Chapter Text

The air in the emergency room of the public-private hospital in Jianghu was a nauseating mixture of disinfectant, fresh blood, and the sour fear emanating from dozens of people. The torrential rain, which kept pounding on the windows, had turned a winding road into a death trap. A public bus, a rusty old clunker older than many of its passengers, had skidded and overturned, spilling its human cargo of pain onto the asphalt.

The news was already spreading like wildfire on social media. Grainy videos, lit by lightning, showed elderly people, their Sunday best soaked and stained red, being dragged away by neighbors and first responders. Public anger was a fire looking for fuel, and they had already found it in the driver, a middle-aged man now lying on a stretcher, under police guard and with the hatred of a crowd etched on his pale face.

In the eye of this windstorm of chaos moved Dr. Gao Tu. His white coat was a stain of order in the disorder, his hands, gloved in latex, working with mechanical precision to immobilize a fractured femur. Despite the heat and crowding, a small beige patch, almost the color of his skin, protruded discreetly from the side of his neck. A pheromone suppressant.

To the naked eye, he was just another doctor. But in the world of Jianghu's Alphas, Betas, and Omegas, that patch was a sign that screamed his status. An Omega. And for the hospital's rigid medical hierarchy, Omegas, with their perceived “emotional” and “unstable” nature, were not supposed to be in high-stress specialties such as Traumatology. They were pushed toward Pediatrics or General Medicine, where their “caregiving instinct” was “put to good use.” Gao Tu felt the stares like pins in the back of his neck. Dr. Liang, an Alpha orthopedic surgeon whose scent of pine and wrought iron dominated any room, walked past him with disdain.

“Make sure the sutures in room 3 are secure, Dr. Gao,” Liang said, loading the word “doctor” with barely veiled skepticism. “We don't want a... lapse in concentration to cause an infection.”

Gao Tu didn't respond. He simply nodded and continued his work. Internally, his stomach was a knot of frustration. Every correct diagnosis, every perfect fracture reduction, was a wall he had to knock down twice: once for the patient and once for his colleagues' prejudices. Other Beta doctors avoided him, fearing association with his stigma, while some Alphas, lower in rank than Liang, looked at him with almost condescending curiosity.

That was when she arrived. An elderly woman, unconscious, with an ugly wound on her scalp. Her pulse was weak, erratic. As Gao Tu wiped away the blood to assess the wound, his fingers touched something cold and metallic hidden in his neck, under his gray hair. It was a pendant. A very specific pendant: a jade Ruyi, the Chinese scepter of good fortune, with the character “Gao” engraved on the back in calligraphy that was painfully familiar to him.

It was his grandmother's pendant. The woman who had raised him after his progressive-minded parents, Beta and Alpha, died in a similar accident. The woman who had sold his jewelry to pay for his first years of college, believing in him when no one else did. The woman whom, in his pride and struggle to prove himself, he had neglected in recent months, canceling their Sunday dinners with the excuse of on-call shifts and extra shifts. A chill more penetrating than the rain ran down his spine. His professionalism cracked for a moment. His scent, a fresh smell of sage that the patch could barely contain, seeped out for a fraction of a second, a burst of pure, earthy panic. It was enough for Dr. Liang, who was passing by, to frown disapprovingly.

“Control yourself, Dr. Gao,” muttered the Alpha, whose pine scent became aggressive, almost pungent, in response to the Omega's distress.

But Gao Tu was no longer listening. His hands, now trembling, worked with renewed urgency. This was no longer just another patient. It was his grandmother, Mrs. Wei. And the television report, murmuring in the corner about “one confirmed fatality,” was no longer a distant statistic but a personal nightmare that closed his throat.

Mrs. Wei's condition was critical. The first CT scan images showed a subdural hematoma, a severe head injury that required immediate surgical evacuation, a procedure that only Dr. Liang, as head of orthopedics and neurotrauma, could perform with the utmost assurance at that moment of chaos. Gao Tu found himself at an impossible crossroads, paralyzed. How could he entrust the life of his grandmother, the most important person in his life, to a man who despised everything he was? A man who might, consciously or unconsciously, not give his best in the operating room simply because the patient was the family of a “meddlesome Omega”?

The rain continued to fall. The lights in the emergency room flickered, a reminder of how fragile everything was. Gao Tu looked at his grandmother's pale face, then at the pendant he now held in his gloved hand, and finally at the operating room door, where Dr. Liang was giving orders in a commanding voice. He took a breath, ready to cross that professional line he had worked so hard to maintain, ready to beg, to reveal the truth and face the consequences.

“Severe head trauma. Subdural hematoma. She needs to go to the operating room now.”

The voice that came out of his mouth sounded strangely calm, but his sage scent, now a wild fragrance reminiscent of wet earth after a storm, betrayed the storm inside. Liang turned, one eyebrow arched, ready to make a disparaging comment about the Omega's lack of control.

But before he could speak, another presence made itself known. A warm, enveloping, complex fragrance, like orange blossom bathed in aged rum, cut through the harshness of Liang's pine scent and calmed Gao Tu's sage storm. It was a scent that did not overwhelm, but sustained. Dr. Sheng Shaoyou, an S-Class Alpha whose mere presence commanded silent respect, approached. His dark amber eyes shifted from Ms. Wei's chart to Gao Tu's pale face, then to Dr. Liang.

“Operating room three is ready,” Sheng Shaoyou said, his voice a calm bass, but with an inherent authority that did not need to be raised. “Dr. Liang, you are needed in operating room two for a complex open fracture. I will take Mrs. Wei's case.”

Liang opened his mouth to protest, but a single glance from those amber eyes silenced him. He nodded curtly and walked away, his pine scent receding like a wave crashing against a cliff. 

Sheng Shaoyou then turned to Gao Tu. There was no condescension in his gaze, not the slightest trace of pity or judgment. Only a deep, serene professionalism. 

“Dr. Gao, prepare his for surgery. I'm going to wash up. I'll need your assistance; you know his history and baseline better than anyone.”

The order was clear, but there was a lifeline in it. Not only for Mrs. Wei, but for Gao Tu's broken heart. He was offering him not only his unparalleled skill as a surgeon, but also a place in the room, the right to be close to his family, to contribute. He was treating him, at the most critical moment, simply as a colleague.

Gao Tu nodded, a gratitude so intense it burned his eyes, impossible to express in words. The scent of rum and orange blossom seemed to intensify slightly around him, a warm, protective breeze. The storm outside continued, and the battle for his grandmother's life was about to begin. But in the midst of the chaos, for the first time in that long, heartbreaking night, Gao Tu did not feel alone.

Chapter Text

The silence of the operating room was replaced by the low hum of monitors in the private recovery room. Gao Tu watched as nurses wheeled his grandmother, still unconscious but stable, into a room reserved for staff family members. An immense, yet bittersweet relief mingled with a pang of discomfort. That room was a privilege that his pride as an independent Omega would never have allowed him to request. His forehead wrinkled, beaded with a sudden cold sweat that was not just from the strain of the surgery.

He had changed the patch on his neck just before entering, a protective protocol. During the operation, he had taken refuge in routine, in Sheng Shaoyou's precise orders and calm voice. The Alpha had not only allowed him to assist, but with didactic patience, had explained every movement, every critical decision. And in the end, he had handed him the needle so that it was Gao Tu who closed the incision, a gesture of trust that had burned him more than any look of contempt.

“Do you have a moment?”

Sheng Shaoyou's voice, now without the mask, was warmer but no less firm. Gao Tu nodded silently, stripping off the blue surgical gown as if removing armor stained with vulnerability. Putting the white coat back on, he regained a fragile layer of normality. He followed the Alpha through the now quieter corridors to an office in the private section of the hospital.

The place was immaculate. The titles on the wall spoke of a brilliant career. But what caught Gao Tu's attention was a framed photograph. Sheng Shaoyou, younger, smiling next to another man with a serene expression and piercing eyes. He did not exude the typical energy of an Omega, nor the dominant force of an Alpha. Rumor had it that he was an Enigma, a rarity as unusual as it was misunderstood. That image reminded him that the man in front of him inhabited a world of hierarchies that, apparently, transcended.

“Gao Tu, what happened just now was very careless of you.”

The Alpha's words fell like a soft but unexpected blow. Gao Tu lowered his gaze, his fingers clinging to the fabric of his robe.

