KNOT.

Chapter 4 - Bonding.

Their lips had only just parted, and their breathing was still tangled together in a distance far too close. So close that Phatsa could still feel the other man's heat lingering against his skin. Even the tips of their noses were almost still brushing. His own cool, rain-fresh scent remained stubbornly fused with the warm whiskey and faint smoke of the man before him, as though even the air itself refused to let the closeness of a moment ago end so easily.

 

Phatsa breathed hard for a while before turning his face away a little, like someone who had only half returned to his senses. He lifted the back of his hand and touched his own lips lightly, as he was still unsure whether what had just happened had been real. But even without touching them, he could still feel the heat there, the taste of the kiss, the pull of it, the trembling sweetness still lodged in his chest until his heartbeat refused to settle. 

 

They sat in silence for a moment before Phatsa finally spoke, his voice low, though the familiar edge of mischief had not left it completely. 

 

"Who are you planning to kiss?"

 

His voice rose sharper than it had at any point before. Not loud enough to count as a shout, but weighted and edged enough to make Phatsa startle. He turned back to look at him at once and saw clearly that the man in front of him was frowning harder now, the line of his jaw tightening just a little. His face remained largely composed, yet something possessive flashed so clearly through him that it hardly needed interpretation. Phatsa blinked twice, then let out a small, baffled laugh.

 

"Why are you raising your voice? I was just asking."

 

The other man kept looking at him for another beat, as if only just realising that he had let more of his temper slip out than he had intended. In the end, he let out a slow breath and moved back the slightest little bit, as though deliberately drawing himself back toward his usual composure.

 

"If it's someone who smells the pheromones and likes them, then it's possible."

 

He sounded more even now, but the intensity in his tone had not fully gone anywhere.

 

"Or if an omega deliberately releases a seductive scent, some alphas may come closer."

 

Phatsa listened in silence, his gaze still fixed on the other man. It was as if he was not only listening to the answer, but also quietly dwelling on that reaction from a moment ago. Because even if he still did not understand much about the world of alphas and omegas, he could tell well enough that what he had just seen had not been mere irritation. The other man continued, slowly.

 

"But if it reaches the point where two people smell each other and become so intoxicated they want to kiss, almost beyond resisting, most of the time, they're fated mates."

 

Phatsa raised a brow slightly.

 

"Fated mates?"

 

"Soulmates."

 

That single word fell softly, and yet somehow it made the entire room go still all over again. Morning light spread gently across the end of the bed. Neither of their breathing had quite returned to normal yet. And the closeness from a moment ago still clung to their skin as though it had not even begun to fade. Phatsa was quiet for a moment before asking again, in the tone of someone who still did not believe easily, though he had already begun to want to know more than he intended

 

"What about you, then?" The other man looked at him.

 

"What?"

 

"Can you resist it?" 

 

That question changed the silence in the room at once. It was not exactly meant as provocation, at least not on purpose, but once it was out, it sounded very much like he had set fire directly in front of the other man and invited him to step into it. The stranger's gaze stilled by the smallest degree, and then one corner of his mouth curved upward slowly, in something that could barely be called a smile.

 

"You want to know?"

 

Phatsa had not even managed to answer before the other man released his pheromones agaın. This time, there was no warning. The scent of whiskey in oak and warm smoke unturled slowly, but more firmly than before. It was no longer merely a heat creeping around him. It felt like a deeper heat now, something that sank beneath his skin and wound itself around his ankles, his knees, his waist, his chest, even his breath, claiming him piece by piece until Phatsa barely had time to brace himself.

 

He jolted softly. The breathing that had only just begun to steady shattered all over again. His fingertips, resting on the bed, tightened before slowly loosening like someone losing the strength to keep resisting. His eyes were helplessly drawn to the other man's mouth, and the thicker the scent became, the more blurred his thoughts grew.

 

"You..."

 

His voice came out so soft it was almost painful to hear. The man only kept looking at him like that. He did not hurry him. He did not pull him closer. He did not even touch him. It was as if he had deliberately chosen to let the answer arrive on its own. Phatsa felt suddenly, overwhelmingly hot and at the same time strangely weightless. He hated the truth of it: hated that his body was being so honest, so shamelessly honest that no matter how many sarcastic lines his mind wanted to throw out, it no longer had the strength to make them happen. In the end, he slowly moved closer of his own accord.

