The nights grew longer.
Jisoo barely slept anymore. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt the burn beneath his skin—the restless ache of a body no longer under his control. His scent leaked through the silence, clinging to sheets, to pillows, to the air itself. Sweet and desperate. Shameful.
He drowned himself in work, desperate to anchor himself in schedules and contracts. The empire would not run without him; Kang Jisoo could not falter. Yet the harder he worked, the more the cracks showed. Pages blurred, signatures shook, meetings slipped through his grasp.
And Minjae was always there. Watching. Waiting.
It began with small slips.
One night, exhausted and burning, Jisoo found himself sitting on the floor of his bedroom, clutching a blanket to his chest. He hated himself for it, hated the tremble in his hands, hated the way the fabric smelled faintly of safety. He had sworn never to nest again after Minjae discovered the first one.
But by dawn, the blanket was folded neatly at the foot of the bed, every trace hidden. He thought no one would know.
Until Minjae walked into his office later that morning, carrying the same blanket.
"You forgot this in the car last night," Minjae said casually, placing it on the couch. His eyes glinted with amusement, though his voice was calm. "Or did you mean to?"
Jisoo's chest tightened. He wanted to deny it, to lash out. Instead, he sat frozen, every nerve screaming.
Minjae smirked faintly. "Careful, Jisoo-ssi. You're starting to spiral."
The spiral deepened quickly.
Every day, the suppressants weakened further. He doubled the dosage, then tripled, but nothing stopped the heat from leaking through. At first it was subtle—a faint sweetness in the boardroom air, a slight flush on his skin. But soon it was undeniable.
In one meeting, his voice cracked mid-sentence. His scent thickened, curling through the room until directors shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his eyes. Jisoo clenched his jaw, forcing himself through the rest of the presentation, though shame burned hotter than fire.
When the meeting ended, Minjae closed the door behind them. The silence was suffocating.
"You can't hide this anymore," Minjae said quietly.
"I can." Jisoo's voice was sharp, but trembling. "I will."
Minjae stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "You're drowning. And you know it."
That night, the spiral reached its peak.
Jisoo woke before dawn, his body on fire. Sweat dampened his skin, his chest heaving as heat clawed through him in waves. He stumbled from bed, clutching the wall for balance, his knees threatening to give out.
He tried to reach the medicine cabinet, but his hand trembled too hard to open the bottle. Pills scattered across the floor, rolling uselessly out of reach.
He collapsed to his knees, breath shuddering, scent spilling uncontrollably into the air. Sweet, heavy, begging.
And then—footsteps.
The door swung open, and Minjae stepped inside.
Jisoo's head shot up, eyes wide, shame crashing into him like a storm. "Get out—" he gasped, voice broken.
But Minjae ignored him. Calm, steady, dangerous. He crossed the room, crouching before him. His hand reached out, cupping Jisoo's jaw, forcing his gaze upward.
"Look at you," Minjae murmured. "The king on his knees."
Jisoo trembled violently, pride and instinct tearing him apart. "I don't need you," he whispered, though his body leaned helplessly into the touch.
Minjae's thumb brushed along his cheek, slow and deliberate. "You need me more than anyone."
The scent thickened, filling the air until it was suffocating. Minjae inhaled deeply, his eyes darkening with something fierce, possessive.
"You're mine," he whispered.
Jisoo shuddered, his body betraying him with a sharp, desperate gasp.
Minjae pulled him closer, his voice low and dangerous. "You can spiral all you want. But every turn will bring you back to me."
Jisoo's eyes burned with fury, shame, longing. He wanted to scream, to push away, to deny.
But instead, he collapsed against Minjae's chest, his pride breaking into silence.
And Minjae held him. Firm. Unyielding. As if the spiral had always been part of the plan.