“Remaining upright and strong in the face of any situation, whether familiar or unfamiliar, is work ethic,” Sheng Shaoyou continued, pointing to the chair in front of his desk. Gao Tu sat down, his back stiff.

“I know, and...” he began, an apology stuck in his throat.

“Don't apologize,” Sheng Shaoyou interrupted, his tone losing its edge of reprimand. A slight smile softened his features. “I'm not scolding you for doing it. Take it as advice.”

The scent of orange blossom and rum that permeated the room seemed to grow denser, more comforting. Gao Tu allowed his shoulders to relax a millimeter.

“Besides,” Sheng Shaoyou frowned again, this time with a darker, more serious expression. His gaze fixed on Gao Tu with an intensity that pierced him. “I wanted to ask you when you started getting the cold shoulder from Dr. Liang. You know, the hospital has rules that everyone has to follow and respect.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. It wasn't just a conversation; it was an acknowledgment of a silent struggle that Gao Tu believed to be invisible.

“And no one here has any reason to push you aside,” Sheng Shaoyou concluded, his voice regaining its calm authority, “when you, one day, could save someone's family here with your expertise.”

Gao Tu looked at Sheng Shaoyou. The feeling of being seen, of his professional worth being recognized above his secondary dynamics, was a strange and novel comfort. However, a cold little voice in his mind reminded him that Sheng Shaoyou had only been transferred to this hospital a couple of months ago. He hadn't been there to witness the three years of sidelong glances, veiled comments, and quietly denied opportunities that had marked Gao Tu's career. The temptation to vent, to let go of all that accumulated weight, was strong, but caution warned him that he didn't know whether to fully trust this sudden solidarity.

“I was also talking to you because there is someone who has the same specialty as you, even higher than Dr. Liang's.” Sheng Shaoyou's voice cut through his thoughts, and Gao Tu noticed a peculiar tone in it, as if the name he uttered next tasted like stench, but was coated with an inevitable hint of respect. “Do you remember Shen Wenlang?”

The effect was instantaneous. Gao Tu hid it well, but he couldn't help his eyes widening slightly. How could he not remember Shen Wenlang? Another S-Class Alpha, the prodigal son of a family so powerful that its name was synonymous with influence. The same one who, in an act of teenage rebellion, had spurned the business destiny that awaited him to immerse himself in medical studies, specializing not in one, but in three branches, with a talent that bordered on the prodigious. And he was also the same idiot who, in his college days, had sought out Gao Tu's company believing him to be a Beta, and whose attitude had changed—not with contempt, but with a disappointing distance—upon learning that he was an Omega. Shen Wenlang was, in Gao Tu's memory, the epitome of arrogance and rejection that, because it was so subtle, had hurt even more.

Sheng Shaoyou let out a low, meaningful laugh when he saw Gao Tu's eloquent expression.

“So you remember him.” It wasn't a question. It was a confirmation. “He'll be around for a while, as Dr. Liang's superior and, technically, everyone else's in the department. I, for one, can't always be in this area. And I like you, Gao Tu.” His gaze became intense, sincere. “I don't want you to be treated badly when your specialty is helping, like everyone else. ABO, gender shouldn't be an impediment in this shitty society.”

Sheng Shaoyou's words were an unexpected shield and a double-edged sword. Not only was he acknowledging Liang's incompetence and toxicity, but he was also announcing the arrival of a ghost from Gao Tu's past, a man who would now have direct power over his professional life. The battle for respect at the hospital had just acquired a new and complicated factor: Shen Wenlang. And Gao Tu didn't know if his return would be a salvation or an even greater condemnation.

.

.

.

The silence of the residential room was a relief after the chaos of the day. Gao Tu slumped against the door, listening to the click of the lock as a final, albeit temporary, end to the day. The murmur of Sheng Shaoyou's low laughter still echoed in his ears, mixed with the ghost of a name he hadn't wanted to hear in years: Shen Wenlang.

Before retiring, he had performed the ritual of visiting his grandmother. Mrs. Wei rested under the dim light of the lamp in the private room, her breathing a steadier thread than it had been hours earlier. Seeing her like this, vulnerable but safe, brought him a moment of peace. And with that peace came the memory of Gao Qing.

His younger sister, with her explosive laughter and obsession with colors and textures, was now on another continent, immersed in the world of fashion. He himself had pushed his to take that plane, to grab the scholarship with both hands and not look back. He remembered his tear-stained face, promising to send him messages every week. She had kept her word. Their chats were full of photos of fabrics, design sketches, and amusing complaints about his professors. To Gao Qing, Mrs. Wei was just a kind old lady who had helped them through difficult times, a benevolent but distant figure. Gao Tu sighed, closed his eyes, and let the weight of that family secret settle on his shoulders once more. She didn't need to know. Not yet.

He turned on the light, revealing the austere comfort of his study. This wing of the hospital complex was reserved for Omegas, a bubble of relative safety within the hostile ecosystem. Most of his neighbors were nursing residents, whose laughter sometimes filtered through the walls at the end of their shifts. The space, though small, was functional: a compact kitchen, a small breakfast table, and a small living room with an armchair and a television. At the back, two bedrooms. He had always opted for solitude, paying the full rent so he wouldn't have to share his refuge, so he wouldn't have to mask his sage essence in his own home.

He slumped into the armchair, without even the energy to turn on the television. Sheng Shaoyou's words swirled in his mind. “Shen Wenlang.” A name synonymous with raw talent, an overwhelming family legacy, and a subtle but deeply scarring university snub. Now that man was returning, not as just another colleague, but as a superior authority. Sheng Shaoyou's word of protection was a shield, but Shen Wenlang's shadow was a gigantic unknown.

Tomorrow would be another day. Patients would continue to arrive, Dr. Liang would continue to look at him with disdain, and the silent burden of being who he was would not disappear. But now, a new factor was added to the equation, a specter from the past with the power to alter his present. Gao Tu turned off the light in the room, plunging the space into a darkness, broken only by the reflections of the city in the window. Exhaustion overcame him, dragging him into a restless sleep, where the scents of pine, orange blossom, rum, and the memory of a cold, disappointing look from college intertwined mercilessly.

Chapter Text

The soft hum of the computer was the background sound of another morning in Dr. Gao Tu's office. His first appointment, at seven o'clock, was with Mr. Li, a middle-aged Alpha whose reconstructed knee was the reason for his regular visits and, more importantly, his endless repertoire of bad jokes.

“How old are you, Dr. Gao? You're still very young, and, my goodness, you're a great doctor,” Mr. Li remarked as Gao Tu, with steady, gentle hands, palpated the joint for any signs of inflammation.

The fresh, clean scent of sage emanating from Gao Tu, contained by the patch but perceptible in the intimacy of the office, seemed to quiet down in concentration. 

“Isn't that a good thing? They say that with age I'll become more grumpy,” Gao Tu replied with a slight smile, playing the usual game.

Mr. Li burst out laughing. 

“As if you were Dr. Liang!” he said, waving his hands as if to ward off a bad smell. Gao Tu's smile faltered, just for a moment, before he turned away with professional kindness to make notes in the system. Liang's name was always a brief and unpleasant shadow.

“So, how old are you?” insisted Mr. Li, his curiosity overcoming medical protocol.

Gao Tu slid his fingers across the keyboard, selecting various assessment items on the screen. His movement was efficient, a well-practiced dance between patient and technology. He turned in his chair to face Mr. Li's inquisitive gaze again. 

“Twenty-eight,” he replied, his voice calm.

“And you're not married?” asked the Alpha, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret.

“No,” was the reply, as polite as it was firm. Mr. Li was one of the few, perhaps three out of five patients, who had managed to break through the professional barrier to genuinely sympathize with him.

“Oh, my. Forgive my boldness, but whoever hasn't asked you out is an idiot. You're very attractive,” Mr. Li declared, with the frankness that sometimes comes with age. “You know, I can introduce you to my sister's son. His name is Ma Heng. He's an Alpha, very stable, a good guy...”

Gao Tu responded with a polite but evasive smile, sliding a sheet of rehabilitation exercises across the table. 

“Your knee has responded very well, Mr. Li. The key is consistency. Please focus on these exercises so that the pain doesn't return,” he said, wisely redirecting the conversation to the safe territory of medicine. He had been in charge of that operation months ago, and its success was his best argument.

At that moment, the door to his office was knocked on sharply. Gao Tu looked up from his screen, his expression serene. 

“Come in,” he said, his voice clear.

