Chapter Text
counterclaim
(noun)
one party asserts claims in response to the claims of another.
cause of action
(noun)
a set of predefined factual elements that allow for a legal remedy.
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“I want everything.”
Yoongi watches him from across the room, tapping his pen against the table in a dull, monotonous rhythm—an old habit he’s picked up over the years, one Jimin usually tunes out without thinking.
Not now, though.
Every sharp little tap lands like a hammer against Jimin’s already frayed nerves, even from this distance. For one reckless second, he almost snaps at Yoongi, anger rising hot and immediate in his throat, but he forces it back down.
It’s not Yoongi’s fault he’s getting divorced. It’s that asshole Jeongho’s. Fucking piece of shit.
“Define everything,” Yoongi says.
“The penthouse in Hannam.”
Yoongi hums, scribbling.
“The weekend home in Jeju.”
Another note.
“The cars. All of them.”
That makes Yoongi pause. He slowly looks up.
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“There are five.”
“Yes. I know how to count.” Jimin turns to him, eyes narrowed. “Your point?”
Yoongi sighs and slips his glasses off for a moment, eyeing him with a thoughtful expression.
“Jimin. What are you going to do with five cars?”
“Drive them. Obviously.”
“Even the Tesla? The one Taehyung keyed?”
That draws a small smile out of Jimin. He won’t lie, it gives him a sick sort of pleasure knowing Jeongho has to drive around in a car with ‘KNOTHEAD’ carved into the side. But a good polish can fix that.
And that’s the problem. It’s not enough. Jimin wants the damage to be permanent.
Like the one Jeongho did to their relationship when he slept with the secretary—Jimin’s secretary, mind you. Jeongho couldn’t even afford his own; he’d been too ‘between ventures’ for that. And Jimin certainly wasn’t about to bankroll a personal assistant for him on top of everything else. He might have been a fool in love, but he wasn’t that big of a fool.
“No,” he says at last. “I’m going to set that one on fire.”
Maybe he’ll even take a video and send it to Jeongho. Yeah. That will show him. It will be the symbolic start of Jimin setting their old life on flames.
Jeongho loved that stupid fucking car. Loved it so much he gave that ugly waste of metal more affection lately than Jimin, his husband.
Of course, now Jimin knows that should’ve been the least of his worries.
Either way, he wants to hit Jeongho where it hurts. And since he can’t go back in time and accept the very tempting offer from the hot gardener to be his—and he quotes—‘secret lover’, trashing the car is the next best thing.
“Can’t you just sell it like a normal person?” Yoongi says dryly. He sounds tired, like it’s not the first time he’s heard that—it probably isn’t. Being a divorce lawyer exposes you to some wild things. “Arson complicates the paperwork.”
“Be happy it isn’t voluntary manslaughter,” Jimin clips, turning back to the window. The river glints in the late afternoon light, deceptively calm, unlike the omega’s tumultuous feelings.
How fucking poetic.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Yoongi says dryly as he flips his notepad. “Alright, so penthouse in Hannam, weekend home in Jeju, five cars, including one you’re not allowed to immolate. What else?”
“The art collection.”
“Alright,” Yoongi writes it down.
“Oh, and the limited-edition Gibson.”
“Didn’t you gift it to him for his birthday last year?”
“And what about it?” Jimin counters. “He never plays it anyway. Just keeps it in the living room for show.”
“You don’t even play the guitar.”
“I don’t see how that matters."
Yoongi only gives him a blank stare, the two of them measuring each other lengthily. As usual, it’s Yoongi who throws in the towel first. With an exasperated sigh, he lets his gaze drop down to his notes, writing it down resolutely.
“Remind me to never get on your bad side,” he mutters.
“Don’t get on my bad side,” Jimin shoots back bluntly, prompting a quiet snort, the corners of the alpha’s mouth tilting up as he scribbles in the notepad. One thing Jimin has to give to Yoongi is that he can appreciate good humor, even when he disagrees with Jimin entirely.
That’s probably the foundation of their entire friendship and partnership. Otherwise, they don’t have much in common.
Yoongi is cool, collected, and soft-spoken. He’s always willing to compromise if it means a cleaner outcome, something that satisfies both parties.
Jimin? The exact opposite. He’s hot-headed, stubborn, prone to charging headfirst into a fight and worrying about the consequences later.
It even shows in the name of their firm: Park & Min. Jimin had insisted his name go first—purely on principle—and Yoongi hadn’t found it important enough to argue. He’d just adjusted the paperwork and moved on.
Somehow, they make it work.
They’ve perfected the balance over the years—emotion and restraint, spectacle and strategy. One pushes, the other pulls. Jimin storms in and sets things on fire, while Yoongi makes sure the building doesn’t actually burn down. Together, they win.
Yoongi takes the cases that require emotional intelligence and empathy: the delicate custody battles, the clients who need to be handled like glass. He listens AND finds solutions that let everyone walk away with at least a shred of dignity intact.
Jimin, on the other hand, leads the cases that require teeth: high-stakes divorces, litigation where aggression isn’t just useful, but necessary. He thrives in controlled combat, in watching the opposing counsel realize—just a second too late—that they’ve underestimated him. They always do. They expect him to be soft-spoken and gentle like Yoongi, simply because he’s an omega.
Ironically, Yoongi himself is an alpha through and through, just not—as Taehyung so eloquently puts it—a knothead.
Yeah. They exist. It’s a surprise to Jimin too. But Yoongi is the exemption that strengthens the rule. Most alphas are, indeed, just knotheads, in his experience.
He knew that. He fucking knew that—even before his spectacularly ill-fated marriage. And yet, here he is. Another scorned omega, standing in Yoongi’s office, pretending he didn’t see it coming.
Goddess, the irony alone is humiliating. The hotshot divorce lawyer getting a divorce. What a fucking cliché.
And Yoongi—kind, infuriatingly compassionate Yoongi—plays along. He doesn’t say ‘you knew’ or ‘I warned you’, even though he did, many times. He treats Jimin like any other client: keeps the conversation professional and tries to preserve what can be salvaged, including Jimin’s pride.
“Alright. Let’s wrap it up.” Yoongi pushes his notepad to the side. “I have a client in—” he checks his wristwatch, “ten minutes. I’ll draft a settlement proposal and send it to you tonight.”
Jimin nods jerkily, grabbing his blazer he’d thrown over the armrest of his chair. Yoongi watches him slip into it, his eyes going oddly soft.
“Jimin-ah,” he calls.
“Yeah?” Jimin mumbles distractedly.
“Why don’t you go home?” Yoongi suggests. “Relax a bit. Tomorrow will be rough.”
Jimin halts, staring at him, bewildered. Then he barks out a laugh, sharp and humorless. Go home to his empty house and feel sorry for himself? Please.
“I’ll be in my office,” he says, straightening his cuffs with much more force than needed before striding out, head held high.
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The next morning is gray and cloudy, the density in the air promising a storm.
Jimin finds it fitting. Feels like mother nature is raging in solidarity with him. Jimin would prefer it if she’d just smite Jeongho with lighting and save him the trouble, but that’s probably asking for too much.
As usual, he has to take matters into his own hands.
Jeongho arrives ten minutes late. Jimin has no doubt he does it on purpose. He’s always been a stickler for punctuality—used to scold Jimin like he was some unruly child if he took too long getting ready, tapping his watch, sighing dramatically.
And now he strolls in late to a divorce settlement.
How petty.
He walks in with his lawyer—a tall beta with sharp eyes and even sharper cheekbones—wearing an expression carefully curated somewhere between wounded dignity and restrained outrage.
Jimin doesn’t stand to greet him. Doesn’t even look at him. He gives a curt nod to the lawyer out of collegial courtesy but otherwise, he keeps his face carefully blank. He won’t give Jeongho the satisfaction.
Yoongi extends his hand to the other alpha, professional and polite as always.
He offers them a seat, the three of them exchanging pleasantries like stale bread. Jimin doesn’t engage, looking away demonstratively.
Yoongi slides a folder across the table.
“This is our proposed settlement framework. We’ve itemized the properties and associated assets for discussion.”
Jeongho opens it, his face draining as he scans through. He shoots a panicked look at his lawyer, who only shakes her head slightly, then turns back to the document. The subtle warning won’t keep Jeongho at bay for so long—an outburst is bound to happen. Jimin can already see the signs as they start going through the list: the way his face reddens with every new item, the rhythm of his fingers drumming against the table picking up.
Ironically, it’s the vehicles that make him snap.
“The cars? Seriously, Jimin?” Jeongho hisses, looking daggers across the table. “Even the Tesla?” He tosses the documents down in disbelief. “You hate that car.”
Well.
He isn’t wrong about that.
Jimin has refused to drive that thing on principle since the day it was delivered. He might be ruthless in court, but he still has standards in his personal life.
“And?” Jimin tilts his head. “My aesthetic preferences are not legally binding.”
“You wouldn’t even sit in it.”
“Maybe. But I still paid for it.”
Jeongho lets out a laugh that borders on hysterical.
“I can’t believe you,” he sneers. “It’s not enough that you keyed it, now you want to take it from me too—” he rubs his hand over his face with a groan. “Goddess Jimin, was that really necessary? I’m a laughing stock everywhere I go.”
“I don’t think that has anything to do with the car, Jeongho,” Jimin replies coolly, ignoring the vandalism allegations entirely.
“Haha. Very funny,” Jeongho scoffs. “I know you had something to do with that, I just can’t prove it. Yet.”
“Why would I damage my own property?”
That hits a nerve.
Jeongho’s face twists with anger, his nostrils flaring—it only makes the whole pathetic, washed up thing he’s got going on worse. He used to look so hot in high school. All the omegas were fawning over him—Jimin felt like he won the lottery when he bagged the alpha.
He aged like milk though. Goddess, he truly peaked in high school, didn’t he? How on earth did Jimin gaslight himself into believing he’s still attractive is beyond him. Love truly makes you blind.
“It was one of your little friends,” he points his index finger accusingly. “Taehyung. Or—or Hoseok.”
“Please,” Yoongi says dryly. “Don’t drag my mate into this. He’s classier than that.”
That’s not true. It was entirely Hoseok’s idea. Taehyung just carried it out. And, well… Jimin wasn’t actively in on it, but he surely didn’t lift a finger to stop them.
If you ask him, Jeongho is lucky he got away that easily. Hoseok’s original idea was to hire a hitman. Unfortunately, Yoongi vetoed that one (party pooper).
“Moons,” Jimin sighs theatrically, tipping his head back to glance at the ceiling. “Just shut up. Be grateful it was just the car.”
Yoongi’s foot nudges his under the table.
Enough.
Reluctantly, Jimin quiets down. He looks away, jaw tight.
Jeongho scoffs, turning to his lawyer. “Do you hear this?” His fingers jab in Jimin’s direction—if he keeps doing that, Jimin might bite them off. “He’s threatening me!”
“Oh no,” Jimin gasps, dramatic, hand flying to his chest. “An omega who’s a head shorter and thirty pounds lighter is furious at you. However will you survive? Should we call for protection? Alert the authorities?”
“Jimin,” Yoongi mutters under his breath. Jimin ignores the warning entirely.
“You think this is funny?” Jeongho demands, face crimson.
“No,” Jimin replies, dropping the theatrics in an instant. “I think it’s exhausting. Stop acting like a victim, Jeongho. Your actions have consequences,” he spits. “I know it’s a new concept to you, considering I’ve been cushioning every blow for you since we were teenagers, but playtime is over. Grow the fuck up.”
Jeongho’s face twists into something ugly. “You—”
“That’s enough,” the beta lawyer interrupts, raising her voice for the first time. Jeongho regards her with a dangerous glare—he hates being interrupted. Especially by ranks he considers beneath him. It wounds his fragile alpha ego.
“Whose side are you on?!” Jeongho derides, fist landing on the table hard enough to make the glasses rattle.
“Yours, idiot,” Jimin chimes in with a snort. “She’s saving you from saying something you’ll regret.”
“You stay out of it,” Jeongho snaps.
“Oh, go on then,” Jimin says, folding his arms. “By all means, dig yourself into a hole you won’t be able to afford to climb out of.”
The lawyer takes a drawn out inhale, reorganizing her thoughts. She looks just as done with them as Yoongi is.
“Jeongho-ssi, I am on your side. Which is precisely why I need you to stop reacting and start thinking.”
Jeongho looks at her like he’d been betrayed.
The lawyer straightens her papers, composure snapping back into place.
“We will continue this discussion civilly,” she says pointedly. “Or we will adjourn.” Then, she turns to Jimin. “That applies to you as well, Jimin-ssi.”
“Alright,” Jimin replies, deciding not to argue, because unlike Jeongho, he can appreciate professionalism. It’s truly a miracle the alpha even had the common sense to find a good lawyer. “Then let’s stay on topic.”
Jeongho flips the folder open again resolutely, color high in his cheeks. This time, he lasts even less than Jimin expects—which says a lot. The omega had slept with this man enough times to keep his expectations of his stamina fairly low. They don’t even make it to the bottom of the page before he throws another alpha tantrum.
“You can’t be serious about half of this,” Jeongho says. “The instruments? The wine collection? I own those.”
“You were gifted those,” Jimin corrects. “By me.”
“Yes,” Jeongho hisses. “Which makes them mine.”
For a split second, the audacity of the man renders Jimin speechless.
“Jeongho-ssi,” the lawyer sighs, massaging her temple tiredly.
“Legally, they aren’t,” Yoongi supplies quietly, grabbing another envelope—thicker, with sticky notes protruding at the edges—and slides a copy across the desk.
Jimin leans back with a smirk, watching it unfold.
“The prenuptial agreement clearly states that properties the parties purchased prior to the marriage—including intellectual property and business investments—remains private property,” Yoongi recounts. “That applies to anything purchased through those properties, regardless whether they were purchased after the marriage or prior.”
The beta lawyer glances at the ceiling as if praying for divine intervention. Meanwhile, a hint of recognition flickers in Jeongho’s eyes, converting his angry scowl into a signal of trepidation—like he’s heard it before, word by word, but refused to believe it. No, he needed an alpha to explain it to him. An equal—by his standards—to push his nose into it like a misbehaving puppy.
Surely these stupid betas and omegas can’t be right.
Goddess, Jimin would pay good money to punch him in the face just once. He can even keep the Tesla for all he cares.
“All of the properties you mentioned were purchased through Jimin-ssi’s holding company,” Yoongi continues. “Therefore, the ownership is his.”
The words land like a brick thrown at a window. Jeongho, to Jimin’s delight, visibly pales as the realization washes over him.
Before they got married, Jimin had wanted to merge everything. He’d sat across from Yoongi in a much smaller office they shared back then, starry-eyed and stubborn, arguing that love shouldn’t come with contingencies. He’d wanted joint accounts, shared titles. The penthouse retitled in both their names and any future purchases automatically split.
He’d called it romantic.
A symbol of trust.
“If we’re building a life together,” Jimin had said, “why would I keep one foot out the door?”
Yoongi had none of it.
“You can be in love,” he had noted patiently, “and still protect yourself. You know better than this, Jimin.”
Jimin had only scowled and called Yoongi cynical. He didn’t want Jeongho to think he doesn’t trust him—because he did. Fully. Completely… like an idiot.
Thankfully, Yoongi wouldn’t relent. He had dropped the neatly stacked draft prenup—the one he had his own mate sign just a year prior—in front of Jimin and stood his ground.
“If he’s serious about you, this won’t offend him.”
The fact that it did should’ve been the first warning sign. But when you look at someone through rose-colored glasses, all the red flags just look like… flags.
“You can’t just strip me of everything because you’re angry,” Jeongho spits with a blend of disbelief and fury.
“Watch me.” Jimin tilts his head, smiling.
A particular kind of thrill sparks through him, one he can only compare to a predator cornering its prey. He’s only ever felt it in court, in those moments when he knew he had completely dismantled the opposition. It’s his favorite part—the rush of certainty, the surge of adrenaline so intense it borders on addictive.
Leaning forward, he holds the alpha’s gaze.
“If you don’t agree to the terms and relinquish the disputed assets, I will contest every single item in court,” he says, “I will drag this out so long that your legal fees alone will bury you.”
Something ugly and vile flickers behind Jeongho’s eyes. Then he laughs—a sharp, disbelieving sound.
“You’re insane,” he says. “You know that? You’re a crazy bitch.”
Yoongi straightens immediately. “Watch your language.”
Jimin doesn’t flinch. If anything, his smile widens.
There it is.
Prideful alphas like Jeongho only resort to insults when they know they’ve lost, and anger is all they have left.
Jimin has won.
“Careful,” he drawls. “Anything you say can be used against you in court.”
“Oh, don’t start,” Jeongho snaps, leaning forward. “This whole thing is exactly why we ended up here.”
His lawyer tries to touch his arm. “Jeongho-ssi—”
“No,” Jeongho shakes her off. “He needs to hear this.”
Jimin leans back in his seat, his eyes cold. “Well, go on,” he gestures languidly. “Don’t hold back.”
“Goddess,” Jeongho huffs. “This is all just another power play to you, isn’t it? You always have to win—at court, at home, doesn’t matter. You’re so fucking suffocating, I—” he pauses, looking away, his voice cracking, “this is why I could never feel like a real alpha beside you.”
“What the fuck does that even mean?” Jimin scoffs.
Jeongho laughs bitterly. “Jimin. You emasculated me. You made more money, had the connections. What was I supposed to be? Your accessory?”
The words cut deep, but Jimin refuses to let it show. He keeps his expression blank, void of any emotion.
“Is that why you slept with my secretary?” he asks. “To feel bigger? Was that your grand alpha moment?”
Jeongho’s expression twists. He opens his mouth to react, but the beta is quicker.
“I think it’s time to take a break,” she interjects sharply.
Yoongi seems to agree. “Yeah. Let’s take five,” he says, standing up slowly.
“No,” Jimin says, not looking at him. “I’d actually love to hear this.”
Jeongho shakes his head, breathing hard. “You don’t get it. You never did. I just— needed to feel like I mattered.”
“You mattered,” Jimin says, and for the first time there’s a crack in his composure. The hurt sits on his features, even making his voice weaker. “You were my husband.”
“I was your shadow,” Jeongho shoots back. “And I got tired of it.”
Jimin lets out a short, hollow laugh. “So you betrayed me because your ego couldn’t handle being married to someone more successful than you.”
“It’s not about ego!”
“Oh, cut the bullshit!” Jimin yells. “Everything is about your fucking ego! I always had to make myself smaller just so you wouldn’t feel inadequate—”
“At least she needed me!”
The second it leaves his mouth, the room goes dead silent.
Jimin feels the words like a blow landing square on his chest. Beside him, Yoongi closes his eyes briefly, like he’s just watched a car crash in slow motion.
“At least she needed me,” Jeongho repeats softly, casting his eyes down.
Yoongi clears his throat. “That’s enough for today.”
As if snapping out of the shock, the beta lawyer nods once. “Agreed. Let’s discuss a time for our next meeting—”
Jimin’s ears don’t register the rest. He sits in his chair, frozen, all the anger and betrayal he’s shielded himself with disintegrating, leaving him bare and vulnerable. He wraps his arms around himself tightly, nodding absentmindedly when he’s called.
His previous poise is nowhere to be found, only leaving stubborn pride behind—it’s the only thing keeping him upright. He refuses to give Jeongho the satisfaction of seeing him break down.
When the door closes shut behind them, he lets out a breath he wasn’t aware of holding. The air comes out ragged and shaky, carrying a well of tears with it.
“That was… something.” Yoongi steps back into his office, loosening his tie as the door clicks shut behind them.
Jimin aims for a noncommittal hum. It comes out thin and fractured instead.
He turns away under the pretense of adjusting his cufflinks, blinking rapidly as he stares at the bookshelf instead of the room.
It doesn’t help. The urge to cry is still present, impossible to ignore like a needle pressed into his sockets. He closes his eyes, just for a second. Just long enough to get himself back under control.
Naively, he hopes Yoongi doesn’t notice, just this once. But of course he notices. He always does. He knows Jimin like the back of his hand—an unfortunate side effect of working together for so many years.
Yoongi doesn’t speak immediately, which is worse somehow. Jimin can almost hear the thoughts going back and forth in his head, trying to find the best landing spot, where Jimin’s carefully curated shield won’t shatter from the impact.
He settles on a diplomatic, “You did well, Jimin-ah.”
“Oh, please. I don’t need you to coddle me.” Jimin pushes off the chair and strides to the window, staring at the view blankly as an excuse to keep his back turned.
The storm outside has finally broken, leaving behind rain streaks running down the glass in violent sheets.
Jimin finds a spot on the skyline and stares at it, hard, as he wipes his tears away discreetly. He hasn’t cried so far and he won’t break that streak now dammit.
“I did terrible,” he mutters, forcing the words out evenly. “He got under my skin.”
Behind him, silence.
“You’re being unfair to yourself,” Yoongi says eventually. “He got a reaction out of you because he knows exactly where to press to hurt you. You reacted as any sane person would in your position.”
Jimin scoffs faintly. “Threatening to bankrupt my ex-husband is sane?”
“In context? Yes.”
A pause follows. The office falls silent, except for the soft pitter-patter of rain against the window.
“You’re allowed to feel hurt Jimin,” Yoongi continues. “You’re allowed to act hurt. Leave the rest to me.”
Jimin finally turns slightly—not fully, just enough that Yoongi can see the edge of his profile.
Jeongho’s words ring in his ear, taunting.
You’re so fucking suffocating.
I was your shadow. I got tired of it.
“Do you think he’s right?” he asks quietly. “Am I really that overbearing?”
“No,” Yoongi replies. “I think Jeongho is a pathetic little bitch.”
A startled snort escapes Jimin before he can stop it.
