KNOT.

Chapter 3 - Pheromones.

Morning light slowly seeped through the dark curtains, gentle and unhurried. It was a pale gold glow, not bright enough to sting the eyes, but enough to wake Phatsa little by little to the fact that this was not his room. The ceiling was unfamiliar. The scent in the air was unfamiliar. Even the silence felt different from the silence in his own house. It was too quiet. Too still. Too expensive in a way he could not explain, as though everything in this room had been arranged with such perfect precision that nothing at all was allowed to offend the eye. 

 

But the very first thing that touched his senses was not the light, not the beam, and not the quiet luxury around him. It was a scent. Warm whiskey in an oak barrel. A trace of smoke. Deep, heavy, and strangely hot beneath the surface. Phatsa frowned at once. He had not even fully opened his eyes when the ache at the side of his neck flared, sharp and taut, like a heated needle raking across his skin all over again. He jerked slightly and instinctively lifted a hand to touch it. His fingertips caught on a very real wound, and for a moment, his still-blurred mind went blank.

 

Fragments of last night flashed back in disorder: the parking lot, the wash of headlights, the chaos, the attackers, ragged breathing, and then that man stepping out of the dark as though he belonged to another world entirely... before everything had snapped apart the instant fangs sank into the side of his neck. Phatsa's eyes flew open. This time, he tried to sit up immediately, but before he could get very far, he froze. Something warm and heavy was draped tightly around his waist, and it was definitely not a blanket.

 

He went still for a beat, then slowly turned his head. That man was lying right behind him. Far too close. Close enough that warm breath brushed the back of his neck. Close enough for Phatsa to see the sharp line of his jaw and the shadow of his lashes at this impossible distance. And worse than that, the man was shirtless.

 

Phatsa went completely still for another second. That beautifully tanned skin against the dark sheets was absurdly irritating. Broad chest. Heavy shoulders. Strong arms. Muscles cut sharply enough that even half-asleep, he still looked like a man who had deliberately built his body to bully the rest of the world. His stomach was flat and taut, defined lines running down in a way that was almost offensively perfect, to the point that even Phatsa, who had always been confident in his own body, could not help thinking, What kind of body is that? And then, to make matters worse, his mind immediately followed up with, Yeah... it really is good.

 

Phatsa pressed his lips together and cursed himself at once, telling himself not to lose his dignity before he had even had the chance to start yelling. So he chose the most reasonable course of action first. He shoved the man's arm away. Except instead of letting go, the arm tightened just a little, like a silent answer: You're not leaving yet.

 

Phatsa turned sharply to glare at him. This time, the man was awake. Even freshly risen from sleep, those dark eyes were still calm and oppressive. His black hair had fallen a little out of place, yet that only made his striking face look even more dangerous. He had the sort of face that never seemed vulnerable, not even in the first moments after waking. The man watched him for a moment, then spoke in a low, sleep-roughened voice.

 

"You're awake."

 

Phatsa stared at him for two full seconds before the first thing that came out of his mouth burst free without any filter at all.

 

"How did I end up here?"

 

Nakhun blinked slowly, as if he did not find the question remotely difficult.

 

"I brought you here."

 

"Then why am I on your bed?"

 

"Because last night, you passed out."

 

Phatsa froze for a second, then glanced around the room again. The bed was too large. The room was too large. Everything looked far too expensive for someone to casually drag home a stranger and throw him into bed like this. And when he turned back and saw that the man still had not taken his arm from around his waist, he felt reality slipping farther and farther out of reach.

 

"Wait a second." He spoke slowly, word by word, and looked down at the arm still locked around him.

 

"Let go."

 

The man looked at him calmly before replying, "No."

 

Phatsa was silent for three full seconds, then lifted his head again. 

 

"No, what?"

 

"I'm not letting go."

 

The silence in the morning room tightened another notch. In the end, Phatsa let out a short, disbelieving laugh, like someone no longer certain whether he had fully woken up at all.

"Am I still half asleep, or were you born this weird?"

 

The corner of Nakhun's mouth shifted slightly, almost a smile but not quite. He kept looking at Phatsa like that, then said in the same even tone, as if announcing a plain fact that required no drama at all,

 

"I'm going to take responsibility." Phatsa went completely still.

