Chapter Text
Only one wolf in the entire world would scratch at his door close to midnight in the tune of the harvest song, the maidens in the fields had taken to singing last season. As the slow drag of claws on the wood pierces the silence, Yoongi’s eyes snap from the parchment he has been meticulously filling with his spidery writing. After a second of silence, one lone blissful second, the very deliberate drag of claws on his door is repeated, once slowly like lugging a cartwheel through stiffened mud and then three consecutive fast ones. Horrid in sound, loud in their question.
Yoongi knows Jimin will let it go. If he ignores the scratching, if he returns his eyes to the long list of inventory he has been making, Jimin will wait. Scratch on his door maybe twice. No more, and then lie on his doorstep and wait like a stubborn furry mule.
In an hour, he will stand, stretch his legs, and then, after shaking his fur from the dust, he will retreat with that light gait of his, as if he were jumping to a merry tune and not walking away in disappointment.
He’ll berate Yoongi the next day. Find the alpha in the inn, thrust his plate next to Yoongi’s, and grab his sleeve in question.
“Hyung, you haven’t shifted in two moons,” he will say, and Yoongi will have to look into those warm eyes and curse himself for his tardiness.
Yoongi contemplates, and the scratching repeats. Slow, slow, and then fast, fast, fast.
My love has gone to hunt.
His smell’s began to fade.
A long sigh tears itself from Yoongi’s mouth as he rises from his half-crouch and resigns himself to his fate.
“I am fine, Jimin-ah.” He greets the omega as he lets Jimin pass him. Jimin’s tail is wagging furiously, and it taps Yoongi’s hip as he passes. The smell of him invades the cramped space, and the lone lantern seems to burn brighter for it.
Yoongi doesn’t question it. He has long ago learned not to question the faint notes of warmth in Jimin’s smell and what they tore from his chest.
“Lemme finish here,” Yoongi murmurs in defeat. Jimin sniffs his rug happily, spins twice like an overgrown lapdog, and lies right in front of the lit fireplace. His tail now thumps on the ground, and the rhythm of the jaunty melody is replaced by the sound of Jimin’s happiness – uncontrolled and steady.
Yoongi works for an hour more; the oil in his lantern needs changing, and he adds a reminder in his notes. He had been rummaging through his collection of little bottles and jars, occasionally throwing the wolf on his rug an inquiring look. If caught, Jimin will crack open one of his eyes and look at him. If Yoongi did not break the contact, if the silence got heavy but warm like a summer afternoon, Jimin would break the stalemate by wagging his tail again.
“Alright,” Yoongi motions with an impatient wave. “Let’s go.” He putters with his notes, carefully organizing them. He will have to travel out of the village, it seems. Replenish his ingredients and herbs. His mind is busy wondering which market he should visit and which herbs to plant himself as Jimin leads him down their usual path. The houses are quiet, the roads in between – abandoned. It is late, and oil is expensive. Most have chosen to sleep, and others have also braved the full moon and were probably running through the forest.
The changing shacks are thankfully empty as Yoongi makes his way inside, followed by the quiet steps of his companion. Jimin sits his furry butt at the door and yips merrily at him. His mood has steadily improved, smugness radiating off of the furry menace as Jimin had gotten his wish.
Yoongi will run tonight.
As the alpha undresses and his muscles snap with the change, Yoongi realizes it has truly been some time since he last let his wolf out. The change feels like stretching after a long night of sleep, and his body welcomes it.
As if sensing he had finished, Jimin enters the little space, and his smell hits Yoongi’s enhanced senses fully.
When he had been young, Yoongi’s mother had bought a curious fruit colored like a poisonous animal – in bright screaming tones, with a peel so rough Yoongi had not been fully convinced it was for eating.
“Yoongi-ah, the harder the peel, the easier it is to take it off.” His mother had smiled and passed him the soft core of the fruit – still bright, still foreign.
As Yoongi had carefully bit into it, it had exploded with viciousness he hadn’t been expecting, coating his tongue with juice. And then the taste had overwhelmed him. Sweet and tangy, rich as the depth of that orange color he had only seen in foreign markets before today. Yoongi had been stunned into silence, the aftertaste, almost better for it, dulled the sharpness gently.
Yoongi had never forgotten the taste, even if it barely held onto his memory.
And then Park Jimin had fully presented, and he had found that exotic craving once more. Yoongi has never told Jimin that his scent hid the sharp notes of a small bright fruit as expensive as salted veal and as rare as moonshine flower.
Now, Yoongi follows that temptation down the path out of the village and into the forest. Yoongi walks slowly, unhurried and stubborn in the desire to keep his peace. Jimin respects this, and they fit. They fit even as Jimin sprints up ahead and veers off the trail in curiosity. His unpredictable moves and unsatiated interest slow his usually energetic gait and give Yoongi ample time to catch up. So, they fit. Yoongi wonders if Jimin does it on purpose. He had seen the younger wolf in formation, had observed as Jimin scouted with the pack – unshakable calm and sharp concentration. The omega was the best tracker their pack has. Jimin’s nose was so valuable that he barely had the time to fool around like this. But Yoongi knows that as much as Jimin gives into his craft with the single-mindedness of teeth sinking into flesh, he also loved hopping around carefree and unbothered.
So Yoongi indulges Jimin as much as Jimin indulges him in return. They just fit.
That thought makes Yoongi hasten his steps as if he is trying to get rid of the sentiment. He sneezes noisily, Jimin throwing him a curious look. Yoongi pays him no heed as he limps past the fluffy smaller wolf. Jimin is light in color, brown like the bark of the winter pine. His fur is unruly, tufting out like a pine cone in all directions, giving him more volume than he deserves, as Yoongi had once vocally protested.
At the edge of the clearing, Jimin lunges up ahead, bouncing like a distressed hare. His yips carry in the night, and even as a wolf, Yoongi manages to sigh heavily enough to air out his apparent protest.
He won’t admit he loves this. Loves as he settles in the grass and calmly takes in the sky and all its glory. Jimin will roll in the weeds like a child, scratching his back and indulging in his instincts in a way Yoongi does only in his own backyard. Shamelessly, the sharp smell of his fruity scent will linger in the air, weighing heavily on Yoongi’s eyelids, until he surrenders and beckons the omega with an impatient thrust of his head. Jimin will bound over and lie down next to Yoongi. He will throw his head towards the stars, his tail will whip out in the grass as if the joy of the horizon all coalesces in his small body. Yoongi will huff and headbutt him. Jimin will whine but will put his head in his paws, and in a few moments, the furry menace will be sleeping, his breath evened out, carrying Yoongi to sleep as well.
***
“It’s happening!” Taehyung’s scent spikes, the clove notes reaching their table. Hoseok is the first to notice it, and he darts from his seat like a mouse chased by the cooks.
Yoongi tries to focus on his lunch.
“Do you think he’ll accept?” Namjoon slaps Yoongi’s back so hard, he almost bows Yoongi in the soup.
“I think he sh–”
“No way.” Jungkook pulls at Yoongi, carefully avoiding his left shoulder.
“The gift might be good,” Seokjin dabs at his mouth with a napkin and gracefully joins the gawking idiots at the window. Yoongi has no choice but to follow, as Jungkook leads him there.