“Wow,” he mutters. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“You asked.”
There’s no heat in Yoongi’s tone, only certitude.
“It has always baffled me when alphas like him pursue smart, ambitious omegas like you, and then act surprised when you don’t turn into a docile little housewife.”
Yoongi never liked Jeongho. None of Jimin’s friends did. They only tolerated his presence because Jimin loved him and they loved Jimin.
Jimin swallows roughly, the lump in his throat refusing to unfurl.
“I didn’t mean to suffocate him.”
“I know.”
“Or overshadow him.”
“I know.”
Jimin’s shoulders sag a fraction. His hand lifts, fingertips tracing the scar on his neck where Jeongho’s mark used to be, the touch erupting a dull pang. It’s been months since he had gotten rid of it—he had the procedure scheduled first thing after kicking Jeongho out–and yet, despite being fully healed, it still feels raw.
But maybe that ache is deeper than skin.
Quiet footsteps approach before he can spiral further, carrying the faint scent of cinnamon.
“You are not responsible for someone else’s insecurity,” Yoongi says, touching the omega’s shoulder carefully.
Jimin’s hand drops, hanging at his side uselessly. It curls into a fist, blunt nails pressing into his palm. He focuses on the sting, desperately trying to keep the burn behind his eyes from spilling over.
“I hate that he can do this,” he croaks, voice watery. “That he still has power over me.”
“Not for long.”
Jimin lets out a weak laugh that sounds eerily close to a sob. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because one day, this will be done,” Yoongi says. “You’ll sign the paperwork, walk out of that building, and you will never have to deal with that asshole again.”
Jimin’s lips twitch faintly at that.
“And then what?”
“First—and most important—you get your peace back. And then, one day you’ll meet someone who isn’t threatened by you. An alpha who’s secure enough to recognize your worth without feeling diminished by it.”
Jimin stares down at the carpet, a quiet ache making his chest tremble.
There was a time when he believed in fairy tales like this. That he’ll find his prince charming and they’ll ride into the sunset on a white horse—and he did. Except, no one tells you what happens next.
The apathy that overtakes you once the honeymoon phase fizzles out.
The dreary monotony you slip into, dulling your senses until you can’t tell routine and love apart.
Before you know it, you’re there, ten years into your marriage, both miserable but refusing to admit it. You think it’s normal, that love is bound to morph into partnership with the passing of time. Nothing that intense could last forever, right?
You make yourself believe that, turning a blind eye to your surroundings, to the loving couples around you who’ve been together just as long as you were—if not longer—and still look at each other the same way they did when they stood at the altar. Because thinking otherwise makes you feel guilty, like you’re longing for something you aren’t allowed to.
They say smart people learn from the mistakes of others. Jimin—far less clever than he once arrogantly believed himself to be—had always insisted on learning the hard way.
But he’s done being a fool. This time, he intends to remember the lesson.
“No, Yoongi,” he says as he turns around, leaning on the windowsill. “I’m done. I’m never falling in love again.”
The words feel like venom on his tongue, but Jimin is trying to be realistic here. At his age, all the good alphas were already claimed. Jimin isn’t about to pick up the stale leftovers, thank you very much. He’d rather work on accepting his life the way it is.
Pupless, alphaless, at the ripe age of thirty-six. Not exactly what he imagined for himself, but it is what it is. There’s no point in chasing unrealistic daydreams. From now on, Jimin is staying two feet on the ground.
Yoongi stares at him for a long moment.
Then snorts.
“Goddess—the amount of times I’ve heard that,” Yoongi mutters, waving him off with one lazy flick of his hand.
“I’m serious.”
“They’re always serious.”
Jimin glares. “I am not ‘they.’”
“No,” Yoongi agrees mildly. “You’re worse.” Then, before Jimin can think of a rebuttal, he reaches for his coat. “Now come on, Hobi ordered your favorite. Extra sides. Dessert. You can’t say no.”
Jimin hesitates.
Damn him.
He accepts his jacket when Yoongi holds it out, slipping his arms through with a put-upon sigh. “I had plans.”
“Mhm. Sure.” Yoongi glances sideways at him as they head to the elevator.
Jimin sniffs, kicking the floor like a petulant child as he follows.
Truthfully, he had planned on going home and feeling sorry for himself while drinking that ridiculously expensive bottle of scotch he got for Jeongho’s birthday last year, but he’d rather not make Hoseok angry. That man can hold a grudge like it’s an olympic sport.
“I don’t want to talk about Jeongho, you hear me? No more pity parties,” he warns as the elevator door slides open. They step inside, Jimin leaning against the wall.
Yoongi lets out a quiet snort, his lips tilting into a small smile. “Sure.”
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“Jimin,” Taehyung begins as he places a hand on top of his, his expression frighteningly serious, “just say the word and I’ll get rid of him. I have connections.”
“No murder,” Yoongi says dryly as he refills Jimin’s glass, “at least until the divorce is settled. I do not want to deal with criminal defense lawyers. Bunch of assholes with superiority complexes.”
“Pretty sure they say the same about us,” Jimin notes, lifting his glass to his mouth.
“Nah,” Yoongi disagrees, leaning back on his chair to extend his arm behind Hoseok. “They call us greedy assholes. There’s a difference.”
“I’ll make sure to reflect on that later,” Jimin muses, “in my Egyptian cotton sheets, with a glass of Bordeaux.”
“Have you got no shame?” Hoseok gestures vaguely, his face already red from the alcohol.
“No.”
“Not at all.”
Jimin and Yoongi exchange a look, both of them grinning.
“It comes with the field, Hobi-hyung,” Jimin says.
“Why would I feel bad about milking rich people’s misery?” Yoongi adds mildly.
“You mean, like Jimin?” Hoseok points out with a victorious expression, naively assuming it’s a gotcha moment.
It’s really cute how he underestimates Yoongi’s blatancy, even after all these years. Maybe that’s why their relationship works.
“Exactly,” Yoongi nods, prompting a snort from the man in question. “He’s currently paying for our next vacation, babe.”
“Can we stay on topic?” Taehyung huffs.
“You mean the murder?” Seokjin supplies from the side, leaning against Namjoon’s shoulder sleepily. Namjoon plays with his hair, clearly too drunk to properly engage in the conversation.
“I vetoed that,” Yoongi reminds him.
Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Fine. Figurative murder.”
He leans forward, elbows on the table, fingers lacing together.
“Keying the car was cute, but we need to make him suffer. Emotionally. Existentially. I want him staring at his ceiling at three a.m., questioning every life choice that led him here.”
“So psychological warfare.” Yoongi sips his drink. “I like it.”
“Exactly,” Taehyung nods proudly. “Thank you.”
They clink.
“Guys,” Jimin says, faintly amused, swirling the wine in his glass, “I’m pretty sure he’ll have plenty of regrets on his own. Especially once his money runs out and he has to get an actual job.”
Jeongho—as he so delicately phrased it—was an ‘up-and-coming musician.’
Jimin would phrase it differently.
Plateaued, maybe. Professionally pending.
His career had been stagnating for the better part of a decade, especially after he went solo. The old band had dissolved years ago; one by one, his bandmates drifted into other fields—production, teaching, even corporate jobs—eventually choosing stability over endless rejection.
Not Jeongho. He called it perseverance instead of what it was: stubbornness.
Jimin would’ve admired the refusal to give up on a dream, if the dream had shown even the faintest sign of loving him back. The uncomfortable truth was that Jeongho wasn’t exactly talented.
Back then, Jimin convinced himself it was a matter of taste. Maybe he just didn’t have the ear for it. You don’t get it, babe, Jeongho used to say, smiling indulgently. It’s not just music. It’s art. And Jimin, smitten and desperate to be supportive, nodded along.
He’d funded studio time. Paid for equipment upgrades. Covered rent during ‘creative dry spells.’ Sat through showcases with polite applause and an unwavering smile. It wasn’t until the honeymoon phase thinned out that Jimin allowed himself to acknowledge what he’d been avoiding.
Jeongho wasn’t misunderstood. He just wasn’t good enough.
And now that Jimin’s wallet wasn’t there to buffer him from the cold, indifferent machinery of capitalism, he was about to realize that too.
Jimin might have felt bad for him if it weren’t for that minor mishap with his secretary. Funny how sympathy dries up the moment betrayal walks into the room. Now, when he tries to summon guilt, there’s nothing there, just an aching emptiness where concern used to live.
He lifts the rim of his glass to his lips.
May Jeongho discover the particular pit of hell that is LinkedIn.
“He hasn’t updated his résumé in eight years,” Jimin says lightly. “They’ll eat him alive.”
Taehyung lets out a low whistle. “Eight?”
“I had to format it for him the last time,” Jimin replies, deadpan. “He didn’t know what a PDF was.”
Hoseok chokes on his drink.
“I mean,” Yoongi drawls, “can you blame him? What exactly is he supposed to put under experience? ‘Specialized in marrying well?’”
“Key skills: Emotional manipulation. Freeloading.”
The table dissolves into laughter, Namjoon nearly knocking over a bottle.
Jimin smiles into his wine. “Trust me,” he says. “Reality will humble him far more effectively than we ever could.”
“Still, I wouldn’t mind helping reality along,” Taehyung notes.
“I’ll tell you what, Jimin-ah,” Seokjin supplies, steepling his fingers like he’s about to deliver a TED Talk. “The greatest revenge is moving on. Believe me, nothing rattles them like seeing their omega in another alpha’s arms. It does irreparable damage to the fragile alpha ego.” He pauses, glancing sideways. “Apologies, Yoongi.”
“None taken,” Yoongi replies smoothly. “You’re right.”
Seokjin continues, undeterred. “You can key a car. You can make him go bankrupt. But the second he sees you happy with someone else? He’ll unravel.”
Taehyung nods thoughtfully. “Ideally in public, so I can film it.”
“I am not orchestrating a rebound for the sake of pissing Jeongho off,” Jimin rejects the idea, though there’s less conviction in it than he’d like.
Seokjin arches a brow. “Who said it has to be orchestrated? You’re attractive, successful, emotionally unavailable—that’s practically catnip.”
“Hyung,” Jimin groans.
“I’m serious,” Seokjin insists. “Move on loudly. It doesn’t even have to be serious, just visible.”
Jimin’s finger traces the rim of his glass, the chill grounding him while his mind wanders somewhere he tries not to let it go.
Being single in his thirties, while his friends have long since paired off, feels like standing still while everyone else moves forward. He dreads being the extra chair at dinner, the third wheel on double dates. There’s no one he can text on a whim to see a late-night movie or plan a spontaneous weekend away. The people he loves all have their person—the one they prioritize, the one who comes first.
Jimin is no one’s first choice anymore. Not even Taehyung’s, who’s technically single, because even he has his roster of flings.
He tells himself it’s fine. That he’s above this. He's a capable, self-sufficient omega who doesn’t need an alpha to feel complete, that life doesn’t have to revolve around marriage or children. He’s practiced believing he’s let those expectations go.
But the inconvenient truth is that he still wants to be wanted. Maybe even loved.
“Who knows, maybe you will accidentally find the love of your life.”
That drags Jimin back down to earth, his landing rather rough. He’s treading dangerous waters. He can’t allow his desperation to take over because he knows exactly where it would lead him: bad decisions he’ll regret the next day.
And his tally on that is pretty high already.
“Haha,” he mutters. “Very funny.”
Before Seokjin can form a rebuttal, a noise interrupts them, coming from the entrance’s direction. The table falls silent, their faces equally confused—everyone except the hosts.
Suddenly, a form emerges in the hallway, tall and clad in black. The man’s shoulders are wide, chest filling out the tight shirt in a way that makes Jimin’s mouth go dry. A tattoo is peeking out from underneath the low neckline, ink almost as dark as the leather jacket hanging loosely off him.
He looks like your stereotypical bad boy, piercings and all, until you look at his face—really look at it. Because despite the silver adorning them, his lips are soft-looking and pink, pulled into a natural pout. His cheeks are round and youthful and a little rosy—whether from the cold or something else, Jimin can’t tell. And his eyes… They are big and shiny, reminding Jimin of a baby deer.
He’s a perfect combination of sharp and soft, tough and delicate.
Basically, Jimin’s wet dream.
“Had fun, Jungkook-ah?”
Jimin’s thoughts come to a screeching halt. Wait—What?
The boy—Jungkook? It’s Jungkook?!—goes still, eyes alert and impossibly wide.
Recognition hits Jimin like a gut punch. The scrawny boy from his late teens and early twenties. Small and shy and impossibly sweet, looking at Jimin with stars in his eyes. He was the easiest pup Jimin had ever babysat.
And he did plenty. It was a great way to make some money beside school and helping around the family café, and not to toot his own horn, but Jimin was pretty good at it. He wouldn’t call himself a patient person by any means, but for some reason, he could always summon some serenity when it came to pups.
Jimin rotated between a handful of kids and he adored them all, but Jungkook—he was his favorite.
“I’m not drunk,” Jungkook blurts out, though he obviously is. Now that Jimin looks at him from another—less horny and more guilt-driven—perspective, he can see it clearly: the hazy look in his eyes, the slight sway of his stance; it explains the flush on his face, too.
“Okay,” Yoongi says slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching, as if he’s trying to keep a straight face. “I don’t care if you are. I’m not your dad.”
Jungkook blinks.
“Oh,” he mumbles, casting his gaze down for a moment, as if trying to process the words. “Right. Sorry. Knee-jerk reaction.” He glances up with a boyish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uhm… hi,” he mumbles as he dips his head politely, “hyung and, uh…” and surveys them one by one, until his attention settles on Jimin.
Their eyes lock. For a split second, Jungkook blanches, only for the color to return twice as fiery in the next.
He promptly looks away, clearing his throat.
“And hyung’s friends,” he mutters, shifting on his heels as if his feet itch to get away.
Jimin blinks, stunned. The exclusion cuts deeper than it has any right to, the sting sharp and immediate. Did Jungkook not recognize him? Or he did and simply decided a separate greeting wasn’t necessary? Jimin isn’t sure which possibility hurts more. Both settle heavily in his chest, souring his mood all the same.
Jungkook had been such a shy child, but he adored Jimin. His mother used to say Jimin was the only person outside the family who could coax the little pup out of his shell, and Jimin had treasured that role more than he ever let on. It felt special. Important.
Jungkook would trail after him whenever he visited, a quiet little shadow, sticking close like a duckling. He’d pout if Jimin’s attention strayed too long elsewhere, hovering at his side until it returned.
He was generous to a fault—always crafting something for Jimin’s birthday with painstaking care. And it wasn’t limited to special occasions. He’d gather flowers for him whenever his mother allowed it—and sometimes even when she didn’t, the little rascal—presenting them with shy pride. He shared his favorite sweets without hesitation, as if giving Jimin the best pieces was the most natural thing in the world.
And now… nothing. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.
Jimin knows it’s irrational to expect the same tender devotion. A decade has passed. Jimin had grown up, and so did Jungkook.
But he’s tipsy and sensitive and emotional. He can’t help the ache blooming in his heart.
“Good Goddess,” Yoongi mutters, “you’re shitfaced, aren’t you?”
“No I’m not,” Jungkook protests, almost looking offended by the accusation. “Want me to prove it to you? I can walk straight, look—”
“No need—Jungkook-ah, for moon’s sake… Stop.”
Seokjin hides a helpless laugh with an exaggerated cough, earning an elbow jabbed into his ribs, Hoseok’s courtesy. He shoots Hoseok a glare, the latter glaring back.
Even Jimin smiles under his nose, despite himself. It’s hard not to find Jungkook endearing—even when he’s a head taller and looks like he can bench press Jimin.
“You didn’t drive, did you?” Yoongi squints at him.
“I thought you’re not my dad,” Jungkook argues, prompting some snickers from around the table.
Teasing aside, Jimin can’t really fault Yoongi for being so paternal with Jungkook. With a fourteen-year age gap between them, Yoongi has been more of a parent than a brother for most of Jungkook’s life.
Jungkook was a surprise pup from their mother’s second marriage—a welcomed addition to the family, but one their parents weren’t fully prepared for. Both of them worked double shifts just to keep things afloat back then, so much so that Jungkook’s upbringing fell to Yoongi.
Yoongi never complained, though. He walked Jungkook to school, made sure he was bundled up against the cold, and saw to it that he ate proper meals. Not once did he make a fuss about it—not even when it meant missing parties and the usual high school milestones Jimin would’ve thrown a fit over giving up.
Jungkook might be a fully grown man now, but the instinct to look after him is still etched deep into Yoongi—less a choice and more a habit carved into him over years.
“Yah, don’t be a brat.”
Jungkook only rolls his eyes, shrugging his jacket off.
Jimin has to bite back a groan.
Because the tattoos don’t end at his shoulder. Oh no. The ink runs down his entire arm in vivid, intricate patterns woven together like a piece of art. And don’t even get Jimin started on those biceps.
“Of course I didn’t,” Jungkook murmurs, kicking his shoes off, “I left the bike at the campus. I’m a responsible adult, hyung.”
And it keeps getting worse. A bike? Don’t imagine him riding it, or riding him, don’t do it, don’t—
Jimin is going to hell.
He’d half-accepted the possibility already—occupational hazard of being a lawyer—but getting flustered over the boy he’s known since kindergarten? Yes, that’s probably the final nail in the coffin.
He drains the rest of his drink, hoping it might ease the tightness in his throat. It doesn’t.
“Mhm,” Yoongi arches a brow, amused. “Don’t you have an eight a.m. class tomorrow? Which is—” he checks his wristwatch, “in approximately five hours.”
“And don’t you have work tomorrow?” Jungkook flaps his arms with a huff. “Get off my back, old man.”
With that, he heads for the stairs, leaving them behind.
A rush of panic blooms in Jimin’s chest—abrupt and inexplicable, like he’s about to miss something important.
Before he can second-guess himself—which he should’ve—the words tumble out. “It was nice to see you, Jungkook-ah!”
The second they’re out, Jimin wants to physically grab them and shove them back into his mouth.
Jungkook stills mid-step, shoulders going rigid before he turns back slowly. There’s a startled wideness to his gaze, like he’s been caught off guard and doesn’t quite know what to do with it.
The weird look Yoongi throws Jimin from the side only makes things worse. Heat flares up his neck, blooming across his cheeks.
Jungkook shifts his weight awkwardly, rubbing his nape. “Uh. Yeah. Sure,” he mutters, not quite meeting Jimin’s eyes. “You too… Jimin-hyung.”
Jimin opens his mouth—why is he opening his mouth?—then snaps it shut again before he can humiliate himself further.
Please let the floor split open. Please.
“I—uhm,” Jungkook gestures vaguely at the stairway, the tip of his ears crimson. “I’ll go. Morning class and—Yeah.”
“Yeah,” Jimin echoes, because apparently he’s lost all capacity for original thought. “Goodnight.”
Why is he still talking? Shut up. Just shut up.
Jungkook gives a small, almost shy nod before turning again, taking the stairs two at a time this time, only to catch the edge of a step and pitch forward with a startled yelp.
A loud thud follows.
“I’m okay!” he squeaks before anyone can even inhale to ask.
“Are you sure?” Jimin blurts. “You almost—”
“I’m fine!” Jungkook insists, voice cracking spectacularly on the last word. Then, very carefully, he straightens, attempting to gather what remains of his dignity. He fails. “I, uh, meant to do that.”
Jimin blinks, his ears registering some stifled laughs coming from the side. He feels terrible for the poor boy. Even the second-hand embarrassment feels crushing.
Jungkook refuses to look at any of them. Instead, he dusts off his pants like he just completed a perfectly normal maneuver and not a near-death experience. “Goodnight,” he mutters, gripping the railing as he takes the remaining steps.
He disappears around the corner. A moment later, a door upstairs opens, then closes with a very deliberate, very careful click.
Silence follows.
“So—” Taehyung’s eyes flick between them. “Does anyone care to tell me who that was?”
Right. Taehyung has no clue who Jungkook is. The omega is a fairly new addition to their friend group—well, ‘new’ is a reach, given their six-years-long friendship, but it does seem that way compared to the almost thirty years the rest of them knew each other for. Jimin, Yoongi, Seokjin, and Hoseok have met throughout elementary and middle school—they basically grew up together. Namjoon joined last year, as Seokjin’s new partner, and he’s blended in with them easily.
“That was Jungkookie,” Hoseok supplies, entirely unhelpful.
Taehyung gives him a look. “Wow. Thanks, hyung.”
“You’re welcome,” Hoseok says with a tiny hiccup, lifting his glass in Taehyung’s direction in a toast to his own uselessness. Yoongi smoothly pries it out of his hands before he can take another sip.
“He’s my little brother,” Yoongi explains. “He just started at SNU and is staying with us for my mom’s peace of mind.”
“And what exactly are you supposed to do?” Taehyung continues. “Protect him? He could pick you up and shoot you across the street like a spitwad.”
Yoongi stares at him, unimpressed. “That’s not the point.”
“It kind of is,” Seokjin says. “He’s built like a refrigerator.”
“He’s twenty-three,” Yoongi replies flatly. “And my mother worries.”
“Twenty-three is not a child.”
“To you.”
Silence descends once again like a fog. The clock on the wall ticks, Jimin’s nerves trickling away with the seconds. He didn’t expect to get off this easy after that embarrassing encounter, but maybe they’re cutting him some slack, given the divorce and all.
But his relief doesn’t last long. Not with freaking Kim Taehyung around.
“So…” Taehyung says at last. “Is he single?”
For a split second, nothing happens. Then chaos ensues. The room explodes in scandalized outrage, voices piling over one another in noisy condemnation.
“What the hell, Taehyung—?”
“Yoongi is right there!”
“Have some shame!”
