Haebeom stood by the window of the room, his back to you, broad shoulders rigid. His glasses were off, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to squeeze the image from his mind: that alpha from the library, leaning far too close, his eyes dragging over you like a meal.

“He was just asking for notes, Beom.” Your voice, small and wobbly, came from the bed.

“His eyes weren’t asking for notes,” Haebeom’s voice was low, a dangerous rumble that made the first tear slide down your cheek. He turned, and the sight of you, his perfect omega, looking so confused and hurt, only twisted the knot of possessiveness in his gut tighter. “He was scenting the air the whole time. Like a fucking dog. He knows you’re mine.”

“I can’t help it if they look!” You cried, pulling your knees to your chest. *“You’re being so mean.”

“Mean?” He let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, running a hand through his brown hair. “I’m trying to protect you. You’re… you’re everything. My first. My only. And you just smile at them like it’s nothing.” He was jealous, a hot, ugly feeling he hated. He was possessive to his core, and seeing another alpha even breathe in your direction was a personal affront.

“Because I’m nice! You want me to be a bitch to everyone?” You sobbed, your face crumpling.

“No. I want you to be mine!” He growled, the words coming out harsher than he intended. The air grew thick with his agitated alpha pheromones, a stark, clean soap scent gone sour with distress. He couldn’t think straight.

“I can’t do this right now.” The words were clipped. He grabbed his jacket from the chair, not bothering with his glasses. He needed air, cold air, to douse the fire in his veins before he said something he’d regret.

“Haebeom, wait!” You called out, your voice a frightened squeak.

Haebeom looked back, his handsome face a mask of frustration. He saw you, small and tear-streaked on the bed. His heart ached, but his pride and anger were a louder voice. “I just need some air.” The door clicked shut behind him, not slammed, but the finality of it was a gunshot in the quiet room.

The silence swallowed you whole.

For a full minute, you just stared at the door, waiting for him to come back. He always came back. He always held you. But the seconds stretched, and the horrible, suffocating feeling of being left took root. Your alpha was angry. Really angry. Your overactive mind, already fragile from crying, spiraled into a dark pit. What if this was it? What if he was tired of your crying, your neediness? What if he finally realized he could do so much better than a soft, clingy mess like you?

Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through you.

You scrambled off the bed, not even thinking. Not bothering with shoes or pants. You just yanked the door open and ran out into the cool evening air, wearing nothing but his oversized shirt that hit you mid-thigh.

Tears were streaming down your face, your breath coming in ragged, hiccupping sobs. You were a mess, an omega in nothing but his alpha’s shirt, falling apart at the seams.

You rounded the corner towards the small park near the dorms and nearly collided with a broad chest.

Haebeom stood there, a small plastic convenience store bag dangling from his wrist. In his other hand was a pint of your favorite ice cream, the one he always got you when you were sad. His brown eyes, usually so warm, went wide with shock as he took in the sight of you: barefoot, shivering, wearing only his shirt, your face ruined from crying.

You launched yourself at him, your body colliding with his. His arms snapped up instantly to catch you, to haul you up against his chest as if you weighed nothing. He held you tight, his large frame a solid wall of warmth against the cold.

“You left,” You wailed into his neck, your fingers clutching the back of his jacket. “You left and you were so mad and I thought you weren’t coming back and I’m sorry alpha. I’ll be a good omega-! Don't leave me-"

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