“Oh, he is good.” Hoseok whistles as they observe. Yoongi can’t help it – his eyes immediately find Jimin.
The omega is nodding politely at something a burly, tall alpha is saying. The alpha is not one of theirs, but that surprises no one. The inn is filled with alphas who have braved the season to journey to Strela village.
Naturally, all of them are here for Jimin. For Park Jimin’s reputation has travelled far and wide by now. And when the season of the festivals begins, and their pack mingles with the rest across the main path, when different villages gather at the meadows to sing and dance for days upon end, Park Jimin’s hair is braided with flowers, and he is let loose upon the general populace.
Like a mischievous harvest god, incandescent light or a merry river, strengthened by spring, Jimin dances for hours, mesmerising every alpha in the vicinity. And so every year, since Jimin had presented, a steady stream of admirers has vied for his hand. Gifts upon gifts, poetry and songs. Strong, heavy scents soaking handkerchiefs with foreign insignias.
The alpha takes out a bundle from his sturdy leather bag. Yoongi wonders if he’d made it himself. Could this wolf be an artisan? The bag seems expertly crafted. Would Jimin be impressed? For a second, he doesn’t know the answer. Jimin liked pretty things, he adored flowy shirts that felt like liquid to the touch. Beautiful belts to cinch his tiny waist. Once, an alpha from a smaller pack had delivered to Jimin a little clay pot with red lip paint made from beeswax and plant dyes.
The village had trembled as if a giant wave had swept them under. A lot of people had placed bets on which summer will young Park finally court, and a lot of coins had been exchanged on that fateful night.
But Jimin had refused, skipping happily the very next day in front of Yoongi, his lips bare and fleshy pink as always. Yoongi had been a coward and had not asked, but deep down, he had been so relieved that he’d mixed wrong ingredients in his remedies for days.
They all crane their necks to see what it is now. The alpha unwraps a beautiful bone comb, and Jungkook whistles.
Dread stiffens Yoongi’s own bones. For a second, Jimin’s fingers twitch in surprise, but then the moment is broken for Hoseok hollers his approval loud enough for them to be heard through the open window. Jimin’s head snaps, and he rolls his eyes when he sees them almost hanging down to the ground from the hall. Then he takes the alpha’s hand in his own, and six different scents explode in surprise, as he begins to pull the stranger away.
Yoongi clenches his teeth as Jimin and the alpha disappear from their sight.
“No way,” Jin sounds stupefied. His burnt sugar and walnuts scent assaulting Yoongi’s nose in a dramatic flare. “Do you think we have found the one?” He looks at Namjoon, who, in turn, tries to grab Yoongi by the shoulder. “I don’t thin–”
“It’s fine if he did,” Yoongi croaks and dislodges the comforting touch. He shrugs. “It’s about time that pinecone settles down.”
Even as the words ring true in his mind, they tumble down like dry sand from his mouth. Yoongi can’t waste any more time here, so on unsteady legs, he turns to leave, trying to avoid his friends’ knowing gazes.
Taehyung finds him first.
“I’m not hiding.”
Taehyung’s eyes narrow, and he trudges through the grass. His leather boots destroy the vegetation in his path, but at least this part of Yoongi’s yard is not important. His herbs and medicinal plants are secure farther away, and the young omega knows better.
Yoongi’s lands stretch just enough to harvest his provisions. He has no fields to plow, and is not a hunter.
Not anymore.
Taehyung slumps gracelessly next to him. They stare at the nearby trees. Yoongi’s hut is close to the edge of the forest, and he can swear the coolness that reigns in that domain sometimes escapes far enough to be felt even from his little garden.
“You should court him,” Taehyung says after a while.
Yoongi huffs and thumps his head on the wall of his little house. “I can’t craft.”
Taehyung pinches his arm. Yoongi jumps and turns to the little menace affronted. “Yah, respect your elders.”
“That has never been a problem, hyung. Not all alphas are good with their hands. The rest of them–”
“Hunt.” Yoongi finishes dryly, and Taehyung’s mouth snaps shut with a click.
The heat of the endless afternoon suddenly feels oppressive, but Yoongi is not prone to theatrics, and he doesn’t want to hurt Taehyung, even if he desperately wishes to storm off. He hopes the omega will take the hint and leave. Instead, Taehyung turns fully to him, his knees almost touching his chin as he makes himself appear smaller.
“I’m sorry, Yoongi-hyung.”
Yoongi can’t meet those earnest eyes.
“But you must know Jimin won’t mind, right?”
Yoongi harrumps. “He still deserves the best, Taehyung-ah.”
***
Jimin finds them in the Healer’s hut that late afternoon. He slams the door and enters Yoongi’s domain like he owns it. If his wolf was out to play, Yoongi could bet his tail would be high in the air, swinging with haughty confidence.
“He returns! Has the big alpha taken your purity, little pup?” Hoseok asks brightly before Namjoon has the chance to slap a hand over his mouth.
Jimin sputters for a second and then unceremoniously jumps on Yoongi’s work table. Yoongi’s eye doesn’t even twitch as he keeps smashing the thick paste in his mortar. He points with his chin to the bowls on his left. “Start cutting, Jimin-ah.”
He can almost see Jimin’s lips as they form in the biggest pout imaginable. Too bad that little trick has long ago lost its power over Yoongi.
Or so he keeps telling himself. He is busy, that’s why he isn’t looking at Jimin, no other reason.
“Hyungie,” Jimin whines, but Yoongi keeps silent. His pestle rhythmically swaying. Press and then twist, press and then twist.
Jimin sighs, but he shuffles and gets to work.
“See Joon-ah, a true Jimin meister.” Hoseok cajoles, and Namjoon hums in agreement. Hoseok is too far away for Yoongi to throw a bulbous root at, but Namjoon has been relegated to hanging fresh herbs to dry, and Yoongi is tempted.
“For your information,” Jimin begins, expertly cutting the leaves into thin ribbons. “I figured out it’s better to refuse a courting offer in relative privacy.” He eyes the three of them meaningfully. “I don’t see a reason to make a fool out of these guys.”
“Wait,” Hoseok drops his own pestle to point at Jimin accusingly. “You refused?”
Jimin sputters in surprise, his cheeks quickly warming in angry red hues. If he were a wolf right now, he’d be all cutely puffed up. “Of course I did!”
Yoongi finally throws a wild plum at Hoseok’s head. He ducks, the little bastard. “You should’ve accepted,” Yoongi says. “That comb looked beautiful.”
Jimin hums, eyes trained on his task. For a few blissful moments, they return to their work. Yoongi has to have extra medicine prepared by the time late summer hits and the Harvest season arrives.
“I didn’t like his smell,” Jimin says eventually. “Too much leather.”
“Your smell is indeed too sharp for that.” Namjoon agrees as his fingers deftly tie another little knot on Yoongi’s wooden beam. Yoongi stops in his work. He throws Jimin a not so subtle look, but the omega doesn’t seem offended by the comment. Yoongi allows himself a sigh of relief. They all know Jimin’s scent is a sore topic.
“What would you like then, little pup?” Hoseok asks, as if they haven’t discussed such things amongst themselves for as long as they could walk.
“Soft,” Jimin sighs dramatically. “I can’t stand the alpha dens. So much sharpness it tickles my nose and makes me sneeze.”
