Chapter Text
Without a question, some things are easier said than done. Actions and words can contradict one another, and still come from the same person. In the same way, Seungmin can hate relationships without labels with every inch of himself, and he can still fall into someone's bed while swearing he'd have enough self-respect for himself.
Tangled up in Changbin's sheets, Seungmin struggles to catch his breath as Changbin traces his lips and the tip of his nose along Seungmin's neck and collarbone, right along the edges of his glands. Seungmin's legs wrap around his bare waist and squeeze, teeth trapping his lower lip to stifle sounds of desperation.
Seungmin's mind is quiet, in exception for the zaps of pleasure that sends shivers down his spine, and he swears he can feel Changbin's lips stretch into a grin amid kisses—tender, yet cruel. There's something about Changbin's touch—a spark that ignites fire underneath Seungmin's skin—setting him alight everytime Changbin brushes his fingers against any part of him. It stretches time, pulling at strings one at a time, knowing exactly what it's doing as it pushes Seungmin over the edge over and over.
The thing with fires though—they last long enough only to provide warmth. Perhaps all-consuming in the moment, but just as quickly as it starts, it flickers. Then disappears completely.
The flames on Seungmin's skin die down just as Changbin lifts himself off of Seungmin, reaching for a water bottle placed on the nightstand. He untangles himself from Seungmin's legs as he urges him to sit up and drink some water, afterwards smiling and laughing about needing food. Seungmin wants to blur it out, all the words Changbin's speaking, just wants to savor how softly he cleans him up and massages the soreness away. When he dresses himself, he can only weakly mimic Changbin's smile as he lifts himself up from the bed, letting himself be kissed goodbye because Courtesy still exists, and you're so soft. Seungmin can only hope his scent doesn't sour at the word.
"Is it— is it not working?" Seungmin asked, chewing on his bottom lip. The smell of pharmacies always made him queasy, the rhythmic beeping he could hear from… somewhere inside fueling the anxious feeling in his stomach.
"It is," the pharmacist looked up at him with an assuring smile, yet: "Just that insurance won't cover it fully." She carefully placed his drug card on the counter in between them, behind the monitor she was working on.
"I'm sorry?" Seungmin asked. He might have just felt his heart rate spike. Won't cover it?
"Suppressants, especially for omegas, because of pregnancy issues and such, have been taken off of the medical insurance coverage." She explained to him, eyes kind behind the glasses and the crinkles by them hinting at a smile behind the blue face mask. "This is to discourage prolonged usage, due to long term issues that result from it. Anything health-related for all subgenders will be supported by medical insurance, therefore this is too, but only for a certain number of times."
Kind eyes. Kind smile. She didn't overwhelm him with details that are beyond his comprehension. But the subtle scent, soft and levelled, made him grow bitter. Different from his own scent which broadcasts his emotions to everyone in the vicinity.
"How much is left unpaid, then?" Seungmin swung his bag to the front to unzip the chain, and took his wallet out with shaky hands.
"Forty-five thousand and seven hundred won."
Seungmin exhaled shakily, and tried his best to not let his vanilla scent wilt into one of distress.
"Cash or debit?" She asked him, voice softer. Even a beta could tell Seungmin's distress. He wondered distantly if the others around him felt it too.
"Uh— debit, please."
He switched his gaze to the card reader, and waited for the screen to turn to green before he tapped the card on it. There's a small chime when the card's been approved. Bureaucratic, fast, cold. Like he was supposed to live like this for the rest of his life, spending his paychecks on basic health amenities. He slid both his drug card and debit card into a compartment in his wallet smoothly.
"Here," she handed over the suppressants in a paper package. "This one has two refills, and each time, you'll get thirty capsules. You're good to go."
Seungmin had nodded, made his best attempt to swallow the knot in his throat. "Thanks," was what he croaked out, before stuffing the paper bag into his backpack and swinging it over his shoulder again.
Seungmin shrugs his jacket on properly as he waits for the elevator at the end of the hall, far from Changbin's door now. He looks down at his feet in the meanwhile, the clean, reflective surface of himself in the closed elevator doors serving the overwhelm he feels in the moment. He drags his worn sneakers against the marble, hearing it squeak under the friction. The elevator dings.
Seungmin doesn't wait for the doors to disappear into the sides entirely, but rather squeezes himself in, and punches in the button for the lobby. It's spacious enough that Seungmin doesn't have to constantly be faced with his own shame. It's a breathing space away from Changbin's overpowering scent, the ginger and honey inducing drunken effects in him sometimes.
The elevator is what knows Seungmin the best, perhaps. It's always there to sober him up after nights when Changbin wants more than just friendship, and when Seungmin wants to pretend that love can bloom in beds too.
Maybe then, Seungmin is soft. If being soft entails the will to give into every one of Changbin's whims and fancies, perhaps that's exactly what he is, no matter how much it irks him. He is soft. Love, that fickle thing, has turned him into the very thing he promised he wouldn't become.