Nurse Mei poked her head in. “Good morning, Dr. Gao. Dr. Liang is calling you to his office,” she announced in an initially neutral tone. But then, a group of Beta residents, whose contempt for Gao Tu was a rancid and persistent aroma in the hallways, passed by, laughing loudly. Mei, in an act of instant solidarity, poked her head further into the office and lowered her voice, her monotone speech transforming into a rapid, gossipy whisper. “I think it's because someone came and is reluctantly introducing his 'good' doctors. And since your name was on the letter Dr. Sheng sent, I think that's why he's calling you.”

A dry chuckle, almost a sigh, escaped Gao Tu's lips. He nodded understandingly. “Thank you, MeiMei.”

“You're welcome, dear. You know you're the best,” she winked, and then, as if flipping a switch, she wiped all expression from her face and walked away, her back stiff as she passed the same Beta nurses whose laughter had died down.

The walk to Dr. Liang's office seemed longer and more hostile than usual. Each step took Gao Tu further away from the relative refuge of his office and closer to an encounter that promised to be, at the very least, unpleasant. When he reached the management corridor, he took a deep breath, searching for the familiar scent of sage that defined it, and knocked on the door with a firmness he didn't quite feel.

A “come in” filtered out from inside. As he opened the door and closed it behind him, his gaze, which rose with prepared resignation, met squarely with a pair of eyes he did not expect to see so soon. Shen Wenlang. There, in the flesh, rising from the comfortable armchair in front of Liang's desk with an innate elegance that time had only accentuated.

“So you are Dr. Gao Tu,” Shen Wenlang said, his voice deeper than Gao Tu remembered, with a resonance that vibrated in the room. He extended his hand in a neat, professional gesture.

For a moment, all of Gao Tu's training, all of his pride, tensed like a string. He would not falter. Not here. Not in front of Liang. He extended his arm and closed his noticeably smaller fingers around Shen Wenlang's hand. The contact was firm, the Alpha's skin surprisingly warm, almost as if it emanated a heat of its own that pierced the professional barrier.

“Nice to meet you, I'm Dr. Shen Wenlang, and I'll be in charge of this department for an indefinite period.”

Indefinite? The word echoed in Gao Tu's mind with the force of a dull thud. Hadn't Sheng Shaoyou said it would only be for a while? The certainty of that information crumbled, leaving a void of uncertainty. He withdrew his hand with a fluid but quick movement, looking away to an indeterminate point over Shen Wenlang's shoulder. In his haste to break contact, he didn't notice the way the Alpha's gaze sank into him, nor the almost imperceptible rubbing of Shen Wenlang's fingers together, a gesture laden with a nostalgia that seemed to have accumulated over years.

“Dr. Gao can give you a tour of the hospital,” Liang interrupted, his casual tone intended to conceal his intention to belittle Gao Tu's schedule, as if his appointments were insignificant.

Gao Tu didn't hesitate. “I can do that, but if you don't mind, Dr. Shen, I have crucial appointments to attend to in about ten minutes.” He raised his wrist to check his watch, a deliberate movement that underscored the truthfulness of his statement. It wasn't the first time Liang had tried to relegate his responsibilities to his patients, nor was it the first time Gao Tu had openly contradicted him, even though he knew it was fueling the Alpha's pent-up anger.

Shen Wenlang watched the exchange with apparent calm, but his eyes, sharp as scalpels, shifted from Gao Tu to Liang. There, in that small power struggle, in the Omega's steadfastness in the face of his superior's petty authority, he saw with complete clarity what Sheng Shaoyou had been referring to. Zhao Liang's abuse of power was not a suspicion; it was a material fact, and Gao Tu was his usual target. A spark of something cold and determined flashed in the depths of Shen Wenlang's gaze as a formal smile played on his lips.

“Of course, responsibilities to patients come first,” Shen said, his voice calm but laden with an authority that needed no raising. “The tour can wait. I wouldn't want to interrupt the excellent work that I'm sure Dr. Gao is doing with his patients.”

His words, directed at Gao Tu but with the emphasis on the last sentence, were a tacit acknowledgment and a direct blow to Liang's strategy. The game had changed, and Gao Tu, for the first time in a long time, felt that someone with power not only saw the injustice but was willing to stand up to it.

Liang's office left behind, and Gao Tu hurried back to his office, his quick, determined footsteps echoing in the neat, cold hallway. It had not been an empty excuse; his schedule was indeed saturated with a list of patients who, against all odds and institutional prejudice, specifically requested "Dr. Gao Tu." They were mostly people who had experienced firsthand his meticulous care and surgical skill, or those whom the calming, fresh scent of sage inspired by an instinctive confidence that the more dominant scents of other Alphas failed to achieve. Each appointment was a small triumph, a personal and professional validation that he quietly treasured.

The day passed with relative calm, if you could call the constant, subtle tension of feeling the new presence in the hospital calm. Shen Wenlang was like a current running through the hallways, his lily scent—floral, clean, but with an underlying intensity that spoke to his Alpha dynamic—preceding his arrival at the department. Gao Tu sensed it from a distance, a fragrance that made his skin crawl and stirred memories he preferred to keep buried. He stayed focused on his work, on each diagnosis, on each suture, using routine as a shield against the disturbing reappearance of his past.

At noon, with an empty stomach and an exhausted mind, he headed to the hospital cafeteria. It was a large, noisy space, filled with the murmur of conversations and the clatter of dishes. He found an isolated table in a corner, away from the main hubbub, and took a worn notebook and pen out of his bag. Along with his medical notes, he scribbled ideas for a possible second specialization. Reconstructive surgery or sports medicine appealed to him, but the idea of adding more years of study and the exhausting back-and-forth between different departments and schedules made his hesitate. Would his body and mind, constantly challenged by stress and social pressure, be able to withstand another heavy burden?

"This is the menu for today," announced a Beta waiter, placing a laminated card on the table with a routine movement.

Gao Tu nodded in thanks, taking the menu without much enthusiasm. He had no appetite for a heavy meal; concern for his grandmother, who remained in an induced sleep in the private room, weighed heavily on his chest. A knot of anxiety formed in his throat every time he thought about the possibility that she might not wake up, that the only person who had always believed in him might leave without him being able to make amends for his carelessness. Lost in these dark thoughts, he almost didn't notice the soft, unmistakable scent of lilies that began to permeate the surrounding air, growing denser, more present.

Suddenly, without pretense, the tall, well-formed figure of Shen Wenlang slid into the chair opposite him. The Alpha's presence was so earthy that it seemed to displace the surrounding air. Gao Tu froze, his pen suspended over his notebook.

"What's good on this menu?" Shen Wenlang asked, his tone casual as he pretended to examine the menu. However, his piercing dark eyes never left Gao Tu's face. He studied every detail: the soft curve of his cheekbones, the firm line of his jaw, the way his eyelashes cast faint shadows under his eyes, his plump, heart-shaped lips. He had grown up, matured, and the youthful beauty Shen Wenlang remembered had transformed into a tempered, mature elegance that took his breath away. Internally, a wave of frustration and possessiveness washed over him. Why did this Omega, with so much talent and presence, allow himself to stagnate under the yoke of a jerk like Liang and his entourage of followers? What kind of deal or connection existed between them that Gao Tu endured such an environment?

"There's nothing here you'll like," Gao Tu replied, his voice indifferent as steel, though his fingers clenched tightly around the pen. "You should eat out." It was a clear line, a verbal barrier he drew belligerently, reminding Shen Wenlang, and himself, that there was no welcome for him in his personal space.

Shen Wenlang watched him more intently, his gaze inevitably falling on the beige patch on Gao Tu's neck, which the white coat tried, without complete success, to hide. He noticed it with every slight turn of his head, a physical rebuke of the dynamic that separated them. A bitter remorse burned in his throat. Years ago, he had allowed this Omega, with shoulders surprisingly broad for his build and a slender waist that his hands longed to encircle, to slip away from his sphere. All because of a stupid misunderstanding, because of a poisonous anonymous note someone had left on his desk, suggesting that Gao Tu only approached him because of his status and that his sage scent was "annoying," too similar to that of a despicable Alpha from Shen's past. He, in his youthful arrogance and his own confusion, had not confronted him, had not asked. He had only distanced himself. His associate, Hua Yong, had teased him afterward, telling him that this was what he got for complaining about an Omega scent that, in reality, disturbed him because he liked it too much. By then, the damage was done. Rumors had spread like wildfire, and Gao Tu, hurt and proud, had distanced himself more and more, until he disappeared from his life completely.