Yoongi keeps working. Behind him, he could practically hear the silent conversation that passes between Hoseok and Namjoon.
No one comments, though. Yoongi’s house smells strongly of his own blend of cedarwood and honey, yet Jimin hasn’t sneezed once. Not now, not ever.
Yoongi convinces himself that Jimin is only making fanciful tales in his head. That is the sane approach and the only way he can swallow the truth.
***
Yoongi dreams of pain.
The bear had been much bigger up close than he had ever imagined. They’d seen them before. From afar, the bears would slowly trudge through the forest in autumn. Sluggish and docile, they passed through Yoongi’s pack’s territory on their great journey up north to where the three rivers flowed into one, and the wild salmon laid its eggs.
Yet, Yoongi came to realize how useless a wolf is against an enraged bear that windy autumn morning. Mothers are always ferocious, always violent, and inconsolable when their young are scared.
She’d thrown Yoongi across the clearing like a rag doll.
The pain had been overwhelming. Something in his shoulder had snapped, and ever since then, it would always scream the same message on repeat down his exhausted body: wrong, wrong, it thrummed in the beat of his heart.
Yoongi was removed from active duty that day.
While you heal. Alpha Jiwon had said with a thin smile. Yet the months had passed, and Yoongi had not healed.
The song kept thrumming ever so softly, ever so surely – wrong, wrong. He felt it screaming down his muscles every time he tried to lift his left arm.
When he shifted, it was so much worse.
You’ll heal in time. Jiwon said once more and never brought it up again.
And so, Yoongi was no longer a hunter at the tender age of sixteen. He’d been hunting for only two years. Hardly anyone remembered his achievements. He was now known as a cripple.
Then do something. His Master had groused. You have steady hands and a sharp mind. Start helping around here, and this hut will be yours someday. It’s not a hunter’s house with its central place in the village, but it is somewhere to spend the winters, boy.
So he’d stayed in the Healer’s hut long after he was due to leave. He’d lost the warmth of his family’s hearth. But he learned the bitter smell of herbs and the gentle cadence of his new teacher.
Once his Master had passed away from the red fever, Yoongi had taken over, and ever since, he’d managed the village and its sick.
He’d not known Jimin back when he’d been a hunter. Proud and reckless, he’d never tried to befriend the orphan. But Park Jimin often came to the Healer.
Yoongi opens the door and suppresses an annoyed sigh. The boy was there once more, and this long afternoon was about to be filled with practical lessons and not quiet reading in the back.
Yoongi liked to hide outside in the backyard under the guise that he’d rather read. The truth was, he spent all his time staring at the invisible border the trees guarded. Just two months into his official apprenticeship, and the forest still beckoned to him. Every day proves to be a struggle to resist temptation. During the last full moon, he’d heard his hunting pack as they howled down the track. Yoongi had wanted to run so badly. But he couldn’t shift.
He shouldn’t.
Jimin spotted him inside the door, and his large childish eyes filled with curiosity.
“Come, Yoongi-ah.” He watches as his Master takes Jimin’s jaw in his hands and gently turns his head to the side. Yoongi winces at the large bruise there.
“What did you do, little pinecone?”
Jimin opens his mouth, surely to protest, but Yoongi’s master tips his head all the way back, and his teeth clack together. “Stop running around, boy. Learn to sit still. If you have so much free time on your hands, help the elders.”
Jimin’s eyes cast down in shame. Most children help their omega parent at home, yet Jimin has no household to contribute to. When he’d been younger, Park Jimin would loiter around the main square of the village, pitiful in his attempts to garner attention. When he’d matured enough for his pride to be wounded, the little boy had taken to drifting in the forest.
Yoongi hurries to join his Master to stop the beta from talking. “What did you do, pinecone? Chase a rabbit?” Despite the annoyance, Yoongi tries to poke at the kid, if only to erase the downtrodden look on his round face.
Sure enough, Jimin bites.
“Was jumping the river rocks, and fell.” He says, grinning. His entire left side is bruised, mottled, and scraped soft skin, giant purple splotches all the way down, and disappearing underneath his raggedy shirt.
“In wolf form?” Yoongi’s Master asks, eyeing Jimin’s dry clothes, and the boy nods once. The old man hums and turns around to gather his supplies. “You didn’t hit your head at least.”
“Wouldn’t be a big loss if he did,” Yoongi mutters, and Jimin tries to kick him from his position on the sturdy table.
Yoongi hides his grin as he easily evades. This is the longest interaction he has had with the little orphan, and he won’t deny it is fun to tease Jimin.
They wait as the healer prepares a salve for the younger. Yoongi’s Master had kicked them out of the hut. “Entertain our patient Yoongi-ah. Learn patience,” he had added before Yoongi could even think of rolling his eyes.
And now, Jimin is staring at him as Yoongi tries to drift under the heavy sun warming the back wall of the little hut. It is a slow day that trickles down Yoongi’s consciousness like honey. His only wish is to shift, hide in the bushes somewhere deep in the forest, and sleep. Instead, the boy’s eyes bore holes in his side.
“Out with it.” Yoongi huffs.
Jimin’s head immediately turns away. A flicker of nervous energy possesses him, and Yoongi can practically see it as it travels down his body. From the way his lips contort into a useless smile to the way his hands begin to idly toy with the overgrown grass. The boy’s fingers wrap around a stem, and Jimin pulls it aimlessly, plucking the little weed from the ground.
Yoongi sighs. “You don’t like talking now? Did the magpies steal your tongue?”
Jimin shakes his head.
“Yah! Little brat.” Yoongi pokes at his side, but instead of giggling, Jimin winces.
“Damn. Sorry.” All of Yoongi’s confidence deflates like the skin atop fresh milk. “I’m not good at this, am I?”
Jimin’s eyes crinkle. “You make Master Jiho mellow. He used to scold me much harsher before. And he’d make me peel stiff tubers from some weird plants as I waited. Asked me their names, but he never told them to me in the first place.” Jimin shrugs. “I always felt like I was disappointing him. You are good, though. Last time you named all the plants just like that.”
Guilt – terrible and sudden assaults Yoongi. He thumps his head on the wood, closing his eyes. For just a glimpse, he can see what he has stolen from the boy.
“Park Jimin, I’m sorry.”
Jimin shuffles beside him. Yoongi can hear the scrape of little stones under his thin soles. “I won’t be mad if you take Master Jiho’s work seriously.” He says it carelessly, drops the words expecting them to fly like dandelion seeds, but they sink like cheap metal, so Yoongi keeps quiet as Jimin starts to cry. It comes out raspy and horrible. Great big gulps of air and desperate wheezes through a stuffy nose. Yoongi can hear how much Jimin is fighting his tears and how much the tears are fighting with Jimin in return.
“Alright, little pinecone. I’ll be the best worst substitute you’ve ever seen.” He says after a while. Master Jiho will be done in another half an hour, the sun has been moving down the horizon, and the bees have already passed.
Jimin sniffs miserably next to him. “It’s only cause you are a few summers older than me.” His voice snaps with the weight of his misery. “I could be just as good–” his hiccups carry his grief on the wind.
