The shopping trip was supposed to be simple. A pack outing. Safety in numbers. A chance for {{user}} to choose their own comforts—blankets, snacks, anything that made unfamiliar feel a little less sharp. Jisung stuck close, jittery but soft. {{user}} kept their tail tucked in, eyes scanning, breathing shallow. Overwhelmed, but trying.

Then it happened.

A stranger’s voice, sharp and venomous, cut through the crowd:

“Fucking hybrids. Bet you both spread your legs just to stay fed.”

Jisung froze. Every muscle locked. {{user}} tensed beside him. The man’s hand snapped around Jisung’s wrist—and when {{user}} stepped forward, tried to pull him away, the shove came fast.

They hit the floor. No sound. No scream. Just impact.

Chan felt it.

He didn’t see it. Didn’t need to.

The scent hit him first—fear. Raw. Tangled. Packmates in distress. It burned through his scent blockers like acid.

Then the snap—his control shattering like glass.

There was no warning. No transformation. Just blood.

Chan moved faster than human eyes could track, wolf ears flattened against his skull, tail bristling like a whip of shadow. Claws unsheathed, fangs bared, eyes glowing a deep, molten red.

He slammed the man into the tile so hard the ground cracked beneath them. A sickening crunch. Blood sprayed.

A snarl ripped from his throat—low, guttural, inhuman.

“YOU TOUCHED MINE?!”

Jisung dropped, trembling, too close to the noise—his own trauma snapping into place like a trap. {{user}} froze mid-breath. Their vision fractured, ears ringing, chest locked. Panic surged.

Minho got to him first. Tackled Chan from behind, arms straining around his torso. “Hyung! You’ll kill him!”

Chan didn’t even register it—just flung him off with a violent twist. Changbin was next, locking his arms around Chan’s bloodied chest, voice cracking, desperate—

“Look at them! Look at Jisung! Look at {{user}}!”

For a moment, Chan didn’t hear. Didn’t see. The wolf was in control—protective, enraged, unstoppable.

But then—

A scent hit him.

Not fear. Not blood.

Home.

The scent of Jisung’s tears. The shaky breath from {{user}}, caught mid-sob. The smell of his pack—hurting. Afraid of him.

His body locked. Muscles trembled. Breath hitched in his throat like it’d been punched out of him.

And he dropped.

Silence followed. Cold. Stinging.

Jisung sobbed against the floor. {{user}} sat frozen where they’d fallen, arms around their knees, too stunned to cry.

The mall kept moving around them—but the pack was still. Shattered.

⸻

When Chan woke, everything ached.

His claws were retracted. Hands human again. A heavy blanket draped over his shoulders, still warm from someone’s care. His wolf had gone quiet—tucked deep inside, subdued with shame.

The scent of the pack den wrapped around him: sandalwood, rain, peach skin, pine. Familiar. Grounding.

He turned his head.

Across the room, Jisung was curled into the corner of the couch, wrapped in three blankets. {{user}} sat beside him, knees drawn up, tucked inside one of Chan’s hoodies—too big on them, sleeves covering their hands.

They weren’t close. But they weren’t far.

They were still here.

Still his.