 

As if afraid. As if curious. As if he had already surrendered halfway without knowing it. He did not kiss him right away. He only leaned in until the tip of his nose brushed the other man's warm breath. Then the eyes that were so often full of cheek and mischief softened little by little as that scent closed entirely around him. And at last, his lips touched the lower lip of the man before him, gently.

 

It was only a touch. Very light, and yet it was enough to answer every question. The man in front of him did not say, See? He did not smile. He did not mock him. He only looked at Phatsa from that to realise what he had done.

 

He pulled back only slightly, but even that slight distance was nowhere near enough to free him from those eyes. Their lips remained together far longer than Phatsa thought they should have. What had begun as nothing more than a light touch as an answer to some unspoken question gradually, almost shockingly, deepened on its own. Neither of them hurried it. Neither of them forced it. And yet the more Phatsa's cool, rain-fresh scent blended with the warm whiskey and faint smoke of the man before him, the more everything inside him seemed to sink somewhere deeper than reason could reach.

 

Phatsa did not even realise when his hand had moved, when it had slid up to grip the other man's shoulder more tightly than before. The moment it did, the man in front of him answered in kind, his mouth moving against his slowly, but with unmistakable certainty. The heat of the kiss spread from his lips through his whole body, like tiny threads of fire being lit beneath his skin one by one, until his heart was beating far too fast to control.

 

Everything in the room was too quiet. Quiet enough to hear their breathing begin to clash and catch. Quiet enough for him to feel how warm the other man's lips were. Quiet enough for the tremor inside his own chest to become deafening.

 

He should have stopped. He should have pulled away. He should have come back to his senses long before this. But the problem was that he would not stop. Not even a little. On the contrary, the deeper the kiss became, the more he felt as if he were sinking into something dangerous, something perilous, and yet far too sweet, too intoxicating, too irresistible to escape. 

 

Without even realising it, Phatsa parted his lips a little more for him, allowing the kiss to grow heavier, deeper, little by little, until the heat of it had nearly swept every last scrap of reason from his mind. And then, all at once, the bedroom door flew open. The sound of the door hitting the wall was only slight, but it was enough to snap everything apart in an instant. Nakhun moved faster than he thought—pure instinct.

 

He seized Phatsa at once, his tall body shifting in front of him in a blink, shielding him completely. One arm swept Phatsa firmly behind his back, closing him off so tightly that there was barely any opening left through which anyone could see him properly. His sharp eyes lashed toward the newcomer, and some silent pressure in that gaze struck out so fiercely that the atmosphere in the room changed at once. Phatsa froze.

 

A moment ago, he had still been in this man's arms as the two of them kissed each other senseless. But in the space of a heartbeat, the man had changed from heat to cutting coldness, terrifyingly fast like a blade drawn soundlessly from its sheath. 

 

The one who had opened the door was none other than Nakhin. He stood there completely still, wearing an expression rarely, if ever, seen on his face. Shock. Contusion. And the look of someone trying with all his might to process what he was seeing. All he had meant to do that morning was ask his brother to come downstairs for breakfast. Never, not even for a second, had he imagined that when he opened the door, he would find his always cool, always composed older brother shirtless, on the bed, shielding some absurdly handsome boy behind him as though no one else in the world were allowed to touch him. And worse than that was the look in Nakhun's eyes.

 

It was the look of someone possessive. Violently possessive. So much so that even though the one standing there was his own younger brother, the warning in that gaze came down full force, without the slightest attempt to soften it. Nakhin blinked twice, then slowly lifted both hands as if surrendering immediately, "Easy, brother."

 

His voice came out a little too quickly, amusement already threading through it despite his shock. What stood before him was too unbelievable. Even for Nakhin, it took a full moment to absorb that this was actually real. Nakhun kept staring at him for another moment, his breathing not yet fully steady, his eyes still hard and cold, before speaking in a low, level voice.

 

"Get out."

 

Nakhin raised a brow.

 

"Wow. I only came up to ask you to breakfast."

 

He said it lightly, but his eyes still slipped just a little past his brother's shoulder, and what he saw only made it harder to keep a straight face. That boy was still standing there behind Nakhun, pale hair slightly disordered from sleep, lips flushed redder than normal, his whole expression carrying the dazed look of someone who had just been dragged out of something far too insane to process all at once. Nakhin lasted less than three seconds before a laugh slipped out.