 

The morning seemed to quiet down even more. The scent of whiskey and smoke still hung too close around him, making his thoughts increasingly unreliable.

 

“What?"

 

"I'm going to take responsibility for you."

 

"Take responsibility for what?"

 

"Because I bit you."

 

He said it as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

 

"If I bit you, then I have to take responsibility."

 

Phatsa stared at him for another long second before his voice jumped upward in spite of himself.

 

"Wait, does that sound normal to you? You bite my neck out of nowhere, and then when I wake up, you say you're going to take responsibility? Saying you brought me in for a tetanus shot or a rabies shot would make more sense than this."

 

"I'm not a dog."

 

"Oh? Good people usually go around biting strangers, then?"

 

"I don't bite just anyone." 

 

"And somehow that's supposed to make this better?"

 

"Yes."

 

"What kind of insane answer is that?!" 

 

Phatsa exploded at once. He shoved at Nakhun's arm again, harder this time, and at last the man let him sit up. But he moved too quickly, and pain shot through his neck again so sharply that he flinched and had to lift a hand back to it in irritation.

 

"We don't even know each other!" He turned and pointed straight at the man. "And suddenly you're saying you're going to take responsibility? I don't even know who you are. Your name, your address, what planet you crawled out of nothing!"

 

For the first time, the man in front of him frowned a little, as if that entire speech had confirmed that the person in front of him was much more stubborn than necessary.

 

"You can't go and like someone else now."

 

Phatsa stopped dead. Then his eyes widened even further.

 

"What?"

 

"I said, you can't go and like anyone else now."

 

The man's tone was still as calm as if he were informing him that rain was coming or that a café was closed on Mondays, not dictating the terms of someone's entire life. Phatsa could only stare for two seconds before letting out another laugh, this one the laugh of someone on the verge of losing his mind.

 

"No, listen, the point is, I wasn't planning to like anyone in the first place!"

 

"Good."

 

"That is not an answer!"

 

Phatsa was getting a real headache now. His gaze ran over the man from head to toe, then snagged once more, helplessly, on that firm, bare chest before he jerked his eyes away again because he absolutely refused to admit to himself that the body in front of him looked ridiculously good. Then he snapped right back to the important part.

 

"And another thing, what kind of decent person bites someone's neck out of nowhere?"

 

The man looked at him for a moment, then answered with maddening simplicity. "You smell good."

 

Phatsa froze. “..I smell good?"

 

"Mm."

 

He went quiet for two full seconds, then frowned and answered in all seriousness, "If that's the issue, I can tell you what perfume I use."

 

This time, Nakhun fell silent for a moment, as if deciding whether to lose patience first or explain again. In the end, he let out a quiet breath.

 

"It isn't perfume."

 

"But I do wear perfume."

 

"I'm not talking about perfume."

 

"Then soap?"

 

"No."

 

"Shampoo?"

 

"No."

 

"So fabric softener?"

 

The man stared at him until Phatsa started realising he was probably being more annoying than necessary, though he had no intention of stopping. At last, the stranger answered slowly and clearly, as if speaking to someone hopelessly dense.

 

"Your scent is your scent."

 

That made Phatsa fall silent for real for a moment. He stared at Nakhun, then lowered his eyes slightly, suddenly losing some of his rhythm because he had no idea how to argue against a sentence that made so little practical sense and yet sounded far too serious to laugh off. Then the man spoke again, clearly with no intention of letting him escape the subject.

 

"Then smell me."

 

"What?!"

 

"Smell me."

 

"You say that like it's perfectly normal."

 

"It is."

 

"In what universe?"

 

His mouth was still arguing, but curiosity won anyway. Phatsa hesitated only briefly before leaning a little closer, cautiously, like someone testing something deeply suspicious. Then he drew in a slow breath. The moment the scent touched him, he stilled. It really was not perfume. It was not something artificial lingering on fabric or hair. It felt as though it came straight from the man's skin: warm whiskey in oak, a trace of smoke, deep and dark and strangely hot.

 

It was not sweet. It was not soft. It was not remotely friendly. And yet for no logical reason at all, it made Phatsa's heart lurch. And the worst part was he liked it far too much. Phatsa froze for a moment, then quickly pulled back and stared at the man as if he had just been tricked.

