A Debt Repaid - allways_always - 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys (2024)

Chapter 1: Jeongguk

Chapter Text

It’s an unusually hot morning. The sun has burned off the remnants of dawn’s clouds, and now, the rays beat down on Jeongguk’s bare chest and shoulders. The crowd is unusually worked up. Raucous laughter and slurs surround him. He tries his best not to make eye contact. He doesn’t want someone to think he’s sending a signal, asking for an alpha to bid on him. Instead, he stares past the faces in the crowd, concentrating on the gates surrounding the mansion, each post adorned with golden spikes. Anyone driving by would see a cookie-cutter image of suburban perfection: an immaculately painted house, hedges and topiaries neatly trimmed, a driveway lined with tiny solar-powered lamps. They'd have no idea about what happens inside the house or even behind its gates in the backyard. The ultimate illusion. Jeongguk is more than familiar with the ways ugly things hide in plain sight.

Jeongguk’s nose burns from the stench of the alphas shoving together, their arousal and anger spiking in a mix of heady, throat-clogging scents. Even outdoors, Jeongguk can’t find relief from the overwhelming assault of smells. They’re all hungry, eager, reeking with entitlement. They all show up in their expensive suits, handing the keys to their luxury cars to the valet. It’s humiliating to stand on a platform in front of them to grope and assess, assigning a value to his body with no interest in what his heart feels. Hell, it would be a stretch to think these alphas even see him ashuman.

Omega auctions are an ugly, but accepted part of high society. Jeongguk is old enough to know this, experienced enough to know how the world works. Those who are weak are only meant to serve the strong, to bend to their will and cater to their every desire—no matter how debauched or degrading. It’s been years since Jeongguk was first placed on a scaffold before a crowd, auctioned off to the highest bidder. As soon as he was of age, he was booted from his group home, handed over to some anonymous business man with deep pockets and a web of connections.

With the first auction winner—owner was never the word—Jeongguk obeyed without question. Kept his eyes on the ground, answered only in soft yessirs and no sirs. He learned to close his eyes and imagine his body elsewhere whenever the man beckoned him to his bedroom. He never talked back, never so much as snapped his teeth or shot a nasty look. The man grew bored, and before Jeongguk knew what was happening, he was shuttled to another mansion somewhere far from the city, nestled in some dark canopy of trees.

The trades or sales don’t follow the same format each time. Jeongguk grew tired of trying to guess. What he did know was when it might happen. The touches grew infrequent, the men uninterested and fickle. Jeongguk learned it was easier to be sullen and bored in return, and soon the men would lose interest. Sometimes, it worked. Sometimes, it didn’t.

Now that he’s here on the platform raised above the group of men, he’s certain he’ll meet his end soon. He can’t survive if he’s to be bounced from household to household, especially if they find him to be unsuitable or not worth the obscene amounts they paid for him. Eventually, he'll be seen as too old, too broken to be useful to anyone, unless they're truly monstrous and plan to break him themselves. Maybe now is not the time to strike a bargain with a higher power he only half-believes in, but it doesn’t stop him from muttering a prayer for some kind of protection.

The crowd grows more and more unruly, impatient from waiting so long in the heat. There’s only so long a throng of anxious alphas can wait, even with flutes of champagne and tiny plates of appetizers circulating the garden. Jeongguk shifts his weight, wincing when the chain around his neck catches on his skin. He squints into the crowd, following the ripple of bodies parting to make way for the auctioneer.

A masked man steps onto the platform with Jeongguk and raises a bullhorn. “Good morning, to our esteemed guests. We begin our bidding at—”

“Six billion won.” The voice pierces through the dull roar of the crowd, turning heads and earning grumbles and sneers. A shot of silver—bright and sharp. Everyone turns to find the owner of the voice.

“Sir, we haven’t yet set our opening bid,” the auctioneer stammers, shielding his eyes to search for the man who called out.

A man pushes through the crowd, unbothered by the complaints and shoves. “Six billion won cash, and we walk now.” He looks up at the auctioneer, then shifts his gaze to Jeongguk. “If you want to.”

“That’s not up for him to decide,” the auctioneer interjects. “Let me consult with the owner. What did you say your name was?” He touches the small ear piece embedded in his ear, murmuring into the mic on his sleeve.

“Six billion won cash,” the man repeats. He’s still looking at Jeongguk, his eyes intense and curious.

Jeongguk waits for the man to reach out to touch him, to lay his hands on his bare skin like he’s a prized hog. Out of instinct, Jeongguk co*cks his hip, smooths a hand down his belly. It’s what he’s been trained to do: show off his soft, vulnerable side, preen like a weak omega. He points his toe, flexes his calves.

“You don’t have to do that,” the man murmurs softly. He’s younger than the others in the crowd, but he’s clearly an alpha, moving with the air and grace and power of a pack leader. Dark eyes study Jeongguk’s face, his expression turning possessive. For a moment, Jeongguk imagines he might be different.

“You can’t come in here and throw the auction!” an alpha shouts, his voice deep in the crowd. “What a f*cking waste of time.”

A few others join in, raising their glasses and shouting about rules and propriety. As if any of it matters when Jeongguk is standing on a platform being sold like livestock.

The auctioneer yanks out his ear piece and crouches down to meet the man’s eyes. “Cash?”

The man nods solemnly and reaches into his chest pocket. He pulls out an envelope bursting with cash and hands it over. “My down payment. My associate,” he pauses to nod toward another young man at the edge of the crowd, “has the rest.” On cue, the other man lifts a briefcase. “Let me take him to the car, and I will give you the rest. I don’t want any trouble.”

The auctioneer snorts. “You waltz in here and take over the auction and think that’s not trouble?” He snatches the envelope and combs through it, counting until he’s satisfied. “Fine. He’s yours.”

Jeongguk nearly sobs with relief. He has no reason to trust the man before him, but he feels a small spark of hope that maybe he’s gained some safety if only for a few hours. Trembling, he steps off the platform, and though it’s blisteringly hot, he shivers, clutching his arms for comfort. The auctioneer tosses a robe at Jeongguk, and he wraps it around himself with another shiver.

“Let’s go.” The stranger leads him through the crowd, and the smell is even worse now that Jeongguk is closer to the other alphas. They spit and curse at the stranger, their scents spiking with more hunger and rage. Jeongguk’s head spins from the heat and noise, the swell of sound surrounding him.

Everything happens in a haze: doors opening and closing, hands guiding him toward a blacked out limousine, cool leather against his skin, darkness, then a blast of cold air. When he comes to, he blinks his eyes slowly, taking in his new surroundings. He’s in the back of a limousine—sleek, dark, cool with air conditioning blowing right on his face. Far on the other side of the car is the alpha, watching him intently and sipping a bottle of sparkling water.

“Please,” he says, gesturing at an ice bucket with drinks. “It was so hot out there. You must be parched.”

Cautiously, Jeongguk reaches for a drink and cracks it open. The water is crisp and icy, burning down his throat. He tries to remember his manners, but he’s thirsty, and the drink soothes his aching throat. He gulps it greedily and fights off a burp.

The man chuckles. “Have another. And don’t worry about being polite for my sake.” He takes another sip of his drink.

Jeongguk tries not to stare at him. He’s really quite handsome, he thinks, stealing glances at the man. Hair swept off his forehead, a long neck and wide shoulders, lips plush and quirked in a half-smile. He doesn’t stink like the other alphas, either. The small space they share is filled with something light and crisp, like lemon and pine—something summery and lush, bright and fresh. He reaches for another drink—something sweet—and sips it slowly. It’s sugary and coats his tongue, makes his stomach gurgle with hunger.

“We’ll be home soon, and I’ll feed you a proper meal,” the man says. “Or I can have the driver stop somewhere if you’d like?”

Jeongguk can’t recall the last time someone gave him a choice about anything. He shakes his head. “No, thank you.” He’s not about to test new boundaries just yet.

The man shrugs and stares out the window. He doesn’t say anything the rest of the ride. Jeongguk waits for him to slide closer, to press his hands between Jeongguk’s legs or whisper something vile in his ear. Maybe he’s waiting to get home, Jeongguk thinks. It’s easier to let loose in the comfort of one’s home, where secrets and ugly things can be well-hidden and tucked away from prying eyes.

Jeongguk takes small sips of his drink to keep himself occupied. He stares out the window, watching as the highways fade and morph into local streets and eventually deserted backroads. He’s used to this, too—driving to some far-off home hidden from society. He’s no longer surprised that so many monsters can live out in the open. They keep their sick secrets at home and go about their business without any suspicion. His stomach lurches.

He wonders how he’ll be broken in. Will the man send him to a dark basem*nt room filled with chains and whips? Order him on his knees as soon as they enter the foyer? Jeongguk has had so many introductions to new households, he’s stopped guessing what they’d do to him when he arrives. His imagination can’t match those of the sad*sts he’s encountered.

The limousine lurches as it hits a gravel path, pausing at an automatic gate for entry. The doors swing open, and the limousine trundles along the pathway leading up to a large mansion. Jeongguk presses his face to the window and watches as the limousine gets closer.

“We’re here,” the man announces. The limousine comes to a stop, and the door opens suddenly. “Thank you,” the man murmurs, stepping out. He leans down and extends his hand. “Are you coming?”

Jeongguk stares at his hand for a moment. His long, crooked fingers are strangely endearing. He accepts his hand and slides out of the car, yanking the robe tighter around his chest. He suddenly feels vulnerable, exposed as he stands outside this house with a sheer robe and little else.

The driver leans closer to the man, whispering. The man nods in return. “Sure, go on.”

Jeongguk wishes he had glimpsed more of his face, but he’s gone quickly, his back receding toward the far end of the house.

“Let’s go inside,” the man says. He places his hand on the small of Jeongguk’s back. Though he doesn’t mean to, Jeongguk flinches. The man notices and pulls away quickly. “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry. When was the last time someone apologized to Jeongguk? The words sound strange on someone else’s tongue. “It’s okay,” he answers, though he doesn’t know why he feels the need to console the man.

They enter the foyer, and Jeongguk can’t help but gape at the open, airy entryway. When they pulled up to the home, he imagined something dark and cold inside—a pretentious attempt at Gothic design or overt displays of wealth. Instead, he’s met with a room that feels quite cozy, like it’s intended to house a family.

“Hyung! You’re back!” A young man appears suddenly at the top of the steps, staring down at them with a wide, eager grin.

“I’m back,” the man answers.

The other man bounds down the steps, his dark, curly hair flopping with each one. “He’s perfect,” he gasps, steadying himself at the bottom of the staircase. His eyes trace over the lines of Jeongguk’s body, his smile softening. Jeongguk wonders if this might be like one of his past households where he was a gift, some plaything for a spoiled lover.

He swallows, forces the practiced smile he’s come to use for introductions like this. Something cold and polite, not too charming. “Hello.”

“What’s wrong with him, Seokjin-hyung?” The young man asks, frowning.

Seokjin. So that’s his name.

“Nothing. It’s been a long day,” Seokjin answers. He loosens his tie and begins to unbutton his collar. “We’re both tired. It’s hot.”

“I’ll get some drinks,” the younger man offers, turning quickly on his heel before Seokjin can stop him.

“I’m so rude,” Seokjin sighs, turning to Jeongguk. “I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Seokjin.”

The sound of approaching footsteps draws Jeongguk’s attention to another doorway off the entry. A lithe blonde man enters. He’s charming and incandescent, his smile playful and knowing. “You always forget to introduce yourself, hyung,” the blonde man teases.

“Ah, Jimin-ah, go easy on me,” Seokjin groans. “You know I get so nervous.”

At that, Jeongguk snorts.

Seokjin looks at him with an amused expression, one eyebrow raising, and the corners of his mouth quirking into a smile. “Is that funny?”

Had Seokjin been anyone else, Jeongguk might have cowered at the question, averted his eyes and mumbled an apology. But Seokjin is looking at him with something that looks like fondness, and Jeongguk likes the man’s soft expression.

Shaking his head, Jeongguk clears his throat. “I just spent the ride wondering what your name is.”

“This is Seokjin-hyung,” Jimin explains, draping his arm across his shoulders. “Our leader.”

Jeongguk watches them closely, waiting for Seokjin to snap his teeth or put the other man in his place. Instead, he smiles at Jimin, leaning his head against his. It’s soft, intimate. Foreign. “When you’re done embarrassing me, would you like to call the others to we can properly welcome our guest?” He scratches the back of Jimin’s neck, and Jeongguk feels a dull ache between his ribs, right where he imagines his heart should be.

How long has it been since anyone touched him with anything akin to affection? A jolt of pain bleeds through his temples, erasing the thought entirely, and he winces. It f*cking hurts.

“Hurry,” Seokjin murmurs to Jimin. “He really needs to rest.”

Jimin nods and disappears down a corridor. Seokjin steps closer to Jeongguk cautiously. “Your head hurts?”

Jeongguk nods, biting back a whimper. The pain radiates through his head, the pressure mounting like a vice grip on all sides. “Out of nowhere,” he slurs. The pain is burning and acute, making his vision dim around the edges. “Did’ju drug me?” He feels hands on his shoulders, a cool touch, and then everything goes dark.

***

“Get these chains off.”

“I’m trying, relax.”

Jeongguk’s eyes flutter open, squinting into bright light overhead. His body feels leaden—heavy, impossible to move, barely under his control. A pair of hands yanks at the chain around his belly, slipping the cool metal along his skin. Instinctively, he swats at the hand, pushing himself upright to find Jimin and the other smiley young man from before. “What’s going on? What are you doing?”

The other two glance at one another with pitiful looks. “Can you try again? You’re all jumbled. Can’t understand you,” Jimin says gently. He brushes the hair from Jeongguk’s forehead, and instead of comforting him, it enrages him.

“Get off me!” he growls. Pushing himself up takes more effort than he expected, and the room tilts and spins.

“Shh, hey, look, you need to relax,” the other man says. He tries to lean Jeongguk back, but Jeongguk fights him off in a fit of cursing and thrashing.

“Let me go!” When Jimin recoils, Jeongguk knows he understood that at least. His head feels foggy and crowded, like his brain is throbbing against his skull. Everything buzzing and loud like a swarm of hornets.

“Taehyung,” Jimin murmurs, ducking his head, “can you get Namjoon-hyung?”

He nods, glancing warily at Jeongguk. “Should I get Yoongi-hyung, too?”

“Just Namjoon for now,” Jimin answers. He pats Taehyung on the back and turns back to Jeongguk and offers a smile. “You must be freaking out.”

“Y’drugged me,” Jeongguk accuses, rubbing his forehead.

“When would I have done that, hmm?” Jimin settles on the edge of the bed. Jeongguk realizes he’s in a large bedroom with oversized windows facing a large courtyard and garden. The air is cooler as the sun sets, and a cool breeze blows through the open window. If he wanted to escape, he could, and no one seems concerned about an easy exit being so obvious.

“But my head,” Jeongguk mumbles. The sharp pains are dulled, now a steady thrum pulsing in his temples. “f*cking hurts.”

“May I?” Jimin asks, gesturing at the space next to Jeongguk. He grunts in reply and stares at Jimin as he scoots closer. “I don’t know if you know this, Jeongguk-ah, but you were sedated. Seokjin-hyung seems to think you were on some sort of suppressants, too. Something to keep you docile.”

Jeongguk licks his lips, considers it. Had that really been the case at the last household? Why get rid of him if they could drug him into compliance?

Jimin lifts his hands slowly. “Can I help with your headache?”

Nodding, Jeongguk holds his breath and waits. He has no reason to trust Jimin, and his senses are coming into focus, sharper now that the pain is receding. Jimin shifts closer and his scent surrounds Jeongguk—warm and soothing, yellow like sunflower fields. His hands are small, but strong, his fingers pressing into Jeongguk’s shoulders, kneading in small, tight circles.

Jeongguk groans and closes his eyes, feeling the tension melt under Jimin’s touch. His jaw relaxes, teeth unclenching as Jimin continues. He leans back against Jimin with a sigh. Every muscles feels warm and fluid, the tendons of his shoulders and back relaxing all the way down to his toes. He loses himself in the feeling of Jimin’s hands massaging his shoulders. His scent envelops Jeongguk, giving him a new feeling of fogginess, this time feeling more dreamy and serene than before.

The feeling dissipates when the door opens and the scent of another alpha floods the room. Jeongguk scrambles to cover himself, gnashing his teeth at the stranger in the doorway.

“Relax, relax,” Jimin urges him, gripping his shoulders tightly. “It’s just Namjoon-hyung.”

“I’m here to help,” the alpha answers. His voice is deep and gentle, belying his tall, muscular form. “I’m Namjoon. You’re Jeongguk, right?”

Jeongguk glares at him, clutching the blanket to his chest. He’s still wrapped in the flimsy robe, just barely freed from the chains that had been clamped around his neck and belly. It’s already a terrible situation to be in as an omega, but now he feels light-headed and scent-drunk, entirely exposed and in danger. “What’s he doing here?”

“He’s the muscle,” Jimin jokes. Namjoon cracks a smile, but Jeongguk only glowers at him. “Namjoon-hyung is really good at diffusing situations, helping you clear your head.”

“And prevent you from kicking my ass,” Taehyung adds, standing on his toes to look over Namjoon’s shoulder. He looks so much smaller behind the alpha, his mischievous smile replaced with an expression of worry.

“Where the hell am I?”

Namjoon laughs, and the sudden appearance of a dimple disarms Jeongguk. “Can we help you wash up and tell you over dinner?”

“I don’t need help,” Jeongguk mumbles.

“Does your head still hurt? Do your legs feel wobbly?” Namjoon asks carefully. “Maybe your chest feels tight and your vision is a little off?”

Jeongguk blinks. “How did you know?”

“I know a lot about suppressant withdrawal, unfortunately,” Namjoon answers. “Can we help you to the bath now?”

Frowning, Jeongguk glances at Jimin before turning back to the doorway. “Not you,” he huffs. “Those two.”

Namjoon nods, smiling as if he expected that answer. “You’ll be in good hands with Taehyung and Jimin.” He steps aside and gestures for Taehyung to enter the bedroom. “Get him washed up and meet us for dinner in half an hour,” he explains, squeezing Taehyung’s shoulder.

“Will do, hyung,” Taehyung replies. He smiles sheepishly at Jimin and tugs at the hem of his sweater.

“Come on, Taehyung, don’t be shy,” Jimin says, waving him over. “He won’t bite.” He leans down, smiling at Jeongguk. “You won’t bite, right?”

Jeongguk shakes his head, relaxing his grip on the blanket. “How did he know about me?”

“Namjoon-hyung has a lot of experience with people like you,” Taehyung answers matter-of-factly. He moves around the room collecting clothing from a bureau and some toiletries from a side table. “I’ll start the bath.”

“People like me?” Jeongguk repeats.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and we’ll answer all your questions at dinner time,” Jimin says gently. He slides off the bed and holds out his hand. “And if you’d like, we can burn this tragic robe so you never have to think about it ever again.”

Jeongguk laughs—and the sound startles him. He can’t remember the last time he laughed openly, laughed genuinely and without artifice. He likes Jimin. Something in his eyes is trustworthy. Together, they hobble toward the bathroom. Jeongguk’s legs feel just as Namjoon described: wobbly and weak, and it’s disorienting to feel so out of control when just hours ago, he was standing in some rich asshole’s backyard being sold off like property.

The bathroom is dim, with golden light flickering all around from candles. The air is foggy and warm, and when Jeongguk finally steps into the tub, his entire body relaxes like one giant exhale.

“Oh my God,” he sighs, sinking deeper into the velvety bubbles, dipping his chin into the hot water.

“Taehyung takes bath time very seriously,” Jimin teases, wadding up the old robe and shoving it in a small waste basket.

“Restoring the mind is just as important as restoring the body,” Taehyung says solemnly. He perches on the edge of the tub and dips his fingers into the water. “Temperature okay?”

“Perfect,” Jeongguk hums. The water is steaming, and the soft fizz of the bubbles makes his skin tingle all over.

“May I wash your hair?” Taehyung asks. “No pressure.”

Jeongguk opens his eyes. “Seriously?”

“You must be dying for a proper shampoo,” he says softly. He chews his bottom lip, keeps his eyes well above the water, looking only at Jeongguk’s face.

“Is he for real?” Jeongguk looks at Jimin skeptically.

He shrugs and splashes his hand through a mound of bubbles. “I told you. Bath time is sacred to Taehyung,” Jimin answers. “You won’t regret it.”

