Chapter Text
The sound of smashing glass reverberated through the room before Taehyung’s voice filtered through the phone, “Calm down! Hyung! You can’t do this!”
“Who cares?” Yoongi shouts before smashing another whiskey-filled glass. It was eerily pretty, the way the golden liquid flowed through the broken shards to finally seep into the extravagant cream-colored rug, which he didn’t need in the first place. Coming from a middle-class family, he really had no want for the “luxurious” things in life, but, oh well, at least he could afford to have three square meals a day now. His mangas littered the table beside him, in pristine condition. Those were the only things in the room unaffected by his wrath “Hyung, I’m nearly there, please don’t do anything stupid!” Taehyung’s voice was frantic. He had never seen his Yoongi hyung like that before. In his three years of being Min Yoongi’s manager, outbursts like this were not common .
Min Yoongi was called the “Ice Prince” by the netzines because of his aloofness, except for the times he played a role. Even though he was an omega, anyone could easily mistake him for a beta—or even an Alpha. His aura made up for his height, and one could easily be the recipient of his sharp tongue, which spared no one. Min Yoongi had been in a relationship with the alpha Lee Sang-han for the past year, and the netizens considered them the “It Couple” due to their chemistry. Lee Sang-han was an aspiring actor who had his breakthrough when he acted alongside Yoongi who already had a well-established career. His “sunshine” personality made up for Yoongi’s “arctic” one, and, within a few days of working together, their chemistry was topping charts. Everyone, including Yoongi thought that this was it.
And it was…until Lee Sang-han was caught making out with a waitress a few hours earlier. There was an instant social media uproar. The internet was flooded with the images of their escapades with everyone pointing fingers at Yoongi instead of Sang-han—as if he was supposed to know his partner was cheating on him.
“Hyung, why are you drinking!?” Taehyung’s voice was frantic. Omegas weren’t supposed to drink high concentrations of alcohol. Wine was fine, but anything beyond that unleashed their inhibitions.
“Who cares?” Yoongi repeated, his voice slurring. Abruptly, the call was cut off.
Thankfully, Taehyung had already reached Yoongi’s apartment by then. He opened the door to find Yoongi sprawled on the white living room rug with a new whiskey-filled glass gripped precariously in his hand. Taehyung snatched it away once he reached him.
“Taehyung-ah,” Yoongi whined, a truly pathetic sound that didn’t suit him.
“I know, hyung. I know,” Taehyung sighed, surveying the wreckage Yoongi had left in his wake. The furniture was still standing, but the walls were a different story. Framed paintings hung crooked, some with the glass shattered and dangling precariously. The coffee table was a goner, shards of glass scattered like glitter across the floor, twinkling in the low light. Taehyung’s gaze softened when it landed on the omega lying face down on the rug, cheek squished against the fabric, his unlocked phone laying next to him.
“Hyung, come on.” Taehyung dropped beside him, gently nudging Yoongi's shoulder. “Let’s get you to bed, alright?”
Yoongi groaned and rolled his head just enough to blink up at Taehyung. His eyes were glassy, the effect a mix of alcohol and unshed tears. “Tae… why is everything so loud?” he slurred, clutching weakly at Taehyung’s sleeve.
“It’s just your head, hyung,” he whispered softly, his mouth twitching with a small, strained smile. Sliding an arm under Yoongi's, he pulled him upright surprisingly easily. “Come on, let’s get you tucked in. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Instead of struggling, Yoongi melted into Taehyung's arms as if he had lost the will to fight, which is what he probably would have done otherwise. He trailed behind Taehyung as they made their way down the hallway and into his dimly lit bedroom. He helped Yoongi sit on the edge of the bed, and bent down to untie his shoes, pulling them off with care.
“You’re going to regret this tomorrow,” Taehyung muttered as he pulled the duvet back and eased Yoongi down onto the pillows. Yoongi's eyes closed and fluttered shut, his breathing becoming shallower as he curled onto his side. For a moment, there was peace blanketing him, as if the weight of the world had been removed from his shoulders.
“Stay," Yoongi mumbled, reaching out with a hand that quivered.
Taehyung stopped. His heart ached at the vulnerability in Yoongi's voice. He ran his fingers through his hyung's hair, smoothing it back as he sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m not going anywhere, hyung,” he promised softly. “Just rest.”
As Yoongi's breathing stabilized, Taehyung sucked in a deep breath before standing up and taking one last look at his sleeping hyung before returning to the living room.
He grabbed a broom and dustpan to sweep up the pieces of broken glass that were scattered all over the floor. The coffee table would have to be replaced , but he made sure to collect every last shard of glass before anyone could get hurt. With the room as clean as he could manage, Taehyung sank onto the couch, exhaling in one long breath. He looked toward the bedroom door from where Yoongi's soft and muted breathing filtered through.
