavier it felt the betrayal, the guilt, the overwhelming pain.

Then he sensed Gao Tu stir. Instantly, his mind cleared, as if anchored by him. Quickly, Shen Wenlang closed the cabinet, hid the inhaler in his hand, and sat beside him, promising himself he would think about it later.

For now, the only thing that mattered was taking care of his beta, who was now an omega. He decided not to reveal anything to Gao Tu yet, pushing down his questions, suspicions, and hurt, focusing solely on him.

Gao Tu was too weak to notice the change in the air and his pheromones slipping out in the faintest trace. He saw Shen Wenlang sit down at his bed and hold his hand. It felt nice to be able smell the iris scent of Wenlang's pheromones this close to him. He felt a tight knot in his chest, if only he could freeze this moment.

The alpha’s gaze was soft, yet piercing, making Gao Tu’s heart skip. Shen Wenlang leaned closer, placing his other hand gently on Gao Tu’s forehead, frowning with concern. Gao Tu felt a small, quiet warmth bloom in his chest. The simple act the touch, the worry, the closeness made him unexpectedly happy. Even in his weakened state, he savored the care given to him, treasuring the fleeting intimacy of the moment.

"You're burning up", he said in a soft voice. "Do you have any medicine here? " he asked softly, his voice laced with concern. It was moments like this that made Gao Tu fall harder for his alpha.

Gao Tu knew the real Shen Wenlang, the kind-hearted alpha with no filter in his words. He could be harsh most of the time, yet he cared more than anyone else. On the surface, he acted as if nothing could bother him, but quietly, he always found ways to help those around him. Watching him now, sitting so close and tending to him with quiet attention, Gao Tu felt a warmth bloom in his chest. Even in his weakened state, he felt happy—truly happy—to be cared for by the very person he loved. Every small gesture, every gentle touch, made his heart quietly swell, and for a moment, all the pain and weakness faded, replaced by the simple comfort of being with Shen Wenlang.

Gao Tu shook his head in answer and Shen Wenlang sighed.

“I’m fine,” Gao Tu said.

“How can you be fine? You forgot your birthday and didn’t even mention your fever. Even kids know to go see a doctor when they’re sick. Gao Tu, how old are you really?” Shen Wenlang’s words carried a sharp edge, but his frustration was tempered by concern. Gao Tu was sick and stubborn. Seeing his pale face, Wenlang’s instinct was to scoop him up and rush him to a hospital, but he restrained himself. He hated how little Gao Tu cared for his own wellbeing.

“I’ll buy you some medicine,” he said, rising, but before he could move, Gao Tu’s hand gripped his.

“You really don’t have to,” Gao Tu murmured, his voice weak, but his eyes were heavy with sadness and longing. “Shen Wenlang… can you stay with me a little longer?” The simple request carried a depth of need he couldn’t voice aloud. He wanted to stay near this iris-scented alpha, even if only for a few more seconds, and he silently begged the moment to stretch.

Shen Wenlang couldn’t bring himself to argue. The quiet yearning in Gao Tu’s eyes, the fragile curve of his expression, anchored him in place. Without thinking, he sank back onto the bed, letting his hand wrap around the omega’s. He stroked Gao Tu’s fingers slowly with his thumb, feeling the warmth and fragility beneath his touch. In that silence, with the soft scent of iris surrounding them.

A fragile sense of relief washed over Gao Tu, and with a faint trace of happiness, he let his eyes drift shut. Having him here, even just for this fleeting moment, was all he needed.

At 11:59, Shen Wenlang’s eyes fixed on the clock, his heart torn between the sting of betrayal and the guilt of the pain he had caused. He had spent years hating omegas, and yet Gao Tu felt… different, though he didn’t yet understand how much. Even after discovering Gao Tu’s secret and realizing he had been deceived for ten long years, his anger at being lied to burned, but it softened in the presence of him.

Leaning closer, he whispered with quiet, resolute sincerity, "Happy birthday".

He stayed a moment longer, watching Gao Tu sleep, noting the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the way sickness had left him fragile and small. A pang of guilt and sorrow hit him, this was supposed to be his day, and yet he lay like this, alone and uncelebrated.

As the seconds ticked by, Shen Wenlang’s gaze drifted to the clock. As it turned to 00:00, something stirred within him. He drew a deep, steadying breath, and in that instant made a silent vow to himself, to protect Gao Tu, to understand him, and to wait for him to reveal the truth himself, he would not let go.

Just as he vowed to protect the omega in front him from the world and himself his phone lit up with a text. It was that lunatic Hua Yong.

"Did you forget your promise? " it read. Shen wenlang wanted to grab that unreasonable lunatic by the collar and shake some sense into him but he knew that won't work. That lunatic is long gone for his alpha Sheng Shaoyou.

"Be reasonable!, it was your alpha that attacked me first. I was just defending myself" he replied. He turned his head towards Gao Tu and remembered that he was in this state because of that same alpha. This made his blood boil and he added "your alpha hurt my secretory and ruined his birthday and I haven't even said a word about it yet".

Hua Yong was taken aback by the reply. Since when had Shen Wenlang become so protective of his secretary? That stubborn alpha hadn’t even realized his own feelings yet. Hua Yong was certain something had shifted, but he didn’t concern himself with it for now.

Still, a small sense of satisfaction flickered in him at the progress his best friend had made, though he kept it to himself, saying nothing. He allowed himself a small, wry smile. Gao Tu was kind, always ready to help and seeing Shen Wenlang stumble around, fiercely protective and clueless at the same time? Priceless. Progress was being made, and Hua Yong would quietly enjoy the show, saying nothing, as usual.

"If you fight with Mr.Sheng again I won't help you again", he texted back. He was still annoyed with Shen Wenlang for fighting with his alpha earlier but couldn't help but smile a little at his stubborn friend who finally started using his brain.

"Seriously, who is helping who. If it weren't for you there would be no reason for a fight and my secretory might have been safe" he texted back. He hated that Gao Tu had gotten hurt because of that lunatic’s scheme, but a small part of him was glad, it had brought him to this moment, right here, right now. With that he put his phone down.

He did quite understand himself yet but for now it didn't matter. His gaze wondered to the omega in bed after making sure he was asleep, wenlang released calming pheromones. As the pheromones engulfed them he could see Gao Tu's breathing become more steady. He stayed till 5 in the morning before sneaking out quietly. He informed the other secretory of Gao Tu's leave and headed to his home before going to the company.

Chapter Text

Gao Tu woke up to the lingering scent of iris, faint but unmistakable. It wrapped around him like a whisper, gentle and comforting, as if Shen Wenlang was still there beside him. For the first time in what felt like forever, he had slept soundly, his restless thoughts soothed into quiet.

He lay still, staring at the ceiling, unwilling to move, afraid that even the slightest shift would break the fragile spell. The memory of last night returned to him the steady warmth of Shen Wenlang’s hand, the tenderness hidden in his scolding, the way his gaze softened when he asked him to stay just a little longer.

His lips curved into the faintest smile, tender yet tinged with sorrow. It had been so long since anyone had remained by his side, so long since he had felt truly cared for. And it wasn’t just anyone, it was him. The alpha he had quietly longed for, the one whose words could cut sharp yet whose heart was gentler than anyone else’s, a hidden kindness that only he knew. It felt like a dream that he knew could never last, sweet enough to warm his heart, bitter enough to make it ache.

He couldn’t help but laugh at his own delusion, soft and bitter. Last night felt like a dream, Shen Wenlang’s warmth, his care, his quiet tenderness. But Gao Tu knew better. That kindness was never meant for him, the omega beneath the beta facade.

Shen Wenlang hated omegas. If he ever learned the truth, that Gao Tu was one, that warmth would turn to ice in an instant. He would never allow himself to show the same gentle side again, not to an omega, not to someone he despised by nature. Gao Tu would lose everything he has, even this fragile closeness.

It felt like life’s cruelest joke. The very alpha he longed for, who unknowingly gave him the care he craved, would never offer it if he knew who Gao Tu truly was. Just as his father had despised omegas, just as his mother had suffered under that hatred, Gao Tu was forced to bury himself beneath a mask. His mother had begged him to survive this way, to live as a beta. And so he did. Becoming invisible to the world.

Every significant person around him was against omegas, one way or another, and yet fate had cursed him to be born as one. The thought clawed at him, stirring emotions he had no strength to face. Bitterness, sorrow, helplessness, all pressing against his chest until it felt hard to breathe. He didn’t want to deal with it, not now. Not when the fragile warmth of last night still lingered in his heart.

So he pushed it all down, as he always did, and reached for the only escape he knew, work. His eyes drifted to the clock on the bedside. 2 p.m. already. He exhaled quietly and sat up, forcing his body to move even though his heart still ached.

He called his company to apologize for the sudden, uninformed leave, only to be told that Shen Wenlang had already arranged two days off for him. Something stirred deep within his chest at the thought. The gentle warmth of last night sneaking back into him like a whisper.

To him, Shen Wenlang was the moon, distant, untouchable, radiant in a way he could only admire from afar. And he, he was nothing more than a star, fated to shine in silence, never daring to cross the line. He despised himself for hiding the truth, yet the fear of losing Shen Wenlang outweighed everything else. If silence was the only way to remain by his side, then he would choose it, content to support him from the shadows.

He refused to air out the apartment. The faint trace of iris that lingered was a fragile illusion, a comfort he wanted to indulge in just a little longer.

But little did he know, the alpha he feared of losing the most had already uncovered his secret. Shen Wenlang had seen through the mask, and instead of tearing it away, he chose to guard it. Though anger and betrayal had clawed at him, something deeper had taken root, something he could not name but could no longer deny. In the stillness of the night, Wenlang had bound himself with a vow, unyielding, absolute, That no matter how long Gao Tu chose to hide, no matter how heavy the silence between them grew, he would stay. It was not just protection, it was the unspoken truth of his heart, the confession he didn’t yet realize he was making.

Gao Tu might have thought he was clinging to a dream destined to end, unaware that Shen Wenlang had already made it a reality. No matter the truth, no matter the secrets, the alpha would stand by his side, quietly shouldering whatever came their way. Gao Tu did not yet know just how much Shen Wenlang’s heart had already tethered itself to him. Even Shen Wenlang himself had yet to realize the extent to which his heart was bound to Gao Tu.

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In the office...

Shen Wenlang’s other secretary informed him of Gao Tu’s call. Relief washed over him knowing Gao Tu was awake, but it was tangled with irritation, how could he even think of returning to work in this state?

He could not make sense of his own thoughts. A storm of emotions raged inside him. Worry for Gao Tu, why had he stayed by his side while suffering so much? Why had he paid such a high price to hide his identity? Anger at Gao Tu for neglecting his own health. Confusion at why all of it affected him so deeply. And beneath it all, an overwhelming, instinctive need to protect him that both alarmed and bewildered Shen Wenlang.

Now he knew that Gao Tu is an omega, and for ten years, he had deceived him. He had trusted him, only to be betrayed. His hatred for omegas ran deep, yet for Gao Tu, he was willing to set it aside. Not only that, he found himself willing, even desperate to protect the fragile omega.

He wanted to shield Gao Tu from whatever or whoever forced him to hide his true self. He knew for a fact that had if he had known from the start that Gao Tu was an omega, he would never have let him come close. He might have never even noticed him at all. And yet, here he was, heart twisted with something he couldn’t name, inexplicably drawn to the fragile warmth of the omega before him. Even if he didn’t understand it, even if he could not yet call it by name, he knew one thing with absolute certainty, he could not bear to let Gao Tu go.

Despite the busy schedule, he found himself irritated at how much he missed the presence of his secretary. Gao Tu was efficient, perceptive, always knowing exactly what he wanted and had made everything around him run smoothly. Shen Wenlang scoffed at himself for it. It wasn’t that he missed Gao Tu, he told himself. It was only the work, the way things slowed down without him. That was it. Purely professional.

But the thought didn’t hold. He realized, with a sickening clarity, that he wanted to see Gao Tu every day. He wanted him close, constantly, and a part of him ached at the mere idea of losing that. He wanted to keep him by his side forever.

He immediately shook his head, annoyed at himself. This sounded exactly like that lunatic Hua Yong, scheming to keep Sheng Shaoyou glued to him. Shen Wenlang had known Hua Yong for a long time, and he couldn’t believe he was even thinking along the same lines. It was ridiculous. He was nothing like that fool.

And yet, he could not deny it completely. He refused to believe he had fallen for an omega. No, he would not admit it. For someone as inexperienced as he was, there was no way Gao Tu was his first love. That was absurd. Utterly absurd. And yet his chest tightened, his thoughts betrayed him, and he hated himself a little for it.

Even that thought, didn’t last long. Omega, beta, or even a bunny, Shen Wenlang couldn't care less. Gao Tu was still the same vulnerable, kind-hearted, quietly strong person he had always known. The one that worked two jobs while studying to afford his siters treatment, the same person that worked overtime to earn enough for his sisters surgery, the one that refuse to simply accept charity, the one that insisted on paying back every little peny he owned. 

The realization hit him like soft wave, he was exactly like that lovesick lunatic Hua Yong, the same one he had always rolled his eyes at. The one he had mocked for being a fool in love. How absurd he must seem, mocking someone else’s clumsy devotion and realizing he was no different.

He laughed bitterly at himself, a sound that was half mockery, half disbelief. How stupid could he be? How slow? All this time, he had been lost in something he didn’t even know how to name. And yet, there it was. He couldn’t fight it. He accepted it, reluctantly, painfully, but with a strange relief settling in his chest. This wolf had been hopelessly, utterly in love all along and it had taken him far too long to realize it.

Too dumb, too stubborn, too hopeless… maybe even dumber than that lunatic. But it didn’t matter. Not anymore. 

Shen Wenlang felt the urge to blame Gao Tu for it all, for pretending to be a beta and telling everyone he had an omega to take care of, for weaving a careful web that kept Shen Wenlang from ever considering the truth. And yet, as the thought rose in his chest, he laughed bitterly at himself. How childish, how absurd. Here he was, a grown alpha, outwitted by the very person he trusted.

After finishing up his work he called the last person he wanted to talk to, Hua Yong. 

It didn't take long for Hua Yong to pick up.

"What, you want to fight me for your secretory ", Hua Young said as soon he answered the call.

Shen Wenlang scoffed "I wanted to, trust me but I will keep it for later. I will take revenge for him when I meet you in person" he said still cursing the other's alpha for the trouble he had caused.

"What makes you think you can touch my alpha without any consequence ", Huo Yong replied more playfully than threatening.

"Who said anything about touching your alpha, It's you that I will be dealing with".

"That won't be an issue. I will allow it this once since you seem to be getting a little bit smarter than before".

"Huo Yong, what do you mean ?", he asked irritated.

“Exactly what I said,” came the teasing, provocative reply.

Shen Wenlang wanted to stangle that lunatic then and there but calmed himself down. He had called him for a reason, not to argue as usual. 

"How.... how do you make up to your alpha if you ever hurt him?", he asked quieter now, the sharpness in his voice replaced by something almost vulnerable. He didn’t admit it aloud, but every word carried the weight of his concern. Beneath the facade, there was only one thought occupying his mind, he wanted to make things right with Gao Tu.

Hua Yong hadn’t expected this stubborn alpha to accept everything so quickly. He was quietly amused at how fast his friend, who had been completely oblivious to his own feelings for so long, had come to terms with them. Part of him was genuinely happy for Shen Wenlang, but another part couldn’t resist teasing him a little.

“First of all,” Hua Yong said, deliberately taunting, “I will never hurt my alpha. I’m not you.”

Shen Wenlang’s patience was running thin. Every playful jab made him grit his teeth, silently questioning why he had called this lunatic for advice in the first place.

"However, if Mr. Sheng is angry with me, I will cling to him and apologize until he forgives me. I will kneel, beg for forgiveness, follow him everywhere, pester him relentlessly, whatever it takes.", Huo yong said sincerely.

Shen Wenlang couldn’t help but roll his eyes at his shameless, lunatic friend. That approach would never work with Gao Tu. He had been insulting Gao Tu’s very identity for as long as they had known each other. There was no way the omega would forgive him that easily. He let his thoughts wander, unaware that Gao Tu had already long been ensnared by his heart.

“Hua Yong, do you really think it’s that easy?” he retorted, more annoyed at himself than at his friend for hurting Gao Tu.

“I never said it was easy,” Hua Yong replied, teasing yet serious. “I just said I’ll do whatever it takes to gain his forgiveness.” Then, with a sly grin in his voice, he added, “You better start kneeling and begging for forgiveness from secretory Gao before someone else steals him.”

Shen Wenlang froze. How did this lunatic know about that so soon?

“How did you know about that? Did you bug me, you lunatic?” His irritation was rising.

Hua Yong, on the other hand, was relishing this rare chance to torment his best friend. It wasn’t every day you got to see this stubborn alpha flustered.

“There’s no need for that,” Hua Yong said, pulling every string to irritate him. “You were too obvious. To be honest, you’re the only one who didn’t realize your own feelings.”

“bullshit,” Shen Wenlang shot back, too stubborn to accept it.

Hua Yong laughed at his friend's blindness. “Wenlang, the only person you ever talk about is secretory Gao, and you always take care of him. Even when you visit Country P, you wonder what he is up to. Are you really that oblivious?”

Shen Wenlang clenched his jaw, a flush rising to his face despite himself. Deep down, he knew Hua Yong was right. Every thought, every restless moment, somehow tethered him to Gao Tu, an invisible thread that had been pulling him long before he’d even admitted it. He hated how much he cared, yet couldn’t stop himself from wanting to stay close, to protect him, no matter how much his pride rebelled.

"Get lost" he said flustered.

"Hope you gain his forgiveness and put an end to your bachelor life soon" Hua Yong replied cheerfully ignoring the insult completely before hanging up.

Shen Wenlang stared at the wall as if it held all the answers, Hua Yong’s words echoing relentlessly in his mind.

“You better start kneeling and begging for forgiveness from Gao Tu before someone else steals him.”

“Before someone steals him…”

“Steals him…”

The repetition struck him like a lightning bolt. His chest tightened, his thoughts spiraling, he couldn’t deny it any longer.

“I… I can’t let anyone take him,” he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible. “Gao Tu… I… I like him. I care about him more than I should… more than I even realize.”

The thought of losing Gao Tu twisted in his chest, filling him with a sharp, gnawing anxiety. Gao Tu was his and his alone. Suddenly, everything else seemed meaningless. The thought of life without him felt empty, colorless, as if the world itself would crumble. In that moment, Shen Wenlang realized he was no different from Hua Yong, utterly obsessed with his omega. Nothing, absolutely nothing else, mattered without Gao Tu by his side.

Chapter Text

Shen Wenlang wanted to visit Gao Tu again that day, but work piled up, chaining him to his desk until long past midnight. By the time he finished, it was far too late. Still, his steps carried him to Gao Tu’s apartment, as though he had no choice in the matter.

Standing outside the door, he found himself hesitating. The light was still on. His jaw tightened, Gao Tu was sick, yet still awake, still working when he should be resting. He had given him days off precisely for this reason, but it seemed his intentions were ignored.

He wanted to push the door open, march inside, and drag Gao Tu to bed if that’s what it took to make him rest. But what excuse did he even have? What reason could possibly justify a boss appearing at his secretary’s door in the middle of the night, demanding he sleep? None of it made sense. None of it could be explained. Yet here he was, rooted to the spot, unable to walk away.

Staring at the faint line of light spilling out from beneath the door. His fingers curled into a fist at his side, nails biting into his palm as he fought the urge to knock. He leaned his forehead against the wood, his breath shallow, heart pounding with unspoken words. He shifted on his feet, frustrated with himself, and his shoe scraped softly against the floor. The sound echoed louder than it should have in the quiet corridor, and he stiffened, heart lurching in his chest. For a moment he thought he heard movement inside.

He was about to turn and leave when the door swung open. 

Standing there in his nightclothes was Gao Tu, their faces only inches apart. Neither had expected the other.

Shen Wenlang was instantly captivated by the site. The way his cloths hung loose, his messy hair, the innocent eyes, the faint smell of sage emitting from his skin, everything tugged at his heart.

Gao Tu, on the other hand, couldn't believe his eyes. Shen Wenlang was right in front of him. The very person that had rendered him sleepless, the one that haunted his mind every time his eyes closed, the iris scent faintly pulling at his heart strings.

Both stood frozen, unable to understand what had just happened. Both were too close to the very person that occupied their minds. Longing burned in them both, but fear held them back, the fear that reaching out might mean losing the other forever.

“Mr. Shen…” Gao Tu’s voice was barely above a whisper, tinged with surprise and something softer, shattering the heavy silence between them.

Shen Wenlang froze, the sound of his name on Gao Tu’s lips echoing far too intimately in his chest. He stumbled back a step, fumbling with the edge of his coat as if straightening it could mask the chaos inside him. His mind, so often sharp and controlled, was blank.

“What have I told you about calling me ‘Mr. Shen’ outside of work?” The words slipped out before he could stop them, abrupt and graceless, edged with frustration he didn’t know how to soften. The moment they left his tongue, he cursed himself. Of all the things to say after showing up unannounced in the dead of night, this was what he came up with? Pathetic.

"Shen Wenlang, what are you doing here?" he replied knowing the care under the others harsh tone. It was what always drew him closer, what kept him bound no matter how much it hurt. To anyone else, Shen Wenlang’s words might have sounded cold, dismissive. But Gao Tu had long since learned to read the warmth buried in his edges, the unspoken worry threaded into every scolding word.

"What, am I not allowed here?" he retorted, the words sharper than he intended, not being able to find an excuse fast enough and again cursing himself for his choice of words. How had Gao Tu endured him for so many years?. Even Shen Wenlang himself could barely stand his own stupidity.

Yet only before the gentle gaze of his secretory, his walls crumbled. The proud, unshakable alpha became nothing but a man fumbling in the dark, foolish and unguarded, aching to be seen by him. A fool in love, yearning for his beloved to acknowledge him.

"That's not what I meant." Gao Tu replied apologetically, voice barely a whisper. "It's the middle of the night"

"I was afraid that you had collapsed dead, so I came to check on you" the alpha who couldn't control his emotions shot back in utter embarrassment at being caught in the act. He wanted to disappear that instant. Erase Gao Tu's memories and restart the whole situation. His ears burning red and his heart racing.

"Why are going out so late, when you are already sick?" he added.

Gao Tu couldn't help but smile at this alpha that has gone out of his ways to care for him. A surge of warmth and longing welled up inside him, impossible to resist. He realized, with a quiet ache, that there was no escaping his own heart—every glance, every careless action, every fleeting gesture only pulled him deeper, binding him helplessly to the alpha standing just inches away.

"I've been resting all day and couldn't sleep anymore, so I wanted to take a walk" Gao Tu replied softly "Would you like to come in?" he added.

"Finally you're inviting me in, I thought you were gonna let me freeze out here " he grumbled as he walked into the small apartment.

Gao Tu was used to his boss’s childish ways, and sometimes, he even found them endearingly cute. Beneath the sharp words and irritated tones, he knew Shen Wenlang well enough to see the awkwardness, the careful hiding behind the harsh facade.

“It’s not good to drink tea this late. Do you want some hot water?” Gao Tu asked, moving toward the stove.

“Don’t bother. Sit and rest,” Shen Wenlang snapped, his voice sharp but laced with concern. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes… I had some leftovers from yesterday,” Gao Tu replied quietly.

The words hit Shen Wenlang like a punch. He could feel his control slipping, his frustration spilling over. “Gao Tu, are you trying to kill yourself? How can you survive on leftovers when you’re sick? Can’t you take even a little care of yourself? What would your sister do if something happened to you?”

Even as he scolded, there was no anger in his eyes, only worry, raw and unfiltered, mingled with the helplessness of caring too much for someone who stubbornly refused to care for themselves.

He hated himself for not thinking of it sooner. He should have checked on him earlier, brought him something, anything. The helplessness gnawed at him, he couldn’t even cook, and by now it was too late for deliveries. Every passing second felt like a failure, a reminder that Gao Tu had suffered while he had been foolishly hesitating, and Shen Wenlang couldn’t bear it.

Without a second thought, he said, “Pack what you need for a few days. You’re staying with me until you fully recover.” It wasn’t a request, it was an order.

Gao Tu froze, heart racing. Surprise and a strange warmth tangled in his chest. He didn’t know why the alpha was acting this way, stubborn as ever, yet unusually open. Shen Wenlang was showing his emotions, his worry and care bare for the first time, and it made Gao Tu’s chest ache.

Accepting meant risking his carefully hidden truth, revealing the secret he had protected for so long. Yet refusing wasn’t an option. He knew Shen Wenlang wouldn’t allow it, and part of him, against every rational thought, wanted to lean into this stubborn alpha, to let himself be cared for, to let himself be seen. The pull toward him was irresistible, even as fear whispered warnings. Once Shen Wenlang set his mind on something, there was no stopping him. And Gao Tu… he realized he didn’t want to stop him either.

His hesitation only made Shen Wenlang’s irritation flare. “You have ten minutes to pack. If you’re not done, I’ll just take you to my place and buy you new things. Your choice,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

Gao Tu’s chest tightened. He couldn’t refuse, he didn’t want to. Despite the risks, despite the careful masks he had worn for years, he wanted to indulge in this fantasy, even if just for a fleeting moment. The pull of Shen Wenlang’s presence, the quiet intensity in his gaze, was too much to resist.

Gao Tu slowly nodded and began packing, carefully tucking his pheromone suppressors beneath his clothes. Shen Wenlang didn’t even give him the chance to change, he draped a jacket over Gao Tu’s shoulders and led him to the car. The drive was quiet, the kind of silence that pressed close, almost tangible. Each brush of their arms, the faint warmth radiating from the other, set his heart racing in ways he couldn’t name. Neither wanted to speak, yet both felt the unspoken pull between them, savoring the nearness with a mix of anticipation and longing that neither dared to acknowledge aloud.

When they arrived, Shen Wenlang held the door open, his fingers brushing lightly against Gao Tu’s as he stepped out. The fleeting contact sent a shiver through both of them, yet neither pulled away. Gao Tu’s heart thudded painfully in his chest, caught between excitement and fear.

Shen Wenlang’s gaze lingered on him for a heartbeat too long, as if memorizing every detail, the slight slump of his shoulders, the way his hair fell into his eyes, the faint scent that seemed to cling to him no matter what. Gao Tu felt exposed and cherished all at once, every instinct screaming to retreat and yet every part of him wanting to step closer.

The apartment, though obviously larger than his, felt smaller somehow, as if the space between them had evaporated. Shen Wenlang led him inside, but even the simple act of walking through the doorway was charged, every brush of their bodies leaving traces of warmth in the air. Neither spoke, yet the silence throbbed with a promise they weren’t ready to name, a closeness that hurt deliciously and left them both painfully aware of how much they each needed the other.

“Sit,” Shen Wenlang commanded, a faint edge of authority in his tone, as he gestured toward the couch and took the bag from Gao Tu’s hand. 

Gao Tu obeyed silently, letting the other take care of him this once. Shen Wenlang placed the bag near the couch and immediately went to the dinning table were his dinner sat cold. He took it to the kitchen to reheat.

Watching him, Gao Tu let out a soft breath. He couldn't believe what was happening. Everything felt so surreal. It felt like living in a dream. He wanted to cherish this fleeting moment. For now, nothing else mattered, his fear, his secrets, the consequence, all of it blurred into the background, leaving only the warmth and presence of Shen Wenlang, so achingly close, so achingly necessary.

Shen Wenlang returned from the kitchen with a steaming bowl in his hands. He set it carefully on the coffee table in front of Gao Tu, his fingers brushing against the omega’s as he adjusted it. The contact was fleeting, but it sent a warmth straight to both their hearts.

“Eat,” he said, voice low and firm. He sat down beside him, close enough that the faint scent of iris made Gao Tu forget about everything else. He released a faint trace of calming pheromones, faint enough to go unnoticed, yet strong enough to ease the omega’s nerves.

Gao Tu’s hands trembled slightly as he reached for the bowl. Shen Wenlang noticed, and without thinking, he placed a steady hand over the omega’s. “careful,” he murmured, almost too quietly to hear, the tenderness in his tone startled them both. He quickly retracted his hands embarrassed.

Gao Tu’s heart swelled, the tight knot of anxiety loosening just enough to allow himself to breathe in the closeness, to relish the alpha’s unspoken protection. He slowly started eating the food. It felt nice to be taken care of for once. Gao Tu wanted to be greedy just a little more. He wanted this alpha to be by his side longer. He knew that he can not ask forever but just a little longer wouldn't be impossible.

Little did he know that the alpha had already devoted himself to the omega, that longed for him, forever. No matter what, the wolf would stay by his rabbit’s side forever.

Shen Wenlang gave the guest room to Gao Tu, and after making sure he was settled, retreated to his own. The moment the door closed behind him, the weight of what he’d done came crashing down. In a reckless surge of emotion, he had dragged his secretary to his home in the dead of night. His chest tightened as doubt crept in, sharp and merciless.