"Okay, I guess,” Jeongguk says, turning back to Taehyung. When the other man smiles at him, it’s bright and dazzling, so impossibly genuine that it makes something stir in Jeongguk’s chest.

Attention never comes for free. Behind every action, there’s an expectation, a desired outcome. Life, Jeongguk has learned, is transactional. A game of balancing the scales, making wagers and settling scores. He has no reason to believe otherwise, not when his life up until this point has been determined by someone else’s margins. Washing hair is never just washing hair. It’s washing hair before forcing him to his knees. It’s washing hair before a slap to the face.

Taehyung must sense him bristling, can probably smell the stink of disappointment and unease all over him. He rises quickly from the edge of the tub and retreats, hands held up in defense. "I didn’t mean to offend. I won’t hurt you, Jeongguk.”

“He doesn’t know that, love,” Jimin murmurs, reaching his hand for Taehyung. “He doesn’t know you.” He smiles at him sadly, his eyebrows pinching together in distress. The action is so small—fingers locked briefly—but it speaks volumes. Something delicate and tender exists between them. Something not borne out of exchanges, debts owed. Give and take without keeping score. Jeongguk might even call it love.

“I’m sorry—”

“—don’t,” Taehyung says quickly. He shakes his head. “No need to apologize, Jeongguk. I know I come on a little strong. I just want you to feel good, that’s all.”

“And nothing in return?” He wishes his voice didn’t crack, didn’t give away the hopeful ache blooming in his chest.

“Nothing,” Taehyung swears. “Except for you to relax and feel good. You’re safe with us.”

Safe. For so long, safe meant so little to Jeongguk. It meant the rare hours when he could fall asleep alone without someone’s hands or mouth on him. It meant the rare minutes left to shower by himself without someone watching or groping him. It meant plucking food scraps off dirty plates before the kitchen staff scraped them into the trash. Safe has never been guaranteed.

And now Taehyung and Jimin are offering it to him with such ease, as if it’s free to give without a moment of hesitation.

“Okay,” Jeongguk whispers. Still, he can’t help but flinch when he feels Taehyung’s fingers on his scalp, moving in slow, soothing circles.

The lather of the shampoo is rich and fragrant—bright notes of white peaches and rosemary. It tingles right at the roots, and Jeongguk shivers in spite of the warm bath water. Both Jimin and Taehyung have magical hands, it seems. It’s easy to imagine a life where he feels safe here with them, especially when Taehyung hums as he scrubs Jeongguk’s scalp, kneading the lather into his hair. (God, how long has it been since he’s had a proper shower? He can’t even begin to calculate.)

Jimin leans over the edge of the tub and dips a sponge into the water. He pours bath oil onto the sponge, squeezing it until suds appear. “May I?” He gestures at Jeongguk’s chest but keeps his eyes on his face. Both he and Taehyung are so careful not to look too closely, not to ogle or gape at him. He knows what they see: scars.

Streaks of waxy pink across his torso, shimmering white veins across his arms, marbled bits of skin across his shoulders and back. After a while, the mind forgets where each scar came from, but the body always remembers. It holds onto each injury, consumes what it can, blisters where it can’t be forgotten, scars over and never fades.

“I’m amazed your pack leader even wanted me,” Jeongguk says softly. He watches as Jimin smooths the sponge over his arm, angling to reach underneath his armpit, across his chest. “Look at me.”

Taehyung continues humming. Jimin tuts and wrings out the sponge. “I’m looking, and I see what he sees.”

“Ugly,” Jeongguk huffs. “Battered.”

“Life is hard,” Jimin says gently, tapping Jeongguk to sit up. He scrubs his back, pausing to dribble more bath oil on the sponge. “We all have our scars. We don’t ask for them.” He drags his fingers along a particularly deep, gnarled scar on Jeongguk’s shoulder. “Painful,” he whispers, tracing the wide swoop of skin. “Such an ugly thing to do to someone.”

The air in the room shifts, dampening like an impending storm. Taehyung stops humming, and Jimin squeezes the last bit of water out of his sponge, tossing it aside.

“You will never go back to that life,” Jimin says firmly. “Not as long as you stay here, Jeongguk, do you understand me?”

He nods, not quite understanding the darkness in Jimin’s eyes. Even Taehyung has stilled, his breathing gone shallow and quick. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn't,” Jimin says quickly. “I just hate to think of the kind of cruelty that brought you to us. You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t been through hell already.”

“I don’t understand.” Jeongguk turns to Taehyung for an answer then back to Jimin. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s get down to dinner,” Taehyung says, tapping Jeongguk’s shoulder. “Let’s rinse you off.”

“You’re angry,” Jeongguk says, splashing as he turns to find Jimin. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry.”

Taehyung scoops water and douses Jeongguk without warning, leaving him sputtering and rubbing shampoo out of his eyes. “He’s fine, he’s being dramatic. But he’s right. That life is over.”

Maybe Taehyung intends for it to sound comforting, but there’s a new edge in the air now, and Jimin’s scent has shifted to something imperceptible—muddled and worrisome. Jeongguk suddenly feels how vulnerable and exposed he is, locked away in a bathroom with two strangers he knows nothing about. Panic seizes him, wraps its hands around his throat, and he wants to scream, but instead just chokes and gasps.

“Relax, relax,” Taehyung says quickly, smoothing his hand down the back of Jeongguk’s head. He scruffs him in a swift motion, fingernails digging into his nape. Instantly, Jeongguk goes slack, falling limp against the cool porcelain. “Everything is fine. Let’s get you changed, we’ll eat, and you’ll feel better, I promise.” Taehyung shifts his gaze, murmuring something inaudible to Jimin, and soon, Jimin is gone and the overhead lights are on—garish and overly bright.

Jeongguk is lifted from the tub, dripping water all over the floor, soaking Taehyung as he maneuvers him into some clothing. He’s stubborn and unhelpful—a mix of insolence and his body still feeling out of sorts, made loose and limber by too much time in the bath.

“Come on, that’s it,” Taehyung grunts, yanking the soft, flowy pants up around Jeongguk’s waist. “They’re too big, but Seokjin-hyung will help you find something better soon.” He unfolds a cotton shirt and holds it out. “Can you put this on? Or do you want more help?” There isn’t a hint of exasperation in his voice, only steady patience. It feels a bit like a test, and Jeongguk isn’t sure how to respond.

He chooses silent obedience. He takes the shirt from Taehyung and tugs it on and swipes his damp hair off his forehead. “What are you wearing to dinner?”

Taehyung laughs loudly, motioning for Jeongguk to follow him. “This, of course. We aren’t going to some black tie affair.”

As they cross the bedroom together, Jeongguk takes in the details of the room. Wide, open windows overlooking manicured gardens. The walls are painted a faint peach color, accented with cream curtains billowing in the late evening breeze. A king-sized bed is covered in a pile of pink, gold, and white pillows. When he first opened his eyes to the bedroom, he hadn’t seen all the delicate details of the room: a crystal vase filled with orchids, a large painting of a sunset on the wall, a gilded toiletry set and mirror. Pretty, luxurious things.

Like Jeongguk used to be.

His stomach growls and Taehyung grins, gesturing for him to join him in the hallway. “You’ve got an appetite. That’s good. Yoongi-hyung and Seokjin-hyung are great cooks.” He hops down the wide staircase, bouncing on every step as he talks. “It’s a special occasion, so it’s gonna be good.”

The gleaming wood floor is cold against Jeongguk’s bare feet. He follows Taehyung in slow, measured steps. Everything is neat and tidy—polished floors, shimmering light fixtures, decorative touches along the walls—but the house looks lived in, not like the stuffy houses Jeongguk lived in before. They were cold and sterile, more like museums than a place people lived, though people might be a stretch for those men.

“Here,” Taehyung says, whirling around quickly at the bottom of the steps. He bends down and pushes a pair of slippers toward Jeongguk. “So you don’t catch cold.”

Jeongguk fights a smile and slips his feet into the plush slippers. “Thank you. And sorry.”

“You should stop apologizing,” Taehyung says gently. He pats Jeongguk’s shoulder and smiles. “Let’s eat.”

Taehyung leads Jeongguk through the foyer and into an open dining room with high ceilings and minimalist light fixtures. A long table is centered under a modern chandelier, and the table is covered in dishes of food and bottles of beer and wine. Jeongguk’s eyes widen as he takes it all in. It’s a feast, more food than he’s ever been served in a lifetime, maybe more food than he’s ever seen in his life.

“What’s all this for?” Jeongguk asks incredulously.

“You, silly,” Jimin answers, hurrying into the dining room with a steaming pot. He hops around looking for a trivet, and Taehyung grabs a hot pad, sliding it onto the table in front of him. “To welcome you to the pack.”

Before Jeongguk can respond, he senses the alpha again, the one from before—Namjoon. He bristles and grips the back of one of the chairs and clenches his teeth.

“Easy,” Jimin says, gesturing at the entryway. He keeps his focus on Jeongguk. “It’s Namjoon, remember? He won’t hurt you. He’s a gentle giant.”

Jeongguk grunts, unconvinced.

“He’s softer than Taehyung,” Jimin laughs. “I promise. He won’t touch you.”

“I can eat outside,” Namjoon offers from afar. “Just until you get used to me.”

“No,” Seokjin interjects, pushing into the dining room. He sets down several long-stemmed glasses and wipes his hands on his apron. “We eat together. We’re a pack. And we’re welcoming a new member.” He offers Jeongguk an apologetic smile. “I’m a bit old-fashioned. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Always insists on family dinner,” another voice chimes in. It’s light and airy, familiar though Jeongguk can’t place it. A new person appears—slim and radiant like a sunbeam, his lips curled in a heart-shaped smile. “I’m Hoseok. You can call me Hobi if you’d like. Or hyung.” He blushes at the offer and laughs at himself. Hoseok’s appearance is instantly calming, and Jeongguk thinks he must be a beta—a strong one, too. Muscular, confident, an aura that radiates far beyond him.

“Family dinners are important.” A new voice—rumbly and low. When a new person enters the dining room, Jeongguk is surprised to see the owner of that voice. Pale and pink, soft blond hair like a dandelion, lips pink and curled into a pout as he speaks in a thick sartoori. “It’s the first pack rule.” He places a huge platter of grilled spare ribs on the table and surveys the spread, nodding proudly to himself. “Sit,” he says, gesturing at the chairs.

“That’s Yoongi-hyung,” Taehyung whispers, pulling out a chair for Jeongguk. “He’s as bad as Seokjin-hyung about forgetting to introduce himself.”

“Yah, I can hear you,” Yoongi groans, tossing an endeared smile at Taehyung. He glances at Jeongguk and presses his hand to his chest in apology. “I’m sorry, I was so wrapped up in providing this delicious meal that I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Yoongi.”

From the far end of the table, Jeongguk can’t get a read on him. He’s broad like Seokjin, but soft all over—like a kitten, Jeongguk realizes, though he doesn’t dare say it aloud. He nods and smiles shyly. “Thank you for this meal.”

“Ah, see, pups? That’s what manners sound like,” Seokjin says, popping a cork from a bottle of wine. He pours a round of drinks and motions for the others to start passing the glasses.

A long-stemmed glass appears in front of Jeongguk, and it shimmers under the lights. Inky red wine sloshes against the glass, reflecting little bursts of light like stars. It smells delicious—rich, fruity, expensive. Jeongguk’s mouth waters.

Seokjin waits for everyone to raise their drink, and he looks around the table with a wide, proud smile. “To new beginnings,” he says.

“To new beginnings,” Jimin answers loudly, locking eyes with Jeongguk as he touches their glasses together in a delicate clink.

The others follow suit, nodding and smiling at Jeongguk as if he’s always belonged at this table, belonged with them. They clink glasses and take swigs of their drinks. If Jeongguk had only this moment in his memory, he might think of these people as his friends, might believe that some day he’d call them family.

But it’s too perfect. Too easy. He’s a stranger at their table, unaccustomed to their inside jokes and banter. He can’t recall the last time he sat around with friends, or anyone who wasn’t trying to buy or sell him or use him in some way. Friendships of any kind are a distraction, the highest kind of risk. Attachments complicate things. He never stayed in one place for long. It hurt less not to bind himself to someone else.

Only when a plate appears in front of him does Jeongguk realize they’ve heaped it with food: steaming rice and piles of short ribs, grilled asparagus and sizzling clams, slices of crisp, cold watermelon. His stomach clenches, and he shakily accepts the plate, bowing profusely as he picks up his chopsticks with trembling hands. Eat slowly, he tells himself. He knows better than to gorge himself. Savor each bite—not to indulge but to prevent himself from getting sick. He’s no stranger to overeating, shoveling food in his mouth as quickly and desperately as he can, too afraid to slow down in case the plate was yanked away and he was left without food for days.

Hunching over his plate, he shovels a spoonful of kimchi fried rice into his mouth, groaning loudly as the salty, tangy flavors hit his tongue.

“I think he likes your cooking, hyung,” Jimin says cheerfully, glancing at Yoongi.

He looks pleased, a shy smile stretching across his face. “Eat as much as you want, Jeongguk-ah. We have plenty.”

Swallowing, Jeongguk nods eagerly. “Thank you. It’s delicious.” He can’t stand the attention, so he ducks his head and continues inhaling his food. He’s so famished, far beyond an everyday pang of hunger, and he feels like he’s breathing for the first time, taking every bit in.

The others chatter with one another, hands waving chopsticks as they recount a story, loud jokes bandied back and forth. Laughter is constant between them. A clap on the back. Someone tops off the glasses of wine. Plates are passed around the table. No one reaches to snatch food away from Jeongguk. No one denies him a second helping of food. No one remarks about his body—what the salt will do to it, where the weight might fall. No one pays him any attention, really, and that brings a strange sense of comfort.

When the plates are nearly empty, Hoseok and Namjoon push back from the table and begin gathering the dishes. Namjoon is careful not to step too closely to Jeongguk, instead nudging Hoseok to collect the dishes closest to him. A small gesture, but Jeongguk notices it. Files it away. He’s still unsure of the alpha, still unsure of his own safety.

“Well, Jeongguk,” Seokjin says warmly, “you must be wondering about our motley crew here.”

“Motley,” Taehyung scoffs. “Speak for yourself.” He folds his arms across his chest and puffs out a breath.

“You’re terrible at posturing,” Jimin says quickly, pinching Taehyung’s arm.

Seokjin rolls his eyes, but he can’t fight the endeared smile lighting up his face. “As I said, a motley crew.” He folds his napkin and sets it on the table, watching as Namjoon and Hoseok return to their seats. “You’re probably also wondering how you got here. Who we are.”

Jeongguk nods. He glances around the table to find the six men staring back at him—each one with a soft, but serious expression. They look nervous, like he might reject them. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I have a lot of questions.”

“This is our pack, Jeongguk,” Seokjin says, gesturing at the others. “We’ve all come together under,” he pauses, glancing at Yoongi then back at Jeongguk, “unusual circ*mstances. But we’re a family. And you can be part of it, if you want.”

“Just like that? You buy me and I’m yours?” Jeongguk asks carefully.

“You’re not anyone’s,” Seokjin clarifies. “This is your home, if you want it. We can also help you reconnect with family if you’d prefer to leave.”

Jeongguk shakes his head. “No family,” he says softly.

Seokjin hums. “What I’m offering you is family. Home. Protection.”

“And what do you want in return?” Jeongguk asks.

Seokjin smiles, an edge of sadness in his eyes. “Nothing. If you want to stay here with us, be part of our pack, all you have to do is stay. You don’t owe anyone a thing.”

Nothing is free. Nothing comes without a price tag. Jeongguk learned this lesson early in life. A stolen apple, a golden offer, an expensive dinner. These things all come with strings—messy, tangled, dangerous strings.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Namjoon interjects. He looks up from his glass and holds Jeongguk’s gaze. “It seems too good to be true, right?”

Jeongguk bites back a sharp remark. Instead, he says, “Yeah.”

Nodding, Namjoon holds out his hands. “Seokjin-hyung and I have been friends since we were pups. I know you don’t know me, and you have no reason to trust me, but when I say he’s a good alpha, a good man, I mean it. He only wants the best for us.”

“You said people like us,” Jeongguk says, turning to look at Taehyung and Jimin. “What does that mean?”

Jimin glances warily at Seokjin. He nods, and Jimin nods in return. “You could say we’re unwanted in some way.”

“The discard pile,” Taehyung interrupts.

“Rude,” Jimin sniffs, rolling his eyes. “I used to be like you—passed around at these horrible omega auctions. Until hyung saved me.”

“And you?” Jeongguk nods at Taehyung.

“Born a beta in a line of alphas,” he answers solemnly. “Disowned.”

“My mate died,” Hoseok pipes up. “No one wants a claimed, widower beta.” He smiles, but the ache is so clear, Jeongguk feels it stirring in his own chest.

“I’m a therapist working with easing people off suppressants and helping some transition,” Namjoon adds. “Not quite the line of work people expect for an alpha.”

Jeongguk nods and chews his lip. “And you?” He looks up at Yoongi, startled to find him staring intently at him.

“A runt,” Yoongi says with a shrug. “Not quite the alpha my parents expected. I left home when I was a kid.”

“So you just started a pack?” Jeongguk asks, turning to Seokjin. “What do I have to do? Is there some sort of hazing? A wrestling match?” He doesn’t say the darker things in his mind: a group f*ck to break him in? Submitting to the alphas? Waiting on the betas at their beck and call?

Seokjin shakes his head and leans forward, clasping his hands together. “You don’t have to do any of that. You just… stay.”

“Stay,” Jimin repeats, reaching for Jeongguk’s hand. It’s the kind of swift movement that normally spooks Jeongguk, that might set him on edge, but Jimin’s presence is calming, his scent curling around him like a warm lick of sunshine. “At least for tonight. If you want to leave, we can help you, but at least stay tonight.”

Jeongguk studies their intertwined fingers. Jimin’s hands are so small compared to his own, soft where Jeongguk’s hands are calloused and rough. As Jimin pulls away, Jeongguk notices the silvery scar snaking down the inside of his wrist. He decides to stay, at least for one night.

***

“This is your room,” Hoseok explains, gesturing at the bedroom. It’s the same room Jeongguk found himself in earlier that day. This time, it looks softer in the dim lighting. The bed looks lush and inviting, and Jeongguk feels a bone-deep exhaustion now that the buzz of dinner has worn off. “We can talk tomorrow about redecorating. I mean, if you stay, you totally don’t have to—”

"—thanks,” Jeongguk interrupts. He can hardly wrap his head around the morning much less any time beyond that. Right now, he just wants to sleep. The dull headache is back. Namjoon said he might still feel the symptoms of withdrawal for the next few hours, and Jeongguk hates that he’s right. He’d prefer never to rely on any alpha ever again.

“I’ll leave you alone now,” Hoseok says. “Sleep well. I’m just next door if you need anything. Seokjin-hyung left some brownies out if you want a snack later.”

Jeongguk nods. “Thanks, Hoseok-ssi.”

“You can call me hyung if you want,” he says gently. “I would like that very much, actually.” When Jeongguk doesn’t reply he nods and reaches for the doorknob. “Sleep well then.” He closes the door with a soft click. Just as Jeongguk reaches to lock it, the door swings open. Startled, Hobi glances down to see Jeongguk reaching for the twist lock. “Oh, I was going to tell you about the aircon.” He frowns, and it’s so sudden and sad, it fills Jeongguk with instant regret. “We won’t hurt you, you know. This isn’t some free-use household.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeongguk stammers. “I just, well, I don’t know you. It’s just habit.” Should he really have to explain himself? Had they all come here and just fallen into the routine of the pack without any hesitation? He can’t imagine what it’s like to trust so openly, so quickly.

“No, I’m sorry, you’re right.” Hoseok clears his throat. “Anyway, the remote is in the bedside table. In case you get hot overnight. The windows open, too, if you prefer a breeze.” He hesitates for a moment, gripping the door before shaking his head. “Anyway, good night.”

Jeongguk locks the door.He stares at it for a moment, unlocks it, fights the urge to twist the lock once more.

A set of pajamas are folded on the bed. They’re soft, buttery cotton in a shade of ashy blue that looks like sea water just after a storm. The material is elegant, the stitches meticulous and made of shimmering thread. He finds a note tucked into the breast pocket and reads the swirling script: Sweet dreams. Welcome home, Jeongguk. He flips over the card looking for a signature but finds only a small inscription from the desk of Kim Seokjin. He clutches the note to his chest and imagines how he might feel if his life had been different before now.