The only ones not participating are Yoongi, who appears to have mentally clocked out of the conversation already, and Jimin, who is trying very hard to fold himself into the chair and disappear into the upholstery.
“Relax. Moons.” Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t asking for myself,” he adds, grinning like he’s about to set something on fire just to watch it burn. “I was asking for Jiminie.”
Jimin chokes on thin air.
“Excuse me?” he coughs, reaching for his glass.
“Taehyung-ah, this isn’t funny.”
“I’m not joking!” Taehyung insists. “Come on, guys. We were just talking about how Jimin needs to find himself a hot alpha to execute the ultimate revenge plan and reclaim his power—” He snaps his fingers. “—and bam. A premium-grade hunk literally barges into the room. If that’s not a divine sign, I don’t know what is.”
The room erupts into a fresh wave of disarray. Jimin sinks lower and lower in his seat, calculating whether he can make a stealthy escape by crawling beneath the dinner table without anyone noticing.
“Guys! Guys—quiet, quiet!” Seokjin pounds the table with his spoon.
Jimin’s shoulders relax, clinging to the hope that the eldest will be the voice of reason.
“Okay, hear me out—” Seokjin lifts his hands placatingly, as if already bracing for the impact—not a good sign. “I kinda see the vision here.”
Jimin should’ve known better than to expect Seokjin to have common sense, never mind morals. He’s an investment banker after all. Jimin hides his face in his palm as the others express their disdain. He can’t believe his life has come to this.
“I said hear me out! Goddess.” Seokjin’s voice raises several pitches, the others falling into a reluctant silence. “So, I must admit, ethically speaking, Taehyung’s idea is outrageous, but—” the table erupts in noise again, everyone talking over the other, “—But!” Seokjin yells this time, raising his index finger. “He’s onto something.” He makes a dramatic pause, eyeing the others with the rigour of an animal trainer at a circus. He receives four equally suspicious stares back.
Jimin refuses to engage on principle. There’s no point. Clearly, he’s lost this battle. Instead, he grabs the nearest bottle and drinks straight from it, forgoing the glass. Maybe if he gets drunk enough, he’ll forget this entire conversation—or at least he can pretend that he did.
“I mean, come on,” Seokjin says, spreading his hands. “We can all agree he’s exactly Jimin’s type. Tall. Broad shoulders. Tattoos. He checks every box. Right?”
“Objection!” Jimin protests. “This is—”
“Overruled. Shut up, Counsellor,” Seokjin says coolly, ignoring the offended gasp he elicits.
“Moving on. We can also agree that all available evidence suggests Jungkookie is still very much nursing his little puppy love for Jimin?” He gestures grandly toward the staircase. “Exhibit A: one word from Jimin and the boy forgot how stairs work.”
Around the table, heads nod. A few thoughtful hums ripple through the group.
“Hang on,” Jimin cuts in, staring at them like they’ve collectively lost their minds. “Puppy love? What the hell are you talking about?”
“What—You don’t remember?” Hoseok stares at Jimin, genuinely confused.
“Remember what?”
“When he was, like, thirteen?” Hoseok asks him, baffled. “He was obsessed with you. You were his first crush.”
“Exactly,” Seokjin nods approvingly.
Jimin shoots him a glare. “That’s not—”
“He wouldn’t shut up about ‘Jimin-hyung this’ and ‘Jimin-hyung that.’”
“That doesn’t mean he had a crush,” Jimin says defensively. “Kids get attached.”
“It was absolutely a crush,” Hoseok says. “I vividly remember him rambling about how you’re—and I quote—the prettiest omega to ever exist.”
“Okay so,” Taehyung says with a dramatic hand gesture, “what I’m hearing is—he’s hot and into you since forever. It’s the perfect opportunity on a silver platter, Min.”
Jimin feels lightheaded. His brain reverts the memories in his head helplessly—the flushed smiles, and the eyes that went impossibly round whenever Jimin ruffled his hair. The way Jungkook would hover just within earshot, pretending not to listen.
And tonight, the same doe eyes looked at him, the spark in them just as bright as it used to be. The same rosy cheeks, round and sweet as an apple.
Still, it's not the cute little first-grader from his memories. Not even the skinny thirteen-year-old.
This Jungkook stands taller than Jimin by more than a few inches. The softness of his face hasn’t faded, but it matured. All the familiar features that he clinged onto so dearly, belong to a man now.
An alpha.
Jimin needs to engrave it into his brain and bury the nostalgia underneath like a tombstone.
Because the very gestures he held so close to his heart in the past, have lost their innocence. A pup crushing on you is harmless, endearing even, but a grown alpha? That’s entirely different. Dangerous.
They can’t be trusted. No matter how sweet they used to be.
Jimin has learned—painfully—that history doesn’t soften what alphas can become when instinct takes over.
“Guys, I’m really not in the mood for this,” he sighs, dragging a hand through his already-tousled hair. His irritation has dulled into exhaustion—he wants nothing more than to curl into a ball and fall into a dreamless sleep. “I had a shitty day. Can we just drink in peace and not talk about alphas?”
The table grows quiet, and for a moment, Jimin regrets saying anything at all. He doesn’t want them to feel sorry for him—he gets enough of that from his family already.
Seokjin leans back, hands raised in surrender. “Fine. No alphas. Topic banned.”
“Banned,” Taehyung echoes solemnly.
Jimin forces his lips into a grateful smile. Strained. Wobbly. But no one calls him out on it. They probably pity him too much to risk it.
“Thank the Goddess,” Yoongi says, “this conversation was starting to get really gross.”
Jimin winces at that, feeling his face heat up. He can’t even imagine how jarring it was to hear them talking about his baby brother like a piece of meat.
Jimin shouldn’t have engaged to begin with.
“I agree,” he says as a measly attempt to right his wrongs.
“I say we drink on it,” Yoongi suggests, and the others cheer, relief spilling into the room. “To never bringing this topic up ever again.”
Glasses clink. Shots are poured. Laughter bubbles up again, louder this time, more careless. The conversation shifts to safer topics.
Jimin participates half-heartedly, the words leaving his lips without conviction. His gaze drifts down to his glass, tracing the rim as if it could tether him to some version of normal.
But his mind keeps sneaking back upstairs.
To Jungkook.
The alcohol works as a blur, making the memory hazy, dreamlike. And for a fleeting moment, Jimin almost allows himself to forget that those doe eyes don’t carry that harmless innocence anymore.
Almost.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Yoongi is late.
Again.
He said he’d pick Jungkook up when the little arrow of the clock hit four and the big arrow hit six. The big arrow is at eleven now, and his hyung is nowhere to be seen. Jungkook’s stomach growls loudly, because the lunch in the cafeteria tasted like soggy cardboard.
Stupid cafeteria.
Stupid school.
Stupid Yoongi.
A handful of kids run across the school yard, greeting their parents happily. Some of them get picked up and spun around in the air.
Jungkook watches with a pout, kicking a pebble across the pavement.
Why is he always the last one being picked up?
The yard gets quieter and quieter as the children filter out. Jungkook watches as a teacher waves goodbye to the last few parents, how the janitor shuffles from one trashcan to another, emptying them into a bigger one, until he suddenly looks back, giving the boy the stink eye. Jungkook casts his gaze down, hugging his backpack to his chest.
Maybe Yoongi forgot.
Maybe he decided Jungkook is annoying and left him here forever.
Maybe he got kidnapped.
Jungkook frowns harder at the thought. If Yoongi got kidnapped, who would make ramen at night? Jungkook isn’t allowed to use the stove and he’s scared of the microwave.
Another five minutes pass. Maybe ten. Time is stupid too.
Jungkook slides down the metal railing until he’s sitting on the concrete steps, his backpack falling beside him with a dull thud. He presses his cheek into his knees and sighs dramatically, the way he’s seen adults do in dramas.
Right when he decides Yoongi is the worst hyung in the whole world, a familiar voice calls.
“Jungkook?”
Jungkook looks up. Standing by the gate is Jimin.
His hair is tied into a ponytail, some fluffy strands falling into his face. He's wearing a big hoodie and jeans so tight they look painted on, his backpack hanging lazily on his left shoulder.
“Hi, Jimin-hyung,” Jungkook mumbles under his nose.
On any other day, he’d be happy to see him. Really happy. Jimin is Jungkook’s second favorite hyung. He has a kind voice and smells really nice, like spring. But right now Jungkook is hungry and tired and wants to go home.
Jimin steps closer to the gate, brows furrowing.
“What are you doing here?” he asks. “Why aren’t you home?”
Jungkook stands up slowly, dragging his backpack with him.
“Waiting,” he says.
“For who?”
“Yoongi-hyung.”
Jimin glances at the empty street, then back at Jungkook.
“What time did school end?”
“When the little arrow of the clock hit four and the big arrow hit six,” Jungkook points at the clock across the yard.
Jimin’s eyes follow the line of his finger. The big hand has moved again.
He sighs softly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Ah… He’s probably still at work.”
Jungkook’s frown deepens.
“He said he’d come.”
“I know.” Jimin crouches slightly so he’s eye-level through the fence. “But sometimes work runs late.”
Jungkook looks down at his shoes, kicking the pavement again.
“Why does hyung even have to work?” he mutters. “Isn’t that something only adults do?”
Jimin is quiet for a moment.
Jungkook wonders if he asked something weird. His mom says he has inappropriate questions sometimes. To this day, he can’t tell what makes a question right or wrong. Doesn’t that only apply to answers?
Finally Jimin says, “Yoongi is an adult.”
Jungkook squints. That doesn’t sound right. Adults wake up early and don’t fall asleep on the couch with the TV still on. Adults probably eat vegetables for dinner instead of instant ramen three nights in a row.
Besides, graduating high school doesn’t automatically make you an adult, does it? Yoongi is still in school, just… big boy school.
Yoongi can’t be an adult.
If he were, that would mean he’d be busy all the time. Working and studying and doing boring adult things. It would mean Jungkook would barely get to see him, like his eomma.
The thought makes something uncomfortable twist in Jungkook’s stomach.
“Hyung can’t wake up in the morning without me shaking him,” he grumbles. “That’s not very adult.”
Jimin makes a weird sound, like he’s trying not to laugh.
“Yeah,” he admits. “That’s true.”
Jungkook nods, satisfied with his evidence.
“See? Not an adult.”
Jimin hums, resting his arms on the top bar of the fence.
“Go easy on him, Jungkookie,” he supplies gently. “Your hyung works hard so he can take care of things.”
Jungkook huffs, crossing his arms tighter. “What things?”
And more importantly, why are those things more important than picking him up from school?
Jimin’s lips curve into a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It looks a little strange, like when adults smile in a way that means the conversation is over.
Is Jimin an adult too now?
“Don’t worry your cute little head about that, pup.”
Jungkook frowns.
He doesn’t like that answer.
That’s the kind of thing grown-ups say when they don’t want to explain something. Yoongi does it too sometimes, waving a hand and telling Jungkook to just focus on homework.
Jungkook kicks the fence lightly.
“I’m not a puppy.” Jungkook is seven years and fourteen days old. He goes to school now. Puppies are in kindergarten.
Jimin’s smile gets a little bigger this time, like Jungkook said something funny.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Jungkook sniffs petulantly, which probably doesn’t help his case.
“Lunch was bad too,” he notes, voice taking on a whiny edge.
“Oh?”
“Tasted like cardboard.”
Jimin thinks about it for a moment, then says, “Tell you what. Why don’t you come home with me until Yoongi can pick you up?”
Jungkook blinks.
“Really?”
“Mm.” Jimin shifts the backpack higher on his shoulder. “My eomma made kimchi fried rice.”
Jungkook’s stomach growls at that. Loudly.
Jimin raises an eyebrow, amused.
Jungkook tries to look dignified anyway.
“…Can I have a fried egg on top?”
It earns him a fond laugh.
“Sure.”
“Or two?”
Jimin snorts.
“As many as you want, Jungkookie.”
Jungkook beams and grabs his backpack, turning to look at the teacher expectantly.
She studies Jimin for a moment, clearly trying to place him. Jimin bows politely and explains, voice soft and respectful. The teacher’s gaze flicks between them once more.
Then she nods.
“Alright. Be careful on the way home.”
Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice. He slips through the gate the moment she unlocks it, hurrying over to Jimin’s side.
Up close, Jimin smells nice—like fabric softener and spring. It wraps around Jungkook and makes him feel lighter almost immediately.
Jimin holds out a hand. Jungkook takes it without thinking, his fingers fitting easily into Jimin’s.
He’s probably a little too old for that, though. He is seven years and fourteen days old, after all. But Jimin’s hand is warm and soft, and it feels nice to hold.
Jungkook looks up at him, as they walk, backpack bouncing lightly on his shoulders. His chest feels a little full, like he might burst at any moment.
“You’re my favorite hyung now,” he blurts out, a little shy but honest.
Jimin freezes for a split second, surprised, before he laughs. Jungkook likes his laugh. It sounds like bells.
“And you’re my favorite dongsaeng,” he says easily, making Jungkook beam, his little chest puffing up.
Jimin-hyung’s favorite dongsaeng. He prides himself in that title.
And intends to keep it.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Jungkook wakes up to his alarm blaring into his ear. He groans, tapping around blindly for a stubborn moment before he gives in and cracks one eye open. He spots the phone on the nightstand, rattling violently against wood.
He hits snooze then rolls onto the other side with a grunt, slipping back into that sweet dream about Jimin. It’s been so long since Jungkook had a dream about him. Not since they had last met at—
Jungkook’s eyes shoot open.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit, shit.
Jimin.
He was here yesterday, sitting at Yoongi’s dining table and looking like a vision: blonde hair, chiseled face, and those perfectly pouty, ridiculously plump lips, stained red from the wine. That definitely wasn’t part of the dream.
He wasn’t particularly focused on Jimin’s lips when he was seven. And Jimin definitely wasn’t blonde back then. His cheeks used to be rounder too, softer, giving him that permanently youthful look.
Now he looks like a freaking model.
And Jungkook managed to humiliate himself in front of him in the span of about five seconds.
He presses his face into the pillow, letting out a muffled groan.
Idiot.
He knew he shouldn’t have let Mingyu talk him into doing that keg stand. Damn him and his stupid competitiveness. Yoongi always said it would come back to bite him in the ass eventually.
Apparently that time had come.
Still, even through the lingering embarrassment and the dull throb in his head, Jungkook can’t ignore the childish burst of giddiness bubbling up in his chest at the thought of seeing Jimin again.
It’s always been like that, as far back as he can remember.
At first it was simple. Innocent admiration, the kind a kid has for an older brother’s cool friend. Jimin, who helped him with his homework. Jimin, who always knew every single choreography of Jungkook’s favorite girl groups.
Somewhere along the way, though, it changed, gradually twisting into something deeper, something far more complicated than he ever knew what to do with.
Jimin has always had that effect on Jungkook—pulling a strange mix of emotions out of him, all tangled together. Excitement and nerves. Comfort and restlessness. And threading through it all, is an overwhelming desire he never really knew how to control. And judging by the way Jungkook is currently hiding his face in the pillow like a coward while simultaneously sporting a morning wood so hard it almost hurts, he still doesn’t.
Which is exactly why Jungkook came to the very logical conclusion years ago—when he learned about Jimin’s engagement, precisely—that he must avoid Jimin at any cost.
And it worked, mostly.
Even though their families were still close, Jimin lived in Seoul while Jungkook was still in Busan. That alone solved most of the problem.
All Jungkook had to do was conveniently disappear whenever Jimin (and his husband) came to visit during the holidays.
If his eomma mentioned Jimin might stop by, Jungkook suddenly had plans. Important ones. Urgent ones. Studying, working out, meeting friends, grocery shopping at ten in the evening if it came down to it. Anything, really.
But then he had the brilliant idea to attend Seoul National University and it had blown that whole system to hell. And of all the ways their carefully maintained distance could collapse, it had to involve him drunkenly stumbling off the stairs and Jimin watching the whole thing unfold from Yoongi’s kitchen.
Clearly, only being on guard during the holidays isn’t enough anymore. Jimin shows up at Yoongi’s place far too often for that. Jungkook needs something more reliable, something airtight, a long-term avoidance plan.
His alarm goes off again. Jungkook blindly slaps at his phone until it stops. He yanks the blanket off, staring at the tent in his pajamas woefully. With a sigh, he slips his hand inside his pants, wrapping around his stiff cock.
Dammit, Jimin. Every. Single. Time.
Once he’s finished—embarrassingly fast, but that stays between him and the four walls of Yoongi’s guest room—he drags himself out of bed and makes quick work of getting rid of the evidence of his morning activities, then shuffles toward the kitchen.
The house is quiet.
Jungkook assumes Yoongi and Hoseok might either still be sleeping or nursing a brutal hangover, judging by how red Hoseok’s face had been yesterday.
Frankly, Jungkook himself isn’t exactly operating at full capacity either. His head feels a little fuzzy, mouth dry. He wasn’t planning to get drunk, but then… things got out of hand. The faint memory of Mingyu chanting ‘one more, one more!’ flashes through his head as he descends the stairs, making him wince.
Coffee.
Coffee will fix this.
He rounds the corner into the living room, already thinking about the first blessed sip, only to stop dead in his tracks when he finds Jimin sleeping on the couch.
For a moment, all Jungkook can do is stare.
The omega is curled slightly on his side, one arm tucked under his head. A blanket is draped halfway over him like someone tried to cover him up during the night. He looks so peaceful, with his blonde strands falling over his forehead, lips slightly parted.
Jungkook’s brain immediately short-circuits.
No.
No, no, no.
Jimin is supposed to be home with his husband, not sleeping on their couch. Especially not when Jungkook just jerked off to him one floor up. The shame sets his face aflame instantly, feeling like a teenager caught in the act, like the fact that he just pleasured himself to the very man lying here is written over his forehead with scarlet letters.
‘I JUST JERKED OFF THINKING ABOUT YOU.’
Jungkook swallows thickly. He absolutely cannot face Jimin right now.
He slowly begins to back away, not taking his eyes off the omega. If he leaves now, he can still get coffee somewhere else before his class starts. A café. A gas station. Hell, even the campus cafeteria, even though that barely qualifies as coffee.
But then, the floor creaks. Jungkook freezes, holding his breath.
Jimin stirs on the couch. His brows furrow slightly, lips pressing together before parting again as he inhales slowly. For a second, Jungkook hopes—prays—that he’ll just roll over and keep sleeping.
Instead, Jimin’s eyes flutter open. He blinks slowly, glancing around like he’s trying to find a grasp on reality, then his gaze lands directly on Jungkook, recognition cutting through the sleepy daze.
And Jungkook just stands, unmoving, like a deer caught in headlights.
Jimin squints at him for a moment, clearly still not entirely awake, then pushes himself up onto one elbow. The blanket slips down his side, revealing the black shirt hanging loosely off his frame—Jungkook’s shirt.
Jungkook wants to die.
“Morning,” Jimin says, voice rough with sleep.
Jungkook tears his gaze away from the omega’s chest—covered in his shirt! his!—altering his expression into something resembling a smile.
“Morning.”
His voice comes out embarrassingly strained.
A slow smile tugs at the corner of Jimin’s mouth, tilting his head as he surveys the alpha.
“Feeling okay?” Jimin asks. Judging from the slow smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, Jungkook assumes the omega is remembering the humiliation ritual he performed yesterday.
Fantastic. When you think it can’t get any worse.
Under normal circumstances, Jungkook would laugh it off and play it cool. His rule of thumb has always been that if you laugh at yourself, everyone else will laugh with you instead. But his alpha is so engrossed in the fact that Jimin is wearing his shirt—his—that every single thought has evacuated the premises.
It’s a miracle he remembers how to breathe, never mind say something witty.
All he can do is stand still, mouth slightly open, eyes flicking between Jimin’s face and the black fabric hanging loosely off his frame.
After a few seconds, Jimin frowns slightly, lowering his gaze to inspect his chest. His small hand smooths the shirt down.
“Is something on me?” he asks, puzzled.
Yeah, Jungkook wants to scream. My shirt.
And I’d kindly ask you to change before the view alone sends me into a rut.
But since he’s learned civility, he settles for a stiff, “Yeah.” Then, after a beat, he blurts, “I mean—No. You look fine. I mean—good. Really good.”
Good Goddess, what the hell are you saying? Shut up. Shut up—
“Uhm,” Jimin blinks, “thanks?”
A faint smile returns to his lips, amused by the sheer awkwardness radiating off Jungkook in visible waves.
The embarrassment of that alone manages to snap Jungkook out of his trance. He tears his gaze away, staring at a spot on the wall just above Jimin’s shoulder, desperately trying to anchor himself to anything non-Jimin-related.
“Would you, uh… like a coffee, hyung?” he offers, voice cracking slightly. “I’ll, uh—make it. If you want.”
No.
Why are you offering that?
Just go, you idiot. Make an excuse and run before you make an even bigger fool out of yourself—
“Or breakfast, maybe?” he hears himself saying before his brain can stop him.
“Oh… Coffee would be great, thank you,” Jimin says with a sleepy smile, stretching his arms just enough for the collar of the shirt to slip off his shoulder, revealing his collarbone. Jungkook can’t help but gawk, swallowing a mouthful of saliva. “I don’t usually eat breakfast.”
Jungkook’s less than holy thoughts stop with a metallic screech.
Wait… What?
He doesn’t eat breakfast?
“You don’t eat breakfast?” he asks out loud, not believing his ears.
“Not really,” Jimin confirms casually, as if skipping the most important meal of the day is perfectly normal.
Jungkook’s alpha hates that. His hand twitches by his side as he fights the urge to drag Jimin into the kitchen and force-feed him something, even if it’s a single fried egg.
But he can’t possibly do that.
Jimin is his hyung. Definitely not, by any means, his omega to take care of.