 

"..Why do you smell like that?"

 

Nakhun looked at him calmly. "Like what?"

 

"Like..." Phatsa stopped, clearly not wanting to say it outright, then finished in a frustrated voIce, "Like something I like."

 

This time, the stranger's mouth curved more obviously than before, as if he was quietly pleased with that answer.

 

"I told you."

 

"No. Tell me the brand of perfume."

 

"It isn't perfume."

 

"Then body wash?"

 

"No.'

 

"Lotion?"

 

"No."

 

"So what exactly do you use?"

 

The man looked at him for a moment, then answered in the same steady tone, "This is my pheromone scent."

 

The whole room went silent again. Phatsa stared at him, as though trying to catch up with everything that had happened, but the harder he tried, the more he felt himself being dragged into that absurd world Ongsa had described the day before.

 

"It isn't like perfume," the man continued slowly. "Perfume is something you put on outside. Pheromones aren't."

 

Phatsa stayed silent. So Nakhun leaned closer again, just a little, those dark eyes fixed on him with no intention of softening the point.

 

"And now, you should get used to my scent."

 

Phatsa opened his mouth to argue immediately, but the moment he looked straight into that face at close range, he fell silent for one suspended second despite himself. Because no matter how annoyed he was, no matter how confused he was, deep down another truth had already begun to rise quietly inside him. He did not like that scent. His body had already begun to remember it.

 

The room was silent again. Only the pale morning light slipping through the curtains and the breathing of two people seated far too close to each other remained. Phatsa sat there with wary, confused eyes fixed on the stranger in front of him, while Nakhun remained infuriatingly calm, as though nothing he had just said was strange in the slightest. Phatsa was about to argue again, but before he could speak, the man shifted a little closer. 

 

Only a little, but it immediately changed the air around them. The whiskey and smoke scent that had lingered only lightly before began to deepen, slowly, before Phatsa had time to brace himself. It did not crash over him crudely. It was not harsh, not forceful enough to feel like coercion. On the contrary, it unfurled with maddening slowness, like warmth rising from a fireplace in winter, like fine liquor running down the throat before spreading heat through the body. Phatsa went still. He felt it before he understood it. His breathing softened. The fingertips resting on the sheets tightened without his knowing it. Even his thoughts, which normally raced in every direction, seemed to slow little by little.

 

"You..." His voice came out softer than he had expected. The man kept watching him, those dark eyes barely moving, and that stillness made him even more dangerous, because it felt like the gaze of someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

 

"Do you feel anything?"

 

Phatsa frowned, about to answer, but ended up saying nothing at all. Feel something? Of course he did. He felt far tar too much. That scent was seeping into him so slowly it seemed to pass through his skin rather than through his nose. It made the hollow of his chest go warm. His heart began to beat harder for reasons he could not explain. And most annoyingly of all, he did not want to pull away. Not even a little bit.

 

Phatsa pressed his lips together and tried to speak in the most normal tone he could manage.

 

"I think... you're using witchcraft."

 

The corner of Nakhun's mouth moved again, almost a smile, but still not quite. "This is only pheromones."

 

"To me, that's basically the same thing."

 

Phatsa meant the line as sarcasm, but it came out softer than usual, irritating him all the more. The man in front of him was still too close, close enough that the scent clinging to his skin seemed to enclose him on every side, and the heat of that bare upper body only a short distance away made his concentration sway more with every second.

 

He should pull back. He should curse him out. He should get off this bed and leave.

But his body did none of those things. Instead, he only felt himself drifting closer without realising it, as though something beneath his skin were tugging him forward little by little, until he could no longer tell whether it was his mind deciding or some strange new instinct beginning to wake up inside him. 

 

"Wait..." He murmured it softly, but even the protest had no weight. The whiskey and smoke deepened another shade-not enough to suffocate, but enough to intoxicate. 

 

It was a dangerous kind of intoxication, one that did not dull sensation but sharpened everything: every breath, every thread of warmth from the body in front of him, every wave of unsteady feeling spreading through him. Phatsa swallowed slowly. And without realising it, his hand lifted. His fingertips touched the broad shoulder in front of him at first so lightly it might have been nothing more than a way to steady himself. But nothing more than a way to steady himself. But once he felt that hot skin under his hand, he leaned closer instead of away, as though the more he touched, the more he wanted to press nearer, as though Nakhun's skin were giving off a quiet heat he did not want to leave.