Would he see the pajamas as a gift? Some token of welcome to a new life if he wants it? Would he always see a gift and wonder what he would owe in return? In another life, he hopes his shadow self is happy, rolling around a bed far too big for him in pajamas that are far too expensive to sleep in. In this life, he sets the pajamas aside and crawls into bed. He reaches for the light on the side table and turns it off.

It’s been so long since Jeongguk has slept alone. He had nearly forgotten how loud silence could be: the steady ticking of a clock, the whir of the air conditioning, the creaks and groans of floorboards down the hall. Even his own breathing feels too loud, the rustling of sheets deafening.

At his previous household, he shared a room with three other omegas. The room was cramped and always too cold, a dampness clinging to every corner. Tiny, rickety twin beds lined the room with a large bureau the omegas shared between the four of them. Jeongguk never felt close to any of them—how could he really?—but now he misses them, or at least the familiar sound of someone breathing next to him. If he wasn’t sleeping in the room with them, he was in someone’s bedroom, made to f*ck or perform at will, sometimes exhausting himself so thoroughly, he woke up days later, barely recalling what he’d done nights before.

Jeongguk doesn’t miss that part of things—the abuse, the exhaustion, the endless work. But he wasn’t alone those times, either. Someone’s voice filled the empty spaces, even when spitting ugly things in Jeongguk’s ear. Music, laughter, and chatter on some nights. The other omegas whispering or scheming or weeping on other nights. Silence made him feel isolated. Like if he disappeared, no one would notice, and that thought terrified him more than anything.

Now, in this oversized bed, surrounded by nothing but expensive sheets and pillows, Jeongguk feels alone. It’s easy to disappear, he thinks. He could disappear right now, and no one would notice. He could easily scale the wall outside his bedroom, flee on foot through the garden. And then what? Where would he go? What would he be? Who would he be but a ghost? Someone never to be remembered.

And then—

—the tears hit. Hot and sharp, they stream down his cheeks, and he clutches a pillow and openly sobs into it. Spit gathers on the pillowcase, and he rubs his nose with it, sniffling and crying. He hated his old life, but at least he wasn’t alone. Even on the darkest nights, there was a strange comfort to a body next to his, heated skin sliding against his own, even a stranger stealing a kiss from him, leaving bruises behind.

A sliver of light spills across the room, and Jeongguk holds his breath, waiting for footsteps. They’re soft, cautious, and eventually, the other side of the bed dips with the weight of someone. “Jeongguk-ah.” The voice is low, gravelly, soft. Yoongi. “Can I lay with you?”

Jeongguk sniffles, mumbling into the pillow, “okay.”

Yoongi eases back among the pillows and rolls over to face Jeongguk. In the shadows, he looks even softer—a moonlit glow on plush skin and a small key dangling around his neck. He doesn’t smell like an alpha. Instead, he smells delicate like fresh soap made of honey and cream. “Is this alright? Are you alright?”

“You smell good,” Jeongguk blurts out. Heat washes over him.

Yoongi laughs, and it’s rasping and airy, like his breath is catching on each exhale. “You can imagine my parents surprise when their alpha son presented and smelled like some expensive hand cream.”

Jeongguk laughs, watery and loud, and wipes his eyes. He hopes Yoongi can’t see the splotches on his skin or the tears trailing along his jawline. “You’re really an alpha?”

Yoongi nods. “Yeah. The runt of the family. Nothing like what they’d hoped for.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeongguk answers.

“It is what it is. I found a new family.” He tugs the blankets over himself and shivers. “How are you feeling? Long day, huh?”

“I don’t know what I feel,” Jeongguk admits. Tired. Scared. Skeptical. Another word that might be Hopeful, but he doesn’t dare think about it too long.

“That’s okay.”

They don’t say much after that. Jeongguk steadies his breathing, eventually calming himself and drying his tears. Yoongi doesn’t pepper him with questions or encourage him to talk. This silence feels different—less terrifying and empty.

Yoongi clears his throat and shifts closer, pushing up on his elbows to peer down at Jeongguk. “Would you like to scoot a little closer? Let me touch you?”

Jeongguk’s heart sinks. There’s no give without take. He shouldn’t be disappointed. He’s foolish to be disappointed. He knows how to reply. He forces a smile, scoots closer. His feet brush against Yoongi’s, and they’re icy and bony under the blankets, smooth against Jeongguk’s calves. This part is easy. The disconnect is easy. He can turn off his brain and let his body take over.

There are ways to float away and leave his body behind. When Jeongguk licks his lips, he starts to feel lighter. The precious parts of him turn inward, his mind floats away. When he presses his lips to Yoongi’s, it’s some other self—not the happier, safer self far away in a distant dream life—but his other self. The shell automaton who performs on rote memory alone. He moves to roll Yoongi over, to press his weight onto him, but two strong hands press against his chest, startling him and yanking him back to this moment.

“Jeongguk, no,” Yoongi says firmly. “That’s not what I meant.”

The rejection stings. How idiotic! he thinks. To feel the pang of rejection when he doesn’t even feel anything toward this stranger in his bed.

Yoongi’s eyebrows are pinched together in concern, his mouth parted. A pretty mouth. A mouth that didn’t want to be kissed by Jeongguk. “No, pup,” he says gently, voice dipping low, “you don’t have to do that here. That’s not what I want.”

Pup. An endearment Jeongguk hasn’t heard in years. He covers his face in shame and fights off a second wave of tears. “I thought that’s what—”

“—no, no,” Yoongi says quickly, reaching for his hands. “I thought you might like a hug. Or someone to hold you.”

Jeongguk’s face crumples with tears, and he sobs openly. These tears hurt—fat, hot tears that sting his eyes and make his throat burn. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out.

Yoongi is stronger than he looks, moving Jeongguk onto his side and slipping against his back, holding him tightly around his belly. He lets Jeongguk cry, trembling as each new wave of tears washes over him. Yoongi nuzzles the back of his neck, whispering to him, “it’s okay, it’s okay.”

When Jeongguk finally calms down, he doesn’t pull away from Yoongi. He likes the weight of him on his back, the grounding relief of his arms holding him tight.

“We’re a lot alike, believe it or not,” Yoongi murmurs. “I’m an alpha and everyone has these expectations of me. Who I should be, how I should act. My body says I should be one thing, but my mind says otherwise.”

Jeongguk sniffles. “What do you mean?” His throat is hoarse, his voice weak.

“I’m an asexual alpha,” Yoongi laughs. “I’m supposed to be this rut-sick monster, right? Supposed to be big and rough, but I’m none of those things. I don’t want to be those things. But everyone expects me to act that way just because I was born an alpha. No one knows what to do with an ace alpha.”

“Oh, God, and I was forcing myself on you—”

“—no,” Yoongi interrupts. “You were doing what you’ve been trained to do. What someone told you to do. What someone expected of you. To perform and give your body away like it isn’t yours. You don’t have to do that here, Jeongguk.”

“How does it work in a pack?” he asks quietly. “If you don’t, I mean, if you don’t share a rut with them?”

“We have new purposes here,” Yoongi answers. He smooths his hand along Jeongguk’s belly in slow, soothing circles. “No one does anything they don’t want to. I don’t particularly like spending my ruts with people or helping others through theirs or their heats. I don’t have to here.”

“And the others?” Jeongguk asks.

“They have their arrangements. All consensual. And all at your own pace. You’ve been through hell, Jeongguk, no one is going to make you go back to that.” Yoongi speaks with such calm assurance, Jeongguk almost believes him.

Jeongguk shifts, rolling over to face Yoongi. He’s luminous, startling in his beauty. “Why’d you come in here?”

“I heard you crying,” Yoongi answers matter-of-factly. “A pack mate is crying in the middle of the night? Of course I’m going to check on you.”

“And the bed?”

Yoongi smiles. “I told you, I think we’re a lot alike. I think you want some contact when you’re upset. I watched you all throughout dinner. Did you notice how you leaned toward Jimin all evening?”

“Well, he’s an omega, I guess it makes sense,” Jeongguk answers. But there’s truth to Yoongi’s observation. Jeongguk felt like a flower bending toward sunlight every time Jimin laughed or made fleeting eye contact with him.

“And when Hobi led you upstairs after dinner? How you kept staggering into him as you went up the steps?”

Jeongguk frowns. “Why are you watching me so intently?”

“Just observing. Seokjin-hyung likes to know how people are settling in,” Yoongi replies. He sighs and purses his lips for a moment. “I’m a terrible alpha, but I’m a good person, Jeongguk. Everyone here is so good, and if you’re here, that means you are too.”

He shakes his head. “How could you know that?”

“Just give it time. Stay here long enough to find out, and you’ll see that you belong here.” Yoongi cups his hands on Jeongguk’s cheeks and holds him steady. “I promise you. There is so much goodness here in this pack, in this home. Let us show you.”

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Everything is transactional, wagered risks and rewards. Jeongguk is at zero—nothing to lose. One more day. He’ll wager one more day and decide if the risk is worth the reward.

Chapter 2: Namjoon

Chapter Text

Namjoon. Before.

Work was usually a respite for Namjoon—a place where he could leave his worries at the door and focus on the task at hand. He loved his work at the rec center. Every afternoon, he spent a couple of hours with neighborhood kids who came to seek friendship or to simply wait out their time until their parents got off work and collected them. Without fail, one or two kids were left behind well after the rec center should have closed, and Namjoon was often the only person left in the building to watch after them.

He didn’t mind it, though. Sometimes the nights waiting for parents were the best times to catch up with a kid, hear about their day, ask some questions and give them a snack. Yeonjun was a repeat straggler; his mother worked doubles at a touristy diner, eager to make a little extra to save up to send Yeonjun to private school some day. The kid was a delight, and Namjoon didn’t mind spending time with him.

“You stink,” Yeonjun said, frowning deeply as he inspected his collage.

“Do I?” Namjoon laughed and sniffed his shirt. “Must have sweat through my blockers. Sorry, dude.” The rec center was in desperate need of a new air conditioning unit. The compressor blew on an unseasonably warm April afternoon, and it had been damn near impossible to find anyone to service the old unit—and to do so without charging a fortune. Namjoon knew there was one untapped option, but he wasn’t ready to ask yet.

Yeonjun looked up from his collage and grinned. He was past the phase of losing baby teeth, and as his adult teeth grew in, his mouth looked a collage of its own: crooked, angled teeth pushing their way through his gums. Braces, Namjoon thought. The kid’s gonna need braces. And who’s going to pay for that? " What do you think, hyung?”

Namjoon smiled back. “Awesome, Yeonjun. Your mom’s gonna love it.” He tried not to make his glance at the clock too obvious. He failed.

“Late again,” Yeonjun muttered, sweeping tiny scraps of paper into his hand.

“It happens,” Namjoon said breezily. “Your mom works really hard for you. It’s because she cares.” He knew it to be true. He’d seen the way she’d rush into the rec center, her uniform covered in food stains, hair disheveled, a handful of cash to thrust into Namjoon’s hand for the trouble of waiting. He never accepted the cash, and the gesture always made him a little sad. Even during her stressful shift, she was thinking of Namjoon, of her son, of repaying anyone who might have shown her a small bit of kindness.

“I guess,” he mumbled. He stood up from his chair abruptly, setting his collage aside. “Can I go shoot some hoops?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon answered, nodding quickly. “The storage room is still unlocked. Have at it.”

He was grateful to have a few minutes alone. All day, he’d deflected curious stares from kids or suspicious questioning from prying co-workers. He looked like sh*t. He felt like sh*t. Everyone who looked at him could see it. He was exhausted, worn out from another late night fighting with his parents.

It was always the same conversation on an endless loop: when are you going to do something real with your life? Why are you wasting your time on these throwaway kids? Growing up, Namjoon had never known his parents to be cruel, but he had no other word for them when they talked like that.

They didn’t understand children who ran away from home, children who didn’t feel loved or seen, children who didn’t get enough of their basic needs met. You’ve had a good life, Namjoon-ah, why do you need to drag yourself into theirs? Empathy was the word he wanted to shout back at them, but it would be no use. They saw themselves as upstanding citizens—they paid their taxes, they went to church, they attended their social clubs and gave to charity. All well and good, he wanted to tell them, but that didn’t make them good people.

The conversation the night before had turned ugly, filled with ultimatums and more venom than he’d ever experienced from his parents. His father had crowded him, poked him with a sturdy, defiant finger and called him worthless. We didn’t send you to school to waste our time on pseudo-science and nonsense.

What they had sent him to school for was psychology and pharmacology. They assumed it meant he’d live his life as a pharmacist tucked away in a drugstore doling out pills and advice. They never anticipated he’d specialize in queer theory and transitioning, in helping people realize their best selves and find ways that meant affirmation for them. If you’re born an alpha, you’re an alpha. If you’re born a woman, you’re a woman. Period. What you’re doing is disgusting, against God. His father glowered at him, arms folded, and waited for a response.

Instead of fighting back, Namjoon shrugged. Gave a small nod. Collected his backpack and yanked his jacket off the coat rack and left without another word. He slept in his cramped office in the back of the rec center, and when he woke up to the sound of the morning cleaning crew, he knew it would be a long, agonizing day of headaches.

“You really should lock up after dark. Any random psycho could walk in here without warning.”

Namjoon looked up to see Seokjin walking across the room, his suit jacket draped over his arm as he loosened his tie. “Hey, hyung, I didn’t know you were coming by.” Relief would be the word to describe how Namjoon felt seeing Seokjin. Instant, wholesome, delighted relief. “The door’s open because a kid’s waiting for his mom.”

“Short lady? Pretty face with a hint of ketchup?” Seokjin asked, groaning as he sat down in one of the plastic chairs.

Namjoon nodded. “That’s the one. So I guess he’s gone.”

“So you’re off the clock then,” Seokjin said. He reached for a scrap of paper and a marker and began doodling on the page. Squiggles of Xs and Os and zigzag lines in no particular order.

Seokjin was similar: no particular order to the way he operated. Rarely unkind, always a bit playful, Seokjin was Namjoon’s oldest friend from childhood. They didn’t always get along. They both had their share of scars from schoolyard scraps, but there was something that bound them together—some deep well of family connection since their parents had been friends when they were younger. The rec center’s sole existence relied on Seokjin; he was a silent benefactor who didn’t even allow the center to name the building after him.

Once, when the center was facing foreclosure and a permanent shut down, Seokjin arrived at the front office, sweet-talked the elderly receptionist, and next thing they knew, the place was getting a new floor, new lights, and emergency provisions for the next time a storm blew through town. All without Namjoon ever asking. Seokjin just did. Namjoon learned long ago not to question it or to fight him. Yah, there’s nothing noble in turning down charity, Seokjin had scolded him. That was the end of that conversation.

“I need to find somewhere to live, hyung,” Namjoon blurted out, focused intently on the glitter glue oozing out of the bottle in his hand.

“Easy,” Seokjin said with a shrug. His tongue poked out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on drawing a series of looping swirls along the page. “Just move in with me. In my new stupid huge house.”

“I didn’t mean that," Namjoon said quickly. “I wasn’t trying to imply anything. I can’t do that.”

Or maybe he had—deep down—and it was coming to the surface. Seokjin’s parents had gifted him a house—some gaudy McMansion built by some westerner who was convinced he’d break into the suburban housing market. The houses were overly-priced for their quality, and even after Seokjin insisted he wanted to keep his city apartment, his parents made threats in the way obscenely wealthy people do, and he was moved into the house nearly a week later.

Seokjin looked up at Namjoon and smiled, easy as ever. “You can, and you will. I’ll have my people come collect your things.

Namjoon shook his head. “No, I’ll handle it. I don’t have much anyway.”

“Was it bad?” Seokjin asked, turning back to his drawing. He was always good about that too: never staring too long, probing too deeply with his questions.

Namjoon nodded and fought back tears. “Yeah.”

“Do you want ramyun tonight? I have a nice beef set a partner gifted me,” Seokjin answered. He was good at that too—deflecting, moving away from what hurt most, tugging someone closer to safety if they needed it.

“God, that sounds good, hyung,” Namjoon groaned, leaning back in his chair. “So I’m coming over tonight, huh?”

Seokjin looked up and grinned—wide and wicked and playful. “Tonight.”

***

It had been strange to return home and pack up his belongings. It was nearly impossible to tamp down his giddiness. Freedom was so close. Seokjin was so close.

So much of their friendship had been unspoken, some in-between state of being that they never fully addressed but accepted. Both alphas, the two boys spent much of their childhood wrestling and posturing, but as they grew older, there was something else between them. A bit of an electrical charge, like the tiniest spark of static glittering in the darkness. At the time, they didn’t know what to call it. As they aged, they had a label: friends with benefits.

As two alphas, they knew they were expected to find mates elsewhere. Certainly not in one another. But why not? Namjoon spent many nights lying in his bed, reeling from a heated make-out session. You don’t just kiss someone like that if there’s no feeling behind it. Namjoon was sure of it.

As they grew up, they learned their in-between status wasn’t all that unusual. Seokjin found it oddly comforting to know others were hiding their true selves, too. Namjoon just found it sad. He wished they could clasp hands in a cafe without fear of Seokjin’s parents or the media catching wind of it. He wished they could wake up together in Seokjin’s apartment without worrying about which exit Namjoon had to use to avoid reporters.

All that was over.

Namjoon’s mother stood in the doorway as he packed his room. He only needed a few items: computer, his notebooks, the clothes in his closet and the contents of his underwear drawer. His mother pleaded with him and asked him to stay one more night. Her sadness hung heavy in the air like storm clouds threatening to burst. Always emotional, his mother’s scent could choke him with the slightest blip in her moods. That night felt no different.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. Sorry I couldn’t be the son you wanted. Sorry you couldn’t be the parents I needed.

That all felt far away once Namjoon stepped foot in the foyer of Seokjin’s house. It smelled like new paint and carpet, floor wax and cardboard boxes. “What a dump,” he joked, toeing off his shoes.

Seokjin threw his head back and laughed—the sound echoing in the empty entryway. “Disgusting,” he replied. “Come on, let hyung feed you.”

The kitchen was larger than anything Namjoon had ever seen—and he’d worked his fair share of noodle bars and pop-up cafes. This kitchen had all the trappings of an overly large, overly expensive family home: a double range, a huge exhaust fan overhead, racks of pots and pans lining the wall. At the center of the kitchen was a large island with four bar stools lined up.

Seokjin gestured for Namjoon to sit, and he turned to retrieve bottles of beer from the fridge. He cracked them open and offered one to Namjoon, maintaining eye contact as they both took long, breathless gulps. “You’re here.”

Namjoon smiled and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m here. And thank you, hyung, I can’t thank you enough, really.” His gratitude was profuse, bubbling out of him with embarrassing affection.

Seokjin simply smiled and shrugged. “It’s what friends do, Namjoon-ah. You’re my best friend. I’m lucky you’re here.”

Somehow, Namjoon didn’t quite believe that. It seemed impossible that his presence would make Seokjin feel lucky of all things. Namjoon with his forgetfulness, his clumsy nature, his too-loud talking late at night, his grinding snores. Still, when Seokjin smiled at him, Namjoon knew some part of it had to be true.

“How are you settling in so far, hyung?” Namjoon asked, taking another drink. Most people their age weren’t buying homes, and they certainly weren’t buying pre-fab mansions nestled just out of city lines.

Sighing, Seokjin leaned against the counter and studied the condensation clinging to his bottle. “It’s hideous,” he groaned. “I know I should be appreciative, and I am, but there’s always strings attached, you know?” He glanced up at Namjoon, a deep worry line creasing his forehead. “They think this house will land me a mate and then we’ll have pups running around and they’ll be grandparents.” He laughed bitterly and shook his head. “Just makes me wonder when I’m allowed to start living my dreams instead of theirs.”

“You don’t think you’ll find a mate with this house? It’s quite the honey pot,” Namjoon teased, but there was no mirth to his voice. Just a familiar, dull ache he never let himself ponder too deeply.

“Namjoon,” Seokjin murmured, “you know what I mean.”

Did he?

“Do I?” he whispered.

“Let’s eat,” Seokjin said, standing up quickly. He turned his back to Namjoon to busy himself at the stove, stirring flavor packets into the pot of noodles. When his back was turned, it felt like a cloud obstructing the sun—golden warmth suddenly gone cold.