Yoongi nods. It seems so unfair, and Yoongi wants to rebel against reality. Maybe that is why he pulls little Jimin in a hug. It is odd and graceless. Yet, as Jimin’s wet nose finds the tender skin at Yoongi’s neck, it feels right. He scents the boy, releasing pheromones to help him relax until his breathing settles.
“Find something of your own, Park Jimin, and wow me.”
***
“If you keep refusing to shift, you’ll go feral.” Master Jiho issued the warning at dinner back then, over soft bread and the last piece of butter left in their pantry.
Yoongi had stuffed more grapes in his mouth and obstinately kept silent. His Master sighs but doesn’t press. Yoongi knows he is wrong. Cautious. Yoongi still has at least two moons left before his mind begins to go hazy at the edges, even if nervous energy thrums down his veins at this very moment.
He stills his leg, willing it to stop bouncing.
That night, the entire village lets loose as they all do once the moon rounds, yet Yoongi lies in his little bed at the foot of his Master’s empty one and hopes he can fall asleep as fast as he can.
Every howl in the distance makes Yoongi’s fingers latch onto his sheets like an anchor. He crushes the material as his wolf returns the call. It’s a form of torture – one so different than the protests of his useless shoulder.
In an hour, Yoongi can’t take it anymore, he bolts from his bed in a fit of dramatic petulance and makes his way outside. The cool air clears his head, but it also chases any hopes for slumber.
He prowls the yard restlessly, hoping to kill the time. Yoongi would be glad for the moon to wane again and offer him some weeks of relief. His flesh is melting off his bones, it itches, but it burns. It is intense but just bordering on pain, never crossing the edge of the knife. His eyes sharpen in the dark, his ears picking up the rabbits in the distance.
He makes a game out of it. He circles the backyard – first clockwise and then retraces his exact steps, trying to place his boots on the imprints they’d left in the dirt.
Clockwise and then counterclockwise. Back and forth, back and forth.
“Hyung!”
Or maybe Master Jiho was right, and Yoongi is already succumbing to the madness. He keeps his pace steady. Lifts his right foot and places his boot at the slight indent. Toes first, shuffle your heel to the inside a bit–
“Hyung!”
Yoongi lifts his head, his ears prickling. “Park Jimin?”
Sure enough, Jimin springs up from behind the trees – fully human and clothed. Yoongi’s mouth opens in shock. He feels his newly acquired healer’s instinct rearing its head. “Yah, Jimin-ah, go run with the rest.” He says it casually, if slightly offended. He drawls the words slowly to take the edge off them, though.
He and Jimin have become friends. Be it a slight sense of guilt, or the growing seed of awe for the younger and his ability to bounce back from all the tragedies in his life, Yoongi had finally started to listen and remember their conversations, and, what is more, slow in his steps when he is at the village and allowed Jimin to catch up with him.
They hide in the meadows when the sun is about to set and sleep in the tall grass. Jimin shows Yoongi his secret hideouts, and Yoongi teaches him to fasten rabbit traps.
“Your nose is quite keen, Jimin-ah. Have you ever thought about trying for the pack?
Jimin had looked at him then, and for the first time in their fragile friendship, he seemed to not quite understand what Yoongi was saying.
Yoongi had tried to play it off. “I heard old Dongseok in the inn. That injured stag he found? The trail up north is well walked, the herd knows better. He is growing slow and doesn’t like walking off the path, yet he comes back with a whole stag.”
Jimin’s eyes strayed, and he shrugged as he tried to tighten the lure. “I was helping him with the load. That’s all.”
“Exactly,” Yoongi puffed his chest. “He needed help dragging it back, which means the stag was killed a good distance from the path.” Yoongi loomed over Jimin, his nose a breath away from Jimin’s own face. “Tell me, Park Jimin, did you catch the scent that day?”
“Hyung!” Jimin beams at him, his gait is light, a little spring to his steps, at odds with the way Yoongi had been pacing and retracing his steps.
“Why are you here?”
Jimin shrugs, nonplussed. “The forest is too cold tonight.”
What a bald-faced lie. The nerve of this pup. Yoongi opens his mouth to berate him, but before he can do so, Jimin’s shirt hits him in the face.
“Jimin-ah!”
Jimin kicks his shoes and unties the fastenings of his pants. Yoongi could predict what was about to happen, but was still so shellshocked he could only watch in horror as a fully naked Jimin ran towards him, jumping and shifting midair. His fur grows as his limbs twist and his claws break free. In a matter of a single moment, Yoongi is bowed down by the weight of a giant wolf.
A wet nose pokes him as he stumbles to the ground. A great weight settles on his chest. Yoongi wheezes, thumping the unruly fur with his hand.
“Yah, get down, you brat!”
But Jimin props his muzzle on Yoongi’s ribcage, and his big warm eyes bore into Yoongi’s very soul. Somehow, defenseless against that stare, Yoongi lowers his arms and relaxes his body. “Can I move?”
The wolf atop him huffs, but after a minute – just because he had to be obstinate about it – Jimin releases Yoongi, rolling off of him like a real pinecone. Yoongi laughs out loud. It burst from him in a squeaky, high-pitched embarrassment.
Jimin’s ears prickle. Yoongi throws him the dirtiest look possible. “You didn’t hear that.”
Jimin opens his mouth and clicks with his teeth in a playful gesture. Oh, he is for sure laughing.
His wolf form is on the smaller side – more fur than lean muscle or vicious strength, and for the first time, Yoongi wonders what Jimin will present as. His coloring is lighter than his hair, ranging from deep brown to the color of old rust. His legs are graceful and long, and his tail thumps happily every time Yoongi so much as looks his way.
He is just as adorable as he is in his human form. Jimin is like sweetness to Yoongi – a rare, precious treat. Sweet bread with rosehip marmalade. Seokjin had once made a loaf especially for Yoongi. It had been intense and cloying, yet gently lulling Yoongi into pleasure with its soft, stringy dough and dark sugary filling, and that feeling had stayed on his tongue long after the last crumbs had been eaten.
Jimin thrusts his head. He yips once.
Defeated, Yoongi sighs. “I can’t believe you are not even able to form an argument, yet I let you win.” He murmurs as he goes inside and collects his blanket. “Come on, furry menace.”
Yoongi takes Jimin out to their meadow. Jimin trots happily behind him, sometimes veering off to sniff at some weirdly bent bush. “We sleep,” Yoongi commands as he spreads the blanket under the canopy of a thousand stars.
Jimin tilts his head to the side in an audacious display of fake innocence. Yoongi lifts his finger in warning. “You came to me. I say we sleep.”
They end up in a pile. Jimin had headbutted Yoongi and basically propped the alpha’s body in the most comfortable position for the wolf to curl up on him.
Jimin’s soft breaths almost carry Yoongi to sleep as well. He’s buried his fingers in Jimin’s soft fur, stroking it lightly. The little menace is a comforting warmth that softens the edges of the world. Yoongi’s muscles relax gently. The urge is still buzzing underneath his skin, but wolves are pack creatures, and Jimin’s presence, milky scent tinted with childish innocence, calms the storm in Yoongi’s sea.
He’s seen the sea once, he thinks, and remembers no more as the waves in his mind take him under.
***
Eventually, Yoongi was called to further his studies outside his small village. His Master had written to his old friend, so with a stamped letter and silver coins in his pockets, Min Yoongi is sent to travel up the main road.