 

"But it looks like my brother has... important business."

 

He stretched out the words important business with unmistakable intent. Nakhun's stare turned colder still.

 

"Nakhin."

 

Just his name. That was enough. Nakhin raised both hands at once, the grin still not leaving

his mouth

 

"Okay, okay. I'm going."

 

He backed toward the door slowly, but still could not resist tossing one last teasing line over his shoulder.

 

"You've got a wicked side too, brother."

 

Nakhun hurled a pillow straight at the door. Nakhin had already shut it just in time, and the pillow hit the wood instead of his face. The moment the sound of the door disappeared, the mood in the room shifted again. The heat that had still been smouldering only a second ago was now threaded through with something deeply awkward, as though a beautiful blaze had suddenly been doused with cold water, leaving behind only a hiss of steam, leftover warmth, and a silence neither of them quite knew how to inhabit.

 

Slowly, Phatsa emerged from behind Nakhun. Everything had happened so quickly that only now was he beginning to process just how closely he had been shielded, how tightly he had been pulled in, how completely he had been covered, how the other man's breath had seemed to wrap around him without leaving the smallest space between them. And that realisation only made him retreat at once.

 

He lifted a hand to touch the side of his neck lightly, as though trying to pull his scattered senses back together, then looked away and said, as though making a final decision, "I think... I'm going home."

 

That made Nakhun turn to him immediately.

 

"You shouldn't." Phatsa frowned at once.

 

"And why exactly shouldn't I?"

 

"Because we just formed a bond."

 

Nakhun's voice had gone flat again, but it was still firm with the certainty of someone speaking about a fact that should have been obvious from the start.

 

"An alpha and an omega who've just formed a bond shouldn't stay apart."

 

Phatsa stared at him for a moment, then let out a short laugh, the kind that made it very clear he did not believe a word of it.

 

"I think you're being a little dramatic."

 

"I'm not."

 

"I can go home. What's going to happen?"

 

"It matters."

 

"It really doesn't."

 

Phatsa shot back immediately. He was drawing himself back into the ordinary world he understood, and the more his senses returned, the more completely his stubbornness returned with them.

 

"I've lived my whole life perfectly fine. I'm just going home. It's not like I'm going to die."

 

Nakhun looked at him in silence, irritation beginning to show more clearly now. He had already explained it using the logic of this world, but the man in front of him kept arguing back with the plain common sense of the world he had always known, refusing to believe any of it.

 

"You're stubborn." Phatsa lifted a brow at once.

 

"I'm not stubborn."

 

"No decent person ever admits that he's stubborn."

 

"And according to you, a decent person is someone who randomly goes around biting people on the neck?"

 

Nakhun fell silent for a moment. He had never met anyone who argued back this relentlessly, never let a single word fall to the ground before throwing another one right back. If Phatsa had been his son or even one of his younger relatives, he would have smacked him until he could not sit down comfortably. For a moment, it looked as though he was weighing whether to keep explaining or finally lose patience. In the end, he chose the latter. He let out a slow breath, sounding truly tired of arguing

 

"If you want to leave, then leave."

 

The flatness in his voice made Phatsa pause for only a second. But because the other man was clearly saying it out of irritation, Phatsa threw the same energy back at him at once.

 

"Oh, I'm definitely leaving."

 

He lifted his chin and looked straight at him.

 

"Who in their right mind would stay with someone this weird?"

 

The sentence dropped into the middle of the room and stayed there. Nakhun said nothing. Neither did Phatsa. Silence spread between them, thick and heavy. Only moments ago, they had been kissing until it felt like they might consume each other's breath. But now they stood on opposite sides of their own moods, unmistakably divided, one of them gone unreadably still, the other bristling with refusal, even though his heart still had not returned to a normal rhythm. In the end, they parted in exactly that sour, clouded mood.

 

No goodbye. No further explanation. And neither of them is willing to soften first. And yet even with their backs turned, the scent of rain and the scent of whiskey and smoke still clung stubbornly to each other, like the trace of something that had already happened and would never be easily erased.

 

The bedroom door had closed, but the silence that followed did not settle back into anything ordinary. Something still lingered in the air, on the bed, at the edge of Nakhun's breathing. It was as though the faint trace of rain Phatsa had left behind refused to disappear, even after he had walked away.