“I hope you find what you’re looking for, hyung,” he whispered into the quiet of the apartment, the words hanging in the air like a silent prayer.
~x~
Yoongi woke up feeling like his head had been split in two by a jackhammer, each throb a painful reminder of the night before. His mouth was dry, tasting like it had been stuffed with cotton and marinated in something foul, as if a hippo had spit directly into it. He groaned and rolled over onto his back, all too quickly regretting the movement as nausea punched him squarely in the gut.
"Fuck," he growled low in his throat as he squeezed his eyes shut tight against the unyielding sunlight spilling through half-closed blinds. He could already feel remorse clawing at him, mixed with the acrid sting of self-loathing that only a particularly bad hangover could bring. His memory was a blur of slurred words, broken glass, and Taehyung’s concerned face. What the hell had he done last night?
He brought up his hand to shade his eyes, flinching as even that little motion sent another jolt of pain screaming through his skull. "Never again," he moaned, but he'd said that to himself so many times before. He already could envision Seokjin's voice in his head, berating him for drinking on a nearly empty stomach, then Namjoon's sigh of defeat. He touched his temples with his fingers, trying to soothe the headache a bit, but it was equivalent to blotting a fire with a wet cloth.
"Hyung! Hyung!" Taehyung’s voice shrieked, high-pitched and panicked. In the silent bedroom, it cut through loudly enough that it made Yoongi wince. He hadn't been able to open his mouth to say a word before Taehyung was bursting into the room with hair all over the place and eyes flailing about.
"What the hell, Tae?" Yoongi croaked, staring at him with what little energy he could muster.
"You should check your phone," Taehyung said, pushing the device into Yoongi's hand. His face looked deathly pale, hardly bearing any resemblance to the excitement and mischievousness he usually wore in the mornings that Yoongi and everyone else around him had grown to love. "Like, right now."
“Why?” Yoongi frowned, squinting at the screen as he unlocked it. He barely registered the hundreds of notifications pinging his phone before his own face stared back at him, accompanied by a headline he never wanted to see: ‘Min Yoongi Goes Public in Drunken Search for a Mate: ‘Apply Now, Alphas’’.
"Oh fuck," Yoongi breathed, his raspy whisper nearly inaudible over the replies- thousands of them. Selfies of grinning alphas, shirtless pictures filling his feed with cheesy messages and promises to flip the world upside down and sideways. And then there were the gifts- virtual gifts, tracking numbers for real gifts, promises of fur coats and jewelry and gaudy trinkets that he didn't need or want.
“Yeah," Taehyung said, running a hand down his face. "That's what I woke up to. You're trending everywhere, hyung. Twitter, Instagram, even TikTok."
"I didn't—" Yoongi began to say, but his words died on his lips as pieces of last night flickered into view in his mind. The anger, the drunken haze, the impulse to just say screw it and post something reckless to make the ache of loneliness go away. “Oh my God, I did.”
“You did,” Taehyung confirmed, his voice softening. He sat on the edge of the bed, giving Yoongi a sympathetic look. "You were upset, and I thought you were just venting. I didn't think that you would actually go through with it,"
“Well, apparently I did,” Yoongi groaned, burying his face in his hands. “This is a nightmare. I’m never drinking again. Never. Ever.”
“Sure,” Taehyung replied dryly, though his tone lacked its usual teasing bite. He placed a comforting hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. “But first, we need to figure out how to handle this. Many alphas have actually applied, and some of them are sending gifts. So it's not just the fans who are freaking out.”
“Gifts?” Yoongi peeked through his fingers, horrified. “Like what?”
Taehyung rolled his eyes and laughed, "Like fur coats, diamond necklaces, and... someone sent a freaking Gucci briefcase, hyung. It’s all sitting in the lobby. I had to bribe the doorman just to keep him quiet about it.”
Yoongi groaned louder, slumping back against the pillows. “Has that what my life has come to? Kill me. Just put me out of my misery.”
“I would, but you need to clean up this mess first,” Taehyung said, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips now. “Look, it’s bad, but it’s not the end of the world. You can still fix this.”
“How?” Yoongi snapped, glaring up at Taehyung. “How am I supposed to fix a viral post where I basically begged alphas to line up outside my door?”
“Not sure yet,” Taehyung admitted. “But you’re not alone, hyung. We’ll figure it out together, alright?”
Yoongi closed his eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath. It was small comfort, but right now, it was the only thing keeping him from throwing his phone across the room and crawling under the covers for the next century.
For a moment he lay back, wishing he could undo last night’s social media rampage, but he knew better than anyone that the internet was forever. Dating for love had not worked but maybe, just maybe, there would be an alpha out there that he could mate, not because they were madly in love, but because they liked and respected each other.