Did Gao Tu think he was abusing his authority? Forcing him into submission under the guise of concern? The thought made his stomach twist. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing, his mind a storm he couldn’t silence. He hadn’t thought it through, not once, but now it was too late.

He didn’t regret bringing him here, not for a second. What he regretted was the possibility that Gao Tu might hate him for it. That his stubbornness might have left scars instead of comfort. And that, more than anything, made him despise himself. 

Shen Wenlang sat heavily on the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees, fingers digging into his hair. The image of Gao Tu’s quiet obedience wouldn’t leave his mind.The way he had nodded without protest, how he had followed without a word.

It should have reassured him. Instead, it gnawed at his chest. Was it trust, or was it fear? Had he mistaken silence for acceptance? The idea that Gao Tu might feel cornered, trapped by the weight of his command, cut deeper than he could bear.

He had always prided himself on control, on strength, on being the kind of man who knew exactly what he wanted and how to take it. But tonight, he felt like nothing more than a selfish fool, stripping away Gao Tu’s choices in the name of care.

He slumped into his bed staring at the ceiling unable to bear it. Its gonna be a long night, he thought to him self.

Meanwhile, in the guest room, Gao Tu lay awake, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling. The room was warm, the bed soft, and yet his heart refused to rest.

Every detail of tonight replayed in his mind, the stern order to pack, the almost childlike embarrassment when caught at his door, the tenderness hidden beneath sharp words. It was overwhelming, dizzying. Shen Wenlang, the man who towered over everyone, who never allowed weakness to slip past his mask, had brought him here, had revealed a side so raw it shook Gao Tu’s heart.

He should have been cautious. He should have focused on the risk, on the fragile threads of the identity he so desperately guarded. But all he could think about was how it felt to be wanted, not as a secretary, not as a subordinate, but as himself.

Gao Tu curled into the blanket, pressing his face into the fabric as if to hide the small, secret smile tugging at his lips. It was foolish to hope, dangerous to dream, but for tonight, just tonight, he let himself sink into the warmth.

Unbeknownst to either of them, two hearts beat restless under the same roof. One drowning in guilt, convinced he had taken too much. The other clinging to fragile joy, terrified it would never be enough.

The wolf lay awake, tormented by fear of having caged his rabbit.
The rabbit lay awake, trembling with the secret wish never to be set free.

Two hearts aching for the same thing, yet blind to the fact that the other longed for it too.

Chapter Text

Gao Tu woke up to the unfamiliar ceiling, blinking against the pale morning light. He hadn’t realized when sleep had claimed him, only that his body had finally surrendered to exhaustion. His gaze drifted to the clock, already past ten. A hollow ache spread in his chest. Shen Wenlang must have left for work. He would not see him this morning. The thought tasted bitter on his tongue, emptier than he wanted to admit.

Then reality hit him, the creeping awareness of his pheromone inhibitor wearing thin. Panic surged. He scrambled for his bag, hands trembling as he dug through clothes until his fingers brushed against the vial. Relief and dread crashed over him at once. He loaded the syringe with practiced motions, the doctor’s warning echoing mercilessly in his mind.

“You cannot keep abusing inhibitors. They’ll stop working. Your body will fail you. It could even be fatal.”

But what choice did he have? His heart raced as he pressed the needle in, the sting a familiar punishment for his very existence. His body shuddered, protesting the chemical weight it had grown too accustomed to. He staggered toward the bathroom, forcing himself under the cold shower. Water streamed down his skin, carrying with it the faint trace of sage, his true self, his secret shame.

And then the words, cutting and merciless, returned to him like a wound reopening.

“Don’t come near me with that scent of the omega on you. Wash it off before you dare stand before me again.”

Each syllable a stab through the heart. Yet the scene from the night replayed in his mind. The same voice scolding but with care, worrying for him, leading him to safety at the dead of night. Looking after him when the world was asleep. The hands that bought him a warm bowl of food, the one that held his, when it trembled a little.The alpha’s eyes, so often hard, had been nothing but worry and something softer he wasn’t sure he deserved.

Gao Tu closed his eyes, water mingling with the heat burning in his chest. He should have let go long ago. He should have spared himself this torment. But he couldn’t. He was already too far gone, drowning too deep. To give up now would mean discarding the only light left in his forsaken life.

He stepped out of the room, hair still damp, to find breakfast neatly set on the table. A small note was pinned beside the plate.

“You better finish it all.”

Gao Tu’s lips curved despite himself, a fragile smile he could not stop. Such a simple command, written in that blunt, commanding tone, yet it warmed him more than the food ever could. He obeyed without hesitation, savoring each bite as though it might vanish if he lingered too long. For a fleeting moment, he let himself imagine this was his everyday, his alpha waiting for him, a home filled with quiet care.

But the illusion cracked quickly. His heat cycle loomed dangerously near. If Shen Wenlang discovered the truth, if he learned the secretary he trusted was an omega hiding behind inhibitor. Gao Tu could already imagine the disgust, the rejection. One word, one look, and everything would shatter.

“I’ll go back tomorrow… after work,” he whispered, the decision carving sorrow into his chest. It was safer this way, safer to keep the truth buried, safer not to gamble the fragile kindness he had been given.

Still, for now, he let himself breath in the lingering iris scent that clung to the apartment, the faint trace of Shen Wenlang woven into every corner. He sat with his files, clinging to work as a shield against the ache in his heart, praying the hours would pass before longing betrayed him.

Little did Gao Tu know, the apartment carried more than the faint trace of iris. Shen Wenlang had not been able to resist the pull the night before. Long after Gao Tu had drifted into uneasy sleep, he had slipped quietly into the room. Watching as Gao Tu curled in his bed as though shielding himself from unknown storms, haunting him, even in his dreams.

The sight made his heart twist. He released his calming pheromones to ease the bunny's sleep. Watching intently as the other relax under the blanket of his pheromone. Shen Wenlang had stayed like that, keeping silent vigil, his presence the unspoken promise of the wolf guarding his bunny.

That morning, as he forced himself into his suit and out the door, his every step had felt heavier than the last. How much he wanted to stay, to watch over him, to ensure the fragile figure under his roof would not break. To simply let the world wait while he cared for the one person he had no right to keep.

In the office, the alpha who once prided himself on endless hours of work now found himself counting the minutes, longing only to return home, to the omega, he should have despised, the kind he had sworn to keep at arm’s length, yet who had shattered all of that disdain with quiet persistence, slipping beneath his defenses and carving a place in his chest he could no longer ignore. Yet he did not regret it, he even wished that he had found out sooner. And so the hours stretched cruelly, every second in the office nothing more than a barrier keeping him from the one who had undone him completely.

The entire office could hardly believe their eyes, their boss had actually left on time. It was something unheard of, a miracle.

When Shen Wenlang pushed open the door to his apartment, the first thing he saw was Gao Tu, fast asleep on the couch, files scattered across the table as if he had worked until exhaustion claimed him.

His heart clenched painfully. Even now, even when sick, Gao Tu still chose work over rest. Why does he never care for himself? Would it kill him to be selfish, just once? The thought burned in Wenlang’s chest, both sharp with anger and heavy with helplessness.

Yet as his gaze lingered, the frustration melted into something softer. The sight of that fragile figure, so still, so vulnerable, stole his breath. Every line of Gao Tu’s face carved itself deeper into his memory, and his heart stumbled, fluttering.

Before he realized it, he was kneeling beside him. His hand moved without thought, as though pulled by something beyond his control, fingertips brushing over the omega’s cheek in the gentlest touch. He trembled at his own boldness, terrified of waking him, yet unable to draw back. For once, the unshakable alpha allowed himself this small selfishness, the right to linger, to cherish.

Careful not to wake him, Shen Wenlang slid his arms beneath the omega’s light frame and lifted him with ease. Gao Tu stirred faintly, a soft sound leaving his lips, but soon settled again against the warmth. For a fleeting moment, Shen Wenlang let himself savor it, the quiet weight in his arms, the steady breath against his collar, the fragile trust handed over unconsciously.

He carried him into the bedroom, laying him gently upon the bed as though he were something breakable, precious. Pulling the blanket over him, Wenlang lingered, his hand hovering just above Gao Tu’s hair, aching to smooth it back but restraining himself. If he stayed any longer, he knew he would never be able to leave.

So with a reluctant breath, he stepped back. Every part of him resisted as he turned away, forcing his feet toward the study instead. He told himself it was better this way, better not to disturb him, better not to give in to the reckless longing that burned through him. And yet, as he closed the door behind him, the emptiness followed, louder than silence.

At around 9 p.m., Shen Wenlang went to wake Gao Tu for dinner. He knocked lightly on the door, waiting for a response that never came. Worried, he turned the handle and pushed it open, only to find the omega curled up beneath the blankets, fast asleep. His features, usually drawn tight with restraint, were now softened in slumber, unguarded in a way Shen Wenlang had never seen before.

For a moment, Wenlang just stood there, torn. Part of him wanted to let him sleep undisturbed, to guard this fragile peace and chase away the world that demanded so much of him. But another part, the one that remembered Gao Tu working himself half to death even while fevered, knew too well that if he let him be, he might wake up hungry and weak.

He stepped closer, his chest tightening at the sight of him. “...Gao Tu,” he whispered, his voice uncharacteristically gentle as he leaned down, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. His hand lingered for just a second longer than necessary before he gave a faint, hesitant shake.

The omega stirred faintly, caught between sleep and waking, the warmth of the hand on his shoulder anchoring him. His lashes fluttered open, hazy eyes struggling to focus until the blurred shape above him sharpened into Shen Wenlang’s face.

For a heartbeat, he wondered if he was still dreaming. The alpha’s gaze was softer than he had ever seen, a quiet storm of worry and tenderness barely held back.

“Wake up,” Wenlang murmured again, his thumb brushing unconsciously against Gao Tu’s shoulder in a protective rhythm. “It’s time to eat. You’ll make yourself sicker if you skip dinner.”

The words were gentle, but the weight behind them was heavy, as though his entire world rested on this fragile figure before him.

Gao Tu’s chest tightened. He should have pulled away, should have reminded himself of the distance he needed to maintain, the secrets he had to guard. But the sound of Wenlang’s voice, the gentle insistence, the unspoken promise in the weight of his concern, it wrapped around him like a tether he couldn’t resist. His heart hammered with a longing so raw it hurt.

He felt small, exposed, utterly seen. And in the same breath, unbearably safe. For a moment, all the careful walls he had built, the lies, the hiding, the fear of being discovered melted into the quiet certainty that this alpha, who had so long seemed untouchable, was here, keeping him from harm.

He slowly sat up, still groggy, and Wenlang’s hand remained at his side, steadying him as if Gao Tu was made of glass. The touch was firm yet careful, protective without being overbearing, and it sent a tremor of warmth through the omega. Gao Tu’s eyes met Wenlang’s, and for a moment, the world outside the apartment ceased to exist.

“Dinner’s ready. Come out to eat,” Shen Wenlang whispered, his voice soft, careful, as if even the faintest sound might startle his bunny.

Gao Tu’s heart skipped at the gentle command. He nodded slowly, words failing him, and watched as Shen Wenlang smiled before retreating to the table to wait. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Gao Tu stumbled into the bathroom, his chest tightening with a rush of giddy, uncontainable emotion.

Every detail replayed in his mind, the careful tone, the concern in the alpha’s gaze, the quiet strength that seemed to anchor him. He felt like a teenager with his crush, yet the feeling was heavier, deeper, more intoxicating. His heart ached and soared at once, a storm of joy and longing he couldn’t tame.

Gao Tu took a shaky breath, pressing his palms against his flushed cheeks to calm the storm in his chest. His mind raced, replaying every fleeting glance, every gentle word, every small act of care from the alpha. He wanted to stay in that moment forever, yet he forced himself to move, not wanting Shen Wenlang to wait too long.

He smoothed down his clothes and walked toward the dining room, each step measured, hesitant, as if approaching too quickly might shatter the fragile intimacy that hung between them. When he finally reached the table, Shen Wenlang looked up, eyes softening at the sight of him, worry still flickering beneath the surface.

Shen Wenlang’s hand reached for the chair beside him, a silent invitation, and Gao Tu sank into the seat, heart thundering, aware of the invisible tether that had always drawn him closer to this alpha.

Without a word, he handed Gao Tu the cutlery. Both ate in silence, careful not to break the fragile cocoon of the moment. Even a breath too loud might shatter it. Once done, Gao Tu was the first to break the silence.

"I'm returning to work tomorrow", he said resolute. He was reluctant to let this fantasy end but it was necessary. He had to let it go before it was too late. His secrets burning a hole inside his heart. 

Shen Wenlang froze, the words striking harder than he expected. He wanted to argue, to insist—but no reason seemed strong enough. Instead, a thought flickered in his mind: I can watch over him at work… and still take care of him here. Maybe this is better. With a reluctant nod, he tried to convince himself.

"I will pick up my things after work tomorrow" Gao Tu added.

That was enough to break him. It hit Shen Wenlang like a knife to the chest. He hadn’t considered this. He had hoped… perhaps even assumed… that Gao Tu would stay.

"No" he barked without a second thought. His emotions betraying him again but this time he did try to stop himself "Your staying with me".

The thought of Gao Tu going back to his small apartment made his heart twist. The image of him neglecting himself. Him fainting, alone and with no one to catch him, no one take care of him. The thought of him carrying everything by himself made Wenlang's emotions go wild again. He will never let his omega suffer alone ever again. He would stand by Gao Tu, fiercely and unyielding, no matter what.

Gao Tu blinked at him, startled by the sudden sharpness in Wenlang’s voice, but there was no anger—only something fiercer, deeper. Something that made his chest ache in ways he didn’t want to admit.

“I… I can’t just impose,” he whispered, hesitating, the weight of his secrets pressing down on him.

Shen Wenlang let out a long, quiet sigh. He’d let it go on long enough. Rising from his chair, he moved to kneel beside Gao Tu, capturing the omega’s hand gently in his own. Gao Tu froze, the warmth of Wenlang’s hands engulfing his, grounding him, making his pulse stutter. His heart ached, simultaneously startled and comforted.

“Gao Tu…” Wenlang’s voice was softer now, almost fragile, as if even speaking the name cost him something. His mind went blank, words faltering, but his intent was clear, resolute. “…Let me take care of you. Please.”

Gao Tu’s fingers twitched in Wenlang’s hand, the warmth both comforting and terrifying. He wanted to melt into that touch, to let the alpha care for him completely, but the truth clawed at him from the inside. The sight in front of him felt surreal but one question lingered: Would he still say this if he knew?.

Wenlang’s gaze caught the hesitation in his eyes, a flicker of doubt, and it cut deeper than he expected. Slowly, reverently, he brushed his thumb across Gao Tu’s hand, lingering just long enough to anchor them both in the moment. An unspoken promise that no matter what he will not let go. The words he had been weighing in his heart slipping out as if desperate to hold on to the omega in front of him.

"Gao Tu, I despise omega, but....but if that omega is you I will love you till the point of madness", this was his confession. His answer to all of Gao Tu's unspoken worries and fear.

The words fell between them like fire, warm enough to thaw the coldest corners of their hearts, yet sharp enough to threaten to burn them both.

Gao Tu’s mind spun: He knew… Shen Wenlang knew. How long? Since when? How could he…? The questions tumbled over each other, wild and relentless, and tears pricked the corners of his eyes. And yet, beneath the fear, the ache, the disbelief, there was a sharp, undeniable truth, Wenlang didn’t hate him. Even knowing, even seeing him as an omega, he didn’t despise him.

The realization hit him like a tide, and Gao Tu trembled, tears threatening to spill. He had thought love was forbidden, dangerous—but here it was, alive, tangible, and terrifying.

Seeing his omega’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, Shen Wenlang’s chest constricted with panic. He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t foreseen the intensity of Gao Tu’s emotions. Had he hurt him? Misspoken? Everything replayed in his mind a thousand times over, every word scrutinized, every gesture questioned.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Wenlang whispered, his voice cracking, raw and trembling. “Please… forgive me. Please don't hate me. Its not that I didn't like you,... I just... didn't know.”

"Please.... give me another chance " he begged.

For once, the unshakable alpha was unguarded, vulnerable, lost in the weight of both their hearts. 

Everything was moving too fast, too overwhelming. The alpha he had admired from afar—always proud, always untouchable—was kneeling before him, asking for a chance. Gao Tu’s chest tightened. He didn’t understand it, dared not fully grasp it. His walls were strong, but cracks had already begun to form.

Seeing the stubborn, unyielding alpha like this—vulnerable, desperate—made his heart ache. He wanted to confess, to let the words spill free, but could he really lower his defenses so suddenly? He knew Shen Wenlang would never lie. He had never begged anyone before. He had never revealed this side of himself. And now, kneeling, trembling, here he was, an alpha willing to lay down his pride for him.

Gao Tu’s walls trembled. Could he let them fall?

Both hearts froze in that moment, unwilling to bridge the space between them. One beat with quiet fear, the other thrashed with desperate longing, each pulse a silent confession neither dared voice.

"What do you mean?" Gao Tu asked daring not to make any assumptions. He wanted to hear the words directly from the alpha.

“I like you… no, I love you,” Wenlang admitted, voice cracking under the weight of his confession. “I… I don’t even know since when, but I love you, Gao Tu. Please… forgive me for everything I’ve said. I never meant to hurt you. Please… let me make it right. Please… let me be yours.”

Gao Tu froze, his heart thundering so loudly it seemed to echo through the room. Every word, every tremor in Wenlang’s voice, pierced him deeper than he expected. He had admired, feared, and longed for this alpha for so long, but hearing the confession, hearing it spill out raw and unguarded, was something else entirely.

His mind spun, memories of late nights, quiet gestures, the brush of Wenlang’s hand in moments no one else could see, flashing all at once.Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, not just from relief, but from the sheer weight of love and fear coiled tight inside him. Gao Tu’s walls, so long reinforced by secrecy and caution, crumbled in an instant. He was left defenceless at the sight of the alpha pleading in front of him.

Wenlang watched him, every inch of Gao Tu’s hesitation a knife to his chest. He could see the storm in those eyes, the fear, the longing, the vulnerability he had longed to cradle and it tore at him in ways he couldn’t name. Every second Gao Tu didn’t respond felt like an eternity, each heartbeat a drum of desperate anticipation and aching hope.

He had never been this exposed, never had someone hold his heart so completely in their mercy. The alpha who prided himself on control, on unshakable composure, was unraveling under the weight of his own confession.

Gao Tu slowly raised his free hand toward the other’s cheek, fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against Shen Wenlang’s skin, soft and coaxing, as if trying to soothe a fragile child. There’s no turning back now, he told himself, heart pounding in the quiet room.

“I’ve never hated you, Wenlang,” Gao Tu whispered.

The intimate use of his given name hit Shen Wenlang like a spark to dry tinder. He had never been called “Wenlang” by him—not ever. And now, in this moment, with everything raw and suspended between them, the single word made his chest tighten and his heartbeat stutter. Despite the storm of tension, despite the fear and uncertainty, something tender and achingly warm bloomed in his chest.

For a heartbeat, they simply looked at each other,two hearts laid bare, one daring to admit love, the other stunned by the permission to be loved in return.

“In fact…” Gao Tu’s voice trembled, each word laced with anxiety, heart hammering as if it might betray him. “…I’ve always loved you. I never meant to deceive you. I… I’m sorry I pretended to be a beta. Please… forgive me.”

For Shen Wenlang, the only words that cut through the haze of emotion were the first three I’ve always loved you. Everything else, the apologies, the explanations, faded into the background. The omega before him, his omega, had always carried love for him, silently and steadfastly, all this time. The realization struck him like a storm, overwhelming and electrifying, leaving his chest tight with joy and disbelief.

His knees went weak, his breath catching as if the air itself had thickened. Every wall he had ever built, every mask of pride and control, crumbled in that single sentence. 

“I… you’ve always… loved me?” His voice cracked, low and raw, disbelief and wonder threading through every syllable “All this time… and I… I—”

He couldn't find his voice. Every thought spiraled back to the words, I have always loved you, repeating itself like his heartbeat. The mighty alpha was lost. Gao Tu’s hand remained on his cheek, steady and warm, anchoring him even as his mind threatened to spin out of control.

He reached up, covering the hand that cradled his cheek, pressing it more firmly against his skin as if afraid it might slip away. His eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned into the warmth, sinking deeper into Gao Tu’s palm as though it were the only place he belonged. A trembling breath escaped him before he turned his head just enough to brush his lips against the omega’s hand, a fleeting kiss, reverent and fragile.

The touch was barely there, yet it carried the weight of all the words he could not say, all the years he had denied himself.

Gao Tu’s breath caught, his chest tightening painfully as the kiss lingered like a brand on his skin. He had told himself he was prepared for rejection, prepared for distance, but never for this—never for the unshakable Shen Wenlang to fold himself so gently into his hand, to kiss him as if he were something precious. The fear that had chained his heart wavered, cracking at the edges. His alpha had chosen him—this fragile, imperfect him—and in that simple kiss, Gao Tu felt the world tilt, terrifying and beautiful all at once.

Wenlang pressed another kiss into Gao Tu’s palm, lingering longer this time, as if reluctant to let go. But then he couldn’t bear it any longer. In one smooth motion, he shifted closer, his hands sliding from Gao Tu’s trembling fingers to his shoulders, then around his waist, pulling him into his chest.

The embrace was fierce, almost desperate, as though he was afraid Gao Tu might vanish if he didn’t hold on tightly enough. His face buried itself in the curve of the omega’s neck, breathing in that sage scent he had once denied to like but now craving it with every breath.

“I'm yours now,” he whispered against Gao Tu’s skin, the word breaking on his lips like both a vow and a plea.

Gao Tu stiffened for only a heartbeat, overwhelmed, before his body gave way to the warmth encasing him. His trembling arms rose uncertainly, then finally wrapped around the alpha’s back. His heart pounded so hard it hurt, but for the first time, he wasn’t running from it.

Both relished the moment, clinging to each other as though the world outside no longer existed. The mingling scent of sage and iris spiraling through the air like an unspoken vow, delicate yet unbreakable, binding them closer than words ever could. Gao Tu’s trembling heart finally stilled in the steady beat of Wenlang’s chest, while Wenlang, for the first time, felt the restless storm inside him give way to peace.

They held each other tighter, afraid to let go, as if even the smallest distance might shatter this fragile, perfect truth. In that quiet embrace, there was no fear of what tomorrow might bring, no shadows of past—only the sweetness of now, of two hearts finally colliding after circling each other for far too long.

It was tender, it was fragile, it was overwhelming. And as their breaths mingled, as the warmth of the other seeped deeper into their skin, they both knew this was it—the beginning of something they had both longed for.

Finally finding home in each other’s arms.

Chapter Text

The night had not ended, yet it already felt like a beginning. Shen Wenlang, unwilling to let Gao Tu slip from his hold, carried him into the bedroom despite the soft protests that trembled from his lips. He couldn’t bear the thought of parting—not even for a breath. So they lay side by side, the alpha’s arms wound tightly around his omega, clutching him as though even the smallest distance might erase him. His gaze lingered greedily, tracing every fragile detail—the flutter of lashes, the warmth painting his cheeks, the quiver of lips that made his heart ache with longing. Every tiny movement pulled him deeper, as though the omega himself were a tide he could never swim against.

And Gao Tu, pressed into that unyielding embrace, felt the heavy armor he had carried all his life slip away. For once, he wasn’t carrying himself alone, wasn’t forced to hide behind fragile walls—he simply rested, safe in the steady beat of Wenlang’s chest, safe in the unbearable tenderness of being wanted. His heart raced, cheeks aflame, his hands fisted lightly into the fabric of the alpha’s shirt as if to anchor himself, even as his eyes dared not rise to meet the man holding him so fiercely close.

Their scents intertwined in the dark—sage and iris, fire and softness—blending into something whole. Two restless hearts, at last aligned, beating together as though the night itself had sworn to keep them safe.

Gao Tu had never dared to dream of this day. Never dared hope that the alpha who once despised the very existence of omegas would one day see him, accept him, as he truly was. He had never believed he could stand at Shen Wenlang’s side without a mask, without fear of being cast away. And yet here he was, drawn into the arms of that very alpha, no longer hidden, no longer denied. For the first time in his life, Gao Tu did not hate his own existence.

Shen Wenlang, too, had never imagined this. He had never suspected that his quiet, capable secretary was an omega, much less his omega. He had never thought he could hold one so close, feel one carved into the very center of his heart. Yet here he was, unable to bear even a heartbeat apart, unable to let go. For the first time, Shen Wenlang felt whole.

“Wenlang…” Gao Tu whispered, as though afraid even his own voice might shatter the fragile stillness of the night.

“Mm,” Shen Wenlang hummed in reply, his chest tightening at the sound. His name—his given name—slipping so softly from Gao Tu’s lips made his heart reel. That single syllable carried a closeness he had longed for, a sweetness that left him giddy.

“When… did you find out, how…” Gao Tu’s voice trembled, thinning at the edges, as if caught between fear and resignation.

The faint quiver struck Shen Wenlang deeper than any blade. Why was he still afraid? Had he really been so frightening? Was his love, the very center of his world, still trembling because of him? The thought clawed at him, yet in the same breath he longed only to soothe, to surrender. The wolf would gladly place the leash around his own neck and hand it over to his bunny. Let his bunny lead him anywhere, bind him in any way, he wanted his bunny to know that this wolf would tear the world apart to protect him, and yet, in the hands of his bunny, he would be gentle, obedient, his every breath at his mercy.

“On your birthday…” Wenlang’s voice was soft, low, as though he feared startling him. “I saw the inhibitors.... and your pheromones were leaking. I just… connected the dots after that.” His hand moved in slow circles along Gao Tu’s back, gentle, coaxing, as though the trembling under his palm could be soothed away with touch alone.

The words sank in, heavy. Just two days ago. That meant Wenlang had only just discovered the truth.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you… hate me?” Gao Tu’s voice cracked, unable to form anything steadier. The question burned at him, the weight of it pressing on his chest. That night—when his secret was laid bare, when the mask he had worn so long finally cracked, Wenlang had said nothing. No anger, no disgust. Instead, he had tended to him the whole night with quiet patience, as if nothing had changed. Gao Tu couldn’t understand it. Why hadn’t the alpha turned away? Why hadn’t he despised him for deceiving him all this time?.

Wenlang heard the unsaid words—the fear beneath Gao Tu’s trembling voice, the fragile doubt hidden between his breaths. His heart ached at the sight of his omega, so strong in every other moment, yet so afraid now of being unwanted.

His mind raced, searching desperately for words that could hold the weight of what he felt. He knew he only had this one chance to explain, to ease the fear that still bound Gao Tu’s heart. One chance to prove that he would never let go, no matter what truths had been hidden before.

Shen Wenlang tightened his hold, pressing Gao Tu closer as though to shield him from the very shadows of doubt. His voice came low, rough with emotion, yet steady with conviction.

“Because I couldn’t hate you,” he whispered against Gao Tu’s hair. “Even if you deceive me, even if you hid from me… the moment I realized, I only felt afraid of losing you, afraid that you’d slip away before I could tell you, before I could prove to you, that I…” His breath hitched, his throat closing on the words, but he forced them out, trembling with truth. “That I love you. Nothing else mattered that night. Gao Tu, you are my weakness. I can never hate you, I will tear down anything or anyone that hurts you and that includes myself. I know I made a lot of mistakes, I've insulted your very being, I've deepened your wounds with my words but I never meant to hurt you. I was just jealous of the omega's scent you carried not knowing it was yours, jealous that an omega had claimed you before I could", his voice almost pleading. His hands engulfing Gao Tu slowly but firmly.

"You don't have to forgive me yet but please let me make it up for it. You can punish me however you want. I will do anything you ask me to. Please just let me be by your side like this. forever” his voice trembled.

At Wenlang’s plea, something within Gao Tu unclenched. He let the fear fall away, his hands rising to cradle Wenlang’s face with a gentleness that steadied them both. His eyes, wide, wet, fierce with feeling, locked onto the alpha’s. A smile playing on his smile.

“I will never leave you,” he whispered, this time steady, certain. The words were not a timid confession but a vow, a promise to stand by him, now and always.

As those words sank in, Shen Wenlang’s restraint shattered. Overwhelmed, he pulled Gao Tu into his arms, closing even the smallest gap between them, as though sheer closeness could etch the promise into his bones. He engulfed the omega with his whole being, holding him so tightly it felt like he was anchoring his very soul. Gao Tu melted into him, responding in kind, his hands curling against Wenlang’s back.

The steady rhythm of the alpha’s heartbeat lulled him, each thrum a quiet reassurance, each breath a vow unspoken. The mingled fragrance of sage and iris swirled softly into the night, weaving them together until the night itself seemed to cradle them. Neither spoke again, words no longer needed. Slowly, the storm inside them eased, giving way to a gentle calm.

And in that warmth, safe, certain, they drifted into sleep, still clinging to each other as though even dreams could not separate them.

Gao Tu hadn’t expected just how clingy Shen Wenlang could be. The next morning, the alpha followed him like a shadow, every step trailing behind, every glance hovering, refusing to let him slip out of reach. It was almost absurd—this powerful man behaving like a restless puppy. Gao Tu had to practically shove him into the bathroom and shut the door, before escaped to the guest room.

