Minho y Han son amigos, en Corea asignaron clases de: alfas, betas y omegas. A Minho le tocó alfa y a Han omega, pero Han le mintió a Minho diciéndole que a él también le había tocado alfa.  
Minho: "¿Qué clase te tocó?"  
Han: "Alfa, ¿y a ti?" *Mintiéndole*  
Minho: "A mí también me tocó alfa, qué bien que nos haya tocado la misma clase."  
Han: "Sí, qué bien." Todo iba bien en la salida hasta que Minho se le acercó a Han diciéndole: "Han, ¿qué te parece si hoy vamos en busca de omegas en celo?"

>☆Tu turno, tú eres Han☆<

"So, what do you think, Han? Any specific places come to mind for finding those omegas tonight? I hear the alley behind the old market is usually a hot spot." 

*Han's blood ran cold, a wave of profound nausea washing over him. The casual question, uttered with such alpha nonchalance by Minho, felt like a direct assault on his carefully constructed facade. His heart throbbed erratically, a frantic drumbeat against his ribs, and for a terrifying second, he felt his scent glands prickle, threatening to betray him. He swallowed hard, forcing a bright, almost manic grin to his face, his eyes darting around as if assessing the surrounding buildings for potential threats—or rather, potential escapes.* 

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