Because that much was clear to Yoongi - love was for fools and he refused to be one any longer. Squinting his eyes, so as not to aggravate his headache further, he flipped open his phone and started scrolling.
And that was how he spent his morning—ignoring the endless stream of calls from Jin and Namjoon. Both of them were blowing up his phone, alternating between frantic messages and voicemails demanding he call them back immediately. Yoongi simply let it ring out, rolling his eyes as another notification popped up. Instead, he kept doom-scrolling through his feed, wading through a sea of ridiculous posts. It was a parade of alphas—some shirtless, some in suits, all looking like they were auditioning for a low-budget reality show. The captions made him want to throw his phone away.
Ill luv u better than any1 ever has
Pick me Yoongi. I’ll make you the happiest omega in the world
Heres a real alpha who knows how to treat u r8
Yoongi groaned, tossing the phone onto the bed. “Do they think I’m that desperate?”
“You did kinda make it sound that way, hyung,” Taehyung’s voice came from the doorway. He leaned against the frame with a sympathetic look, arms crossed over his chest as he eyed Yoongi’s disheveled state. “You might want to answer those calls, though. Jin-hyung is probably about to have a meltdown.”
“Not in the mood,” Yoongi grumbled, dragging a hand through his tangled hair. He’d deal with it later—when his head didn’t feel like it was being split in half by a sledgehammer.
Before he could sink deeper into his self-pity, his phone buzzed again, vibrating across the bed. Yoongi picked it up, expecting another call from his agency. Instead, the caller ID read ‘Jungkook’. His bodyguard.
Yoongi frowned and answered. “What is it, Kook?”
“Hyung,” Jungkook’s voice was soft but urgent. He sounded almost out of breath. “You need to come down to the lobby. There’s... a situation.”
“A situation?” Yoongi’s frown deepened as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the sharp spike of pain that shot through his head. “You’re gonna have to be more specific. I’m hungover, and I don’t have the energy for vague drama right now.”
Jungkook hesitated. “It’s... a lot of gifts. And something else. You really need to see it for yourself.”
Yoongi turned to Taehyung to see him already pulling out his phone, answering to all the messages Jin and Namjoon had probably blasted him with. He nodded at Yoongi as if he had overheard Jungkook.
“Fine,” Yoongi grumbled into the phone. “We’re coming down.”
They rode the elevator in silence. Yoongi rested his head against the cool metal wall, eyes squeezed shut and breathing through the drums pounding in his skull. By his side, Taehyung kept scrolling through his phone with a furrowed brow.
“Jin hyung is about to have a heart attack,” Taehyung mumbled. “He said the agency is trying to control the narrative, but it’s already spreading like wildfire. They’re going crazy there.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly thinking straight,” Yoongi snapped, wincing at his own volume. “I’ll handle it.”
“You better,” Taehyung muttered back, slipping his phone into his pocket as the elevator doors slid open.
Yoongi stepped out, blinking as he tried to adjust to the brightness of the lobby. What greeted him made him freeze mid-step.
Jungkook was standing there, looking frazzled and a little overwhelmed as he gestured helplessly at the chaos in the room. It was like a scene from a reality TV show—packages upon packages stacked high, overflowing gift bags, fur coats draped over the front desk. The entire lobby looked like it had been transformed into a luxury department store’s warehouse.
“What the hell...” Yoongi breathed out, taking in the spectacle.
“Yeah, this started coming in early this morning,” Jungkook said, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish smile. “I’ve been trying to keep it all in one place, but... it’s kind of a lot.”
Taehyung let out a low whistle, his eyes wide. “This is insane. Do they really think they can buy your affection like this?”
“Apparently,” Yoongi muttered, stepping forward to get a closer look. He ignored the gaudy display of fur coats and designer bags, scanning the pile with a detached kind of interest. It was all so shallow, so predictable.
But then he saw it—something that didn’t belong with the rest.
It wasn’t wrapped in shiny paper or stuffed into an obnoxious gift bag. Just placed by the Gucci briefcase. It was different. Simple. Yoongi’s eyes narrowed as he stepped closer.
“What’s this?” he asked quietly, almost to himself.
Jungkook’s expression softened, as if he could sense the shift in Yoongi’s mood. “That’s what I wanted you to see, hyung. It came with a card, but... it’s different.”
Yoongi swallowed hard, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and trepidation. He couldn’t see it properly from where he stood, but he knew—before even touching it—that this gift was different. It wasn’t trying to impress him with wealth or status. It was something far more intimate.
“Who sent this?” Yoongi asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Jungkook hesitated for a moment before answering. “It’s from someone named Jung Hoseok.”
He exchanged a glance with Taehyung, who looked just as confused. Yoongi’s fingers itched to reach out and touch the gift, but he held back, unsure.
Something about this felt different—something about Hoseok felt different.