"Then I'll treat you to dinner," Shen Wenlang blurted out suddenly, the proposal coming from his lips with a naturalness that concealed years of planning. His departure abroad had not been solely for study. It had been an escape and, subsequently, obsessive preparation. He had immersed himself in his studies, specializing not only in his field, but also covering two additional branches that he knew were related to Gao Tu's interests and potential. He wanted to measure up, he wanted to have something to offer, knowledge that would make him indispensable. He had accumulated experience and reputation with a voracity that frightened his colleagues, earning money and prestige at an astonishing speed, all with a clear goal in mind: to return. He searched every hospital, evaluated every opportunity, until it presented itself. Accepting the position of chief at this hospital, the same one where Gao Tu, according to his inquiries, suffered constant harassment from Liang, was no coincidence. It was the culmination of a meticulous plan. Now he was here, in front of him, and he had no intention of letting Gao Tu escape again.

The word "No" fell between them like a block of ice, sharp and final.

Shen Wenlang, accustomed to his proposals—even the most senseless ones—being received with at least polite consideration due to his rank and status, literally staggered in his seat. The surprise was so physical that his body shook, and he had to grab the edge of the table to keep from making a complete fool of himself. His stormy dark eyes stared at Gao Tu in disbelief.

"No?" The question escaped his lips louder than he intended, and he noticed with irritation how one of his eyebrows twitched slightly, a nervous tic he hadn't shown since his days as an insecure college student.

Gao Tu, for his part, remained unperturbed. He placed the pen on the notebook with a sharp tap and looked up to face the Alpha directly. A long-suppressed spark of defiance flashed in his eyes.

"Are you deaf, Wenlang?"

The use of his first name, without titles or protocols, coming from those lips he remembered so well—a perfect, slightly fleshy heart that had haunted his dreams more than once—hit Shen Wenlang with the force of an electric shock. A chill ran down his spine, and he felt the air rush out of his lungs. That familiarity, that boldness, was a remnant of the trust they had once shared, which he himself had shattered. Now, it sounded like pure defiance, a line being crossed on purpose.

The initial shock instantly transformed into fierce determination. He would definitely have to thoroughly investigate the relationship between Zhao Liang and Gao Tu. He had to understand the power dynamics, the grievances, everything. He was the boss now, he told himself, and although part of him resisted abusing his position, another, more primitive and possessive part roared at the idea of someone else causing trouble for his Omega. The idea of using his authority to protect him, to corner him if necessary, became tremendously seductive.

Regaining a shred of his composure, he forced a smile that was meant to be carefree, but didn't quite reach his eyes. He leaned forward slightly, crossing his arms on the table in a gesture that deliberately invaded Gao Tu's personal space.

"No, I'm not deaf," he replied, his voice dropping to a more intimate register, laden with playful irony. "But... you specialize in traumatology, don't you?" He paused dramatically, keeping his gaze fixed on Gao Tu's eyes, challenging him to look away. "Don't you want to check my eardrums? It could be a professional case. Maybe that resounding 'no' caused me acoustic trauma."

His words were a charade, a transparent excuse to prolong the contact, to keep him there, sitting in front of him, even if it was under the most absurd pretext. It was a bold, almost desperate move that revealed more than Shen Wenlang would have liked to admit about his need to reconnect, to find any thread to pull on to untangle the knot of years of distance and misunderstanding. The scent of lilies around them seemed to intensify, mingling conflictingly with Gao Tu's sage, creating an atmosphere charged with unresolved tension and an attraction that time had failed to erode.

But Gao Tu's response was a masterpiece of sharp courtesy, a rejection as elegant as it was devastating. Each word, spoken with icy calm, was calculated to pierce Shen Wenlang's armor of confidence and find the most vulnerable joints.

"If you want to have your ears checked, go see an ENT specialist." The suggestion was professional, logical, and completely deflected him from Gao Tu's sphere. A clear rejection of his clumsy attempt at medical flirtation. But he didn't stop there. It was as if he had been waiting years to unleash the barrage that followed. "And while you're at it," he added, his voice soft and laden with piercing intent, "see a psychiatrist and a doctor to get you prescribed suppressants." He paused for an infinitesimal moment, allowing the initial blow to sink in, before delivering the final one: "Your scent is annoying."

The word "annoying" hung in the air between them, laden with a meaning far deeper than a simple olfactory complaint. It was a deliberate echo of the rumors that had poisoned his past, a venomous reminder that Gao Tu had neither forgotten nor forgiven the hurt of those days. As he uttered those words, Gao Tu gently arched his eyebrows. It was not a gesture of surprise, but of pure defiance, a subtle movement that transformed his serene face into a mask of impassive disdain. And, without haste, but with absolute belligerence, he rose from his seat.

It was that rising that sealed the scene. It was not a sudden movement of anger, but an action filled with innate gallantry, a quiet elegance that seemed to say that even the overwhelming presence of an S-Class Alpha did not deserve to make him lose his composure. Every line of his body, from the straightening of his back to the smooth turn of his shoulders, was imbued with a dignity that was impossible to ignore.

The sight was so powerful that it made Shen Wenlang falter. Not physically, but deep within his being. The Alpha instantly hid it, hardening his expression, but for a fleeting second, his confidence was shattered. Seeing Gao Tu walk away so gracefully and coldly, after being beaten with his own weapons—the influences of his past mistakes and such absolute rejection—was a stronger blow than he was prepared to admit. He sat frozen as Gao Tu's figure receded, carrying with it the fresh scent of sage and leaving Shen Wenlang submerged in the overwhelming fragrance of his own lilies, which now seemed unbearably heavy and sour. The battle he thought he had started was suddenly being lost spectacularly.

Shen, you idiot.

Chapter Text

The following days unfolded in a whirlwind of light and dark for Gao Tu. On the one hand, there was a glimmer of hope: his grandmother had awakened. Seeing his eyes, though veiled by heaviness and confusion, open before him, drew a sigh of relief so deep that for a moment he forgot the fatigue accumulated in every bone. However, the joy was fragile, clouded by the harshness of the diagnosis. Despite Sheng Shaoyou's successful surgery, the severe head trauma had left latent sequelae. The doctors told him about the risks of mild cognitive deficits, possible slow reflexes, and the need for long and exhaustive rehabilitation. Stability was an achievement, but the shadow of danger had not completely dissipated.

Mrs. Wei moved awkwardly, complaining of an unbearable heaviness in her eyelids and a strange numbness in her fingertips. Every tremor of her hand, every word she struggled to find, was an indication of the fragility of her life. Gao Tu, in the midst of the hurricane of his responsibilities, clung to those moments with desperate ferocity. He stole an hour here and there, sometimes late at night, after his exhausting shifts. He would sit by his side, take his hand—that hand that now felt strangely foreign—and speak softly, telling his trivialities about the hospital, avoiding any mention of his own battles.

His professional battles had intensified. He had been assigned to the Intensive Care Unit for three consecutive nights, a brutal demand even for his stamina. His specialization in traumatology made him invaluable on the front lines, but it was a bitter paradox: while his skills were needed to save lives on the public side, he felt exploited. It was an open secret that the best doctors, those with fewer "problems" in their secondary dynamics, were systematically diverted to the private wing of the hospital, where they cared for VIP patients with all the resources and amenities. Gao Tu, and a few others considered "difficult" or simply not as well-connected, were burdened with the weight of the public emergency, shift after shift, to the point of exhaustion.

In the midst of that maelstrom, Shen Wenlang's absence was almost a relief. The Alpha, immersed in the responsibilities of his new position as head of the department, apparently had no time to "bother" him. But his presence manifested itself in other, more subtle and disconcerting ways.

The first time, Gao Tu found a small box of fine chocolates from a Belgian chocolate known for its exorbitant prices on his desk, among mountains of papers and forms. There was no card, just the chocolate. Gao Tu frowned, sighed, and after a moment's hesitation, put them in a drawer without tasting one. He thought it might be a mistake.

The second time was more direct, and more daring. He ran into Shen Wenlang in a crowded hallway. The Alpha was walking alongside a nurse, talking with apparent concentration about a case. As he brushed past Gao Tu, his hand, which seemed to be moving casually, slid with pinpoint accuracy into the pocket of Gao Tu's coat. The contact was so quick and discreet that he almost believed it was his imagination. But when he reached into his pocket a few minutes later, his fingers found the unmistakable shape of another chocolate bar, this time Swiss-made and filled with liqueur.

