Chapter 22: The Doctor's Orders
The fluorescent lights hummed like trapped insects. Hyukjae focused on that sound, on the cold vinyl of the exam table beneath his thighs, on anything but the doctor’s words hanging in the antiseptic air.
Dr. Kang was a beta, efficient and unsentimental. Her fingers tapped the tablet screen showing Hyukjae’s chemical history. “The data is clear, Mr. Lee. You’ve built a significant tolerance. Your body is essentially fighting the suppressants, treating them as the invading variable instead of your own cycle. Continuing this regimen will lead to more severe breakthrough events, longer heats, and potential damage to your endocrine system.”
Hyukjae’s mouth was dry. He sat perched on the edge of the table, wearing a paper gown that whispered with every nervous shift. Donghae stood beside him, a solid, immovable presence in a tailored charcoal suit that looked absurdly out of place. His hand hadn’t left Hyukjae’s knee since they’d sat down, the weight a grounding brand.
“So what’s the alternative?” Donghae asked. His voice was calm, all boardroom steadiness.
Dr. Kang glanced between them, her gaze lingering on the fresh, obvious bonding mark on Hyukjae’s neck, then at Donghae’s protective stance. “The alternative is to stop fighting a biology that has, for lack of a better term, already chosen its solution.” She set the tablet down. “Your system has aggressively adjusted to the consistent presence of an alpha’s scent and stabilizing influence. The healthiest course is to work with that adjustment, not against it.”
“Work with it how?” Hyukjae managed to whisper.
“Regular, sustained contact. Shared nesting. During your heats—unrestricted access. It’s the most effective regulator.” She said it as if prescribing a course of antibiotics. “Think of Mr. Lee here as a living, breathing part of your treatment plan. A very necessary one.”
Hyukjae’s face burned so hot he thought the paper gown might ignite. He stared at the floor tiles, counting the specks in the linoleum. He was a condition. Donghae was a… a medical device.
A low, approving rumble vibrated through Donghae’s chest, the sound felt more than heard. His thumb stroked a slow arc on Hyukjae’s knee.
“We’re discontinuing the oral suppressants immediately,” Dr. Kang continued, tapping her screen again. “I’m prescribing a topical scent-masking gel for social situations, if you wish. But it’s a cosmetic fix. The core treatment is behavioral and physical. I’ll need to see you both in a month to check levels.” She finally looked directly at Hyukjae, and her expression softened, just a touch. “This isn’t a punishment, Mr. Lee. It’s your body asking for what it needs to be balanced. Many bonded pairs live this way quite comfortably.”
Bonded pairs. The term echoed. It was too big, too formal for what they were. They were a desperate omega and an alpha who’d been in the wrong place at the right time. Weren’t they?
The rest of the appointment passed in a blur of blood pressure checks and a quick blood draw from Hyukjae’s arm. Donghae asked pointed, practical questions about dietary supports and cycle tracking. He absorbed the information like he was studying a market report.
Outside the clinic, the late afternoon sun was a shock. The world was loud, vivid, and normal. Cars honked. People chatted on phones. Hyukjae stood on the sidewalk, blinking, clutching a paper bag containing the scent-masking gel and a pamphlet titled “Natural Cycle Management.”
Donghae’s car, a sleek black sedan, pulled to the curb. He opened the passenger door for Hyukjae.
“I need to go home,” Hyukjae said, not moving. “My apartment. I have to… face it. And Ryeowook. The cake.”
“Okay.” Donghae didn’t argue. “I’ll drive you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I’m part of your treatment plan,” Donghae said, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “Regular contact. It’s doctor’s orders.”
The joke, dry as it was, broke the tension. Hyukjae let out a shaky breath that was almost a laugh. He slid into the car.
The silence inside was different now. Charged with new information. Donghae navigated the traffic with easy confidence. “It’s not just a prescription,” he said finally, his eyes on the road.
“What?”
“What she said. About me. It’s not just… clinical. For me.” He paused, searching for words, a rare hesitance in him. “The clinic. Watching you through the window. That was clinical. This,” he gestured vaguely between them, “isn’t.”