Alone before the mirror, his reflection stared back, tired eyes, pale skin, the faint shadows of sleepless nights. His hand hovered over the small vial on the counter, hesitation weighing down his fingers. The familiar debate gnawed at him: to take it, or to risk exposure. He already knew the answer. He had no choice.

“Don’t let them know you’re an omega. Promise me.”
His mother’s voice still haunted him, soft yet relentless. A promise carved deep into his bones, binding him tighter than any chain. He had sworn never to betray it—not to his father, not to anyone.

The injector pressed against his skin, the sting a reminder of the burden he carried. He knew his body was weakening, fraying at the edges from years of forcing itself into silence, but still he endured. He couldn’t let the world smell the truth. 

As the drug’s numb weight spread through him, Gao Tu stepped into the shower, letting the water rush over his body. Habit took over—scrubbing, washing, erasing, as though he could cleanse himself of what he was.

Shen Wenlang sat waiting at the dining table, his gaze fixed on the doorway, his heart leaping the instant Gao Tu appeared. Just the sight of him was enough to fill his chest with a giddy warmth, the memory of last night still echoing through him. He wanted nothing more than to pull Gao Tu back into his arms, to hold him until the world ceased to exist—but he restrained himself, forcing his restless hands to stay still.

Gao Tu slipped quietly into the chair beside him, the faint brush of presence stirring Wenlang’s instincts. He inhaled softly, expecting that delicate trace of sage to mingle with his own iris. Instead, what reached him was emptiness.

His brows drew together. His heart sank.

“Gao Tu,” Wenlang’s voice came low, careful but edged with frustration he couldn’t disguise, “why are you still using those inhibitors?”

The words hung heavy between them. His chest burned with the thought—why must you keep hiding?

It wasn’t anger at Gao Tu. His fury was for the world, for the chains that made the omega believe he had to erase himself just to survive. Shen Wenlang’s jaw tightened as he studied the fragile figure beside him, shrinking himself for everyone else’s comfort.

He wanted to understand. He needed to. Because only by understanding could he destroy whatever had made Gao Tu cower, whatever had carved that fear so deep. He wanted to tear it all down—every shadow, every voice, every force that had made Gao Tu ashamed of his own existence. 

Gao Tu lowered his eyes, fingers curling tightly in his lap as if the words themselves were thorns cutting their way out. He didn’t know how to explain, didn’t know where to begin, but for once, he wanted Wenlang to understand.

“My father…” His voice broke, soft, trembling. “He was an alpha. My mother—an omega. He treated her like she was nothing. I grew up watching him break her down, day after day. When my sister fell sick, he wanted to sell her… to clear his debts. If she hadn’t been too weak to be of value, she would’ve been gone. Just like that.”

His breath hitched, shame and old grief weighing heavy in his chest. “And my mother… made me promise that I would never let anyone know what I was. That I would hide it until the day I died if I had to. Because if my father had known, if he realized I was an omega, he would have sold me too. Without hesitation.”

His hands shook, his voice falling to a whisper. “And even now… I can’t… I can’t get free of him. Of that past.”

The room was thick with silence, each word hanging like shards of glass.

Next to him, Shen Wenlang’s hands curled into fists under the table, veins straining as he fought to keep still. Rage tore through him at the man who dared call himself a father, who had forced Gao Tu to erase himself just to survive.

Wenlang wanted to hunt him down, but he forced his fury down, because right now, Gao Tu didn’t need rage. He needed someone to hold him steady.

Wenlang took a deep breath as he reached out to cover Gao Tu's trembling hands in his own.

"You don't have to hide anymore. I will never let that man come near you or your sister, ever again", he whispered softly as he gently stroked the back of Gao Tu's hands, swallowing the rest of the sentence, 'I will make him pay for everything he has done to you'.

Gao Tu let the words sink into the cracks of his fear, letting himself be held in Wenlang’s steady warmth. He lifted his gaze, searching for the alpha’s eyes, only for his vision to waver, the world swimming in and out of focus before slipping into darkness.

“Gao Tu—!”

Wenlang barely had time to catch him, his heart lurching into his throat as the smaller body went limp in his arms. Panic surged, shoving aside every ounce of composure. Without a second thought, he swept Gao Tu up and carried him out, each step fast and desperate as he rushed him straight to the hospital.

“He has been abusing inhibitors for this long, what else do you expect to happen?” the doctor said flatly, eyes sharp on Shen Wenlang. “I’ve warned him before, but he refused to listen. If he continues, it will only get worse.”

The words struck Wenlang like a blow. He had known Gao Tu was hiding, but he hadn’t understood the toll it was taking. The pain Gao Tu had carried, silently, stubbornly, suddenly spread before him in stark clarity. His chest clenched, self-loathing coiling tight. He was one of the reasons Gao Tu had pushed himself this far.

“Is it reversible?” His voice came out hoarse, almost pleading, as if the answer could undo everything.

The doctor’s expression softened, though his tone remained firm. “He must never touch those inhibitors again. Rest, nutrition, and time—that’s what he needs now. His body will excrete the toxins slowly, but it won’t be easy. Support him. That’s the best medicine you can give.”

Wenlang nodded, unable to trust his voice. The doctor left, the door shutting with a dull click that seemed far too loud in the quiet room.

Turning back, his gaze fell on the fragile figure lying motionless against the stark white sheets. Gao Tu’s pallor made his heart twist until it nearly broke. Wenlang moved to the bedside, lowering himself into the chair. For a long moment, he only watched the steady rise and fall of Gao Tu’s chest, each breath proof he was still here.

Bowing his head, he let his pheromones unfurl in soft waves of iris and warmth, wrapping around Gao Tu like a vow, steady and protective. He reached out, fingers brushing the back of Gao Tu’s hand, and whispered into the quiet

“Never again. I’ll never let you hurt alone again.”

In the quiet of the room, Wenlang’s words lingered—an oath carved into the still air, echoing like a vow only the walls bore witness to. A promise of protection, of care, of never turning away again. Gao Tu didn’t stir, but his fingers twitched faintly beneath Wenlang’s hand, as if even in unconsciousness he could sense the devotion tethering him.

Chapter Text

Gao Tu’s eyes fluttered open to a ceiling both strange and familiar, a one he had seen too many times before. His body felt heavy, the dull ache of overused inhibitors humming faintly beneath his skin, the silent reminder of his pheromone disorder. He was used to this: the sickness, the fainting spells, the chronic pain.

What he wasn’t used to was the sight before him.

Shen Wenlang, his alpha, sat slumped against the bed, head resting on the mattress near Gao Tu’s hand. The rise and fall of his shoulders betrayed a restless nap, exhaustion written in every line of his face.

Gao Tu was taken off guard. He could piece together what must have happened. This wasn’t the first time his body had given out but, it was the first time he had woken to someone else waiting for him. Usually, he had dragged himself back to consciousness alone, forced to stumble into the shadows and manage the pain by himself.

But this time, he had Wenlang by his side.

The realization settled deep in his chest, spreading warmth through the cracks left by years of loneliness.

For the first time, Gao Tu thought, I am not alone anymore.

Shen Wenlang stirred the instant he felt Gao Tu shift, his body snapping awake. His eyes focused quickly, finding Gao Tu awake, those familiar eyes gazing back at him with a weary softness.

Relief washed over him, but it was quickly eclipsed by worry. The pale exhaustion clinging to Gao Tu’s face twisted Wenlang’s heart.

“Gao Tu,” he whispered, the name rough in his throat, his hand pressing down over the other’s as though to pin him in place. “I was scared.” The words trembled, unsteady, but sharp at the edges.

“It’s alright. I’m fine. It’s nothing serious,” Gao Tu replied, as he sat up, his tone almost casual, too smooth, too practiced.

Shen Wenlang’s jaw tightened. Rage flickered under his ribs, hot and suffocating. Fine? How could he say that when his skin was pale, when every breath betrayed his pain? He hated it—hated that damned composure, that reflex to downplay himself until nothing remained. His chest ached with it, his heart shattering into a thousand sharp pieces that cut deeper every time. What had he gone through to learn this? To accept suffering as normal, as unworthy of notice?

"Fine... Fine!, Gao Tu, you call this FINE", he could not hold back any longer, voice louder than he intended, thick with fury and grief. "you fainted out of nowhere and the doctor said that if this continued, it could be fatal and you call this FINE. Is this really how little you care about yourself"

His voice broke as anger rushed in. “Do you think I won’t notice? That I can’t see your body breaking piece by piece?” His hand tightened around the other’s, knuckles white with the force of holding on.

He hadn’t meant to lose his temper the words tore out of him, unstoppable. He couldn’t hold it back any longer. How could someone dismiss their own needs so easily, as if their pain was so insignificant, so undeserving of care? The thought twisted in him like a blade, each beat of his heart louder, harsher, until it felt like fury and grief were the only things keeping him upright.

Gao Tu hadn’t expected such an outburst. He hadn’t expected the anger—nor the tremor that it carried. For a moment, he was utterly flabbergasted, struck silent. Words deserted him; his mind was blank, unable to form even a single defense. He could only stare, stunned, as the weight of Shen Wenlang’s fury and grief crashed over him, leaving him with nothing to cling to but silence as he hung his head in defeat.

Watching the defeated look settle over the other’s face, Shen Wenlang’s anger dissolved in an instant. Guilt clawed at him—he hadn’t meant to wound Gao Tu again. He cursed himself for letting his temper take hold, for letting fear twist into rage.

Drawing in a long, unsteady breath, he leaned closer, softening his hold.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words breaking as they left him. “I didn’t mean to scream at you.” His voice dropped to a pleading murmur as he reached out, gathering Gao Tu gently into his arms. “I was just… I was so scared. I don’t like seeing you hurt” His throat closed, and he pressed his face against the other’s hair, whispering again, “I’m sorry.”

Gao Tu was out of words. None would come, even if he tried. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he lifted his hands and held the other back, his touch unsteady at first but gradually firming as if he no longer wanted to let go. He let himself sink into the warmth surrounding him, into the faint scent of iris that clung to Shen Wenlang—gentle, grounding, impossibly safe.

The silence between them was no longer heavy; it was warm, soothing, a place where neither needed to explain. In that fragile embrace, anger and fear bled away, leaving only the steady hum of two hearts finding comfort in one another. 
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Shen Wenlang had already sent people to move Gao Tu’s belongings from his apartment. So when the door swung open, Gao Tu froze, finding his things neatly waiting for him inside.

“Wenlang… what is this?” he asked, bewildered.

“You’re staying here until you get better. No arguments allowed.” Shen Wenlang’s tone was firm, leaving no room for protest. “And hand over all the inhibitors. I’m getting rid of them.”

Gao Tu blinked, stunned. “Wenlang…” he started, instinct urging him to resist, but the look on the alpha’s face silenced him at once. The fight drained before it could even begin. Instead, he gave a quiet nod, a trace of warmth flickering in his chest despite himself. He gathered up the bottles and packets, pressing them into Shen Wenlang’s hands without another word.

Then returned to the guest room, he hadn't noticed the sheer space earlier—larger than his entire apartment. It felt strange, almost indulgent, to see his few belongings so easily swallowed by the room. He began to organize them, each familiar object finding its place, the quiet act of settling in, easing some of the tightness in his chest.

Meanwhile, Shen Wenlang was in the kitchen, locked in a battle he was clearly losing, against a frying pan and a carton of eggs. He hated the feeling of powerlessness that he felt when he discovered that Gao Tu had been living off cold leftovers while sick. So he had decided, stubbornly, to learn how to cook. The result, however, was disastrous: broken shells, scorched edges, and a pan that had already suffered more than it deserved.

When Gao Tu finally stepped out of his room after finishing the unpacking, the scene that greeted him nearly made him stop in his tracks. Shen Wenlang stood over the stove, brows furrowed in fierce concentration, surrounded by the evidence of a dozen failed attempts. Gao Tu blinked at the mess, then at the pan—blackened, abused, and barely recognizable—and for a moment he didn’t know whether to laugh or intervene. He only felt a pang of sympathy for the poor pan that had clearly been through unspeakable torment at the alpha’s hands.

A mild laugh slipped from Gao Tu’s lips. Wenlang looked up at the sound, his face heating with embarrassment as Gao Tu walked toward him.

“I’m surprised you haven’t set off the fire alarm yet,” Gao Tu said with a spark of amusement, smoothly taking the pan from his hands and lowering the heat from its highest setting.

Shen Wenlang’s cheeks burned hotter. He stepped aside quickly, muttering under his breath, “I wasn’t that bad…”

Gao Tu glanced at the pan, then back at him, the corner of his mouth curving up. “You’ve destroyed more than half a dozen eggs. That’s impressive in its own way.”

Wenlang scowled, but the redness creeping to his ears betrayed him.

Gao Tu knew well enough that Shen Wenlang had probably never done a single bit of housework in his entire life. There had always been people to take care of his every need. So why the young master suddenly decided to cook was beyond him.

Still, watching him now—struggling with a pan as though it were his mortal enemy—Gao Tu couldn’t help the soft amusement that warmed his chest. He found it… cute, in a way he hadn’t expected. The mighty Shen Wenlang, scowling at scrambled eggs like they had personally insulted him.

The pan was beyond saving. Gao Tu sighed and set it at the farthest end of the counter, out of sight, before taking another one from the shelf. With practiced ease, he cracked fresh eggs, the soft sizzle filling the kitchen as he stirred in chives. He silently thanked the housekeeper for always keeping the fridge stocked—it made things easier, at least.

Shen Wenlang stood back at first, mesmerized. The movements were simple, yet there was a graceful rhythm in the way Gao Tu worked—efficient, unhurried, natural. Something about it tugged at him, an unfamiliar ache that only deepened as he watched.

Without thinking, he stepped forward, slipping his arms around Gao Tu’s hips, leaning in until his chin rested lightly on Gao Tu’s shoulder.

Gao Tu froze for a heartbeat, spatula pausing mid-stir. Then, slowly, a gentle smile tugged at his lips as he resumed. “Wenlang, you’re getting in the way,” he said playfully.

“I don’t care,” Shen Wenlang whispered back, tightening his arms around Gao Tu’s waist, unwilling to let go.

Gao Tu wanted to stay like that for a little longer, wrapped in the warmth of Shen Wenlang’s arms, but he truly was getting in the way. With a soft sigh, he reached for a small bowl and pressed it into Wenlang’s hands. “Here,” he said lightly, handing him some mung beans. “Clean these for me.”

Shen Wenlang straightened at once, accepting the task without the faintest hesitation. His eyes softened as he carried the bowl to the counter, clearly pleased to be of use. For once, he didn’t complain or fumble—just quietly set about helping, as if the simple act of working beside Gao Tu was enough.

Gao Tu glanced over his shoulder, lips twitching at the sight of the proud alpha carefully picking through the beans one by one as though they were rare jewels. “Wenlang… you don’t need to polish them,” he teased gently.

Shen Wenlang shot him a look, half-offended, half-flustered. “I’m doing it properly. Don’t distract me.”

The light from the kitchen lamp pooled warmly around them, the faint sizzle of eggs mixing with Shen Wenlang’s exaggerated focus and Gao Tu’s quiet laughter. For a moment, it felt almost like they had been living this way forever—two people sharing a kitchen, finding comfort in the ordinary.

Gao Tu finished preparing a few more dishes and let the beef simmer a little longer before turning to check on Wenlang. The sight that greeted him nearly made him laugh aloud—half of the mung beans were broken in pieces, roots and all, a tragic battlefield of good intentions.

He let out a soft sigh, not of annoyance but quiet resignation. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t expected this outcome. Wenlang was a man who could command a boardroom with a word, yet give him a handful of beans and the results were… questionable at best.

Still, Gao Tu couldn’t bring himself to tell him. Instead, he walked over and gently brushed the alpha’s hand with his fingertips. “You did a good job,” he said softly, the corners of his lips curving upward.

Wenlang’s eyes brightened instantly, shoulders straightening with pride at the praise. Gao Tu carefully gathered the beans, hiding a smile, and moved to stir-fry them as though they were perfectly fine.

In the quiet, filled only with the rhythm of chopping and the fragrant hiss of oil on the pan, an unspoken warmth settled between them. Gao Tu didn’t say it, but he secretly thought—he could get used to this.

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The next day, no one batted an eye when the two of them walked in together. After all, everyone knew they had been friends since high school, and Gao Tu was not only the most dependable secretary but also someone Shen Wenlang kept close.

To the outside world, nothing seemed out of place. Gao Tu’s calm expression betrayed nothing, and Shen Wenlang carried himself with his usual air of authority. No one thought twice about the subtle closeness between them, nor did they question the faint trace of iris clinging to Gao Tu—the unmistakable scent of his alpha.

It lingered around him like a shield, unnoticed by others, but Gao Tu was achingly aware of it. Each breath reminded him of the warmth he had allowed himself the night before, of arms that had held him far too tightly to be dismissed as mere friendship.

The day passed without incident, routine slipping by as if nothing had shifted between them. Gao Tu left for a meeting outside the company, his calm efficiency never wavering.

Shen Wenlang returned home earlier than his omega, though he could have easily lingered at the office. Instead, he settled himself at the couch in the living room, opening his laptop. Reports and proposals lay scattered before him, but his focus wasn’t on the numbers.

He told himself he was simply making use of the time, working while he waited. But  he found himself listening, more often than necessary, for the sound of the front door, for the quiet steps that would follow, for the moment Gao Tu would walk in and fill the silence with his presence.

As soon as Gao Tu stepped into the living room, the sight stilled him. Shen Wenlang lay asleep on the couch, his laptop closed and files stacked neatly on the table nearby, as if he had tried to work but surrendered to exhaustion.

Before he could think, Gao Tu’s legs carried him forward, soundless on the floor until he was kneeling beside the couch. The even rise and fall of the alpha’s chest, the unguarded peace on his face—it tugged at something deep inside him.

Almost without realizing it, his hand reached out. Fingers brushed gently across Wenlang’s hair, sweeping it back from his forehead. He leaned in, hesitant for a moment, before pressing his lips softly against the warm skin.

The kiss lingered longer than it should have, as though he was reluctant to let go. And when he finally drew back, the faint trace of iris clung to him, heavy with a warmth he could not name.

Gao Tu’s fingers lingered in Wenlang’s hair a little longer before he reluctantly pulled back. But just as he started to withdraw, Shen Wenlang’s hand caught his, and his eyes fluttered open.

“Stealing a kiss when I’m asleep is not a good habit Gao Tu”, he teased, voice low and playful, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

Gao Tu froze, cheeks warming at the words, before a bold idea flickered in his mind.

“This can’t be considered stealing a kiss”, he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But this can…”

And with that, Gao Tu leaned in, lips brushing against Shen Wenlang’s with a mix of boldness and hesitation. For a heartbeat, the alpha didn’t respond—then slowly, deliberately, Wenlang’s body relaxed.

His hand tightened moving to Gao Tu’s hair, anchoring him in place, while the other still held his hand. The playful smirk was gone, replaced by a softness that made Gao Tu’s chest ache.

Shen Wenlang didn’t let Gao Tu pull back. He melted into the kiss, letting it deepen, letting it linger, holding Gao Tu firmly yet tenderly as if he couldn’t bear to let him go. Every careful restraint, every controlled expression he usually carried, slipped away in that one quiet, intimate moment.

As they slowly pulled away, Shen Wenlang’s eyes held a spark of something deeper, something unrestrained. Without a word, he shifted, and in one swift, fluid movement, he pulled Gao Tu onto his lap while he sat up.

Gao Tu blinked, caught off guard for a heartbeat, before the warmth and weight of Wenlang pressed against him made his heart race. The alpha’s arms wrapped securely around him, holding him close, as if he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—let him slip away.

The sudden intimacy, the closeness, sent a rush of heat through Gao Tu, leaving him momentarily breathless and acutely aware of every touch, every heartbeat pressed against his own.

“Gao Tu, I didn’t know you were this mischievous,” Shen Wenlang teased, his eyes alight as they lingered on the shy omega seated in his lap.

Gao Tu’s previous boldness melted away, replaced by a rush of burning embarrassment. He lowered his head, unable to meet the alpha’s gaze, heat creeping up his neck.

A small, knowing smile tugged at Shen Wenlang’s lips. Gently, he lifted Gao Tu’s chin with one hand, guiding his face back toward his own. Without a word, he leaned in, capturing his lips in another kiss—soft, deliberate, and impossibly intimate.

The warmth of the moment wrapped around them both, the teasing fading into something far deeper, a quiet surrender shared in the press of lips and the pull of bodies held close.

Gao Tu’s lips parted slightly under Shen Wenlang’s, hesitant and unsteady. His hands rested lightly against the alpha’s chest, unsure whether to move or stay still, caught between desire and shyness.

Shen Wenlang sensed the hesitation and leaned in just a little more, pressing closer without rushing, letting his hands roam gently over Gao Tu’s back and shoulders. The warmth of his body, the softness of his touch, seemed to ease something in the omega, who melted further into the embrace, yielding completely.

Each kiss was slow, deliberate, carrying an unspoken reassurance.

Gao Tu’s lips remained soft against Shen Wenlang’s, yielding at first, but the warmth and steady pressure of the alpha beneath him stirred something bold within. Hesitantly, he let his hands slide up, tracing the line of Wenlang’s jaw and resting briefly at the back of his neck.

Shen Wenlang hummed softly against his lips at the touch, leaning in closer, encouraging him without words. The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, carrying a quiet intensity that left both of them breathless.

Gao Tu’s boldness grew, subtle but undeniable—his hands tightening slightly, pulling Wenlang closer, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. The shyness remained in his flushed cheeks and the occasional quick glance at Wenlang’s face, but it mingled with a growing confidence born of trust and desire.

Wenlang responded in kind, letting his hands roam a little further, holding Gao Tu securely while letting the rhythm of their closeness guide them. The room seemed to shrink around them, the world outside forgotten, leaving only warmth, breath, and the shared discovery of each other.

Both of them were breathless when they finally pulled back, chests rising and falling in unison.

Gao Tu leaned forward instinctively, hiding his flushed face against Shen Wenlang’s neck, seeking comfort and security in the familiar warmth. Wenlang’s arms wrapped around him without hesitation, holding him close, steady, as if the world outside no longer existed.

The quiet of the room pressed around them, filled only with the sound of their slowing breaths and the faint beat of two hearts finding rhythm together. In that tight embrace, neither needed words; the closeness, the touch, and the lingering warmth spoke everything they couldn’t put into sentences.

They stayed like that, motionless, letting the warmth of their bodies speak what words could not. Gao Tu pressed his face closer into Wenlang’s neck, breathing in the faint scent of iris, letting it anchor him.

Shen Wenlang held him tighter, breathing in the scent of sage that he longed for. Time seemed to stretch and soften around them.

Neither spoke, neither moved, the intertwined scent of iris and sage engulfing the night's cold air. In the stillness, the closeness, and the simple act of being together, they found everything they needed: comfort, trust, a warmth that went deeper than words ever could, and most importantly their home.

Chapter Text

Shen Wenlang and Gao Tu were slowly getting used to their new life together. The days settled into a rhythm—work during the day, and the comfort of each other’s company at night. The loneliness that once lingered over both of them seemed to fade, replaced by a quiet warmth neither had known before.

Gao Tu’s health was improving, little by little. The chronic pain remained, a constant shadow, but the dizzy spells were less frequent now, and Shen Wenlang never stopped watching over him.

Mornings became their shared ritual. They woke early to make breakfast together—though in truth, Gao Tu did most of the cooking. Shen Wenlang either hovered close like a restless puppy seeking attention, or managed to ruin ingredients in his clumsy attempts at helping. The S-class alpha who could silence a boardroom and build a world-leading pharmaceutical empire, couldn’t boil water to save his life. Gao Tu found it unbearably cute.

At work, nothing much changed. Gao Tu was still his most dependable secretary, and Shen Wenlang remained the formidable boss. Only when they were alone did the difference show—Wenlang’s clinginess, his quiet need to touch, to hold, to kiss whenever he could steal a moment. And Gao Tu, though he teased him at times, found himself basking in all that affection.

Evenings were spent much the same. They left the office together, returned home, and unwound before making dinner side by side. The apartment began to feel like a true home, something both had lacked in their childhoods. Shen Wenlang, always quick to wrap his arms around him, filled the quiet with warmth, while Gao Tu, for once, allowed himself to be cared for.

Sometimes, Wenlang accompanied him to visit his sister, never once treating it as a burden. And every time, Gao Tu felt that quiet ache in his chest—an unfamiliar, fragile happiness slowly taking root.

--------------------------------------------------

While waiting for Gao Tu in the living room, Shen Wenlang lazily took out his phone. He dialed his lunatic friend, smirking the moment the line connected.

“What do you want?” came an annoyed voice.

“Heard Sheng Shao You is sick,” Wenlang said, feigning concern but unable to keep the amusement out of his voice.

“Who told you that?” Hua Yong snapped, already irritated that Wenlang was delaying him from seeing his precious exclusive omega.

“That’s none of your business,” Wenlang replied playfully, savoring the rare chance to get back at his friend. “Hua Yong, there’s a limit to being crazy. Using luring pheromones to make an S-class alpha go into heat—only you would think of that.”

“What, Mr. Hardcore Bachelor is going to lecture me now? After kidnapping and forcing his omega to stay with him?” Hua Yong shot back mercilessly.

“I didn’t kidnap Gao Tu, I’m not a lunatic like you,” Wenlang retorted sharply. “Anyway, I just heard Sheng Shao You is hospitalized with pheromone disorder. Do me a favor—don’t add another case study to the medical textbooks. No one expects an S-class alpha to go into heat.”

“Mhm, mhm, sure. Says the man who dragged his secretary home in the middle of the night and then had his things moved out of his apartment while he was still in the hospital. Totally normal behavior,” Hua Yong replied dryly. In the background, the clang of utensils echoed.

Wenlang frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Making soup,” Hua Yong said flatly.

“You can cook? Who are you planning to poison?” Wenlang asked, sitting up straighter, sounding almost concerned.

“Shut up your dog mouth,” Hua Yong scolded.

“You’re not going to send soup to Sheng, are you?” Wenlang pressed, voice dripping with amusement. “How domestic.”

“Shen Wenlang, you should worry about yourself. I’m surprised you haven’t burned your house down yet—it must be thanks to your secretary Gao that your place is still standing,” Hua Yong shot back. Then, with a smug pause, added, “Oh, and when are you paying back the money you borrowed for your start-up?”

“Oops, busy. Talk later, okay?” Wenlang said quickly, conceding defeat but refusing to go quietly. “ Wishing you and your heat-prone S-class alpha a lifetime of happiness. May you have children soon, be of one heart and mind, and grow old together lovingly.”

“You too. Hope you don’t let Secretary Gao keep thinking I’m your side piece,” Hua Yong retorted before hanging up.

Left in the quiet, Hua Yong couldn’t help but smirk. His idiot friend had finally stopped being blind and embraced his feelings for Gao Tu. But knowing Wenlang, he was still dumb enough not to have cleared up the misunderstanding yet. Well, it was fine—he had reminded him subtly. After all, it was thanks to Shen Wenlang that his plan had gone smoothly in the first place.
---------------------------------------
Who would keep you as a side? Only that heat-prone alpha is dumb enough to get close to you, Shen Wenlang scoffed inwardly, the corner of his mouth twitching. But before he could linger on the thought, the soft creak of a door pulled his attention. He looked up just as Gao Tu stepped out of the guest room, his quiet steps carrying him toward the sofa.

“Who were you talking to on the phone?” Gao Tu asked lightly, slipping into the seat beside him. His tone was casual, but there was a trace of curiosity — Wenlang had never heard him speak of anyone else with warmth, let alone playfulness.

Without hesitation, Wenlang wrapped an arm around him, tugging him close as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “Hua Yong,” he answered carelessly.

The change was immediate. Gao Tu stiffened in his hold, the name cutting sharper than Wenlang intended. In an instant, old words came rushing back, echoing cruelly in Gao Tu’s mind.

"Everyone knows I hate omegas. Hua Yong is the only one who caught my attention".

"Don’t compare yourself to Hua Yong".

His chest tightened. It hurt as though the lines had been carved into his heart and were being read aloud again.

Wenlang felt the subtle shift, the way Gao Tu’s body lost its ease against him. His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?” he asked, worry lacing his voice.

“It’s nothing,” Gao Tu murmured, but the faint crack in his tone betrayed him.

“Gao Tu,” Wenlang’s voice grew soft, almost pleading, “can we not keep secrets from each other? If something’s hurting you, I want to know.”

The words struck bitter in Gao Tu’s chest. Secrets? Isn’t he the one still keeping them? He lowered his gaze, refusing to answer.

Wenlang’s unease deepened. He replayed the conversation in his head, searching for the trigger. All he had said was “Hua Yong.” What could possibly—

Then Hua Yong’s voice echoed, mocking, in memory

"Hope you don’t let Secretary Gao keep thinking I’m your side piece".