 

The stranger let everything happen without saying a word. Those dark eyes stayed on him the entire time. Still. Deep. As though simply waiting to see how far Phatsa would go. Phatsa's breathing grew heavier. Then both arms, almost without his knowing it, slowly slid up to circle Nakhun's neck. The movement was hesitant and unsteady, as if he himself had not yet realised what he was doing. He only knew he had yet to realise what he was doing. He only knew he wanted to be closer. Wanted to tuck himself inside that scent. Wanted to stay in those arms just a little longer.

 

"You... smell too good."

 

It was almost a whisper. The man in front of him said nothing. Only the warmth in his breathing had changed, just slightly, enough to prove that the stone-calm figure before him was not as untouched as he looked. Phatsa leaned in a little more. His cheek nearly brushed that sharp jaw. The scent of smoke and whiskey grew stronger still, to the point that it made his chest ache with the sudden urge to hold on tighter. 

 

Something inside him was going loose in the most dangerous way, even though the voice in the back of his head was still warning him, faintly, that he should not be doing this, not even a little. But his body was much more honest than that. The tip of his nose drifted close to Nakhun's face. Their breaths mixed in a distance that had

become dangerous. Their lips were only a breath apart, just an inch. 

 

And then all of the scent vanished. It did not fade gradually. It stopped all at once, as if someone had snuffed out an entire fire in a single instant. The haze that had wrapped itself around Phatsa's body shattered at once. He troze there for two seconds before his senses rushed back just as violently as the blood that surged hot into his face. He jerked away at once.

 

“...Shit."

 

He dragged in a shallow breath and backed all the way to the headboard, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment, unable to properly look at Nakhun at all. The image from a moment ago was far too clear in his head-his own hands around the man's neck, his own body leaning in, the distance between them so small it had almost become a kiss. Phatsa immediately put a hand to his forehead.

 

"Oh, damn it."

 

He did not finish. He did not need to. Nakhun clearly knew exactly what he meant. The silence in the room held for a moment before the stranger's voice came, even and calm as before.

 

"You didn't do anything wrong."

 

Phatsa snapped his head up, his face still visibly flushed "How is that not wrong? I almost kissed you on your bed!"

 

"Because of pheromones."

 

He said it with absurd simplicity, enough to make Phatsa want to throw a pillow straight at his face.

 

"Easy for you to say. I'm the one humiliating myself here."

 

The man watched him for a moment before speaking again, slowly.

 

"If you don't believe me... then try releasing your own scent."

 

Phatsa frowned immediately. "How am I supposed to do that? I didn't even know I had something like that in me."

 

"You do."

 

That calm certainty in the man's voice was infuriating. He shifted a little closer again, though this time he did not release his own scent. There was only the warmth of his bare upper body and the weight of those dark eyes, enough to make Phatsa's breathing uneven all over again.

 

"You released it before."

 

Phatsa stopped.

 

"I did?"

 

"Yes."

 

"When?"

 

The man looked at him steadily, as though insisting on a truth Phatsa was not ready to accept.

 

"When you looked at me like that."

 

Phatsa went still at once. That answer made the tips of his ears go hot again. He was embarrassed, irritated, and utterly at a loss about which part he should start defending first, but before he could scramble together any reply, the man continued without looking away from him.

 

"I was affected too."

 

Phatsa lifted his head immediately. The stranger still looked at him the same way, his expression mostly unchanged, but his eyes had darkened just a little.

 

"If you don't believe it was the pheromones," he said, "then try releasing your scent again."

 

He paused, then added in a low, deliberate voice, "And you'll see for yourself.... that I almost kissed you too."

 

Silence settled over them once more. This time, it was not the silence of confusion. It was the silence of heat, the kind that hid tiny sparks under the skin of the air itself. Phatsa sat there motionless, his heart beating much harder than it should have been, even though Nakhun had done nothing at all. He should have cursed. He should have argued. He should have said this was all completely insane. But the most aggravating thing of all was that deep down, he already believed at least half of it. He believed it because his breathing was still wrong. Because the heat under his skin had not gone away. And because he knew that if that scent touched him again, he was no longer sure he would be able to just sit there.