Gao Tu clenched the chocolate in his fist, feeling frustration bubble up inside him. He didn't know what Shen Wenlang was trying to achieve with these childish and persistent gestures. Was it an apology? A provocation? A way of marking his territory? The lack of explanation exasperated him more than the actions themselves. With an annoyed sigh, he put the second chocolate in the same drawer as the first. He didn't care, or at least that's what he told himself. But each small package was an unsolicited reminder that Shen Wenlang was there, watching, acting from the shadows, and that, willingly or not, Gao Tu couldn't ignore him for long. The scent of lilies, though physically absent, seemed to permeate the air every time his fingers brushed against the tissue paper wrapping those unwanted sweets.

On the other hand, Shen Wenlang clung to his determination with the stubbornness of a titan defending his territory. In his mind, there was no possibility of surrender; he was determined to eventually get Gao Tu to agree to be courted by him. He was fully aware of his own past behavior, internally labeling himself a jerk and recognizing that he didn't even deserve the opportunity to demand anything from the Omega. The shadow of his youthful mistakes weighed heavily on his conscience. However, an instinctive force, deeper than reason and fiercer than pride, prevented him from simply letting go and letting him walk away.

The mere idea that Gao Tu might set his sights on someone else, that his sage fragrance might intertwine with the scent of another Alpha, triggered a rush of primitive and violent impulses in Shen Wenlang. His mind, clouded by a sick possessiveness that he himself recognized as disturbing, conjured up distorted scenarios in which any potential suitor suffered "fatal accidents" that permanently removed them from the picture. He knew these thoughts were toxic, a reflection of an unhealthy obsession, but he couldn't control them. Gao Tu had always possessed that elusive, magnetic quality, a singular spell that made Shen Wenlang seek him out tirelessly and caused his most basic Alpha nature to roar with the urgent need to claim him, to mark him as his own, and to bind him to his side with an unbreakable knot.

A look of frustration crossed his face as two of his fingers pressed hard against the bridge of his nose, as if he were physically trying to expel the accumulated tension. The situation was excessive, overwhelming. In addition, the overwhelming workload had kept him away from the object of his obsession, immersed in a whirlwind of complex surgical procedures and caring for patients who, according to certain internal hospital criteria, deserved priority over others. This selection practice, which he had observed with a critical eye, gradually wove a web of solid evidence before him.

His personal investigation, carried out meticulously between consultations and surgeries, was beginning to yield concrete results. He discovered, piece by piece, that Zhao Liang operated with a select group of doctors, whom he systematically channeled to the VIP patient wing. He understood, from a cold and strategic perspective, that these maneuvers were not entirely foreign to the hospital environment; he knew the tactics of advancement where "connections" or "necks" often opened doors to more privileged positions. However, his analysis revealed a serious consequence: this system left exceptional professionals in various specialties to fend for themselves.

And among them all, even putting aside his passionate blindness and the unrequited love that had been gnawing at his heart for years, Shen Wenlang identified Gao Tu as one of the most flagrant victims of this injustice. He was convinced that the Omega possessed a talent that deserved to be showcased on a more prominent stage. He firmly believed that if Gao Tu had the opportunity to treat the hospital's wealthy clientele, even for just a few days, his competence, and skill would not go unnoticed. It was a dynamic he knew well: in those circles of influence, it was not uncommon for powerful families, impressed by a doctor's skill, to hire them exclusively as personal physicians. He himself had direct experience with such proposals; several high-profile families had approached him with similar intentions. But at the time, every offer had been rejected without even being considered. His sole goal, his primary obsession during all those years, had been one thing: to find Gao Tu again. Now that he had him close, his mission had evolved: he not only wanted to have him by his side, but also to rectify the injustices that had dimmed his brilliance and place him on the professional pedestal he deserved, even if Gao Tu was the only one who couldn't see it.

Shen Wenlang's investigation had transcended mere workplace harassment. His meticulous and stubborn inquiries had unearthed a crucial connection: Zhao Liang was the grandson of the hospital director. This nepotism explained the impunity with which the lower-ranking doctor acted, imposing his will despite being a lower-grade Alpha. For Shen Wenlang, an S-Class Alpha whose natural hierarchy was undeniable, Liang's transgressions were a direct affront, but Director Zhao was clearly "turning a blind eye." This raised a deeper and more dangerous question: what kind of influence and connections did the director have to keep his position, shielded from any possible lawsuits or accusations? The protective network was thicker than he had anticipated.

Frowning and his mind racing, Shen Wenlang grabbed a thick folder from his desk, filled with incriminating notes and documents. His destination was Sheng Shaoyou's office, knowing that his former partner had also been gathering information behind the scenes. The Alpha's door was always open, a gesture of transparency, and Shen Wenlang was the only one who took the liberty of entering without knocking. However, this time, as he opened it and looked up, his face froze in a look of surprise. With a quick movement, he turned toward the wall and closed the door behind him, shielding the scene from the hallway.

Inside, Sheng Shaoyou was sitting on Hua Yong's lap, the Enigma with his usual serene expression. They were immersed in a deep, passionate kiss, an inclement intimacy where air seemed superfluous. The abrupt entrance and noise startled Sheng Shaoyou, whose eyes widened before instinctively pushing Hua Yong away.

The Enigma, disturbed in his private moment, first looked at Shen Wenlang with deep anger. "Don't you know how to knock?" he growled, his voice thick with irritation.

Shen Wenlang, recovering from his initial surprise, retorted dryly as he slumped into the chair in front of Sheng Shaoyou's desk. 

"And don't you know that this isn't a hotel for you to be messing around in?" His tone was sharp, but his attention was already on more pressing matters.

Sheng Shaoyou, instead of getting up from Hua Yong's lap, simply frowned at Shen Wenlang's comment. "Well, I'm not Zhao Liang," he declared sarcastically, and from a drawer in his desk he took out a folder identical in spirit to the one Shen Wenlang was carrying. He slid it across the table in front of his visitor. 

"That son of a bitch has an increasingly long black record. Do you know anything about the hospital director's influence in allowing this?" Shen Wenlang opened the folder and his eyes instantly scanned its contents: grainy but clear photographs showing Zhao Liang harassing several nurses, taking advantage of his position of power. The evidence was damning. "How did you manage to get this?" he asked, impressed by Sheng Shaoyou's efficiency.

Before the latter could answer, Sheng Shaoyou asked his own question, still processing the new information. "What does the hospital director have to do with all this?"

It was Hua Yong who, his arms still wrapped around his Alpha's waist, answered calmly. "Wenlang discovered that the director and that Dr. Liang are related. They are grandfather and grandson."

"What?" Sheng Shaoyou's reaction was immediate, his eyes widening even more, showing genuine surprise and indignation. "In all the hospitals I've been to, I've never encountered such a blatant case of a director overlooking something like this." He began to read the documents Shen Wenlang had brought, mentally connecting the dots.

Hua Yong smiled slightly, mockingly. "You two are really weeding out the bad elements from the healthcare system."

"Only those who deserve it," Sheng Shaoyou clarified, his gaze turning serious as he looked at his husband and then fixed intensely on Shen Wenlang. "Besides, Gao Tu is here, and that's why I decided to stay and help." He paused, loading his next words with significant weight. "You better be worthy of him, Wenlang. Don't let him down again."

Hua Yong nodded silently, his expression understanding. He remembered Gao Tu, that flushed-cheeked Omega he had met through Sheng Shaoyou years ago. He knew that his Alpha, despite his powerful nature, had an unusually protective and pure heart toward those Omegas who struggled for their place in the world, especially those whose worth was not widely recognized. In the silence that followed, the alliance between the three men solidified, not only to cleanse the hospital of corruption, but also, for Shen Wenlang, as a last chance to redeem himself before the man he had never stopped loving.

Chapter Text

Shen Wenlang's meticulousness was a steel barrier between information and action. Before making any moves, he needed to be absolutely certain, with every piece of evidence fitting into an irrefutable mosaic. He couldn't make half-baked accusations; the workplace harassment Gao Tu suffered, though more blatant and personal, was only a symptom of a systemic cancer that infected not only that hospital but, unfortunately, had influence in other medical centers. The battle had to be flawless.