Namjoon wasn’t sure if he should make small talk or let the silence hang between them. The kitchen was so vast and empty, every sound was amplified. The scraping of chopsticks against the bottom of the pot, the whirring of the exhaust fan, a clock in another room counting off each minute—all of it felt excruciatingly loud as Seokjin cooked wordlessly.

Finally, Seokjin shut off the stove and divided the ramyun into two deep bowls. He pushed one toward Namjoon with a pair of chopsticks before turning back to the fridge. He returned with a jar of hot sauce, a bowl of green onions, and a Tupperware container of hard boiled eggs. “Eat up, Namjoon. You know hyung likes to see you eat well.”

Blushing, Namjoon twirled his chopsticks in his ramyun, seeking a bite of grilled beef. “You’ve always spoiled me.”

“You like it.” Seokjin smiled to himself as he poked at his food.

The silence that followed was easier to sit with. They hummed and slurped their food, passing the jar of hot sauce back and forth, sniffling and laughing through the tears of an especially spicy bite.

“Thanks for dinner, hyung,” Namjoon said, leaning back in his seat. He patted his belly and groaned happily at the fullness. He slid off his bar stool and gathered the empty dishes, reaching across Seokjin for his bowl. “Let me clean up.”

“Ah, Namjoon-ah, you don’t have to,” Seokjin said, waving him off. “I’ve got a dishwasher. Just throw ‘em in there.”

Namjoon grinned and scoffed, dumping the dishes into the sink. “Big alpha with a dishwasher, am I supposed to be impressed?”

“I dunno, it depends,” Seokjin answered with a shrug. “Are you impressed?” He leaned back on the counter and watched Namjoon turn on the water and push up his sleeves.

“Nah, I’m not easily swayed by material things,” Namjoon joked, squeezing soap onto a sponge. He washed each item carefully, scrubbing into the corners and grooves of each dish.

“That’s too bad,” Seokjin murmured. His voice had gone low, soft, silvery. It made Namjoon shiver. “A mansion, a good meal, and a dishwasher aren’t enough to land a mate?” He clicked his tongue. “I’m worse off than I thought.”

Namjoon turned off the water and shook the suds off his hands. “Hyung.” He wasn’t sure what he meant then: hyung, don’t tease me. Hyung, that’s not funny. Hyung, you don’t want me in that way. Namjoon closed his eyes for a moment and turned slowly, taking in Seokjin’s face.

He looked scared, an expression Namjoon had seen many times on Seokjin’s face as a boy but rarely as they were older. Wide eyes, lips parted, his Adam’s apple bobbing like he couldn’t swallow his breath. “Maybe I should’ve been more clear, I don’t know,” Seokjin stammered, rubbing his neck and staring at the floor.

“Maybe,” Namjoon answered. “What are you saying, hyung?”

“I went about it all wrong, Namjoon,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I guess I thought you and I could be something.”

“You didn’t have to move me in to say that,” Namjoon said gently.

“I know, and that wasn’t my intention, I swear,” Seokjin said quickly. “But you needed a place to stay and I have this place…” His voice trailed off and he lifted his gaze to meet Namjoon’s. “When my parents started talking about living here and finding a mate, it made me sick. I can’t imagine it not being you.”

After that, things moved slow and soft: mouths cold and tingling from beer and pepper, Namjoon leaning Seokjin against the counter, a gentle oh as Seokjin slipped his hand under Namjoon’s shirt.

“I fear I’ve set you up for some big expectations,” Seokjin laughed, breaking away from a breathless kiss. “Might have started too strong with the courting.”

Namjoon laughed, nuzzling into the crook of Seokjin’s neck. “You know I don’t care about that stuff. Just you, hyung.”

“I promise I’m not trying to take advantage of you in your time of need,” Seokjin groaned, clinging to Namjoon’s sweater as he nipped Seokjin’s neck, “but I want you, Namjoon-ah. You.”

With a huff, Namjoon stood quickly and grabbed Seokjin by the waist, hoisting him over his shoulder. “Guide me to the bedroom, hyung.”

“It’s just a mattress on the floor!” he sputtered, cackling with each careful step Namjoon took.

“Don’t care,” he huffed, hoisting Seokjin a bit more over his shoulder. “Upstairs or down?”

“Down the hall,” Seokjin laughed, flailing to point down a long corridor.

“You sleep on the main floor? What if someone broke in and hurt you?” Namjoon asked, swatting Seokjin’s butt.

“Good thing I have my big strong alpha boyfriend here now.”

Namjoon liked the sound of that.

The main-level bedroom is smaller than Namjoon expected. In the center of the room was a mattress covered in sheets and blankets and a pile of pillows. Namjoon placed Seokjin safely on the mattress and quickly crawled next to him. “Why didn’t you take a bigger room? This is your house.”

“I don’t need all this space,” Seokjin answered, tracing the stitching of Namjoon’s sweater. “I feel like I’ve grown up in a bubble with everyone and everything so far away from me. Why would I need some enormous room?”

“For your big alpha boyfriend,” Namjoon teased, ducking in for a quick kiss.

“You can have the master. It’s upstairs and it has a nice little reading nook with a balcony. Take it, I insist.” Seokjin’s fingers curled in the long hair on Namjoon’s nape.

“And what if I wanted to sleep in here instead?” Namjoon murmured, rucking up Seokjin’s shirt and smoothing his warm palm down his torso.

“Then sleep here,” Seokjin sighed.

They kissed long and slow with the new freedom granted to them. They didn’t have to hurry off somewhere, didn’t have to sneak out of bed or arrange an alternate exit. They could just be. Time, Namjoon realized, was a luxury they never indulged in, and now that they had so much of it, it was overwhelming.

Things begin to tilt—each of their worlds leaning off their axis and finding a new balance together. They pulled off their clothes, tossing them somewhere beyond the mattress into the inky darkness of the room. They’d done this countless times before, but it felt different. A new clarity between them, illuminated by the moonlight in the window.

When Namjoon kissed Seokjin again, it felt like stars were born. Sparkling, radiating energy swirling out of darkness. Each kiss an explosion out of nothingness.

Namjoon has read enough books in his lifetime that describe this very moment: some primal magic summoned from deep within, an alpha craving moonlight and a mate. But what they couldn’t capture even if they tried was Seokjin’s ethereal beauty that night—the way he watched Namjoon with soft amusem*nt in his eyes, mouth parted with a joke ghosted on his lips. Delight, just delight, that Namjoon was there with him, tangled among the sheets.

“Ah,” Seokjin sighed, “Namjoon-ah.” It didn’t matter what he said next. Namjoon would never recall the words—only the sounds that poured from Seokjin’s lips. The pretty sighs and airy laughter, the way he gasped as Namjoon gripped his thighs so hard they bruised.

On that night, they were beyond words. They had twenty years of words—the jokes, the secrets, the half-told truths—but what they needed to say then, they said with lips meeting. Hands grazing. Tongues tasting. Muscles trembling.

“Hyung,” Namjoon groaned, dropping his head onto Seokjin’s shoulders, rolling his hips to f*ck him deeper. “S’good, God, I just—”

Seokjin silenced him with a kiss—a heady, hazy kiss of tongue and teeth and spit. “It’s fine, Joon. You’re fine.” As always, Seokjin could so clearly distill a moment and crystalize it into something pure and simple, impossible to misunderstand. It’s fine.

Seokjin looked so pretty taking Namjoon’s knot, but he didn’t know how to articulate it in that moment. Instead, he kissed him over and over, speckling kisses across his cheeks and neck until Seokjin laughed and shook him off. Namjoon felt a little scent-drunk then, unable to get enough of Seokjin’s scent. Namjoon wanted to bathe in it, wanted to wake with the smell of his hyung on his skin, wanted to fall asleep tangled in bed sheets among his scent.

How different it felt to love so freely, to love without threat of a clock or someone barging in. It was too sentimental, Namjoon knew it even in that moment, but he was overwhelmed by it all: Seokjin’s eyelashes curled and dripping with tears, the plush pink of his lips, the way his ears turned pink and his toes curled.

All his life, Namjoon heard about the expectations of an alpha: be strong, proud, unafraid, assertive. Society bent those meanings, produced an image of an alpha who was unkind and cruel, imposing in their strength, unfeeling and detached. Namjoon never felt like any of those things. He craved softness, kindness, tender affection, absolute honesty. He hated how those attributes seemed out of reach for alphas, like a character defect instead of a desirable quality. Seokjin had shown Namjoon even in their childhood that alphas could be kind, playful, and affectionate.

(God, if Namjoon really mapped out the course of his life and teased out every thread of understanding he’d acquired, he’d find Seokjin at the center of it all.)

“Right there,” Seokjin gasped, his body rippling all over with goosebumps. He clung to Namjoon’s shoulders, fingernails sinking into his skin as Namjoon pressed Seokjin’s legs open, pressing deeper into him. “God, your knot, Namjoon, f*ck.” He sighed and clenched around Namjoon, body seizing as his org*sm washed over him.

Namjoon wanted more of Seokjin’s scent, wanted more of Seokjin’s entire being all over him. He stroked Seokjin lazily, milking him through the end of his org*sm, dribbling the remnants of cum all over his fingers. He sucked his fingers dreamily, feeling half-dazed from the sensation of his knot catching on Seokjin’s rim and the taste of Seokjin’s cum on his tongue.

“Ah, you filthy pup,” Seokjin murmured. His body was pink all over, pretty and delicate. Namjoon always liked how his skin gave him away, how it felt like Namjoon had painted Seokjin all over with pleasure. There was no way to hide it like all the other things they took too long to share. “Is this a dream?” His voice dipped low, rougher than usual, nearing the edge of sleep. “Are you really here, Namjoon-ah?”

Namjoon’s heart clenched at the question. He felt it too—that somehow they were under a spell that might break soon. He kissed Seokjin slowly, pressing warmth and truth and anything else he could muster onto his lips. “Yeah, hyung. I’m here. I’m staying.”

Later that night, after they were sated and a little giggly from exhaustion, Seokjin cuddled against Namjoon and drifted to sleep. He could always fall asleep easily, his mind turning off and giving himself over to dreams. Namjoon’s mind, however, was less quiet. He never mastered the art of turning off his brain, and that first night in his new home, his mind ran wild.

He couldn’t help but think of all the ice breaker games he played with children at the rec center. If you were stranded on a desert island and you could take two items and one person, what would you choose? Namjoon had a new answer—no, he had finally confirmed his answer. He would choose Seokjin. As long as he had Seokjin by his side, he didn’t need anything else.

***

Namjoon. Now.

Namjoon didn’t sleep much the night before. He was wired and on edge, thinking of ways to welcome the new omega into their home. When Namjoon first moved in, he felt instant comfort and knew he could trust Seokjin. But Jeongguk didn’t have that. Wouldn’t have that for some time.

The morning is misty and gray, milky with hazy sunlight. Namjoon sits at the counter flipping through an old art anthology Yoongi picked up for him recently. Namjoon likes these quiet moments. It’s not that he wants to be alone, but he likes the stillness of waking first. There’s a special calm that fills him as he walks through the house quietly. Sipping coffee as he reads feels indulgent and leisurely, and these pockets of time feel like gifts, especially during the hectic weeks of work.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a shadow hovering in the entry of the kitchen. The smell hits him second: Jeongguk is so overwhelmingly floral and bright . If Namjoon could taste him, he’s sure Jeongguk would taste like canary yellow and electric green. The poor thing had been so drugged the day before, his scent was muddled and weak and clouded from days without bathing and being surrounded by those vile alphas.

“Morning,” Namjoon says softly. He keeps his attention on his book and drinks his coffee.

Jeongguk stiffens, leaning against the door frame. Namjoon recognizes the look on Jeongguk’s face. Arriving at this enormous house, to a place that felt too big, yet felt like it couldn’t have space for him. “Hi,” he mumbles. He picks at the hem of his shirt like his life depends on tearing out the loose thread.

Namjoon clears his throat and looks up, offering a warm smile. The kid is so scared. And really, he’s just a kid, Namjoon thinks. He’s not much younger than the rest of the pack, but he looks so young and vulnerable, it makes Namjoon’s heart ache to comfort him. They both walked such different paths to get here, but Namjoon remembers the terror of those early days when he first turned his back on family and had to build a new one here with Seokjin.

“Come in,” Namjoon says with a small wave. Jeongguk hesitates, his eyes darting toward the plate of brownies on the counter. Namjoon notices and laughs. “You hungry? Seokjin-hyung will be over the moon if you eat his treats. You want some coffee?”

Jeongguk chews his bottom lip and considers the offer. “Are you guarding the exit or what?”

Namjoon has experienced this countless times—the sting and deflection of a scared kid just trying to test the waters and confirm their safety. Undeterred, Namjoon chuckles and slides off the bar stool. He opens a cabinet and pulls out a coffee mug and reaches to fill it. He places it on the counter and gestures at it. “All yours.” He gestures toward the cabinet. “I have to-go cups if you’d rather take it and leave. You’re free to go wherever.”

“You don’t smell like an alpha,” Jeongguk says, swiping the mug and standing far from Namjoon.

“Ah,” Namjoon nods, “Yeah, I wore blockers in case that would make you more comfortable.” He doesn’t miss the way Jeongguk’s chest deflates, how his eyes soften just a bit.

“That was nice,” Jeongguk admits, tracing the edge of his coffee mug. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

Namjoon shrugs and tops off his own coffee mug. “No, but I did. Because if you’re staying, I want you to be comfortable.” He swallows and scratches his ear nervously. “Are you staying?”

Jeongguk shrugs half-heartedly. “Dunno.”

Nodding, Namjoon slides onto the stool where he was seated before and returns to his reading. He knows better than to push Jeongguk. He’s worked with enough scared, closed-off kids to know that more questions will scare him off. A hard sell won’t work, either. No amount of anecdotes will work one someone like Jeongguk—not when he’s got countless experiences that would negate any kindness Namjoon tries to extend.

The bar stool next to Namjoon scrapes against the floor in a swift motion. Jeongguk settles next to Namjoon. He’s stiff and nervous, careful with his motions like he’s afraid he might startle or provoke Namjoon. “Yoongi,” Jeongguk says softly. “He’s really an alpha?”

Namjoon nods, smiling. “I’m afraid so.”

“He’s so…” Jeongguk trails off.

“I know.” Namjoon sips his coffee and flicks at the corner of the page. “He’s amazing. Did you get to talk to him last night?”

Jeongguk nods. He takes a slow sip of his coffee, never once glancing toward Namjoon. “He’s kind. Gentle.” Not like other alphas, he doesn’t say. Still, Namjoon understands the implication.

“He is,” Namjoon affirms. “He’s one of the best people I know.” He turns the page, only giving it a cursory glance.

“He made me feel safe,” Jeongguk says. He clutches the mug and leans forward at the counter, elbows braced on the edge. “I had a nightmare last night. I was lost at sea during a storm, and I was trying to cling to my boat so I wasn’t thrown overboard.” He looks down at his mug and shakes his head. “I woke up and Yoongi was there like an anchor. Holding me here instead of that old place.” He shudders. “And you know what?” He laughs, shaking his head. “I woke up missing my old room—that cold, wet place that stunk of sadness and sex. Can you believe that? I just woke up in this huge bed next to someone warm and kind, and for a moment, I missed where I used to be. What do you think that means?”

Namjoon inhales, leaning back in his seat. He fights the urge to launch into some diatribe about trauma theory. That isn’t what Jeongguk needs now. “Well, anchors can do a few things, right?”

Jeongguk nods, still avoiding eye contact. He grunts in agreement.

“They keep you in place so you don’t drift in the wrong direction or get blown off course. Or they can keep you rooted in place, even if you want to go elsewhere.” Namjoon wishes he could pat Jeongguk, pull him in for a hug, but he doesn’t want to spook him. Namjoon has always been awkward with affection, unsure of how to dole it out at times, but he knows how to comfort someone. It’s difficult to do without a careful touch.

Jeongguk clears his throat and shifts in his seat, turning to make eye contact with Namjoon. When their eyes meet, it’s powerful. Jeongguk’s eyes are dark and vast, penetrating in how they hold Namjoon’s gaze. He has a wild look in his eyes—fight or flight glittering in his pupils. One false move and he might leave. Namjoon holds his breath. “I don’t know how to be around people.” Jeongguk’s voice is small, wounded, and it makes Namjoon’s heart ache.

“You don’t have to be anything,” Namjoon says quickly. “No need to hurry, no need to sparkle, no need to be anything but one’s self.” The words come out a little clunky, and suddenly, Namjoon feels a bit self-conscious.

Jeongguk snorts. “Did you steal that from someone’s inspiration board?”

Namjoon can’t help but laugh. “Virginia Woolf.”

“Ah.” Jeongguk hums. “Never read her. Haven’t read much of anything.” He pauses. “Not much school, you know?”

Namjoon tries not to wince at the implication. He clears his throat and nods, trying hard to sound casual and unaffected. "You’re welcome to borrow my books any time. I can show you my library,” Namjoon offers. “Or,” he adds quickly, “Yoongi can show you around if you prefer.”

“Maybe later.”

Namjoon nods. “Fair enough. Later is good.” He gathers his book and his mug and slides off the bar stool. “I’m going to go work out for a bit. There’s more food in the fridge or the pantry if you’re hungry. I’m sure Seokjin-hyung will be up soon to make breakfast if you want.”

“There’s a gym here?” Jeongguk asks suddenly.

“Well, nothing official, but there’s the pool house that we converted into a workout room.” Namjoon gestures out the sliding doors. “I’ll be out there.” He sets his cup in the sink and hesitates for a moment. “Do you want to join me?”

Jeongguk frowns. “I don’t have any clothes.”

“You can borrow some of mine,” Namjoon offers. When Jeongguk bristles, Namjoon laughs. “Right, the smell. I can grab some stuff from Taehyung?” Jeongguk nods, and Namjoon smiles in return.

Namjoon takes the stairs two by two, hurrying down the hallway to Taehyung’s room. Namjoon cracks the door slowly, and instantly, he’s overwhelmed by the scent of Taehyung and Jimin together. Even in his sleep, Jimin’s scent is powerful: perfumed and pleased, his omega delighted to be safe in his nest with Taehyung. Quietly, Namjoon rifles through the drawers until he finds a shirt and some gym shorts.

When he returns to the kitchen, Jeongguk is standing at the sliding doors, staring out at the pool. To an outsider, it must look opulent, maybe even a bit ridiculous to have such a lavish home. Namjoon wants to explain the situation to Jeongguk. The pack got lucky. Seokjin was lucky. They might not have chosen this home under other circ*mstances, but they have it, and it feels safe and filled with everything they could ever want.

“You swim?” Namjoon asks awkwardly, trying to walk with heavy steps to avoid startling Jeongguk.

“Not very well,” Jeongguk murmurs. He glances over his shoulder at Namjoon, his eyes tracing down his chest to land on the clothes folded in his grasp. “For me?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, holding them out. “I’ll meet you out there.” He steps around Jeongguk and pushes his way through the open sliding door.

The pool house always seemed like a waste of space. When Seokjin and Namjoon first moved in, they never even set foot in it. It seemed ridiculous to have a separate outdoor space with a kitchenette, a full bathroom, and two large bedrooms. The place is bigger than many people’s apartments, and even when the pack slowly formed, no one felt compelled to claim the space.

Slowly, Namjoon, Hoseok, and Yoongi converted it into a gym. Gym was a loose word for it. Really, it just became a space to house their random assortment of workout gear. Yoongi had led them through some renovations, including a few wall removals, and what remains is pretty spacious.

Namjoon tidies up some of the free weights strewn on the floor, and he tugs out the punching bag for a bit more space. He’s stretched out on the floor warming up when Jeongguk steps into the room.

“I’ve never really worked out,” Jeongguk declares.

Laughing, Namjoon sits upright, then groans as his shirt clings to his back. The morning has already grown humid, sticky with moisture and the sun burning through the morning fog. “Just do whatever your body wants to do.”

Jeongguk’s eyes widen for a moment and he forces a tight smile. “I haven’t really had a lot of experience knowing what my body wants to do.”

sh*t, Namjoon thinks. He should be more careful with his words. Jeongguk is so different from the others—dragging more baggage and mystery behind him—and it makes it difficult to know how to interact with him. Namjoon feels like he’s fighting off all his natural tendencies: to joke and tease, to clap him on the back, to offer a hug and shoulder to cry on.

Namjoon clears his throat. “Right.” He hurries to his feet and wipes off the back of his shorts. “Well, there’s a treadmill—”

“—no shoes,” Jeongguk interrupts.