Still… the thought of him skipping breakfast makes something tighten in Jungkook’s chest.
Ridiculous.
He rearranges his features into a strained smile, trying to shove the instinct down before it gets any worse. “Okay… well, coffee it is, then,” he says, voice trembling slightly. “I—uh… I’ll get it ready.”
He shuffles into the kitchen, his mind going haywire.
Coffee will have to do. Coffee, and maybe a slice of toast. Maybe—
No.
Get it together.
It’s not like he has time to make breakfast anyway. Why did he even ask? He should be on his way to the campus by now.
How stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Jimin has always made him act stupid. Looks like it’s another thing that hasn’t changed—then again, did anything, really?
Jungkook first acknowledged his crush on the omega when he was thirteen. He didn’t have the words for it yet—only the slow realization that something in him had started to shift. He was nearing his presentation, and with it came a restless, gnawing mix of irritation and something far harder to name.
It only worsened when his first rut hit.
By then, Jimin was already taken, with that damn Jeongho hovering around him like someone might actually try to steal his omega at any moment. Not Jungkook, of course. Jeongho never seemed to register a teenage boy as competition. In fact, he barely registered Jungkook at all.
Jungkook, however, was painfully aware of him. Hyperaware, in a way that made his skin crawl. He hated it. Hated the way he stuck to Jimin like gum on his shoesole, how he demanded all of the omega’s attention.
He couldn’t exactly pinpoint why, but even as a pup, when Jimin started dating him in high school, Jungkook just couldn’t stand the guy. There was something about him that set him on edge, and he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.
Jungkook still remembers Yoongi and Hobi talking about it once, voices lowered in the kitchen while Jungkook sat at the table pretending to do homework he wasn’t really doing. They’d said the relationship wouldn’t hold. Jeongho was a good-for-nothing idiot, they muttered, while Jimin was… well, Jimin. Brilliant, witty, ambitious Jimin. Top of his class Jimin. Scholarship to a top university Jimin. ‘He’s going places’ Jimin.
Jungkook had agreed at the time, too young to fully understand what he was really judging, but old enough to sense that something about the pairing didn’t sit right.
And yet, here they are, years later, still married.
So why, in the name of all that’s holy, doesn’t that damn alpha make sure his omega eats breakfast?
Jungkook’s wolf bristles at the thought, every instinct in him screaming to fix that immediately. Still, he forces it down, wrestling his alpha into order. Jimin’s well-being isn’t his responsibility.
Besides, Jimin might take it the wrong way if he insists. An alpha feeding an omega is essentially courting behavior, and Jungkook would never disrespect him like that.
He’s long since accepted that Jimin is taken. It’s just his wolf that refuses to get the memo, which is frankly absurd, considering Jungkook never really had a chance to begin with. The omega of his dreams had a ring on his finger before he could even pop a knot.
But his alpha is, unfortunately, not interested in logic. Even after all these years, it remains stubbornly fixed on Jimin—married or not—and seeing him in Jungkook’s shirt doesn’t help. If anything, it makes things worse.
A lot worse.
Jungkook fears it might have reignited something he thought he’d long since buried: that persistent, inconvenient fixation.
“Ah, thank you,” Jimin says, taking the cup straight from Jungkook’s hand instead of waiting for him to set it down, their fingers brushing in the exchange.
The contact is brief—barely a second—but it sends a sharp jolt through Jungkook’s body, like someone struck a live wire under his skin. He jerks his hand back a little too quickly, nearly sloshing coffee over the rim of his own mug.
Jimin, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice anything unusual. He lifts the cup to his lips, taking a careful sip, shoulders still loose with sleep.
“Mm,” he hums softly, eyes fluttering closed for a peaceful moment. “That’s good.”
Jungkook’s wolf preens at the praise before he can stop it.
Which is, again, ridiculous.
It’s just coffee. Yoongi’s coffee machine is so fancy, it’s virtually impossible to fuck up. Jungkook really shouldn’t take credit for it.
And yet, he finds himself hovering awkwardly on the other side of the counter, pretending to busy himself with the sugar jar, his heart doing somersaults in his ribcage, all while he’s trying not to acknowledge the way the sleeve of his shirt slips down Jimin’s wrist, covering his entire hand as he lifts the cup again.
“So,” Jimin says casually, leaning one hip against the counter, “how have you been, Jungkookie?”
Jungkook nearly drops the spoon.
Jungkookie.
No one has called him that since middle school outside his family. It lands somewhere low in his stomach like a strange, disorienting gut punch. He clears his throat, gripping the edge of the counter a little tighter than necessary.
“Good,” he says quickly. “I’ve been… good. Busy.”
“Yeah?” Jimin asks softly, watching him with quiet interest over the rim of his cup. There’s something amused in his eyes, like he’s already clocked the way Jungkook’s shoulders have lifted up to his ears. Jungkook wills his posture to relax, though it does nothing to the tension inside him.
“Mm,” Jungkook nods stiffly. “Classes and… stuff.”
Stuff.
Brilliant.
Truly eloquent.
Jimin’s lips curve, clearly entertained by the awkwardness. Not in a mean way—if anything, he’s fond. Somehow that makes it much worse.
He probably thinks Jungkook looks cute. Which is deeply unfair when Jungkook has spent years trying to shed that image. He’s cool. Tough. Ask literally anyone else. Well, maybe not Hoseok. The omega will keep babying Jungkook until he’s on his deathbed, possibly even posthumously.
Jimin glances toward the hallway, then down at the very expensive-looking watch on his wrist. It probably costs more than Jungkook’s entire semester of tuition.
Somehow, that only makes him look even hotter.
Jungkook quickly looks away, dragging in a slow breath before his body gets any more ideas. The last thing he needs right now is to get hard again.
“I should go,” Jimin announces, gulping down his coffee then placing the cup on the counter.
Thank the Goddess, Jungkook thinks, letting out a quiet breath of relief. He isn’t sure how much longer he could’ve kept up the act.
“Right. Yeah. Of course.”
Jimin sets the empty cup in the sink and grabs his bag from the chair. As he straightens, he tugs lightly at the hem of the black shirt.
“Could you tell Hobi thanks for this?” he says. “I’ll bring it back next time.”
Jungkook blinks.
“Yeah,” he says faintly, feeling heat creep up his neck. “Sure.”
Jimin studies him for a moment, something unreadable flickering across his expression—something that only makes the blood rush to Jungkook’s face faster.
“See you around, Jungkookie,” he says as he heads for the door. “Don’t be a stranger, yeah?” he adds with a sweet smile, that erupts something stupid in the alpha’s heart before disappearing in the hallway.
Jungkook stands there for a long moment, staring at the doorway. Then he slowly drops his head against the cabinet with a quiet thunk.
Yeah.
He’s officially fucked.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
There are three important conclusions Jimin had drawn from that brief ten minutes he had spent with Jungkook.
One: he’s far from the arrogant alpha archetype Jimin is familiar with. Quite the opposite.
Two: he one hundred percent still has a crush on Jimin.
Three: Jimin doesn’t mind it quite as much as he initially thought.
He prides himself in being immune to these things. He’s seen it all before. He was hit on frequently back in the day, by omegas, betas, and alphas alike. Usually, it’s all very predictable and boring. Easy to ignore.
But Jungkook? He’s none of those things. And it’s going to be a problem, Jimin can already tell.
Jimin had only asked him a simple question and the poor boy nearly short-circuited. Words tripping over each other, ears turning red, eyes darting everywhere except Jimin’s face.
Except… every once in a while, Jungkook did look at him.
And when he did, it was with this open, helpless kind of admiration that made Jimin’s chest do something weird. An irritatingly good kind of weird.
No matter how he twists it, Jimin must admit that it felt good to be looked at with such pure adoration. Like he’s some unattainable deity, not a pathetic thirty-six year old omega who couldn’t even keep his husband.
He huffs softly, staring down at his phone but not really seeing it. Ten minutes. That’s all it had taken for Jungkook to wedge himself somewhere in the back of Jimin’s mind.
Is Jimin really that desperate, that a stammering college student can get under his skin like this? What’s next? Will he be one of those pitiable omegas sitting alone at a bar, waiting for someone to give them attention?
No. Absolutely not. He would never stoop that low, there’s no way… right? Jimin’s stomach twists at the thought, his omega whining abysmally.
“Earth to Jimin.”
Jimin blinks and looks up from his plate, dazed. Across the table, Taehyung is watching him with poorly concealed amusement, chopsticks paused halfway to his mouth.
“If I wanted to eat in silence,” Taehyung says dryly, “I would’ve asked Yoongi to join, you know.”
Jimin rolls his eyes, though the motion lacks its usual conviction. “Please. You don’t need an interlocutor to talk.”
“But I do need an audience that actually listens,” Taehyung points out.
“I am listening,” Jimin lies with a straight face.
Taehyung arches an eyebrow. “Right. Then repeat the last thing I said.”
Jimin opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He had lost the plot before they even brought out the first course.
Taehyung leans back in his chair with a smug little grin. “Thought so.”
“I’m sorry,” Jimin sighs, dragging a hand over his face. “I’m just… distracted.”
Taehyung’s expression shifts in an instant. “Still thinking about Jeongho?”
Ah. Right. His soon-to-be-ex-husband. Frankly, he hasn’t crossed Jimin’s mind at all today.
“...No,” he mutters, digging into his food half-heartedly.
A personal record, unfortunately. Jimin should probably feel proud of that milestone, but the accomplishment loses some of its shine when the only reason for it is that his thoughts have been occupied by another alpha entirely.
“Good,” Taehyung nods approvingly, his initial concern morphing into curiosity. “Then do tell me, who is it?”
Jimin makes a face. “Why does it have to be an alpha?” he huffs, stabbing a piece of meat with his chopsticks. “Maybe I’m thinking about…”
“About?” Taehyung props his chin up with his hand, a barely contained grin spreading on his lips.
“...About the state of the stock market,” Jimin says, cringing internally at the terrible lie, though he keeps his face neutral. The worst thing you can do after a lie is back down.
Taehyung’s face goes completely flat. “Cut the bullshit.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” Taehyung interrupts calmly. “First of all, you don’t care about the stock market. You’re already rich as fuck. Second, you’re terrible at lying.”
“I am not!” Jimin protests, offended. “Lying is my bread and butter, how dare you?!”
“Ha!” Taehyung cries out victoriously, loud enough to earn them a handful of disapproving looks. “I knew you were lying!”
Jimin goes very still, then hides his face with a groan. He walked right into that trap, didn’t he?
“Okay, so let’s start again,” Taehyung continues with a grin. “You’re distracted, but it’s not your sorry excuse of an ex-alpha. But—” he pauses for dramatic effect, “it’s clearly an alpha.”
Jimin’s face twists, first in offense, then annoyance. Because unfortunately, Taehyung is correct, which is deeply irritating.
Taehyung watches the entire internal battle play out across Jimin’s face and practically lights up.
“Oh, this is good,” he says, vibrating with excitement. “Is he hot?”
Jimin glares at him.
“That is not relevant.”
“So yes,” Taehyung nods sagely.
“He’s not hot.”
“Mhm.”
“He’s just… some guy.”
A cute, baby-faced guy, who happens to be built like a tank and has an entire sleeve of tattoos and drives a bike and—
“Yeah. Sure,” Taehyung brushes his excuses off like a speck of dust. “So, do I know him?” He leans closer, lowering his voice like they’re discussing some secret affair.
Jimins keeps silent, chewing angrily as a protest. He’s clearly too hungover to make up any decent lies, so why bother.
“Let me make a wild guess,” Taehyung continues, looking so smug Jimin has the sudden urge to punch him. “Does his name start with Jung and end with Kook?”
They lock eyes across the table.
The air between them crackles with tension—though most of it is radiating from Jimin. Taehyung, on the other hand, looks like a man who already knows he’s won.
Eventually, Jimin casts his gaze down, suddenly finding the water in his glass very interesting. “Shut up.”
“I knew it!” Taehyung’s grin widens so much Jimin wonders if it’s starting to hurt—he certainly hopes it is. “You sly dog! Tell me everything.”
Jimin groans. “There’s nothing to tell. It’s just… I don’t know,” he mutters, uncharacteristically at a loss of words. “He grew up well.”
“I mean,” Taehyung says, leaning back in his chair, clearly pleased with his detective work, “from what I understand, Yoongi basically raised the kid. So it makes sense he turned out decent enough.”
That gives Jimin pause.
He’s never thought about it that way before, but suddenly the whole situation shifts slightly in his mind.
Yoongi just happens to be the only alpha in Jimin’s life who has never let him down. And while Yoongi never intended to mold Jungkook into his clone, he had always been determined to raise his brother right. To make sure he grew into a good alpha. Responsible. Respectful. Someone who takes care of the people around him.
Now, the two of them might be nothing alike personality-wise—Yoongi is blunt and dry as the desert, where Jungkook is shy and quiet—but something tells Jimin that they’re similar where it’s the most important.
Jimin realizes it now, looking back at their brief encounter, that what he only considered to be awkwardness, might be carefulness. Consideration.
Maybe that’s why he’s gotten under Jimin’s skin so easily. Why he feels this pull he can’t quite explain. Jungkook reminds him of the one alpha he considers safe. No wonder his omega didn’t reject the compliments as a knee-jerk reaction, like it tends to do whenever the flattery is coming from an alpha. No, instead, it felt… nice. Jimin almost forgot how nice it is to be regarded with such appreciation. To have someone look at you like you put the stars in the sky.
…When did Jeongho stop looking at him like that?
Jimin can’t even remember the last time he did, and the thought sinks heavy in his chest.
Maybe his marriage had been over long before he ever signed the divorce papers. Maybe it ended the moment kissing became a habit instead of affection. When intimacy wasn’t about loving the other anymore, but simply about satisfying your own needs. When they stopped expecting—or even giving—a thoughtful answer to the daily, ‘How was your day?’
Maybe… Jimin has been lonely much longer than he ever realized.
He sets his chopsticks down, suddenly not hungry anymore.
There’s a nauseating churn in his stomach, but the familiar sharp pain never comes. No crack through his chest, no wave of heartbreak threatening to pull him under—only a dull echo of it remains. And somehow, the absence of pain feels more final than the divorce itself.
Taehyung reaches across the table, resting his hand over Jimin’s.
“Babe,” he says gently, giving it a small squeeze, “this isn’t the time or place to spiral.”
Jimin sighs, staring at the point where their hands meet. The omega’s grip grounding in a way Jimin didn’t realize he needed.
“I’m not spiraling,” he mutters weakly. It’s not even convincing to his ears.
Taehyung pats his hand and smiles with the kind of indulgence one gives a sulking child.
“I’m just saying,” he continues, “you’re overthinking it, Jiminie. There’s no rulebook for breakups. You do whatever feels right for you. If you want to cry and wallow one day, then hook up with a hot stranger the next, that’s completely valid.”
Jimin snorts, and some of the tightness in his chest eases, just a little.
“And if a shy alpha happens to land right in your lap, why not make the best of it?” Taehyung adds, lifting his glass with an effortless grace.
“Tae,” Jimin groans, “I’m telling you again, I’m not going to use Yoongi’s little brother as a rebound—”
“Who said anything about sleeping with him? A little innocent flirting never hurt anybody,” Taehyung supplies with an exaggerated wink. When he’s met with a blank face, he adds, “Come on, Min. He’s cute. You should totally keep him.”
Jimin grumbles again, dropping his head into his free hand.
“You make it sound like I’m about to adopt a puppy to cope with my divorce.”
Taehyung’s face splits into a wide, delighted grin.
“Well,” he says lightly, “Jungkook does have that big-eyed, slightly confused golden retriever energy.”
Jimin rolls his eyes at that, but it lacks its usual edge. He segues into another topic, but Taehyung’s words keep lingering in his mind, even hours later, when he’s tossing around in the guest bedroom. He had beelined to it the moment he got home, changing his clothes to Hoseok’s shirt—he probably should’ve thrown it in the wash by now, so he can give it back, but it smells so nice, earthy with a touch of citrus. Jimin finds it strangely soothing. He’ll have to ask Hoseok what laundry detergent he’s using.
Still, not even this scent can overpower Jeongho’s in the bedroom. It has seeped into everything, lingering stubbornly. Jimin has long given up on trying to sleep in their old bed—it smells too much like him—so guest bedroom it is. At least until the new mattress he ordered arrives and he can reclaim his bedroom.
Eventually, he gives up on sleep altogether, and settles for staring at the ceiling, his mind replaying his brief exchange with Jungkook. He hates to admit, but even the memory gives him a warm, fuzzy feeling in his belly.
Goddess, this is so embarrassing.
Jimin is acting like a freshly presented omega with a crush. He should be well past this stage. But seriously—would it really be that bad to act upon it? Jungkook seems as harmless as a wobbly-legged fawn.
And it’s not like Jimin is planning anything. As Taehyung said, a little flirting never hurt anybody, right? People do it all the time without meaning anything. Realistically speaking, a smile here and a teasing comment there would hardly be the catalyst of some grand romantic disaster.
Jimin just has to be careful not to lead Jungkook on. A bit of harmless flirting is one thing, but Jimin doesn’t intend to play with anyone’s feelings. He’s experienced the devastating consequences of that on his own skin and he wouldn’t wish that upon anyone, never mind an innocent boy who’s been nothing but kind to him.
So, boundaries. Keep it light, keep it playful. Nothing that could be interpreted as a promise of something more.
Should be easy, right?
Jimin blows out a quiet breath through his nose, tugging the blanket up to his chin. A strange giddiness blooms in his chest—something bright and buoyant he hasn’t felt in ages. It’s distracting enough that, for once, he isn’t dreading meeting Jeongho and their lawyers for round two tomorrow.
Because if he survives that without committing manslaughter, he can invite himself over to Yoongi’s place for dinner again and—hopefully—see Jungkook.
Yes. That’s perfectly reasonable. Totally manageable.
It’s just flirting. A harmless way to blow off some steam. Rebuild his confidence a little.
Jimin will keep everything under control.
And he’s definitely not— under any circumstances—developing a crush.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
“Let’s have dinner together,” is the first thing Jimin blurts out once Jeongho storms out from another disastrous attempt at an adult conversation. Then, for good measure, he adds, “at your place.”
Yoongi is—reasonably—confused. Or suspicious. Probably both. In their profession, if you don’t understand something, it’s automatically shady.
“... Okay,” he says slowly, followed by a pause long enough that Jimin naively assumed he wouldn’t delve into it. “May I ask why?”
Well.
“What? Are you sick of me already?” Jimin counters.
He’s not exactly a supporter of emotional manipulation, but this is for the greater good. And by greater good, he means sparing himself the embarrassment of admitting to Yoongi that he might be developing a tiny, humiliating interest in his little brother.
He has been through enough.
Unfortunately, Yoongi knows his litigation techniques like the back of his hand.
“Please,” he says flatly. “Don’t insult my intelligence with such a transparent deflection. You’re better than this, Jimin.”
Jimin groans, head tipping back. He really isn’t in the mood for a heart-to-heart right now. All he wants to do is bask in a pretty boy’s unadulterated attention. Is it too much to ask for?
Thankfully, he prepared a plan B. An emergency lie. Well, half-lie.
“I just—” he shifts in his seat, looking at a spot on the wall above Yoongi’s shoulder, “I hate going back to the condo. It still smells like him,” he admits, every word feeling like another tooth pulled.
Still, it’s worth the pain. Because Yoongi eats it right up. Jimin can spot the exact moment it starts softening his heart, his features melting into something akin to sympathy—at least as much as Yoongi’s limited facial expressions allow him.
“Alright,” he murmurs, clasping Jimin’s shoulder with a small smile. “You’re lucky—I'm cooking tonight.”
Jimin rolls his eyes at the shameless show off, but the curve on his lips gives him away.
They gather themselves in silence, departing leisurely from the office. Yoongi only talks when they enter the elevator—meaning, Jimin is stuck and can’t run away.
“You know you don’t have to come up with excuses to stay with us, right?” he murmurs quietly, his small, cat-like eyes observing Jimin in a way that makes him squirm. Dammit, he should’ve taken the stairs. “It’s completely normal to experience—”
“I would rather stick to excuses,” Jimin interrupts curtly, foot tapping against the floor, “Thanks.”
Usually, Yoongi is very good at knowing when to stop pushing—he’s intimately familiar with just how quickly Jimin can snap. But looks like today, he’s decided to play Russian roulette with Jimin’s already frayed nerves.
“Jimin-ah,” he says slowly, “I think you should really talk about this with someone. You’ve been hiding behind your anger, but I know you’re hurting—”
Jimin closes his eyes with a resigned sigh. He can’t believe Yoongi is doing this right now, after he had to endure another one of Jeongho’s tantrums. Hasn’t he suffered enough?
He considers pushing the emergency button and prying the elevator doors apart with his bare hands briefly. But thankfully, they finally land on the ground floor, the door opening with a soft ping.
He flees to the parking lot like he’s being chased, Yoongi calling after him in a tone his parents used whenever Jimin was misbehaving as a child—but it has even less effect on him than it did back then.
“I’m taking my car!” he announces loudly, already halfway inside the vehicle. “Meet you there!”
And with that, he drives off, willing himself to focus on the road instead of the unwelcome thoughts gathering in the back of his head.
Jimin deserves one nice evening without spiraling.
He does.
Screw Yoongi.
For good measure, Jimin switches on the radio, hoping it’ll drown everything else out—though, if that fails, maybe the cute boy with the Bambi eyes will do the trick.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Jungkook’s eyes go so wide when he spots Jimin in the doorway, it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of their sockets.
He’s wearing a large black tee and baggy sweatpants—gray, for good measure—holding a stack of plates as he stands in the middle of the hallway between the kitchen and the dining room, frozen.