Absorbed in these thoughts, Shen Wenlang left the hospital, his white coat still fluttering behind him, seeking a moment of fresh air to clear his mind of the disgust of corruption. It was then that, in the distance, his gaze fell on a familiar figure. Gao Tu was walking slowly along the sidewalk, his steps shuffling, his body leaning forward as if the simple act of standing upright required superhuman effort. He looked like a zombie, a specter of the vitality Shen Wenlang knew he possessed. He knew from the records he had meticulously reviewed that the Omega had racked up endless hours in the ICU and had then been transferred to the night shift. Blatant exploitation. Mentally, he added another item to his list: verify and redistribute those inhumane shifts, and, crucially, grant Gao Tu a rotation in the VIP area. It was an opportunity his talent deserved, far from Liang's clutches. But first, he had to completely unravel the director's network of protection. His own family, based in Country P, with his Alpha father as a mafia boss whose influence spread like the ocean and his Omega father, managing those connections with cunning, was a resource he had always rejected. But for Gao Tu, he would consider diving back into those swamps. They had enough power to unravel the connections of the "idiot hospital director."

His feet moved before his mind commanded them, advancing along the sidewalk toward the desolate figure. As he approached, he frowned with concern when he noticed that Gao Tu did not even react to his presence until his hand gently closed around the Omega's arm.

"Gao Tu?"

The touch and sound of his name, along with the distinctive scent of lilies emanating from Shen Wenlang, seemed to break a spell. Gao Tu's rigid body immediately softened, as if the defenses that had been keeping him standing crumbled upon recognizing a presence that, despite everything, felt familiar. Then, the unthinkable happened: the Omega's eyes, normally serene or defiant, suddenly flooded with silent tears that glistened under the streetlight.

"What's wrong? Did someone do something to you?" The words came out of Shen Wenlang's tightly clenched teeth, a wave of protective fury coursing through him. His inner Alpha was on high alert, every muscle tense, his brow furrowed in an expression of concern and contained rage. However, aware of the fragility of the moment, he made a superhuman effort to soften his scent, so that the lilies were not an intrusion, but a gentle, comforting fragrance that enveloped Gao Tu.

"My grandmother passed away this morning." The confession came from Gao Tu's lips as a broken whisper, releasing a weight he had carried alone all day. He had carried out his shift with eerie normality, suppressing every tremor, stifling the knot of pain that burned in his throat and chest. He had even resorted to an injection of inhibitors, a more aggressive method than patches, to ensure that his pain did not seep through his pheromones and affect his work environment.

"Honey." The nickname, sweet and affectionate, came from Shen Wenlang's lips with a naturalness that surprised them both. It was pure instinct, unmeditated. And it worked. Gao Tu, who had just seen a group of Beta nurses from another wing pass by and responded with his usual soft smile, seemed to collapse completely. His defenses vanished. Without a word, Shen Wenlang took him firmly and guided him, almost dragged him, to the back of the building, a desolate corner with no cameras and restricted access to staff, which, fortunately, was empty.

There, in the darkness and silence, he embraced the Omega. Gao Tu collapsed against his chest, and the silent sobs he had been holding back burst forth in an uncontrollable tremor that ran through his entire body. Shen Wenlang held him tightly, feeling each jolt as if it were his own. It was then, as he took a deep breath, that he noticed the absence. The cool, sage-like scent he associated with Gao Tu, the scent that haunted him, was gone. In its place was a chemical void, an unnatural neutrality.

"Did you take suppressants?" The question came out with a hint of contained anger, not towards Gao Tu, but towards the situation, towards the desperation that had led him to this. He didn't want to scare him any more than he already was.

"No..." Gao Tu whimpered, shaking his head, his wet cheeks lifted to look at the Alpha. His eyes, at that moment of absolute vulnerability, resembled those of a terrified rabbit, and the color of his irises, normally darker, seemed to have lightened, taking on a warm, liquid hue similar to honey. "I injected myself with an inhibitor."

Shen Wenlang had to bite down hard on the tip of his tongue to keep an explosive curse from filling the air. The rage he felt was vehement. Using such a strong inhibitor at a time of such emotional pain was a ticking time bomb. It could trigger sudden, uncontrollable heat, and combined with extreme exhaustion from lack of sleep, it was a recipe for collapse. His arms tightened around Gao Tu's body, and in an inevitable, almost primitive way, he released strong, concentrated bursts of his own lily scent. It was not an act of domination, but of neutralization and care. He sought to saturate Gao Tu's receptors, to overwhelm the system with his essence, to counteract and "wash away" the chemical effect of the inhibitor that was damaging his endocrine system.

"Wenlang, what are you doing?" Gao Tu gasped, trying to pull away, confused by the intensity of the scent.

"I'm erasing any chemical traces that are damaging your system! Do you want early heat to affect you here, in the middle of everything?" Shen Wenlang pushed him away slightly to say this, his words coming out harsher than he intended, driven by concern and fear. But seeing the effect of his words, his expression transformed into pure anguish. Gao Tu's tears, far from subsiding, intensified. Two crystal-clear rivers flowed down his cheeks, now flushed with emotion and frustration, in a silent, heartbreaking torrent.

"Then what are you doing here comforting an Omega if you hate it when they go into heat? Isn't this natural? Besides, I know my own body. You're just an idiot who wants to judge others." Gao Tu's voice was surprisingly controlled despite the crying, laden with a bitterness that cut deeper than any scream. He turned away, breaking free from the embrace.

The frustration in Shen Wenlang was so feverish that he almost rolled his eyes. His damn mouth, always saying the wrong thing at the most crucial moment, had hurt him again. There was no time for explanations, for clumsy apologies. The command his brain sent to his body was instantaneous, rudimentary, unthinking. Closing the distance in one stride, his hands rose to cup Gao Tu's tear-streaked face. And then, without asking permission, without even closing his eyes, he tilted his head and clutched his lips in a kiss.

It was not a soft or comforting kiss. It was solid, possessive, charged with all the intensity of years of regret, longing, and a dull rage against the world that had separated them. His eyes remained open, watching the expression of utter surprise that froze Gao Tu's features, the naked vulnerability in those honey-colored orbs that looked at him in disbelief. Gao Tu tried to pull away, a weak struggle, but Shen Wenlang wouldn't let him. One of his hands tangled in the Omega's hair at the nape of his neck, holding him in place, while his lips moved with fierce but not violent zeal, seeking a response, a surrender.

And consequently, it happened. The stiffness in Gao Tu's body gave way. A different tremor, not of pain, but of capitulation, ran through him. A muffled sound, a broken moan, escaped his throat and was lost in Shen Wenlang's mouth. And slowly, without shyness, with a need that matched the Alpha's, Gao Tu began to return the kiss. His hands, which had been pushing away, clung to Shen Wenlang's robe, seeking an anchor in the storm. Surrender was only the first domino in a chain that collapsed with dizzying speed. The kiss, which began as an act of desperate affirmation, quickly turned into an uncontrollable fire. The need that had built up over years, the pain of losing Gao Tu, and the pent-up rage were channeled into urgent, greedy physical language.

Things escalated with a suddenness that left Gao Tu breathless. With a dexterity that betrayed an intimate familiarity, desired but unexercised, Shen Wenlang untied the knot of Gao Tu's medical pants. His hand, warm and determined, slid inside, seeking and finding the Omega's already semi-erect flesh. Gao Tu let out a muffled gasp against the Alpha's lips, a low, trembling curse that was lost in the shared taste of their mouths. But he didn't stop kissing him. On the contrary, the audacity of the act, the latent risk of being discovered in a restricted area, only fanned the flames. His lips became more demanding, rubbing and sucking with increasing force, nibbling Shen Wenlang's lower lip in a gesture that was both punishment and supplication.

His perception of space and time became completely distorted. Gao Tu didn't even protest when Shen Wenlang, with a hoarse growl, lifted him up as if he weighed no more than a feather. His back slammed against the cold, rough concrete surface of the building, an icy contrast to the burning heat consuming his forehead. However, his gaze, clouded by desire, focused clearly on Shen Wenlang's next move. The Alpha pulled away just enough to bring two fingers to his mouth, wetting them thoroughly with saliva while maintaining an intense, fixed gaze on Gao Tu's glassy eyes. A cheeky, lewd smile spread across his lips before those same fingers moved down, effortlessly finding the Omega's already moist and throbbing entrance. Gao Tu's natural lubrication, an involuntary and undeniable response from his body that longed to be possessed, smoothed the way.