He suddenly remembered all the compromising positions he had put himself in for Hua Yong's plan and how much of it Gao Tu had witnessed.He remembered every cold word, every wall he had put up, not realizing who was listening, who was bleeding quietly in the shadows. He was flustered beyond words. 

That lunatic… Wenlang cursed Hua Yong bitterly, but the blame circled back to himself. He was the one who had let this misunderstanding fester. He was the one hurting the person he wanted most to protect.

“Gao Tu, it’s not what you think…” Wenlang’s voice trembled despite the steady strength of his arms, pulling the omega against him as if sheer closeness could erase the doubt. Fear pricked at him — fear that Gao Tu might shrink away, might look at him with disgust. “I know it might sound like a lie, but there’s nothing between me and Hua Yong. I promise.”

“Then what is it, President Shen?” Gao Tu’s voice cracked, raw and trembling as his eyes reddened. “You even fought with President Sheng over Hua Yong. Don’t tell me that was nothing.” His throat tightened, each word dragged out like it hurt to breathe. “Was it all a lie? All this time… was it just me thinking it meant more?”

His tears threatened to spill, his heart wrenching at the possibility that everything warm and safe he had found in Wenlang was built on something false.

Wenlang’s chest twisted painfully. He cupped Gao Tu’s face with both hands, forcing his gaze up to meet his own. His own eyes, usually sharp and commanding, burned with helplessness.

“No. Don’t you dare think that.” His voice came rough, almost breaking. “Gao Tu, I never— I would never use you like that. You mean the world to me. Let me explain. Please… just let me finish. Please.”

Gao Tu’s lashes trembled as tears pooled at the corners of his eyes. He wanted to pull away, to shield himself from the ache, but Wenlang’s warmth held him in place. For a moment, silence hung between them, heavy with all the unspoken fears that had festered too long.

Finally, Gao Tu gave the smallest of nods, almost imperceptible. He wanted to believe that this was not a lie, that this was just a misunderstanding. Hope warred with doubt in his eyes as he searched Wenlang’s face, desperate for truth.

“Hua Yong is not an omega,” Wenlang said firmly, eyes locked on Gao Tu’s. “He’s the actual head of X Holdings, and the main investor in HS Pharmaceuticals. I’ve known him since childhood. He’s the son of my omega father’s closest friend. When I left my home and my country, they branded me a traitor. Hua Yong… he was the one who gave me the capital to build everything.”

He tightened his grip on Gao Tu’s face as if afraid he would look away, his voice shaking with urgency. “Everything else you saw—those rumors, those… moments—was me helping him chase after Shen Shao You. That’s all. There is really nothing between us. I swear it.”

Gao Tu blinked, stunned. He had expected a smooth excuse, a deliberate evasion—something shallow, something dismissive. But this… this was far too detailed, far too raw.

Hua Yong is not an omega? The thought tangled in his mind, sharp and confusing. Then why—why act like that? Why let everyone believe otherwise? Why go so far just to pursue someone?

None of it made sense, and yet somehow, it did.

His chest ached with the weight of too many questions, but beneath the swirl of confusion, one truth pressed at him stubbornly—Wenlang hadn’t let go. The alpha’s eyes shone with desperate sincerity, his hands trembling where they held him.

Gao Tu stayed quiet, his lips pressed together, eyes lowered though they trembled faintly. The silence pressed down heavy, suffocating, but Wenlang refused to let go.

“Gao Tu,” he said again, softer now, almost pleading. “I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t my secret to share. Hua Yong asked me to keep it quiet. The world thinks he’s an omega, and he wanted it that way, because it was the only way he could get close to Shen Shao You. I only helped that lunatic cover his tracks. That’s it.”

He exhaled, shaking his head, his thumb brushing against Gao Tu’s damp cheek as if to wipe away the pain there. “I should have explained sooner. I should never have let you doubt where you stand with me.” His voice cracked, raw, stripped of all his usual confidence. “But believe me when I say this—there has never been anyone else. Not before, not now, not ever.”

Still, Gao Tu said nothing. His silence wasn’t rejection, but Wenlang could feel the weight of it, like standing at the edge of a cliff, waiting to see if he would fall or be pulled back.

Gao Tu let the words sink in slowly, piece by piece. Every explanation, every detail, every crack in Wenlang’s voice weighed against the doubts that had clawed at his chest. And in the silence between them, he couldn’t help but reflect on himself—how he too had hidden his own identity just to remain by Shen Wenlang’s side.

Wasn’t he guilty of the very same thing?

The thought softened him. His rigid shoulders loosened as he drew a long, shaky breath. Bit by bit, he let the tension seep out of him, until finally, he allowed himself to relax in Wenlang’s arms. The warmth that had once felt uncertain now wrapped around him like safety itself.

His doubts dissolved, fragile as mist in the sun. And all that remained was a quiet ache of guilt for ever questioning the sincerity in Wenlang’s eyes.

He pressed closer, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of Wenlang’s shirt, as if in apology without words. 

"I'm sorry for doubting you.." he whispered apologetically.

“Gao Tu…” Wenlang murmured, voice low and soothing. “Don’t apologize. You had every right to feel unsure. I should have explained sooner, and I’m sorry for making you doubt me. Its mostly that lunatics fault for making me do those things”

He tightened his hold, letting the warmth of his body and the steadiness of his arms convey what words sometimes could not. “All I want,” he whispered, “is for you to trust me, like I trust you. Nothing else matters.”

Gao Tu’s breath hitched, a small shiver running through him, but he let himself melt into the reassurance, letting the knot of guilt in his chest loosen just a little. Wenlang’s embrace was steady, grounding, a quiet promise that he would never let him feel alone again.

"Honestly it's Hua Yong's fault" he murmured. "Always getting me in trouble. I even got cornered and punch by Shen Shao You because him. He even forbade me from defending myself. Can you believe it?. It's already bad that he is crazy for that toilet fumes, he still had to drag me into it". 

Gao Tu’s chest shifted against his, a soft exhale escaping him as a tiny smile lifted the corners of his lips. The anger in Wenlang’s voice, oddly protective and affectionate, eased the last of the tension he had been holding.Gao Tu melted further into the embrace, finally allowing himself to relax completely, the mixture of Wenlang’s warmth, his fierce protectiveness, and his quiet tenderness washing over him.

“All this venting over Hua Yong… you act like he’s the villain in some epic tragedy.” he teased, letting out a soft chuckle.

"epic tragedy.... more like a psychological thriller, I almost feel sorry for that toilet fumes, he is stuck with that lunatic for life. I wonder what evil he did in his past life to have this lunatic obsessed over him".

Gao Tu couldn't help but chuckle at the alpha acting like a 3 year old throwing a tantrum, finally feeling at ease he sank deeper into Wenlang's arms.

Wenlang’s hands moved instinctively, threading through his hair and rubbing small circles along his back. The warmth between them was quiet but steady, a grounding presence neither of them had realized they craved so much.

Outside, the city hummed with life, but inside the apartment, time seemed to stretch and slow, cocooning them in their own small world. Wenlang shifted slightly, draping an arm fully around Gao Tu’s shoulders, holding him a little closer.

Gao Tu exhaled, letting his body relax completely, inhaling the iris scent, letting it embrace him completely. He felt safe, seen, and accepted—no secrets, no misunderstandings, no doubts. Just the soft rhythm of Wenlang’s heartbeat beneath his ear and the warmth of their shared space that now smelled of iris and sage.

Neither spoke, but the quiet said everything they needed. Wenlang rested his chin atop Gao Tu’s head, and Gao Tu leaned into him, letting himself sink fully into the embrace. Fingers twined, breaths slowed, and the apartment was filled only with the sound of their closeness.

It was ordinary, it was simple, and it was theirs. And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

Chapter Text

Gao Tu’s dizzy spells returned one morning. He brushed it off, moving through his routine with quiet determination. There was a gathering at X Hotel that evening, and he wasn’t about to falter now. His body had always been unpredictable—progress, setbacks, brief reprieves followed by sudden dips. He was used to it.

But Shen Wenlang noticed immediately. The moment he saw Gao Tu pale and a little unsteady, his expression darkened with worry.

“You’re not going,” Wenlang said firmly, guiding him back toward the bed. “Rest. I can manage one banquet on my own. It’s not important anyway.”

Gao Tu frowned, trying to protest. “I’ll be fine. I don’t want you to—”

“No.” Wenlang’s tone left no room for argument. His hand lingered at Gao Tu’s back, steady and protective. “You don’t have to push yourself. Just take the day. No one dares to complain.”

In the end, Gao Tu was forced to relent, though part of him ached at being left behind. Wenlang stayed long enough to prepare everything he might need—water within reach, his medicine laid out neatly, a blanket tucked around him despite his halfhearted protests. Only when he was certain Gao Tu was settled did Wenlang finally leave for the banquet, casting one last lingering look over his shoulder before stepping out.

The apartment felt strangely quiet once the door closed.

He lay sprawled on the bed, lazily staring at the ceiling. The dizziness had already dulled to a faint haze, nothing unbearable—but the silence weighed heavier than he expected.

Since that night Shen Wenlang brought him into this apartment, he had never truly been left alone. Wenlang was always there—hovering by his side while he cooked, clinging to him like a restless shadow when they unwound on the couch, wrapping around him every night as though afraid he might vanish in his sleep.

Gao Tu remembered what it was like before all this. Dragging his tired body to work, barely eating, pushing through each day on sheer stubbornness just to keep up with his sister’s treatment costs. The only joy he allowed himself then was the stolen comfort of being near Wenlang at work, admiring him quietly from the sidelines, never daring to ask for more. He thought that was all he would ever have.

But now… now that he did have him, Gao Tu felt himself turning greedy. He wanted to keep Shen Wenlang by his side always, to soak in every bit of his warmth. Even half a day apart felt like an ache of disappointment. He knew Wenlang would have stayed if he had only asked, but he couldn’t bear to distract him from his work.

So he simply lay there in the quiet, letting memory bleed into present, marveling at how much had changed. How much he had gained.

The room was quiet, almost too quiet without Wenlang’s constant presence filling the space. Gao Tu closed his eyes, letting the silence press against his ears until the faint hum of the city outside blurred into a lullaby.

He thought of Wenlang’s laugh, that low rumble that always shook through his chest when he held him close. He thought of the warmth of his hands, the way they always reached for him first thing in the morning. The memories curled around him like the alpha’s embrace, a phantom warmth chasing away the loneliness.

His chest softened, the ache easing into something fragile and sweet. For so long, survival had been all he knew. Now, greed bloomed where despair once lived—greed for more mornings, more laughter, more quiet nights with Wenlang pressed against his back.

The dizziness returned, light and lulling this time. Gao Tu didn’t resist it. He let his body grow heavy, thoughts dissolving into half-dreams of a future where this warmth never faded.

By the time sleep took him, he was smiling faintly, as though Shen Wenlang’s arms were still wrapped around him.

Gao Tu startled awake, his body clammy with sweat, breath shallow. At first, he thought it was just another dizzy spell, but the heat pooling under his skin told him otherwise. His temperature was rising, unbearably so.

His heart sank. In his bliss, he had forgotten—his heat period. It wasn’t supposed to come yet, but his pheromone disorder was merciless, irregular. And now, of all times, it had arrived—precisely when Shen Wenlang wasn’t there.

Dragging himself upright, he stumbled toward the shower, hoping cold water might ease the burn in his veins. The icy spray offered no relief. The ache in his body only deepened, the yearning sharper.

Barely holding himself up, he found his way back to Wenlang’s room. He collapsed onto the bed, curling tightly into the sheets, his fists clenching the fabric. The scent of iris lingered faintly, Wenlang’s scent—familiar, steady, safe. He buried his face into the pillow, desperate to soak it in, to trick his body into believing Wenlang was right there, holding him through the storm.

The craving hollowed him out, every nerve screaming for comfort only Wenlang could give. All he could do was clutch at the remnants of his alpha’s presence, trembling, caught between shame and helpless need.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when the front door clicked open.

Wenlang had left the banquet early, the unease of being without Gao Tu gnawing at him until he couldn’t sit still any longer. The moment he stepped inside, the air hit him like a wall. Sage—thick, sharp, suffocating. His chest tightened.

“...Gao Tu,” he called softly, already moving quickly through the apartment.

The guest room was empty, but the scent was stronger here. Panic pricked at his spine as he turned toward his own bedroom. The moment he opened the door, the sight rooted him to the ground.

There, curled in the middle of his bed, was Gao Tu. His body trembling under the weight of his heat, his brows furrowed in pain, his lips bitten raw from trying to stifle sound. The sight twisted something deep inside Wenlang.

“Gao Tu…” His voice broke as he hurried to the bedside, his own pheromones instinctively spilling out, soft waves of iris filling the air, wrapping around the other’s tortured scent like a balm. He knelt beside the bed, reaching out carefully, terrified of making it worse.

“I’m here now,” he whispered, leaning closer. “It’s okay… I’ve got you.”

Gao Tu moved before he could say anything, twisting toward him in one desperate motion, arms locking tightly around his neck. The sudden weight of him, the feverish tremor of his body pressed against his chest, sent Wenlang’s control shattering at the edges.

Iris and sage collided, heavy in the room, almost unbearable. Wenlang’s breath caught in his throat, his body reacting violently to the pull of his omega’s heat. His instincts screamed—claim, mark, take. Every nerve burned with the urge to lose himself.

“Wenlang…” Gao Tu’s voice was breathless, cracked with need, as his fingers fisted in his shirt.

Wenlang’s entire body tensed. Heat shot through him like wildfire, his omega’s desperate pheromones clawing at his self-control. His iris scent thickened, heavy with his rut pressing at the edges, threatening to break loose.

“Gao Tu—” he choked, jaw tight, eyes squeezing shut. His arms trembled where they held him, every nerve screaming to answer the call. But the alpha who loved Gao Tu—knew this wasn’t the way. Not when Gao Tu was at his most vulnerable state, not when his omega needed comfort more than anything else.

He buried his face in Gao Tu’s hair, forcing his pheromones to soothe, to comfort, even as his control faltered. His voice came out rough, almost a growl. “I’ve got you… I’ll stay right here. I won’t let myself hurt you.”

Every breath was a battle, his instincts trying to drag him under, but he held on—because Gao Tu meant more than any instinct.

Wenlang’s arms tightened around him, muscles strained like he was holding back a storm. His voice was hoarse, almost pleading as he forced soothing pheromones into the air. “Easy… I’m here, Gao Tu. I won’t let it get worse.”

But Gao Tu, drowning in the fever of his heat, didn’t want distance—he wanted Wenlang. His body pressed closer, desperate, burying himself deeper against the alpha’s chest, breathing in the iris that always made him feel safe.

“Wenlang…” His voice cracked, soft and aching, the syllables curling into a plea. His hands clutched at Wenlang’s shirt as if it were the only thing anchoring him. “Don’t… don’t hold back from me.”

The words struck deep, shattering what fragile control Wenlang still clung to. He froze, breath caught, as his omega tilted his face up, fevered cheeks flushed, lips trembling but daring to lean closer.

Wenlang’s instincts roared, clawing at the walls of restraint. He could feel Gao Tu’s need pulling at him, scent mixing with his own, coaxing, tempting. His jaw tightened, his hand cupped the back of Gao Tu’s head, torn between shielding him and answering the call.

“Gao Tu… don’t tempt me like this,” he whispered, voice low, thick with struggle. But Gao Tu only brushed against him, lips barely grazing his jaw in a trembling, unintentional kiss that sent his restraint cracking at the edges.

His hand slid to Gao Tu’s waist, gripping just tight enough to ground him, not pull him in. His forehead lowered to rest against Gao Tu’s, eyes burning with conflict. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I can’t… not unless you’re certain. I won’t take advantage of you like this.”

Gao Tu’s breaths shuddered, his fevered body begging for relief, but his heart wavered—want and fear tangled together. Wenlang felt it, every shake of hesitation, every pull of need.

“I’m right here,” Wenlang murmured, holding him closer but refusing to close the last inch. His thumb stroked the back of Gao Tu’s head, tender and desperate. “But if I move, if I give in… there’s no turning back. Tell me—are you sure, Gao Tu?”

The question hung heavy, Wenlang trembling as his self-control frayed thread by thread, yet still refusing to cross until Gao Tu’s answer tore the last of his walls down.

For a moment Gao Tu only stared up at him, Wenlang’s trembling voice echoing in his chest. The words “are you sure” tangled with the warmth of being asked at all—of being given the choice, when no one in his life had ever cared enough to offer him one.

His throat burned, but he couldn’t form the words. Instead, Gao Tu’s fingers slid up, shakily curling into Wenlang’s collar as if to anchor himself. His lips brushed the alpha’s jaw again, not feverish this time, but deliberate. A thank you. A plea. An answer.

Wenlang froze, breath hitching. He felt the gratitude in that trembling touch, the way Gao Tu’s body pressed into him with trust more than need. His omega wasn’t just begging relief—he was choosing him.

A tremor ran through Wenlang’s body as he swallowed hard, pressing his forehead against Gao Tu’s temple. “You…” His voice cracked, low and wrecked. “You’re sure.”

Gao Tu only nodded faintly against him, his hands tightening as if he’d never let go.

Wenlang’s restraint finally shattered as his lips found Gao Tu’s. His hands traced slowly, deliberately, over every curve, every heated detail of the trembling body in his arms, memorizing the shivers, the subtle arches, the delicate warmth beneath his fingers.

Gao Tu responded immediately, one hand threading through Wenlang’s hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss, while the other slipped beneath the alpha’s shirt, fingertips exploring the taut muscles with bold, insistent curiosity. Every touch, every gasp, made Wenlang lose control further, his body taut with desire and instinct.

Wenlang shifted, pinning Gao Tu beneath him with a careful yet possessive weight. His hands moved deftly, removing the tie that had once marked him a professional accessory, now repurposed to gently restrain the shivering omega beneath him.

Every movement was deliberate, measured—Wenlang exploring, tracing, memorizing every inch of Gao Tu’s heated, trembling body. Fingers glided over the curves of his hips, along the tension of his back, lingering at every sensitive spot that made him gasp and shiver.

Gao Tu’s chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes fluttering shut as he pressed closer, meeting Wenlang’s touch with both yielding trust and bold need. The scent of his heat mingled with Wenlang’s own, a potent pull that made restraint feel almost impossible, yet Wenlang held, guiding every motion, claiming every inch with care and dominance.

Wenlang’s control wavered, his hands tightening slightly, fingers trailing down Gao Tu’s sides, coaxing him closer, keeping him grounded. He leaned down, lips capturing Gao Tu’s again, deep and insistent, marking the rhythm of dominance, of need, of a careful, consuming claim.

Wenlang paused for a fraction of a second, hovering above the shivering omega beneath him. Gao Tu’s chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes half-lidded with heat and need, lips parted slightly as if silently begging.

His gaze traced every line of Gao Tu’s vulnerable form, lingering on the flushed skin and trembling hands. Slowly, deliberately, Wenlang pressed his lips to the delicate skin of his neck, brushing over the scent glands, inhaling the intoxicating warmth.

It was a silent question, a wordless plea for consent—asking if he could claim, if he could mark the omega permanently, not just in body but in essence.

Gao Tu’s pulse throbbed beneath Wenlang’s lips, every nerve screaming yes. He tilted his neck slightly, subtle but unmistakable, offering himself completely without words—trusting, yielding, and grateful for the care in Wenlang’s measured restraint.

Wenlang’s own restraint teetered on the edge, his hands gripping Gao Tu just enough to keep him steady, to feel every shiver, every soft gasp. The answer was clear, and it sent a shiver of dominance and possessive longing straight through him.

With a deep, trembling breath, Wenlang sank his teeth gently into the soft skin over the scent gland. The sharp pressure was controlled, possessive, leaving a mark that spoke of claim and protection. Simultaneously, he let his pheromones flow, warm and thick, a potent declaration of ownership that wrapped around Gao Tu, mingling with his own heat.

Gao Tu’s body trembled under him, hands clutching at Wenlang’s shoulders, at his hair, at anything he could grasp. Each gasp, each shiver was a silent consent, a wordless promise that he was here, completely, trusting him fully. Wenlang’s hands roamed lower, steadying him, pressing him closer to ensure the omega felt held, protected and cherished.

As Wenlang released the gentle bite, and let his pheromones linger, wrapping around Gao Tu like a promise. He lowered his forehead to rest against the side of the omega’s, voice low, rough with desire and emotion.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered, each word deliberate, heavy with possessive tenderness. “Forever.”

Gao Tu’s body shivered at the words, a soft, breathless hum escaping him as he pressed fully into Wenlang, letting the alpha’s warmth and scent envelop him.

Wenlang lingered for a heartbeat, letting the weight of his words and the pheromones settle, feeling the shiver of surrender radiate from Gao Tu beneath him. Then, with deliberate intent, he let desire take over, his movements slow but insistent, exploring and claiming, letting the night stretch around them.

The room was filled with the sound of mingled breaths, soft moans, and whispered names, each touch etching their bond deeper. Wenlang’s dominance was tempered with consideration, his body mapping every shiver, every quiver, making the passion as much about connection as desire.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Morning light filtered softly through the curtains, brushing over the two figures still entwined in the bed. Gao Tu stirred first, completely engulfed in the alpha's embrace, blinking sleepily as he shifted against Wenlang’s chest, letting his fingers slowly trace the contours of the other’s face.

Wenlang stirred at the gentle touch, eyes fluttering open as he felt Gao Tu’s hands pressed lightly against his cheeks. A soft, almost sleepy smile curved his lips as he pulled his omega closer, letting the warmth of the morning wrap around them both.

“Let’s skip work today,” Wenlang whispered, voice soft and mischievous, his forehead resting against Gao Tu’s.

“You can’t do that! You’re the boss,” Gao Tu scolded, a teasing lilt to his words. “Taking too much time off will affect the morale of the employees.”

“I don’t care,” Wenlang murmured, grinning despite his sleepy tone. “I’m not moving.” He tightened his arms around Gao Tu, pulling him even closer, nuzzling his temple. “Stay here with me.”

Gao Tu let out a soft laugh, surrendering to the warmth and closeness, feeling the weight of Wenlang’s possessive embrace. Despite his protests, he didn’t pull away, allowing himself to be held, cherished, and spoiled by the alpha he had come to trust completely.

Gao Tu shifted slightly, still in Wenlang’s arms, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, though his fingers lazily traced along the alpha’s chest, enjoying the warmth.

“Impossibly yours,” Wenlang countered with a lazy grin, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Gao Tu’s head.

Chapter Text

In his office, after taking care of the medicine delivery for Sheng Shao You, Wenlang dropped onto the sofa opposite Cheng Yu. The city hummed faintly beyond the glass wall, but inside, the air was all business layered with brittle irritation.

“Wenlang, boss said those projects Sheng Fang Biotech snatched can be handed to them. For external supplies, help them quietly where we can,” Cheng Yu reported, matter-of-fact.

“How long do I have to keep up this act?” Wenlang rolled his eyes, annoyance sharp in his voice. He couldn’t shake the image of Hua Yong playing the pitiful weakling—and Sheng Shao You actually buying it. The thought disgusted him. Hua Yong, of all people, a man who could single-handedly bring anyone to their knees and grant them the mercy of death if they dared cross him, suddenly looking fragile? Pathetic. “You haven’t seen it. If I pissed Sheng Shao You off enough to want me dead, Hua Yong would personally make sure I paid the price.”

“Don’t worry,” Cheng Yu said, coaxing him like one might soothe a child mid-tantrum. “The boss won’t let that happen.”

Of course, Shen Wenlang was more than just Hua Yong’s business partner—though neither of them would ever admit it, they were best friends. Cheng Yu knew better than anyone. Wenlang was the only one who could talk trash to Hua Yong’s face and walk away intact. Likewise, Hua Yong trusted no one outside of Cheng Yu with X Holdings’ internal affairs, except Wenlang.

“Hhhh,” Wenlang laughed mockingly, bitter amusement in his tone. “Won’t let it? He’d do anything for Sheng Shao You. That little lunatic just asked if he could talk to Sheng Shao You alone. As if it was me who was keeping him locked away. I wish he’d just move in with Sheng Shao You and lock themselves away forever, so they’d stop dragging innocent people into their mess. I must’ve been cursed to get stuck in this.”

Cheng Yu rolled his eyes, already weary of Wenlang’s ranting. But he knew Wenlang wasn’t wrong.

Just as he opened his mouth to reply, a soft knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” Shen Wenlang said.

Gao Tu stepped inside with a stack of documents in his arms, only to freeze when he spotted Cheng Yu on the sofa.

“Mr. Shen, I’m sorry—I didn’t know you had a guest.” His tone remained calm, smile polite, his professional mask firmly in place.

But Wenlang’s eyes lit up the moment they landed on him, like a wolf cub spotting the one person it would gladly bare its belly to. All his earlier irritation, all his grievances, evaporated in an instant.

Cheng Yu, catching the shift, couldn’t help but smile. The sight was rare—Wenlang, the alpha who never bowed his head to anyone, whose pride could rival Hua Yong’s, now softening so shamelessly in the presence of this omega. And Gao Tu—gentle, steady omega—who had managed to break through the armor and claim Wenlang’s heart without even realizing the depth of his victory.

For a fleeting moment, Cheng Yu felt oddly at peace. Both of the boys he had watched grow into men had found their anchors, though one was still in the process of chasing his beloved.

“No problem,” Cheng Yu said, standing, his voice touched with quiet warmth. “We were just finishing up. Wenlang, I’ll take my leave.”

Wenlang gave a short nod, though his eyes never left Gao Tu. As Cheng Yu passed, he gave the omega a small smile before stepping out.

The door clicked shut. Gao Tu had barely turned around when Wenlang’s arms slid firmly around his waist, pulling him back into the circle of his embrace.

“Wenlang, we’re still in the company, behave yourself” Gao Tu scolded softly, his voice low, tinged with exasperation yet unmistakably gentle.

“I won’t,” Wenlang murmured against his ear, playful and utterly unrepentant, as if he had no intention of ever letting go.

Gao Tu let out a soft sigh, half helpless, half indulgent at the alpha who had become so incomprehensibly clingy. He would never admit it aloud, but the warmth of being held so openly, so brazenly, stirred a quiet joy in him.

“You have some documents to review,” he said at last, lifting the stack slightly as a reminder.

Wenlang only pouted, like a child denied a treat, before snatching the papers from Gao Tu’s hand—though he stubbornly refused to loosen the arm around his waist. With gentle insistence, he steered the omega toward his desk.

He placed the documents down, then immediately tugged Gao Tu onto his lap, ignoring any chance of protest. Settling back in his chair, he wrapped both arms firmly around his omega, resting his chin on Gao Tu’s shoulder as though it was the only place it belonged.

“Wenlang…” Gao Tu’s voice faltered, a mix of fluster and warning. “Someone might walk in.”

“Who dares come inside without my permission?” Wenlang replied with soft arrogance, his words warm against Gao Tu’s ear. His tone was playful, but the grip around Gao Tu’s waist was unyielding, as if he had no intention of letting the other out of his arms. He buried himself in the quiet scent of sage that clung to the omega, inhaling deeply like it was the only air he needed.

Gao Tu held himself still, lips pressed into a faint line, yet his chest betrayed him—fluttering with every warm breath against his neck. Reckless… he’s far too reckless, he thought, pulse quickening.His hands rested awkwardly on the desk, resisting the urge to cling back. He kept his mask of composure, yet deep inside, he was quietly melting—his heart betraying him far more than his expression ever could.

He drew in a steadying breath, clinging to the mask of composure he had worn for so long. Outwardly reserved, inwardly unraveling—Shen Wenlang was far too dangerous.

“Wenlang, finish your work so we can go home on time,” Gao Tu said, his tone coaxing with gentle patience. As much as he savored the closeness, he knew duty came first. Wenlang understood that too—he had carried this company on his shoulders for so long.

Still, the alpha lingered, lips curving into a reluctant pout before brushing a light kiss against Gao Tu’s cheek. The touch was fleeting, but it carried a quiet tenderness that made Gao Tu’s chest tighten.

He rose quickly, trying to steady himself, the warmth of the kiss still blooming against his skin. Avoiding Wenlang’s gaze, he held his composure with effort.

“I’ll take my leave,” he said softly, his voice steady though his lips threatened to curve into a smile he could not show.

Once outside, the door closing behind him, Gao Tu allowed himself a slow exhale. His heart was still racing, each beat echoing with the alpha’s presence. The faint trace of iris clung to him, a subtle reminder of the embrace he had just escaped.

Sweetness lingered in the ache of it—an indulgence he allowed only in solitude. Though he kept his professional mask in place, beneath it lived a quiet certainty.

That warmth belonged to him. Always.

Wenlang felt the omega lingering at the door a moment longer than necessary. A small, private smile tugged at his lips as he recalled Gao Tu’s flushed cheeks and the way he had tried—so adorably—to hide his embarrassment. It was endearing, irresistible even, and made Wenlang ache to tease him, to pull him close and hold him a little longer.

But there was work to be done. Still, even as he returned to his desk, his thoughts clung to the sage-scented presence he had just left, a quiet, tender ache blossoming in his chest. No matter the hours, the tasks, the interruptions of the day, one truth remained unwavering: this omega was his. Always.