Right, Namjoon thinks, he’s going to need a lot of new things. He files the thought away to bring up to Seokjin later. Jeongguk will never feel comfortable here if he doesn’t have some things of his own.

“Ah, okay, yeah, good point,” Namjoon says, frowning as he surveys the room. “Free weights might be good? Or even some calisthenics—jumping jacks, burpees, all that stuff.” Jeongguk looks unimpressed. “Or this?” Namjoon swats at the punching bag beside him. “I can tape your hands and you can give it a try?”

Curious, Jeongguk steps closer to the punching bag. Tentatively, he punches the bag—more of a whiff, really. The bag swings back and forth, and Jeongguk takes another swing. It comes naturally to him. His body hunches just enough to gain some momentum, shoulders turning and hips squaring as he punches. Left, right, left, right, right. Over and over, he punches the bag, filling the room with the sounds of each loud thwack.

Namjoon steps closer, mouth open and ready to interrupt. Maybe he should tape his hands. His knuckles will be raw and sore if he keeps hitting with such power. But there’s a fervor in Jeongguk’s eyes—all that anger and hurt bubbling at the surface—and Namjoon recognizes that look. It’s the zone, as he calls it. That far-off place where the brain shuts down and the body takes over. Just blood and sinew and muscles and tendons working together like a machine exerting power and energy without the haze of emotions trying to regulate.

There’s no grace to Jeongguk’s movements. He grunts and sweats and pummels the bag, sometimes staggering from the momentum of a wide, clumsy swing. Sweat drips down his face, flinging with every punch. The bright, sharpness of his scent dampens, turning muddled and sour, and Namjoon bites back a whine. He wants to scent the omega, crowd him and comfort him, nuzzle him until his distress dissipates. The moment isn’t right for it. Jeongguk may take it as an act of aggression—Namjoon trying to assert dominance or harm the skittish omega.

A loud crack makes Jeongguk falter. Namjoon knows that sound: knuckles hitting the sandbag wrong, skin scraping and splitting against the pebbled leather. Jeongguk cries out, clutching his hand to his chest.

“Let me see,” Namjoon says gently.

Jeongguk gnashes his teeth at him and pulls away. “It’s fine.” His cheeks are flushed from the exertion, and his eyes are glassy with unshed tears.

Namjoon knows the feeling of split skin across his hands, knows how much it stretches and burns. How each time he moves his hand, it will feel like the wounds are reopening again. “Can I help you clean up? Wrap your hands?” He holds out his own hands and traces a finger along a faint scar lining the ridge of his knuckles. “I busted my hand once. Hurts like hell if you don’t take care of it. Trust me.” He glances up at Jeongguk. “Can you do that?”

“Okay,” Jeongguk mumbles.

Namjoon digs through a drawer and retrieves bandages and ointment and several rolls of hand wrap. He digs around for some cotton balls and antiseptic and waves Jeongguk over. “It’ll be easier over here,” he says, lining up each item on the counter.

Jeongguk complies, still cradling his hand to his chest. It’s swollen and inflamed, streaks of blood smeared across the back of his hand. He watches Namjoon carefully as he prepares the soaked cotton balls and arranges bandages.

Namjoon tries not to inhale sharply as the omega gets closer. His nerves are frayed, and the need to comfort him stirs mightily in his chest. He tries to remind himself of the others when they first arrived—how they were also a bit timid, unsure of the new surroundings, not quite sure how to feel about Namjoon and Seokjin and their offer of a better life. In many ways, Jeongguk is just like the others, but in other ways, he’s different. Far more wounded than Seokjin let on. More reluctant and suspicious, but his trauma had been substantially worse than the others. Not worse, Namjoon’s mind corrects, different. They had all come to the pack weary, battered, and in need of somewhere safe to rebuild their lives.

“May I?” Namjoon asks softly, reaching out his palm. Jeongguk steps closer and rests his hand on Namjoon’s. Namjoon works slowly and carefully, flinching when Jeongguk hisses at the sting of antiseptic. “Sorry,” he murmurs. He keeps his touch delicate—little dabs of ointment, a bandage placed carefully on the broken skin. “Do you want me to wrap it so you can keep boxing?” When he looks up, Jeongguk is staring at him with such a strange expression, it makes Namjoon’s blood run cold.

“Have you ever killed someone?” Jeongguk’s voice is icy.

“Killed?” Namjoon parrots. “No, in spite of the punching bag, I’m a pacifist.” A weak attempt at a joke to diffuse the suffocating weight of Jeongguk’s question. He wants to ask, have you ever killed someone?

“I’ve thought about it,” Jeongguk continues, answering the unspoken question. “Came close once. I used to be different.”

Namjoon nods, unsure of what to say. He reaches for some hand wrap. “Yes or no?”

“No,” Jeongguk says, shaking his head. “No.”

The tears are swift, and before Namjoon can make sense of things, Jeongguk is collapsing against him, wailing with loud animalistic sobs. He shudders and chokes out the tears, his mouth damp and warm against Namjoon’s shirt. Namjoon wraps his arms around Jeongguk and squeezes him, rocking him carefully. Jeongguk allows himself to be held, crying and gasping and sputtering against Namjoon.

Slowly, Namjoon pulls Jeongguk to the floor. The tile of the kitchenette floor is cool against their skin, and Namjoon leans against the cabinets, tugging Jeongguk closer.

When Jimin later steps into the pool house cautiously, Namjoon can’t say how long they’ve been on the floor. Jeongguk sobbed until his voice went hoarse and the tears dried in tracks down his cheeks, snot clinging to his nose.

Jimin raises an eyebrow but doesn’t step further into the room. Namjoon offers a feeble smile and gestures at Jeongguk, fast asleep in his arms, mouth open as he breathes heavily. “You good?” Jimin whispers.

Nodding, Namjoon smooths his hand down Jeongguk’s back. It’s not much, but it’s something. He’s glad he can give him some sort of comfort, no matter how small. “Tired,” Namjoon whispers back.

Nodding, Jimin retreats. He hesitates for a moment at the door and gives Namjoon a soft smile before waving and disappearing into the sunlight. Jimin is a good person, an even better pack mate: kind and selfless, fiercely loyal, loving beyond measure. Namjoon hopes that Jeongguk will stick around long enough to see it, long enough to feel Jimin’s warmth—how healing his smile can be, how gentle his touch can be. The rest of the pack has so much to offer Jeongguk, and selfishly, Namjoon wishes that he’ll stick around long enough to see that there’s so much love and joy to be found here. That maybe, just maybe, the suffering won’t feel like such a lost cause if he can somehow see how it brought him here.

***

Namjoon. Recently.

“I found him.”

Light spilled across the dark room, startling Namjoon. He sat up groggily, pulling away from where he was tangled among the sheets with Jimin and Taehyung. “Hyung?” he murmured.

Seokjin waved from the doorway, holding up his glowing tablet. “I found him, Namjoon. Him.”

Him. The omega Seokjin had been tracking for years, trying to find in the nebulous circuit of omega auctions and underground rut clubs.

“Holy sh*t,” Namjoon murmured. He swung his legs off the side of the bed and winced, feeling a tender bruise blooming between his ribs. Jimin had been a little rough and needy, just on the edge of his heat, and Namjoon and Taehyung spent the day in bed with him, letting him work out all his feral tendencies. Namjoon touched the sore spot gingerly, smiling to himself in the dark as he imagined Jimin’s wide, amused eyes watching Namjoon’s face as he sucked a bruise.

“You coming?” Seokjin pushed the door open wider and turned away.

Namjoon fumbled to pull on some sleep pants and leaned over Taehyung and Jimin, giving each of them a kiss on their foreheads. They had that deep sleep smell: sated and warm, their scents mingling as one. Lucky, Namjoon thought. They were all so lucky.

When Namjoon pushed his way into Seokjin’s room, he found him hunched over his tablet. “Hyung? You said you found him?”

Seokjin looked up, bleary eyed and distressed, his lips drawn in a tight smile. “Yeah, Namjoon-ah, it’s definitely him.” He held out the tablet and gestured for Namjoon to take a look.

Settling on the bed next to him, Namjoon took the tablet from Seokjin and flicked through the pictures. There were dozens of them—screenshots of auction sites, an array of photographs of the omega Seokjin searched for all those years. “He’s so skinny,” Namjoon gasped. “What are they doing to him?”

“You don’t wanna know,” Seokjin groaned, flinging himself back among the pillows. “All I know is his current household is trying to get rid of him, and I finally have a chance to save him.”

“Hyung,” Namjoon said gently, “careful.” Seokjin’s big heart was a beautiful thing: bountiful in its generosity, tender and loving, but it left him vulnerable, exposed, in danger.

“You know how long I’ve been searching for him,” Seokjin whispered. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling fan, following the slow circling of the fan blades. “We’re so close.”

“Do you think you can outbid everyone?” Namjoon asked. It always made him ill to think about the exorbitant money spent on purchasing human beings, carting them from house to house and parading them like livestock and selling them off to the highest bidders. He glanced at the listing for the omega: Jeongguk. Docile and obedient. Strong. Favors impact play, rough play, and degradation. “f*ck,” Namjoon muttered. He shut off the tablet and tossed it aside. “It’s disgusting.”

Seokjin sighed. “I know.”

Namjoon shifted onto the bed and nuzzled close to Seokjin. Even as their pack grew, Namjoon and Seokjin always found their way back to one another. “What are you gonna do, hyung?”

“I’m gonna go to the auction and make an offer they can’t turn down,” he answered firmly. “Six billion won. Cash.”

“What?” Namjoon gasped. “Hyung, that’s insane.”

“It is,” Seokjin agreed. “And they won’t be able to say no. It’s well above market price.” He scoffed and shook his head. “What’s the f*cking point of having this money if I can’t do something good with it?”

Namjoon nodded. “I get it.” He didn’t, really. He couldn’t understand or even imagine what was going on in Seokjin's head. This pursuit of the omega had become all-consuming, an obsession for Seokjin, and Namjoon and the rest of the pack never knew what drove their leader to search for him so desperately.

“The auction is soon.” Seokjin’s voice had changed: flat and resolute as if he were speaking only to himself. He was lost in thought, and Namjoon wished he could pry inside his head and see all that was swirling around in there.

Namjoon kissed Seokjin’s shoulder. His mate was distressed, and it made Namjoon restless. “Do you want me to go with you?”

Seokjin hummed and threaded his fingers through Namjoon’s hair. A gentle touch, one that calmed him. “No, I think I’ll take Hobi. I’m not sure another alpha will be that comforting to him.” He pressed a kiss to Namjoon’s crown and inhaled deeply. “Thank you, though.”

Silence blanketed them. Namjoon knew better than to ask questions. Seokjin’s search for Jeongguk had been a lengthy one—leads that vanished, auctions canceled, the omega being entirely absent from sales. It was a complicated, exhausting pursuit for Seokjin. He handled it all on his own, faking smiles and murmuring with the despicable monsters responsible for the suffering of countless people. It weighed heavily on him. All that pretending, all of the indignity and horror of the auctions and underground clubs—it burdened Seokjin.

Namjoon had always been there for him when he came home too tired to speak to anyone, too tired to cook dinner. When Seokjin skipped their family meals, the pack knew he was serious about this search. He made himself sick over it—stinking up the house with his clotted scent—and lost days and days of solid sleep. Still, Seokjin turned to Namjoon, reached for him in bed, waited for him when he was busy with the other pack mates.

Namjoon, the anchor: holding Seokjin steady when he was close to drifting away. He would be an anchor for Jeongguk too, offering him the same stability and safety he gave to all the pack members. Namjoon, the anchor.

Chapter 3: Jimin

Chapter Text

Jimin. Now.

Jimin loves early mornings. He used to loathe them—how the sunlight brought on a new day filled with infinite ways to disappoint him. Now, he sees each morning as a gift. His former self might roll his eyes at the sentiment, but Jimin is grateful for the softness he’s settled into, for this pack and all the affection it gives him. Life is different when there’s love to share. He tries not to take it for granted.

Mornings with the pack bring Jimin comfort. They ground him. They wake up together, start their days together. Make a new commitment each day to one another.

“Someone’s feeling lovey,” Hoseok hums, his attention on the pan of scrambled eggs on the stove.

Jimin nods. “Mmhmm.” He squeezes Hoseok in a back-hug, swaying him slightly. “Just glad to see you, hyung.”

“Ah, Jimin-ah, what’s got into you today?” Hoseok stirs the eggs with one hand and pats Jimin’s head with the other.

“I just went out to join Namjoon for some yoga, but he was with Jeongguk,” Jimin says wistfully. “Looked really intense. Maybe even a breakthrough. Just made me grateful to be part of this pack.”

The stove clicks off, and Hoseok turns around, still bound in Jimin’s arms. “You were so feisty when you came here, remember? Hard to believe you’re the same person.” He rests his head against Jimin’s and inhales dramatically. “You smell extra tasty today, Jimin-ah. You really are feeling good.”

Blushing, Jimin nuzzles against Hoseok’s chest. “Grateful,” he answers. Especially for Hoseok who always indulges his clinginess, never swatting him away or trying to pass him off to someone else. “I hope he stays,” Jimin whispers.

“Me too,” Hoseok says, rubbing his hand up and down Jimin’s back. “It might take some time. You weren’t exactly an easy sell.”

Laughing, Jimin looks up at Hoseok. Anyone else might have blown Jimin off for the way he treated him, but Hoseok never wavered. Relentlessly optimistic, Hoseok made it clear he’d never turn his back on any of the pack mates. “I know. And you were so patient with me.”

“The beauty of having a beta in the pack,” Hoseok jokes.

“You know it was more than that,” Jimin says, thumping Hoseok’s chest lightly. “Short-tempered and just nasty to everyone. I wasn’t exactly a joy to be around.”

“Back any dog in a corner and starve it for love, and it’s gonna bite,” Hoseok says solemnly. “You were just protecting yourself. And now you’re here, exactly where you should be.” He kisses Jimin’s head, breathing in his scent once more. “You smell really good, Jimin-ah.” Hoseok’s voice has gone soft and low, a deepness that Jimin has only heard when Hoseok is tired or turned on. It stirs something low in his gut.

“My heat is soon,” Jimin sighs. “And I think Jeongguk being here being so potent or whatever is sending me into heat even earlier.”

“Yeah?” Hoseok lifts Jimin’s chin, studying his face for a moment. “You do look a little flushed.” He thumbs at Jimin’s bottom lip gently. “Need some help with that?”

Jimin groans and leans closer, pressing Hoseok against the counter. “Maybe.” There’s no sense in playing coy, he realizes, when a pulse of slick dribbles between his legs.

“Oh,” Hoseok gasps softly. “Honey, I didn’t mean to—”

“—s’fine, hyung,” Jimin murmurs, pawing at Hoseok’s chest. He presses a kiss to his lips, sighing when Hoseok kisses back. Jimin has always loved kissing Hoseok, loves how their mouths slot together—Hoseok’s thin lips against Jimin’s full mouth. It’s easy kissing him, like stretching out in a field under a sky awash with sunlight.

As a beta, Hoseok is more restrained, never taking more than what’s offered to him by a mate, but he has a forceful side, too. One that dictates the pace of kissing, easing Jimin into slower kisses, indulgent flicks of their tongues, lips buzzing from the delicious friction. He cups Jimin’s face carefully, holding him steady to kiss him deeper. Hoseok kisses with an urgency that’s steady and solid—not rushed and frenzied. It calms Jimin just as much as it sends his mind and body buzzing.

Slick drips down Jimin’s thighs, and he’s vaguely aware of the slow trickle down his bare legs. Hoseok catches the scent and groans, teeth tugging at Jimin’s bottom lip. “Hobi, what about breakfast?” Jimin sighs.

“You’re my breakfast,” he mumbles, lips still pressed to Jimin’s. “God, I could just eat you up.” He squeezes the swell of Jimin’s ass, digging in his fingernails.

The air is thick between them: a haze of Jimin’s scent and slick clinging to the air, Hoseok’s subtle scent spiking with arousal. And then, a third scent: Taehyung. Sleepy, and soft, rubbing a balled fist into his eyes as he shuffles into the kitchen.

“M’hungry,” he slurs. When he opens his eyes fully, he takes in the sight: Jimin pinning Hoseok to the counter, their hands grabbing at one another, the tell-tale dark spot on Jimin’s shorts. “Oh.” He grins and crowds against Jimin, nuzzling his neck. “I see you’re on the menu this morning,” he teases.

“You betas are always so corny,” Jimin teases, leaning back against Taehyung’s chest. He’s warm all over from sleep, and he smells divine. Sleep-soft, pleased to see his mates, a hint of arousal edging into his otherwise neutral scent.

Taehyung hums and glides his hand between Jimin’s ass cheeks over the fabric of his shorts. “Doesn’t seem to bother you too much.” If Hoseok’s voice is soft and low when turned on, Taehyung’s is downright devilish: sinful and velvet, like a tongue over collarbones. He noses along Jimin’s nape, inhaling as his hands roam all over Jimin’s waist and belly.

Groaning, Jimin moves his hips in haphazard circles, chasing friction anywhere he can get it. Hoseok is hard, his co*ck pressed against Jimin’s thigh, and Taehyung is nearly there, his own hips rutting against Jimin in lazy circles. “We shouldn’t do this here,” Jimin sighs, shuddering when Taehyung’s teeth catch on his earlobe. “The eggs will get cold.”

“f*ck the eggs,” Hoseok growls. He leans in and sucks hard on Jimin’s neck, his teeth catching on the sensitive skin and making him yelp.

“Okay but maybe not f*ck the eggs,” Taehyung says breathlessly. He pulls his face away from Jimin’s neck and smooths the wild hair at the crown of his head. “I’m starving. Let me eat first and then—”

Laughing, Jimin takes the chance to break free of their hold, ducking under their arms. “Baby’s right, we should eat first. Then I promise you we can finish what we started.”

Hoseok sighs dramatically, scratching at his crotch and adjusting his sleep shorts. He’s hard and straining against them, and Jimin can’t fight off the fresh wave of slick tracing down his leg. “Fine, fine, yes, we can’t let the food go to waste.” His eyes light up for a moment and he licks his lips. “Maybe, uh, go change if you want us to make it through the meal without interruption.”

Blushing, Jimin nods. “Yeah, okay, you’re right. I’ll be right back.” He lingers on Taehyung for a moment, patting his cheek gently. “Morning, baby,” he murmurs. He lifts on his toes and presses a chaste kiss to Taehyung’s lips before leaving the kitchen.

It wasn’t that long ago that Jimin felt like he might never find his place in the world, much less a pack who wanted him, loved him.

Jimin. Before.

“Bad day? Let hyung make it better for you.”

Jimin rolled his eyes and locked the door before turning back to Seokjin. Most of their nights together started like this: Jimin in a sh*tty mood, Seokjin eager to fix it. As far as alphas went, Seokjin was decent company—handsome, respectful, excellent kisser. (Safe might have been a better word, but Jimin wouldn’t dare let his guard down.)

“Just the usual alpha bullsh*t,” Jimin sighed, untying his robe. He let the silk slink off his skin until it pooled on the floor around his feet. He tugged at the garter strap cutting into his thigh and let out a dramatic sigh. “When those assholes start climbing on the stage, it all just goes to hell out there.”

Seokjin leaned back against the plush sofa, his legs spread wide. He looked more relaxed than usual with his loosened tie and unbuttoned collar. “I keep telling you, Jimin-ah, you don’t have to stay here.”

Laughing, Jimin climbed into his lap, his thighs straddling Seokjin’s hips. “You say this every time, hyung.” Jimin liked the way hyung sounded on his lips, liked the way it made Seokjin’s eyes light up with fondness. “I don’t need to be rescued.” He leaned in and nosed at Seokjin’s scent, drinking in the heady mix of arousal and familiarity he always exuded in Jimin’s arms.

“Not trying to rescue,” Seokjin huffed, squeezing Jimin’s hips. “God knows you don’t need rescuing.” He groaned loudly when Jimin nibbled at his ear, sharp teeth tugging lightly.

It was a conversation they had countless times. Each version was the same: come live with me, Jiminah. Join my pack. You’d like it there. But Seokjin employed different tactics each time. He promised a large bedroom and infinite closet space. Other times, he promised an allowance—Jimin quickly bristled and snarled at that particular offer. Each time Seokjin returned to the club, he tried offering anything he could think of: a new car, a job at Seokjin’s company, total and utter freedom. It all seemed too good to be true.