"H-how did we end up like this?" Gao Tu managed to articulate between ragged gasps, his body moving in a rhythm imposed by Shen Wenlang's lavish thrusts. He was practically suspended in the air, his legs wrapped around the Alpha's waist, who seemed oblivious to his weight. Shen Wenlang used his own body as a buffer, preventing Gao Tu's back from slamming brutally against the wall, but this restraint did not extend to his hips. Each thrust was a deep and powerful assertion, a physical reconquest that sought to erase any trace of distance. Gao Tu, with a remnant of lucidity, learned to suppress the moans that rose from his chest, transforming them into soft, muffled whimpers that drowned against Shen Wenlang's neck. They knew that too loud a sound could attract unwanted curiosity.

"I'm not giving it my all if you can talk like that," Shen Wenlang gasped in response, his voice a rough murmur laden with desire. The feeling inside Gao Tu, both incredibly tight and gloriously slippery, was dissolving his anger into a blinding fog of pure lust. He changed the rhythm abruptly, making the thrusts faster and shallower, a cruel and effective tactic that prevented Gao Tu from finding a point of stability. One of his hands moved from his hip to firmly squeeze one of the Omega's buttocks, spreading his cheeks and allowing for even deeper penetration. Gao Tu's reaction was immediate: he covered his mouth with his hand, a strangled moan escaping between his fingers as his eyes rolled back, showing the whites in an ecstasy that bordered on the intolerable.

They completely lost track of time. In a moment, Gao Tu found himself with his palms pressed against the cold wall, his upper body leaning forward, and his hips raised and firmly held by Shen Wenlang's hands. The Alpha, far from showing mercy, took advantage of the new angle to pull out almost completely before thrusting back in with a force that made Gao Tu's already weak legs tremble. He had lost count of how many times Shen Wenlang had replaced the condom, each new assault like a wave that washed over him and rebuilt him. The final irony, a fleeting and absurd thought that crossed his clouded mind, was that he had only gone out for a walk and to eat a chocolate cupcake. At no point in his plans was "having wild, multiple rounds of outdoor sex with Shen Wenlang." But there he was, being pushed once again to the edge of the abyss by the man who, despite everything, remained the epicenter of his own personal disaster and his deepest longing.

Chapter Text

The light of dawn filtering through the window found Gao Tu already awake, lying on his back with his gaze lost on the white ceiling. His face was completely pale, a mask of utter bewilderment. A single thought, raw and self-critical, looped in his mind: 'What the hell did I do yesterday?

Disbelief was tangled with deep unease. He had spent weeks, meticulous effort, avoiding every possible encounter with Shen Wenlang. And then, at his most delicate moment, with the fresh pain of his grandmother's passing weighing heavily on his heart, he had not only run into him, but ended up having wild, multiple rounds of sex against a concrete wall in a hidden corner of the hospital. The recklessness of the act made him shudder. Any security guard, a colleague staying late, anyone, could have discovered them. The scandal would have been enormous, the end of his already precarious reputation.

A chill of relief mixed with shame ran through him as he remembered that, miraculously, no one had disturbed them. When they finally left that restricted area, it was with their clothes quickly adjusted, their robes smoothed out, and a pretense of normality so flimsy that it could have been broken with a sigh. Without a word, their eyes full of unspoken emotions, they went their separate ways. Gao Tu had tried to walk with a naturalness that was agonizing for him. Each step was a recrimination of the intensity of the encounter: the weakness in his trembling thighs, the annoying twinge in his lower back that protested with every movement, and the tingling, almost abrasive sensation in the palms of his hands, still sensitive from the pressure against the rough surface of the wall.

And then there was the farewell. Just before they parted, Shen Wenlang had grabbed his wrist, turning him toward him to seal his lips with another fiery, possessive kiss. It was not a goodbye kiss, but a marking kiss. When the Alpha's tongue intertwined with his, Shen Wenlang sucked on it and then bit it with a gentle but unquestionable ferocity, an elemental gesture of dominance and possession that made Gao Tu cringe and then react with anger. The sound of his fist slamming against Shen Wenlang's arm echoed in the empty hallway. "Asshole!" he had spat, his voice trembling with rage, frustration, and even greater confusion.

But now, alone in the cold morning light, the rage had given way to a strange, empty feeling. He felt odd, out of place in his own body and in his own room. And underneath it all, a deep, silent sadness for his grandmother seeped in, clouding every other feeling. The day ahead was tinged with mourning. He was in charge of the funeral arrangements, a somber task that threatened to plunge him even deeper into his grief.

As he got out of bed, a soft groan escaped his lips. His entire body protested, stiff and sore, as if he had been beaten. The muscles in his legs and buttocks burned with a dull fire, and a deep, throbbing pain nestled at the base of his back. With slow, careful movements, he went to the kitchen and took two painkillers with a large glass of water, hoping for relief to come soon.

Under the hot water of the shower, he tried to wash away not only the sweat and physical aftermath, but also the essence of Shen Wenlang that seemed to have adhered to his skin. The distinctive scent of lilies, though subtle, lingered, an indelible olfactory warning of his surrender. When he emerged, he sprayed the self with a strong, neutral cologne, seeking to neutralize, to mask, any trace of the Alpha. With hands still trembling slightly, he replaced the patch on his scent gland in his neck, symbolically reinstalling the barrier that had been so catastrophically violated. Finally, he dressed in his medical uniform, arming himself once again with the white coat that represented his professionalism, his armor. Outside, the day's appointments and possible emergencies awaited him. It was time to bury his grandmother and, in a way, to bury the events of the previous night as well, even though a part of him knew with terrifying certainty that some things, once unleashed, were impossible to contain again.

The day had barely begun, and he already felt the weight on his shoulders. Gao Tu tried to immerse himself in the routine of his office, in the familiarity of diagnoses and medical records, seeking an anchor in the chaos of his emotions. But the universe, or rather a particularly persistent Alpha, seemed determined to deny him that small comfort.

The door opened quietly and Mei appeared, her expression a mixture of sympathy and curiosity. "Dr. Gao, the head of the department wants to see you in his office," she announced, lowering her voice as if sharing a state secret.

Gao Tu closed his eyes for a second, a silent sigh escaping him. Again? Shen Wenlang seemed determined to make his life a roller coaster of awkward encounters. This had gone from annoying to exasperating. On top of that, he had the urgent need to request time off work. He needed at least two days: one for the funeral arrangements and another for his grandmother's burial. In a hospital where every pair of hands was counted, and his were the least valued, he had no hope of being granted more.

With his heart beating unpleasantly, he headed to Shen Wenlang's office. He knocked on the door with two dry knuckles, and a soft, almost expectant "come in" invited him to enter. Closing the door behind him, he found the scene he was already beginning to associate with the Alpha: Shen Wenlang was sitting behind the large desk, studying intently an X-ray showing a complex fracture or perhaps a severe sprain. The light from the box illuminated his defined features, giving him an air of calm authority that Gao Tu found as attractive as it was irritating.

Noticing his presence, Shen Wenlang lowered the X-ray, placing it carefully on the desk. He swiveled in his chair to face him fully, and a cautious, almost tentative smile played on his lips. "Good morning, Dr. Gao. How did you sleep?"

The question, innocent in any other context, sounded laden with intimate meaning that made Gao Tu clench his molars. His face, however, remained serene, impassive, as if carved from ice.

Shen Wenlang, seeing the lack of response, continued, his tone dropping a notch, becoming more personal. "I know I owe you an apology for yesterday..." he began, and Gao Tu could see a flash of genuine remorse in his eyes before the next sentence ruined the effect, "... But it's not my fault, it's just me, right? We were both there."

Gao Tu took a deep breath, counting to five in his head. He noted, with a hint of bitter irony, that since Shen Wenlang's arrival, his encounters with Zhao Liang had become noticeably infrequent. The constant harassment had ceased, replaced by this new and complex form of torture. He decided to ignore the comment and the attempt to share blame entirely.

"What did you call me for, Dr. Shen?" He asked, emphasizing his professional title, drawing a thick, insurmountable line with his words between what had happened yesterday and today's work reality.

Shen Wenlang got the message instantly. The smile faded from his lips, replaced by a more formal expression. He shifted in his seat, straightening up, and opened a drawer in his desk. From it, he took out a printed sheet of paper and held it out to Gao Tu.