With that, both returned to work, the day slipping by almost too quickly, as if the world itself couldn’t bear to keep the two mates apart.

As soon as they stepped into the car, Wenlang’s arm found its way around Gao Tu, steady and protective. Gao Tu didn’t resist; he let himself lean in, letting the warmth settle over him. In that quiet embrace, the hum of the engine and the city passing by faded into nothing, leaving only the soft rhythm of their hearts. Both let their guards down, feeling the safety and the ache of closeness, savoring the rare stillness that belonged only to them.

“We have to pick up some groceries today,” Gao Tu reminded Wenlang as they neared the supermarket near their home.

“Pull into the supermarket.” Wenlang instructed the chauffeur quickly.

Wenlang had never needed to pick up groceries himself, staff handled all the housework. But Gao Tu preferred it this way. He had always been accustomed to doing things himself, from cooking to cleaning, and struggled to let others care for him. Wenlang respected that, making sure the housekeeper managed essentials when they were busy, yet he never interfered when Gao Tu insisted on doing things on his own.

The hum of the supermarket welcomed them as they stepped inside. Wenlang pushed the cart while Gao Tu carefully selected the items they needed. The rhythm of the mundane task was strangely peaceful.

Even here, amid fluorescent lights and bustling aisles, the world seemed to shrink around them. Every brush of hands, every small shared glance, every soft blend of sage and iris between them created a tethered closeness—a quiet, unspoken intimacy that made them feel inexplicably at home.

The drive home was filled with a peaceful silence. Gao Tu leaned slightly toward Wenlang, allowing himself to relax into the warmth of his alpha. Wenlang’s hand found its way to Gao Tu’s back, steadying him, a subtle claim, a tender reassurance.

Even in the everyday rhythm of errands and traffic, their closeness lingered, a private world of soft touches and shared breaths. The car moved steadily toward home, and neither wanted the quiet comfort to end.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As Gao Tu stepped out of the bathroom in his night clothes, drying his hair, he froze. Wenlang was there, leaning casually on the edge of the bed, shamelessly admiring him. His eyes roamed over every inch of Gao Tu, lingering with a quiet, almost possessive hunger.

"Wenlang… what are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you to wait in the living room?" Gao Tu asked, his face heating up instantly.

"I missed you too much," Wenlang replied, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips as he rose and closed the distance between them.

"It’s only been twenty minutes… aren’t you being too clingy?" Gao Tu protested weakly, instinctively stepping back, though his pulse betrayed the thrill coursing through him.

"Twenty minutes is far too long," Wenlang murmured, cornering him against the wall, every step deliberate, teasing.

Gao Tu’s breath hitched. The alpha was dangerously close, and his heart was entirely unprepared.

"Wenlang, stop playing around. We still have groceries to unpack… and dinner to make," he tried, his voice catching between protest and anticipation.

"Just order dinner," Wenlang replied with a smirk, leaning closer, his gaze locked on Gao Tu’s trembling lips. He closed the last fraction of distance between them, sliding one hand around the omega’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer.

The kiss was slow, deliberate, lingering. Wenlang’s other hand cupped Gao Tu’s neck, holding him in place . Gao Tu shivered, melting into the warmth, the teasing, and the unspoken claim of the alpha who had already taken his heart.

Gao Tu’s knees weakened as Wenlang’s lips pressed against his. At first, he tried to resist, to hold onto some semblance of control, but the warmth, the scent, the steady heat of the alpha pressed all sense from him. His hands instinctively found Wenlang’s chest, clinging, steadying, and at the same time seeking more.

Wenlang deepened the kiss ever so slightly, slow, patient, as if savoring the reaction he had coaxed from his omega. Gao Tu let out a soft, shuddering breath, finally giving in, allowing himself to melt into the embrace he had longed for without admitting it.

Gao Tu slowly wrapped his hands around the alpha's neck deepening the kiss, leaning into the warmth. He let go of all the restraints as his arms tightened around the other. 

Wenlang’s body tensed for a heartbeat before surrendering completely, his hands sliding down to press firmly against Gao Tu’s back, anchoring him closer. Every inch of him burned with need and protectiveness.

His fingers slid beneath the hem of Gao Tu’s shirt, brushing over heated skin that trembled under his touch. The shiver that ran through his omega made Wenlang’s breath falter, desire clawing at the edges of his restraint. Every kiss, every gasp, every flicker of response from Gao Tu frayed his composure until he could barely think beyond the taste of him.

Gao Tu’s thoughts dissolved into scattered fragments, his body alight with every caress. His hands moved almost helplessly, undoing the loose folds of Wenlang’s robes with a kind of desperate reverence. His face flushed crimson, not only from desire but from the sheer vulnerability of yielding to the alpha.

The room filled thickly with sage and iris, heady and overwhelming. Wenlang gathered Gao Tu into his arms, lifting him with a gentleness that belied the fire in his veins. He carried him toward the bed, their mouths still joined, their hearts thundering in unison.

Even as desire pulled them under, there was no harshness in Wenlang’s touch. Every movement spoke of restraint, of aching reverence. He pressed Gao Tu down into the mattress not with dominance, but with devotion, eyes searching his omega’s flushed face, silently asking if he could go further.

For the first time, Gao Tu didn’t hesitate. He tightened his arms around Wenlang, drawing him close, answering without words—I’m yours.

Gao Tu’s breath caught as Wenlang’s weight pressed him gently into the mattress, the warmth of the alpha seeping into every inch of him. His shirt was pushed aside, forgotten, the cool air making his skin prickle before Wenlang’s hands soothed over it, rough palms reverent in their touch.

“Wenlang…” Gao Tu’s voice was soft, almost pleading, torn between shyness and the longing that burned deep.

Wenlang bent to kiss him again, slower now, savoring the way Gao Tu clung to him. His lips trailed lower, tasting the sensitive skin of his neck, his collarbone, each kiss deliberate, making Gao Tu’s body arch unconsciously toward the heat. Every shiver, every gasp, sank into Wenlang’s chest like a brand, his control unraveling thread by thread.

Fingers slid over bare skin, memorizing each line, each subtle tremor. Wenlang’s touch was firm but unhurried, coaxing, exploring, until Gao Tu’s breath grew uneven, his hands fisting lightly in Wenlang’s robes. The alpha’s low chuckle brushed against his throat. “So responsive,” he murmured, a tease wrapped in tenderness.

Gao Tu turned his face, flushed crimson, unable to meet the weight of Wenlang’s gaze. But Wenlang tilted his chin back with gentle insistence, forcing their eyes to meet. “Don’t hide from me,” he whispered. “I want to see you.”

Those words stripped away Gao Tu’s resistance more than any touch. With trembling fingers, he loosened the last of Wenlang’s robes, baring the strength and warmth beneath. When their bodies finally pressed together—skin to skin—both of them trembled, overwhelmed by the sheer closeness.

The scent of sage and iris thickened, heavy and sweet, wrapping them in a cocoon of desire and belonging. Wenlang kissed him again, deeper, hungrier, but still achingly tender—as though each touch was both a claim and a promise.

In that heat, restraint shattered. The world blurred until there was nothing but breath and touch, the desperate rhythm of two hearts pulling closer, the soft gasps and broken murmurs that carried them past the point of return.

The night stretched on in a haze of warmth and shivering breaths. Every touch drew them deeper, every kiss left Gao Tu trembling until he could no longer think, only feel. Wenlang moved with aching patience, careful even as desire consumed him, guiding Gao Tu past his fears with steady hands and murmured reassurances.

The room filled with soft sounds—gasps, low groans, whispered names—woven into the rhythm of their closeness. Wenlang treated every inch of him as something precious, lingering wherever Gao Tu shuddered the most, learning him, cherishing him. And Gao Tu, who had tried to resist, found himself unraveling, giving in piece by piece until all he could do was cling, lost in the intensity of being wanted so wholly.

Time blurred. Sage and iris thickened, heavy in the air, the scent of belonging wrapping around them like a binding vow. When the heat reached its peak, it was not wild but consuming, pulling them under together, their hearts and bodies colliding in a crescendo that left both shaking in each other’s arms.
---------------------------------------------------------------
The room had grown hushed, the earlier storm of heat and shivering want softening into a fragile stillness. Wenlang’s arms were still around Gao Tu, unwilling to let go, the rhythm of his breathing anchoring them both. The sheets tangled loosely over their bodies, carrying the warmth of skin and the faint trace of mingled pheromones—sage and iris lingering like an invisible vow.

Gao Tu’s lashes fluttered, heavy with exhaustion. He made a faint sound, almost a protest at how close Wenlang still held him, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands curled against the alpha’s chest, clinging lightly as though he had forgotten how to let go.

Wenlang pressed a kiss against his damp hair, softer than a sigh. “Are you alright?,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble that seemed to sink straight into Gao Tu’s bones.

“…Mn.” It was barely a reply, more like the quiet surrender of someone too worn down to resist. His body melted into the warmth around him, lulled by the steady beat beneath his ear as sleep consumed him.

The silence stretched, deepened, turned into something serene. Wenlang shifted only once, pulling the blanket higher, his embrace protective even in small gestures. His eyes stayed on Gao Tu’s face a moment longer, memorizing the softened features, the peace that rarely graced him.

Finally, Wenlang let his own eyes close, his lips brushing Gao Tu’s temple in one last fleeting kiss. The world narrowed to the faint rise and fall of their breathing, the unspoken promise of forever resting quietly between them.

And as the night held them, tangled close, both surrendered to sleep—safe, warm, and unshakably together.

Chapter Text

Although the days passed in quiet contentment, Shen Wenlang often caught Gao Tu staring at his phone, eyes darkened by something that looked like anger—or maybe fear. Every time, he hesitated to ask. He didn’t want to pry, didn’t want to risk pulling old wounds to the surface when Gao Tu finally seemed at peace. But each glare, each muted sigh, left an uneasy feeling in his chest.

The answer came one weekend morning. Gao Tu was still fast asleep, his breathing soft and even, exhaustion written all over his face after the night they’d shared. The air was still heavy with the faint scent of sage and iris when a sharp buzz broke the silence. Then another.

Wenlang frowned, reaching for the phone to silence it before it woke his omega. The screen lit up with a string of messages. His hand froze midair.

Gao Ming – “Gao Tu, you think you can just ignore my calls?”
“You ungrateful brat, I will find you.”
“You think you can hide from me?”
“Where is my money?”
“You better send it this week.”
“I know where your sister is.”
“Don’t make this difficult for both of us.”

Wenlang’s vision blurred with rage. His jaw tightened, his breath sharp and uneven as he stared at the screen. He knew this name. Gao Ming—Gao Tu’s father. The man who had gambled away his family’s life, who had bled his son dry even as Gao Tu scraped by with four jobs and sleepless nights.

But that was before.

Now, Gao Tu wasn’t alone. He wasn’t helpless.

Wenlang’s fingers curled around the phone, his chest rising with quiet, simmering anger.

No one hurts him again.

Not while Shen Wenlang still breathed.

He quietly slipped out of the bed, careful not to wake the sleeping figure tangled in the sheets. The early morning light filtered faintly through the curtains, tracing over Gao Tu’s peaceful face. For a fleeting moment, Wenlang’s anger softened—then hardened again, sharpened to a fine edge.

By the time he stepped into the living room, his expression was unreadable. The tenderness from before had vanished, replaced by a cold, deliberate calm. He picked up his phone, dialed a familiar number, and waited.

When the line clicked open, his voice came low and steady.
“I need everything you can find about Gao Ming.” A pause. Then, quieter—deadly calm.
“Everything.”

The person on the other end hesitated only for a moment before replying, “Understood.”

Wenlang ended the call and stood still, the phone still in his hand. The faint hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the room. He stared at the darkened screen, his reflection looking back at him—an alpha caught between love and fury.

He would not wake Gao Tu. He would not let him know. Not yet.

If Gao Ming wanted to play games, then Shen Wenlang would end them before they even began.

---------------------------------------------------------

Gao Tu’s hand reached instinctively across the bed, searching for the familiar warmth beside him. Before his fingers could find only air, a larger hand caught his, steady and reassuring. Soft lips brushed the back of his hand, a tender kiss that pulled him halfway from sleep.

“You’re up,” Wenlang murmured, voice low and edged with that husky fondness that always seemed to melt Gao Tu’s heart.

“Mm… what time is it?” Gao Tu asked, eyes still half-closed, curling instinctively closer into the scent of iris and quiet strength that surrounded him.

“Almost noon,” Wenlang said, his thumb tracing lazy circles across Gao Tu’s knuckles. “Go back to sleep if you’re still tired.” A playful note slipped into his tone. “Did I tire you out too much?”

Color flushed across Gao Tu’s cheeks before he could even form a reply. He buried his face against Wenlang’s chest, mumbling something unintelligible as if hiding could erase the teasing.

Wenlang chuckled softly, the sound rumbling under Gao Tu’s ear. He wrapped his arms tighter around the smaller man, fingers sliding into his hair. “Alright, alright,” he whispered, amusement fading into quiet adoration. “Sleep a bit more.”

The room fell still again, filled only with the rhythm of their breathing—two heartbeats, steady and in sync.

“I made you some food,” Wenlang whispered when he sensed the other was awake, though still pretending to rest in his arms.

Gao Tu blinked up at him, eyes still heavy with sleep. “You cooked!” he said, genuine surprise lighting his face. “And the kitchen is still standing?”

Wenlang huffed a quiet laugh. “Gao Tu, I’m not that bad, you know.” He paused for effect, lips curving into a teasing grin. “I can heat porridge from the stall.”

For a moment, Gao Tu just stared—then broke into soft laughter, muffling it against Wenlang’s chest. The sound was bright and unguarded, a melody Wenlang could listen to forever.

Wenlang smiled to himself, brushing a strand of hair from Gao Tu’s face. “Come on,” he said gently, “before it gets cold.”

The scent of warm porridge filled the kitchen as Gao Tu sat by the counter, hair still mussed from sleep, cheeks faintly flushed. Wenlang set the bowl down in front of him, watching as Gao Tu picked up the spoon and tasted it with cautious curiosity.

“It’s actually… edible,” Gao Tu said, half-surprised, half-teasing.

Wenlang leaned against the counter beside him, arms folded, pretending to look offended. “You doubt me far too much,” he said, but his eyes softened as Gao Tu laughed again — that warm, unrestrained laughter that never failed to melt every edge of him.

For a moment, the world felt impossibly still. Warm light slipped through the curtains, catching on Gao Tu’s smile, and Wenlang thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. That laugh — that sound — he wanted to protect it for the rest of his life.

He reached out, brushing a thumb across Gao Tu’s cheek, voice low but steady.
“Eat well, rest when you need to.” He didn't say the rest out loud — I won't let anything hurt you ever again.

Gao Tu looked up at him, eyes shimmering with a quiet understanding. Wenlang smiled faintly, though beneath it burned an unspoken promise — that anyone who dared to threaten this peace, this warmth, would have to go through him first.

When Gao Tu finally leaned back in his chair, half-asleep from the warmth of food and sunlight, Wenlang reached over to wipe a small drop of porridge from the corner of his mouth.

“Go rest a little longer,” he murmured. “I’ll clean up.”

Gao Tu hummed softly, nodding as he rose from his seat. He brushed against Wenlang’s shoulder on his way out, a fleeting touch that left a warmth lingering on Wenlang’s skin long after the bedroom door closed behind him.

The apartment fell quiet, save for the faint clink of porcelain. Wenlang began stacking the bowls, rinsing them in the sink one by one. The movements were slow, deliberate — almost meditative.

But his mind was elsewhere.

He thought of the messages he’d seen, the venom hidden between the words. Gao Ming’s voice — that entitled, vicious tone he’d heard once before — echoed in his memory. “You better send it this week.”
His hands tightened around the dishcloth.

He’d known Gao Tu’s past was painful, but knowing was different from seeing the threat crawl its way back into their quiet life.

The steam from the sink rose, fogging the edge of his vision as his thoughts sank deeper. Gao Tu’s laughter from moments ago — soft and clear like sunlight through water — still lingered in the air. He could almost hear it echoing faintly in the room. That sound was something he wanted to protect. No, had to protect.

Wenlang rinsed the last bowl and set it aside, water still dripping from his fingers. His reflection in the metal sink was calm, but his eyes weren’t.

If Gao Ming thought he could take that peace away again, he’d learn what it meant to cross his boundaries.

Behind him, the faint sound of sheets rustled. Gao Tu stirred in his sleep, murmuring something incoherent. Wenlang turned, his expression softening at once.

He dried his hands quietly and walked back toward the bedroom, the tension in his chest sinking under the steady rhythm of Gao Tu’s breathing.

But even as he slipped beneath the covers again, pulling the smaller body gently into his arms, a single thought stayed sharp and unshakable in his mind—

No one touches him again.

-----------------------------------

It was already late when Gao Tu’s phone rang. The urgent voice from the hospital staff had him pale instantly. His sister had been rushed in for an emergency procedure.

Wenlang didn’t hesitate — the car was already moving before Gao Tu could even gather himself.

The procedure, thankfully, went smoothly. Relief flooded Gao Tu’s features, though the worry lines refused to vanish completely. He insisted on staying at the hospital, unwilling to leave his sister’s side.

“I’ll stay with you,” Wenlang had said, quietly stubborn.

But Gao Tu shook his head, pressing his lips together. “You have an important meeting in the morning. Go. Please.”

Reluctance shadowed Wenlang’s face, but in the end, he agreed. Still, he lingered by Gao Tu side till early in the morning before diving away.

The meeting had only just begun when the entire building shuddered violently. The chandelier trembled, files spilled from the table — an earthquake. Chairs scraped as people scrambled, though mercifully, the tremor was brief and left no serious damage.

Wenlang’s heart hammered against his ribs. The moment the shaking stopped, he was already pulling out his phone.

“Gao Tu, are you alright?” His voice was tight, betraying the panic he rarely showed.

“I’m fine,” came the soft reply. “There wasn’t a temblor here. What about you?”

Wenlang exhaled shakily, shoulders finally easing. “Same here. It’s over now. I’ll come as soon as I’m done with things here, wait for me. Okay?”

On the other end of the line, Gao Tu smiled faintly, warmth threading through the exhaustion of the long night. “Hmm. Be careful on the way.”

Wenlang could almost hear the curve of that smile.

And in the quiet hospital room, Gao Tu looked at his sleeping sister, a small, unguarded smile lingering on his lips. Even in chaos, even in the worst of days — Shen Wenlang had a way of chasing away the darkness.

Wenlang was just about to slip his phone back into his pocket when the screen lit up with a message.

[Lunatic] – Earthquake! He’s hurt, need medical team, hurry.
A location tag blinked beneath the text.

Wenlang’s brows furrowed. The entire city had barely felt a tremor — where on earth had this lunatic gone to get hurt? But there was no time for questions now.

Be right there, he typed back, already striding out of the conference room. His steps were quick, decisive — the kind of pace that made people instinctively clear a path.

By the time he reached the car, his mind was fixed on nothing but the flashing pin on his phone’s map.

Back at the hospital, Gao Tu had just stepped out into the corridor, stretching stiff muscles from sitting by his sister’s bedside all night. The news reached him quickly — Hua Yong was injured, and Wenlang was personally accompanying him to the hospital.

He froze at the doorway, surprise and worry tightening his chest. His eyes fixed anxiously down the hall as if waiting for the familiar stride of his alpha to appear.

Sheng Shao You arrived with Cheng Yu at his side, moving briskly despite the bandage on his arm. The wound didn’t look serious, but Cheng Yu had already arranged for a team of specialists to meet them at the hospital doors.

Cheng Yu caught Gao Tu’s gaze and offered a curt, respectful nod as they passed. Sheng Shao You, however, lingered for a heartbeat longer. His eyes, dark and sharp, swept over Gao Tu with a weight that felt like both scrutiny and inquiry. It wasn’t open hostility, but there was something unspoken simmering beneath that look — as though he carried a question on his lips and chose, deliberately, to swallow it down. Without a word, he turned and followed Cheng Yu inside.

Moments later, Chen Pin Ming came rushing in, breathless, scanning the corridor with panic barely leashed in his eyes. Relief broke across his face when he spotted Gao Tu.

“Secretary Gao, have you seen President Sheng?” he blurted out, voice tight.

“He was taken to the general ward for a check,” Gao Tu replied calmly, his tone even despite the faint exhaustion lacing his features. “It was only minor injuries.”

Chen Pin Ming exhaled, his shoulders loosening as some of the panic drained away. “Thank you,” he said with genuine relief, before hurrying down the corridor toward the general ward.

Left standing there, Gao Tu’s fingers curled loosely around the phone still in his hand. He could still feel Sheng Shao You’s gaze lingering in his mind, sharp and searching, like a puzzle left unsolved.

Gao Tu couldn’t believe his eyes when Wenlang stepped through the hospital doors with Hua Yong in tow.

Hua Yong was covered in blood, his shirt soaked through, but he walked with the unhurried ease of a man out for an afternoon stroll. His phone was glued to his hand, eyes fixed on the screen with unnerving focus, as though the crimson staining him was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Wenlang, on the other hand, looked thoroughly done with the entire situation. Like a child dragged to greet distant relatives at a family gathering, he rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they hadn’t gotten stuck.

“Why are you refreshing Sheng Shao You’s social media like a madman?” Wenlang snapped, irritation clear in his tone. “Do you think he’s going to post an update from the hospital bed? ‘Minor injury, please like and subscribe’?” He gestured vaguely at the blood, exasperated. “Look at yourself—you’re leaking everywhere. Maybe worry about that first.”

Hua Yong barely spared him a glance, his thumb flicking across the phone screen again. “I wish I could be in the same ER as Mr.Sheng,” he muttered, as if that explained everything.

Gao Tu blinked, caught between disbelief and reluctant amusement. This was… not the scene he expected to walk into when he’d been told someone was injured. He had heard stories of Hua Yong’s recklessness, but seeing it like this—with so much blood, and yet such unnatural composure—made his chest tighten with unease. He wasn’t jealous, not even close. Just… unsettled, and, despite himself, a little worried.

Because no one should look that calm while drenched in their own blood.

“You need a shrink. Your dependency on Sheng Shao You is psychotic,” Wenlang muttered, still visibly annoyed.

“Oh, really? I always worry that I don’t love him enough,” Hua Yong replied nonchalantly, scrolling again.

Wenlang’s lips twitched. “Isn’t this enough? If you loved him any more, people around you would drop dead from irritation.” He was mid-retort when his eyes landed on Gao Tu standing frozen nearby. Wenlang’s irritation evaporated in an instant.

“Gao Tu,” he called softly, lifting his hand in a wave, a smile tugging at his mouth despite the bloody lunatic beside him.

“Secretary Gao,” Hua Yong greeted without looking up for long, his gaze dipping back to the screen almost immediately.

“Secretary Hua,” Gao Tu replied carefully, unsure if the title was even appropriate. The man didn’t seem to care either way, only nodding before returning fully to his phone.

Gao Tu’s attention turned at once to Wenlang, eyes scanning him quickly for injuries. Relief bloomed when he found none. “Wenlang,” he murmured, the weight of his concern clear.

Wenlang immediately reached for Gao Tu’s hand, his smile soft and unguarded, fingers lacing through his omega’s as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

The picture they made was absurd: Hua Yong standing there drenched in blood, glued to his phone, while the two of them held hands like lovebirds in the middle of a hospital corridor. Any passerby would have been baffled.

Just then, a doctor hurried over, flanked by several nurses. “Excuse me—the triage patient admitted with a penetrating rebar. Where is he?” the doctor asked urgently.

Wenlang rolled his eyes and jabbed a thumb toward Hua Yong. “There. The lunatic.”

“What rebar?” Gao Tu thought, startled, his mind struggling to piece things together.

The doctor’s brows knit. “Where is the rebar?” he asked as the nurses closed in.

“I pulled it out,” Hua Yong said casually, as though he were commenting on the weather.

The entire hallway froze. For a second, no one seemed to breathe. The medical staff gaped at him, then exchanged horrified looks with the first responders lingering by the entrance.

They, too, were staring between the empty stretcher they’d wheeled in and Hua Yong, who stood bleeding freely yet calm as a stone, refreshing a social feed as if nothing had happened.

Gao Tu stood frozen, his mind struggling to process what he’d just heard. Pulled it out? His eyes dropped instinctively to Hua Yong’s side, to the blood that still seeped steadily through his clothes, and for a dizzy second he thought he must be hallucinating. No normal human being could still be standing after something like that—much less scrolling endlessly on their phone.

Wenlang, on the other hand, was entirely unfazed by the absurdity of the situation.

They both watched as the doctors led Hua Yong toward the operating room. He strolled alongside them as if he were part of the staff, utterly unconcerned, while the actual medical team trailed behind in disbelief, glancing between their charts and the bloodstained man refusing to lie down.

Gao Tu had always thought the nickname lunatic was just an exaggeration between old friends, a careless label tossed in frustration. Never in a million years had he imagined it might be meant literally.

Wenlang and Gao Tu were waiting outside the operating theater when Cheng Yu arrived.

“Where’s Sheng Shaoyou?” Wenlang asked, standing as if he’d only been resting, his tone deliberately casual.

“Injuries are minor—just some abrasions on the back and forehead. Already treated and arranged for inpatient observation.” Cheng Yu nodded slightly at Gao Tu, who rose from his seat beside Wenlang. “How’s the boss?”

“No idea. He’s been in there over an hour. Can’t use anesthesia, signed a pile of risk notices before they let him in.” Wenlang’s voice carried a thread of concern, though his posture remained relaxed.

“What about the hospital office? Did they issue the notice yet?” Cheng Yu asked. His tone wasn’t panicked either, only steady and practical, like a man accustomed to waiting out storms he knew couldn’t break.

“Dean Huang said he was coming personally, but Hua Yong refused. By coincidence, the on-duty doctor today happens to be the chief of general surgery.” Annoyance crept into Wenlang’s voice as he spoke.

“That’s the one operating on the boss?” Cheng Yu pressed.

“No. That’s the one who treated Sheng Shaoyou’s scratches.” Wenlang’s expression tightened. “Hua Yong insisted he was fine, told the ER attending to just stitch him up casually, and sent the chief of surgery over to check on his Mr. Sheng.” His tone turned sharp, his irritation barely veiled. “Whenever it’s about Sheng Shaoyou, he loses all sense. Wonder what kind of love potion that man slipped him.”

Cheng Yu had no rebuttal, so the three of them lapsed into silence, the sterile white corridor thick with the quiet weight of waiting.

After a few more hours, Hua Yong was transferred to a private room. Gao Tu had already left to accompany his sister, and Wenlang, after leaving Cheng Yu in charge, headed back to deal with the unfinished work. Before leaving, he had made sure to warn Cheng Yu about keeping Hua Yong’s condition quiet—especially from his half-siblings.

Once he confirmed everything was in order, Cheng Yu finally stepped out to grab lunch. In the corridor, he almost immediately ran into Chen Pin Ming.

“Secretary Chen.”

“Secretary Cheng.”

Their greetings were brief, formal, but carried an undercurrent that neither could quite hide. Chen Pin Ming shifted slightly, awkward in Cheng Yu’s presence. He had only just learned that Hua Yong was the true head of X Holdings, and every past encounter with Cheng Yu had been under strained, even dangerous circumstances. Their last meeting had ended with Chen Pin Ming staring down the barrel of Cheng Yu’s gun.

Cheng Yu, by contrast, looked utterly at ease. He had always held a certain regard for Chen Pin Ming’s loyalty. He still remembered the look in the beta’s eyes that day—utterly terrified, yet unwilling to back down, as if he might fling himself into a hopeless fight just to protect his boss. Cheng Yu had thought of it then, and still thought of it now: a kitten, soft and harmless, baring its claws to defend its mother. Not threatening, but strangely… endearing.

“How is Sheng Shaoyou?” Cheng Yu asked casually, though he already had the doctors’ full report.

“President Sheng wasn’t injured much. He’s fine. Just resting a bit,” Chen Pin Ming replied, his tone carefully professional. But the stiffness in his shoulders gave him away.

“Going out to get lunch for President Sheng?” Cheng Yu asked, his voice mild. Then, as if on impulse, he added, “Would you like to join me? I’m heading out as well.”

Of course, Cheng Yu had no intention of buying hospital-cafeteria food for Hua Yong. That man would only accept a meal brought in from a top-tier restaurant, and Cheng Yu had already arranged for it. No, this was simply an excuse—to spend a little time with the beta who intrigued him more than he cared to admit.

Chen Pin Ming hesitated, scrambling for a polite refusal. But faced with the calm weight of Cheng Yu’s gaze, he found no excuse strong enough. Intimidated yet unwilling to retreat, he gave a short nod and agreed.

Chapter Text

Shen Wenlang stepped into the room with a bouquet in hand, more out of formality than sincerity. For a moment, he considered hurling it straight at Hua Yong’s face, but with a sigh he refrained, setting it neatly on the bedside table instead.

As expected, Hua Yong wasn’t paying him any attention. His eyes were still glued to his phone, thumbs moving swiftly. Wenlang leaned closer and caught sight of the messages, his lips twitching despite himself.