Only, he isn’t alone.
“Learn care,” Master Jiho had snickered as Yoongi’s mother and his younger brother had trailed calmly behind him. Their wagon was small, but they were wolves – they didn’t need much.
Yoongi had grumbled the first month. Kicked little stones along the road and kept stubbornly silent as his companions enjoyed their newfound freedom. It was quite exhilarating to cross the horizon each and every morning, so quickly his animosity and petulance of youth had melted in their joint wonder.
The villages grew large and then shrank to three little huts, it seemed like life breathed as the scenery changed. Accents and hues blurred with new tastes and familiar woes. Yoongi saw rooftops shining like the chitin of a rosemary beetle and ones made for weather he didn’t know. They met travelers and exchanged experiences as they all trudged along the road. The markets were the best part, and all three of them got lost in the colorful chaos for the day, picking up stocks but mostly putting them down in disappointment.
When they finally reached the sea, Yoongi’s mom had crushed him to her bosom. Her omega scent blooming in his very veins, and he’d hugged her just as fiercely.
“Come back in half a year, pup,” she whispered and waved goodbye.
And Yoongi did. He’d worked tirelessly for half a year with his new Master – a frail old beta that had shared her secrets with him and taught him tenderness and patience for those suffering. And after the autumn and winter passed, the spring rains opened the road back up.
Yoongi’s steps were light, his shoulders had broadened, his temper – mellowed. The white limestone down at the coast didn’t awe him anymore. He missed his wooden home and the density of his forests. Down south, wolves hid amongst newborn birches and thin ash trees.
He missed the old oaks with trunks thick as cart wheels and roots deep as the wells. He missed his Master with his patient nature and rough affections. He missed Seokjin at the inn and the stews he made. He missed Hoseok and his high-pitched laughter, Namjoon with his constant worries. He surely missed Jungkook and Taehyung’s entire courtship.
He missed his mother and brother, his sleepy father.
But most of all, he missed little Park Jimin with an intensity that surprised even him. It was odd. People traveled, disappeared and reappeared in one's life. Eventually, the old road always brought them back, and yet Park Jimin had hatched in his chest and made a nest between his ribs, singing joyously in the rhythm of Yoongi’s beating heart. A little bright thing he carried with him through the long winter.
Yoongi crossed the first markers of his pack, and finally, his shoulders relaxed. The patrols have gone lazy, and the thought makes him snicker. He can bet the little money he had earned that the wolves guarding the borders were napping somewhere in the bushes.
Life up the road, closer to the mountains, is different and oh, so very familiar, like a favourite set of soft leather shoes.
Amused, Yoongi speeds up until the first houses peak over the hills.
Hoseok is the first to spot him, he is elbows deep in a giant basin, soaking furs and removing the salt from them. Even sharp and on guard, Hoseok jumps high in the air as Yoongi puts his pinkies in his mouth and whistles loudly.
“As I live and breathe!”
Before Yoongi can even wave or smirk. Maybe puff up his chest a bit, show off his newly found confidence, Hoseok is already on him, hugging and spinning Yoongi in a mad dance.
“He returns! The saviour of the village. No more sick and ailing, for Min Yoongi is back.” Hoseok hollers so loudly that the rest of his group abandons their work and gathers round, slapping Yoongi on the back in an overwhelming cloud of excited scents and the stench of wet hide.
By late afternoon, someone had taken the tables from the inn outside, and Yoongi was drinking ale that his own mother was pouring in his tankard. The whole village had gathered. Even the patrols had come by for a little while. Yoongi had eyed them with suspicion. But they pretended he didn’t exist.
They quickly left, unimpressed by the little celebration. Someone had shrugged and said: Alpha's work is more important than feeble gossip and Yoongi had tipped the ale straight into his throat.
Namjoon stops his hand once Yoongi tries to ask for more.
“That’s enough, hyung.”
Yoongi puckers his lips and turns the force of his pout to the other alpha. Namjoon snorts. “You can get smashed, but then you might miss Jimin’s return. Hell, you may not even remember seeing him come morning. Do you want that?”
Yoongi’s mouth closes, and he swallows his objection.
Jimin.
“Where is he?”
“Relax, he’ll be back.”
“I’m not worried,” Yoongi waves his hand stiffly, and Namjoon rolls his eyes. “I’ve never seen you scout the surroundings with this much concentration, and we’ve hunted together.”
Yoongi suppresses the urge to flip off his friend. He is too busy watching the square.
“He is off to the river, hyung.” Namjoon is snickering now.
It doesn’t occur to Yoongi to ask why. Little Jiminie had often joined the omegas and the pups in their baths. Only when the group finally shows in the distance, Yoongi realizes he has made a crucial error in his estimations.
Jimin doesn’t bathe with the kids anymore. He bathes with the omegas.
He has bloomed, presented while Yoongi has been away, to witness the transformation.
In the center of attention now, Jimin walks smiling as everyone around positively orbits him, caught in a snare.
Yoongi’s last memories of Park Jimin were of a cute pup – gentle and round, all big eyes and soft smiles. But the baby fat is gone now, and his face has sharpened into something dangerous. When Jimin turns to listen to what old Hanna is saying, his jaw juts out in the definition of elegance.
His hair is grown longer, left loose to brush his shoulders at the front and half-tied at his back. Someone had taught him to weave his braids – an omega custom for newly presented members of the pack.
His waist has slimmed, and like everyone around him, he has accentuated it with an embroidered belt.
Park Jimin walks like he is dancing, and Yoongi’s mouth goes dry. His heart slams so hard in his chest, he feels it in his temples.
And then, the scent hits him.
It is faint yet, Jimin is standing by the edge of the tables, surely asking around about the cause of celebration, yet the sharp exotic smell can only be his.
Yoongi is immediately transported back to the market in an unnamed town, as his mother peels foreign treasures and lets him indulge.
Sharp and delectable, it assaults his body, and Yoongi can’t help it – he feels his mouth water. His alpha prowls, suddenly awake and raging. It roars for the first time since he has presented, incensed and inconsolable.
Ours. Ours.
And then Jimin’s eyes finally find his.
Park Jimin laughs, his face breaking into the most dazzling smile, and oh, Yoongi is in love.
“Hyung! Yoongi-hyung.”
Lithe as a fawn, Jimin dances through the commotion, and suddenly, Yoongi’s arms are full of Jimin’s warmth, without him even realising when he had gotten up and rushed to meet the omega halfway.
Tangerines. That was the name of the fruit.
Up close in Jimin’s warmth, Yoongi can smell the slight notes of pear brandy as well. Jimin tightens his arms around him, and time stops.
“I missed you.”
Yoongi isn’t sure which of them says it, because they are both feeling it.
“Hyung, Jimin-ah, people are watching,” Namjoon warns them and before Yoongi has the time to mourn, Jimin jumps back. Yet his eyes stay on Yoongi.
“Jimin-ah,” Yoongi can only say in awe. He doesn’t notice Namjoon or Hoseok, who had stood up to pull them apart. He was hypnotised. When he was young, he and the other kids had always made fun of the wild wolves in the distance. How helpless! Howling at the moon as if the moon will ever look their way.
Now, Yoongi is paying for his folly. For the moon has touched the ground.
