Chapter 9 「Heat of the Moment」

A few days passed, with Jet and Han slipping away together in the afternoons or evenings. Jet often brought along a few books, sometimes letting Han study alone, sometimes guiding him. Peace settled around them as they read, even when rain drummed softly on the earth outside—making rainy days a quiet favourite.

—-

"How about we skip reading today?" Han asked one evening, rising to his feet. "I want to thank you for teaching me."

Jet looked up, surprised. "There's no need to thank me—really."

But Han didn't respond right away. Instead, he walked over to a nearby bamboo grove and struck at a thick bamboo stalk with practiced skill until he broke off a smooth piece. Returning to Jet, he held out the bamboo, its length and thickness resembling a practice sword.

Jet hesitated, looking down at the bamboo stick in front of him. He eventually took it, feeling its weight and wondering what Han intended. "What…what's this for?"

"Do you know anything about swords?" Han asked, his hand outstretched to help Jet to his feet.

Jet shook his head slowly. Omegas weren't allowed to handle weapons—it was deemed "improper" for someone of his status and role. The whole idea felt foreign.

Han noticed his uncertainty and added gently, "It's alright. Improper or not, learning a little is a survival skill. But…are you comfortable with me teaching you?"

Jet hesitated, Madam Ling's strict words echoing in his mind, urging him to keep his distance. Yet the curiosity in him pushed those warnings aside. 

"Maybe show me first? That way, I can get an idea of how it's done."

Han smiled and nodded. He took the bamboo stick, positioning himself in a stance before demonstrating simple, fluid movements—a downward cut, a parry, then a strike to the side. Each motion was calm and graceful, as if he'd practised for years.

Jet watched, captivated by Han's skill and the steady focus in his gaze. As Han handed the bamboo back to him, Jet accepted it cautiously. He moved close, guiding Jet's hands to match his grip.

"There's no need to rush," Han said quietly, his voice steady. "Just follow my movements."

With his heartbeat quickening, Jet began to mimic the motions, his hands adjusting to the bamboo's weight. Han stood close, his hands brushing Jet's lightly as he corrected his grip or stance. The air around them seemed to hold its breath, the faint rustle of leaves and the distant chirp of crickets the only sounds.

"Step forward with your left foot," Han instructed, his voice soft but firm.

Jet did as he was told but misjudged the even ground beneath him. His foot caught on a small rock, and he stumbled forward with a surprised gasp. The bamboo stick slipped from his grasp as it faltered his balance.

Before he fell completely, strong arms wrapped around his waist, steadying him. Han pulled him upright looking worried, his grip firm yet careful, as though Jet might break if handled too roughly.

For a moment, Jet froze, realising how close they were. His chest was pressed against Han's, his face mere inches away. He could feel the warmth of Han's breath and the steady rise and fall of his chest. His cheeks flushed a deep crimson, embarrassment heating his skin.

"I…I'm sorry," Jet stammered, averting his gaze but unable to move away just yet.

Han chuckled softly, his low voice sending a shiver down Jet's spine. "It's alright. I forgot to tell you to be careful of your footing. Here," he added, helping Jet stand straight again before stepping back slightly to give him space.

Jet fidgeted, brushing dirt off his robes as he tried to calm his racing heart. "I'll, uh, pay better attention next time." he said before sweeping off a few leaves off of Han's shoulder.

Han gave him a reassuring smile. Despite the casual tone, Jet couldn't shake the way Han's touch lingered in his memory, nor the way his heart kept fluttering long after they resumed their lesson.

Han walked Jet home, the two sharing quiet laughter and lighthearted conversation along the way. When they reached Jet's house, they exchanged their usual goodbyes, a comfortable routine that neither of them wanted to break.

Jet stepped inside to join his mother for dinner. It was a peaceful evening, and he enjoyed recounting the sights he had seen earlier. Yet, he kept one detail to himself—Han teaching him the basics of swordplay. He knew his mother would be furious if she discovered he had been engaging in something so improper for an Omega.

"That was amazing to see, wasn't it?" his mother asked with a smile.

"Yeah, it was beautiful with the sun setting—" Jet's words broke off abruptly as he started coughing, his body trembling slightly. He wasn't eating or drinking at the time, and the suddenness of it startled both of them.

"Jet?" His mother stood up, her expression filled with concern. "Are you alright?"

Jet managed to stop coughing, though his breathing remained labored. A wave of heat coursed through his body, beads of sweat forming on his brow despite the cool breeze filtering through the room.

"I'm not well," Jet murmured, his voice strained. "I'm sorry, Mother. Please excuse me."

His mother immediately understood. Though she watched him go with a worried expression, she sat back down and continued her meal, maintaining the appearance of normalcy.

Jet stumbled into his room, his body heavy with exhaustion. The heat surged stronger now, his breathing shallow and uneven. He collapsed onto his bed, gripping the fabric of his blanket as he tried to find some relief.

It was his heat cycle.

For Omegas, this was both a blessing and a curse. A time when they were at their most vulnerable, their bodies instinctively yearning for an Alpha's presence and pheromones. Without a mate, the cycle would last for at least three days, an isolating and uncomfortable experience. If they had a mate, however, the duration could be shortened significantly.

Jet groaned softly, curling into himself as sleep overtook him. His body surrendered to the heat, as it had countless times before. It was a routine he had grown used to, though it didn't make the experience any easier. Tonight, like every other time, he would endure it alone.