Mr. Sheng, I’m sorry.
I was wrong, please forgive me.
Mr. Sheng, don’t ignore me.
Please, my wound hurts so much.
Painkillers don’t seem to work.
Doctor said it’s inflamed, not healing well.
Mr. Sheng, hospital is so lonely alone, no visitors…

Wenlang let out a sharp snort. “What do you mean no visitors? Aren’t I standing right here?”

“You don’t count.” Hua Yong shot him a side glance, then immediately went back to hammering his keyboard.

Won’t Mr. Sheng come see me…

Wenlang dragged a hand down his face. “Unbelievable. So many messages and not a single reply. Didn’t you say you’d teach me how to pursue someone? Hua Yong, is this your masterclass?”

That did it. Hua Yong’s patience snapped. He yanked at the IV line, clearly intending to climb out of bed. Wenlang lunged forward, pressing him firmly back against the pillows.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Wenlang muttered, genuinely alarmed now.

For once, Hua Yong didn’t fight him. His usual arrogance had vanished, replaced by something small and pitiful. His voice cracked faintly as he asked, “Then tell me… when will Mr. Sheng forgive me?”

Wenlang froze, staring at him. There was no trace of the unshakable, domineering man everyone feared—only a desperate fool nursing a wound deeper than the one in his body.

“How the hell would I know?” Wenlang finally muttered, his annoyance softening at the edges. Still, despite himself, a flicker of sympathy stirred.

His lunatic friend had finally lost it. 
------------------------------------------

Just as Gao Tu turned the corner toward Hua Yong’s room, he stopped short. Standing outside were Sheng Shao You and Chen Pin Ming, lingering as though uncertain whether to enter.

“President Sheng, Secretary Chen,” Gao Tu greeted with practiced politeness, his voice steady.

“Secretary Gao.” Sheng Shao You returned the greeting with equal courtesy, while Chen Pin Ming inclined his head in a respectful nod.

Before Gao Tu could move on, Sheng Shao You’s hand came up lightly, steadying him by the arm. His gaze lingered, sharp yet uncertain, as though holding back questions that pressed against the edge of his tongue. After a long pause, he finally spoke.

“Secretary Gao, may I have a word with you?”

Gao Tu blinked. He hadn’t expected the request, but a flicker of intuition told him what this was about. He had only encountered Sheng Shao You a few times, yet between those moments and what he’d heard from Wenlang, he could already sense the direction this conversation might take.

He inclined his head. “Of course.”

The two men exchanged a few quiet words with Chen Pin Ming, instructing him to wait by the parking lot. Then Gao Tu followed Sheng Shao You down the corridor, their footsteps echoing faintly against the sterile tiles.

Neither spoke as they made their way to the cafeteria, but the air between them grew heavier with every step—questions unspoken, truths half-known, waiting to surface. 

Both men sat in silence, the faint hum of the cafeteria filling the space between them. The untouched cups of coffee in front of them grew cold as they avoided each other’s eyes, each lost in their own thoughts.

At last, Sheng Shao You broke the silence. His voice was low, almost fragile, though his expression betrayed nothing.

“You knew?”

There was no need for context. Gao Tu understood immediately.

“Not from the beginning,” Gao Tu admitted softly. “I only found out later… just a few weeks ago.”

Sheng Shao You’s fingers tightened faintly around the cup, his knuckles paling. Gao Tu could almost feel the storm churning beneath the man’s calm surface—the sharp edge of betrayal, the hollow ache of confusion, the raw pulse of rage. Yet beneath it all, there lingered something deeper, something Gao Tu recognized instantly: love, desperate and unyielding; longing that refused to be silenced; fear of losing the one light that had kept the darkness at bay.

And Gao Tu understood.

Because he had lived it too. He had hidden his identity, swallowed his pride, endured the gnawing fear of exposure—just to remain by Wenlang’s side. His circumstances were different, but the emotions were the same. The terror of their entire reality shifting. The suffocating thought of losing everything you had fought to keep.

Gao Tu’s chest tightened, but he kept his voice steady, gentle. “I understand.”

Sheng Shao You didn’t know what else to ask. Questions churned in his chest, unspoken and tangled, but none found their way to his lips. His fingers tightened around the coffee cup as if holding onto something solid might keep him steady.

Gao Tu could feel the alpha’s uncertainty, the storm of emotions that weighed him down. With a quiet sigh, he decided to ease the burden.

“President Sheng,” Gao Tu began softly, his tone calm but sincere, “there isn’t much I can tell you. But one thing I know for certain—President Hua has liked you for a very long time.”

Sheng Shao You’s gaze flickered, but Gao Tu pressed on, steady and careful.

“It would be better if you asked him directly. I don’t have the right to tell you whether to forgive him… or to give him another chance. But for the sake of your own peace of mind, ask him yourself. I’m sure President Hua will gladly answer every question you have.”

In his mind, Gao Tu saw flashes of the lunatic side of Hua Yong—reckless, absurd, impossible. Yet alongside that madness, he had also witnessed the depth of Hua Yong’s love. The way he sent the chief of general surgery to treat Sheng Shao You’s minor abrasions while he himself was being operated on without anesthesia. The way, even drenched in blood, his first concern was whether Sheng Shao You was safe. The stubborn devotion that bordered on madness, yet was unshakably sincere.

Gao Tu had even heard whispers that Hua Yong’s research into targeted pheromone therapy for cancer began for one reason alone—to treat Sheng Shao You’s father.

Looking at the alpha before him now, Gao Tu spoke with quiet certainty. “Whatever else he may be, President Hua’s feelings for you… are real.”
----------------------------------------------------
By the time Gao Tu went back to Hua Yong's room to check on him, Hua Yong had already moved on to writing letters after being blocked by his beloved alpha. The desk was scattered with pages, each line dripping with desperate apologies and dramatic declarations.

“Gao Tu, why are you here to check on this lunatic? Rest a bit, you’ve already been taking care of your sister since yesterday,” Wenlang complained the moment Gao Tu walked in, balancing a basket of fresh fruit.

“Shen Wenlang, don’t be rude,” Gao Tu scolded firmly, giving him a look. Then he turned toward the patient with gentleness. “President Hua, how are you feeling?”

Wenlang immediately deflated, sulking like a scolded puppy, shoulders slumping. He sat back with a huff, muttering under his breath.

The corners of Hua Yong’s lips lifted slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. He could have teased Wenlang for once—he looked so tame under Gao Tu’s reprimand—but decided to show mercy.

“I’m fine, Secretary Gao. You can call me Hua Yong,” he said with unexpected kindness. For someone who had little patience for most people, Hua Yong had a surprising respect for Gao Tu. Perhaps it was his steady kindness, or the way he managed to tame that foul-mouthed Shen Wenlang with a single word. No one else could manage that feat.

Just then, Wenlang’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting.

“I have to take this. You two can keep talking,” Wenlang said, already stepping out, though his eyes lingered on Gao Tu with a faint reluctance before closing the door behind him.

“Secretary Gao, I must apologize for all the misunderstandings I caused,” Hua Yong said once Wenlang had stepped out, his voice calm but sincere, the usual sharpness softened.

“It’s alright. I’m glad everything worked out,” Gao Tu replied with a small smile. “And you can call me Gao Tu.”

Though the exchange was polite, it held an easy warmth—one that settled between them like the beginning of mutual respect.

Hua Yong leaned back against the pillows, the hint of a grin curving his lips. “I know Wenlang can be a handful, but it’s good to know he finally found someone patient enough to put up with him. Honestly, I thought he’d end up a professional bachelor.”

Gao Tu laughed softly, the sound light and genuine. “He does have a tendency to speak first and think later,” he admitted. “But… he means well. He’s kinder than he lets on.”

“That much is obvious,” Hua Yong said, watching the fond expression that crossed Gao Tu’s face. “He’s lucky, you know. Most people only see that temper of his, not the heart behind it.”

For a moment, the room was quiet except for the faint beeping of the monitor beside Hua Yong’s bed. The atmosphere softened further—two people who, by fate or chaos, had both been pulled into Shen Wenlang’s orbit, sharing a rare moment of understanding.

"Gao Tu, can I ask your help on something?" Hua Yong asked, his tone shifting into something more serious.

Gao Tu nodded slightly.

"How can I make Mr. Sheng forgive me?" Hua Yong asked, almost plaintive, like a child seeking guidance on how to fix his favorite toy that he had broken by accident.

Gao Tu couldn’t help but compare the two best friends in that moment. Both alphas, feared by the world, yet here they were—so much like lost children when it came to the people they loved most.

"Tell him the truth," Gao Tu said gently, his voice steady, almost as if explaining to a child. "The entire truth, and let him decide. He’s probably angry at being deceived, but… as long as the feelings are real, there’s a chance for reconciliation."

Hua Yong blinked at him, eyes unreadable for a beat, before a faint, rare vulnerability flickered across his face. “You really think so?”

“I do,” Gao Tu replied firmly. 

Just then, Wenlang entered the room.

“Gao Tu, if you’re ever done putting up with this idiot, let me know. I’ll sneak you out,” Hua Yong teased immediately, as though he had been waiting for the perfect chance.

“Get lost,” Wenlang shot back, irritation laced in his voice as he strode straight toward Gao Tu. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around him possessively. “Just go back to seducing your Mr. Sheng already.”

Gao Tu couldn’t help but laugh, warmth bubbling in his chest at the easy banter between the two friends. For all their sharp tongues and posturing, they were more alike than they’d ever admit—one reckless in his words, the other reckless in his heart.

Hua Yong raised his brows with a grin. “Oh? Look at that glare. Gao Tu, are you sure you’re safe in his arms? Blink twice if you want me to rescue you.”

Gao Tu let out a helpless laugh, trying to gently push Wenlang’s arm down. “Hua Yong, please…”

But Wenlang tightened his hold, scowling. “Don’t listen to him. He’s brain is shaken up from the earthquake. Ignore everything he says.”

“shaken up ?” Hua Yong shot back, clutching his chest dramatically as though he had been mortally wounded. “Wenlang, Even on my sickbed, I still have more charm than you.”

Wenlang rolled his eyes so hard Gao Tu thought they might get stuck. “Keep dreaming.”

Caught between them, Gao Tu covered his face with one hand . “Why does it feel like I’m babysitting two oversized children?”

The two alphas’ bickering echoed through the room until Gao Tu finally sighed. Surrounded by their childish quarrel, he couldn’t deny—somehow, it felt like family.

--------------------------------------------

Wenlang stared at the document spread across his desk, the soft rustle of paper the only sound in the room. The earthquake had delayed his plans a little—but it didn’t matter.

Every detail about Gao Ming was there. The past. The present. The things Gao Tu never spoke of but that Wenlang had quietly unearthed.

“If he had known I was an omega, he would have sold me without a second thought.”

Those words echoed in his mind like a curse.

Wenlang’s jaw tightened. Sell him?

If Gao Ming wanted to sell someone, then Wenlang would make him understand exactly what it felt like—to have his value stripped, his control shattered, and his world reduced to fear.

He dared to threaten Wenlang’s sunshine? Then he would be cast into darkness so complete that even death would feel like mercy.

---------------------------------------------

Gao Tu had been throwing up often these days, appetite dwindling, his body stubbornly slow in recovering. The doctor had warned him recovery wouldn’t be easy—good days and bad days would come and go. This was one of the bad ones.

When Wenlang returned home that evening, he found him stretched across the sofa, pale against the cushions, the television playing some forgettable program. Still, Gao Tu’s head lifted the instant he heard the familiar sound of the door.

“You’re back,” he said softly, relief brightening his voice even through exhaustion.

“Sorry I’m late, the meeting took longer than expected.” Wenlang crossed to him quickly, sitting down beside him and taking his hand. He smiled, squeezing the thin fingers gently, as if the world outside could wait a little longer.

“You don’t look well. Should I take you to the hospital?” Wenlang’s brow furrowed, concern flickering through his sharp features.

“It’s nothing serious. Just the pheromone disorder acting up again. I already have an appointment next week,” Gao Tu reassured him with a faint smile.

Wenlang still didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press further. He leaned down instead, brushing a kiss against Gao Tu’s forehead. “Hmm. Alright. But promise me you’ll tell me if it gets worse.”

“I will,” Gao Tu murmured, his eyes already softening with sleepiness.

Wenlang stood, finally letting go of his hand, and headed toward their room. Behind him, Gao Tu’s gaze lingered a moment longer before drifting back to the television. He didn’t notice the sharpness buried beneath Wenlang’s gentle smile, nor the storm brewing quietly in the alpha’s mind. For Gao Tu, there was only the comfort of his return—the certainty that, no matter how his body faltered, Wenlang would always come back to him.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Gao Tu’s condition didn’t improve over the next few days, but still he insisted on showing up at work every morning. No matter how Wenlang tried to coax him into resting, he couldn’t push too hard without risking an argument—so instead he shadowed Gao Tu quietly, keeping a constant eye on him in the office.

That morning, Gao Tu barely made it to the bathroom in time, nausea rising sharp and relentless. He leaned against the sink afterward, splashing water on his face to chase away the lingering dizziness.

“Secretary Gao, are you alright?” A colleague’s voice startled him. She stood a little behind, worry evident in her tone.

“I’m fine. Just… a bit nauseous,” Gao Tu replied, managing a polite smile though his stomach still twisted.

“You should get checked up,” she urged gently. “My neighbor had the same symptoms and it turned out she was pregnant. But—she’s an omega. You’re a beta, so that can’t be it. Maybe it’s gastritis? Still, better safe than sorry.”

She spoke casually, without realizing the devastation she’d left behind.

Pregnant.

The word thundered in Gao Tu’s mind, his fingers tightening on the sink. It can’t be. It shouldn’t be. They’d been careful—always careful—except that one night…

His chest tightened, panic flooding through him even as his face remained calm. With effort, he gave her a small nod. “You’re right. I’ll get it checked.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur. By noon, Gao Tu couldn’t take it anymore. He filed for leave and slipped out of the office.

When Wenlang heard, he was relieved instead of suspicious. “Finally decided to rest? Good. Do you want me to send someone to drive you home?”

“No need.” Gao Tu shook his head quickly, afraid Wenlang would catch even a hint of his turmoil. “I’ll go by myself. Concentrate on your work first. I’ll text you as soon as I get home, alright?”

Wenlang softened instantly, his lips curving into a smile meant only for him. “Alright. But message me, or I’ll come after you myself.”

“Mm.” Gao Tu nodded, forcing a steady voice.

He turned away before Wenlang could see the tremor in his hands, the storm clawing its way through his chest. He needed answers. He needed proof. Only then could he even begin to decide what to do next.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Gao Tu sat hunched at the corner of the bed, staring at the test strip in his hand. Two lines. No matter how many times he repeated the test, no matter how many brands of kits he tried, the result didn’t change. Pregnant.

His hand trembled slightly. Was this a blessing… or a curse? His life had only just begun to feel steady, peaceful. Now a storm loomed over the horizon, and he couldn’t tell if it would carry him into the light or tear everything apart.

Wenlang loved him—of that he had no doubt. But love didn’t always mean readiness. They had only been together a few months. Gao Tu had carried his feelings for a decade, but Wenlang… how long had Wenlang truly loved him? Were they ready for a child, for a family, for the upheaval that would come with it?

He wanted answers, but fear chained his tongue. What if Wenlang wasn’t ready? What if he was against it? What if…

The sound of the front door opening cut his thoughts short. Panic jolted through him. Quickly, he shoved the test kits into the bottom drawer of the bedside table and slipped under the blanket, heart still hammering.

“Gao Tu…” Wenlang’s voice was soft, tinged with relief as he pushed open the bedroom door. He exhaled when he saw him lying there.

Gao Tu turned his head, blinking slowly, trying to look as though he had just woken.

“You said you’d text when you got home,” Wenlang said, walking over to sit at the edge of the bed. His hand brushed Gao Tu’s hair gently, eyes warm with worry. “You didn’t. I was worried.”

“I’m sorry… I was tired and fell asleep,” Gao Tu murmured. The lie sat heavy on his tongue, but it was the only shield he had.

Wenlang frowned, clearly unconvinced but unwilling to push. “Don’t tire yourself out like this. Take as many days off as you want. Let’s see who dares to complain.” His tone was almost childish, like he was threatening the world for Gao Tu’s sake.

Despite the weight in his chest, Gao Tu couldn’t help but laugh softly at his alpha.

“Wenlang, you shouldn’t abuse your authority like that. And I’m fine, really. Just nauseous.” He reached out, threading their fingers together, needing the grounding warmth of his touch.

Wenlang scooped him up without a word, holding him close as though he could shield him from the world itself. His pheromones seeped out in a gentle tide, the rich iris scent wrapping around Gao Tu, smoothing the frayed edges of his nerves. Whatever storm brewed in his bunny’s heart, Wenlang would let the iris swallow it whole until only peace remained.

He could tell something was wrong. Gao Tu had never been a good liar—how could someone who once hid his very nature from the world still be so transparent? Maybe it was just that Wenlang knew him too well now, the tiny pauses, the way his eyes refused to meet his own.

But he didn’t press. He wouldn’t force. He could wait. He would wait until his bunny decided to crawl out of his hiding place and let him in.

For now, Wenlang guessed. Perhaps Gao Tu’s unease was tied to Gao Ming. That bastard’s shadow had lingered over Gao Tu too long already. Wenlang had been biding his time, planning, but maybe it was time to move sooner. To erase Gao Ming before his bunny had to even hear his name again.

In Wenlang’s arms, Gao Tu let himself sink into the embrace, breathing in the familiar thickness of iris that always surrounded him like a shield. His own sage stirred in response, quiet but steady, recognizing its mate—the wolf who would guard him, even from the truth he dared not yet speak.

Both stayed there unmoving, lost in each other’s warmth, until the silence was broken by the low growl of Gao Tu’s stomach. He froze, but Wenlang only chuckled softly, brushing it off like it was nothing.

“Gao Tu, what do you want to eat? I’ll order it.”

His voice was steady, reassuring. Gao Tu almost wished he could bury himself in that steadiness forever. Instead, shame prickled at him. He wasn’t hungry, not really. His stomach had been unsettled for days—but it wasn’t just his stomach anymore. His hand twitched against the blanket at the thought.

“Something light,” he murmured, cheeks heating with a guilt Wenlang couldn’t possibly understand.

Wenlang didn’t press him. He simply nodded, already scrolling through his phone, deciding on porridge with the same calm certainty he did everything. 

“I’ll go take a shower,” Wenlang said after placing the order, kissing his forehead before heading to the bathroom.

The sound of running water filled the apartment, but for Gao Tu, silence settled heavier than ever. He lay there staring at the ceiling, one hand creeping to his stomach. His throat tightened.

He couldn’t pretend this wasn’t happening. He couldn’t cling to the quiet comfort of Wenlang’s presence and hide the truth. Sooner or later, Wenlang had to know. The thought of keeping it from him—it twisted like a knife. It wasn’t just his future on the line. It was theirs.

Fear coiled in his chest. What if Wenlang wasn’t ready? What if this changed everything? What if the warmth he had finally found slipped away the moment he spoke?

And yet—he couldn’t not tell him.

He swallowed hard, pressing his palm more firmly against his stomach as if anchoring himself.

After dinner. I’ll tell him after dinner. He has to know. Better now than later… better from me than from fate.

The words repeated in his mind like a vow, fragile but unyielding.
-----------------------------------------------------

The dinner was unusually quiet. Wenlang could feel the tension radiating from Gao Tu, a storm he didn’t yet understand but could sense in every careful movement, every avoided glance. He wanted to know, to shield his omega from whatever was weighing on him—but he restrained himself. If Gao Tu wasn’t ready to speak, Wenlang would wait. He would bear the silence, because the moment Gao Tu chose to trust him, he would be there.

As soon as the plates were cleared away, Gao Tu’s hands lingered in his lap. His chest rose and fell once, twice, before he drew in a deep breath.

“Wenlang… I need to tell you something.”

The words were unsteady, trembling, but the determination behind them rang clear.

Wenlang’s heart stilled. He felt the tension coiling around his omega, and without a word, he knelt beside him, taking his hands in his own. Anchoring him. Reassuring him. Whatever storm Gao Tu carried, he would bear it with him.

“What is it?” His voice was quiet but unshakable, carrying the promise: whatever it is, I’m here.

Gao Tu hesitated. The air between them grew unbearably heavy. Gao Tu's mind fumbling for words. Then, finally, he let it fall meeting Wenlang's gaze.

“I’m pregnant.”

The words hung between them, fragile, irreversible.

For Gao Tu, the silence that followed was agony. He searched Wenlang’s face, desperate for something—anything. Disappointment. Anger. Fear. Even the smallest flicker that would tell him how badly he had upended their world. But Wenlang’s expression was blank, unreadable.

Inside, Wenlang reeled. Of all the truths he had prepared himself to hear—this had never crossed his mind. Gao Tu… carrying his child? His chest tightened as fragments of his past surged forward. He had long ago given up on family, on warmth, on ever being more than a lone wolf. He thought he’d live and die alone. Until Gao Tu.

He remembered their first meeting—the stubborn pride in Gao Tu’s eyes, the way he carried himself with dignity even when surrounded by storms. Wenlang had been captivated from the start, though he buried it. First because he thought Gao Tu was a beta, then because he believed Gao Tu already belonged to someone else. It wasn’t until he had him in his arms that he realized—this man had always been his.

And now… now Gao Tu was carrying something of his. Theirs.

Wenlang had never wanted children. He had never even considered the possibility. But if it was Gao Tu’s child, then it was different. Everything was different. This wasn’t some vague notion of a family he never wanted—this was Gao Tu’s blood, his smile, his stubborn will made flesh. Their child.

Wenlang’s throat tightened. He tightened his grip on Gao Tu’s trembling hand.

His past haunted him, but he would not let it ruin his present—his Gao Tu, his—he dared to say—family.

The stretching silence made Gao Tu’s heart twist, but he waited, holding onto the smallest hint of reassurance in Wenlang’s presence. He needs time to process it, he told himself, willing to give him that.

Wenlang slowly blinked, the weight of realization settling over him. Determination crept in, quiet but absolute. Words failed him, but he didn’t need them. He gently pressed a soft kiss to the back of Gao Tu’s trembling hands, letting the touch carry all the things he couldn’t yet voice: love, protection, awe, and the unshakable promise that Gao Tu—and their child—were safe in his heart.

Gao Tu exhaled shakily, the tension easing ever so slightly. In that quiet, shared moment, the unspoken bond between them strengthened, solid and enduring, a foundation for the new life growing within them, and the life they would build together.

"I love you. All of you," Wenlang said, burying his face in Gao Tu's hands, inhaling the grounding scent of sage that steadied him more than anything ever had.

For a heartbeat Gao Tu couldn’t breathe. He had braced himself for anger, for disappointment, for the crack in Wenlang’s gaze that would shatter him—but it never came. Instead there was warmth, devotion, a tenderness so unshakable it made his chest ache.

"I love you too. With everything I have," he whispered, voice trembling not from fear now but from release. The weight he’d carried since seeing those two lines seemed to dissolve, leaving behind something new—fragile but hopeful.

The storm in his mind finally quieted as the iris wrapped around him, steady and sure. He leaned into it, allowing himself to believe, for the first time, that maybe this wasn’t the end of their peace but the beginning of something more.

Tears started slipping from Gao Tu's eyes as relief flooded him, too heavy to hold back any longer. His chest heaved with a soft sniffle, betraying all the fear and doubt he had carried in silence.

Wenlang’s head snapped up at the sound, and his chest clenched tight. In an instant, he was on his feet, cupping Gao Tu’s damp face with his hands, thumbs brushing away the tears that only seemed to come faster. The sight of his omega crying—his Gao Tu breaking—was unbearable.

“Gao Tu….” His voice cracked, words failing him for a heartbeat. He had never been afraid of battles or rivals, but this—seeing Gao Tu like this—shook him to his core.

“I... I was scared...... Wenlang, I was scared,” Gao Tu confessed, his voice trembling through sobs. “I was afraid that you would hate me,....that you would push me aside.”

The words pierced straight through Wenlang, like knives carving into his chest.

“Gao Tu, I could never hate you. I can not live without you,” Wenlang said firmly, pulling him close, his voice shaking with intensity. “It’s true that I don’t like children but if the child is yours, I will burn the world if it comes too close to it.”

The moment the words reached him, Gao Tu broke down completely. The dam inside him shattered, years of restraint and fear unraveling all at once. He sobbed harder, clutching at Wenlang as though he might disappear, the relief almost too much to bear. This was more than he had ever dreamed of—he had never dared to hope for this, but Wenlang was ready to give him everything he had.

Wenlang held him as if he would never let go, anchoring him against the storm that finally spilled free. He let Gao Tu cry out every fear, every trembling thought, his embrace steady and unyielding. He said nothing more, only held him tighter, letting the omega know without words that he was safe, he was loved, and he would never have to carry his burdens alone again.

The night wrapped around them, silent and heavy, but in Wenlang’s arms Gao Tu felt lighter than he had in years.

Wenlang pressed a kiss against Gao Tu's temple, a vow sealed without words as the world kept moving through the night.

Chapter Text

Wenlang had already laid the groundwork. In truth, he didn’t have to do much — Gao Ming was a gambling addict, the kind who would crawl into a pit with his own hands. All Wenlang had done was smooth the dirt so he could sink faster. He made sure quick loans were within reach, the kind offered by men who smiled with gold teeth and carried knives in their pockets. Loans from sharks who answered, quietly but absolutely, to him.

Because Wenlang was no stranger to that world. He might have left his country behind, but he was born of County P, a place where guns gleamed brighter than badges and the mafia ruled louder than any crown. He had grown up in the shadow of its ruthless uncrowned king, carved sharp by violence and survival. He had seen what happened to men who thought luck could outplay the house.

The underworld had taught him its language — debts, blood, silence — and it had never quite let him go. Jianghu pretended to be a place of order, but it was never free from shadow dealings, and Wenlang still had threads knotted into every corner of it.

He had called on one in particular — a loan shark known for his merciless way of collecting. The man would stand at the front line, but the gold came from Wenlang’s hand. Enough to drown Gao Ming in irreversible debt, enough to strip him bare until he could never lift his head again.

Wenlang’s chest tightened at the thought. This wasn’t simple revenge. It was a line in the sand, a warning to a man who had once been ready to sell his own blood. Gao Ming would never again touch what Wenlang held in his arms — his sunshine, his Gao Tu.
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The texts started sooner than he expected. Gao Tu’s phone buzzed constantly, each notification lighting up the screen like a flare. Wenlang didn’t need to see the sender — he already knew. Every time Gao Tu’s eyes flicked to the messages, stress tightened his jaw, curled his fingers. Wenlang wanted to crush Gao Ming where he stood, to make him pay for causing even a flicker of worry in his bunny. But he didn’t want Gao Tu to know. Not yet. Gao Tu didn’t need to see the dark side of him.

Gao Tu had tried to keep that darkness hidden. He had told Wenlang about his gambling-addicted father, but he hadn’t revealed the truth beneath it — that the same man continued to hound him, demanding money, pulling him into a debt he could never shake. Gao Tu had grown independent, supporting himself and his sister, yet he could not escape his father’s reach. The law offered no shield; there had been no violence, only “family issues.” Gao Tu had insisted on shielding Wenlang from it, refusing to let him become entangled in the mess.

But Wenlang already knew. Not just the surface, not just the outlines of the danger — he knew everything. And more than that, he had already willingly stepped into the same storm Gao Tu had tried to hide.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

"Gao Tu, you need to rest a bit," Wenlang said, pulling the tablet from Gao Tu's hands. They had finished dinner, but Gao Tu had insisted on finishing some pending work, stubbornly sitting on the sofa, reviewing a document for errors.

Wenlang waited patiently for ten minutes, but eventually, his patience ran out. His bunny was far too dedicated to his work. Gently setting the tablet down, he scooped Gao Tu up in his arms before he could protest.

"Wenlang..." Gao Tu started, but Wenlang quickly cut him off.

"You’re going to sleep, whether you like it or not," he said firmly, carrying him to the bedroom as Gao Tu wrapped his hands around him.

Gao Tu couldn’t help but appreciate this protective side of Wenlang—his wolf, ever watchful.

"Gao Tu, you do know you’re pregnant, right? You have to take care of yourself," Wenlang scolded as he laid him down on the bed.

"I am taking care of myself. You’re just overdoing it," Gao Tu replied, addressing the stubborn alpha in front of him. It was true—he had been careful to eat well and get enough rest. He prioritized his health now more than ever. It was just that Wenlang was far too protective. He wanted Gao Tu to take time off for the pregnancy, but Gao Tu had refused. He didn’t like the idea of staying home all day, and it was still too early for maternity leave. Sure, he experienced a bit of morning sickness, but that was all. Still, Wenlang panicked every time he looked even a little pale, like one of those medical monitors that beeped at the slightest fluctuation in heart rate.

