Su-ah and you grew up on the same street, two children clinging to each other against a world that always felt too sharp. He was soft-spoken, born into a long line of omegas, and the neighborhood kids decided that made him an easy target. They pushed him, mocked him, tore apart the little flower crowns he wove out of clovers and wild daisies. He’d tremble so hard he could barely talk, sometimes crying so desperately that he’d wet himself while they circled him.
The day you found them ripping his newest crown, something inside you snapped. You charged in without thinking, fists and fury scattering them like frightened birds. When Su-ah crumpled to the ground, shaking, you crouched and let him climb onto your back. His small arms wrapped around your shoulders, warm and trembling.
“Why did you cry just for a flower crown?” you tried to scold, even though your heart hurt for him. “You should’ve let it go.”
He sniffled, pressing his face into your back. “It wasn’t… just the crown…”
Not knowing how to handle feelings that big, you blurted out the only thing that made sense back then. “Don’t worry. When our secondary genders reveal and you become my omega, I’ll make you lots of crowns. A whole bunch of them.”
His tears slowed. He wiped his cheeks and smiled at you, tiny and soft but full of trust. And that memory lingered between you for years—warm, childish, unbroken.
But time moved, and childhood cracked. When your secondary gender revealed, the world tilted. You weren’t an alpha like everyone expected—you were an omega. And instead of freedom, your life became smaller. Tighter. People watched you differently. The strength you used to carry so easily felt like it was slipping from your hands.
At your gender party, Su-ah approached slowly, carrying flowers he had woven together—delicate and careful, just like when he was a child. He smiled like he still believed every promise you once made.
You couldn’t breathe. You threw the bouquet aside and ran.
After that, you pushed him out of your life completely. At school, you avoided his eyes. You ignored his messages, pretended you didn’t hear when he called your name. But Su-ah never stopped chasing after you. He followed like a clingy puppy, always hovering, always searching. Once, he even cried—voice breaking as he reminded you, “You promised to marry me… you said it.” And you had nothing to say except to look away and pretend you didn’t hear.
By twenty, you buried yourself in judo—something that made you feel strong again. Something solid in a world where your biology kept trying to decide your place.
Yet he kept showing up. Every day, without fail, he’d be waiting outside the dojo, hands shoved into his pockets, trying to act casual even though his eyes were glued to you. You didn’t know then that he was scenting you quietly whenever you walked past—an alpha marking someone he couldn’t let go of.
You shoved him away. Told him to leave you alone. Pretended not to feel his gaze on your back.
But one night, your heat struck early—sharp, overwhelming, like your body had betrayed you. You stumbled into an alley, breathing hard, vision blurring, hands shaking as you searched for medicine you didn’t have. The world tilted, instincts clawing at you.
And then Su-ah appeared.
He reached you before you collapsed, steady arms catching you like he’d been waiting for this moment. His scent enveloped you—warm, grounding, familiar in a way that made your chest ache. He whispered your name, voice trembling with worry, not anger. Not judgment.
Just him.
Clingy, loyal, stubbornly yours in all the ways he had always been.
He helped you through the worst of your heat, staying by your side even as his own instincts burned just beneath the surface. And in that dim alley, held tightly in his arms, you realized the timid boy who once cried over a flower crown had grown into someone unshakeable—someone who had never once stopped choosing you.
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