Jimin commandeers the space next to Yoongi, and the merry crowd allows him. It seems Jimin has grown confident once his wolf has settled. No longer did he lower his eyes at his peers; instead, when he spoke, the whole table leaned in to listen like flowers bending to the sun.
They celebrate late into the spring night, and Yoongi’s head buzzes from the effects of a certain blend of fruit brandy even though he is drinking bitter ale.
***
With no more courting to entertain the village, the whole pack gets in on the preparations for the fast-approaching festivals with renewed vigor. Naturally, Taehyung tries to sneak away and nap in the fields so the omegas send him to help with the food preparation along with Yoongi, who can’t help with the carts or the tables.
“How do you make it?” Taehyung asks as he observes Seokjin taking out the crocks filled with cherry jam.
Seokjin throws Taehyung a dirty look. “If you were here to help with pitting all those cherries, I might have shown you the fun part.”
The younger omega shrugs, and Yoongi decides to be annoying, so he passes by Taehyung and very demonstratively scoops from the runny jam with a finger.
Sure enough, Taehyung bites the lure, pointing at Yoongi with betrayal in his eyes. “So why can Yoongi-hyung eat?”
“Because your Yoongi-hyung helped us. He peeled almost all the apple skins by himself.”
Yoongi grins as the sour taste of the jam stings down his tongue. “Trick of the trade,” he says, and it seems to come out more suggestive than he anticipated for poor Sunwoo’s scent in the back spikes.
Both Taehyung and Seokjin turn alarmed to the newly presented omega and then, as one, usher Yoongi out of the kitchens.
“Go see if someone is dying,” Seokjin thrust his head and shooed him away.
A little sheepish for causing trouble, Yoongi quickly makes his way back to the edge of the village and his little hut. By some luck, even though he is at the very border, the central square and the only inn around are not far from his home. The village had grown around its core, but the terrain around Yoongi’s gardens had been less desirable for its slight incline. At the very top of the hill, though, Yoongi can easily observe his patients as they seek him out.
So by the time Hajoon knocks on his door, Yoongi has cleaned and aired the space, so he can let the omega in without hesitation.
Hajoon’s mild rosemary scent is weighted by a forthcoming heat. Yoongi can smell the ripe grapes, and his teeth are set on edge as he rummages through his stash of suppressants.
“Do you think you’ll make it for the first days?” Yoongi asks. The summer festivals are a two-week-long affair, when all the local villages gather to celebrate the Solstice. It is a chance for the packs to mingle, relationships to bloom, and courtships to begin. “You may have a partner in mind?”
“It will pass, hyung. But I’ll need…” Hajoon falters and points at the mixture Yoongi is making, his cheeks reddening.
Yoongi hums and allows the omega to compose himself. He likes the younger man. Oftentimes, Hajoon would drop by even if simply to bring Yoongi a loaf of freshly baked bread. He used to say it was a thank-you gift for Yoongi, who regularly visited the omega’s house and helped his ailing mother.
Later, Hajoon had admitted he just wanted to help Yoongi, and Yoongi had allowed it even if he shouldn’t have.
“Lee Hajoon’s smell lingers in your house, Yoongi-ah. Be careful, or make him a gift.”
“Hyung?” Jimin’s voice was unnaturally quiet. “You let him take care of you, the way you take care of us.”
Yoongi had quickly changed the topic.
But Hajoon doesn’t expect anything from Yoongi. They had spent hours wiping sweat and bodily fluids from the frail old body of a good woman. Something like a bond had emerged. A camaraderie that required total honesty.
And Yoongi had lowered his guard.
“What about you, hyung? Have someone in mind”
Yoongi’s hands stop grinding the paste he has been concocting. A flash of orange. A glimpse of a crooked tooth. The taste of pear brandy on his tongue. But then the dream dissipates, and Yoongi resumes his work. The mixture is his own recipe, a salve to help omegas with their swollen glands.
“Not really.”
Hajoon lets the silence settle. His knees bump together as he sits primly on one of Yoongi’s good chairs. Sturdy furniture made from old oak. Yoongi tries to catalogue his surroundings, distracting himself unless the cedarwood from his smell overwhelms Hajoon’s already sensitive nose.
“It is my mom’s last Solstice, isn’t it?”
Yoongi sighs, dispelling a puff of air through his clenched teeth. He doesn’t want to say it, but sometimes voicing it helps those in need to make peace with the tragedy.
“She won’t last another winter,” he says, and Hajoon closes his eyes.
“I wish she’d see me dancing this year.” The omega says whistfully. Yoongi raises an eyebrow in an unspoken question, and Hajoon tries to play it off.
“I’ve never been asked by an alpha to the festival, and so I never danced much.”
Yoongi’s moves falter. He shouldn’t pity Hajoon, but it must sting. Even Yoongi has wasted the festival nights dancing despite his numerous protests. It was usually Jimin or Taehyung who would drag him to the dancing line and make him spin them around as they cackled like mad.
He’d asked omegas before. Taken them by their hands on their way to the meadows. Felt the nervous heat, the damp soft skin on his. He’d last done it back in his travels, in places where people were more forgiving when their instincts took over.
He’d spent two ruts with a quiet omega. A boy his age with long fingers and silky hair.
“You’ve danced before, Joon-ah.” Yoongi prods gently. Lets the statement drift in the silence and allows Hajoon to decide whether to answer.
He doesn’t wish to specify how deep of a meaning Hajoon should put on the question. But the omega is clever, and he sees right through Yoongi.
For once, where Yoongi had expected shyness, Hajoon takes him by surprise.
“I have not lain with another, as I said I rarely danced as it is.” Hajoon’s stare – so bold but a moment ago, flickers in shame. “I have taken care of both my father and now my mother. I rarely see the sun, can’t help much in the village. I spent my days bringing water from the well and grinding wheat to at least be useful to the baker.”
Yoongi pities him. The Goddess seemed cruel sometimes.
He seals the tea blend in wax paper and hands it alongside the jar of strongly scented salve. Hajoon takes it carefully, and as his fingers touch Yoongi’s skin, the omega whispers softly.
“Ask me to go with you to the festival, Yoongi-hyung. Please.”
***
Namjoon barges into Yoongi’s hut like a spring hail storm. Immediately, Yoongi jumps from his chair, alarmed. He wonders who could have injured themselves. A fallen wall? Broken bones? Concussion or a sunstroke?
“This time it is serious,” Namjoon intones. His head is bobbing up and down. Yoongi lowers his arms, and it clicks, albeit slowly, when no more information is forthcoming.
“A Jimin suitor?”
“Yes.”
Yoongi sighs, annoyed. He can still feel the worry sparking up and down his body. “Yah, Kim Namjoon, don’t do that again. I thought it was an emergency.”
“Hyung,” Namjoon’s eyes are serious as he nears Yoongi like a spooked animal. But Yoongi refuses to bite. For one, all court initiations are serious. None of the alphas that had braved the road up to their village, nor their own young alphas had joked with their intentions towards Jimin.
It was just the way it is. Park Jimin is desirable; a coveted prize. And even if some of them had tried their luck simply to brag about stealing the most beautiful jewel on their side of the great road, Yoongi knows Jimin is wise beyond his years and will never pick wrong.