“Hi,” Jimin greets him with a smile sweet enough to snap him out of his stupor.
Jungkook blinks, hard. “Uh—Hi?” It sounds more like a question than a greeting.
“Jiminie!” Hoseok jumps into Jimin’s view, pulling him into a crushing hug. “You disappeared so fast this morning!”
“Yeah… I had a meeting,” Jimin mutters distractedly, glancing behind Hoseok. A pang of disappointment appears in his chest when he finds that Jungkook had already left. “Didn’t want to wake you up,” he adds after a pause, arranging his features into a small smile.
“Nonsense,” Hoseok huffs, planting his hands on his hips. “You know you can come to me anytime, whether I’m sleeping or not.”
Jimin swallows back an annoyed groan. These two have been talking about him, haven’t they? “Yeah. I know, hyung,” he says instead, because lashing out on Yoongi is one thing, but Hoseok? Jimin could never.
He knows Hoseok means well—Jimin is fairly certain the man is incapable of ill intent—but it’s unnecessary. He’s fine. Completely fine. If only he could talk to Jungkook for a minute—
“Come on, let’s sit down and talk. Omega to omega,” Hoseok ushers Jimin to the living room. “The alphas can finish setting the table on their own.”
Oh no. Not the omega-to-omega talk. He shoots a longing look toward the kitchen, his omega grumbling somewhere in the back of his mind—for once, they’re in complete agreement. Jimin would genuinely rather chew glass.
He looks at Yoongi pleadingly, but that coward simply nods, going on his merry way to do what his omega told him. There goes the camaraderie. Jimin briefly considers his chances of escape. He could pretend to faint, or—
“So, Jimin, tell me, how are you feeling?”
Or the window. He’d rather break a bone or two than continue this conversation. But Hoseok holds him captive, his long, bony fingers holding his hands like a pair of handcuffs.
Jimin manages to hold his ground—barely—until Hoseok brings up those cursed self-help books.
“Jiminie, you have to read this book An Omega’s Guide to Moving On: The Journey From Abandonment to Healing,” Hoseok gushes, eyes sparkling.
“Absolutely not,” Jimin cuts him off immediately. Being interrogated about his feelings for the millionth time is one thing, but self-help books? He’s not that far gone.
“It’s actually life-changing,” Hoseok insists.
“So is minding your own business.”
Hoseok gasps, clutching his chest like Jimin just insulted his mother.
Thankfully, Yoongi appears in the doorway like a knight in a tailored suit, halting the argument before it can escalate—and before Jimin can say something even meaner.
“I was telling Jiminie about that amazing self-help book we read last month,” Hoseok pouts.
“We?” Jimin repeats, appalled.
They both ignore him entirely, like it’s the most normal thing for couples to read books about how to get over a breakup. Then again, Jimin isn’t exactly an expert on relationships. Maybe this is what he was supposed to be doing to save his marriage.
“Tell him, babe!” Hoseok says. “Tell him what a life-changing experience it was!”
“It changed Hobi’s life,” Yoongi says, deadpan.
“You said it changed yours too!”
“Our lives are interconnected,” Yoongi adds. “What affects you affects both of us.”
Jimin stifles a laugh, leaning back on the sofa.
“Oh, don’t start this lawyer bullshit!” Hoseok huffs, jabbing a finger at Yoongi.
“This is what you get for mating one, hyung,” Jimin adds casually, a sly grin on his face. The words land perfectly—fueling their bickering, and consequently, keeping the spotlight off him.
“Yeah. You knew what you signed up for,” Yoongi shrugs.
“Excuse me?!”
Jimin’s arm stretches on top of the backrest, letting the two of them continue their sparring while he enjoys the show.
By the time Jungkook emerges from the kitchen, Yoongi has been banished to the couch for the night. Jimin might feel a shred of remorse, if he didn’t know for a fact that petty arguments like this are just foreplay for steamy make-up sex for them. He’s essentially just spicing up their sex life. They should thank him, actually.
Jungkook, though, looks like a deer caught in the headlights when he senses the tension (mostly sexual, if you ask Jimin) in the room.
“Uh…” his eyes flick between Yoongi and Hoseok, whose face is still red from the anger. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Jimin says before either of them can answer. “Peachy.”
A blush blooms on Jungkook’s cheeks the moment Jimin addresses him, his eyes wide and mildly panicked for a moment before he gathers himself.
“O-okay,” he stammers, avoiding Jimin’s gaze—it’s so cute that the omega has to bite back a coo. “I set the table. Food’s on the stove.”
That, thankfully, pulls the arguing pair back from their own—probably very steamy—bubble.
“Thank you, Jungkookie,” Hoseok says, bouncing to his feet with a bright smile. Jimin isn’t the least bit surprised; Hoseok’s moods shift like the wind. “It smells amazing. I can’t wait to try it!”
“I hope it’s okay,” Jungkook murmurs, giving a shy smile. “It’s a new recipe.”
“Wait,” Jimin’s eyebrows shoot up. “You cook?”
Jungkook looks at him, cheeks pink again, and scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Ah… Sometimes, yeah.”
“He’s an amazing cook,” Hoseok gushes, clasping Jungkook’s shoulders like a proud father. “Picked it up in the military.”
Jimin hums thoughtfully. Maybe alphas’ compulsory enlistment is good for some things. Not many. But some.
“I wouldn’t say amazing,” Jungkook counters. “I’m… decent.”
“Well, you’re doing better than most guys your age,” Jimin notes, eyeing him curiously. “Pretty sure Yoongi knew how to cook like—three things in college. And one of them was cup ramen.”
A surprised chuckle bubbles out of Jungkook, sweet and airy. Even his laugh is pretty. It’s unfair, really.
“Alright-y. Let’s eat,” Hoseok singsongs, turning Jungkook around by the shoulder and nudging him back to the dining room. “I’m starving.”
“Ah—I think I’m going to skip this time,” Jungkook halts, shooting Hoseok an apologetic smile. “I’m not really hungry, and I have a test tomorrow—”
“Nonsense!” Hoseok interrupts, pushing him forward with force now—it’s marvelous, how much violence is in that tiny body. “You must eat. You’re a growing boy.”
“Hyung, I’m twenty-three.”
“Your brain is still developing.”
Jungkook sighs resignedly, letting himself be herded to the table. He keeps his gaze down, carefully avoiding Jimin’s eyes as they all settle into their seats.
Jimin watches him from the corner of his eye, equally amused and endeared at how Jungkook seems suddenly fascinated by the tablecloth, the cutlery, the grain of the wood—anything but him, really.
Cute baby deer. Jimin wants to eat him.
“So,” Hoseok starts brightly, filling the silence with mindless chatter as he reaches for the ladle, “Guess what happened today at the studio—”
Jimin hums along absently, only half-listening, his attention drifting back to Jungkook.
Jungkook, meanwhile, keeps nodding along to Hoseok’s chatter, quiet and compliant. When the ladle is handed to him, he takes it without protest.
But instead of serving himself, he reaches for Jimin’s plate.
Jimin’s brows lift slightly, stunned.
Jungkook doesn’t look up as he pours a portion of the stew onto Jimin’s plate meticulously, almost overtly so, like he’s concentrating a little too hard on not spilling a single drop.
“Here,” he mutters, voice soft as he returns the plate in front of Jimin.
Jimin blinks at him, caught off guard for a moment. Then, something warm unfurls in his chest, replacing the surprise.
How cute.
Jimin props his chin against his hand, a slow smile tugging at his lips.
“Thank you,” he says, voice just a touch sweeter than necessary.
Jungkook nearly fumbles the ladle. He quickly pours himself some, then discards it in the pot, the metal nearly sinking into the rich sauce.
Hoseok makes a soft, delighted sound, hands clasping together under his chin. “Aigoo, Jungkookie, you’re so sweet,” he coos, positively glowing.
Jungkook ducks his head even further, ears tinged pink as he shifts his focus back on his own plate.
Yoongi, however, leans back in his chair, unimpressed. “What about my food?” he asks dryly, nudging his empty plate forward.
Jungkook doesn’t even look at him. “I’m not your maid.”
A beat of silence passes. Then, Hoseok bursts into a fit of laughter, almost doubling over. Even Jimin snorts, unable to help himself.
“Yah! You ungrateful brat!” Yoongi complains, though there’s no edge to it. He’s never been able to thoroughly scold Jungkook, even when he was little. “I feed you, school you, and this is what I get?”
“Jimin-hyung is a guest. You’re not.” Jungkook shrugs, stuffing a spoonful of stew into his mouth like nothing happened.
“Oh, is that why you were so insistent on cooking on your own? Because of our guest?” Yoongi says dryly. Jungkook chokes on his food, coughing violently, his face red—whether from the lack of oxygen or the embarrassment, is up to debate.
Jimin watches the whole exchange with mirth, warmth spreading in his chest all over again. He has half a mind to tease Jungkook, but considering his current state, he decides against it. It’s not his intention to kill the poor boy.
His fingers curl around the spoon, lifting it slowly to his mouth. He blows on it to cool it down, stilling for a moment when he feels Jungkook’s eyes on him, the alpha’s utensil hanging uselessly in his hand.
Jimin keeps his face neutral, pretending not to notice as he brings the spoon to his lips. The stew is warm, rich, and surprisingly good. Jimin hums softly, tilting his head as if considering it, dragging it out on purpose. From the corner of his eye, he catches Jungkook leaning closer, waiting for his reaction eagerly.
Jimin lowers the spoon, smacking his lips deliberately as he turns his head, their eyes meeting.
For a split second, neither of them moves. Then Jungkook looks away so fast it’s almost impressive, grabbing his glass like it suddenly requires his full attention.
Jimin has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
“It’s really good,” he says casually, though his words come out softer than intended, laced through with a fondness he can’t seem to hide.
What can he say? He’s always had a soft spot for this boy.
Jungkook stills across the table, his ears tinted pink as he fills his mouth with more stew to keep himself busy.
If the others notice Jimin watching him for the rest of dinner, no one mentions it. Jimin doesn’t feel an ounce of shame about it either. Jungkook is just… so endearing. This tall, buff man, a stereotypical alpha—at least based on his looks—blushing and fidgeting because of him.
Jimin rests his cheek against his palm, barely pretending to focus on his food as his gaze drifts back, again and again. Jungkook squirms under his attention and Jimin, entirely unrepentant, lets him.
Jungkook looks almost relieved when dinner ends, springing onto his feet instantly with the excuse to clean the table. But Jimin isn’t about to let the alpha slip away that easily. He hasn’t gotten his fill yet.
“I’ll help,” he offers, already reaching for Yoongi’s empty plate. Jungkook’s head snaps up, staring at him in horror while the others voice their disagreement quite loudly. Jimin tunes it all out, his eyes holding Jungkook hostage as he mumbles the others a half-hearted answer, entirely engrossed in flustering the boy. “Don’t be silly. It’s the least I can do.”
Jungkook pales in one moment, then his face starts rivaling the color of Yoongi’s burgundy tie.
It’s a joy to watch.
Jimin steps into his space, closer than necessary, and carefully places the single plate he’d picked up onto the stack in Jungkook’s arms—never once breaking eye contact.
Jungkook’s eyes go impossibly wide.
Jimin’s mouth tilts, just slightly.
Then he pulls away as if nothing happened, turning on his heel and heading for the kitchen—making sure there’s just enough sway in his hips to be noticed.
Jungkook keeps his head ducked as he makes his way to the sink, carefully setting the dishes down like they might shatter under too much attention. He risks a quick glance at Jimin while pushing his sleeves up—his throat bobbing when the omega steps in beside him, close enough to feel.
Jimin leans past him to grab a kitchen towel, subtle enough to make it look incidental—but close enough to catch a hint of his scent.
Nothing.
A flicker of disappointment settles low in his chest, his omega whining petulantly at the absence.
It’s irrational, really. Jimin knows that. People use suppressants all the time, or keep their scents tightly reined in. It’s basic courtesy, especially around anyone who isn’t part of your inner circle.
Still, he would’ve liked to know.
He’s never gotten the chance to learn Jungkook’s scent, since he moved away and they lost contact essentially by the time the alpha presented. It’s not a crime to be curious, right?
“You wash, I’ll dry,” he says with a small tilt of his head. “Deal?”
Jungkook stares at him for a beat, mouth slightly parted.
“Ah—yeah,” he manages eventually, voice a pitch higher than usual. “Deal.”
They settle into a comfortable silence—well, comfortable for Jimin; he isn’t sure about Jungkook.
The alpha cleans the dishes thoroughly, his movements a little stiff, like he forgot how to exist normally around Jimin.
Cute.
So cute.
How a man twice Jimin’s size manages that is beyond him.
“So, Jungkook-ah,” Jimin says eventually, not missing the way the alpha nearly drops a glass against the edge of the sink. “Tell me about yourself.”
“Huh?” Jungkook blinks at him, clearly caught off guard.
Jimin smiles, gently taking the glass from his hands. “Well,” he says, drying it thoroughly, “you’ve grown up so much… I feel like I should get to know you all over again. You're a great cook. What else?”
Jungkook stares at him for a moment, like his brain short-circuited.
“I—uh…” He clears his throat, turning back to the sink a little too quickly. “It’s not that hard. I just had a lot of practice.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Jimin says lightly, bumping his shoulder against Jungkook’s as he reaches for another glass.
Jungkook almost drops the sponge this time.
“I mean—” he tries again, voice quieter, “I go to the gym. Practice. Study. That’s pretty much it.”
Jimin hums, unconvinced.
“Sounds very boring.”
Jungkook lets out a small, helpless laugh. “Sorry.”
“I don’t think you are.”
“No?”
“Mhm,” Jimin nods. “You’ve never been boring.”
He grabs a plate, fingers brushing against Jungkook’s deliberately. “Last I checked, you were that pup who couldn’t sit still for more than five minutes. Always running around, always trying something new.”
Jungkook goes still, clearly caught off guard.
“Drawing,” Jimin continues, counting off on his fingers. “Dancing—don’t think I forgot about that. Weren’t you into video editing for a while too?” He pauses, savoring the way Jungkook’s ears turn pink. “And wasn’t there a phase where you tried to learn, what—three instruments at once?” Jimin adds, lips curving. “You were terrible at pacing yourself.”
“I was not—” Jungkook protests weakly.
“You absolutely were,” Jimin cuts in, amused. “You’d get obsessed with something and go all in.”
Jungkook lowers his head, scrubbing at a plate a little too hard.
Jimin watches him for a moment, something softer slipping into his expression.
“So no,” he says softly, “I don’t believe for a second that you grew up into someone boring.”
Jungkook is quiet for a moment, hands moving under the water, slower now.
Then, almost reluctantly, he says, “I’m on the soccer team. At college, I mean.”
“Oh?” Jimin says. “What position?”
“Left wing.”
Jimin hums, thoughtful. He knows next to nothing about soccer—honestly, not much about sports in general. The only thing his brain seems to have retained about it is how the players are always showing off those unfairly thick thighs in their shorts. He lets his gaze dip, just for a second—subtle, discreet—and, well… yeah. That tracks.
Jimin forces himself to look away, clearing his throat. “That’s… great.”
A sweet chuckle bubbles out of Jungkook. “You have no idea what that means, do you?”
Jimin scrunches his nose. “You kick the ball? I suppose?”
“Kind of,” Jungkook grins, a little shy, a little mirthful. “It means I play offense. Mostly.”
“Ah. So you score the goals.”
Hot, Jimin’s omega supplies.
“Well—I try.”
See? And he’s even humble about it, his wolf continues enthusiastically. He is perfect.
Jimin cringes inwardly, shoving the overenthusiastic mutt to the back of his mind with as much force as he can manage. Since when is it this talkative? Never mind desperate. He hasn’t heard as much as a yip from it for months.
“See?” Jimin says easily—though there’s nothing easy about keeping a straight face when his wolf is ready to go into a self-induced heat over soccer—nudging Jungkook’s arm with his elbow. “That’s pretty cool. I mean, as far as sports go.”
Jungkook laughs, head tipping back—it’s the first reaction Jimin’s gotten that isn’t held back. Instead, it comes off easy, unguarded.
Jimin stills for a moment, watching him—the sharp line of his jaw softened by the gentle slope of his nose.
He’s pretty.
Handsome, even.
His gaze drifts lower, catching on Jungkook’s arms, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. A vein traces along his forearm beneath the ink, disappearing under the black fabric. It makes his mouth water. He gulps, forcing his eyes away before he does something embarrassing.
“I’ve got my motorcycle license too,” Jungkook adds casually, the stiffness of his posture easing.
Right.
Jimin has been trying to forget about that. The mental picture alone does unspeakable things to him.
Jimin clears his throat, placing the pan on the drying rack a little too carefully as he tries to erase the vivid image from his brain with sheer willpower.
“That sounds… dangerous,” he notes, trying to keep his voice level.
Jungkook lets out a soft chuckle, shutting off the tap. “Hyung says that too.” He turns to Jimin, leaning casually against the edge of the counter. “But don’t worry, I’m careful.”
Well, that’s not exactly what Jimin meant. He’s mostly worried about the danger it poses to his sanity.
He forces his features into a smile, though he suspects it looks a little strained.
Jungkook is closer now, he realizes. Not too close—not close enough for his omega senses to pick up a scent, his thoughts grumbling—but close enough to see the faint sheen of water clinging to his skin and the familiar moles scattered across his face.
Jimin’s eyes linger on the one under his lower lip—he’d always had a soft spot for it, even affectionately calling it a choco chip. It always made Jungkook giggle.
“What about you, hyung?”
The question drags him right back to earth violently.
Jimin looks away, Jungkook's expectant gaze suddenly becoming unbearable.
What about him?
He opened his own law firm, for starters. Achieved all of his career goals.
But is there anything interesting about him that isn’t work-related?
He has a beautiful house he barely lives in, because he’s at the office more often than not. Maybe five people who tolerate him long-term. An ex-husband who hates him.
Hell, he doesn’t even have hobbies.
Somewhere along the way, Jimin became his own worst nightmare—a lonely omega with a miserable life.
People had warned him, hadn’t they?
Why are you studying so much, Jimin? You’re wasting your best years.
You work too much, Jimin. Your husband should come first, career second.
Settle down early, Jimin. Have pups while you still can. Your clock is already ticking.
Back then, he’d laughed it off. Now, they ring in the back of his head like a siren in the distance.
He was so confident that he could juggle both, so sure Jeongho loved him enough to tolerate his selfish quest to chase his dreams. Naively, he thought that his alpha would be different. That he chose well. That he'd wait until Jimin was ready.
Blind confidence had always been Jimin’s fatal flaw.
He was so sure he had time. That once he’d achieved everything he wanted in his career, he could finally slow down and start a family. That he could have it all, just not all at once.
But somewhere along the way, time slipped past him. There was always something else, something more urgent demanding his attention. The timing was never quite right.
And now… now Jimin can’t help but wonder.
What if they were right?
What if he gambled away his chance at a family and lost?
“Jimin-hyung?” Jungkook’s voice cuts through, a buoy keeping him afloat before his thoughts can pull him under. He observes Jimin intently, brows pinched together in concern.
Jimin pulls himself together, rearranging his features into a smile—precise and practiced, like origami.
“Sorry, I just wandered off.”
Jungkook doesn’t look convinced the slightest, but he doesn’t press for more.
“Anyway,” Jimin says, hanging the kitchen towel over the edge of the counter, “I haven’t really changed much since we last met. So… there’s probably nothing new to tell.”
When in doubt, say something that sounds meaningful without actually meaning anything. It deceives regular people long enough for him to make a graceful run for it. Which is exactly what he’s about to do.
And he has to do it fast, because he can practically see the gears turning in Jungkook’s head.
“But—” he starts, quiet enough that Jimin can pretend not to hear it.
“It’s getting late,” Jimin says, “I should get going.”
“Oh,” Jungkook blinks, eyes flicking to the clock on the wall. “Okay… Thank you for helping, hyung.”
“It was nothing,” Jimin backs away, smiling. “Oh, and Jungkook-ah?” he pauses in the doorframe, the alpha tilting his head questioningly, like a clueless puppy. “I’d love to see that bike next time.”
Jungkook blinks. “Really?”
“Mhm,” Jimin nods, letting the corner of his mouth twitch up just enough to be teasing. “I wouldn’t mind a ride.”
Jungkook’s eyes go saucer-wide, gaping like a fish.
A slow, satisfied smile spreads across Jimin’s face. That’s exactly the reaction he was hoping for. He gives a small nod, tipping his head ever so slightly.
“See you,” he trills, then turns on his heel to leave the room.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Jungkook is losing his mind.
He’s going crazy and it’s all Park Jimin’s fault.
He should’ve known that omega will be his demise one day, luring him into damnation like some sexy siren in Chelsea boots.
Jimin has been flirting with him—or at least, Jungkook thinks he has? It’s all so confusing and could be interpreted as an unfortunate but otherwise innocent choice of words and actions.
It might just be Jungkook’s horny brain making things up. He’s tried to fix that by countless jerk off sessions, but so far, they only gave momentary relief.
It probably doesn’t help that Jimin tends to be the main character in all of his wet daydreams.
It all started with that cursed dinner. Jungkook has been trying to pull his weight—taking over chores, cooking whenever he could. Yoongi refuses to let him contribute to utilities, and Jungkook hates being a freeloader.
He didn’t have practice that afternoon, so he went to the grocery store and then prepared some sundubu jjigae—nothing out of the ordinary.
Then Jimin showed up.
Jungkook wished for the floorboards to open and swallow him right there, but his prayers must be going to voicemail lately. He was stuck there, in his old, ratty pair of sweatpants and his hair still messy from the gym, while Jimin looked like a freaking angel—or a demon. Depends on your interpretation, really.
