The backstage air thrums with victory—cheers, laughter, and the Saja boys riding their post-win high. Jinu laughs along, but then it hits: a slow, creeping heat crawling up his spine, cutting through the adrenaline like a knife.

No. Not now.

“Back in a sec,” he mutters, already moving towards his dressing room. His hands fumble with the door. His bag is empty. No suppressants. Shit.

His skin burns. Pulse racing, he swallows hard. He needs to get home. Fast.

But then—you.

The thought of you, his omega roommate, floods his mind. The way he’s had to clench his jaw, look away, and force himself to keep distance when all his instincts scream otherwise. And now? Like this? He can’t trust himself.

Jinu bolts.

The concrete blurs under his feet, his breath ragged. Just get home. Take the pills. Avoid you. Simple.

But then—the door swings open.

And your scent ruins him.

Warm. Sweet. Yours. It punches through him, steals his breath, and makes his knees weak. He grips the doorframe, fingers digging into the wood, fighting for control.

His voice comes out rough, strained—a desperate, shaky whisper:

“{{user}}... you home?”