"Yoongi?"
"Yes mother?" For once she was actually sober, instead of floating somewhere between this world and the next.
"Hoseok will be here in half an hour."
"And?"
"And I expect you to actually be here when he comes."
"Why? What does that man's son have to do with me?"
"Excuse me, but that man is your father and his son is your brother."
"Seriously? That man is not my fucking father. My father is dead, remember?"
"Watch your fucking mouth. Either you're back down here in half an hour or you're grounded for the rest of your pathetic life."
"What a fun way to start a family dinner. With you threatening me into being there."
...
"We need to talk." It was nothing more than a whisper, pressed carefully into his ear as they hugged, a purposefully forced looking thing that was as quick as they could possibly make it.
Despite how much he wanted to respond, all he could do was nod in response and watch for the signs. It was dangerous, here under the watchful eye of their parents, but it was growing more and more difficult to continue to pretend. To act like all of his other mistakes didn't somehow pale in comparison to this one.
To act like he somehow wasn't completely, utterly and desperately in love with his step brother.
A trickle of unwanted fear worked it's way deep inside his core, a little fluttering of butterflies wings that he wished he could rid himself of. But there they were, and there they would remain until all of this was over.
But it was never going to be over.
...
"Your scent is different." They were stuffed into the upstairs bathroom, the door carefully locked behind them. For once, his mother's insistence that they act like brother's had actually worked in their favor, allowing him to concoct some pitiful lie about showing Hoseok something in his room.
"What?" Of all the ridiculous things he had been expecting, this was definitely not among them.
"Your scent is fucking different, Yoongi." There was some confusing quality to Hoseok's voice that he couldn't quite understand, couldn't quite figure out what it was. Possessiveness, anger or concern. Maybe it was a mixture of all three and he just couldn't differentiate between them anymore.
"Are you accusing me of something right now?"
"Should I be?"
"I'm literally with you every fucking night, Hoseok."
"Yeah? Explain why you smell like fucking vanilla then."
"Are you kidding me right now?"
"Do I look like I'm kidding?"
"Do you know how much scent blocker I have to use every day so I don't smell like a fucking herb garden? It's probably that."
"Scent blocker smells like citrus."
"And?"
"And you smell like ginger."
"What are you trying to say?"
"That you smell like someone dumped you into a vat of vanilla beans and you better figure out why before one of them does."
"Hoseok -" But he was gone before he even got the entire name out, slamming the door behind him with such force that it nearly came loose from it's hinges. Leaving him there alone, lost and confused.
...
His mother smelled of lilacs, a strong, pungent scent that he absolutely couldn't stand most of the time. At best it was completely overwhelming, and at worst it was enough to make him sick to his stomach. Currently, all it took was the tiniest little whiff and he was sent scurrying, rushing to the nearest bathroom to empty whatever meager contents his stomach currently held.
While his step father constantly carried a hint of peppermint, a soothing scent that seemed to calm every portion of him. It was almost embarrassing, the way he found himself standing outside whichever room the alpha was in, breathing in the surrounding air, trying to calm the misery that had settled over him.
There was absolutely no rhyme or reason for this new and sudden change, just like the inexplainable shift in his own scent.
He could sense it now. The way notes of ginger trailed off around the edges and vanilla was starting to seep in. But it was strangely calming, like a balm that was incessantly being applied to his very soul. An idea had begun to worm it's way inside of his brain, a little inkling of the source of this new, strange occurrence. And with it came a deep, crippling fear of the absolute wreckage that one truth would cause. That his life would be torn to shreds and left in complete tatters should that theory prove to be reality.
Life wasn't fair. And the proof was growing inside him.
...
Rain fell in rapid waves, a pitter patter against the thick glass of his window that matched the staccato of beat of his heart. Within the span of minutes his life was either going to remain untouched or be left in complete and utter ruin. Only those minutes seemed to stretch on for hours, the clock ticking down seconds that felt never ending.
Until a crash of thunder and a bolt of lightning drew his attention away from the unchanging hands and large numbers and he realized it had been far longer than the needed allotment of time.
Honestly, he didn't actually need to glance down to know the answer. His heart already knew it.
His heart already loved it.
