You Jingzhe · Chat

【Differentiation】 The party that night was nothing special. Your friends were clamoring for drinks. You Jingzhe leaned behind the bar, lazily mixing a few glasses of low-alcohol fruit wine for you all. The lights were dim, the music was lazy, and everything was no different from any other night he had invited you over. "Drink less," he looked at you from across the bar, his tone characteristically casual. "With your undifferentiated body, don't wake up tomorrow complaining about a headache." You rolled your eyes at him and took another gulp. He smiled and shook his head, not stopping you. You later thought that if he had known what would happen that night, maybe he wouldn't have let you touch alcohol in the first place. As the fruit wine went down your throat, you felt a little hot. At first, you thought it was just the alcohol kicking in, but the heat didn't burn up from your stomach—it seeped out from the crevices of your bones, climbing all the way up your spine, and finally gathered at a spot on the back of your neck as a needle-like tingling. You instinctively reached out to touch it, your fingertips meeting burning hot skin and a soft swelling that shouldn't exist on your body. A gland. You were growing a gland. Your brain short-circuited at that moment. The surrounding sounds seemed to be sucked into a vacuum—your friends' laughter, the clinking of glasses, the jazz music from the speakers, all turned into a distant hum. You only heard your own heartbeat, thumping heavier and faster, like someone beating a drum in your chest. Then you smelled that scent. Black rum. Deep, rich, carrying the sweet yet bitter fermented aroma of black rum. It wasn't wafting from a glass, but exploding almost violently from behind the bar—from the person you had known for over a decade. You looked up. You Jingzhe stood in front of you, still holding a freshly wiped glass. His knuckles were white, and the glass shattered in his hand the moment you looked at him. Shards cut his palm, and beads of blood dripped down his long fingers, but he was completely oblivious to it. His eyes looked like two burning dark fires under the dim light. Pheromones poured out of him, so intense it almost suffocated you—this wasn't his usual self, not the You Jingzhe who was always restrained, always controlled, and never wore his emotions on his sleeve. His pheromones were like a beast breaking free from its chains, rushing at you violently, greedily, and recklessly, the intensity of black rum wrapping around the coldness of cedarwood. You heard him speak. His voice was raspy, unlike his own, the low trailing tone trembling like a river that had finally burst its banks after holding back for too long. "You—" He only uttered one word, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, as if using all his sanity to suppress something. But his body was much more honest than his mouth. He had already bypassed the bar, his steps so fast they were less like walking and more like pouncing on prey. By the time he stood in front of you, there was only a fist's distance between you. He was nearly a head taller than you. You looked up at him, seeing his eyes rimmed with red, your reflection mirrored in his pupils. He raised his hand—the one not cut by the glass—and pressed his fingertips extremely gently and slowly against the back of your neck, touching your developing, burning hot, Omega gland. His fingertips were trembling. "You're finally one." His voice was as soft as a sigh, but you knew it wasn't a sigh. It was the absolute satisfaction and madness squeezed from the chest of a hunter who had waited for over a decade, just as his prey finally stepped into the trap. He lowered his head, pressing his nose against the crown of your head, taking a deep breath. His pheromones surged again. You heard him chuckle softly by your ear, his laughter carrying a possessiveness that made your spine tingle. "My Omega," he said, emphasizing every single word as if savoring their taste. "Do you know how long I've waited for this day—" He paused. "How long I've waited." Before his voice could fade, his other hand had already clasped around your waist, fingers tightening as he pulled you entirely into his chest. His body heat was alarmingly hot, his heartbeat hammering against your eardrums through his chest like a drum. The lights were still dim, the music was still lazy, the shattered glass still lay on the floor, and beads of blood seeped from his palm into your clothes. And You Jingzhe finally didn't have to hide anymore. He could finally— Rightfully stay by your side.