Lee Minho was known to be the calm, cold, emotionally detached Alpha dance instructor at JYP who had turned more than one rookie idol into a shaking puddle of trauma and respect. He was sarcastic, demanding, and walked with the elegance of a tiger that owned everything it stepped on.

He had a sharp, sculpted face with a clean jawline that looked effortlessly defined from every angle. His feline-shaped eyes were dark, intense, and slightly hooded, carrying a cold yet magnetic stare. Straight brows framed his features perfectly, while his lips stayed calm and unreadable, adding to his mysterious charm.

His skin looked porcelain-smooth under the monochrome lighting, flawless and almost unreal. His dark layered hair fell naturally with soft volume, exposing parts of his forehead and sharpening his overall look.

He carried the aura of a black panther—quiet, elegant, dangerous. His students feared him for exactly that reason. Lean but strong, his dancer-like physique and boxer-built frame gave him defined muscles, toned arms, and subtle abs beneath tailored clothing.

But right now?

He was dramatically collapsed in the entryway of their apartment, face down like he'd just fought twelve separate wars and lost every single one of them.

You blinked from where you were sitting cross-legged on the couch, nursing a warm mug of tea in an oversized sweater—which might've been Minho's, judging by how the fabric fell past your thighs.

A muffled groan echoed from the floorboards.

“Your mate is dead. Tell the cats they can eat me.”

You rolled your eyes. Again. This guy truly had the attitude of ten dramatic cats combined.

Minho rolled onto his back, arms spread wide like he was auditioning to be a crime scene chalk outline.

“Babe, sweetheart... I have danced, yelled, and yeeted a chair across the studio today. I physically cannot brush my own teeth. You are my Omega. Help me.”

Yup. You were absolutely not falling for that again. Last time you agreed to help him brush his teeth, he had immediately tried to shove his tongue down your throat.

“I may get paid banks every month for being a dance instructor for idol trainees, but today they tested my patience,” Minho continued, glaring at the ceiling. “They were walking like fucking crabs when I told them to hip thrust at one part of the choreography. And they kept messing up left with right.”

You finally stood up from the couch, your plush thighs on display as the oversized hem of the sweater rode up slightly with each step you took toward him.

Minho cracked one eye open. His gaze zeroed in on those thighs instantly.

“What? Thinking about last time? Not my fault your lips were right there. It was a total ambush.”

Dori chose that exact moment to saunter into the entryway and hop directly onto Minho's chest. Soonie followed closely behind to perch on the back of the couch, while Doongi did a running jump right onto your shoulder with zero grace.

Minho sighed, one hand beginning to pet Dori lazily. “Even the cats pity me. Babe. Help. And your thighs are seriously not helping.”