Hyukjae watched the city stream by. “It feels strange. Having it laid out like that. Like we’re just following a flowchart now. Heat happens, alpha is deployed.”
Donghae actually chuckled. “The flowchart included a clause where the alpha gets to watch the omega come undone on his living room rug in broad daylight. I’m favorably disposed to that clause.”
“You’re impossible.” Hyukjae’s blush returned, but it was warmer this time.
“And you’re stuck with me. Regularly. For sustained contact.” Donghae’s tone was light, but the underlying intent was granite. “Starting now. I’m helping you clean the apartment.”
Hyukjae’s apartment building, with its flickering hallway light and faint smell of cabbage, was a universe away from Donghae’s penthouse. Hyukjae fumbled with his keys, his heart hammering. He was ashamed of the mess, of the evidence of his desperation.
He opened the door.
The living room was tidy.
Not just tidy. Clean. The air smelled like lemon cleaner and fresh linen. The overturned furniture was righted. The nesting materials were gone. The empty suppressant blisters had been swept from the nightstand. On the small kitchen table sat a pristine white box, and beside it, a note in Ryeowook’s neat handwriting.
Hyukjae—Hired the emergency cleaning service from downstairs. My treat. The cake is in the box. The figurines are, in fact, scandalous. I ate two slices in solidarity. Call me tomorrow. Don’t be an idiot. —Ryeowook
Hyukjae stood frozen in the doorway. Donghae peered over his shoulder, taking in the spotless room.
“Your friend is good,” Donghae observed.
A sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion hit Hyukjae—relief, gratitude, lingering humiliation, and the sheer, bizarre whiplash of the last three days. His eyes stung. He covered his face with his hands.
Strong arms turned him, pulling him into a firm embrace. Donghae didn’t shush him or ask what was wrong. He just held him, one hand cradling the back of his head, his chin resting on Hyukjae’s hair. He stood patiently in the hallway of the slightly shabby apartment building, letting Hyukjae shudder against his expensive shirt.
When the tears subsided, Hyukjae mumbled into Donghae’s chest, “My keys. They scratched your car. I’m getting… getting…”
“Snot on my tie. I know.” Donghae’s voice was warm. “It’s fine.”
Hyukjae pulled back, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. He looked up at Donghae. “Why are you being like this?”
“Like what?”
“This. Patient. Here. The clinic, the cleaning, the… the holding. You got what you needed. The heat’s over.”
Donghae’s dark eyes searched his face. He seemed to be deciding something. Then he stepped back, reaching into his inner suit pocket. He pulled out a single, pristine key on a simple ring. He took Hyukjae’s hand and placed it in his palm.
“What’s this?”
“A key. To my place.” Donghae said it simply. “For the regular, sustained contact. And because I want you to be able to get in when I’m not there.”
Hyukjae stared at the metal glinting in his hand. It was a physical object, cold and real. It was permission. It was an anchor.
“This isn’t a flowchart, Hyukjae,” Donghae said, his voice low. “This is me, asking you to keep letting me in. Even when you’re not burning up. Even when it’s just Tuesday.”
The longing he’d hidden for a year cracked open inside his chest, not as a desperate ache, but as a trembling, hopeful warmth. He curled his fingers around the key, its edges biting into his palm.
“Okay,” Hyukjae breathed. He looked past Donghae, into his clean, quiet apartment. Then he looked at the alpha filling his doorway. “But you have to try the cake. Ryeowook will ask. And I’m not facing those figurines alone.”
A genuine, effortless smile broke across Donghae’s face, transforming the quiet intensity into something bright. “Deal.”
He followed Hyukjae inside, closing the door on the world outside. The path ahead wasn’t clinical. It was uncertain, intimate, and theirs. It started with vanilla cake and a key, and the promise of a thousand ordinary Tuesdays to come.
It started with vanilla cake and a key, and the promise of a thousand ordinary Tuesdays to come. Hyukjae sliced into the confection, the frosting pristine and white. He handed Donghae a plate, the simple china feeling absurdly formal in his tiny kitchen.
“Ryeowook insists on this bakery,” Hyukjae said, watching him. “It’s obnoxiously good.”
Donghae took a bite. He chewed slowly, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded, a slight softening around his eyes. “It’s sweet.”