 

Phatsa was quiet for a while before lifting a hand to rub slowly at the back of his neck, as though trying to smooth away the heat still lingering under his skin. But the more he touched the bite mark, the more clearly he remembered what had almost happened: the strong arms around him, the warm scent of smoke wrapping around his body, the instant his lips had nearly touched the mouth of this stranger for real. Every time he thought of it, his ears burned all over again. So naturally, he did the only thing he was actually good at. He talked to cover it up.

 

"Even if I wanted to try," he said, frowning, "I still don't know how to release pheromones. What am I supposed to do, push them out like... a fart?"

 

The room went silent for a beat. Then for the first time, the man in front of him frowned properly, as though that sentence had struck his sanity with unacceptable force.

 

"Ridiculous."

 

Phatsa shrugged at once, though caution still lingered in his eyes. "Well, I genuinely don't know, okay? How am I supposed to understand any of this on my own? I grew up like a normal person."

 

He paused, then added in the same maddeningly casual tone, "It's not like they teach 'Pheromone Release 101' in high school."

 

The man stared at him for a long moment, as though deciding whether to ignore him or grab him by the shoulders and shake sense into him. In the end, he let out a quiet breath. 

 

"I've never met an omega like you before."

 

Phatsa immediately shot back, "Good. I like being special."

 

"You're more of a problem."

 

"That depends on your point of view."

 

That answer made the corner of the man's mouth twitch again, like irritation and amusement were both trying to claim the same space. It only made Phatsa more annoyed, because even without a full smile, the man still looked unfairly good. The stranger shifted a little closer, then said in a low, even voice,

 

"Pheromones aren't something you force out."

 

"Great," Phatsa muttered. "At least I don't have to look constipated."

 

The man looked at him flatly, clearly unwilling to dignify that idiotic joke with a response. Then he lifted a hand and lightly caught Phatsa beneath the chin, tipping his face upward until their eyes met properly.

 

"They come out when you let go."

 

Phatsa went still. The man's voice was very low. So low it did not feel as though it was speaking near his ear at all, but somewhere much deeper.

 

"You don't need to get it right first. Just stop tensing. Then think about how you want the other person to feel when they sense you!" 

 

Phatsa blinked slowly, trying to follow. The stranger kept looking at him. Those dark eyes were not gentle, not harsh, but there was something in them that made it impossible to look away easily. 

 

"You want them to know who you are. You want them to remember your scent. You want them to understand what your presence feels like."

 

Each sentence fell slowly, firmly, too clearly. And in that moment, Phatsa had no idea how he was supposed to breathe, because just being looked at like that made him feel as though the man could see deeper into him than anyone ever had before.

"And what if I don't know?" Phatsa asked quietly. "What if I don't even know what I'm like?"

 

The man answered at once. "Then let your body answer for you."

 

The room fell quiet again. This time, Phatsa did not rush to argue. He simply looked back at him in silence, then slowly exhaled the way he had been told to. The tightness in his shoulders eased little by little. His fingers, which had been gripping the sheet, gradually loosened. He closed his eyes for just a moment, as though listening to himself in the blood in his body, to the rhythm of his heart, and to the strange feeling that had only just awakened, but was growing clearer all the time. He had no idea what being an omega was supposed to feel like. He did not even know what someone like that was supposed to do to release pheromones. But if he truly had to think about how he wanted the other person to feel about him, then maybe he did know something.

 

He wanted Nakhun to know he was here. He wanted to be remembered. He wanted to be looked at. He wanted Nakhun to catch his scent the way he had caught his, and in that instant, something seemed to open quietly inside him. It did not burst out violently. It did not explode the way he had feared. It simply unfolded from within, like the first rain beginning to fall on earth, still blazing hot after a long dry season. A cool, fresh scent slipped out at first in the lightest trace, then deepened little by little until even Phatsa's eyes flew open in surprise. For the first time, he smelled himself. 

 

It really was like rain. Not the damp heaviness after a storm, but the first clean raintall-fresh, bright, capable of making the heart feel lighter in an instant. It carried the scent of vetiver, wet moss, and the green breath of the earth after rain. Refreshing, but deep. Cool, yet so beautiful that it made one want to step closer. Phatsa sat there, briefly forgetting himself.