Jimin had already been burned by the likes of Seokjin: well-meaning alphas who strolled into the club, convinced they could sweep Jimin off his feet with the promise of sweet words and endless cash. Life had already taught Jimin to be skeptical, to see any offer without strings as one entirely bundled in barbed wire. Nothing was free, certainly not his freedom.

The club had been both Jimin’s savior and his captor all at once. He spent years passed around in underground auctions, but he was feral and mean and too much trouble. When he met a woman at an auction promising him freedom, he leapt at the chance only to learn he’d sold himself into a new kind of servitude. The debt he owed the club for his freedom was enormous—a staggering number that he didn’t dare say aloud to anyone. It was the kind of debt that drove people to madness: stealing, drinking, self-harm, suicide.

It was easier to fend for himself. Jimin decided life was easier without attachments. He would work, make his measly earnings and put it toward his colossal debt bit by bit. Attachments complicated things and distracted him from his goal: freedom acquired on his own terms. Until he met Seokjin. Warm, friendly, itching with nervousness Seokjin.

They met regularly after a few failed conversations while Jimin danced for the leering alphas and curious betas. Seokjin had tried shouting at him over the thumping music, his voice getting lost in the bass lines. Jimin twirled around the pole, half-listening to what was surely the same spiel he’d heard from the last white knight alpha before him. When Seokjin finally bought an hour of Jimin’s time in a private room, Jimin finally saw that he was different.

Every time Seokjin came to visit Jimin, he felt a thrill flutter in his belly. He liked Seokjin, found him respectful and charming. Jimin appreciated the way Seokjin never handled him like a piece of meat, never expecting anything from him that he wasn’t already willing to give.

And that night, Jimin’s frustration with the club dissipated as soon as their lips met. Kissing Seokjin felt exhilarating—the kind of danger Jimin always felt when he was too close to an alpha—and it thrilled him. He knew Seokjin was safe, but still, Jimin’s omega was always on edge, wondering when the alpha might try to pin him, demand submission. The money part was easy to forget whenever they kissed. Seokjin kissed like he needed every breath that poured out Jimin, like his life depended on it. He never kissed like they were on the clock—no rushed groping or greedy kisses—just slow, drinking it all in, savoring every moment.

The club liked to pretend it was more than a front for illicit activities behind closed doors. Seokjin was the only patron to buy Jimin’s time in a VIP room and not demand more than a dance. Everything was determined by Jimin—cost, time, touching—and Seokjin happily complied. (It’s not that Jimin hadn’t thought about more with the alpha; he liked his broad shoulders and crooked fingers, couldn’t help but imagine the outline of Seokjin’s co*ck in his pants and how it might feel f*cked deep inside him. But they had set boundaries early, and it was important for Jimin to adhere to them. Attachments. Dangerous.)

“Jimin-ah,” Seokjin gasped, shuddering as Jimin licked the shell of his ear. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I want you to leave. Come with me tonight. I’ll pay off your contract. You don’t wanna stay here.” He babbled on, and Jimin knew Seokjin well enough to know he said it all in earnest. It wasn’t the usual hazy offering given to him in the heat of the moment.

Jimin rocked his hips, sighing at the friction of Seokjin’s slacks against his own bare skin. “But then you’ll own me. I want to be free, hyung.”

Seokjin groaned, stilling Jimin’s hips. When he looked at Jimin, his eyes were wide, pupils blown and eyebrows pinched together. “Jimin-ah, I wouldn’t dream of it. I don’t want to own you. I just want to know you’re safe, far from here.”

“Why?” Jimin twirled the end of Seokjin’s tie around his hand, concentrating on the way the silk rolled and unrolled around his fingers. “What’s in it for you?”

“Don’t do that,” Seokjin murmured. “You know I care about you, Jimin-ah. How long have I been coming here?”

“Long enough,” Jimin mumbled. “But it’s not that easy, hyung. I’d just think about all that I owed you.”

“You’d owe me nothing, Jimin, that’s what I’m saying,” Seokjin pleaded. “I have a large house, amazing pack mates. You’d love them.”

“Yeah? Tell me about them.” Jimin could entertain Seokjin for a little while. Run the clock down if he had to.

“There’s Namjoon. He’s amazing, just the most gentle person with such a good heart—”

“—another omega?” Jimin interrupted.

“Alpha,” Seokjin corrected. Jimin pulled a face and Seokjin squeezed his hips gently. “I’m telling you, he’s gentle and smart and so loving. You’d really like him.”

Jimin snorted and twirled Seokjin’s tie again. “Who else?”

“Hoseok,” Seokjin answered. “Hobi. God, he’s like sunshine embodied. I’ve never met anyone like him. He’s a beta.”

Jimin laughed, glancing up at Seokjin with a wary expression. “You want me to move in with two alphas and a beta. Throw me to the wolves, why don’t you?”

“Jimin-ah, I’m telling you, this pack is safe. I don’t care about roles and expectations. I just want to be happy and safe with the people who matter most to me. Do you trust me?” Seokjin smoothed his hands along Jimin’s thighs, thumbs grazing over the lace of his garter belt.

“That’s the thing, hyung, I don’t trust anyone,” Jimin answered flatly. He leaned in and kissed Seokjin’s cheek before climbing off of him. He reached for his robe on the floor and slid it on, trying hard not to catch a glimpse of Seokjin’s reaction. He was sure if he looked closely enough, he’d see the hurt all over his face. “You don’t have to pay for today’s visit. I’ll see you out there.”

Jimin knew it was cruel to leave Seokjin like that. As much as he wanted to accept the offer, it still seemed impossible. Seokjin didn’t even know how much Jimin owed. And if he did? Would he even think Jimin was worth the exorbitant cost? It was too much to imagine.

As Jimin twirled on stage and danced listlessly, he averted his eyes when Seokjin exited the room. He couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with Seokjin. A tiny part of Jimin hoped maybe Seokjin wouldn’t be back. It would be easier if he severed the tie for them. A clean break. Easy.

***

Jimin didn’t expect to see Seokjin two nights later, this time with a lanky, nervous friend by his side. The young man was tall and thin, moving with an unusual grace and the nerves of a trembling fawn. His eyes were wide, his head twitching as he took in the sight. Clubs like these weren’t always easy to relax in. They stunk of pheromones, cheap booze, and sour cigars.

Jimin tried not to stare at the two men as they took seats at the far end of the stage. The night so far had been uneventful except for the usual alphas groping at Jimin’s feet, snarling as they shoved cash into his g-string. Their comments were uninspired—the usual posturing and bravado of insecure alphas and in-over-their-heads betas. They all called at Jimin, whistling and promising him the knot of a lifetime, and all he could do was force a smile and shake his ass for a few extra bills.

When the song ended, Jimin sauntered to the edge of the stage, beaming down at Seokjin and his friend. “Hyung, you’re back.”

Seokjin’s smile was radiant in return. He gestured at his companion and patted his shoulder. “This is my friend Hoseok. He needed a night out on the town, and I told him you’d take care of him.”

Bile soured Jimin’s throat, and he nodded with a tight smile. “VIP room?”

Nodding, Seokjin stood and gestured for Hoseok. “The usual?”

“Sure,” Jimin answered. He plucked the cash out of his g-string and began counting it, folding the bills into a tight roll. He followed them down the hall, trying hard to ignore the hands reaching for him as he passed through the crowd.

When Jimin closed the door behind him, he was greeted by an apologetic Seokjin. “Jimin-ah, I hate how things ended last time.”

Waving him off, Jimin smiled—large and fake and well-rehearsed. “Don’t worry about it, hyung. You’re back. What’ll you have tonight?” Even his words felt false, like some version of a script he memorized once for transactions like this, but he’d never had to use them with Seokjin.

Seokjin’s face softened. “Jimin,” he murmured. “Come on.”

It was disarming to see Seokjin looking so wounded: shoulders slumped and voice weak. Jimin fought back a whine and swallowed the urge to climb onto his lap and kiss him until he smiled again. “So you brought a friend?” A change of subject made sense.

Hoseok cleared his throat and sat up. His hair was soft, the shade of dark raw honey, and Jimin fought the desire to run his fingers through it. Everything about the man was soft: curious eyes, delicate fingers, mouth upturned in a shy smile. “I’m Hoseok,” he said awkwardly. “But you already know that.”

“The beta?” Jimin asked.

“That’s me,” Hoseok laughed quietly. There was something else to him, something Jimin couldn’t pinpoint. His scent was all wrong: a clash of notes, something water-logged and muted.

Seokjin nudged him with his elbow and turned back to Jimin. “Sunshine embodied,” Seokjin reminded him.

He hardly looked like sunshine. Instead, he looked anxious and hunched over, like he was trying to shrink away from the attention. “Something like that,” he mumbled.

“Are you good, Hoseok-ssi? Can I get you something? A drink?” Jimin offered. He shifted nervously, feeling acutely aware of his state of undress as he looked down at this stranger stinking up his private room. “What is that?” he asked, leaning in to sniff Hoseok.

“I’m a widower,” Hoseok answered suddenly, looking up at Jimin. His face was twisted in sadness, eyes watery and dark. “Can’t shake the stink.”

Jimin’s chest ached. “Oh.” A broken mated pair was an ugly thing. Beyond the grief and loss, it left most people with a mark in their scent that they could never get rid of.

“He needed our pack, Jimin-ah,” Seokjin explained. “To work through his pain and to know he wasn’t alone. No matter how he gets through this.” Seokjin draped his arm around Hoseok and hugged him close, a sad smile on his face. He touched Hoseok with the same tenderness he used for Jimin, and rather than feel a pang of envy, Jimin felt relieved to know the poor beta had someone looking out for him.

Taking in a widower was a risky move for a pack. Knowing they may never bond with someone ever again or that their scent may poison a group could mean ruin for even the most well-balanced pack. But Seokjin had taken him in. Jimin could see that he loved him, too. A broken pair was nothing short of a tragedy, and the way society often wrung its hands and ignored a lone mate was borderline cruel.

“So you’re here for the hard sell.” Jimin pulled a velveteen ottoman closer and perched on it, crossing one leg over the other. He didn’t miss the way Hoseok’s eyes traced the line of his calves. “Thought you might waltz in here with your sad beta friend and convince me to leave this place.”

Seokjin scowled and turned to Hoseok apologetically. “Sorry about him. He’s normally not this mean.”

Hoseok shrugged and offered a sad, understanding smile. “I get it. It’s a little threatening, right? I’m not exactly a catch, and Seokjin-hyung can be very persuasive when he wants to be—”

“—and what did he pay you to join his little pack, hm?” Jimin tried hard to sound unimpressed, but it was difficult to tamp down his curiosity. He didn’t dare dream about a life beyond this club, one with financial and physical freedom.

“Nothing,” Hoseok said quickly. “I told you, I’m hardly a catch.”

“That’s not true,” Seokjin interjected. He leaned in and nuzzled Hoseok’s neck, scenting him with a long sniff that made Jimin look away with embarrassment. It was intimate, comforting. It stung. “You’re meant to be with us.”

Hoseok smiled and tilted his head, humming when Seokjin rumbled low in his throat and mouthed at his neck. “That part is true,” he said dreamily, eyes fluttering closed as Seokjin’s lips grazed his skin. “I do feel like I’ve found my place. I think you’d feel the same way, Jimin-ssi.”

Jimin swallowed and cleared his throat, averting his eyes for a moment. The thought of a safe pack was appealing. But every experience laid out all at once proved to Jimin that kindness was never free, and no matter what, he hated feeling like he owed something to someone else. His pride would never allow him to accept the invitation, not when he knew his price tag was high enough to make Seokjin balk. The thought of him rescinding the invitation made something rotten bubble in Jimin’s gut. Seokjin changing his mind would be worse than anything Jimin could imagine.

Finally, Jimin spoke, turning his gaze back to Seokjin and Hoseok. They looked so comfortable together, the stench of unease dissipating. “I just don’t know what I’d have to offer your pack, hyung,” he said quietly. “I’m not interested in being the pack hole,” he spat out.

“Jimin-ah,” Seokjin said gently. He sat up and leaned closer to Jimin, tracing his fingertips along Jimin’s knee. “When have I ever treated you like that?”

“Yeah, but how do I know that outside this place you aren’t some psycho?” He intended for it to sound like a joke, but a note of fear made his voice crack.

Seokjin’s face softened and he nodded, understanding. “I know you’ve been through a lot. You don’t end up in a place like this if you’ve had a good life,” he said carefully. “But you deserve so much more here. Tell me, what would you do if you weren’t working here?”

The words arranged in that order made perfect sense, but Jimin couldn’t piece together an answer. He’d never allowed himself to dream. Dreams took up valuable brain power, left him too open to disappointment when the world offered plenty of that to Jimin on a daily basis. He swallowed and shrugged. “I don’t know, hyung. Never thought about it.”

“You’re a good dancer,” Hoseok piped up. A dark blush washed over him quickly and he stammered, “I mean, I can tell you have a good sense of your body.” He scratched his neck and laughed at himself, shaking his head. “I mean you have a good sense of rhythm and understand how to move—”

“—Hoseok-ssi,” Jimin laughed. “I get it. It’s fine.”

“No, what I mean to say is, you would have skill as a dancer, a real one. Maybe even a teacher if you wanted,” Hoseok said quickly.

Jimin quirked an eyebrow. “A real one?”

“I’m sorry, that came out wrong,” Hoseok sighed. He turned to Seokjin and mumbled, “you were right about him, hyung.”

Amused, Jimin turned to Seokjin with a smirk. “What did you tell him about me?”

“I may have told him about your intolerance for bullsh*t,” Seokjin laughed. “What Hoseok is trying to say very terribly is that he owns a dance studio, and you’d be a great fit there. I’m not just interested in taking you from this place and leaving you to depend on me. Hell, if you didn’t want to join the pack, I’d still help you.”

“You have no reason to help me,” Jimin murmured. “None whatsoever, hyung.”

“I care about you,” Seokjin said firmly. “Whether or not you believe it.”

Jimin laughed, his voice breaking with tears. “Hyung.”

“How long have I been coming here?” Seokjin asked. “Do any of your other regulars stick around for,” he paused dramatically, eyes rolling to the ceiling for a moment, “two years?”

Shaking his head, Jimin answered, “No. No, they don’t. Not the normal ones, at least.”

“And have I ever done anything to make you feel unsafe?” Seokjin added.

Jimin shook his head. “No, but hyung, you can’t just waltz in and rescue me. That’s not how this works.”

Seokjin patted his chest, reaching into his jacket and pulled out a checkbook. “What’s the price? What will it take to get you out of your contract?”

“Hyung, it’s too much,” Jimin whispered. “I’m in too deep.”

“Tell me,” Seokjin said firmly. It was a rare display of his true alpha nature: a voice that made Jimin immediately want to submit, bowing to Seokjin’s command.

“Hyung, let me just think about it,” Jimin pleaded. A lie, at the time, but he needed to appease Seokjin somehow so they could move away from this conversation.

Sighing, Seokjin tucked away his checkbook and clicked his pen anxiously. “Fine. But I want you to think about it. For real. If you don’t know I’m filthy rich by now, I need to do a better job of paying for your time.”

Jimin laughed and looked down at his hands. All through their conversation, he had picked at his cuticles, turning them raw and sensitive. “You do plenty.”

“He could do more,” Hoseok added softly. “I hope you’ll really consider it.” He punctuated his plea with a soft smile, and Jimin felt the tightness in his chest unclench.

***

Seokjin and Hoseok kept their distance after that. Jimin was both appreciative of the space but also a little disheartened that they didn’t come back right away. Seokjin was so different from the alphas Jimin had known, and he was acutely aware of it every time another drunken alpha leaned against the stage offering cash and nasty remarks.

The days passed in a dismal blur. It felt a lot like the days before Jimin knew Seokjin: draining, dull, lonely. Maybe, he realized, he’d taken Seokjin for granted. He was always kind and friendly, a welcome burst of light in the dark tedium of Jimin’s life. He was giving Jimin space just like he asked for, and now that he had it, he wished Seokjin would come back and hold him in that gentle way he always did.

After a long shift on an unremarkable Friday night, Jimin trudged out to his car with his bag slung over his shoulder. It was late—well after three in the morning, nearing too close to dawn and the next day when Jimin would have to wake up and do it all over again. He unlocked his car, groaning when the handle stuck and wouldn’t budge. “Come on,” he grunted, rattling the handle and pulling at it once more. He hated being alone after hours; it wasn’t uncommon for patrons to loiter, propositioning the workers and harassing them. Security was already gone for the night, so Jimin knew he was sh*t out of luck if someone bothered him.

He jiggled the key and shoved the door, hoping it would unstick itself. Footsteps approached, and his skin prickled with goosebumps and the hair on the back of his neck raised in alarm. “f*ck off, asshole,” he growled, not bothering to turn away from the door. He’d hoped to sound aggressive and dangerous, but his scent spiked with a note of panic—sharp and distressed—and the footsteps drew closer.

“I have bear spray!” he shouted, one hand fumbling for his bag.

“Jesus! Bear spray? The hell you need that for?” The golden light of the streetlamp illuminated Hoseok as he came closer.

“sh*t,” Jimin huffed. “For idiots like you who sneak up on an omega in the middle of the night. What are you doing here?” He turned to face Hoseok and sighed, patting his chest where he could feel his heart pounding. “You scared the sh*t out of me. What the f*ck is wrong with you?”

Hoseok grimaced and scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, I don’t think I considered how this might look.”

“Showing up after the club closed and sneaking up on me? Yeah, really f*ckin’ cool of you,” Jimin snapped. He hated the feeling of being scared, hated how his adrenaline pumped through him, how his hackles raised, hated how he felt small, weak. He knew he was strong and capable of protecting himself, but if the wrong person crossed him, he might have been outmatched.

“I’m sorry, I am.” Hoseok sighed, his shoulders hunching forward like he wanted to disappear entirely. “This is really stupid of me, I know. I sat in my car all night trying to summon the courage to go in there.” He nodded toward the building.

“And why didn’t you?” Jimin’s heart rate slowed, and he leaned back against the car and studied Hoseok. He was tall, lanky, graceful in the way he moved, even when he was twitchy and nervous, and Jimin could see that he had a dancer’s air about him. It was innate, part of every movement, not something that could be taught so much as harnessed, refined. It endeared Hoseok to Jimin further.

Sighing again, Hoseok ruffled his hair and gestured at himself, a bleak smile on his face. “Come on, you smell it on me. It’s awful.”

Jimin wrinkled his nose for a moment, considering. “You smell okay out here.”

“Yeah but in there,” Hoseok nods toward the building, “when I’m stressed out or even turned on, it goes into overdrive. Just one big warning signal to stay away from me.”

Jimin could relate to that feeling. Some invisible mark separated him from the world, too. He couldn’t shake it even when he pondered letting his guard down. “And what were you going to do in there, Hoseok-ssi?”

“Hyung,” he corrected, his face softening. “You can call me hyung if you’d like.”

Jimin nodded, a small smile forming on his lips. “Okay, hyung, what were you planning to do in there?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “I wanted to talk to you without Seokjin-hyung present, so you’d know he didn’t send me. That I’m here of my own volition.”

Jimin hummed, fidgeting with his keys. “You wanna go somewhere?”

Surprised, Hoseok nodded. “Yeah, yeah we can go somewhere. Wanna grab some food?”

“Would love to,” Jimin answered. “I’m starving.” He kicked his tire and shoved his keys into his back pocket. “My car is f*cked. You're driving.”

“Yeah, sure, over here.” Hoseok turned on his heels and led Jimin to his car. It was just as beat-up as Jimin’s—a rusted out piece of junk that was just barely street-legal and safe to drive. Jimin slid into the deep bucket seat of the passenger side and clicked his seat belt, turning to Hoseok with an expectant smile. “Burgers good?” Hoseok asked, turning the ignition.

“God, I would f*cking love a burger,” Jimin sighed. “Please don’t murder me before I get to eat.”

Hoseok chuckled and turned out onto the main road. The city was dead this time of night. Everything had gone fuzzy with the pre-dawn fog settling in. “You always assume the worst, huh? I’m not gonna murder you.” He adjusted the radio, turning the volume down. “Besides, do you think Seokjin-hyung would be friends with a murder?”

Jimin laughed—and it was genuine and bright, full-bodied and loud. He couldn’t remember the last time he laughed like that. “Okay, that’s fair. He is a bit of a goodie-goodie.”

