The storage room met them with darkness.
The smell of dampness and old cardboard boxes burned their lungs. Alcohol, dust, and a faint taste of mold mingled into a thick, viscous atmosphere. The light bulb on the ceiling flickered and hummed, as if it was about to burn out. A thin strip of weak light cut through the gloom, but it didn't dispel it.
Behind the door, the music of the club roared—alien, wild, filled with voices and bass. Here, it felt as though the world had been cut away, leaving only the two of them. Every sound became louder, every step a thud.
Do-yun instinctively took a step back. His back hit a metal shelf, the cold piercing through the fabric of his shirt. He straightened, trying to look calm, but his heart was pounding so hard he thought its rhythm echoed in the walls.
"Don't show it," he reminded himself. His fingers trembled, and he balled them into fists, hiding them in the shadows.
Seung-ho closed the door behind him. The click of the latch was too loud, as if it had severed the last chance of escape. He took a step forward. And another. Each step was precise, confident, as if he wasn't just walking—he was closing in on his prey.
The room seemed to shrink. The air grew dense.
Seung-ho stopped just a few inches away. His shadow fell across Do-yun's face. He leaned in, his hot breath brushing against Do-yun's lips.
"Are you scared?" The whisper was low, thick, and languid. It seemed to slide right into his bloodstream.
Do-yun met his gaze, his eyes cold and steady.
"No."
Seung-ho smirked.
"Then what's this?" His hand went to the wall next to Do-yun's head, boxing him in. "Your heart's beating so loud even I can hear it."
The alpha's scent intensified. Warm, spicy, with a hint of smoke and expensive whiskey. It seeped into his lungs, clung to his skin, and fanned the heat inside him.
The blockers were failing. His body responded treacherously: a slow heat spread across his skin, his muscles trembled, and his breathing hitched.
Fear burned in his chest. But along with it, something else. Something Do-yun didn't want to admit.
He forced himself not to move. But his body betrayed him. A wet heaviness pooled below, and he felt the traitorous stir of a desire he feared more than anything.
"No. No one must notice. No one."
He abruptly pressed his palm against the alpha's chest. Under his fingers, it was firm, warm. He pushed, but Seung-ho didn't move an inch. And the longer his hand remained there, the more his mind twisted inside: was this fear, or was it desire?
Seung-ho leaned in closer. His voice became quieter, softer—and more dangerous because of it.
"You don't smell like a beta. Not like a waiter." He inhaled deeply, his lips almost touching Do-yun's skin. "You smell… like springtime at dawn. Fresh. Alive. Too rare not to want."
Do-yun felt everything inside him clench. A spark of tension shot through the air. One more moment, and he would give in.
He turned his head away sharply.
"Step back."
His voice was firm, but his breathing gave him away.
A long, dangerous silence fell over Seung-ho's face. His gaze lingered on Do-yun's features, as if he were reading every detail. Then, he slowly backed away, as if allowing him to win this round. But there was no defeat in his smile. Only a promise.
"All right," he said softly. "But not for long."
He turned, opened the door, and left, leaving the thick scent of smoke and alpha behind.
Do-yun was left alone. His back was still pressed against the cold metal of the shelf. His fingers were trembling. His heart was pounding so loudly it drowned out even the last vestiges of music from the other side of the door.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
"Get a grip. It's a job. He's just an alpha."
But the memory of his voice, his breath, and his scent still burned in his mind. And the traitorous response his body hadn't been able to hide.
He straightened up. His face became a mask again. No one was supposed to notice.