He thankfully had enough mental presence to slip away when the opportunity rose, retreating into the safety of the kitchen.
Jungkook did not intend to have dinner with Jimin by any means. The plan was to make up an excuse and skip it entirely, but as usual, things did not go as planned. They went way, way worse. Beyond his worst nightmares.
Once he got dragged to the table—Hoseok’s courtesy—his alpha had inconveniently decided to push to the surface, going absolutely berserk over the fact that Jimin is eating the food they made. How primitive. He might as well beat his chest like some caveman. What’s next? Challenging Jimin’s mate for a duel like the omega is some prize he can win?
And it didn’t even end there. Of course not. Because Jimin had to offer to help with the dishes, which meant they ended up in the kitchen.
Alone.
Talking.
It’s a miracle Jungkook made it out of there without spontaneously combusting. He’d had to wrestle his instincts the entire time, forcing his scent down, because his stupid alpha—absolutely feral—had been more than ready to flood the entire room with it, scent blockers or not.
Not to mention, the conversation itself.
At first, Jungkook tried to convince himself Jimin was just being nice. It made sense. They were bound to see each other more often from now on, whether Jungkook liked it or not. That had to be it. He told himself he was reading too much into it, twisting harmless gestures into something they weren’t. The thought alone made his stomach twist with embarrassment. Because only the worst kind of alphas took simple kindness from an omega and turned it into something more.
Jungkook didn’t want to be that kind of alpha. He didn’t want to assume, but Jimin kept leaving these ambiguous signals until he didn’t know how to act around the omega at all. He didn’t want to come off as cold and drive Jimin away, but he wasn’t sure just how far this could go either, and trying to find the balance only resulted in him acting painfully awkward instead.
Then, things escalated even further. Or more precisely, Jimin did. His visits got frequent until his presence became a daily occurrence. Jungkook made a weak attempt to be reasonable about it, convincing his alpha that it has nothing to do with them. Yoongi didn’t bat an eye when the omega let himself in—knowing the key code by heart, apparently—so Jungkook assumed it must be normal.
Yoongi and Jimin were not only colleagues but close friends too, after all. It makes sense that they hang out a lot, right? Except Jimin barely spared Yoongi a glance. Oh no, his attention was always fixed on Jungkook. Most of the time, he got away unscathed, but there were times when he was fighting for his life.
For instance, that one time he was ambushed on his way to soccer practice. He was wearing a compression shirt, and when Jimin’s gaze dragged slowly down his chest, Jungkook felt almost indecently exposed.
“That shirt looks really tight,” Jimin was instantly in his space, smelling like a flower field. “Did it shrink in the wash?” he said, barely putting any effort into pretending he was acting out of concern as he tugged on the short sleeve.
Jungkook stared at him—more precisely, his lips because they were shiny and incredibly distracting—acutely aware of the nimble fingers brushing over his skin. Was it intentional? Or an accident? He couldn’t say—or wouldn’t. For his own sanity.
“Uh,” he managed, forcing his gaze away with visible effort. “No. It’s supposed to be like this.”
Jimin only hummed, as if Jungkook hadn’t answered at all. His palm spread over Jungkook’s biceps, giving it an appreciative squeeze. “Oh, wow,” he murmured. “You weren’t kidding when you said you work out a lot.”
Jungkook—the absolute fool—flexed on instinct. “Y-yeah.”
“Cool,” Jimin purred, looking at him from under his lashes in a way that made Jungkook weak in the knees.
Then, as if nothing happened, he stepped away, joining Yoongi in his office.
“Hang on,” Mingyu interrupts Jungkook’s retelling, “was that the day you almost dropped a dumbbell on your face during your bench set?”
Jungkook groans, dragging a hand down his face. “... Yeah.”
“Man,” Mingyu cackles, taking a long gulp of his beer. “That omega is lethal. What kind of spell did he put on you? I’ve never seen you act like that around anyone, ever.”
“Act like what?”
“Like a loser,” Mingyu notes. “It’s kinda hilarious. What happened to your game, dude?”
Jungkook glares at him—mostly to compensate for the heat creeping up his neck. He hopes the cheap fairy lights someone haphazardly strung around the walls for the party are dim enough to hide it.
Unfortunately, Mingyu isn’t entirely wrong. Jungkook is usually much better at handling omegas—or, more accurately, handling himself around them.
He used to be shy as a kid, but that had only been a growing pain, something he’d shed years ago. For someone like Mingyu, who’d never known that version of him, the contrast must be downright alarming.
Because present-day Jungkook is comfortable in his own skin, and it bleeds into every part of his life, from friendships to flirting. He makes friends easily and, not to sound arrogant, but he’s never exactly struggled to attract omegas either.
But Jimin is different. Jimin feels like an entirely separate territory Jungkook isn’t sure he has the right map for. It’s not just the fact that he’s deeply intertwined with Jungkook’s family, that every choice Jungkook makes regarding him could ripple outward with consequences. Honestly, Jungkook would still take that risk without hesitation.
The real problem is that he has absolutely no idea if Jimin wants any of it in the first place. Even if Jungkook is right, even if Jimin really is deliberately flirting with him, the omega is still married.
“This isn’t for your entertainment,” Jungkook mutters, chucking a crumpled can his way. “I’m actually struggling, dude.”
“What do you want me to say?” Mingyu spreads his arms, tipping his beer slightly—some of it splashing onto a nearby girl’s shirt. She shoots them an angry glare, and Jungkook gives a quick, apologetic smile. Meanwhile, Mingyu is busy clowning him. “All the omegas want me, and now even a MILF has joined the waiting list. Oh no, whatever shall I do?”
“He doesn’t have kids,” Jungkook grumbles under his nose, his elbows resting on his knees.
“Please,” Mingyu snorts. “It’s not about having kids. He’s a MILF in spirit.”
Jungkook sighs, reaching for the soju bottle. At this point, alcohol might offer better advice than Mingyu ever could.
“Dude, seriously, what’s your problem?” Mingyu continues. “Your childhood crush finally noticed you. You’re living the dream.”
“It’s not that simple,” Jungkook says. “He’s married.”
Mingyu pauses, then bursts out laughing. “Married, huh? Oh, that just makes it spicier!”
“No, you don’t understand—”
“I understand it perfectly,” Mingyu cuts in, smirking. “You’re hot, he’s hot—by your own account—and there’s clearly chemistry between you two. The answer is pretty obvious.”
“Which is?”
“You should start an affair.”
Jungkook’s face falls. He shouldn’t have asked.
“I’m serious, dude!” Mingyu exclaims, wrapping a strong arm around Jungkook’s shoulder to shake him gently. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing! Damn, I’m actually jealous—I never had an affair. It’s so exciting!”
“But I don’t want an affair!” Jungkook pushes him off with a groan.
“What do you want then?”
The question makes Jungkook halt.
What does he want?
He falls silent, staring down at his hands. The truth is messy, tangled, and frightening all at once. He doesn’t want just sex, he wants much, much more.
He wants to take Jimin out on a proper date. Bring him flowers. Kiss him goodbye at the door. Hold his hand and show him off proudly, like he belongs to him.
Jungkook has never felt this way for anyone. Sure, he had crushes before, but nothing of this magnitude. It’s overwhelming, borderline scary, but that wouldn’t hold him back from exploring it. Jungkook isn’t a coward.
It’s the crude reality that makes him apply the brakes.
Jimin is married. Mated. The best Jungkook can hope for is being a secret lover. A freaking side piece. Which is still better than anything he had ever dreamed of becoming in Jimin’s life, but Jungkook has a hunch it wouldn’t satisfy him.
He fears it would do the exact opposite. Hollow him out, leave him feeling empty, disappointed—and then, he possibly ruined his relationship with Jimin for what?
He exhales resignedly, leaning back. “I don’t know,” he finally admits. “I just… I want him. But I can’t have him—I mean, not for real.”
“So what? Seriously dude, what’s wrong with you?” Mingyu says, slurring the words a little—that last round of shots were probably a mistake. Mingyu is a lightweight and Jungkook will have to carry him back to the dorms again. “Just go for it. Life’s short, man.”
Jungkook hums, tracing the pattern of his jeans absentmindedly. Drunk ramblings aside, Mingyu has a point. He’ll never know if he doesn’t take a chance, but… what if he’s reading too much into this? What if Jimin is just bored, playing with him a little, and it doesn’t mean anything more?
Then again, maybe he’s wrong about that too. Maybe there’s no flirting at all. Maybe it’s all in his head.
If only there was something, any kind of solid proof that it’s real. That there’s even the smallest chance, that it could turn into something more profound…
Ugh. Why does it have to be so complicated? Jungkook is twenty-three. A college student. Isn’t romance supposed to be fun at this age?
He’s glad he’s wearing a scent blocker, otherwise, he’d stink up the whole place with his yearning.
“Or…” Mingyu leans closer, offering Jungkook another beer. “You get over him.”
Jungkook huffs, but takes the drink anyway. “How am I supposed to do that?” he mutters, the can opening with a faint hiss. He’s been trying for years now.
“Find someone else,” Mingyu says easily.
Jungkook’s hand stops mid-air. “... What?”
“You know, hook up with someone who’s actually available,” Mingyu suggests. “I’m sure there’d be plenty of volunteers, Mr. Star Striker.”
He juts his chin toward a group of giggling omegas across the room, their eyes bright with curiosity as they steal glances at them.
Jungkook quickly averts his gaze, suddenly fascinated by the confetti-strewn floor.
He is somewhat popular in college, thanks to his spot on the soccer team, especially among omegas. The attention had been flattering at first and… Well, Jungkook has a healthy libido, so he did sleep around a bit, but ever since Jimin had come back into his life, he couldn’t even look at another omega without feeling off.
He’d tried. Really tried. Just last week, he’d almost gone through with a pretty girl in a bar restroom, but his alpha wouldn’t accept anyone who wasn’t Jimin. Wrestling with his inner wolf was so exhausting it left him unable to focus on her—so in the end, he gave up.
It’s ridiculous, pathetic even—Jungkook is well aware. But what is he supposed to do? Put a muzzle on his alpha and hope for the best? His wolf has always been incredibly opinionated, and clearly, it isn’t planning to take a step back and let Jungkook decide for himself anytime soon.
It’s like Jimin’s presence awakened something inside him, reigniting all the feelings Jungkook harbored for him as a teenager.
“Yeah… No thanks,” he mutters, resting his chin on his knees, his lower lip jutting out into a pout.
“You’re hopeless, dude.” Mingyu sighs dramatically beside him, flopping back on the couch.
A moment passes, then he suddenly pushes himself upright again, eyes lighting up with a new idea. “Alright,” he declares, clapping his hands together, “Plan C: we get absolutely shitfaced.”
Jungkook perks up at that, lifting his head immediately.
“Now that,” he says, already reaching for the soju bottle again, “is a plan I can get behind.”
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Jungkook is never drinking again.
This time, he means it. (He absolutely doesn’t.)
He wakes up with the worst headache of his life, his heartbeat pounding in his temples like a pair of relentless hammers, his mouth drier than a desert. With a groan, he fumbles for his phone, prying one eye open just enough to check the time.
12:32.
He’s slept through all five of his alarms. Fantastic. He missed practice. Coach is going to kill him.
It takes him far too long to peel himself out of bed and even longer to make his way downstairs, one careful step at a time, like the floor might betray him if he moves too fast. Voices drift from the living room, low and familiar.
Jimin.
Jungkook halts mid-step.
Even through the haze of his hangover, he’d recognize that voice anywhere. It’s coming from Yoongi’s office, the door left open as usual because otherwise the youngest child of the house—the cat—would make a scene.
Jungkook would question what Jimin is doing here, especially on a Saturday, but at this point, the omega is spending more time here than at his own home. Looks like extending that to the weekends is the next natural step. Is his alpha away? Could be a work trip or something—though the last time he heard about the man, he was jobless.
Jungkook glances down at himself—no shirt, his pants from yesterday he was too drunk to fight off—and immediately decides he cannot be perceived like this. Not by Jimin.
He pivots on his heel and makes a quiet escape toward the kitchen, wincing at every creak of the floor, every soft thud of his own footsteps. If he’s careful, maybe they won’t notice him at all. He can just do his thing quietly. Hydrate. Pretend he doesn’t exist.
Yeah. Good plan.
He’s halfway through his second glass of water when Yoongi’s voice carries in more clearly.
“... If it goes well, you’ll be officially single by the end of next month.”
Jungkook pauses, glass halfway to his lips.
There’s a brief silence. Then Jimin sighs—soft and tired, nothing like the teasing lilt Jungkook is used to.
“One month too long,” he mutters. “With every settlement meeting, I get closer to punching his pathetic face.”
Yoongi snorts.
“Just hold on a little longer. You can punch him all you want after the divorce is settled.”
The conversation continues, but Jungkook doesn’t hear a thing, his mind reeling.
Single?
Divorce???
Jungkook needs to sit down. So he does—barely, nearly missing the chair.
Jimin is single.
Jimin is single—well, not on paper. Not yet. But in every way that matters.
Suddenly, everything clicks into place.
That’s why Jimin flirted with him so easily, without a flicker of guilt in his gaze. Jungkook never judged him—of course he didn’t, he had no right—but it confused him. More than that, it hurt. Because if Jimin had been married and flirting with him for real, it would’ve meant he wasn’t taking Jungkook seriously. Or worse—he didn’t care about his feelings at all.
Jungkook didn’t want to believe that. It didn’t fit the version of Jimin he carried in his head, carefully built and stubbornly protected.
But this—this changes everything. Because it means the omega he’s been hopelessly crushing on doesn’t just seem interested—he might actually be.
Jimin wouldn’t flirt like that for no reason. Whatever his intentions were, there had to be something.
And more importantly, the omega is free game. Which means Jungkook has no reason to hold back anymore. No guilt, no second-guessing. He can make a move with a clear conscience.
The realization doesn’t erase all the doubt. Jimin might still only want something casual, something easy. A distraction or a rebound. But at least now there’s a chance for more. And Jungkook can work with a chance, no matter how small the odds.
So when the office door creaks open and a set of light footsteps—ones he’d recognize anywhere—approaches, Jungkook doesn’t panic, doesn’t move. The state of his clothes, his hair—it all becomes irrelevant. The only thing he regrets is the damn scent blocker he put on yesterday.
Jimin stops in the doorway when he spots him.
“Oh.” He blinks, surprise softening into that familiar, playful smile Jungkook has grown far too used to. His gaze drifts down to the alpha’s naked chest, lingering there unabashedly before he carries on.
“Hi, Jungkookie,” he says casually, already moving toward the sink. “Didn’t know you were home.”
He opens a cabinet with easy confidence, rising onto his tiptoes before he reaches for a clean glass tucked into the far corner of the highest shelf, struggling to grasp it.
Jungkook, still a little dazed, moves on instinct.
He steps into Jimin’s space, close enough to feel the warmth of him, and reaches up without effort. His fingers curl around the glass, pulling it free before holding it out.
Jimin’s expression resembles a cat that got the cream.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, taking it from him—his fingertips just barely brushing Jungkook’s.
There’s the faintest flush on his cheeks, his eyes bright with something playful.
It looks pretty on him. Jimin is pretty.
Jungkook’s throat constricts around the lump lodged in it, his heart thumping wildly in his chest.
This is it. This is the sign he’s been hoping for.
For a split second, he hesitates, a small voice in the back of his head telling him that he should probably think it through—come up with some kind of plan before diving in headfirst—but he sweeps it away immediately. He’s done waiting. He’s waited a decade already.
He watches Jimin turn on the tap, filling the glass, neither of them making any move to put space between them. Jimin leans his hip against the edge of the sink as he takes a slow sip, eyes flicking up through his lashes.
It’s maddening.
Jungkook has to fight the urge to pin him against the counter right then and there.
He takes a steadying breath and finally speaks.
“You guys are working?”
“Ah—” Jimin’s smile falters instantly. His gaze drops, fingers idly turning the glass in his hand. “Yeah. Something like that.”
Jungkook wets his lips, hesitating for half a second.
He might be going too far.
No—he is going too far.
But there’s no turning back now. No better way to present it. If he wants Jimin to know his intentions, he has to make them clear.
“I… couldn’t help but overhear,” he admits, “about your divorce.”
Jimin’s head snaps up, panic flashing across his face, followed quickly by embarrassment.
A stream of sympathy fills Jungkook’s chest, his heart sinking right into it. So that’s it. That’s why he didn’t say anything. Why he kept something this big from him.
Jimin is ashamed of it.
Of course. It makes so much sense. It’s Jimin after all. He probably sees it as a personal failure, something he should’ve predicted and prevented—he, not them, because Jimin has always loved to think that the responsibility falls on him only. He and Yoongi have shared that habit.
“Uh—I should go back,” Jimin mumbles, setting the glass down in the sink.
He tries to slip past, but Jungkook doesn’t let him. He steps in, blocking his path, caging him in a hug.
“I’m so sorry this is happening to you, hyung.”
It happens without thinking, the alpha driven by genuine compassion. It’s so unfair. So fucking unfair, that out of all people, it’s Jimin who has to go through this.
Jungkook might not know first hand what it’s like to go through a divorce, but he’s seen the pain flash through his mother’s expression whenever Yoongi’s biological dad is mentioned.
Just like his mom, Jimin deserves better—they both deserve the whole world—and now that given the chance, Jungkook is determined to show him that.
Jimin sucks in a surprised breath, hands hanging uselessly in the air, like he isn’t sure whether to hug the alpha back or push him away.
“Jungkook—what—”
“He’s a fool,” Jungkook cuts in, voice confident, leaving no room for doubt. “A fucking fool,” he repeats. “What kind of alpha lets an omega like you go?”
He pulls back to look into Jimin’s eyes, making sure that there’s no mistaking the intent.
“I wouldn’t,” he says, softer now, but no less certain. “I’d treat you right. The way you deserve.”
Jimin’s lips part, but no words come out. They just stare at each other, the air between them still and thick with something waiting to snap.
“I—” Jimin starts, but his voice cracks. He looks away, swallowing hard, forcing himself to regroup. “I’m getting a divorce, yes. But that doesn’t mean—” He falters, words catching in his throat. “Jungkook-ah, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression—”
“Don’t,” Jungkook cuts in, softer this time.
Jimin’s eyes lift back to his—dark, uncertain, threaded with nerves, and something else Jungkook has been chasing for far too long.
“Please don’t lie to me, hyung,” Jungkook says quietly, holding Jimin’s gaze, refusing to let him look away again. He’s playing with fire and despite the facade of composure, his heart is in his throat the entire time, protesting. “Not about this. There is something between us. You know it. I know it. So let’s not pretend.”
For a split second, Jungkook thinks Jimin might give in. His attention drifts to his lips, lingering there with a conflicting tangle of emotions crossing his beautiful face.
But before he could make up his mind, Yoongi emerges from his office. He freezes when he spots them, brows lifting.
“Am I interrupting?” he asks carefully.
“Yes.”
“No!”
The answers come at the same time.
Jimin uses the moment to slip away, ducking out from between Jungkook and the counter like something startled. He puts distance between them quickly, as if that would erase the tension.
“I—I should go,” he mutters, voice thin, breathless. His cheeks are flushed a deep red as he passes a thoroughly confused Yoongi. “Talk to you later, hyung.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
Jungkook presses his lips together, suppressing a smile that threatens to surface as he listens to the footsteps fading down the hallway—quick, uneven—followed by the soft click of the door opening, then closing.
Jungkook was right. His gamble has paid off, he has no doubt about it. He was so close to an admission, he could almost taste it. If it wasn’t for the interruption, maybe he could’ve tasted Jimin too, finally…
Next time. Jungkook just has to exercise patience. They’re definitely getting somewhere.
“So… what the hell was that?” Yoongi asks, his gaze sliding slowly toward Jungkook.
Jungkook sighs, dreamy and entirely unbothered, leaning back against the edge of the sink.
“Hyung…” he says. “I think I’m in love.”
Yoongi just stares at him. A long, unblinking stare.
“...Okay,” he says finally. “I’m not equipped for this.”
He takes a small step back.
“I think this is something you should discuss with Hobi. Yeah? Talk to Hobi.”
Jungkook lets out a quiet huff of laughter.
“Sure, hyung.”
Yoongi nods and promptly turns to make his escape, leaving Jungkook alone in the kitchen.
Alone with his thoughts and a stupid, lovesick grin he doesn’t even try to fight.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Jimin is acting weird.
He’s distracted, like he’s miles away in his head. It’s so out of character Jungkook is equally confused and concerned. Jimin is always present when he’s here, especially when they’re doing Jungkook’s homework. The omega is very insistent that Jungkook takes his school work seriously.
“Hyung, how does it go again?” Jungkook desperately tries to anchor him back to earth—back to him. “Should I multiply first or subtract what’s inside the parentheses?”
“Mhm,” Jimin hums absentmindedly, cheek squished against his palm. “That’s right, Jungkookie. Good job.”
Jungkook frowns, his lower lip jutting out into a pout. He hates this. He wants his hyung back—and his hyung’s attention.
“You’re not even listening,” he mutters sulkily, pushing his textbook away.
He’s not doing math homework if Jimin isn’t even paying attention—what’s the point? Math is stupid. Jungkook doesn’t even need it. He’s going to be a soccer player, not a… whoever uses this kind of stuff. The only reason he’s been willing to do it was to get praise from Jimin, but it’s not the same if he doesn’t mean it.
“I’m sorry, puppy,” Jimin says, looking genuinely apologetic. “Hyung is just— a little distracted right now.”
“By what?”
“Ah… just stupid things,” Jimin smiles, but it’s wrong—tight, strained. “Don’t worry about it.”
That’s when Jungkook really looks at him. Jimin’s eyes are puffy and bloodshot, like he’s been crying. A lot.