“That’s kind of the point of cake.”
“No, I mean… it’s like you.” Donghae pointed his fork at Hyukjae. “Familiar. Sweet. A lot better than you pretend to be.”
Hyukjae almost choked on his own mouthful. He coughed, washing it down with water. The air between them thickened, the easy banter thinning into something more vulnerable. He pushed his plate away, the sweetness suddenly cloying.
“Donghae.” His voice was too quiet. “About what the doctor said. This… arrangement.”
“Mm.”
“I don’t want you to feel obligated.” The words tumbled out in a rush. “Like you’re responsible for me now, just because my biology glitched and you were there. The key, the clinic… it’s too much. You don’t owe me a management plan.”
Donghae set his fork down. The click of ceramic on the table was definitive. He leaned back, the kitchen chair creaking under his weight, and looked at Hyukjae with that piercing focus that made everything else fade.
“It’s too late for that.”
“What?”
“I already felt responsible.” Donghae’s gaze didn’t waver. “Long before your suppressants failed. Before you ever stumbled into my elevator smelling like rain and panic.”
Hyukjae’s breath hitched. He remembered that day, a month ago. He’d been soaked, late for a workshop, cursing as he dropped his dance bag. Donghae had merely reached out, steadied him, and pressed the ‘close door’ button. They hadn’t spoken.
“You… noticed that?”
“I notice you.” A simple, devastating statement. “At the gym across from my office. You teach the midday class in Studio Three. The walls are glass.”
Hyukjae’s world tilted. Studio Three faced the sleek monolith of Donghae’s corporate tower. He’d never thought to look out.
“You’re terrible at tying your shoelaces. You laugh when you mess up a combination, and your students laugh with you, not at you.” Donghae listed these facts like he was reciting a quarterly report he’d memorized. “You buy that terrible instant coffee from the vending machine in the lobby. You spin when you’re happy. I’ve watched you spin.”
The admission hung there, raw and undeniable. Hyukjae could only stare, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs.
“So this isn’t an obligation sprung from a heat,” Donghae continued, his voice dropping, becoming more intimate. “It’s a direction. We have to build something now, whether we planned to or not. We should actually… explore it. Discover the things we don’t know. What you’re like on a Tuesday. What I’m like before coffee. We’re going to be in each other’s lives. I want us to be there on purpose.”
He reached across the table, not quite touching Hyukjae’s hand. “Caring for you… it gives me a kind of satisfaction I didn’t have a name for. You’re someone I’ve been watching for a long time. Adoring from a distance, if I’m being honest.”
Hyukjae’s vision blurred. He blinked rapidly.
“I like you,” Donghae said, the words clear and heavy in the quiet kitchen. “More than you’ve known. More than I let myself know. So please, let me do this. Let me be the one. It’s not an obligation. I’m not forced into it.”
He finally closed the distance, his fingers covering Hyukjae’s. His skin was warm, his grip firm.
“I want this.” Donghae’s thumb stroked his knuckle. “I want you, Hyukjae. Not a patient. Not a responsibility. You.”
The last of Hyukjae’s resistance shattered. It wasn’t a dramatic collapse, but a quiet, internal settling. The lonely year of longing, the secret glances he’d thrown at a man he thought never saw him, crystallized into this moment. This choice.
He turned his hand under Donghae’s, lacing their fingers together. The key he’d placed on the table gleamed beside their joined hands.
“Okay,” Hyukjae whispered. Then, stronger, “But you have to tell me one thing you hate. Right now. Something real.”
Donghae didn’t hesitate. “The sound of polystyrene squeaking. It’s visceral. Makes my jaw tense.”
A real, stupid, human thing. Hyukjae laughed, the sound wet and relieved. “I hate when people don’t push in their chairs. It looks… sloppy.”
Donghae smiled, a true, full smile that reached his eyes. “See? We’re discovering already.”
He stood, pulling Hyukjae up with him. The city lights began to wink on outside the window, painting the clean room in soft streaks of gold and blue. Donghae cupped his face, his touch unbearably gentle.
“Tuesday starts whenever you’re ready,” he murmured, before closing the last inch between them.