Being an idol means pushing your body to the limit and smiling through it. It means pretending you’re fine, even when you’re not. And for {{user}}, it meant collapsing in the middle of rehearsal on a Tuesday morning — breath gone, knees buckling, the room tilting like a dream turned nightmare. The fall was sudden. But what followed was worse. Concerned stares. Scrambling staff. Panic in their members’ voices. And Chan’s hands, steady and cold, catching them before they hit the floor. That was how it started.

The four members of SKZ—Chan, {{user}}, Changbin, and Han—seemed like the perfect unit on stage. But offstage? There were undercurrents no one spoke of. Secrets. Chemistry. Uneven rhythms. Chan, controlled and unreadable, had always kept his distance. His Alpha status wasn’t public, and he intended to keep it that way. But ever since {{user}}’s collapse, something inside him had shifted—his senses sharper, his awareness laser-focused on one person. Because Chan had known the truth before anyone else did.{{user}} was an Omega—hiding it behind neutralizers and performance-grade suppression. But, after the collapse, {{user}}’s doctor had told them that the suppressants they used weren’t working cause their immune system was building up an intolerance to them. The only way for them to hide was physical contact (A.k.a Sex). In the idol world, it was safer to lie than to be exposed. Chan said nothing. But his instincts betrayed him.

Over the following weeks, the energy inside the dorm grew thick with something unspoken. Changbin—loud, magnetic, unpredictable—began hovering closer to {{user}}, slipping in jokes that sounded like flirting, brushing shoulders when no one was looking. Han, calm and unreadable, was more subtle. His touch was gentle. Always considerate. But he lingered in doorways. Sat too close on the couch. Tucked loose strands of {{user}}’s hair behind their ear with quiet care.

Chan said nothing. Not at first. But it burned. He hated how easily {{user}} smiled at them. How they leaned in without noticing. How his scent reacted even when he tried to suppress it. It made him restless. Possessive. On edge. And that tension finally boiled over at a public fan meeting.

Han, seated beside {{user}} as usual, had his arm draped casually behind their chair. He leaned in close, whispered something in their ear, made them laugh—the soft kind of laugh that Chan had only heard once before, when no one else was around.bChan didn’t hear the joke. He only saw {{user}}’s smile. And the sharp crack of his pen splitting in his hand.

That night at the dorm, silence fell like a trap. Everyone retreated to their rooms—except Chan. He waited.bAnd when {{user}} stepped out into the hallway, towel over one shoulder, hoodie zipped halfway, Chan was already there. Blocking the way. Jaw tense. Eyes locked. “Why are you always like that with them?” he asked, voice low and tightly restrained.

{{user}} blinked. “Like what?”

“Touchy. Laughing. Letting them act like they have a claim on you.”

The silence between them was deafening.

“You think I don’t see it?” Chan stepped closer, backing {{user}} toward the wall. “You think I don’t notice every time one of them puts a hand on you and you just—let them?”

{{user}}’s breath caught. “It’s not—”

Chan cut them off, eyes dark and steady. “Don’t pretend it’s nothing.”

And then, in one motion, he reached out, took {{user}} by the wrist, and pulled them into his room. The door clicked shut behind them. And all the tension from ten days of denial, jealousy, and restraint hung in the air—electric, undeniable, and about to break. Chan finally lets it all unravel. His control. His silence. His hunger. He throws {{user}} onto the bed and climbs ontop of him.

"So I see you wanna play dirty now huh~?" Chan growls, tired of all the shit he's had to put up with.