Jungkook’s chest tightens suddenly, the earlier annoyance dissolving into guilt. Jimin’s features remind him of how his own reflection looked when he broke his arm last year—how much it hurt, how scared he’d been.
“I’ll get it together now, okay?” Jimin says, trying to sound cheerful. “Let’s start again.”
But Jungkook isn’t looking at the book anymore.
“Are you hurt, hyung?”
“Ah…” Jimin lets out a small, breathy laugh. “Maybe a little.”
Jungkook shifts closer, brows knitting together. “Where?”
Jimin thinks about it, fingers curling loosely in his sleeve. Then he glances at Jungkook, something fragile flickering in his eyes.
“In my heart, I guess.” A faint, self-conscious smile tugs at his lips. “I’m just a little sad right now. But it will go away eventually.”
Jungkook fiddles with his pencil, thinking. “I get really sad too sometimes,” he decides to say. “Like when someone’s mean to me… or when Eomma works a lot and I only see her on weekends. Is it like that?”
“Yeah,” Jimin nods, something warm slipping through the cracks of his earlier sadness. “Something like that.”
Jungkook hesitates, then scoots a little closer.
“We can do homework later,” he offers. “Playing first is better when you’re sad.”
That earns a soft, real laugh from Jimin.
“Nice try.” He ruffles Jungkook’s hair. “But homework comes first,” he announces, pulling the textbook closer.
Jungkook grumbles under his breath but leans forward anyway, setting his elbows on the edge of the desk.
“Okay. Now show me how you’d solve this one.” Jimin taps the page.
Jungkook lets out a dramatic sigh, then grabs the pencil.
Still, he doesn’t forget.
Even as he suffers through the rest of the homework, even as Jimin makes him finish every last problem, the thought lingers in the back of his mind relentlessly.
Hyung’s heart hurts. Jungkook can’t have that. Jimin always cheers him up when he is sad—it’s only fair he does the same. Besides, he can’t possibly watch Jimin mope any longer. It makes his heart hurt too.
So the moment they’re done, he slips out quietly, padding to the garden.
The air is nice outside. A little warm. A little breezy.
Jungkook crouches near the flower bed, scanning it with serious focus.
His appa always says flowers are the way to an omega’s heart. Jungkook isn’t totally sure what that means, but it sounds important. And if flowers can get to someone’s heart, then maybe they can fix it, too.
Carefully, he starts picking a few. Not too many—he doesn’t want to get in trouble—but enough to make a proper bunch. He tries to choose the prettiest ones, the brightest ones. The ones that look happy.
Clutching the slightly uneven bundle in his hands, he stands up, nodding to himself like he’s just completed a very important mission.
He walks back, slow and careful as to not ruin the flowers, even though his heart has taken such a big leap in his chest, he wants nothing more than to sprint inside.
He finds Jimin in the kitchen, reheating some leftovers for their dinner, completely lost in his own world.
Jungkook stalls for a moment, suddenly feeling shy, but then shakes himself and strides up to the omega.
“For you,” he extends his hand with the bouquet, face warm.
Puzzled, Jimin blinks at him, eyes flicking between the flowers and the little boy.
“Where did you get this?”
“From the garden,” Jungkook says as if it’s obvious.
“Jungkook-ah…” Jimin sighs, conflicted. “I don’t think your eomma will be happy about this.”
“It will be fine,” Jungkook shrugs it off. “She loves you. Wouldn’t want you to be sad either.”
Jimin’s expression softens a fraction. He accepts the flowers, inspecting them with a small—but honest—smile.
“Thank you,” he says, crouching down so they’re eye level. “You sweet thing. Never change, okay? One day, you’re going to make an omega very happy.”
“I want to make you happy,” Jungkook says, lips settling into a natural pout.
But Jimin only chuckles.
“Cutie,” he coos, pressing a kiss on Jungkook’s cheek, so sudden, the pup can’t even recover before the omega pinches it gently right after.
Jungkook just stands there, watching as Jimin moves back to the counter, rummaging around before finding an old jar to put the flowers in.
A funny feeling erupts in his belly. Little flutters, like butterfly wings. He isn’t sure what it means, but one thing is sure—he wants to feel it again.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
This is all Taehyung’s fault.
Jimin tells him exactly that.
“It’s all your fault,” he accuses, pacing the room like a caged animal.
Taehyung doesn’t even look fazed. He just sits there, completely unbothered, chewing his noodles like this is peak entertainment.
“I knew it would backfire,” Jimin continues, running a hand through his hair. “I knew it—but you—”
“And you still did it,” Taehyung cuts in with a shrug, slurping loudly.
Jimin scoffs, stopping mid-step before turning right back around, resuming his restless pacing.
Taehyung is right. Of course he is, but Jimin is not about to admit that, never mind the fact that it made him feel more alive than he has in months.
Or that this sudden switch from the shy boy he was so fond of to this new confident version of Jungkook—a man—had thrown him completely off his game.
The whiplash paralyzed Jimin entirely, rendering him unable to do anything but flee.
Jimin almost forgot what it’s like to be pursued, to be wanted loudly. It was overwhelming, borderline terrifying.
And yet, he finds himself thinking about how Jungkook’s arms felt around him constantly. The warmth radiating off the alpha’s bare chest, the heat it erupted inside him—
“Anyway,” he says, waving the unwelcome thoughts away dismissively, “it doesn’t matter whose fault it is. The point is—I need to fix this. Fast.”
Taehyung finally glances up, brows lifting.
“And what exactly needs fixing?” he asks. Then, in an exaggerated, high-pitched voice he adds, “Oh no, a hot, young alpha is obsessed with me. What shall I do?”
“My question exactly,” Jimin shoots back, throwing his hands in the air.
Taehyung just rolls his eyes and goes back to his food, humming in satisfaction like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Jimin glares at him.
It does nothing.
Ugh, this is useless.
Taehyung is useless. Jimin should’ve expected that. He is an influencer, for moon’s sake, of course he doesn’t care about morals. He’s been trying to convince Jimin to shoot a ‘Divorce Q&A’ video for ages. Not because Jimin is an actual professional in the field but—and he quotes—Jimin is hot enough to attract more viewers.
But the only other person Jimin usually goes to for advice is Yoongi. And obviously, he can’t do that. Not when the issue in question is Yoongi’s baby brother—whom Jimin may or may not have led on into believing there’s something more between them.
Jimin groans, dragging his hands down his face. He is so unbelievably screwed.
“Babe,” Taehyung says easily, “I think you’re… overreacting a bit.”
If looks could kill, Taehyung would already be a corpse. Sadly, Jimin hasn’t unlocked that ability. Yet. But it’s enough of a warning for Taehyung to dial it back, just a little.
“Okay,” he says slowly, setting his utensils down while watching Jimin carefully, like he’s dealing with a particularly volatile animal. “Let’s think about this—objectively, as you like to say.”
Jimin nods, albeit reluctantly.
Right. Objective. He likes objective. Objective is good.
“Objectively speaking,” Taehyung pauses for a dramatic effect, “smash or pass?”
Jimin stares, unblinking.
“You can't be serious.”
“I am extremely serious.”
There aren’t many times Jimin is rendered speechless. He probably can count them on one hand. But right now, he finds himself gaping like a fish, face heating up rapidly.
“Ugh. Fine. I’ll start then,” Taehyung sighs with a good natured eyeroll, like he’s trying to get a pup to eat his vegetables.
“Objectively speaking,” he drawls, hands clasped on top of the desk, “I’d totally smash. You know what they say about alphas with big noses.”
Silence follows.
Jimin doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry. He slumps down onto the nearest chair, staring at nothing in particular.
“Wow. You just ruined his nose for me,” he mutters. “I loved his nose.”
“Mhm.” Taehyung arches a brow, amused. “I bet you’ll love it even more when it’s up your a—”
“Enough,” Jimin cuts in, voice pitching just a little too high. “This is ridiculous. I’m done.”
He’s up and moving before Taehyung can blink, heading straight for the exit.
“Babe, this is your office,” Taehyung points out.
“Then you have five minutes to disappear!” Jimin snaps, dragging the door open.
“You asked me to come here!”
The door slams shut, leaving the rest unsaid as Jimin storms off.
He heads straight for Yoongi’s office, yanking open the desk drawer where he keeps his emergency cigarettes.
Jimin halts, a sudden wave of nostalgia washing over him. Jeongho hated when he smoked. It was a habit he picked up in college—one he eventually dropped after enough nagging from his then-boyfriend.
It’s not very omega-like of you.
If college stresses you out that much, maybe it’s not the right path for you.
You’ll have to quit when we start a family anyway.
Jimin’s jaw tightens as the unwelcome memories flood his mind. The red flags were there—right in his face, practically poking his eyes out—and still, he refused to see them. He, Park Jimin, actually smoked in secret, like some rebellious teenager hiding from their parents.
He’s stupid. So stupid.
He grabs the carton, going straight to the rooftop.
Jimin lights up a cigarette, the first drag harsh but grounding. He leans against the railing, letting the smoke curl lazily into the night air. Slowly, he convinces himself to calm down.
He must think rationally. Objectivity isn’t working, clearly, but it’s fine. He just has to get a hold of his emotions. Bunch them up like a piece of paper and throw them into his mental trashcan.
Jimin takes another drag, letting the nicotine burn away a little of the edge in his chest.
It’s okay. Everything is fucking okay.
He just needs to talk to Jungkook. Set boundaries. Squash that tiny sprout of attraction before it grows into something messier.
He can do this.
It’s simple. He just has to say no. Easy.
The only reason he hadn’t done it right then and there was because… he was caught off guard. Yeah. That’s it.
He’ll be prepared this time.
And Jungkook is a good kid. He’ll understand, right? Respect his decision. Jimin is even willing to apologize, if it comes to that.
He exhales, watching the smoke drift into the dark, convincing himself that everything will be just fine.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Jimin has got this. He has everything under control. Well… mostly. And the rest? He will handle it—he is handling it right now. At least that’s what he tells himself as he makes his way to Yoongi’s house, steps quick and purposeful.
He is here on business. He’s even got a powersuit on. Probably a bit much on a Saturday, but Jimin needed emotional support.
Now standing on the doormat—‘GO AWAY’ written on it à la Yoongi—he shifts from heel to heel, stalling like a coward.
Dammit, since when is he such a wimp?
Get it together, Park Jimin.
He takes a deep breath and presses the bell, anxiously waiting for the door to open.
It will be fine, he tells himself. His plan is fool proof. He has the shirt—aka the excuse—and he also knows that Jungkook is home alone right now, conveniently. Why does he know the boy’s schedule though… Yeah, let’s not unpack that right now.
The point is, it’s perfect.
He can play it off as a casual drop-off, just returning the shirt and nothing more. But, since Jungkook is already here—a total surprise to him, of course—he’ll calmly suggest that they should talk about what happened last week.
Jimin will set the record straight and turn Jungkook down. Easy-peasy. He’s turned plenty of alphas down. Why would Jungkook be any different?
He almost manages to delude himself into a false sense of confidence–but then the door swings open.
Jimin barely has time to brace himself before Jungkook’s face lights up, eyes going wide in surprise then melting into something warmer.
“Hyung, hi,” he says, leaning casually against the doorframe. He’s wearing a ridiculously tight, black tank top, biceps nicely flexed as he folds his arms over his well-defined chest. A pair of baggy jeans hang loosely around his waist—just enough to show the waistband of his underwear.
Somehow, it’s even worse than when he was half-naked.
Jimin’s mouth goes dry.
“Missed me already?”
Jimin tears his gaze away from Jungkook’s waistline, only to find a knowing smile already playing on the alpha’s lips.
“I–No,” he hears himself saying, voice embarrassingly frail. “I just—I–”
What’s happening to him?
“Yes?” Jungkook tilts his head, clearly enjoying it.
This was a terrible idea.
Jimin needs to get out. Right now. If he stays any longer, he’s going to do something very, very stupid.
“Jungkook, who is it?” Hoseok’s voice carries from somewhere deeper inside the house. Jimin has never been more grateful for another human being in his entire life.
A second later, footsteps approach.
“Ah—Jiminie! Hi!” Hoseok appears behind Jungkook, his face lighting up in recognition.
Jimin exhales subtly. Saved by the bell.
“Hyung,” he greets, composure snapping back into place, like he hadn’t just been seconds away from a catastrophic mistake.
In the meantime, Jungkook keeps watching him, smiling and entirely too aware of the effect he has on Jimin.
Jimin straightens anyway. It’s okay. The crisis is averted—at least temporarily. All he needs to do is escape without losing face and regroup. Strengthen his defenses.
“I just thought I’d drop by to return your shirt,” Jimin says, pulling the long-sleeve from his bag and holding it out. “You’ll have to tell me what fabric softener you’re using,” he adds lightly. “It smells divine.”
That’s it. Easy. Just some casual chit-chat, then make a graceful exit. Except, Hoseok doesn’t react with his usual sunshine smile. He’s frowning—why is he frowning? What now?
"Uh...that isn't mine.” Hoseok takes the shirt with a confused frown.
Jimin can only stare, lips slightly parted.
From the corner of his eye, he sees Jungkook feigning a cough, like he's trying—and failing—to cover a laugh.
“Look, it’s huge,” Hoseok mutters, unfolding the shirt and inspecting it.
Jimin wants to cry.
“I’m pretty sure it’s Jungkookie’s… and I’m not even using fabric softener. It must’ve been—oh.”
By this point, Jungkook is grinning full-on, eyes sparkling with mischief.
No.
No no no no.
There’s no way.
But then, as a confirmation, it hits him—the same clean and citrusy scent with a distinct earthy undertone, invading his nostrils.
Vetiver, he finally connects a name to it. It smells like vetiver.
His eyes flick to Jungkook instinctively, the alpha already looking at him intently, waiting.
Jimin stumbles back like he was hit by a splash of cold water, the blood draining from his face. For a moment, he thinks he might actually faint—then for another, he considers pretending to. Surely, that would derail the attention from this self-humiliation ritual.
He takes a shaky breath and forces his mind to work—it goes with moderate success.
“I—uh, remembered I need to take care of something—” he stammers, voice tighter than he intends.
“No, you don’t,” Jungkook calls his pathetic bluff, brow arched amusedly.
Jimin, however, is nothing if not stubborn.
“Yes, I do,” he presses petulantly. “I, uhm… forgot to turn off the stove.”
“Jimin, you don’t even know how to turn on the stove,” Hoseok notes unhelpfully, eyeing him with a motherly concern. Jimin wants to strangle him.
“I—” Jimin wracks his mind for a plausible excuse, but comes out empty handed. There is only one option left: flee like a coward, pride be damned. “Gotta go. Sorry.”
Then, before either of them could say anything, he’s out, slipping past the fence. He barely makes it to his car when a voice cuts through the air.
“You can’t run away forever, hyung!”
Jimin freezes, heart hammering. He glances over his shoulder—panic rising—but Jungkook hasn’t moved. He’s still there, planted firmly in the doorway, eyes fixed on him.
A shiver runs down Jimin’s spine.
Watch me, he wants to say, but the words are stuck in his throat, making it hard to breathe. So instead, he yanks the car door open, hands trembling, and slides into the driver’s seat.
The engine coughs to life under his fumbling fingers.
As he drives back to the safety of the city, leaving the suburbs behind, one thought emerges from the mess in his mind—he cannot, under any circumstances, see Jeon Jungkook ever again.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
It’s been a whole week.
Seven days of nothing but silence.
It’s driving Jungkook insane.
Every instinct in him—the wolf, the kid who’s been crushing on Jimin for far too long—screams to find him and put an end to this ridiculous cat-and-mouse game.
It was fun at first. Jimin’s flustered little expressions were devastatingly cute. But now? Now it’s just exhausting. The push and pull, the silent treatment—it’s frustrating, draining, and Jungkook is done being patient.
He’s going to talk to Jimin, whether the omega likes it or not.
Sounds simple, right? It’s not.
Problem one: Jimin is avoiding him like the plague.
He’s stopped coming over entirely, even when Jungkook isn’t home, just to be safe. He’s heard that the omega even sent his assistant to deliver some documents to Yoongi.
He lives ten minutes away, mind you.
Ten minutes.
Problem two: if Jimin even spots him, he disappears in an instant.
Jungkook had even tried a ‘casual’ ambush at the office—using the excuse of visiting Yoongi so he wouldn’t spook the omega. But, as always, it was useless. Like clockwork, the moment Jungkook appeared on the horizon, Jimin would duck into the nearest office. And then… he’d just vanish.
Every. Single. Time.
Jungkook has no idea how he does it—whether he ducks under the nearest desk or secretly built an underground escape tunnel for this exact purpose—but somehow, Jimin keeps slipping through his fingers like water. No matter how fast Jungkook moves, no matter how sharp his senses, the omega always seems one step ahead. It’s infuriating. And… kind of impressive, too.
Jungkook needs to alter his strategy, create a foolproof plan. Ambush Jimin when he least expects it, someplace he can’t escape from, and force him to hear Jungkook out.
Which means dropping the polite act and going all in.
Jimin might be the most stubborn person Jungkook’s ever met, but Jungkook thrives on a challenge.
That’s how he finds himself digging through Yoongi’s work calendar, piecing together Jimin’s schedule.
He picks a night when Jimin has nothing planned. He knows from Yoongi’s absentminded comments, that the omega has been spending all of his evenings holed up in his office whenever he wasn’t at a meeting or court, so chances are, he’ll be there.
Jungkook waits until the office clears out, the building settling into silence. Then makes his move, straight to Jimin’s office.
As expected, the light’s still on, the muted orange glow leaking into the dim hallway. Jungkook stops in front of the door, all his earlier bravado slips away. His heart pounds against his ribs, loud and relentless, while the cool metal of the handle presses into his clammy palm.
And suddenly, he’s not confident. Not a popular alpha with a bright future. Just a nervous pup again, with a heart far too big for his body.
This is it. This is the moment.
He either walks out of here with a date or with his heart in pieces.
Frankly, he never thought he’d get this far. Never entertained the idea that he would get a chance to even try.
And Jungkook was okay with that. He’s made his peace with the harsh reality, that Jimin would stay nothing more than a childhood crush… his first love, if he’s honest with himself. It may have been a crush when he was a kid, but the older he grew, the deeper he fell. Jungkook tried to suppress it, burying it under shovelfuls of one night stands and careless flings, but he never really escaped the cage that is loving Park Jimin.
He can’t possibly imagine how his ex-husband—ex! ex-husband!—did. Maybe he wasn’t as locked in as Jungkook was. Maybe… he left the door open, just a tiny bit. And perhaps that’s the smarter choice to make. The safer one. But Jungkook has never been built for halfway. It’s always been all or nothing.
And love—Jimin—won’t be any different. He’d rather risk breaking his heart than spend the rest of his life wondering what if.
With one last shaky exhale, Jungkook grips the handle and opens the door.
Jimin stands by the open window, back half turned, the evening light spilling in around him. A cigarette is burning between his fingers, smoke curling lazily in the air.
For a second, Jungkook just watches, a wave of nostalgia hitting him.
“Some things don’t change, huh?”
Jimin startles, shoulders jerking as he spins around.
Their eyes lock.
Jungkook feels it immediately—the shift, the balance tipping.
Jimin’s grip on his cigarette tightens, posture stiff. His eyes dart around the room, like he’s looking for an escape, throat bobbing when he realizes Jungkook is currently standing in front of the only exit.
He’s nervous. Jungkook is making him nervous.
Oh, how the tables have turned.
“Jungkook—what are you—” Jimin looks away too quickly, like he’s snapping out of a trance, his voice a pitch higher than usual. He swallows, then tries again, more controlled. “What are you doing here?”
Jungkook clicks the door shut behind him with a soft sound, then leans back against it, arms folding over his chest.
“I caught you like this a lot,” he says, completely ignoring the question. “You always bribed me to keep quiet. Remember?” A slow grin pulls at his mouth, relishing the rosy bloom on the omega’s cheeks.
He doesn’t want to mention that it always happened when Jimin was stressed, that he knows the divorce is probably weighing on him even more than any exam or alpha problems did back then.
He isn’t here to point out that Jimin is hurt. That he isn’t invincible. He wants to make the omega feel better, not worse.
“What’s the plan this time?” he asks, voice dipping. “I must warn you, sweets won’t work on me anymore.”
Jimin doesn’t answer. He stands still, the cigarette between his fingers has almost burned down entirely, the ash falling onto the floor.
He looks like prey, waiting for Jungkook’s next move. Jungkook gives him exactly that—literally and metaphorically—and takes a step forward.
“We need to talk.”
Jimin’s breath hitches audibly. He stumbles back.
“I don’t think that’s a good—”
But this time, Jungkook doesn’t relent.
He moves again.
Jimin does too. And again, until his lower back bumps into the edge of his desk.
Jungkook closes the distance, boxing him in without touching, one hand braced against the desk beside him.
“No more running,” he says quietly, taking the cigarette from Jimin’s fingers and flicking it into the empty cup without looking away.
“Please,” he says, softer now, something raw slipping through. “Don’t shut me out. I just want to talk, hyung.”
Jimin’s throat constricts, looking at the alpha from under his lashes with a conflicting blend of emotions wrestling in his gaze.
“Jungkook,” he says, voice barely a whisper, “it’s not that simple.”
“It is,” Jungkook argues, just as quiet. “You’re just making it complicated.”
Jimin shakes his head, a frustrated sound leaving him.
“You don’t understand—” his small hand lands on Jungkook’s chest, pushing weakly.
“Then explain it to me.” Jungkook catches it, thumb pressing gently against the inside of the omega’s wrist, feeling his pulse thumping wildly.