 

"So this is... what I smell like?"

 

His voice was softer than usual. But instead of answering at once, the only response he got was the change in Nakhun's eyes. The stranger was still sitting where he had been, but his jaw had tightened slightly. His breathing had deepened. And those dark eyes remained fixed on Phatsa without any attempt at concealment, as though the scent of rain now spreading through the room had struck him hard enough to genuinely crack his composure. Phatsa saw it and paused. Then something inside him lifted its head in pure mischief.

 

The urge to tease. The urge to test. The urge to get back at the man who had looked as though he was in control of everything from the beginning. So instead of retreating, Phatsa slowly let his own scent drift out more deliberately. Not too much. But clearly. Clear enough to provoke. Clear enough to invite. Clear enough to say, without words: If you're so sure of yourself, then come closer.

 

It was an accidental provocation and the worst kind because the moment Phatsa's rain-scent sharpened, the man in front of him closed his eyes for the briefest fraction of a second, as though he had to gather every shred of control just to stop himself from snapping right there. He looked like someone fighting himself hard, and the harder he fought, the more perversely entertained Phatsa became. So Phatsa leaned back just a little, wearing an expression of complete innocence so fake it was infuriating.

 

"Oh?"

 

He asked lightly, pretending not to know a thing.

 

"What's wrong?"

 

The stranger opened his eyes slowly. They had gone so dark they were almost black.

 

"Don't do that."

 

Phatsa blinked with deliberate innocence.

 

"Do what?"

 

"You know exactly what."

 

"I really don't."

 

That answer was a direct challenge now, whether he meant it that way or not. And because Phatsa still refused to draw back his scent, Nakhun's restraint was dragged closer and closer to its edge. The more he was told to stop, the more it seemed to provoke him. So at last the man chose his own method. The whiskey-and-smoke scent unfurled from him again. But this time, it was not as soft as before. It was deeper now, heavier, richer-a slow blaze under ash, building heat before it spread around them until Phatsa's breath caught at once. 

 

The moment both scents met fully in that close distance, everything changed. Like two magnets finally aligning. Phatsa went still. So did the man in front of him. Neither of them said a word because from that point on, words had become unnecessary. The cool rain of Phatsa's scent twined with the warm whiskey and smoke of Nakhun's in a way that felt dangerous. Coolness and heat met for only an instant before melting together into a pull so intense and intoxicating that resisting it felt impossible.

 

Phatsa moved toward him slowly. Nakhun did the same. Slowly. Silently. As though both already knew exactly where this was going. The tips of their noses brushed first. Their warm breaths mingled at an intimate range. Their eyes remained half open for the briefest moment before slipping shut together, as if by silent agreement. And then, finally, their lips met. A tentative Feeling. That first kiss was not soft enough to be, but neither was it rough enough to lose. It was a kiss full of a hunger neither of them fully understood, as though both were equally unable to explain why they wanted this closeness so badly, and yet their bodies knew the answer far better than their minds ever could.

 

The hard line of the stranger's mouth touched his gently at first, but it burned like fire, enough to make Phatsa part his lips without meaning to. He let Nakhun draw on his lower lip until it grew flushed and tender. The kisses came again and again, as though that was all the permission needed. Then the heat deepened, and the stranger kissed him more fully, tasting him until the world tilted. Phatsa's fingers tightened in the hair at the back of Nakhun's head without his realising it.

 

The kiss deepened. Heat flashed through his entire body. Their breathing lost rhythm. What should have been a brief, startled kiss lengthened into something neither of them seemed willing to stop. Their mouths met again and again in growing hunger, until every nerve in him felt wide awake at once. It was hot. Dizzying. Dangerous. And the more dangerous it became, the harder it was to pull away.

 

By the time they finally managed to separate, Phatsa's breathing had gone utterly unsteady. His face was burning. His eyes shone faintly, like someone who had just been swept through by something far stronger than expected. Nakhun was still so close that their noses were nearly touching, and those dark eyes still would not leave his face. As though both of them had just realised at the same time that no matter how much they tried to deny it, what had happened between them was already too real to pretend away.