"You mentioned that your grandmother passed away. I want you to accept my deepest condolences," he said, his voice now serious and respectful. "I have taken the liberty of approving your request for leave. Here is the authorization for the days you need for paperwork and the funeral." He paused briefly, allowing the magnitude of the gesture—so unlike the pettiness he was used to receiving—to sink in. Then he continued, his gaze fixed and intense on Gao Tu's eyes. "And when you return, you will no longer report to this public area. I have arranged for your transfer. You will spend some time in the private wing of the hospital, with the VIP patients."

Gao Tu's mind fell into a deafening silence, as vast and barren as a desert. It wasn't that he had never harbored the ambition to work in the private wing of the hospital. Any doctor with an ounce of professional pride dreamed of gaining access to those state-of-the-art operating rooms and a portfolio of patients who often presented more complex and less crowded cases. But he knew, with the resigned expectation of someone who knows his place in the established order, that he didn't have the "connections" or the "right" secondary dynamics to get there. His talent alone had never been enough.

And now, Shen Wenlang was offering it to him on a silver platter. The offer was so substantial, so unexpected, that his first reaction was instant and bitter suspicion. Was this compensation? Payment for what had happened yesterday? The idea that his professional advancement could be tainted by such a vulgar transaction made him feel nauseous. His previously serene expression tightened, and a spark of indignation lit his eyes.

Shen Wenlang, with that keen perception he had always had for reading him, seemed to pierce through his silence and see directly into the whirlwind of doubts and misgivings inside him. Before Gao Tu could articulate a refusal or a question laced with sarcasm, the Alpha leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and interlacing his fingers. His gaze was lively, completely serious.

"Gao Tu," he began, deliberately using his first name, breaking the barrier of "Dr. Gao" that he himself had established. "Please don't let your mind travel down that path. What happened yesterday..." He paused briefly, as if choosing his words with extreme care. "...was something between us, in a completely personal sphere. It was intense, undeniable, and I admit that your... presence has an effect on me that is difficult to ignore." Admitting it seemed to take effort, but his voice did not waver. "But I swear to you, for whatever still means anything to you, that it did not cloud my mind to the point of making a professional decision based on it."

Internally, Shen Wenlang completed the thought with a brutal honesty he didn't dare vocalize: 'Is it possible that you affect my judgment? Of course, it is. You are the variable that throws off all my equations. But this, your transfer, is not a whim of passion. It is a cold, calculated, and above all, deserved decision.'

He picked up the folder with Gao Tu's records from his desk. "This is not a gift, Gao Tu. It is a correction. It is solely due to your record, which is impeccable. All of us doctors here have a record that defines us, that marks our career path. And yours screams that you have been underutilized." He tapped the folder gently with his index finger. "Your patients, those who insist on being treated only by you, have created a reputation for dedication and precision that transcends the halls of this department. Your success rates in complex orthopedic surgeries speak for themselves. You are, period, an excellent doctor in your field."

He paused, letting the weight of the praise, so rare and sincere, sink in. "And while it's not wrong, and even commendable, to devote yourself one hundred percent to the public side, serving the population that needs us most, it's also not wrong to seek growth. In the private sector, you will not only find better resources; you will also make contacts, Gao Tu. Relationships that can open doors for you, not only within the hospital, but in your long-term career. It is a platform that your talent deserves, and that Liang systematically denied you."

Finally, he dropped the piece of information that turned the personal offer into a broader departmental strategy. "And to be clear, you're not the only one. There are two other surgeons, also with brilliant records who have been ignored, who will be transferred with you." His voice took on a slightly colder tone, that of the boss who is cleaning house. "Dr. Liang's management work is being... reevaluated. And serious deficiencies have been found in the allocation of talent and resources. This is part of the restructuring."

The explanation was like a bucket of cold water on Gao Tu's suspicions. It wasn't a favor. It was recognition. An opportunity based on his own merit, framed within a larger purge against Liang's corrupt system. The Alpha wasn't offering him a promotion for sex; he was giving him back, from his new position of power, the place he should always have occupied. The line between the personal and the professional, which Gao Tu had tried so hard to draw, was blurring once again, but this time in a way that was deeply difficult for him to refuse.

...

The morning had ended with a tense truce and an offer impossible to refuse. After that meeting with Shen Wenlang, fraught with implications, where he had accepted the transfer to the VIP wing and made clear, or so he thought, the limits of his new and tangled professional-personal relationship, Gao Tu signed the leave of absence. Leaving the hospital before noon, leaving his pending appointments behind, gave him a pang of guilt. It wasn't his style, but the reality was exhausting.

He changed out of his white coat, his daily armor, into casual clothes: dark jeans and a loose-fitting sweatshirt that made him feel smaller, weaker. He put away his doctor's ID with a sigh. He needed a break, a ritual to process the storm. He headed to a secluded corner at the back of the hospital, a place known only to employees who needed to escape for a few minutes, and lit a cigarette. It wasn't a habit, but a sporadic ritual. He only smoked when he felt the solid ground beneath his feet turning into quicksand, when the precarious stability he clung to was crumbling. Maybe two or three times a month, sometimes none. It was the same with alcohol; his tolerance was low, and his outings with his former classmates—a Beta girl who was a systems engineer and an Alpha boy who was a dentist—were rare events, separated by months and geography.

The afternoon was consumed by the numbing logistics of death. Bank transfers to a reputable funeral home, official negotiations for a space in the cemetery, and the most disconcerting call: with his grandmother's lawyer. The revelation left him stunned. Not only did Mrs. Wei have a modest house in Shanghai that she never talked about, but she had also accumulated savings of four hundred thousand yuan, to be divided equally between him and Gao Qing. The figure took his breath away, not because of the amount itself, but because of the secrecy, the silent sacrifice it represented. Calling his sister to break the news was heartbreaking. On the other end of the line, after a heavy silence that lasted for minutes, Gao Qing broke into a stifled sob. "I always considered Mrs. Wei my grandmother. It's so sad. I won't be able to travel until June because of the country's holidays." The conversation was brief, tinged with shared grief and distance.

Exhausted and hungry, he decided to have dinner at a nearby Japanese restaurant, seeking anonymity and the comfort of routine. As he took a bite of a salmon and avocado roll, his phone vibrated with a notification.

Unknown number.

What are you doing?

Gao Tu frowned, setting his chopsticks aside. He unlocked the screen with his face, a feeling of annoyance growing inside him.

GT.

Who are you?

He knew he should block the number immediately. It was the sensible thing to do. But a part of him, the same part that had led him to surrender to Shen Wenlang against a wall, urged him to answer.

Unknown number.

I'll treat you to dinner, honey.

"Honey." The word triggered a surge of irritation and an inexplicable chill. What kind of idiot would mistake a number with such familiarity? His finger hovered over the block option when the phone began to vibrate and ring, the screen lighting up with the same 'Unknown number'. He let it ring a couple of times, aggressively stuffing two more rolls into his mouth before answering, his voice slightly distorted by the food.

"Who is this?" he said, not bothering to hide the fact that he was eating.

"Are you already having dinner?" The voice on the other end was unmistakable. Calm, deep, and with that hint of confidence that only Shen Wenlang could project. Gao Tu's bite got stuck in his throat for a second.

"How did you get this personal number?" he asked, his tone now cold and cutting.

"I have my methods," replied the Alpha, with a slight arrogance that made Gao Tu's teeth grind.

"That's called being a stalker psychopath," he retorted disdainfully, taking a long sip of his iced tea as if it could quench the irritation growing in his chest. "And I am having dinner, thank you."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. Then Shen Wenlang's voice returned, softer, the initial arrogance gone. "I have tomorrow off. Would you like me to accompany you to your grandmother's funeral?"

The question took him so by surprise that Gao Tu set his chopsticks down on the side of his plate with a small thud. He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the offer. It wasn't just any intrusion; it was stepping into the epicenter of his pain, at a moment of peak vulnerability.

"I promise to behave," Shen Wenlang added, his voice now a deep, sincere whisper that resonated in Gao Tu's ear with a disturbing intimacy.

The simplicity of the promise, the fragility it hinted at behind the Alpha's confident facade, created an instant conflict within him. On the one hand, the idea of having Shen Wenlang there, witnessing his grief, seemed like a huge invasion. On the other, the loneliness that had haunted him since his grandmother's death was a vast, icy abyss. The presence of someone, even someone as complicated and exasperating as Shen Wenlang, presented itself as an unexpected beacon in the darkness. Silence spread across the line, laden with Gao Tu's doubt and Shen Wenlang's restrained hope.

"Okay."