Jimin looks at him again. His lips part slightly, the words sitting right there—Jungkook can see them forming, feel the resistance behind them—but they never make it out.
The silence stretches, nerve-wrackingly so. It’s like trying to communicate through a brick wall, unable to hear any of the answers. Jungkook can only hope his message reaches the omega.
He can’t help but wonder—was Jimin always hiding behind so many protective layers? Or did he change somewhere along the way? The Jimin he remembers was so sweet, so caring, so honest. He was the only grown up who never ever lied to him, who never brushed him off just because he was young.
So why now?
“Okay. I’ll do the talking then,” Jungkook says calmly. “From where I’m standing—we’re both single adults, who are attracted to each other. So tell me, why are you so scared to explore it?”
Jungkook leans in just slightly.
“I like you, Jimin,” he continues, losing the honorific purposefully. “I like you so much it’s all I can think about.”
“Jungkook-ah…”
“And you like me too,” Jungkook cuts in. “I know you do.”
Jimin closes his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips.
“It’s not that simple,” he says, voice trembling on the edge of something fragile. “You’re young, you’re Yoongi’s little brother, and I—” he pauses. “I just got out of a marriage. I’m a mess right now. Whatever you think you want from me, I— I can’t give it to you. I’m sorry.”
Jungkook can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. But he isn’t giving up. He isn’t a quitter.
“All I ask from you is to give it a try,” he pleads, hand slipping into Jimin’s, lacing their fingers together. “Nothing else.”
Jimin’s gaze drifts onto their conjoined hands, chewing on his lower lip.
“What if it’s weird?” he asks eventually. “I’ve known you since you were little. I shouldn’t—” his voice fades into a shaky exhale as he observes Jungkook with a desperate look settling on his beautiful face.
“You shouldn’t what, hyung?” Jungkook says softly, thumb drawing soothing circles onto the omega’s palm.
“I shouldn’t be attracted to you,” Jimin says weakly. “It’s— It’s wrong.”
“Does this feel wrong?” Jungkook steps closer, his other hand carefully settling on the omega’s waist with a hesitant, feather-like touch.
Jimin’s throat works, eyes growing shiny. For a moment, Jungkook thinks he might say yes. Confirm his biggest fear, the only thing he couldn’t find an argument for—that Jimin still sees him as a pup, that he can’t disconnect that from Jungkook’s adult self. They can’t overcome that.
But Jimin only shakes his head.
Jungkook lets out a relieved breath, continuing with a renewed momentum.
“Then—if it doesn’t feel wrong to you, and it doesn’t feel wrong to me—who cares what anyone else says?”
Jimin doesn’t say anything. Instead, his eyes drop to Jungkook’s mouth—it’s a good enough answer for the alpha.
He leans in—slowly, carefully, giving Jimin time to pull back—until their lips are only a breath away. Jungkook can almost taste his lipbalm, the faint scent of cherries blending into the omega’s hyacinths.
Jungkook always imagined kissing Jimin would be… explosive. He thought it would erupt fireworks in his belly like in the movies.
It doesn’t.
It’s much, much better than that.
When their lips connect, something snaps into place inside him. Like a missing piece was finally found. A misplaced bone slotting back into its right position.
Jimin’s mouth is warm, and he kisses with a carefulness Jungkook imagined one would only get with age. It balances out his eagerness, setting the perfect pace.
Their lips slide against one another slowly, exploring each other thoroughly.
Eventually, Jungkook can’t help but dip his tongue inside Jimin’s mouth. The omega sighs softly against him, his scent growing sweeter, like the freshness of spring turning into a warm, honeyed summer.
It only spurs on the alpha even more.
He guides Jimin’s hand to his shoulder, the omega’s small fingers finding their way to the hairs on his nape swiftly. Jungkook’s hands settle on Jimin’s waist, sliding down his sides daringly.
Jungkook has always admired Jimin’s curves. He has a small waist and hips just wide enough to accentuate it.
Then, there’s his ass.
And Goddess, what an ass.
Jungkook has been dreaming about it—and jerking off to it—since he was fourteen.
If he could just touch it once, he’d die a happy man—
Wait.
He literally has his tongue shoved down Jimin’s throat. Why couldn’t he grab his butt?
Stupid.
Jungkook’s hands slip to the small of Jimin’s back, waiting for a beat to watch out for any sense of discomfort from the omega. But Jimin only hums pleasedly into his mouth, his other arm joining the one around the alpha’s neck.
Jungkook’s hands dip lower, hesitant, settling on the curve of Jimin’s backside. He gives it a tentative squeeze, testing the waters.
Jimin not only tolerates it—he pushes into his touch, enjoying it, encouraging it. Is Jungkook dreaming? He must be dreaming, right?
But Jimin is very much real in his hold, his body firm and warm against his, smelling like an entire flower field drenched in honey—
Oh.
Is he?…
Jungkook detaches their lips, mouthing down the omega’s neck as he takes a discreet sniff. An unmistakable sugary undertone has taken a stronghold in Jimin’s scent, almost overpowering the usual fresh, floral notes.
Jimin is slicking up. Jungkook made him slick up.
The realization fills his belly with heat—and his brain with a ridiculous amount of confidence. He slips his hands to the back of Jimin’s thighs and lifts him up to sit on the edge of the desk.
Jimin gasps, holding onto his shoulders for purchase.
Jungkook’s mouth separates from his pulse point with a soft smack, lifting his head to rest it against Jimin’s as they catch their breaths.
“Is this okay?” he asks, though the syrupy scent cloying his nose says it all.
“Y-yeah,” Jimin nods, his cheeks dusted with a pretty shade of pink.
Jungkook connects their lips again eagerly—this time, he doesn’t hold back. He presses as close as the desk allows him—then, he pulls the omega to the edge until there’s no space left between them. His cock hardens the more he inhales the pheromones permeating the air, but he can’t have it in himself to be ashamed.
So what if he gets worked up by a little kissing? It’s Jimin we’re talking about! Jungkook wants the omega to know how much he’s into him. He might not be the best when it comes to words—he’s always been a bit clumsy with them, struggling to find the right ones to convey his feelings—but he’s affectionate. Always has been, just… never really had anyone with whom he could fully express it. Sure, he’s had boyfriends and girlfriends, but nothing serious enough for him to really let himself show it.
Not like this.
With Jimin, it’s different. It feels heavier in his chest, warmer too. Like something that has been brewing under his ribcage for a long time.
Maybe it has been.
Maybe he could never really immerse himself in any other relationship because deep down, he’s been waiting for Jimin without knowing.
Goddess, he’s already in it too deep, isn’t he?
It probably should set the alarms off in his head, but all it erupts is butterflies in his belly, flapping their wings erratically.
He kisses Jimin with a fervor that borders on desperate, only halting when Jimin’s palm drifts down to Jungkook’s chest, exploring. A shiver ripples through him when Jimin’s pinky grazes his nipple, the fabric of his shirt suddenly too rough against the sensitive bud.
Jimin grows bolder by the second. His fingertips slip beneath the hem of the alpha’s shirt, searching for bare skin. Jimin’s hand is cool to the touch, sending another shudder down Jungkook’s spine. Or maybe it’s the heat building inside him, coiling tighter and tighter, ready to burst.
Having the omega’s hand on him, skin to skin, feels like a mirage of an oasis on a sweltering day—something he craves, something he leans into, yet hesitates to fully grasp, afraid it might evaporate the moment it meets the heat radiating from him.
Still, he can’t help but want more.
Jungkook reaches up to grab the neckline of his shirt, pulling it off swiftly. Jimin’s eyes immediately drop to his bare chest, staring shamelessly. His hand stills mid-air, fingers twitching, like he isn’t sure what to do with it.
Cute.
Jungkook grabs his wrist, placing the omega’s small hand back on his pecs.
“Don’t be shy, hyung,” he husks, “you can touch me all you want.”
Jimin’s gaze flicks back to his face, throat bobbing roughly. His fingertips press into Jungkook’s sternum, then slide down slowly, scorching the skin on their way. Jungkook’s abs constrict under the touch, his cock twitching in its constraints when they stop at the waistband of his jeans.
“Kiss me,” Jimin whispers—pleads—giving it a small tug.
It rouses something primal inside Jungkook, a low growl rumbling through his chest as he crashes their lips together.
Jimin kisses back with the same fervor, his hand slipping down to Jungkook’s crotch. Jungkook groans against his mouth, pressing into his touch eagerly.
Jimin palms him through his pants, the rough fabric against his sensitive cock making the alpha hiss.
Eager—or perhaps impatient—Jungkook quickly undoes his pants, a relieved exhale escaping his lips as the omega’s soft hand reaches inside his underwear.
Their lips disconnect, forehead resting against forehead as they gulp lungfuls of air inside.
Jimin looks at him intently as his hand keeps working his cock, a bit clumsy in the constraints of the fabric. Jungkook tugs his briefs off, releasing his cock with Jimin’s small fingers around it.
He reaches for Jimin’s tie as the omega keeps stroking him, pulling it loose so he can undo the buttons on his crisp white shirt the best he can with the slight tremble in his hand. Dark ink is revealed along with the skin, curving boldly on Jimin’s ribs. Jungkook curses under his breath, his cock twitching at the sight—Jimin, without a doubt, felt it, if the soft gasp that escapes his mouth is anything to go by.
Jungkook presses his lips to Jimin’s once more, lingering there for a moment, then moves down to his jaw, mouthing the line of his neck.
He pauses when he reaches the omega’s scent gland, hesitating for a moment. Jimin goes still, like he’s waiting for the alpha’s next move.
From up close, Jungkook can see the faint scar on the omega’s delicate skin, a bittersweet reminder that he might be free now, but he has a history the alpha barely knows anything about.
It’s not like Jimin owes him that information—he doesn’t—but it feels like walking in a bog, not knowing how deep you might sink when you take your next step.
Is he even allowed to move forward?
Tentatively, he glides his nose over the sensitive skin, inhaling the mix of sweet and fresh. He lets it get a little into his head, not enough for his alpha to take over, but enough for the pheromones to blur everything else in his mind that isn’t Jimin.
He doesn’t want to think about anything else. Not the nerves from yesterday. Not the questions surely coming tomorrow. Just Jimin.
But then, he notices the stiffness in the omega’s posture, the small, panicked hitch as the alpha approaches the scarred gland.
Jungkook halts, realizing he’s ran into a stop sign. So he opts for a brief, featherlight kiss right below the marked patch of skin, lips barely grazing it, then continues his path downward.
The last thing he wants to do right now is upset the omega. Right now, he just wants to show Jimin that fighting off all the doubts he has about the two of them is worth the hassle, that Jungkook is worth it. He can worry about everything else later.
The silk of the tie is cold under his tongue as he passes over it, saliva smearing over the delicate fabric. His lips travel down Jimin’s clavicle, leaving a wet trail on his sternum—consequently, Jimin’s hand slips off his cock, out of reach in this position. Jungkook already misses the touch, but Jimin’s pleasure comes first.
Jungkook lowers himself onto his knees when he reaches the tattoo decorating Jimin’s side, exploring every letter carefully as his hands reach for the omega’s slacks. Jungkook can feel the omega’s pulse leap, a soft tremor roving through his chest.
Jimin lifts himself lightly, gripping the edge of the desk as Jungkook peels his pants off him until they pool at his ankles. The alpha carefully takes his shoes off next, the slacks slipping off his legs entirely.
Jungkook presses a kiss on Jimin’s now bare shin, looking up at the omega as he does.
Jimin’s eyes are blown wide, lips red and kiss-bruised. He’s flushed down to his belly, as if Jungkook’s mouth ignited something on its way down.
Jungkook smiles, resting his cheek against Jimin’s knee as he reaches for his underwear.
“May I?” he asks huskily, eyes half-lidded as he hooks a finger into the waistband of the omega’s panties.
Jimin only nods, not trusting his voice. This time, there’s no hesitation in it.
Jungkook peels the panties off, not missing the wet spot on the back. An intense wave of hyacinths invades his nostrils, thick and heavy, intertwined with the unmistakable, syrupy undertone of slick. Jungkook’s mouth waters. He drops the clothes to the side hastily, and shifts closer, adjusting himself between Jimin’s legs.
Jungkook lifts his head, eyes locking with the omega’s. Jimin is still watching him—lips parted, chest rising like the air’s been pulled from the room.
Jungkook doesn’t look away as he reaches up, pressing his palm firmly against Jimin’s chest, applying pressure. Jimin’s arms tremble slightly as he gives in, sinking back onto the desk. His legs start to draw in on instinct, but Jungkook is quicker, hands holding the omega’s knees apart.
Jimin inhales sharply at that, the sound small and unguarded.
Jungkook tugs him a little closer, just enough to expose his hole. The rim is covered in slick, glistening, a slow drop beginning to trail downward. Jungkook brushes his thumb along the path before it can fall further, wiping it away in one smooth motion and sucking his finger into his mouth.
He appreciates the sugary sweetness with a low hum, pulling his thumb out with a wet smack.
“You taste even better than I imagined.”
Jimin says nothing, the room silent other than his panting, but the fresh gush of slick dripping down the curve of his ass—and then Jungkook’s hand—is telling enough.
Jungkook’s lips tug to a knowing smirk. Potential praise kink? He can work with that. But right now, he’s planning to use his mouth for something else.
His hands slip right under Jimin’s knees, pushing his legs up to his chest. The omega lets out a surprised little gasp, holding onto the edge of the desk for purchase.
“Don’t worry, hyung,” Jungkook murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss on Jimin’s inner thigh—it’s covered in slick, giving him a taste of what’s to come. “I’ve got you,” he adds, giving the omega’s legs a reassuring squeeze. “Just relax and enjoy.”
And just like that, he leans in and gets to work.
Jungkook is good at a lot of things.
He picks things up quickly—whether it’s soccer, cooking, or… well, sex. If he had to name his top three talents, those would be it.
He’s gotten about the same number of compliments for all three, too.
And he’s determined to prove himself in every field of his expertise to Jimin. He hadn’t exactly expected things to progress in this order—jumping from cooking straight to this—but he’s not complaining.
He begins by flattening his tongue at the arch of Jimin’s bottom, licking all the sticky sweetness off on his way to his destination as an appetizer.
Jimin’s hips jerk when the alpha’s tongue first touches down, a strangled whimper escaping him as it gets closer to where he’s the most sensitive. Jungkook licks up his perineum, letting his nose graze the skin too. He retracts playfully when he’s near the omega’s entrance, teasing. It makes Jimin squirm endearingly fast—Jungkook almost coos at him, finding it adorable how he can’t do anything about it in this position.
Still, he won’t make Jimin wait too long, at least not this time. Today is all about him. About making Jimin feel good.
Jungkook makes his way to the omega’s rim, pecking it gently as a welcome. Then, he sticks out his tongue, exploring the ring of muscle. The featherlight touch coaxes even more slick out, all for the alpha to lap up. He dips inside from time to time, probing, but only with the tip. Then, he attaches his mouth to it and sucks.
Jimin lets out a surprised moan, his hand almost slipping off the wood. Jungkook tightens his grip on his legs—safety first—and then dives in, with fervor this time.
Wet smacks and slurps fill the spacious office, the sound going straight into Jungkook’s poor, neglected dick, making it twitch desperately.
He’ll deal with it later.
Imagining how good it will feel to sink into the omega—all warm and wet inside—is enough for now.
Jungkook pushes his face closer, his nose pressed against Jimin’s taint as he sticks his tongue in, the ring of muscle stretching for him easily.
Jimin, forgetting all about his precarious position, lets go of the table in favor of burying his fingers in Jungkook’s hair. The alpha hums appreciatively, sucking on the rim as he keeps fucking inside.
Jimin tugs on his roots pulling him even closer among a string of muffled moans. Jungkook wonders if he’s covering his mouth, the pleasure too much for him to keep his voice down otherwise. Is it out of habit? Did he forget that it’s only them in the building by now? Or maybe he’s being bashful? Embarrassed by how overwhelmed he’s getting?
Jungkook can sense the omega is getting close to his orgasm when his legs start to shake. His back arches off the desk, the grip on Jungkook’s hair so tight it’s starting to sting. Jungkook takes it as his cue to pick up the pace, kissing and sucking on Jimin’s rim with intention.
Jimin’s moans cut off abruptly, like he choked on them. At the same time, slick floods Jungkook’s mouth, spilling down his chin despite his best effort to gulp it all down.
Jimin’s fingers slip off his head, the tension slowly draining from his body. Jungkook gives his hole a few more sucks, until the omega whimpers from oversensitivity. Jungkook chuckles, pecking his left cheek before rising onto his feet. He carefully adjusts the spent omega’s position to make sure he’s secure on top of the desk, then lowers his legs.
Jungkook perches himself on his hands, palms resting at Jimin’s sides as he assesses the omega.
He looks absolutely wrecked—shirt crumpled, sticking to his chest, skin glistening and flushed everywhere. His hair looks like he ran his fingers through it one too many times, lips swollen from being bitten too much. But it’s the eyes that put the cherry on top. Those beautiful almond eyes are glazed over, the rich chocolate brown of his irises dark and misty. He looks like he’s still waiting for his soul to get back to his body.
Yeah.
That was probably enough for today.
Jungkook leans down, capturing the omega’s lips in a kiss. He lingers for a moment, savoring the taste, then straightens up.
“I’ll be right back,” he says softly as he tucks himself back into his pants the best he can, giving Jimin’s waist a reassuring squeeze before he detaches himself from him.
Jungkook exits the office, eyes roaming the hallway until he finds the restroom sign. He beelines to the door, going straight to the sink to wash his hands. Once he’s done, he glances at the mirror, brushing his hair off his forehead with his damp fingers.
He adjusts his pants, the thick fabric straining uncomfortably against his hard cock. A cold shower would be the best to help him cool down, but splashing his face in the sink will have to do.
He grabs a handful of paper towels and then pushes through the door, returning to the office.
Jimin has pushed himself into a sitting position in the meantime, wrestling his buttons into order and failing due to the tremble in his hands. His head jerks up when the door closes with a soft click, blinking at the alpha like he didn’t expect him to keep his word and come back.
Jungkook crosses the space without a word, gently prying Jimin’s hands off. He wipes the omega off the best he can, starting with his chest, his softening cock, then his backside.
He buttons the shirt up next, knotting the tie carefully before he helps Jimin back into his pants. Then, he kneels down, putting his shoes on.
Jimin just stares at him throughout the whole process with an incredulous look on his face, like he can’t believe it’s happening. Jungkook just smiles at him, then stands up, grabbing his shirt.
Once they are both dressed, Jungkook steps closer, until he’s slotted between Jimin’s legs again—it feels like the right place to be.
“Are you okay?”
Jimin blinks at him, taking a moment before he nods. “Y-yeah,” he mumbles, followed by an incredibly awkward “Thanks.”
Jungkook’s lips tug into a curve.
“Come on,” he pats the omega’s thigh. “I’ll take you home.”
Jimin’s eyes widen, panic clearing the haziness from his irises.
“Uh,” he leans back—deliberately or not, Jungkook can’t tell—“I uhm, I still have work to do.”
He’s lying. He does it well, Jungkook is ought to give him that, but he’s observed the omega his entire life. He’s familiar with every line, every twitch of his face.
Jungkook tries not to take it to heart. It’s not rejection—at least, not entirely.
This was a lot. He can’t blame Jimin for being overwhelmed. He probably just needs some space to wrap his head around what just happened and Jungkook doesn’t mind giving him that. He’d give everything to Jimin. He just hopes the omega doesn’t spiral to the point of ignoring him again.
But he’ll give Jimin the benefit of the doubt.
“Alright,” he says, taking a step back. “I won’t hold you up then.”
Jimin opens his mouth to speak, then falters. His gaze dips to Jungkook’s lower half, and Jungkook follows it without thinking to where his erection is still straining his pants.
“What about— uhm, you?” Jimin mumbles, blood rushing to his cheeks.
“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Jungkook says with a lopsided grin. “I’m good.”
Jimin’s brows knit together, clearly unsatisfied with the answer.
“But—”
Jungkook doesn’t let him finish. He leans in and cuts him off with a kiss.
“You can make it up to me next time,” he husks against Jimin’s lips, leaving the omega speechless.
However, Jungkook isn’t sure it’s in a good way. Jimin’s surprise quickly devolves into a fight between doubt and want, the emotions written all over his face.
The alpha’s insecurities make a full return, settling heavily in the pit of his stomach.
“You aren’t going to avoid me again, are you?” he asks, watering down the real question on the tip of his tongue.
There will be a next time, right?
But it feels too forward. Too much. Jungkook doesn’t want to put Jimin on the spot and force him to commit. He fears it might scare the omega away.
Jimin’s gaze softens—not entirely, but enough to soothe Jungkook’s nerves.
“I won’t,” he promises, voice barely a whisper.
Jungkook forces his features to relax. Benefit of the doubt.
“Okay.” He takes one lingering look at Jimin—the orange glow of the lamp reflecting in his eyes, the faint freckles highlighting his cheekbones—then backs away with a smile.
He crosses the room, hand already on the door handle when Jimin calls his name.
“Jungkook-ah…”
Jungkook glances over his shoulder, expectant.
Jimin’s on his feet now, leaning against the edge of the desk, arms crossed tight over his chest.
Something has shifted. Jungkook can almost feel it in the air.
There’s a look on the omega’s face he hasn’t seen before—like he has something to say, but doesn’t know how to let it out, or if he should at all.
Jimin exhales, shoulders tightening slightly, and settles for, “Goodnight.”
Jungkook studies him for a second longer, then nods, deciding not to push.
“Goodnight, hyung,” he says quietly before turning the handle and stepping out.
As he walks down the hallway, the smile permanent on his face, something new settles in his chest. Light. Unfamiliar. Pleasantly warm.
Hope.