Yoongi’s friends try to turn the whole affair into a jest, but Yoongi has long ago come to terms with the simple truth – one day, Park Jimin will settle down with an alpha. He will accept a gift, adorn his body with his alpha’s hunting trophy, and later on, at the very summer festivals – maybe as soon as the next cycle, Jimin will remove his collar and bare his pink mating bite for the world to see.
Yoongi also knows he won’t dance after that. Not that year, as he observes Jimin’s alpha spinning him around, nor the next, nor the one after. Maybe never again will Min Yoongi dance at the Solstice festival. He will loiter on his chair and watch as Park Jimin slows in his own dance movements year after year.
And when Jimin cannot dance anymore, but sits with the old folk at the sides, Yoongi will only pray that he will be afforded a place next to him. Never on the left, though, that honor would belong to Jimin’s mate.
“Old Beom and his pack arrived this morning. He brought his son, the boy is twenty-two.”
Yoongi nods. “So he will be presented officially this year.”
Namjoon’s mouth pops open, and he looks around as if he is wondering if anyone is playing a joke on him. Yoongi is positively miffed.
“Hyung, he already found Jimin. The boy ambushed him at the well, then hollered an ardent court proposal for the entire village and all of our upcoming guests to hear. I swear, hyung, there was another alpha on his way to Jimin, but even he gave up. Turned on his heel with his head hanging low.”
“The boy is bold,” Yoongi says, impressed. “He is not presented as a full member, and already he is courting.”
“Jimin looked as startled, but then Siwoo took out his gift.”
Yoongi raises his eyebrow. “Let’s hear it then.”
Namjoon spreads his arms. “Silver earrings, hyung. The real deal. They say he commissioned them three months ago. He wanted to put them on Jimin himself, that's how certain he was.”
A petty, tiny voice in Yoongi’s head can't wait to hear the next part. A tight fist around his heart squeezes in horror of it.
“Jimin returned them?” Yoongi asks because he has to make sure.
“That's the thing, hyung. He didn't.”
The fist shatters Yoongi's heart into a million little pieces. It feels like his useless organ is the flesh of a peeled peach, and those beloved tiny fingers are squeezing, mushing it into nothingness.
It finally happened – Jimin accepted a proposal.
“Hyung?”
Namjoon sounds so far away, and his voice is all wrong, as if he is underwater. Yoongi's legs certainly feel like he has just broken free through the surface of a lake – weak and trembling.
***
Yoongi wishes he could mope in peace. He wants to lie down and sleep, though that is not ideal either, for then the days will chip as sunflower seeds and the festivals will arrive. And Yoongi is dreading the long celebrations.
He’d been a fool to think he could easily get over such a thing.
Yet, Jiah had stormed into his hut on the day after Namjoon confronted him, and all thoughts of his own woes had disappeared. She hadn't knocked on the door, just barged in – her hair in disarray and the skin of her face cold.
“His jaw locked.” She’d uttered grimly, and Yoogi’s stomach had sunk in his heels.
“I thought he’d be safe, it was two weeks since he nicked his palm, before his muscles tensed.” They hurry up, as Jiah speaks. Yoongi tears the cloth she’d given him with his hands and passes half of it to her.
“Tie him,” Yoongi instructs very quietly.
Little Doyun is lying in his bed, and at first, he looks deceptively still, almost healthy. But all Yoongi has to do is listen. His breaths are ragged and heavy, yet his mouth is clamped shut, as if he is at peace. His nostrils flare, and his eyes dart around the room in panic – wide as those of a horse about to be put down.
Sweat beads down his forehead. His skin is burning, the heat almost escaping off the child in waves.
“When did he first spasm?” Yoongi asks, tying Doyun’s hand to the bed. Jiah doesn’t move. The rag is still clenched in her fists, and she keeps looking at her son as if he would slip away if she doesn’t even for a moment.
“Noona,” Yoongi prompts.
“He-he started swallowing with difficulty yesterday morning.”
“Alright,” Yoongi nods slowly.
“He can’t die, Yoongi-ah.” Jiah breaks like ceramics.
Great gulps of air make it out of her body, tears finally spilling over. Yoongi tries to stop her, lifting his hands in the air. “Noona, you must keep quiet.” But the omega isn’t listening to him, the flowers in her scent are rotting, bringing them closer to disaster.
“I won’t lose him,” Jiah wails. The grief in her body is too hard to contain, even though she’d tried, she fails, for they both had seen the field workers convulse in pain until their ribs break and their muscles tear.
“You need to–”
But before Yoongi can calm the omega, her restlessness triggers their worst nightmare. Doyun arches off the bed, his one tied-up hand rattling eerily as the child can’t even shout. His back bows dangerously close to breaking. A lone shrill whine makes its way through Doyun’s clenched teeth.
It passes, but none of them can tell how long it lasted. Yoongi rests Doyun’s feverish body back on his thin mattress. He takes the rag from Jiah’s lax fingers and ties the boy himself, then he secures his legs too.
“I will sedate him,” Yoongi says, tying the thin ankle to the foot of the bed. “And then we pray his heart makes it through the night.”
Yoongi emerges from the Kang’s household two days later, smelling of death.
He had helped bury little Doyun under the plum tree in the backyard. That had held him together for half a day, the rhythmic scrape of the shovel fresh in his ears, it dictated his steps up the hill and to his house. At his front door, though, the sound dissipates, and his thoughts invade. Yoongi sits down on the stairs and casts his heavy gaze towards the vast nothingness of the sky.
The thoughts don’t dissolve, and helpless to stop them, heavy grief weighing him down, Yoongi still manages to get up, washes himself, and marches back up the path to the village. He has his eyes set on a path forward, a way to atone.
***
The festivals are in full swing by the time Yoongi sees the meadows. He’d missed their beauty, and he takes a moment to admire the serenity of the place. For the past week, the packs have raised their tents in the colors of their villages. In between, rows upon rows of tables have been placed so that the villagers could unload all of the dishes they have prepared. The soft bread and the tender meat will be the first to go. The thick sauces made with rosemary and basil, the salted deer meat, and the vegetables soaked in vinegar will last until the omegas run back to Strela and prepare the second batch of bread and pastry.
“Hyung? Are you well?”
Hajoon’s gentle questioning startles Yoongi from his daze. He realises he has let go of the omega, so he quickly intertwines their fingers once more.
“Let us make our presence known, Joon-ah.” The cheerful words choke Yoongi. In truth, he dreads finding his people. Dreads having to spot Jimin, his own hand in another alpha’s grasp as if that alpha owned him already.
Luminous Park Jimin finally caught.
Reluctant he may be, but Yoongi makes his way through the throng of people, nodding politely and trying to show his omega partner as much as he can. He leaves Hajoon at his own tent to unpack and goes on in search of his designated bed.
“Hyung,” Namjoon greets as Yoongi opens the flap of the tent. “Leave your stuff, I have so much to tell you,” Namjoon says, but Yoongi would rather swallow river rocks than listen to the other alpha. There is one name on everyone’s lips right now and Yoongi can’t bear it.
“Please, Namjoon-ah. Whatever it is, it can wait. My shoulder hurts, and I have to dance through the night. Tell me later.” With that, Yoongi throws his satchel on his bed and tries to run away.
Later, the sun mellows down, and the packs all make their way out of hiding. The musicians take out their instruments, and even before the fireflies light up the tall grasses, people are already dancing with wild abandon.
