Wonbin’s POV
Later, when the music swells and people start standing, it becomes too much.
The noise.
The way everyone keeps drifting closer to him.
The way my attention keeps snapping back to where Jihan is sitting, like something physical tugging at my chest.
I lean in before I can overthink it.
“Do you want to step outside for a bit? It’s loud.”
He nods immediately.
That alone makes my heart stutter.
Outside, the air is cooler, brushing against my skin like a reset.
The noise dulls behind us, the bass fading into something distant, and suddenly the world feels smaller.
Quieter.
Manageable.
It’s just us now.
We don’t stand far apart.
I notice that first.
How neither of us creates more distance than necessary.
How his presence feels warm even out here.
“I was nervous you wouldn’t come,” I admit, the words slipping out softer than I intend.
It’s the truth.
I’d been watching the door all night before he arrived, pretending not to care while my chest tightened every time someone else walked in.
His answer hits harder than I expect.
“I almost didn’t.”
My brows knit without me meaning to.
“Why?”
“I didn’t want to assume,” he says, voice careful.
“I didn’t want to… want something that wasn’t really there.”
Something in me loosens, then aches all at once.
I exhale slowly, realizing only then how long I’d been holding my breath.
“I wanted you here.”
I don’t dress it up.
I don’t joke.
I need him to understand that I mean it exactly as it sounds.
The way his expression softens almost undoes me.
In that moment, I don’t want to go back inside.
I wanted to be selfish and just here with him.
Close enough that our shoulders brush.
Close enough that I can feel the warmth of him through fabric.
I tell myself not to move, not to make it obvious, but every time a wind blows harder, without thinking I lean in close until our shoulders brushed.
My mouth betrays me before my brain can catch up.
“You smell really good.”
The second the words leave me, I regret them.
He freezes, then laughs softly, flustered.
“You can’t say things like that.”
I feel heat crawl up my neck.
“I—sorry.
I just—”
“It’s okay,” he says quickly.
“You smell nice too.”
That somehow makes it worse.
I look away, embarrassed, ears burning.
I don’t trust myself to look at him right now without wanting something I shouldn’t rush.
We step back into the party, the music and chatter swallowing us almost instantly.
I try to steady myself, but the second Jihan slips through the crowd, every other sound, every other person, blurs into nothing.
My eyes lock on him immediately.
Every laugh, every tilt of his head, every subtle movement—it’s like the world is exaggerating him just for me.
I can’t look away.
Then I see him leaning toward Chansoo for a moment, smiling, nodding at something the younger alpha said.
A sharp twist knifes through my chest.
My stomach churns, my jaw tightens.
It’s irrational—I know nothing is happening—but the thought of someone else holding even a fraction of his attention makes my chest ache.
My hands grip the back of my chair; I force myself to breathe, though it feels like every inhale is too short, too shallow.
It isn’t just Chansoo.
Every alpha, every omega who edges near him, even those lingering at a polite distance, sends sparks of possessive panic through me.
His scent, warm and unmistakably him, clings to the air, and I am painfully aware of how fleeting this proximity is.
I want to freeze time, to hold him here, close, where no one else can touch him.
But it’s my birthday, and I tell myself it’s okay—I can try to enjoy him, even just tonight.
That’s fair, isn’t it?
Still, every small laugh, every tilt of his head without me, is a needle in my chest.
My mind catalogs everything: the curve of his jaw, the way his shoulders shift, the faint shimmer in his eyes when he smiles.
I want to memorize it all, to claim it in memory, before anyone else does.
And then… he does the unthinkable.
He steps closer to Chansoo, introduces him, laughs casually, and I freeze.
My pulse stops.
That voice… calm, teasing, younger-Alpha energy… I stare, disoriented.
Wait.
Chansoo?
Chansoo is…
My heart stutters violently as it clicks into place.
That quiet jealousy, the panic, the obsessive flutter I’ve felt all night—it was all misdirected.
He’s Jihan’s brother.
The revelation hits me with heat, embarrassment flushing every part of me.
Every pang of jealousy I’ve felt, every frantic, possessive thought, every moment I imagined having him to myself—they weren’t entirely misplaced, but I’ve been a fool.
I clear my throat, forcing myself to speak.
“Ah… nice to meet you,” I manage, voice tighter than I intended.
My hands are clammy; my chest aches with the mix of humiliation and longing.
I want to hide, retreat, yet I can’t tear my eyes away.
I can’t stop watching Jihan.
He notices me staring and laughs softly—careful, deliberate, and infuriatingly tender.
The sound twists the ache in my chest deeper.
I want to pull him away, to claim every second I can, to keep him focused only on me, even if I shouldn’t.
But it’s my birthday.
I tell myself that makes it okay, just this once.
I watch every subtle glance he throws at Chansoo, and it stings with a thousand tiny needles.
My mind spins, every pulse, every nerve hyper-aware, imagining him with someone else—even briefly—sharply, painfully.
And yet, despite it all, I stay.
I observe.
I hover close.
My attention is fixed, my focus unyielding.
He is mine, at least in this moment, and I won’t let it go.
Maybe it’s selfish.
Maybe it’s childish.
But it’s my birthday, and for tonight, I decide it’s natural.
I follow him with my gaze, memorizing, flustered, my chest tight, aware of every breath, every tilt of his head.
And even though I know I can’t have him entirely, I can be close.
I can exist in his orbit, and maybe that—just that—is enough.