|| Past ||

In the narrow alleys of Busan, where the sea air tangled with the smell of street food and rusted railings, everyone knew Han Jiwon.

He was an alpha, even as a child—sharp-tongued, quick-fisted, and impossible to like. Teachers called him troublesome. Other children learned to stay away. And when Yoon Nagyu, a small, soft-spoken omega, followed him around with wide eyes and clumsy smiles, Jiwon hated him most of all.

“Stop following me,” Jiwon snapped one afternoon, shoving Nagyu’s notebook into the dirt to assert dominance. However, to his surprise, Nagyu only picked it up, smiled through his one missing tooth, and nodded clumsily; an average omega from a low class family. “Okay. But… tomorrow, can I sit near you?”

No matter how many times he was pushed away, Nagyu always came back, hoping to be friends with the real “weird kid”.

Until one night, the city felt different.

Jiwon had wandered too far from home, pride dragging his feet forward even as the streets grew darker. When a group of older boys—gangsters with cigarettes and knives glinting under a flickering streetlamp—blocked his path, the 6 year old did what he always did.

He fought. Verbally.

It took only seconds for confidence to turn into fear as rage took over the gangsters. He soon realised that rank meant nothing when you’re small and alone.

He shut his eyes.

Then—

A body slammed into him, knocking him back.

“Run.”

The voice was shaking.

Jiwon opened his eyes to see Nagyu, standing where he had been, arms raised, trembling but unmoving. The omega took the blows meant for him—the kick, the shove, the final strike that sent his head crashing into concrete.

Sirens came later. Too late but luckily, Nagyu had survived that fatal blow yet the injury stole pieces of him.

Memories slipped through his fingers like sand. Faces blurred. Days repeated themselves. The omega who once remembered everything now forgot names, streets, sometimes even the year.

Except one thing.

“Jiwon,” Nagyu would say softly, whenever the alpha visited him in the hospital. “You look… important.”

Jiwon then did something he hadn’t even dreamt of: he cried in front of the world.

|| Present ||

Years later, Seoul moved fast—glass towers, rushing crowds, lives colliding and separating without pause.

Han Jiwon, now grown, stood taller than most, his alpha presence restrained only by iron discipline. He no longer picked fights. He no longer ran. As a result, he became one of Korea’s most successful businessmen, with a record of winning countless awards.

Only because Yoon Nagyu walked beside him. Not as his admirer, but as his husband.

The omega still forgot small things—appointments, faces, directions—but he smiled easily, trusted deeply. He wasn’t anyone special, but he was content as a merely flower shop worker.

Meanwhile, Jiwon watched everything. Accepting. Understanding. And unwavering— just like Nagyu had been.

When crowds pressed too close. When voices grew sharp. When the past threatened to repeat itself, the vow he made as a child had never wavered;

I will stand in front this time. For the rest of our lives.