 

Nakhun stood beside the bed in the same state as before, shirtless, his hair still slightly disordered from sleep and from everything that had followed. His dark eyes remained fixed on the closed door. His face showed very little, but the tension in his jaw and shoulders was plain enough. It was not because his morning had been interrupted. Not because Nakhin had opened the door at the wrong moment. But because Phatsa had just walked out in that state.

 

Stubborn. Unwilling to listen. Quick to argue. And still daring to act as if nothing had happened. Even though things had already gone far too far for that to be possible anymore, Nakhun remained like that for another moment before finally bending to pick up a shirt and pull it on in silence. He left the first two buttons undone, as though he had no patience to make himself fully presentable. 

 

His hand had just reached for the phone on the bedside table when the door cracked open again. Nakhin poked his head in first, cautious in the way of someone who knew that if he chose the wrong moment, he might well be flayed alive by a single look. But once he saw his brother did not seem actively homicidal anymore, he stepped back into the room.

 

There was an orange in his hand. A very clear sign that he truly had intended to invite his brother to breakfast and had not come up merely to cause trouble. Nakhin shut the door quietly behind him and studied his brother for a full two seconds before asking, in his usual direct way,

 

"Who was that kid?"

 

Nakhun did not answer immediately. He merely looked down at the phone in his hand, fingers already moving in silence. His expression remained level, but it was a taut sort of stillness, and Nakhin, who had known him all his life, could tell easily enough that his brother was genuinely tense; he refused to let it show too much. Nakhin stepped a little closer, his voice lower now, though still threaded with curiosity.

 

"You never bring strangers home." He paused, idly rolling the orange in one hand. "And if you're going to take someone somewhere, you usually take them somewhere else."

 

The last remark sounded teasing, but his eyes were serious enough. Because what he had just seen had been anything but ordinary. The boy Nakhun, who had dragged behind him and was nearly hidden from view, did not look, from any angle, like someone merely passing through. Nakhin raised a brow.

 

"He seemed... special."

 

Only then did Nakhun finally lift his gaze. Those dark, sharp eyes remained still for a beat before he answered flatly,

 

"I don't know if he's special." He paused. "But I bit him."

 

The orange dropped from Nakhin's hand. Thud. It hit the parquet floor hard, rolled only a short distance, then came to a stop. Nakhin did not even look at it. He stood frozen, eyes widening visibly, the usual playful smile vanishing in an instant until there was nothing left but shock.

 

"..What?"

 

He said it slowly, like a man who was no longer entirely sure he had heard correctly. Nakhun looked at his younger brother and repeated, in the same tone as before.

 

"I bit him."

 

Nakhin froze for another second, then swore outright, forgetting every trace of polish.

 

"Holy shit."

 

The room fell dead silent after that. Nakhin scrubbed a hand hard down his face, as though trying to drag his mind back into order. His eyes stayed fixed on his brother. The shock had not faded. It had simply turned into something heavier, sharper, because he knew now that this was no longer in the realm of a minor mess.

 

This was not a fight. Not a passing scandal. Not just some boy his brother had brought home. This was a bite. A bond. Something that, once done, meant two lives would never be the same again. Nakhin took another step closer, his expression properly serious now.

 

"What are you going to do?"

 

Nakhun was silent for a while. It was not a question without answers. It was a question with too many answers, and none of them looked simple. In the end, he answered with brutal honesty.

 

"I don't know."

 

Nakhin stared at him. That was not an answer he heard often from his brother. Nakhun was usually the one who always knew what came next. No matter how complicated the situation, he was the one who saw the path ahead before anyone else did. But not this time. Which only made it clearer how serious this really was.

 

Nakhin swallowed once, then asked more carefully, "So... Do you have to marry him?"

 

That question made Nakhun stop for only the briefest moment before a low laugh escaped him. It was not the sound of someone amused. It was the sound of someone confronted with a question that made the whole situation feel even more absurd than it already was.

 

"How exactly would that work?" He answered in the same level of tone. "I don't even know his name."

 

Nakhin fell silent again. There was nothing to argue with there because it was the plain truth. Things had already become this serious. His brother had bitten the boy. And yet he still did not even know the boy's name.

