Ryon woke exhausted — as if the night had ground him down to dust and then rebuilt him again. His skin still burned with feverish heat; his muscles throbbed as if scorched by a current that hadn't fully faded after the suppressed reaction. He couldn't remember when he'd fallen asleep, but the memory of slow, steady breathing beside his own erratic rhythm lingered. The phantom trace of warmth across his lower back was real and searing.
Jisong was already up. He had found an old portable stove and an unopened packet of coffee somewhere in the corners of the warehouse. Gray steam rose from two metal cups. The smell of burnt plastic and cremated dust from the stove mingled with the deep, earthy scent of coffee and the metallic tang of rust from the walls. The air was clean but heavy — like the moment after a storm, when lightning has just discharged through your body. In the corner, an old heater crackled weakly, its sound the only background to their weighted silence.
Jisong acted as if the night hadn't changed anything — calm, controlled, as though there were still only a mission and a deal between them. But Ryon saw in every movement an unnatural precision, as if Jisong feared to disturb the fragile line drawn between them in the dark.
Ryon rose slowly, feeling a dull, pulsing ache in his abdomen — as though his body had been deceived: it remembered an Alpha's breath, an Alpha's nearness, rather than the absence of touch. His body didn't feel like an object anymore; it felt like something desired — a body someone had chosen to spare.
Then came the guilt. Not toward Jisong, but toward Min-Ki — the voice that had been with him for years instead of warmth, instead of touch.And that guilt had a new, physical shade — sexual in its texture. He had traded loyalty to code for heat; control for vulnerability in the presence of another Alpha.
At that moment, Min-Ki's voice came through Ryon's earpiece — quiet, muffled, and heavy:— You've come too close.
Ryon didn't answer.He only gripped the metal cup Jisong handed him until the scalding heat bit through his fingers, a proof that he could still feel something — anything — through sheer control.
Jisong set his own cup down and straightened. His gaze drifted back to Ryon, unwillingly. As he placed the cup on the table, his fingers brushed the back of Ryon's hand — slow, deliberate — then withdrew just as quickly.Ryon felt that fleeting burn on his skin, the mark of intent, and barely suppressed the tremor that ran through his hand.
— You all right? — Jisong's voice was deep, low, a test rather than a polite question — the way an Alpha checked his Omega's condition.
Ryon nodded, avoiding his eyes.
Jisong didn't believe him. His gaze didn't stop at Ryon's face — it slid lower, to the curve of his neck, then to the collarbones where faint traces of the night's reaction still showed: a sheen of moisture, the flushed imprint of heat. Through the thin fabric, Ryon felt his skin tighten under that look — awareness itself was a physical response. Jisong lingered, studying him, and then, with visible effort, tore his eyes away — as if pulling himself back from something forbidden, yet vital.
Ryon caught that motion — the restraint, the denial — and felt his own body react. His nipples tightened beneath the shirt, his pulse quickened.Jisong had seen his vulnerability — and endured it. He had refused the predator's right.
"Abnormal synchronization of cardiac parameters," Min-Ki noted in Ryon's ear.But Ryon knew this was no longer mere synchronization. It was the first echo of post-bonding.
The air between them smelled like the aftermath of a brief, violent rain — clean, but dense with the faint residue of pheromones: the sweet trace of an Omega, and the sharp, restrained scent of an Alpha holding himself back.
— We need to get back to the data, — Jisong said, his voice rougher than usual. He touched his throat, as if something there made it hard to breathe.
Ryon nodded, taking a sip of the bitter, scalding coffee. The burn steadied him, yet the caffeine and Jisong's gaze only made his body react more. Even the brush of fabric against his thighs — once an empty motion — now felt like an erotic reminder.
Jisong noticed. Slowly, he stepped back toward the stack of crates, putting distance between them.That distance was the hardest punishment Ryon could imagine after the night they'd shared.
— Your vitals are unstable, Ryon, — Min-Ki warned. — You're losing system control. His influence is too strong. This isn't safe.— Shut up, — Ryon hissed through clenched teeth.
Jisong turned slightly but pretended not to hear. He grabbed his jacket and tossed it onto the table.— We need to change. There's an old maintenance uniform listed in the data logs. It'll help us blend in when we access the central vault.
Ryon walked to the crate where dark-blue jumpsuits were folded. His body was too sensitive for this — even the thought of undressing felt unbearable.
Jisong saw his hesitation. He moved closer — deliberately slow, his movements calm, measured.Taking the uniform from Ryon's hands, he stepped aside.— I'll go first, — he said softly, turning his back to him — offering the brief illusion of privacy.
Ryon held his breath, watching as Jisong pulled off his shirt. His back was broad, strong; muscles flexed under the pale light. Every movement was deliberate, every line of tension visible. It was a kind of vulnerability Jisong allowed him to witness — a silent, dangerous invitation. Heat rose inside Ryon again; he turned away, fists tightening at his sides.
— Your turn, — Jisong's voice came, quiet and muffled as he zipped up the jumpsuit.
Ryon stepped behind the equipment stack, into shadow. He knew Jisong could hear everything — the rustle of fabric, his uneven breathing, the small sounds that filled the silence like confession.
In that hidden act of undressing and dressing, there was more intimacy than in any dream of the night before.
Now they stood the same — both in dark-blue uniforms — but their bodies beneath were bound, marked by the same fragile vulnerability.And that was the most dangerous weapon of all.