“He really cares about you,” Hoseok said softly. He drummed his fingers along the edge of the window while his other barely gripped the steering wheel. He looked more relaxed like this, like the two of them were lifelong friends on a road trip.

“Why me?” Jimin asked. If he focused on the streetlights shimmering in the fog, he wouldn’t have to read Hoseok’s face as he spoke. Safe.

“Why not?” Hoseok countered. “What’s the alternative? Keep doing what you’re doing?”

“It’s not all bad,” Jimin said meekly. “You don’t know me or my life.”

“True.” Hoseok nodded and kept driving without saying anything else.

Jimin felt unsure of what to say next, so he sat there in silence, toying with the strap of his bag. Hoseok was so affable and easygoing, unbothered by Jimin’s lousy attitude. Like Seokjin, Hoseok didn’t seem to have an ulterior motive, some reason behind acting agreeable and patient. “My debt is so high,” Jimin murmured. “Like, it will literally take me a lifetime to pay it off. Seokjin-hyung has no idea.”

“Don’t underestimate him,” Hoseok said gently. “You heard what he said. Filthy rich.”

“Yeah, but,” Jimin hesitated, “we’re talking like crazy money, hyung…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the number aloud. It was like a curse, and if he uttered the words, it might make the curse stronger, more potent. “These are not reasonable people to be negotiated with.”

Hoseok shrugged. “You never know.”

The rest of the ride was silent. Hoseok didn’t plead with Jimin, didn’t lay out all the reasons he should join the pack. He was different than Seokjin in that way. He was less desperate to prove himself to Jimin, and it made Jimin respect him all the more for it.

Hoseok pulled through a drive-thru restaurant and rolled down his window with the rickety crank, leaning his head out to shout at the speaker. “Two double cheeseburgers, two fries, two chocolate milkshakes.” He slid back into his seat and glanced at Jimin with a lopsided grin.

“A man after my own heart,” Jimin joked. He reached into his bag and pulled out his cash curled in a tight roll, bound with a rubber band.

“Nah, your money’s no good here,” Hoseok said, waving him off.

Jimin frowned. “Come on, I can pay for my own food. I’m not that destitute.”

“Maybe you should just accept that sometimes people wanna be nice to you,” Hoseok answered. He pulled the car to the next window and chatted warmly with the person working. They shared a laugh, and Hoseok turned, handing Jimin a cup tray before grabbing the bag of food from the cashier. “Have a great night,” Hoseok said, beaming at the worker.

“I see the sunshine thing Seokjin-hyung was talking about,” Jimin said, rustling the bag and reaching in for a few French fries.

Hoseok shrugged and took a long, loud slurp of his milkshake. “Frankly, I’d like to live in a world where being kind to others isn’t seen as an anomaly.”

Eventually, they reached a parking lot at the top of a winding road. The parking lot overlooked the city, raised just high enough to make them feel far away from the lights below. Hoseok parked the car and unbuckled his seat belt. “Come on,” he said, grabbing the drink tray. He walked around the back of the car and opened the trunk. He sat down and patted the space beside him once Jimin followed. “Food always tastes better with a view.”

Jimin settled next to him, dangling his legs. He pulled the burgers out of the oil-stained sack and handed one to Hoseok. Slowly, he unwrapped the foil and inhaled deeply. The burger smelled of cheese and fat and fresh bread—all luxurious and rare compared to Jimin’s paltry diet of instant rice and ramyun. He tried to eat slowly, savoring each bite, but his stomach growled, and he couldn’t help himself.

Hoseok ate slower in small, measured bites. Finally, he spoke. “Life can be easier,” Hoseok said around a mouthful of food. He swallowed and waved his half-wrapped burger in Jimin’s direction.

Later, Jimin would try to recall what it was about that moment, but something shifted, and he trusted Hoseok.

“I want it to be easier,” Jimin said softly. He set down his burger and dusted off his hands. “It’s so much money, hyung. Makes my head spin. I don’t know why Seokjin-hyung would want to waste it on me.”

“He’s told me so much about you, you know,” Hoseok replied. He wadded up the foil and tossed it into a bag. “He told me the first time he saw you, he fell head over heels in love with you.”

Jimin laughed, knocking his shoulder against Hoseok’s. “Impossible. I was so rude to him. Thought he was like all the other alphas.”

“Exactly,” Hoseok agreed. “He said he wanted to spend every day trying to prove you wrong. He said you’re crazy smart and a secret sweetheart, independent, too.”

“He said all that?” Jimin murmured.

“Yeah,” Hoseok said, nodding eagerly. “He’s not trying to rescue you, Jimin. He’s trying to give you back your life because you deserve one that makes you happy, that makes you feel safe and loved.”

A lump lodged itself in Jimin’s throat. He nodded and swallowed it down. “I just... I don’t understand why it would be me. I’m just someone he met at a sh*tty club that he just makes out with from time to time.”

“Ah, Jimin-ah,” Hoseok sighed. “I wish you could see the way he lights up when he talks about you. All starry-eyed and dopey and sh*t. He was so crushed that night we left.”

“So what do I do?” Jimin asked. He directed the question away from Hoseok, out among the stars and glittering city lights. The answer was simple, but the fear that accompanied it was expansive—as dark and inky as the night sky when it bled into blackness high above the city.

“You consider what Seokjin’s offering: freedom. And if you want more, there’s our pack. It’s a small, humble one, but the house is huge, and we all take care of one another.” Hoseok placed his hand on Jimin’s, smiling when Jimin turned to him with tears in his eyes. “Aren’t you tired of being alone?”

Jimin nodded and swiped at the tear slipping down his cheek. “Yeah. So tired.”

***

Leaving the club had been unceremonious. Jimin was grateful to leave without much of a fight, though he did wonder what happened behind the closed door of the manager’s office. Seokjin had arrived before opening, striding across the empty bar with the kind of Big Knot Energy that always made Jimin feel a little delirious. Jimin hovered near the door, pressing his ear against it in hopes of hearing the conversation. He heard the scrape of chairs against the floor, the opening and closing of a file cabinet, a shuffling of papers. Has it always been this easy? He wondered. All my freedom contained on a sheet of paper tucked in a drawer in a dingy office?

The door swung open, and Seokjin was startled to see Jimin standing so close. He grinned at him—exuberant and giddy—and gave him an affirmative nod. “Let’s go home.”

Jimin couldn’t help but grin back. He leaned past Seokjin to peek into the office. The club manager sat at his desk, arms folded against his chest. “Guess this is goodbye,” he huffed. “Now f*ck off.”

***

Life at the new house was dream-like. Jimin woke whenever he wanted, luxuriated in the deep bathtub on the second floor, ate fried chicken and drank beer with his new pack mates. The introductions had been easier than Jimin expected. The other alpha, Namjoon, was so puppy-like and gentle, Jimin nearly laughed in his face when he blushed and stammered about how handsome Jimin was. He was kind and smart, and he laughed at Jimin’s jokes and cracked his own. It was easy to talk to him.

At the house, Seokjin was different too. Far more relaxed than he was at the club. At home, he wore oversized sweat suits in pastel shades, shuffling around the house in fuzzy slippers. It only made Jimin’s fondness for him grow. Seokjin had insisted on giving Jimin a large second-floor bedroom, one that overlooked the garden and had a beautiful set of double windows that opened onto a balcony. The bedroom was bigger than Jimin’s old apartment, and Seokjin insisted on furnishing it with all the things Jimin dreamed of owning.

One night, as Jimin rolled around in his oversized pillow-top bed, Seokjin tapped on the door softly. “Come in!” Jimin called. He stretched and rolled over, propping his hands on his chin. “Hi hyung.”

Seokjin beamed at him, his cheeks pink and eyes squinting. “You look comfy. Glad you’re settling in okay.”

“More than okay,” Jimin said. “You’ve really spoiled me, hyung.”

“You deserve it,” Seokjin said softly. There was a fondness to his voice, something soft and reserved for his pack mates at home. Jimin had noticed it almost immediately after he moved in. When they were at home together, Seokjin seemed to shuck off the facade of being a stereotypical alpha—all that swagger and posturing—and he was instead soft, doting, loving. Jimin liked this side of him, liked that he could see Seokjin in this new way: still a strong, capable, alpha, but one who led with gentleness and care instead of forced submission and aggression.

“Can I thank you properly, hyung?” Jimin purred, smoothing his hand on the spot beside him in bed.

Seokjin clicked his tongue and shook his head, padding softly over to the bed. He settled beside Jimin and nestled among the pillows, looking at him solemnly. “No,” he said firmly, “that’s not what I’m looking for. There’s no quid pro quo here, Jimin-ah. You don’t have to repay anything.”

“I know, but now I feel like I can truly show you how I feel. Couldn’t really do that back at the club,” Jimin murmured. He smoothed his hands over Seokjin’s chest, marveling at how broad he felt even in his oversized sweatshirt. “You make me feel safe and cared for and like I belong.” He shifted closer until their noses nearly touched. “And I wanna show you that I appreciate you and care about you, too.”

“Only if you want to,” Seokjin whispered. “I can’t live with myself if you feel pressured to do anything. That’s not what I want.” He leaned into Jimin’s hand as he cupped his cheek.

Jimin smiled fondly at him and leaned closer until their lips were touching in a light kiss. “You’re the stuff of dreams, hyung. Fair, and good, and kind, and handsome.” He pressed their lips together in a firm kiss, gasping when Seokjin kissed him back harder.

There had been plenty of kisses between them before. Quick, rushed kisses back at the club. Those kisses never quite belonged to them. The room, the time, even Jimin’s body didn’t belong to himself back then. But with Jimin’s new freedom, he owned it all: time and his body and his heart. He owned his bottom lip that Seokjin tugged with his teeth. He owned his fingers twirling in Seokjin’s thick hair. He owned his belly filled with butterflies and rising heat. All of it, his. Seokjin, his.

Over the years, Jimin had nearly forgotten what it was like to want someone. To allow himself to look at someone closely, imagine their lips meeting, picture themselves somewhere safe and warm, bathed in sunlight, wrapped in fine linens. It was a luxury that was too expensive even for fantasy. It always felt a little like walking past the upscale boutiques in the fashion district, peering at the displays wistfully, his fingers smudging the glass as he imagined himself dressed in something expensive and elegant.

“Jimin-ah,” Seokjin huffed, breaking the kiss. His cheeks were flushed and his ears were bright pink. Had they always been so pink? Jimin wondered.

Wordlessly, Jimin rolled Seokjin on his back, reveling in the way Seokjin moved easily at his touch. Jimin peeled off his shirt, and he grinned when he caught Seokjin’s scent spiking with arousal. “Oh, hyung,” Jimin purred, lifting Seookjin’s sweatshirt up by the hem, peeling until he was shirtless beneath him. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to do this?”

“How long?” Seokjin whispered. His skin speckled all over with pink.

“So long,” Jimin sighed, rocking his hips. The friction was barely there, just enough for him to feel the outline of Seokjin’s co*ck through his pants. “Since you visited me on my birthday last year.”

Seokjin grips Jimin’s hips, stilling him for a moment. “Your birthday?”

Jimin nodded, looking down at Seokjin with a shy smile. “You brought me a slice of cake and that nice bag. You were the only one in the world who remembered me.”

“And you wanted to f*ck me then?” Seokjin asked.

“No. I mean, yeah, but I also just wanted more of you. Like this.”

Seokjin sat up quickly, making Jimin yelp and laugh as Seokjin surged forward to kiss him. “I would happily spend the rest of my life doing whatever you wanted if you always looked at me like you are now,” he murmured. He kissed Jimin’s jaw, nuzzled his neck, mouthed along his bare shoulder. “I just want you to be happy, that’s all.”

“Let me have all of you, hyung,” Jimin sighed. He groaned when Seokjin’s teeth caught on his skin and his fingernails dug into his waist. “Want your knot.”

Seokjin growled low in his throat—hungry and possessive—and it sent a shiver racing down Jimin’s spine. They shuffled and wriggled out of the rest of their clothes, and Seokjin fell back among the pillows, watching in rapt attention as Jimin handled him. For two years, it felt like they were in a constant state of foreplay: kissing just enough to get worked up, rutting against one another in their clothes, hands groping but never going as far as they both wanted. A line had been drawn between them, some safe perimeter for Jimin to exist without getting hurt.

When Jimin finally sank down on Seokjin’s co*ck, rocking his hips and clutching his shoulders, that line was erased. The walls were down, and Jimin was vulnerable—laid bare for Seokjin and everyone else to see. It was overwhelming to be looked at by Seokjin, to allow himself to be seen. Seokjin’s touch was gentle, reverent as he clung to Jimin’s hips, lifting slightly so Jimin could ride him with ease.

“Hyung,” Jimin gasped, “you feel—”

“—f*ck,” Seokjin sighed, “made for you, yeah? You feel so good, Jimin-ah.” Seokjin slowed Jimin’s movements, pushing himself up so Jimin was seated in his lap. They were so close then: staring eye to eye, legs wrapped around one another, chests bumping together with every motion.

It was the first time in a long time that Jimin didn’t feel an immediate jolt of danger at being so close to an alpha, exposed and dripping slick all over. It felt natural and good like flowers unfolding toward sunlight after a long wait in winter. Together they smelled wild and floral and effervescent—all health and warmth and vitality. Finally, Jimin felt safe.

“Mark me, hyung,” Jimin murmured, mouthing at Seokjin’s shoulder. “Make me yours.”

Seokjin’s hips stuttered to a halt, and he combed his hand through Jimin’s damp hair. “Oh, you sweet thing,” he hummed. “We don’t have to do that now.”

Jimin swallowed, fighting back the tears that stung the corners of his eyes. “I want to. I’m ready. This is where I belong.”

He expected it to hurt. He’d imagined it plenty of times before: how he might get pinned and scruffed, marked and claimed. He’d always assumed it would be painful, even if the one marking him were gentle and sweet. Love, in all its forms, brought pain, and he expected the mate mark to be no different. What he felt wasn’t pain, not quite pleasure, but it didn’t ache and tear like he expected. Seokjin’s teeth were sharp, piercing the tender part of his neck where it met his shoulder. One hand held Jimin by the nape, the other smoothed up and down his back. Jimin imagined a waterfall: white rapids roaring over the edge, cycling back to the top to spill over once more.

Later, when he woke up, he found Seokjin curled against him, breathing hard against his chest. Jimin winced and touched the sore spot on his neck. He expected it to hurt, but instead, something fierce and dazzling coursed through him. A claim. A promise. He was home. He was safe.

***

Jimin. Now.

“Should we call everyone else?” Taehyung asks, setting a platter of fruit on the table.

“They’ll come in when they’re ready,” Jimin answers, returning to the kitchen in fresh clothing. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.” He slides out a chair and sits down, pulling out the other for Taehyung to join him.

Hoseok carries over a dish of scrambled eggs and a jug of orange juice. He sits across from Jimin and grins, wiggling his eyebrows at him. “You need to eat up so you have energy for later.”

“Oh stop, like you can even keep up with my heats,” Jimin teases. He tries to ignore the blush creeping up his neck, but Taehyung is on him, grinning and tugging at the collar of his shirt.

“That’s why you’ll have both of us this time.” He kisses Jimin’s shoulder before reaching for food and piling it on his plate. “Eat up, little omega.”

“Call me little again,” Jimin grunts, wielding a fork at him.

“The littlest,” Hoseok crows, tossing a slice of toast on Jimin’s plate.

“I’ll handle my heat myself if you don’t shut up.” Jimin takes a bite of his toast to hide his smile, but he can’t help it. Taehyung and Hoseok are the only two allowed to tease him like this. Jimin has always enjoyed being between the two of them—Taehyung feels like his baby, and Hoseok treats Jimin like his baby, and it all balances perfectly. To spoil and be spoiled. To love and be loved.

They eat and laugh until their bellies hurt, each of them gasping for air. They don’t hear the sliding glass door, and suddenly they’re faced with Jeongguk. He’s flushed all over, hair mussed, and face puffy from tears. He wanders in looking a bit bewildered, still wary of everyone in the room. He’s cautious and on high alert, walking on his tip toes like he’s ready to run.

“Morning,” Hoseok says brightly. He pulls out the chair beside him and lays a plate down. “Come, eat.”

Jeongguk chews his bottom lip and picks at his chin. His eyes dart around, lingering on the plate of bacon between them. Taehyung notices and nudges it closer. “Go on, have as much as you want,” he says gently.

Jimin feels his heart swell when Jeongguk slides into his seat after a moment of hesitation. He looks like he’s always been a part of their table, their pack. “Here, Jeongguk,” Jimin says, standing up. He reaches for the empty plate and begins filling it with food. “You must be hungry.” Jimin fights the urge to call him baby. He looks like one: wide-eyed and nervous, fidgeting with his fork, cheeks soft and boyish. Jimin wants to scent him and snuggle him, cocoon him away in his nest, but he doesn't want to come on too strong.

“You’re not eating?” Jeongguk mumbles, spearing a chunk of melon with his fork.

“We had plenty,” Jimin says warmly. “We were hoping you’d join us for breakfast.”

Jeongguk nods and averts his eyes, focusing on his plate of food instead of the strangers surrounding him. He eats in big, greedy bites, flecks of scrambled egg clinging to his lips. Jimin’s heart aches at the sight. He remembers those days: shoveling food down his throat before someone could take it away.

“I have more,” Hoseok offers, getting up to grab the opened bag of bread on the counter.

“Slow,” Jimin whispers, tapping the table lightly. “Slow, baby.” Jeongguk freezes at the pet name and looks up at him. Jimin waits for him to scowl, waits for him to snarl and spit something angry at him, but instead, he smiles—just a little, lips curling to expose his teeth—and he looks so much like a bunny that Jimin thinks he could cry.

“Oh,” Taehyung coos, clapping and bouncing in his seat. “I think he likes it, Jimin-ah. Oh, we are going to spoil you rotten, Jeongguk, just you wait—”

“—where are the others?” Jeongguk asks suddenly, glancing around the kitchen. His ears glow with a deep shade of pink.

“Ah, don’t worry about them,” Hoseok answers, returning with a stack of toast. He drops a hot square on Jeongguk’s plate and pushes the jar of jam toward him. “They’re off doing old men's things.”

“That sounds creepy,” Jeongguk mumbles.

At that, Jimin laughs, throwing his head back and falling against Taehyung. “No, no,” he sputters, waving frantically. “Hobi-hyung just means they’re probably still in bed doing a crossword puzzle or something.”

“What Jimin means to say is they’re grossly in love and always hiding away doing whatever the hell they do,” Taehyung clarifies. “Which is usually boring and quiet but totally perfect for them.”

Jeongguk nods. “I like Yoongi-hyung,” he says softly. He tears off a corner of his toast and chews it. “Namjoon-hyung isn’t so bad.”

Jimin smiles, reaching across the table to pat Jeongguk’s hand. “That’s a good start, baby.” Jeongguk doesn’t flinch away, and instead, he rewards Jimin with a full smile—wide and dazzling—and Jimin feels his heart leap.

“I think I’m gonna sleep some more,” Jeongguk says. He doesn’t pull away from Jimin, but he sets down his fork and looks at Hoseok and Taehyung with a blank look on his face. “Thanks for breakfast.”

“Ah, don’t mention it, pup, we’ll always take care of you,” Hoseok says. He’s so casual about it, Jimin thinks. Like he isn’t just offering total protection and security in the pack. Like it’s breakfast and nothing more. Like this won’t be a defining moment for Jeongguk accepting the pack.

“Leave your plate,” Taehyung says, waving him off. “Go sleep. We’re all just hanging out today, so don’t worry about getting up for anything.”

Nodding, Jeongguk pushes back from the table. He scratches his head nervously and glances out the sliding door. “I guess tell Namjoon-hyung he can come in now. He said he wanted to give me space.”

“Course he did,” Hoseok laughs. “He’s a good one, you’ll see.”

***

“sh*t, you’re so wet, Min,” Taehyung groans. His thumbs press into Jimin’s ass cheeks, spreading them so he can lap the slick dripping from his hole.

Jimin whimpers and rocks his hips back, chasing after the sensation of Taehyung’s tongue against his rim. It’s the hazy, uninhibited part of his heat—before the hormones really kick in, before his insatiable hunger is replaced with aches and pains. Before he loses himself in the fog of pheromones and biological rhythms, he can enjoy the perks of pre-heat: copious slick, muscles limber and pliant, willing betas coaxing him through org*sm after org*sm. The alphas serve him well when his heat truly hits, but pre-heat is more fun, less stress and more mess. Just how Jimin likes it.