 

Silence settled over the room again before the quiet tapping of a phone took its place. Nakhun looked back down at the screen, his fingers moving quickly and precisely. He did not say what he was doing, but Nakhin could tell well enough he was quietly sending orders to his bodyguards, likely telling them to trace the boy or find out who he was. 

 

Nakhun's face remained mostly unreadable. His posture stayed controlled, but Nakhin could see clearly that all the tension had been locked beneath the surface. Too still, too quiet. And that only meant this was affecting him far more deeply than he was willing to show.

 

Nakhin bent down to pick up the orange from the floor, then kept holding it as if only remembering it existed. He watched his brother for a while before leaning one hip against the edge of the table.

 

"This is going to turn into something big."

 

The sentence did not really ask for an answer. It was simply the truth, spoken aloud. Nakhun's fingers stopped for a moment. Then he darkened the phone screen and lifted his eyes toward the door Phatsa had walked through only a short while earlier. His gaze was very still. But the stiller it became, the more certain Nakhin was that none of this would end, not just because his brother had bitten someone. But because someone had already managed to shake Nakhun in a way almost no one ever had. And if that was true, then from here on, everything was bound to get far, far more complicated.

 

════[changbins_delulu_wife]════

 

Phatsa got home in a mood that could not, by any stretch of the imagination, be called good. The front door had barely shut behind him before he stood there with his back against it for a moment, as though his whole body had only just remembered that he had finally made it back somewhere familiar. 

 

The smell of home, the faint scent of wood, the soft warmth of sunlight lingering in the curtains and sofa, these were all things that should have soothed him. And yet, strangely enough, that morning Phatsa still felt as though he had not truly escaped that man's bedroom at all. The warm scent of whiskey and smoke still clung to the edge of his senses in the most infuriating way.

 

It clung in his head. It clung to his clothes. It clung even to his own breath. Phatsa swore under his breath, then threw himself onto the sofa in utter exhaustion. His pale hair was a mess, his clothes still not fully straightened, and he looked exactly like someone who had just stumbled through something insane without even being given the chance to catch his breath. He dragged a hard hand over his face, then leaned his head back against the cushions and closed his eyes.

 

He should have gone to take a shower. He should have washed that man's scent off himself. He should have stopped thinking about the moment when he had almost- No. Not almost. He had kissed him. He really had. The instant that thought crossed his mind, Phatsa let out another aggravated sigh.

 

"Shit..."

 

He had not even managed to get up before the doorbell rang. Phatsa frowned at once. He got to his feet and went to answer the door with the air of someone in no condition to see anyone at all. But when he opened it and found Ongsa standing there, he paused. Ongsa stood on the doorstep in a light, casual shirt, as clean-cut and effortlessly handsome as ever. One hand carried a small bag of something or other. He looked like he had dropped by, not like he had come for anything serious. But the moment he got a full look at Phatsa's condition, the ease in his eyes vanished at once, replaced by the particular mix of exasperation and concern only an older-brother type could manage when faced with a younger man who clearly looked a mess first thing in the morning.

 

"What happened to you?"

 

Phatsa blinked. Ongsa openly looked him up and down.

 

“...”

"Your hair isn't even brushed. Your shirt is still wrinkled. You look like you haven't even washed your face yet. Don't tell me you haven't showered." He let out a soft sigh. 

 

"Phatsa, you're grown up now. You really shouldn't be staying out so late that you come home looking like this."

 

Phatsa made a face immediately and stepped aside to let him in.

 

"I wasn't out partying."

 

"Then what were you doing?"

 

That question made Phatsa drop back onto the sofa again, his face taking on the expression of someone who had no idea where even to begin.

 

"I ran into... a mess."

 

Ongsa shut the door behind him and stepped inside, clearly unconvinced by that vague answer. But before he could press for details, Phatsa seemed to remember something. He suddenly leaned forward, grabbed the envelope that had been left on the table, and held it out to Ongsa at once.

 

"Oh, right. This. The test results from the hospital."

 

Ongsa paused. "The results?"

 

"Yeah," Phatsa answered matter-of-factly. "My secondary sex results."

 

Ongsa took the envelope automatically, but the surprise in his eyes sharpened visibly. He looked at Phatsa for a moment, as though about to ask why he had suddenly gone to get tested in the first place. In the end, though, he decided to open the envelope first.

