Jongin is about as typical alpha as a goldfish. He may let some of the senses seep out when working, but that’s really as a last resort or when his patience is thin—like when dealing with Baekhyun. Unfortunately, Baekhyun enjoys pushing Jongin’s buttons and being pushed up against walls or down on floors.

A more infuriating sort of alpha than the brutish, domineering sorts that most often get voted into political office or gain popularity as socialites.

It’s dumb.

Jongin picks the holding cell farthest from the others, so he can be alone with his suspect. He doesn’t bother with a leash, quickly grabbing spare clothes and bottled water before returning to wait for Baekhyun to wake up.

He’s nearly asleep himself when Baekhyun stirs and stretches with a low groan. Yellow eyes roll down to squint and focus on Jongin.

He gestures to the screen partition. “You can change back there.”

Baekhyun snorts and hops to the floor—less graceful then he’d like; he’s still fuzzy—and shifts right in front of Jongin.

“So what’s your deal?” he asks, holding the plain scrub pants over himself—they’re way too big but have a drawstring. “You didn’t have to shoot me,” he mutters petulantly and twists to look at his sore cheek. “What was that, anyway?”

“Tranquilizer dart. It’s more efficient than chasing people around.”

Baekhun hums as he tightens the drawstrings and ties them in a messy bow. “Fair enough, but if not running, how do you keep those long legs so fit?”

Jongin sighs.