"You have to be more selfish," Wenlang murmured, pressing a feather-light kiss to Gao Tu’s temple as he tucked him in. Sliding the sheets around them, he drew Gao Tu close, wrapping his arms securely around him. The faint pulse of his pheromones wove around them, a quiet, invisible shield that made Gao Tu’s heart ease into his chest.

"I already have everything I could ever ask for," Gao Tu whispered, nuzzling into Wenlang’s embrace, a small, satisfied smile brushing his lips. The warmth of Wenlang’s body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, grounded him in a way words never could.

Wenlang’s chest tightened at the sight, his heart fluttering as he drank in the sight of his omega’s trust. He raised a hand slowly, cupping Gao Tu’s cheek, thumb brushing gently over his skin. Leaning in, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, every heartbeat threaded with the silent promise to always be there.

Gao Tu kissed him back, slow and deliberate, matching Wenlang’s intensity, letting their breaths mingle in the shared warmth of their closeness. In that quiet, cocooned moment, no words were needed—their promise lived in the press of lips, the tilt of heads, and the steady, unspoken rhythm of two hearts perfectly in sync.

Wenlang pressed his forehead to Gao Tu’s, lingering there, letting the steady heat of his body seep into him. Their breaths mingled, slow and synchronized, as Wenlang tightened his arms, drawing him impossibly closer. He inhaled the familiar scent of sage that always grounded him—once a smell he claimed to dislike, now one he couldn’t imagine being without, not for a single second.

"Sleep," Wenlang murmured, his voice low and firm, yet softened with care. His fingers traced slow, comforting circles along Gao Tu’s back, each movement deliberate, protective—like shielding him from the world.

Gao Tu’s eyes fluttered closed, surrendering completely to the warmth and safety enveloping him. One hand curled against Wenlang’s chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt, as if anchoring himself to this moment, this alpha, this sanctuary. He let his body melt into Wenlang’s embrace, each heartbeat a silent promise of trust, of devotion, of love that needed no words.

Wenlang’s chest rose and fell against him, a steady, grounding rhythm. In the quiet intimacy, every brush of skin, every subtle shift, spoke louder than any words could—a shared refuge, a bond neither would ever let go.

As Gao Tu slipped into sleep, Wenlang stayed awake, watching him breathe—slow, even, utterly at peace in his arms. Only when he was sure Gao Tu would not stir did he slide out of bed. It was time to finish the game.

Gao Ming was still bleeding money in the same den that had swallowed him whole. Wenlang had already arranged for the loan shark to demand payment. At first he hadn’t wanted to involve himself directly, but Gao Ming needed to understand exactly why he was being punished.

By the time Wenlang arrived, Gao Ming had already been dragged to the loan shark’s lair. The room was tucked away in a desolate quarter of town—one of those places people crossed the street to avoid. The air smelled metallic and stale, like old fights and worse. In the center of the grime-streaked floor, Gao Ming knelt, begging for time he did not deserve.

The loan shark raised his chin when he saw Wenlang. “Mr. Shen,” he said, oiled smile spread wide. “You didn’t have to trouble yourself. I could’ve finished this.”

Wenlang let the remark hang. He knew the underworld’s language—flattery was a salve for men who feared more powerful hands. Cheng Yu stood nearby, waiting like a shadow.

“You can wait outside,” Wenlang instructed, voice measured. The loan shark blinked, then obeyed without argument.

When the doors shut, Wenlang turned to the man on his knees. Gao Ming’s face was a map of bruises—split lips, a darkening eye, cuts that the light could not redeem.

“Do you know who I am?” Wenlang asked, calm but cold.

Gao Ming stared up at him for a long moment, then shook his head.

“My name is Shen Wenlang,” he said slowly, watching for every twitch. “Your son—Gao Tu—works at my company.”

Recognition lit Gao Ming’s face like a match. “Gao Tu’s boss?” he croaked. “He can pay my debts—he’s my son. He’ll take care of it, I promise. He won’t let his father drown.”

Each plea added fuel to the furnace already burning in Wenlang. He inhaled, steady and controlled; mercy would not be given here. He needed to know, first, how rotten the man truly was.

“Did you know your son is an omega?” Wenlang let the question drop like a weight.

Gao Ming’s expression flickered—surprise, then scorn. “What… an omega? I didn’t know.” His voice went slick with immediate scheming. “Good. Even better. You can take him for my debts. Do what you want—sell him, send him away. I’ll make sure no one asks. He’s mine to pawn.”

Gao Ming’s words were blunt and practiced, delivered without shame. He showed no pity, no fear. He was ready to trade his own child for a quick salvation. The revelation was meant to hurt; it left a taste like copper in Wenlang’s mouth.

Wenlang watched him for a beat too long, cataloguing the lines of that face, the ease with which the man had abandoned a son. Whatever anger burned inside him now was not for noise—it was a slow, precise fire. Gao Ming had proved himself worthless the moment he put coin above his child. Wenlang’s hands remained still at his sides, but his eyes were as sharp as a blade.

He stepped forward, the next move a quiet promise: this would not be forgotten, and the punishment would fit the crime.

“You want to sell Gao Tu—my Gao Tu.” Wenlang’s voice was laced with ice. “You dared to think of hurting my omega.”

Gao Ming blinked, startled. “What do you mean, your omega? He’s just your employee,” he said, clearly failing to see the storm he’d summoned. “He’s my son and mine to sell.”

That was all it took to shatter the last of Wenlang’s restraint. He stepped forward and his fist came down on Gao Ming’s sorry face.

“Yours to sell?” Wenlang’s words were a low, dangerous. “You still don’t get it, do you? Gao Tu is my omega—my mate. Anyone who dares to hurt him will face the consequences.”

Gao Ming crumpled where he fell, blood welling at his mouth. The taste of iron filled his tongue. One clean strike from Wenlang had knocked the air from him; the message had landed. Yet shame did not follow—only brazen insolence.

“You—plan on marrying my son? You’d treat your father-in-law like this?” Gao Ming spat, grasping for a card that might save him.

“You dared call yourself his father after trying to sell him a moment ago,” Wenlang said, voice cutting. He raised his hand as if to strike again, but Cheng Yu’s firm grip stopped him. This was jianghu, not Country P—there were rules Wenlang could not fully ignore, even now.

Held back, Wenlang’s fury cooled into something harder and more deliberate. He let the heat of it braid with the calm of a man who intends punishment measured, permanent, and precise.

"I will tell Gao Tu," Gao Ming spat, blood staining his teeth as he sneered. "He will hate you for hurting his father. He will leave you. You think he’ll stay once he knows what you’ve done?"

Wenlang’s lips curved into a cold, humorless smile, a low chuckle slipping past them. His eyes, however, were merciless, sharp as a blade poised at Gao Ming’s throat. "You underestimate him," Wenlang began, voice calm but threaded with lethal intent—yet before he could finish, the heavy silence of the room broke.

The door creaked open.

"I already know," Gao Tu said, his voice cutting through the tension like glass against stone. He stood in the doorway, framed by the dim light of the hall, his gaze fixed unflinchingly on Wenlang.

The room seemed to still at his words. Even the shadows felt heavier as Gao Tu stepped inside, calm yet commanding, carrying with him the quiet authority Wenlang knew so well.

Gao Tu wasn’t oblivious. He had spent ten years loving the man before him, ten years learning every tick and habit. He had noticed from the start—the secret texts, the fabricated meetings, the flimsy excuses.

Ten years of hiding, of pretending to be nothing more than an ordinary beta secretary, when in truth he had been Wenlang’s most steadfast companion. He wasn’t oblivious—he never had been. He had seen the late-night messages, noticed the rushed departures, the excuses that made little sense. Wenlang had thought he could shield him, but Gao Tu had always been watching.

Wenlang had forgotten who Gao Tu really was. The same man who had hidden his own identity for a decade under Wenlang’s nose. The one who had remained by his side as a beta, loyal and patient. The man who knew Wenlang’s entire schedule by heart. The secretary who was more than a shadow—he was Wenlang’s most trusted confidant. There was no way Gao Tu had swallowed the lies Wenlang fed him these past weeks.

At first, Gao Tu had chosen silence. He trusted Wenlang, even if he disliked the secrets. He thought, perhaps, there was something Wenlang could not yet share—until the day he entered the office unexpectedly and heard his father’s name spoken in a hushed, clipped tone on Wenlang’s lips. Wenlang had hung up immediately, but Gao Tu had heard it clear as day.

He didn’t know the full depth of Wenlang’s knowledge, but he knew it ran deeper than the surface lies. He had seen the signs pile up. The demands for money that no longer matched Gao Ming’s usual habits, the sudden change in Wenlang’s behavior—his alpha, once unbearably clingy after discovering the pregnancy, now forcing distance, avoiding Gao Tu’s eyes as though every glance might give something away.

Gao Tu had noticed everything.

That very night, when Wenlang had tucked him in and thought he had drifted into sleep, Gao Tu had quietly slipped from bed. He had followed, silent and determined, his suspicion solidifying into certainty. The guards at the door had hesitated, but not one dared stop him. They knew his place in Wenlang’s life—knew how untouchable he was in the alpha’s eyes. though Surprised, they guided him down the corridor, leading him here.

And now he stood, no longer the secretary in shadows, no longer the son weighed down by shame. He was Wenlang’s omega, his mate, and his eyes burned with a quiet strength as he looked between the man who had abandoned him and the man who had fought to protect him.

The silence that followed was suffocating, filled only with the faint drip of blood from Gao Ming’s split lip and the heavy thrum of Wenlang’s restrained fury.

“Gao Tu, what—” Wenlang started, taking a step toward him. But one sharp look from the omega froze him in place. Wenlang swallowed hard, his throat tight. Moments ago he had been a wolf baring his fangs, but under Gao Tu’s piercing gaze, he looked more like a scolded pup. The earlier arrogance, the fury, all melted into nothing.

“We’ll discuss this later,” Gao Tu said, voice steady, almost unnervingly calm, before turning his gaze to Gao Ming.

“Dad, did you really mean everything you just said?” Gao Tu asked, every syllable wrapped in quiet restraint, masking the storm within him.

“What’s wrong with what I said, you ungrateful brat?” Gao Ming spat, blood staining his teeth. “You’re an omega. Useless—just like your mother. She couldn’t give me money, and neither can you. If I’d known sooner, I’d already be rich.”

The words dripped with venom. Hopeless. Rotten to the core.

Wenlang’s rage roared back like fire breaking through steel, his fists trembling at his sides. But he didn’t dare move—not here, not with Gao Tu’s eyes still on him.

Gao Tu, however, didn’t flinch. He had expected this. He knew his father. He knew how far the man could sink. Yet hearing it aloud—so raw, so shameless—still cut deep. His chest tightened, but his face betrayed nothing. He inhaled slowly, forcing calm back into his veins, before turning his gaze onto Wenlang.

“What were you planning to do with him?” Gao Tu’s voice was calm, almost too calm, every word heavy, deliberate.

Wenlang’s heart twisted at the question. He had known this moment would come—that Gao Tu would learn the truth sooner or later—but he hadn’t expected this composure. He knew how kind his omega was, how gentle even after years of scars. Gao Tu had still sent money to this man, still tried to care despite everything.

And now, Wenlang couldn’t read him at all. The calmness was foreign, unsettling. Was it disappointment? Anger? Something else entirely? For the first time in years, Wenlang was afraid—not of the underworld, not of enemies, but of the silence in his omega’s eyes.

Wenlang hesitated, knowing there was no use in hiding anything anymore. His throat tightened as though the words themselves resisted leaving his mouth.

“I was going to send him to an establishment in Country P,” he confessed, voice low and ragged, heavy with shame. “He would have been forced to work off his debt until the end of his days—just as he once intended to do with you.”

The room seemed to grow colder with each word. Gao Tu stood still, his expression unreadable, but his silence carried more weight than any outburst could have. His fingers curled loosely at his side, not in fear but in restraint. He didn’t need Wenlang to explain what kind of place it was; he knew far too well.

When Gao Tu finally spoke, his voice was calm—eerily calm—cutting sharper than a scalp.

“So that’s what you thought was best?” he asked, each syllable measured. His gaze didn’t waver, pinning Wenlang in place. “To treat him with the same cruelty he showed me? To take justice into your own hands and drag yourself into the same filth he wallows in?”

Wenlang flinched, his earlier fury and righteousness stripped bare. The shame in his chest deepened under Gao Tu’s steady stare. He wanted to protest, to say it wasn’t the same—but the look in his omega’s eyes left no room for excuses.

Gao Tu drew a slow breath, then turned away from Wenlang and faced Gao Ming. His father’s sneer hadn’t faded, arrogance still etched in his features. Gao Tu studied him, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence—an empty, suffocating quiet.

“You’ve made yourself very clear, dad,” Gao Tu said at last, his voice calm but impenetrable. “You see me as nothing. You see my existence as wasted potential because it doesn’t serve your greed. Very well. From this day forward, you will have nothing from me. No money. No contact. No acknowledgement. You wanted to sell me, to discard me. Consider yourself discarded.”

Gao Ming’s eyes widened, panic flickering through his facade. He opened his mouth, but Gao Tu’s hand lifted slightly—an elegant, controlled gesture that silenced him more effectively than any blow.

“You may live or fall by your own choices, but you will never drag me down with you again,” Gao Tu continued, each word like the closing of a lock. “I will not play the obedient son you can manipulate. I am not your shield, not your servant, and not your prey. Not anymore.”

Wenlang’s chest ached as he listened, torn between pride and fear. He had seen Gao Tu’s quiet strength before, but this calm, decisive severing—it was terrifying in its finality.

Gao Tu turned back to him then, and though his expression remained unreadable, his eyes burned with a quiet, unyielding fire.

“As for you, Wenlang,” he said softly, but the softness carried its own sharpness. “We will discuss later why you thought it acceptable to hide this from me. But for now, this ends here. No blood. No secrets. He is no longer our concern.”

The authority in Gao Tu’s voice left no room for argument. For once, it was Wenlang who felt like the one being protected, shielded by the omega’s calm, ruthless resolve. And Gao Ming, for the first time, looked small—stripped of his power, forced to confront the truth that his son had finally, irrevocably, cut him off.

“You dare cut me off?” Gao Ming sneered, blood still staining the corner of his mouth. His voice carried the desperation of a man who had already lost but refused to admit it. “You think it’s that easy to get rid of me? You think you can keep me away? Don’t forget—your sister is still in the hospital. I know exactly where she is. If I have to go down, I’ll drag you with me.”

“You can try.”

The words left Gao Tu’s lips like steel. There was no tremor, no hesitation, only a certainty that made even Wenlang’s breath catch. The omega standing before them was no longer the quiet son who had endured humiliation and abuse in silence. He was no longer the man who had buried his head in work, disguising himself as a beta to escape his fate. He was Wenlang’s mate—loved, cherished, and protected—and that love had carved out a strength he never thought possible.

Wenlang’s love had wrapped around him like armor, given him the courage to stand tall. He knew exactly what his alpha was capable of—that was why he had to be the one to stop him from stepping too far. Gao Tu couldn’t let the man who gave him freedom become shackled by blood and crime. Not for his sake. Not ever.

For years, Gao Tu had been filial, carrying burdens alone, sending money to a father who never deserved it, convincing himself it was duty. But duty had its limits. Tonight, he cut the chain himself. Tonight, he refused to let his father drag him back into the pit.

He turned without another glance, his back straight, his steps unwavering. “This ends here.” The words were quiet but absolute as he walked out, leaving silence in his wake.

Gao Ming had not expected defiance, not from the son he thought he owned. Wenlang had not expected such calm fire from the man he loved. For once, the storm inside him was stilled—not by fear, but by the weight of Gao Tu’s unshakable gaze.

Cheng Yu let out a slow breath. There was pride in his eyes as he watched Gao Tu leave. He had known Wenlang for years, long enough to see the storm and fire that burned in him. He had seen countless men fall before that wrath, and never once had he thought Wenlang could be contained. He had stood by Wenlang, closer than a brother, but never had he seen anyone steady Wenlang with a single look. It wasn’t weakness—it was love, powerful enough to tame the raging hell itself.

With no further words, Cheng Yu gave a subtle nod to his men. They seized Gao Ming without hesitation, dragging him back toward the squalor he called home. There was no need for punishment here—Gao Ming had already destroyed himself. The debts, the enemies, the hollow arrogance—they would swallow him soon enough. Cheng Yu didn’t need Wenlang’s command to know this was the cleanest way to end it.

When the room emptied, Wenlang remained rooted to the spot, his chest tight. The fury was gone, but in its place was a different kind of fear. He had faced blades, guns, and the darkness of Country P without hesitation—but tonight he feared only one thing: the silence that awaited him at home.

His omega had left without a word, without a crack in his calm. 

For the first time in his life, Wenlang feared going home. He didn’t know what words awaited him there, what judgment his mate would lay down. All he knew was that Gao Tu’s silence had cut deeper than any blade, and he would have to face it.

So he did the only thing he could—he followed.
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Wenlang stood rigid by the sofa, holding his breath, not daring to sit. Across from him, Gao Tu leaned back, gaze fixed on him with an icy calm that masked a molten rage burning beneath his glasses.

Gao Tu was not one to lose his temper—but when he did, even the devil himself would retreat.He had spent years protecting himself, long before Wenlang had entered his life. In no way was he a weak omega. And now, for the first time, he felt a fury so deep, so absolute, that it made his chest tighten and his limbs hum with restrained power.

Before him stood his alpha—his love, his world, the father of the child in his womb. The man who had almost crossed an irreversible line. Rage and disappointment tangled inside him, burning hotter than anything his father had ever made him feel.

This stupid, stubborn alpha had thought the best solution was to dive headfirst into the same dirt that had haunted Gao Tu for years. His words had always acted before his brain, but now his actions had matched them—and the consequences could have been catastrophic.

Wenlang, who had stared down guns, blades, and the cruelty of Country P without blinking, now stood frozen. He had never faced the full force of his omega’s fury until this moment. The man feared by many looked like nothing more than a guilty child, caught red-handed, afraid that even the slightest movement might set off an atomic explosion.

And Wenlang knew, with bone-deep certainty, that the power his omega held in that instant was beyond anything he could ever command.

Wenlang’s breath hitched and then stuttered. The room shrank until the sofa, the lamp, even the air itself felt unbearably close. He could feel sweat bead at the nape of his neck and trickle down his spine, each drop a small confession he could not take back. His hands, clenched so tight at his sides they ached, trembled now with a new, helpless energy. Every careful armor he wore in the world —the iron calm, the sharpened jaw, the dominance that kept men in line—crumbled into nothing under Gao Tu’s gaze.

Sound thinned to a single, cruel thread: the ticking of the wall clock, the faint rustle of fabric as Gao Tu shifted, Wenlang’s own pulse roaring in his ears. Memories crowded him all at once — the quiet mornings with Gao Tu asleep against his chest, the soft laugh that had once dissolved his worst fury, the tiny proof of their future stirring somewhere inside Gao Tu. Each memory felt painfully fragile, as if a single wrong word could snap it forever.

Gao Tu’s calm was no longer simply composed; it had teeth. Fury lay beneath the surface—cold, deliberate, and vast—like a winter lake cloaked in glass: smooth to the eye, lethal if you broke it. Wenlang could imagine the hurt that sharpened that fury: the years of tolerating abuse, the secret remittances, the quiet apologies in the dark. He had given Gao Tu safety and love, but tonight safety had a price Wenlang had almost paid with his own hands.

The alpha who once moved through danger with the ease of a born predator now looked small and ridiculous, like a child caught reaching for a candle over dry paper. He could feel how utterly his world depended on the slightest motion of Gao Tu’s lips. If Gao Tu turned away, if Gao Tu said the single thing Wenlang dreaded, the life Wenlang had known—the family, the future, the gentle mornings—could fracture irreparably.

Silence stretched, thick and heavy, until it felt like a presence in the room. Wenlang counted the ticks and the beats and felt each one needle him. He waited, every tendon taut, as Gao Tu’s chest rose and fell in the hush. The next breath, the next word—whatever it would be—hung between them like a verdict.

“Shen Wenlang.” Gao Tu’s voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and precise, the scent of sage wrapping the room in a suffocating haze.

The voice that had once grounded Wenlang now knotted his chest in tension. The familiar scent, usually soft and comforting, pressed down on him like a storm of invisible arrows, each one aimed at his very heart. He didn’t dare release his pheromones, not even unconsciously. His breaths came short, uneven, unready for what was about to come.

“Look at me,” Gao Tu commanded, his authority firm, unyielding—a power he had never wielded before.

Wenlang froze, unable to meet his omega’s gaze, terrified of the fire he knew was burning behind those eyes. There was something almost comical in the scene—the so-called big bad wolf reduced to a trembling puppy in front of his furious bunny.

But disobedience was unthinkable. With trembling hands and a racing heart, he lifted his gaze. Fear shone there, raw and unguarded, more intense than anything he had ever felt. Not when his omega father abandoned him. Not when his alpha father had left him to fend for himself. Not when he had fled his home country to start over.

“How long did you think you could hide it from me?” Gao Tu’s voice cut like ice, every word laced with restrained fury. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice if my father vanished without a trace, despite the fact that he’s an inhuman bastard? President Shen… did you truly not understand what you almost did?”

Wenlang’s chest constricted, a cold weight pressing down on him. The distance in Gao Tu’s words—using his title instead of his name—was deliberate, a sharp reminder that trust had been tested and almost broken. Wenlang couldn’t argue. He couldn’t lie. He felt the full, suffocating weight of what he had almost unleashed.

“For years I’ve kept my distance from that filth,” Gao Tu continued, his voice cold but sharp, slicing through the room like a blade, “and you...you thought the best idea was to dive headfirst into the very same filth I despised most. Did you honestly think I would be satisfied, watching you do what I feared most? Did you really believe I could accept that you had brought the same terror I once endured onto someone else—even if that person is my worthless excuse of a father? Did you think I would gladly accept that my worst nightmare had been inflicted, by the person I love most, on another? Did you really think you could come back from crossing that line?”

His hands clenched at his sides as he stood up, the veins at his neck standing out. His fury was palpable, but beneath it, a different, sharper pain pressed at him—the fear that this, this moment, could shatter everything he loved. “Do you have any idea,” he hissed, “what it would have meant if you… if I had lost you in the process? The person I’ve trusted, the person I’ve loved with everything I am… do you know what it would have felt like to see that taken from me?”

Wenlang’s eyes fell, unable to meet the storm in Gao Tu’s gaze. He had faced enemies, threats, and death itself, but none of it had ever terrified him like this—the thought that he could have destroyed his own bond with the omega who owns his heart and everything he had, the future they were building together, the child growing inside Gao Tu.

“Did you think I could simply forgive that?” Gao Tu’s voice dropped, cold and trembling with restrained emotion. “That the terror you almost inflicted would be nothing more than a mistake I could overlook? That the line you almost crossed… would mean nothing?”

The room seemed to shrink around them, every heartbeat, every breath, magnified.

Gao Tu’s eyes glimmered with molten intensity, a mixture of rage, fear, and unbearable love. Even in his fury, the fear of losing Wenlang—the man who had shown him patience, care, and unconditional love—burned like fire beneath the surface, lending his words a power that could shatter stone.

Wenlang’s knees felt weak, but he forced himself to remain standing. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, each inhale tasting like guilt and fear. He had faced countless dangers, unflinching, but now the threat wasn’t guns or blades—it was the possibility of losing Gao Tu, of shattering everything they had spent so long building.

“I… I—” Wenlang began, fumbling for words. Nothing he could say would undo what he had almost done. He was the alpha, the protector, the man who had always prided himself as the protector, yet here he was, trembling in front of his omega, stripped bare by his own recklessness.

Gao Tu’s gaze bore into him, ice and fire intertwined. For a heartbeat, the fury seemed endless, stretching through the room like a living thing. Wenlang felt it pressing against him, a weight that could crush him if he faltered. And yet, beneath it, he sensed the pulse of love, of care, that had always been the foundation of their bond.

“I'm sorry,” Wenlang finally whispered, voice rough, almost broken. “I never wanted to—never meant for this to happen. I didn't think it through. I just wanted to handle it before it reached you. I wanted to protect you from him. I never though of how it would affect you. I'm sorry Gao Tu, please forgive me”

Gao Tu’s shoulders tightened, but his hands remained at his sides. His lips pressed into a thin line as he listened, the anger still there, raw, but the fear that had clawed at his chest for moments before softened slightly. He could see the alpha he loved—the man who had always carried him, protected him, loved him—standing there, exposed and trembling with guilt.

“I know what you’re capable of, Wenlang,” Gao Tu said finally, his voice still sharp, but steadier now. “And that’s exactly why I had to stop you. I won’t let you cross that line—no matter how justified you think it is. If you ever put me in that position again… I won’t forgive it.”

Wenlang’s breath hitched again, relief and terror mingling as he nodded, swallowing hard. “I… I understand. I swear, I won’t. I’ll never put you in that position. never again.”

For the first time in what felt like hours, Gao Tu’s rigid posture softened. The molten fury subdued just enough to allow a flicker of warmth into his gaze. “Good. Because you’re my world. And I won’t let you destroy that. Not for anyone, not even for my sake. Do you understand?”

Wenlang’s knees gave way, and he knelt, steadying himself as he reached out slowly. His hand hovered just inches from Gao Tu’s arm, trembling. “Yes, I do. I’m sorry, baby. I—I—”

Gao Tu finally stepped forward, closing the distance between them, his hand brushing against Wenlang’s. The touch was gentle but full of unspoken power—anger, love, and warning all intertwined. Wenlang let out a shaky breath, leaning just slightly into the warmth, feeling the weight of everything—the love, the fury, the fear—settle between them like a promise.

“I know,” Gao Tu whispered. “And I love you. But you… you have to remember that love isn’t an excuse for recklessness.”

Wenlang closed his eyes, letting the words sink in, letting himself feel the terror and the relief at the same time. He had been brought to his knees, not by an enemy, but by the one he loved most.

Although the storm had calmed, Wenlang still didn’t dare move. His bunny hovered above him, the fire in his eyes still sharp, a silent reminder that forgiveness did not erase the recklessness he had almost committed.

Gao Tu had forgiven him, but that didn’t mean he was off the hook. He deliberately didn’t reach for the hand Wenlang had timidly offered, making it clear that Wenlang would have to earn back what he had nearly broken. Wenlang understood—every careful movement, every measured breath, was a tribute to the patience and trust his omega still demanded.

“Sit up,” Gao Tu ordered, his voice calm but unwavering, his gaze piercing. He sank into the sofa beside Wenlang, keeping a deliberate distance, letting Wenlang feel the weight of his authority, the consequences of his near mistake.

Wenlang obeyed without a word, careful not to provoke the lingering storm. Every step, every inch he moved, was a cautious plea, a silent acknowledgment that the closeness he had taken for granted would now be earned again—slowly, deliberately, under the watchful eyes of the omega who held his heart and his world.

Gao Tu slowly placed his hand over his stomach, letting the motion ground him and calm the last flickers of rage, while Wenlang watched his every move, silent and tense.

“It’s late. I’m going to sleep. You’re not allowed in the bedroom until I say so,” Gao Tu said, his voice firmer now but still carrying the weight of his authority. He stood and began to leave, each step deliberate.

Wenlang just nodded, like a puppy, not daring to go against his bunny in this moment. He watched as Gao Tu disappeared into the bedroom, the distance between them heavy and tangible.

A deep sadness settled in Wenlang’s chest. Not being near his bunny was a punishment he felt acutely, but he knew it was one he had earned. His omega’s fury was no joke—he understood that now. His recklessness had brought them to this point, and he would accept whatever punishment Gao Tu deemed necessary. As long as his beloved didn’t leave him, he would ask for nothing more.

Gao Tu lay back on the bed, leaving the door slightly ajar. His hand rested protectively over his stomach, fingers brushing against the life growing inside him.

“Hey… baby,” he murmured softly, voice low and deliberate, “your father… he’s far too reckless for his own good, isn’t he?”

A faint smile tugged at his lips, but his eyes burned with a mixture of longing and restraint. “I know I have to keep him in line… but… ,” he continued, speaking to the baby as much as to himself. “I miss him. I want him close… just for a little while.”

On the other side of the door, Wenlang lay on the sofa in the front hall, refusing to retreat even an inch. His alpha pride was gone, replaced by the ache of missing his bunny. He didn’t dare cross the boundary Gao Tu had set, not yet, but stubbornly stayed as close as he could, willing to endure the quiet punishment his omega had decided was necessary.

Both of them, separated only by a door, longed for each other. Gao Tu’s gaze lingered on the empty space beside the bed, heart tugged between affection and the need to make Wenlang earn back the closeness he had almost destroyed. Wenlang’s eyes were fixed on the bedroom, every breath and movement of his omega magnified in his mind, aching to bridge the gap.

Though neither could move closer without crossing the line, the silence between them pulsed with unspoken emotion—a mixture of longing, frustration, and love that no anger or recklessness could ever break.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Wenlang didn’t dare step into the bedroom, not even to get ready for the day. He lingered at the doorway instead, looking every bit the lost wolf cub, shoulders slouched, waiting for the slightest sign of forgiveness. It wasn’t until Gao Tu finally looked up from the bed and said, “Go on, get in and freshen up,” that Wenlang moved—obediently, cautiously—like a soldier awaiting orders. Gao Tu, meanwhile, slipped into the kitchen to make breakfast, his back deliberately turned.