 

The paper unfolded quickly in his hands. Phatsa watched him from the sofa in silence, not looking particularly anxious. If anything, he looked like someone who no longer had the energy to be anxious about his own life. But Ongsa was a different story. The moment his eyes landed on the most important line ofMthe report, his expression changed in an instant. His eyes widened so sharply that even Phatsa, still leaning back, had to sit up a little.

 

"What?"

 

Ongsa slowly lifted his eyes to look at him, his face like someone who had just read something so unbelievable he could barely absorb it.

 

"Phatsa..."

 

That tone made Phatsa frown immediately.

 

"What now? What is it? Is it bad?"

 

Ongsa looked back down at the paper again, as though needing to make sure he had not misread it, before answering very slowly.

 

"You're a pure omega."

 

Silence dropped for a beat. Phatsa blinked

 

"So?"

 

Ongsa looked up sharply this time, now both startled and genuinely incredulous.

 

"So?"

 

"Well, yeah." Phatsa frowned. "What's so strange about that?"

 

Ongsa stared at him. What was strange about it? Everything. A pure omega in this world was so rare it might as well have been a myth. The kind of existence that might appear only once in a million. They often possessed so many qualities similar to an alpha that most people could never tell the difference at a glance. They were strong, commanding, magnetic, carrying something in them that completely defied the usual image of an omega. Ordinary omegas were usually beautiful, delicate, physically weaker, and far more vulnerable, especially when giving birth or enduring rough sex, situations that could easily become life-threatening.

 

But the Phatsa was sitting in front of him. Handsome. Well-built. Brilliant in school. An athlete. Sharp-tongued, full of attitude, stubborn as hell, and in every possible way far more alpha-like than omega. Ongsa took in a slow breath before answering, doing his best to keep his voice steady.

 

"It's very strange, Phatsa."

 

Phatsa only looked more confused

 

"But I'm still me, aren't I?"

 

"Yes, but.." Ongsa paused and chose his words carefully.

 

"You really might be one in a million."

 

Phatsa stared at him for a moment, then let out a quiet, dry laugh.

 

"Sounds like I won the lottery."

 

"Don't joke."

 

Ongsa's tone turned sharp so suddenly that Phatsa actually paused. Ongsa set the document down on the table with almost absurd care, as though the few sheets of paper had suddenly become much heavier than they should have been.

 

"From now on, you need to live carefully."

 

He looked Phatsa straight in the eye and spoke with deliberate clarity.

 

"You need to be very careful. And you absolutely must not let an alpha bite you."

 

That last sentence made Phatsa freeze for only a fraction of a second. But Ongsa saw it. He saw the smallest hesitation in Phatsa's eyes, saw the subtle, unnatural twitch in his fingers, and some instinct inside him sharpened immediately. His eyes swept over Phatsa's body in one quick, sharp glance, and then, in the very instant Phatsa shifted his neck out of discomfort, one side of his collar slipped down just enough—enough to reveal it.

 

Ongsa's heart dropped straight into his stomach. He went completely still.  The bite mark on Phatsa's neck was still visible. No longer as red as it must have been the night before, but unmistakable. All at once, Ongsa felt as if the blood in his body had turned cold. He took two quick steps closer, then asked in a voice that had almost none of its usual composure left in it.

 

"Who bit you?"

 

Phatsa hesitated, then answered in a voice not quite at full strength.

 

"..I don't know."

 

Ongsa stared at him.

 

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

 

"I mean, I really don't know."

 

Ongsa looked at him as if he could not possibly have heard that correctly.

 

"You were bitten, and you don't know who did it?"

 

Phatsa grew irritated at once when pressed like that.

 

"I told you, I don't know his name!"

 

That sentence nearly made Ongsa go weak. He closed his eyes for a full second, clearly trying to pull himself together, then opened them again and spoke quickly, sharply, as though afraid there was no time to waste.

 

"You need to go back to him right now."

 

Phatsa frowned immediately.

 

"What?"

 

"Go back to that alpha right now."

 

"I'm not going."

 

Ongsa looked like he wanted to seize him by the shoulders and shake him.

 

"Phatsa, listen to me first."

 

His voice had changed completely now, tight, urgent, and edged with the kind of fear Phatsa did not often hear from him.

 

"If an alpha and omega who just formed a bond stay too far apart, it's extremely dangerous."

 

Phatsa still looked unconvinced, so Ongsa continued without giving him any room to interrupt.

