Felix Centric One Shots

No longer a Runaway (OT8)

The forest was quiet tonight, save for the distant rustling of leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl. Chan moved silently along the edge of the Stray Kids pack's territory, his senses sharp, his instincts humming with awareness. It was supposed to be a routine patrol, but the moment his nose caught the scent—faint yet distinct—he knew something was wrong.

Omega.

The scent was weak, barely there, as if it had been drained away by exhaustion or blood loss. Chan stilled, his sharp eyes scanning the darkness, the silver glow of the moon filtering through the trees. Then he saw him.

A figure staggered into view, barely able to keep himself upright. His scent was different, unfamiliar—definitely not from around here. The omega's clothes were torn, his bare feet dragging against the earth, leaving behind uneven prints. Chan's breath hitched when he saw the state of him—bruises blooming along his arms, cuts lining his legs, his body trembling violently with every labored step.

Chan remained hidden, watching. Who are you?

The omega swayed, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. His golden-blonde hair was matted with dirt, his skin pallid under the moonlight. Every movement was slow, strained, as if he were running on nothing but sheer willpower.

He's not going to make it much farther.

Chan felt his wolf bristle with unease. He didn't recognize this omega, but one thing was clear—he was in trouble. Had someone done this to him? Was he running from something? Or worse, someone?

The omega's knees buckled suddenly, and he crashed forward, catching himself weakly against the hollow of a tree. He panted, gripping the rough bark, his fingers shaking.

Chan clenched his jaw. He should go to him, should help. But if the omega was running from someone, there was a chance he could panic at the sight of an unfamiliar alpha.

Then, a quiet, broken sound reached Chan's ears—a whimper, so soft he almost missed it. It sent a sharp pang through his chest.

The omega tried to move, to crawl into the hollow of the tree, but his strength gave out. His body slumped against the base, his breathing shallow, and then—nothing.

Chan cursed under his breath. He stepped forward, no longer caring about being cautious.

"Hey." His voice was firm but not threatening. No response.

He crouched down, his sharp eyes scanning over the omega's face. His delicate features were marred by exhaustion, his lips dry and slightly parted. His scent was faint, but underneath the blood and dirt, there was something warm about it—something familiar, though Chan couldn't place it.

Chan exhaled sharply. "Shit."

This wasn't just some rogue wandering into their territory. This omega had been through something—something bad.

Chan reached out, hesitating for only a second before pressing two fingers against the omega's throat. The pulse was weak but steady.

He couldn't leave him here.

With one last glance around the dark forest, Chan sighed, bracing himself as he carefully slid his arms beneath the omega's limp body.

"I'm sorry I can't let you stay here alone," he muttered, lifting him effortlessly.

The omega didn't stir.

Chan tightened his grip and turned back toward his pack's den.

Whatever had brought this omega into their territory, one thing was clear—he wasn't going to let him die alone in the woods.