Even during breakfast, the difference was sharp. Gao Tu placed Wenlang’s plate across the table instead of beside him, like he usually did. The empty space between them felt like a abyss. Wenlang didn’t complain, not once. He simply lowered his head and ate quietly, gaze flickering up to his omega every so often, aching to reach across the distance.

As they moved through the house preparing for the day, Wenlang trailed after Gao Tu like a shadow. He wanted—needed—to slip an arm around his waist, to take his hand, to close the space that gnawed at him. But each time he made the slightest move, Gao Tu’s cool, unyielding gaze froze him in place. That look alone was enough to remind him that forgiveness had to be earned, not begged for.

Work was even worse. Gao Tu avoided him with a precision that bordered on cruel. He only entered the office when absolutely necessary, delivering documents in silence before leaving again, not sparing him even a glance. The steaming cup of tea Wenlang had grown so used to never arrived, the small gesture of care stripped away.

Wenlang endured it all quietly. To anyone else, he was still Shen Wenlang, the fearsome alpha, the man no one dared to cross. But inside, with his bunny’s cold distance cutting into him, he felt helpless—like every second apart was another punishment.

But Gao Tu wasn’t as composed as he appeared. 

From his desk, he caught himself sneaking glances at Wenlang through the crack of the office door, watching the broad shoulders bent over paperwork. The man looked so pitiful, hunched low, every bit of his restless energy bottled up, hands twitching like he didn’t know what to do without something—or someone—to hold. Gao Tu’s chest tightened at the sight, but he forced himself to turn away.

He had decided on this punishment. A small one. A reminder that even Shen Wenlang could not always bulldoze through his wishes. And so, he endured it too—the ache of holding himself apart, the yearning to go in, pour him tea, straighten his tie, press a fleeting kiss against the stern jawline.

Still, every time he thought of that night, Gao Tu’s heart twisted strangely. Reckless, yes. Foolish, absolutely. Wenlang’s plan had been a complete disaster. And yet… behind that disaster was Wenlang’s single-minded determination to protect him, to shield him, to bear the risk alone. The thought made Gao Tu’s lips curve despite himself, a quiet warmth blooming even as he stubbornly turned his face away. His alpha was an idiot, but he was his idiot—an idiot who would throw himself into the fire if it meant keeping him safe.

When Gao Tu stepped into Wenlang’s office with a stack of documents, he didn’t spare more than a clipped, “Sign here.”

Wenlang obeyed immediately, shoulders tense, head bowed as he took the papers and signed in silence. The alpha didn’t even dare let his fingers brush his when he handed them back.

But Gao Tu’s eyes betrayed him. They lingered a beat too long on Wenlang’s face—the dark circles beneath his eyes, the drawn lines of exhaustion, the way his hand trembled almost imperceptibly around the pen. His chest squeezed painfully, and he had to look away before Wenlang could notice the softening in his gaze. He turned sharply on his heel and left, though the echo of his alpha’s quiet obedience followed him down the hall.

More than once afterward, his fingers lingered on the teacup he had brewed for himself. Instinct screamed at him to pour a second one, carry it back to that office, and set it by Wenlang’s hand like he had done countless mornings before. He even caught himself halfway to the door once, cup in hand, before he cursed under his breath and set it back down, cheeks burning at his own weakness.

Still, as he sat back down, his gaze softened against his will. The punishment was supposed to sting, but his heart betrayed him—beating warm, proud, and unbearably tender for the very same man he was trying to scold.

Both of them were trapped in their own stubbornness. Wenlang, who refused to break the rules Gao Tu had set, and Gao Tu, who longed just as much but held firm to his resolve.

Separated by only a door, by only a few paces in the office, their hearts pulled closer and closer, even as the space between them stayed painfully wide.

Both endured the longing of the day. Both hearts ached, both yearning silently for the other, trapped in a battle of stubbornness and pride.

----------------------------------------------------

By the time the car pulled up and they sat side by side on the way home, the silence between them throbbed with unspoken words. Wenlang’s hand twitched against his knee, desperate to reach out, while Gao Tu’s gaze drifted to the window, only to steal glances at the reflection of his alpha in the glass. Every stolen look burned with quiet longing neither dared voice.

When the door of their home finally clicked open and they stepped inside, the fragile dam inside Wenlang broke. Before Gao Tu could even close the door behind them, Wenlang’s arms slid firmly around his shoulders from behind, pulling him flush against his chest. He inhaled the scent of sage that held the power over his heart as he buried his face in the curve of Gao Tu’s neck.

“Baby…” Wenlang’s voice cracked, raw and trembling, as he placed a soft kiss on the bare skin.

All day long the scent of sage had tormented him—so close, yet always just out of reach. Every breath ached painfully, carrying only a faint trace of it lingering around him. He couldn’t concentrate on work; every time he caught sight of Gao Tu through the office door, his breath hitched, his entire being pulled helplessly toward his omega, who stubbornly refused to acknowledge him.

Now, all restraint shattered. As if the scent of sage was the only thing that tied him to this life, and he didn’t dare let go of it any longer.

"I can't take it anymore," Wenlang’s entire body trembled as the words escaped him. "Please…"

He couldn’t finish. Instead, he hugged Gao Tu even tighter, burying himself against him, seeking solace he had denied himself all day.

Gao Tu froze in place. He hadn’t expected to break his alpha so completely. The trembling body pressed desperately against him stirred something deep in his heart. He had intended to punish him a little—to show the alpha that he couldn’t always get away with everything, that there were consequences for every action, and that what he had almost done last night would have been catastrophic.

But this… this was beyond anything he had imagined. He had expected Wenlang to act playful, to try sneaking into his arms, to follow him like a lost puppy until Gao Tu finally gave in. But this was different. Wenlang had completely let down his defenses, admitting defeat, begging silently for the torment to end—and all of it had happened in just one day.

Gao Tu’s heart shattered as he realized just how much Wenlang valued him—how an S-class alpha, the kind of man who commanded respect and fear at the top of the food chain, had discarded every ounce of pride and power, standing there trembling, silently pleading to be let back in. The sight of him, vulnerable and desperate, made something inside Gao Tu ache in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He couldn’t take it anymore.

All day, he had carried the weight of his own longing. Even as he moved through the office, focused on work, every glance toward the door, every faint brush of scent in the air, had set his chest tightening. Wenlang’s presence lingered like an invisible tether: the faint curl of hair over his forehead, the rhythm of his breathing, the subtle warmth in the air that always accompanied him. He had felt it all, and yet he had to resist.

Every stolen glimpse—the way Wenlang paused at his desk, the twitch of his hands, the restless shifting of his shoulders—had been a quiet torment. His instincts had screamed at him, urging him to close the distance, to wrap his arms around Wenlang and anchor him to himself, to inhale that familiar scent of iris that clung to his alpha. Every fiber of him ached for it, yet he had restrained himself, letting his stubbornness hold him back, letting the lesson linger.

Now, seeing Wenlang broken, trembling in front of him, all that controlled restraint collapsed. He understood, more vividly than ever, just how much Wenlang cared, how much he had sacrificed, and how utterly human he was beneath that legendary strength. The longing that had built throughout the day—the quiet ache of being near yet apart—crashed over Gao Tu, overwhelming him, leaving him breathless.

He too couldn’t resist any longer. Gao Tu spun around, wrapping his arms tightly around the alpha’s waist, clutching the fabric on his back as he pressed himself against Wenlang, burying his face in the familiar, intoxicating scent of iris.

Wenlang hadn’t expected to be let in so easily. For a heartbeat, he froze, caught off guard by the sudden surrender. Then, just as quickly, he allowed himself to relax, closing his eyes and leaning into his omega’s embrace, feeling the tension of the day melt away at last.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The world outside the door ceased to exist, leaving only the steady rhythm of each other’s breathing. Wenlang’s arms tightened around Gao Tu, anchoring him as though afraid the omega might slip away again. Every tremble of Gao Tu’s body against his own sent a ripple through him, and for the first time in hours, Wenlang let himself truly feel—relief, love, and a quiet, almost desperate gratitude that his baby, his bunny, was finally back in his arms.

Gao Tu’s grip didn’t loosen either. He buried his face further, inhaling the scent of iris that had pulled him through the day, letting the tension of restraint, anger, and longing seep out through the connection. Each second spent like this reinforced the bond between them, a silent acknowledgment of the trust, the love, and the fragile vulnerabilities they shared.

Though they had both fought the day with stubbornness and distance, here, pressed together, it felt like everything had shifted. The quiet warmth, the shared heartbeat, the scent and the closeness—it was a sanctuary neither had realized they needed so desperately.

Wenlang shifted slightly, resting his chin on Gao Tu’s shoulder, and whispered softly, almost to himself, “I missed you… I never want to feel like this ever again.”

And Gao Tu, without breaking his hold, let out a quiet sigh, the tension in his body finally easing as he let himself simply exist in this moment, in the safety of his alpha’s arms.

"Then you better behave" Gao Tu replied.

"I promise, I won't do anything without your permission. Never again. Ever. Promise," Wenlang replied instantly, his voice trembling slightly, soft and urgent, carrying the weight of someone who had finally learned the cost of recklessness. There was an almost childlike quality to his tone, like a young wolf pleading with its caretaker not to punish him further. Each word was carefully measured, every syllable steeped in sincerity, as if the promise itself could mend the tension he had created.

Gao Tu’s gaze softened as he listened, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips. The sight of his formidable alpha—so strong, so commanding, and yet here, so vulnerable—was endearingly disarming. There was something achingly tender in the way Wenlang’s shoulders slumped slightly, in the way his hands clutched at the fabric of Gao Tu’s clothing, and in the way his breath hitched with each repetition of the promise.

It was more than just words. Each syllable seemed to carry a fragment of Wenlang’s soul, a silent plea for trust, a tangible offering of devotion. Gao Tu felt his chest tighten as he realized the depth of his alpha’s remorse, and yet beneath that, the unwavering love that had driven him to act in the first place—reckless, misguided, but always with Gao Tu’s safety in mind.

For a long moment, they simply stayed like that, bodies pressed together, breaths mingling, hearts speaking in quiet, unspoken language. Gao Tu’s fingers unconsciously traced circles along Wenlang’s back, not quite hugging him tighter, but enough to convey understanding, forgiveness, and a gentle acknowledgment of the fragile vulnerability that had just been laid bare before him. The alpha’s desperation, the sincerity in his voice, and the raw honesty of his promise were all impossibly endearing, making Gao Tu’s chest swell with a mixture of tenderness, affection, and the faintest hint of amusement.

He leaned slightly closer, letting the moment stretch, imprinting every detail into memory—the tremble in Wenlang’s frame, the scent of iris still clinging faintly to him, and the way his voice, so commanding in the world outside, now sounded like it belonged entirely to Gao Tu. It was a reminder of the bond they shared, the love that had weathered storms, and the quiet trust that, despite everything, would always bring them back to each other.

Gao Tu pulled back just slightly, enough to wrap his arms firmly around the alpha’s neck, finally meeting Wenlang’s gaze after what felt like an eternity. The intensity in Gao Tu’s eyes, a mix of longing, and unspoken love, made Wenlang’s chest tighten.

Instinctively, Wenlang’s arms slid down to rest on his omega’s waist, holding him close as he pressed his forehead against Gao Tu’s. The closeness sent a shiver through both of them, a delicate, electric tension that had been building all day.

For a heartbeat, Gao Tu froze, letting the moment stretch, savoring the warmth and security of the alpha he loved. Then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned in, closing his eyes as his lips brushed against Wenlang’s in a soft, fleeting kiss.

Wenlang froze at first, stunned by the tenderness, before he allowed himself to respond. His lips met Gao Tu’s with growing assurance, deepening the kiss as one hand lifted to cup Gao Tu’s cheek, fingers tracing the curve of his jaw with gentle reverence. Each movement was slow, deliberate, filled with all the emotion and desire they had restrained for far too long.

The kiss deepened naturally, slow and deliberate, as if both were trying to convey everything they had held back in the day, in the hours, in the moments they had been apart. Wenlang’s hand moved to the back of Gao Tu’s neck, threading through the soft hair at the nape, pulling him closer without hesitation. Every inch of their bodies pressed together, sharing warmth, breathing, and the quiet, intoxicating scent of iris and sage that had haunted them both.

Gao Tu’s hands tightened slightly around Wenlang’s neck and shoulders, anchoring him, letting him know just how desperately he had longed for this closeness. The kiss became a conversation in itself—soft, urgent, pleading, and reassuring all at once. Wenlang’s lips moved with slow determination, matching every tilt, every press, every subtle shift of Gao Tu’s, while his heartbeat pounded in sync with his omega’s.

Time seemed to collapse around them. The room, the day, the world outside—all faded until there was nothing but the warmth, the closeness, the shared rhythm of two hearts desperately reconnecting. Wenlang’s hands roamed slightly, memorizing the feel of Gao Tu against him, while Gao Tu allowed himself to melt into the embrace, savoring the power and vulnerability entwined in the alpha he loved.

The kiss lingered, neither pulling away, both silently promising that no distance, no anger, no stubbornness could ever break what they had found in each other again.

---------------------------------------------------

Both sank into the couch, the exhaustion of the day clinging to them but paling in comparison to the comfort of finally being in each other’s arms. Their work clothes wrinkled beneath them, but neither cared—nothing mattered but the closeness. Wenlang’s arms circled firmly around Gao Tu’s waist, holding him as though he were the most fragile and precious treasure in the world.

Gao Tu leaned back, his head finding its place on Wenlang’s shoulder as if it had always belonged there. His breath came soft and steady, brushing lightly against Wenlang’s neck. The omega’s arms hung loosely over his alpha’s, a quiet surrender hidden in the relaxed weight of his touch. Every small shift, every sigh, carried an intimacy words could never capture.

Wenlang couldn’t stop his eyes from roaming over every detail—those pearly eyes half-lidded in tired peace, the delicate curve of lips that had just kissed him, the gentle rhythm of his chest rising and falling against him. Each detail carved itself into Wenlang’s heart, making him ache with both tenderness and longing. And when Gao Tu shifted ever so slightly, snuggling closer as if searching for warmth only Wenlang could give, the alpha’s hold tightened instinctively, protectively.

The night was quiet around them, the silence filled only with the faint hum of the world outside. Yet within their little cocoon, there was only warmth, the steady beat of two hearts pressed close, and the silent vow neither would break again. Neither wished to part, not even for a moment—both clung to the fragile peace, letting it cradle them in the stillness of the night.

Chapter Text

Wenlang’s arms stayed locked around Gao Tu’s waist, his towering frame pressed flush against his bunny’s back, refusing to let go even as Gao Tu moved about the kitchen. Every time Gao Tu tried to reach for something on the counter, Wenlang shifted with him, stubbornly clinging like a second shadow.

“Wenlang, you’re getting in the way,” Gao Tu muttered again, his tone halfway between exasperation and helpless fondness. He gave the spatula in his hand a small wave toward the dining table. “Go and wait there. I’ll be done in a minute.”

But Wenlang only nuzzled his cheek against Gao Tu’s shoulder, his voice low and playful as he murmured, “Nope.” His chin rested comfortably against Gao Tu’s shoulder, his breath brushing along the curve of his neck, making it very clear he had no intention of obeying.

Gao Tu let out a long sigh, his lips tightening even as a faint blush crept over his ears. He tried to keep his focus on the sizzling pan, but with his oversized wolf practically glued to him, the task felt impossible. Still, he didn’t push him away. He never really could. All he managed was another half-hearted scolding and a resigned shake of his head, while Wenlang’s arms only tightened, refusing to loosen even an inch.

As they sat by each other at the dining table, the soft clink of cutlery filled the otherwise quiet morning. Wenlang, mid-bite, suddenly stilled as if something important had just come to mind. His gaze lifted to his bunny, a touch of casualness masking the weight of his words.

“Gao Tu, I forgot to tell you—there’s a small gathering at X Hotel tonight. You have to come with me,” he said as though it were nothing more than a reminder.

“Okay,” Gao Tu replied instantly, the word slipping out without hesitation. He didn’t even pause to consider; being by Wenlang’s side in such matters had long become second nature. Banquets, formal gatherings, private dinners with important people—he had stood with his alpha through them all.

The conversation ended as quickly as it had begun, Wenlang returning to his breakfast, Gao Tu following suit. The weight of it didn’t settle in, not yet. By the time the plates were cleared and the day swept them into its usual rhythm, the promise of the evening lingered quietly in the background—something both remembered, yet neither dwelled on as they carried on with their work.

Although Gao Tu’s workday had ended right on time, Wenlang was still caught up in meetings and documents that demanded his attention. By the time he finally shut down his computer, the clock had already crept past half-past seven. Gao Tu hadn’t complained; he had waited patiently, as he always did.

The drive to X Hotel was quiet, the hum of the car filling the silence between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable—if anything, it felt grounding. Both seemed content just to be in each other’s company after a long day, the silence carrying its own intimacy.

When they arrived, Wenlang led Gao Tu toward the rooftop dining area. The moment Gao Tu stepped out, his brows lifted ever so slightly. The rooftop had been transformed—soft lights strung overhead, elegant table settings gleaming under their glow, the faintest hint of music drifting in the background. The place was decorated lavishly, almost romantically, and yet… strangely empty. Not a single guest in sight.

At the entrance, Cheng Yu waited, bowing politely before escorting them toward a table set in the center of it all. There were many seats arranged across the rooftop, but not one was occupied. The entire space, Gao Tu realized, was theirs alone.

“What do you want to eat?” Wenlang asked casually once they were seated, his tone gentle, as though this were any other dinner between them.

Gao Tu blinked, caught off guard. Gatherings usually had fixed menus, formal courses dictated by the host. To be asked his preference here, in such a setting, was unexpected. His gaze flicked between Wenlang and the untouched tables around them, suspicion mingling faintly with curiosity.

“…I’m okay with anything,” Gao Tu replied after a moment, his voice even. Yet in his chest, questions stirred quietly. Why here? Why like this?

The meal had been nothing short of lavish, each dish crafted with meticulous care, the flavors as refined as the surroundings. It fit seamlessly with the aesthetic of the rooftop—the glittering lights, the soft breeze, the quiet intimacy of a world that seemed to exist only for the two of them.

By the time the last plate was cleared and they were waiting for dessert, Gao Tu felt himself slipping into the warmth of the moment, lulled by the rare peace after the storm of the past few days.

Then, a sudden sound split the night sky. A crackle, followed by a bloom of color.

Gao Tu’s head snapped upward, his breath catching as fireworks burst into life above them, scattering across the heavens in dazzling shades of gold, crimson, and violet. The brilliance reflected in his pale eyes, wide and mesmerized, as he took in the spectacle. The entire rooftop glowed under the shower of light, as if the stars themselves had descended for their sake.

So absorbed was Gao Tu in the sight that he didn’t notice Wenlang had quietly pushed back his chair. The alpha stood now, a nervous light in his eyes, his gaze fixed not on the fireworks, but on his omega—soft, steady, and filled with a depth of emotion that words could barely contain.

Wenlang’s heart raced as he watched Gao Tu sitting there, mesmerized by the fireworks. Every curve of his profile, the soft tilt of his head, the way his eyes caught the light—it all struck Wenlang with an ache he could no longer contain. Memories cascaded through his mind: their first meeting in college, when Gao Tu had seemed so confident and calm; the long summer breaks when Gao Tu had worked tirelessly at the supermarket, and Wenlang had crossed store after store just to catch a glimpse of him behind the counter; the scholarship program he had set up solely to help the stubborn beta who refused assistance; the countless moments they had shared, laughing, bickering, standing as equals; the night he had knocked on Gao Tu’s door to take him home.

And now, here he was, this same strong, unwavering omega, standing before him, carrying the life they had created together. Wenlang felt a wave of tenderness and longing so intense it threatened to drown him. He had loved him from the very beginning, had tried to protect him in ways Gao Tu had never even known, and now, seeing him like this, Wenlang realized how precious every second with him had always been.

The fireworks exploded in brilliant bursts, but Wenlang hardly noticed the colors. All he could see was Gao Tu, his entire world condensed into the one person who had captured his heart so completely. Every flicker of light in Gao Tu’s eyes seemed to echo the love, the pain, the trust, and the unspoken promises they had shared.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Wenlang finally called out, his voice trembling slightly, “Gao Tu…”.

Gao Tu turned, surprised to see Wenlang standing beside him instead of across the table.

Before he could speak, Wenlang sank down on one knee and pulled out a small velvet box, revealing the ring within.

“Gao Tu,” he began, voice low but steady despite the storm of emotion in his chest. “I know we haven’t been together for very long, but I’ve loved you since the day we met. At first I couldn’t approach you because I thought you were a beta… and later, I thought you already belonged to someone else. I’ve made so many mistakes, hurt you more times than I can count, but I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

His eyes glistened under the glow of fireworks as he continued, words spilling from his heart.

“I love you. I love the way your eyes shine, how your smile lights up the room, your scent that steadies me, your voice that carries your heart. I love everything about you. I can’t imagine a life without you. I want to make breakfast with you every morning, hold you every night, take your hand on every walk, argue over silly things, laugh until we cry, raise our child together, and grow old by your side. I want all of it—with you.”

Wenlang drew in a shaky breath, his eyes never leaving Gao Tu’s.

“Gao Tu…Will you marry me?” Wenlang’s voice broke softly at the end, the weight of every memory, every promise, every unspoken vow pressed into those words.

As the question dropped, Wenlang's entire body was tense. His eyes showed the vulnerability beneath the strong façade, stripped of all the arrogance and confidence the world associated with Shen Wenlang. His heartbeat pounded faster with each second of silence, anticipation clawing at his chest, every nerve stretched to its breaking point as he waited for Gao Tu’s response.

For a heartbeat, Gao Tu stood frozen, the fireworks exploding above as if the world itself was holding its breath with him. Wenlang’s words wrapped around him like a net, dragging him back through time.

He saw Wenlang as he had been the first time they met in college—distant, untouchable, yet somehow already tethered to him. He remembered the nervous curiosity, the stolen glances across crowded classrooms, and how Wenlang had always seemed just out of reach. He saw the long summer breaks when Gao Tu had worked tirelessly at the supermarket, worn and exhausted, and yet Wenlang would appear—sudden, frustrating, magnetic—always catching him off guard with that impossible mix of pride and warmth. He recalled the countless days they had worked together, every shared laugh, every argument, every fleeting softness beneath Wenlang’s pride. And most vividly, he remembered the night Wenlang had knocked on his door, eyes fierce, unwavering, telling him he was there to take him home.

Now, Wenlang was here again, only this time he wasn’t just asking to take him home—he was asking to be his home.

The dam inside Gao Tu shattered. His vision blurred as hot tears finally spilled down his cheeks. Before he even realized it, his body had moved, falling to his knees and throwing his arms around Wenlang’s neck, clinging with a desperation he could no longer hide.

“Yes,” Gao Tu choked, voice breaking, trembling with the force of everything he had held back for so long. “Yes, Wenlang. I’ll marry you.”

Every syllable carried the depth of his memories, the years of longing, and the trust he had given cautiously, but fully, to this one man. “I’ll marry you… I’ll stay with you… for the rest of my life,” he added, his voice breaking slightly under the torrent of emotions he could no longer suppress.

Wenlang froze for a moment, stunned by the sight of his usually composed omega undone and weeping in his arms. Then he pulled him in even tighter, one hand cupping the back of Gao Tu’s head, his own eyes glistening.

The sky erupted with brilliant fireworks, but around them, there was only each other. Kneeling together on the rooftop, wrapped in one another, they felt the years of separation, the longing, the love, the pain—all condense into this single moment. Gao Tu’s tears soaked into Wenlang’s shoulder, yet even as he wept, there was an undeniable calm in the midst of it—a steady acceptance, a surrender to the love he had fought so long to protect.

Then, slowly, Wenlnag pulled back just enough to look at him.

Gao Tu’s face was wet, eyes red and glistening, but to Wenlang he had never looked more beautiful. His omega was undone, vulnerable, and yet so achingly his. With hands that shook only slightly, Wenlang lifted the ring from its box and gently took Gao Tu’s hand.

Their breaths caught at the same time as the cool metal slid onto Gao Tu’s finger. It settled there perfectly, as though it had always been waiting for this moment. Gao Tu looked at the ring, then back at Wenlang—and the way Wenlang’s gaze softened, so full of unguarded love, broke him all over again.

Then, as the sky erupted again, Wenlang leaned in, pressing his lips to Gao Tu’s, and Gao Tu met him without hesitation. The kiss was soft yet burning, tender yet desperate, carrying everything words could never express—the past, the present, and the unshakeable promise of a shared future.

The fireworks continued to streak across the night sky, their brilliant bursts painting everything in golds, reds, and blues, but Gao Tu and Wenlang barely noticed. The world around them blurred, fading into insignificance, leaving only the two of them locked together. Wenlang’s hands held Gao Tu as though letting go could erase this very moment, while Gao Tu clung to him—not out of desperation, but out of the deep, quiet certainty that he had finally found the home he had always longed for.

Cheng Yu watched from afar as the two poured their hearts out. His work here was done. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he turned away, leaving the rooftop behind. It was time to deal with something else — or rather, someone else. The kitten that had been worried about his boss all day long yet stubbornly refusing to call the one person that holds the answers.

When he stepped into Shengfeng Biotech later that night, the building was eerily quiet. He found Chen Pin Ming still at his desk, slumped over with his head resting on folded arms, refusing to move until his boss returned.

“Secretary Chen…” Cheng Yu called out smoothly.

Chen Pin Ming’s head snapped up, startled. His expression quickly shifted into irritation. “How did you get in here?” he asked, almost annoyed but cautious all the same. He knew well enough how dangerous this man could be.

It wasn’t the first time either. Lately, Cheng Yu seemed to appear everywhere he went, as if deliberately crossing paths with him. Always with some excuse, always with that same infuriating persistence — and without fail, he would ask him out to eat. At first, Pin Ming had politely refused. Then his refusals grew sharper, colder. He even tried pretending not to notice the other man at all, but Cheng Yu was relentless, calling out to him in public, chasing him down until ignoring him became impossible. What had once been inconvenient had grown into a constant nuisance in his otherwise peaceful life.

“There was no one at the front desk,” Cheng Yu replied casually as he strolled closer, his hands tucked into his pockets. “And the guards already know me.”

Chen Pin Ming frowned. He wanted nothing more than to kick the alpha out and get back to worrying about his missing boss, but he knew it wasn’t that simple. Not with Cheng Yu.

“If you’re so worried about your boss, why don’t you ask me?” Cheng Yu said lightly as he pulled out a chair, seating himself beside the stubborn beta.

Chen Pin Ming’s eyes lit up instantly.
“You know where he is? How is he? Is he alright?” His voice tumbled out in rapid concern, before suspicion crept in. “Wait—did your boss do something to him?”

His eyes went wide in horror as his imagination spun out of control. Did Hua Yong finally lose it and kidnap Sheng Shao You to make him his wife? No way… right?

Cheng Yu couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped him, amused at the wild little kitten before him.
“He’s fine,” he reassured, lips curling in a faint smile. “Something happened, so he’s resting for now. He’ll be back soon, unharmed. Don’t worry—Hua Yong may be a lunatic, but he isn’t reckless.”

Pin Ming exhaled heavily, relief loosening his shoulders.

“It’s already late. You should go home,” Cheng Yu said, voice firm but amused. Without giving the beta a chance to argue, he snatched up Pin Ming’s coat and bag in one swift motion. “Come on, let’s grab dinner. I’ll drop you off after.”

Chen Pin Ming froze for half a second, then sprang up.
“Wait—who said I agreed to that? Give me my stuff back!”

He lunged, but Cheng Yu was already striding to the door, coat slung over one shoulder and bag dangling from his hand like a trophy.
“Hey! Are you insane? That’s theft!”

“Call it dinner tax,” Cheng Yu tossed back with a smirk.

Chen Pin Ming’s jaw dropped. “Dinner tax?! You—you absolute—” He stomped after him, muttering loud enough for half the office to hear. “Unbelievable. Alpha arrogance at its peak. I should report you to HR. Oh wait, you’re not even an employee here!”

Cheng Yu laughed, clearly enjoying every second, and pushed open the door without slowing. He looks cuter when he is mad, he thought to himself.

Chen Pin Ming groaned in exasperation, chasing after him with all the indignant energy of someone who absolutely did not want dinner—yet had no choice but to follow.

Cheng Yu didn’t bother slowing his stride. The bag and coat dangled from his hand like bait, his smile curving into something sharp and knowing. To Pin Ming, it was a petty chase; to Cheng Yu, it was a game he had already decided the outcome of.

The kitten hissed, bristling at every step, and Cheng Yu only found him more irresistible for it. So oblivious, so stubborn—and yet, always running straight into his hands.

One annoyed, one amused. One unaware, the other already certain.

The hunt had begun, and Cheng Yu wasn’t planning on letting his kitten escape.