 

"It can cause bond fever."

 

"What fever now?"

 

"Bond fever," Ongsa answered at once. "It's a condition that happens after a bond is formed. If the two sides separate too soon, the body starts to go wrong."

 

Phatsa fell a little more silent when he realised Ongsa was not joking. Ongsa swallowed, then continued, his voice still not fully steady.

 

"It starts with aches, chills, feeling wrong in your own body all the time. Hot, then cold, like a fever, but not a normal fever. And after that, everything starts feeling incomplete, like your body is missing something constantly."

 

Phatsa blinked slowly. The strange sensations that had been lurking beneath his skin ever since he walked back into the house made him lose the nerve to interrupt as quickly as before. But Ongsa kept going.

 

"In some cases, the alpha may go into a rut. In some cases, the omega may go into a heat state. And if it gets bad..."

 

He paused for only a fraction of a second before speaking the last sentence, softly but clearly enough to make the entire house feel colder.

 

"It can kill you."

 

Silence pressed down all around them. Phatsa stood there for a long moment without speaking. If this had been yesterday, he might have laughed the whole thing off. But his body didn't feel normal today. Since the moment he got home, strange sensations had been moving beneath his skin. The heat came and went unevenly. A heartbeat that would not settle. A hollow sort of restlessness under his ribs, like something inside him was missing. All of it made Ongsa's words sound much more real than he intended. Even so, Phatsa was still Phatsa. 

 

He drew his brows together stubbornly and answered at once, "You want me to go back to that scary-faced mafia guy?"

 

Ongsa blinked. "Mafia?"

 

"Something like that." Phatsa waved a hand, irritated. "He looks intimidating, likes ordering people around, likes biting random people on the neck, and talks like he's the only one who knows what's going on."

 

"Phatsa."

 

"I'm not going"

 

This time, his answer came even more firmly than before.

 

"You can forget it. I'm not going back to someone like that."

 

Ongsa stood frozen there. The test results were still on the table. The bite mark was still on Phatsa's neck. And the younger man he cared about more than almost anyone was standing in front of him, being defiantly stubborn in exactly the one situation where he absolutely should not have been.

 

Ongsa genuinely felt like crying. Not because he was weak. But because he had no idea how to explain any of this in a way that would make this stubborn idiot finally listen. He slowly closed his eyes and let out a long breath, like someone trying very hard not to fall apart.

 

"Phatsa…."

 

His voice softened until it was nearly a plea.

 

"This time... can you please stop being stubborn?"

 

Phatsa stood still for a moment after hearing that tone. If it had been anything else, just seeing Ongsa look so troubled would probably have been enough to make him soften. But this was different. Just the thought of going back to that sharp-faced, overbearing man again made everything inside his chest knot itself into chaos.

Annoyance. Embarrassment. Frustration. And beneath all of it, some strange feeling he could not even name, turning restlessly inside him without pause. And because he could not explain it, he wanted even less to go back. Phatsa pressed his lips together hard, then shook his head; he was certain.

 

"No matter what, I'm not going back."

 

Ongsa slowly closed his eyes again, as though that sentence were the last straw settling over the full weight of this disastrous morning. He was not angry anymore. He did not even want to scold him now. All that remained was the deep weariness of someone who knew that no matter what he said at this point, this impossibly stubborn boy still was not going to listen.

 

"Phatsa…."

 

"If I said I'm not going, then I'm not going."

 

This time Phatsa's voice was a little quieter, but somehow even more final than before.

 

"I mean it. I'm not going back to someone like that."

 

Ongsa looked at him in silence for a long while. The quiet in the house seemed to widen until even the ticking of the clock sounded strangely loud. He truly did not know what would happen next. He only knew that something that should have been simple was slowly slipping in a direction he wanted no part of. He almost wanted to pray to God, but unfortunately, he was Buddhist.

 

In the end, Ongsa could only let out a long, tired sigh, as though surrendering to his younger brother's stubbornness for the time being. His eyes stayed on Phatsa, still watching him closely, as though trying to commit every unusual sign in him to memory. If Phatsa refused to go back to that alpha, then all Ongsa could do was keep a close eye on him. Watch for when the symptoms begin.

Watch how far this stubbornness would drag the situation. And quietly pray, in the way of a Buddhist man, that at the very least, please, let this not fall apart any further.