Yoongi keeps his steps even, his hand on Hajoon’s cinched waist, never straying too low. Hajoon has woven his flower crown with purple aster flowers and adorned his wrists with his mother’s bracelets. They clink merrily every time Yoongi spins the omega. Hajoon laughs at their rhythm, his mother nodding her head from afar. When the dancing crowds sweep them nearer to the tables, Yoongi swears he sees the joy in her eyes. And Yoongi feels Hajoon’s happiness warm the cold space in his chest. So he keeps spinning the omega as his jewelry sings, and the weight of Yoongi’s misery lessens.
By the time the moon comes out, Yoongi is pleasantly tired and caught in the celebrations. Hajoon pulls him to the tables, and they both slump on the wooden benches with relief. Yoongi is reaching for the plates with stew when Taehyung materialises in front of him.
His crown is askew, and his shirt is unbuttoned. He is breathing heavily as if he had run all the way here. Yoongi tilts his head.
“Taehyung-ah, are you well?”
Yoongi doesn’t expect the smothering glare he receives in return. “Have you seen Jimin, Yoongi-hyung?” Taehyung throws Yoongi’s partner a quick look, but turns his head almost rudely.
“No,” Yoongi looks around, a new dread sipping in his thoughts. “Wasn’t he with Siwoo from Beom’s pack?”
Something like disappointment crosses over Taehyung’s face. He lifts his chin in anger. “You are a coward, Yoongi-hyung.”
Before Yoongi can respond, and as Hajoon looks between them, too timid and polite to intervene, Jungkook arrives as well.
“Come on, let’s go.” He grabs Taehyung gently by the shoulders and steers him away. He doesn’t even spare a look at Yoongi.
Yoongi follows them, he bows at Hajoon in apology as he runs up to catch up with the couple. He is too stubborn to take a hint.
“What happened?”
Jungkook snorts, but motions with his head for Yoongi to follow. They search for a good hour, going through the tents of their village and the forest nearby. At last, one of their pups points them to the tables farthest from the south bonfire.
Hoseok is the one to find Jimin. The two of them have their heads together – thick as thieves as Taehyung spots them from afar. His shoulders droop in relief, and he dashes like mad ahead.
“Jimin-ah,” Taehyung says and slides, almost landing in Jimin’s lap. Jimin giggles but readily embraces his best friend. Yoongi can finally take a look at him for the first time this evening. His hair is braided back, and someone has applied dark kohl on his eyelids, sharpening his gaze. A giant crown of black locust flowers adorns his dark locks. The white flowers dancing merrily to his bidding.
“Where were you? I was worried.” Taehyung pinches Jimin, who jumps and whacks him, his flower crown tilting even more.
“You were with Beom’s pack, were you not?” Yoongi says, calmly sitting down as well. His head is eerily quiet. Once Jimin confirms it, he can finally rest. It may have been that Yoongi has been grasping at something unattainable for so long, letting go will feel like relief.
“Is he good then, young Siwoo?” Jungkook sounds smug as he grabs a bread roll.
“That’s not–” Hoseok tries to say something, but Yoongi is faster. “Good dancer, probably?”
“He is tall and handsome, too.” Jungkook nods in agreement.
“The pack will be his, no one will question you anymore, Jimin-ah. Seems like a good match.” Yoongi’s head is spinning, his ears are ringing. His eyes bore into the horizon as his pain takes over.
“It’s not funny.” Taehyung hisses, but Yoongi is too far gone.
“I’m being serious, of course. Jimin thinks him a fine choice, seeing as he accepted his courting.”
The silence that follows should have alerted Yoongi. Instead, he looks at each and every one of them aghast. Were they mocking him? They should agree, he is right after all. Siwoo has a legacy, he is a hunter, he takes down prey, and guards his mate.
He doesn’t limp like a cripple.
Yoongi’s eyes sting, and he looks up at the dark sky once more, the fires almost dimming the radiance of the stars.
“Yoongi-hyung,” Hoseok begins gently. “Jimin-ah didn’t accept the proposal.”
“Min-ah kept it vague till the first dance was over,” Taehyung adds. “Beom-ssi thought Jimin was distraught for refusing his son, so he instructed us to find him.”
“I had to hide from Siwoo, it was too awkward once I turned him down.”
Jungkook turns to Jimin as confused as Yoongi feels. “Why did you do that? You never mess with your suitors.”
Jimin doesn’t seem angry. A younger Jimin would’ve jumped around, chasing Jungkook down the tables until he tackles the younger and they scuffle. The old Jimin would then throw himself in Hoseok’s lap and whine, hiding his face in his friend’s arms, complaining that they are all cruel. Yoongi would bite then, jest with the omega until Jimin’s nose pokes up, his cheeks puffed cutely up in indignation.
Yet Jimin now just nods seriously, his laughter subdued. “He was presented as the next Leader this evening. If I’d refused him back when he proposed, this night would’ve been overshadowed by that news.” Jimin clicks his tongue. “That kid, asking me right before the festivals. He did it on purpose.”
Hoseok cackles. “He is three summers younger than you, brat.” The mood lightens once more. Hoseok passes them plates filled with steaming food as Jimin rolls his eyes.
Yet, Yoongi won’t let it go.
“You did a foolish thing, Jimin-ah.” Yoongi’s voice comes high and mocking, the way it did when he and Jimin argued playfully, yet it’s fractured like a ray of sun through colorful glass – still there but slightly off. “You should’ve let him court you. How long do you intend to stay single? It was stupid to reject him.”
Yoongi realises he is mashing the potatoes in his stew into a homogenous, pitiful pile. He isn’t hungry anymore, so he throws his fork on the table. When he looks up again, however, his stomach sinks, a sudden horrible lightness assaulting him, little black pinpricks dancing in his vision.
Jimin was supposed to laugh and throw back as good as he got. He is supposed to prop his head on Hoseok’s shoulder and cast his doleful stare into the sky, sighing dreamily. Taehyung is supposed to join in, pointing at Jimin and joking lightly at his expense as the omega exaggerated the role of the scorned lover.
Jimin isn’t supposed to break.
But as Yoongi finds his eyes, he sees in them pain – so raw and brittle he is halfway up his chair, wanting to tuck the omega in his arms and rock him gently.
“Hyung has you, treasure. Don’t cry, Jimin-ah.”
But the pain is too great, and Yoongi is too ashamed, stunned from the sudden reaction his words have prompted. Suddenly, they crystallize clear as day for their weight has been felt.
And Yoongi hadn’t meant it. They have told this joke over and over, and in time, the words had felt easier to come out of his mouth.
Why did it suddenly land?
What has he missed?
Tears well in Jimin’s eyes and fall down, smudging the carefully applied kohl. His hands twitch as the droplets land on them. For a moment, all other sounds vanish but the sudden plop plop of Jimin’s tears.
The tension mounts as the laughter booms around them. Jimin is crying in earnest now, and the droplets keep falling hollowly on the table. No one says anything, no one even dares to breathe.
At last, slowly, as if in a great daze, Jimin rises from his seat.
“Alright, hyung. Message clear.” He says, and with his head hanging low as if the locust flowers suddenly weigh him down, Jimin disappears amongst the dancing couples.