“Pretty, pretty Min,” Hoseok purrs, brushing the damp fringe off Jimin’s forehead. “Just a sweet thing, aren’t you?” He leans in and kisses Jimin slowly, tongue curling against his own, lips glossy and wet. His grip on Jimin’s jaw is firm, steadying. He grins when Jimin gasps against his mouth.

Everyone gets it all wrong about betas. They get labeled like an afterthought: peripheral characters in society who are neither submissive or dominant. Who don’t really have a role except being a placeholder for an alpha or an omega. But Jimin knows better. Betas don’t get rut-drunk and aggressive; they’re firm, demanding when necessary, laser-focused in pleasuring their partners or chasing their own. Taehyung and Hoseok embody that perfectly—firm hands and commanding voices, hands that know how to touch and ease Jimin through all phases of his heats. They dote on him and correct him, give him what he needs even when he doesn’t know what that is in the moment.

Right now, Jimin needs to be filled, wants to feel like he’s bursting open with light and heat. He whimpers against Hoseok’s lips, “need you. Please.”

“I got you, sweetheart,” Hoseok murmurs, thumb tracing the swell of Jimin’s lower lip. “Taehyung’s got you.”

The press of Taehyung’s co*ck against Jimin’s rim makes him cry out with relief. Stars speckle his vision when Taehyung pushes in entirely, stretching Jimin until he finally feels full and whole again. “That’s it, love,” Taehyung hums, smoothing his hands down Jimin’s back. He grips his ass, digging his fingernails into his muscle until crescents appear in his skin. “Take it so well.”

“That feel good, Jimin-ah?” Hoseok asks. His voice is gentle and soothing, a stark contrast to his predatory smile. He licks his lips and watches Jimin rut himself back against Taehyung, his elbows wobbling from holding himself up so long.

“S’good,” Jimin sighs. The slap of Taehyung’s hips against his ass is delightful—just loud and obscene, two bodies making filthy, delicious noises together.

Hoseok traces his hands from Jimin’s shoulders to his wrists, guiding him to sit up on his knees. “That’s it, let hyung see you,” Hoseok murmurs.

Taehyung reaches for Jimin’s elbows, tugging them behind his back. “You feel so good, Min,” Taehyung sighs. “So wet for me, just desperate for this dick, aren’t you?”

Jimin nods, unable to articulate anything. He feels split open in the best way. All of his senses are amplified: nose flaring with the scent of Taehyung and Hoseok mingling with his own, skin tingling all over, the sound of his own pulse thrumming in his ears, the hungry and pleased way Hoseok looks at him as he strokes Jimin’s aching, leaking co*ck with lazy glides of his hand. And then Jimin tastes Hoseok again: all honeyed and thick.

A loud mewl cuts through the sound of all their panting and groping. Hoseok pauses mid-kiss, pulling back with wide eyes. “Was that you?”

Taehyung eases Jimin down to his hands again. “No, that was someone else,” he says. He’s still stuffed deep in Jimin, hands light on his hips.

“Wasn’t me,” Jimin answers, trying hard to catch his breath.

Another cry, and they all turn their attention to the door.

“sh*t,” Hoseok mutters, scrambling off the bed. He hops around the floor looking for his clothes and finally grabs a random pair of shorts off the floor.

Taehyung gives Jimin a light squeeze. “Gonna pull out, okay?”

Nodding, Jimin clutches the bed spread and eases himself off Taehyung’s co*ck. “I think it’s Jeongguk,” he says. A whimper from the other side of the door confirms it.

“What do you want us to do?” Taehyung asks. He bends down and grabs the closest pair of shorts and yanks them on, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

“Let me check on him first,” Jimin says gently. He winces and crawls off the bed. He pulls on some clothes, and it’s a clash of smells and sensation: an overly large shirt that belongs to Taehyung, shorts that smell like Hoseok. “Stay back.”

Hoseok and Taehyung nod and shuffle to the opposite side of the room. Jimin cracks the door open to find Jeongguk curled into a ball on the floor, arms hugging his knees to his chest. He’s feverish and flushed all over, tears glistening in tracks down his cheeks. “Hurts,” he gasps, rocking himself slightly.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Jimin murmurs, crouching beside him. He presses the back of his hand to his forehead. “You’re burning up, baby.”

Jeongguk chokes out a sob and finally opens his eyes. They’re wide and dark and watery—just on the edge of feral, and Jimin knows that look too well. Jeongguk’s heat has begun, and it’s hitting hard. “Hurts so bad, hyung,” he whispers. He shivers violently, and sweat beads along his hairline.

“Hyung,” Jimin calls over his shoulder. “Hyung, Jeongguk’s in heat.”

“What do we do with him?” Taehyung asks cautiously.

“What a pack should do,” Hoseok answers firmly. He crosses the bedroom and crouches beside Jimin. He places his hand on Jeongguk’s back and leans closer to him. Jimin already feels calmer in Hoseok’s presence, and he hopes Jeongguk can feel it too. “We’re going to help Jeongguk through his heat.”

“Baby,” Jimin says gently, “we’re going to take you to your room, okay?”

Nodding, Jeongguk sits up, trembling as if he might collapse again. “I’m scared,” he whispers. “Never been this bad before.”

“Of course not,” Hoseok says, “you’ve been so drugged up, your body has to learn how to do everything again. We’re going to help you.” He turns to Taehyung and nods. “Go tell Seokjin-hyung. We’re gonna need the alphas.”

Chapter 4: Jeongguk

Chapter Text

Jeongguk. Now.

Everything moves in a slow-motion smudge. Hoseok lifts Jeongguk to his feet, draping his arm across his shoulder to drag Jeongguk toward his bedroom. Jimin is close by—his voice sounding slurred and shrill—and Jeongguk knows Taehyung is nearby, can smell him hovering in the background, distressed and panicked.

Hoseok is strong, but his touch is delicate. He’s steady on his feet, guiding Jeongguk into the room. The sunlight spills through the open window, warming the room and amplifying the stench of soaked sheets. Everything smells sticky and sugary—the kind of cloying sweetness that clings to the tongue, makes one want to retch.

Jeongguk’s stomach seizes as soon as he inhales, the smell of his own slick making him feel queasy and dizzy. “Hyung,” he whispers, mouth dry and throat thick, “hyung, please.”

The bedroom is a mess: sheets torn off the bed, pillows strewn across the floor, a pile of clothes crumpled near the bathroom door. Every detail points to a struggle. The blankets and sheets are dotted with dark stains of slick; the smell of Jeongguk terrified and deep in his heat clings to every surface.

“We can’t use this room,” Jimin murmurs behind him. A small hand presses to the dip between Jeongguk’s shoulder blades, and for a fleeting moment, he feels comforted. “The alphas,” he says carefully, “it’s too much.”

Hoseok nods. “You’re right.”

A new smell invades Jeongguk’s nostrils and it’s clean and sharp and firm. “My room.” Yoongi’s low voice cuts through the buzzing in Jeongguk’s head.

“Hyung,” Hoseok says softly, “we don’t have to—”

“—my room,” Yoongi repeats. The new assertive note in his voice makes Jeongguk whimper, his omega desperate to please the alpha.

Yoongi’s room is large and spacious, the colors a muted palette of grey and blue. A desk sits in the corner of the room, two monitors and a large soundboard perched on top. The large bed takes up most of the room: sleek, silver-blue sheets tucked into tight corners, the duvet folded and smoothed, pillows fluffed and lined along the tufted velvet headboard. Twin nightstands flank each side of the bed; one holds a minimalist lamp and a stack of books, the other has a small potted plant bending toward the sunlight.

“Get him on the bed. I’ll go get Seokjin,” Yoongi says, turning to Jimin. A worry line creases his forehead. As he turns to leave, Jeongguk yelps, reaching out for him.

“Hyung,” he whimpers. “Don’t go.”

“I’ll be right back, pup, I promise,” Yoongi says gently. He pats Jeongguk’s cheek, and his eyes widen in surprise. “He’s burning up. How long has he been like this?”

Hoseok eases Jeongguk on the bed, nestling him among the pillows. “Not sure,” he says, sighing and rubbing his neck. “We were a little preoccupied when we found him.”

“When he found us,” Taehyung corrects. He lingers in the doorway, chewing on his thumb nervously. “Jimin’s in pre-heat, so we—”

Yoongi waves him off, silencing him. “That was irresponsible, but we’ll discuss that later.”

Taehyung cowers in the doorway with a deep frown. “We’re sorry, hyung, we were trying to help Jimin, and then…” He trails off when Yoongi holds up a finger wordlessly.

“Taehyung,” Yoongi says, eyes still on Jeongguk, “go get Seokjin-hyung and Namjoon. And hurry.”

Jeongguk whimpers, eyes darting from Yoongi to Jimin to Hoseok. He feels detached and far away from the scene, like he’s not in control of his body, like he’s far away watching from a distance. He can’t remember his last heat, but he knows it never felt like this: heavy and all-consuming, like a fire ravaging him from the inside out.

“Listen here, pup,” Yoongi says calmly, brushing Jeongguk’s damp hair off his forehead, “you’re coming off of God-knows-what. Whatever they made you take has re-wired your hormones, and coming off of them is going to be hard. It’s gonna hurt like hell, but we’ll get you through it, okay? That’s what a pack does.”

Nodding, Jeongguk swallows and tries to speak, but his throat feels like it’s clogged with cotton—dry and suffocating. He leans into Yoongi’s touch, feeling comforted by the warmth of his hand.

“Hobi,” Yoongi says, turning toward Hoseok, “get some water, yeah? A few bottles. Maybe a couple sports drinks, too.”

“What can I do, hyung?” Jimin asks timidly.

“You can help Hobi. Maybe gather some towels,” Yoongi answers.

Nodding, Jimin turns to leave. “Wait!” Jeongguk gasps. “Stay?” Jeongguk’s omega is thrashing inside him—torn between the comfort it feels with Yoongi’s strong, reassuring presence and terrified to be left alone with a strange alpha he barely knows.

Jimin glances at Yoongi warily, waiting for an answer. When Yoongi nods, Jimin circles the bed and settles next to Jeongguk. “I’m here, baby, I’m here.” He still smells like sex and pheromones—Hoseok and Taehyung marked him all over, and Jeongguk can’t ignore the scent.

Jeongguk rolls to his side, sniffing at Jimin’s hand, nosing up his arm, taking in the smell of the three of them before. He can’t help himself. He’s drawn to the smell—potent and raw and enticing—and Jimin allows Jeongguk to sniff and mouth at the teeth marks on his skin, inhaling loudly.

Jimin laughs and wriggles under Jeongguk’s touch. “They smell good, don’t they? Strong and safe, huh?”

Strong. Safe. Virile. Healthy. It makes Jeongguk’s mouth water and slick grow hot between his legs. “S’good,” he murmurs, lips dragging along Jimin’s forearm.

“Let’s make you a nest, baby,” Jimin asks gently. “I can go grab some things to make you more comfortable. Bring more of their scent to you?”

Nodding, Jeongguk releases Jimin’s arm. He feels a bit calmer now, though his chest swells with a different feeling: deep, carnal craving blooming between his ribs. “Okay,” he murmurs, lifting his fingers to his nose to sniff what’s left of Jimin’s scent.

“You’re safe with Yoongi-hyung, I’ll be right back.” Jimin slides off the bed and moves quickly toward the door.

“Hey,” Yoongi says, extending his hand. “Come here.”

Bashfully, Jimin steps closer, placing his small hand in Yoongi’s. His knuckles are large and pink, his palm engulfing Jimin’s dainty hand in his. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I scolded you,” Yoongi says softly. “You know how I get.”

Laughing, Jimin nods and leans down until his face nearly touches Yoongi’s. “Yes, hyung, I know how you get.”

Yoongi tilts his chin and presses their lips together. It’s a slow, heated kiss, and Jimin’s knees nearly buckle as he hums into it. “Forgive me?” Yoongi asks, thumbing at Jimin’s bottom lip.

A little dazed, Jimin nods. “Course, hyung. Be right back.”

Yoongi turns back to Jeongguk, and he’s met with Jeongguk’s wild eyes, lips swollen and raw from licking them, trying desperately to wet them, to soothe the ache. He leans closer to the new pack mate and pats the side of his head gently, smoothing down his sweaty, matted hair.

Something stirs in Jeongguk—needy and untamed and desperate—and he thrashes against the mattress. He feels like he’s tied down, bound to some weight, and he has no control over his own body. Yoongi’s presence is all at once soothing but disruptive; Jeongguk’s omega wants to submit, but something deeper, darker, more primal wants to attack Yoongi, fend him off. All those years of alphas before Yoongi have made Jeongguk uneasy, skittish like a wounded animal, eager to lash out and protect himself no matter how dangerous it might be.

“Hey,” Yoongi hums. He doesn’t flinch away from Jeongguk when he gnashes his teeth. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you, Jeongguk-ah.”

Deep down, Jeongguk knows that’s true. He can feel it emanating from the alpha’s strong presence, his scent growing more potent, curling around him in a comforting hold. “Hyung, it hurts,” he whimpers. What else can he say? Hyung, it hurts like someone is taking an ice pick between my ribs. It hurts like wildfire ripping through my guts. It hurts like only peeling off my skin and dumping salt on my raw wounds would make it go away.

“I know, pup, I know,” Yoongi murmurs. He eases onto his side and faces Jeongguk. Everything about him is so soft: pink, doll-like lips, a curl of hair across his forehead, cheeks plump and smooth like he’s made of porcelain. So different from the alphas Jeongguk has known before. “We’ll get you through this, I promise. Can you trust me?” He holds out his hand.

Hesitantly, Jeongguk takes it, squeezing his fingers around Yoongi’s hand. It feels like an anchor, some tether to a new life that could save him if he’d only believe it. “I’ll try.”

Yoongi smiles. “That’s a start.”

***

Jeongguk. Earlier.

The feeling started when Jeongguk was wrapped in Namjoon’s arms, sobbing and sniffling into his chest. It overwhelmed him. The need to hurt something, hurt himself was impossible to ignore. He liked the feeling of his bare knuckles cracking against the boxing bag. There were no drugs to dull the ache or make his mind foggy and disconnected. He could feel every motion—swift, sharp, piercing pain through his bones and tendons.

And then, just as suddenly, he was weeping in the alpha’s arms, cradled on the floor. He cried for what felt like hours. Years and years of pent up fear and anger and loneliness spilled out of him. He choked on his sobs, clutched Namjoon’s shirt so hard, he was sure it would rip at the seams. Namjoon just held him, rocking him slightly. He didn’t try to talk him through it. He gave him silence—and loud and terrifying as it had been, it was what Jeongguk needed.

When he cried himself out, he sheepishly pulled himself to his feet and wiped his bandaged hand across his nose. “Sorry. Or thanks, I guess.” He didn’t mean to sound so ungrateful, but Namjoon didn’t seem to mind.

“It’s fine,” he said, waving him off like Jeonggukk had just apologized for eating the last muffin at breakfast. He was so unbothered by Jeongguk’s outburst, no hint of annoyance on his face. “Why don’t you head in and get some food? I’ll clean up here. Give you some space.”

Jeongguk chewed his lip and toed at the seams between the tiles on the floor. “You’re not coming?”

“Space,” Namjoon repeated with a smile. “I’ll be in soon.”

Nodding, Jeongguk answered, “Okay.”

When he made it back into the main house, Jimin, Taehyung, and Hoseok were gathered at the table, laughing with mouths full of food and an air of affection between them. Jeongguk felt a pang in his belly when he caught a whiff of Jimin. He was close to his heat—a natural one, not one induced by synthetic hormones or other drugs. It made heat pool between Jeongguk’s legs, and he felt a rumble in his belly that was faint but familiar.

He sat at the table and tried to focus on the chatter surrounding him, but he was lost in the fog unfurling in his mind. Jimin’s imminent heat and Namjoon’s proximity had him feeling twitchy and uncomfortable, like he needed to tear off his clothing and dive into an ice bath. He nodded and mumbled, ate the food they gave him, and finally, he excused himself.

Even the stairs felt like an insurmountable obstacle. Each step made him wince, and the flicker in his gut felt like full flames—licks of orange and red searing his belly from the inside out. He felt dizzy and lightheaded, like he’d had too much to drink. The floor felt wobbly as he made his way to the room where he slept the night before.

As soon as the door shut, he tore off his clothes, tossing them out of the way. The heat was building from deep in his core and even the light fabric against his skin felt blistering hot. He flopped onto the bed and heaved a loud sigh, squeezing the pillows against his face. If he could just sleep it off, he’d feel better, he was sure of it.

The longer he laid there, the hotter he felt. Sweat prickled along his hairline, and goosebumps raced along his skin. Splashes of pink blossomed all over his skin as he felt the flames inside roar to life. Even naked, he smelled so much like Namjoon. Whatever blockers he wore didn’t last long, or maybe it was Jeongguk clutching him and wiping his face all over his chest that activated his stronger pheromones.

Namjoon’s scent was heavenly. Jeongguk couldn’t pinpoint it, but Namjoon smelled like rolling around in long grass under a bright blue sky and abundant sunshine. He smelled like freedom and bliss—clean and intoxicating and gentle and protective.

Jeongguk shivered in spite of his fever, feeling an electric throb between his legs at the thought of Namjoon. He was strong but gentle, his chest sculpted and curved. Jeongguk could feel it through his thin workout shirt, felt the strength of his arms as they held him close. A pulse of slick dribbled between his legs, and Jeongguk bit back a whine.

He couldn’t recall the last time he got wet without being force-fed some drugs. The sensation felt dirty—the memory of it too deeply enmeshed with all the horrible experiences before this place. Like he wasn’t even entitled to his own body.

His hands feel bewitched, moving without any input from his brain. His fingers wrapped around the length of his co*ck, and he sighed with relief to have some pressure. Another wave of slick dripped down his thighs, and he slid his palm through the wetness, gathering it and slicking it along his co*ck. The ache in his belly lessens, but it’s replaced with another feeling: hunger and want. He pumped his fist and lifted his hips off the mattress to chase after the wet slide of his hand.

Jeongguk’s head felt heavy and crowded, only the thoughts Namjoon alpha Namjoon alpha Namjoon alpha bouncing off his skull. He was strong, big, soft in all the right ways, and Jeongguk’s omega was waking from some long-laid slumber and craving a mate. The smell of Namjoon was all over Jeongguk, and he imagined himself covered in his scent, bathing in it, slathering it on his co*ck as he pumped it erratically.

And then there was Jimin. On the edge of his own heat, radiating with potent virility and looking deeply in love and deeply f*ckable. Jeongguk had never been with another omega before—not intentionally, not naturally without the aid of drugs or other intoxicants—but he craved Jimin too. Wanted to feel the warmth of his gaze, his small hands pressing deep into Jeongguk’s muscles. Wanted to be looked at the way Jimin looked at the others: hungry and amused and desirable.

The added image of Jimin swirling around his mind with Namjoon made Jeongguk feel breathless as his heart raced. He imagined their hands and mouths all over him, giving him the kind of pleasure he had been denied for so long. More slick gathered between his legs, and the sheets had to have been soaked, he was sure of it. Still, he stroked himself frantically, like trying to stoke a fire and bring its flames to life. Relief was far away—impossible to quell, no matter how hard he tried. He flopped onto his belly, rutting against the mattress and fingering himself open. He pushed up to his hands and knees, fumbling between his legs to jerk himself off.

Nothing could quell the rage in his belly. He felt himself coming closer to the edge of org*sm, but it was snatched away. Over his labored breathing, a new sound reached him: Jimin’s voice. High, breathy, needy. A bed creaking. Taehyung’s low, honeyed voice. Hoseok’s laughter. A crack of a hand on bare skin. The shuffling of bodies among sheets. And the smell.

Jeongguk’s eyes rolled back in his head as he inhaled deeply. He could smell their sex and hormones thick in the air like descending rainclouds. He scrambled to get closer to the sound, crawling across the bed and pressing his ear to the wall. Jimin wailed loudly—a broken sound, wet with tears and overwhelmed with pleasure—and Jeongguk whimpered in reply.

The staggering heat washed over him once more, bubbling in his gut and making his skin itch all over. His omega thrashed inside him: hungry, desperate, feral. He pushed himself off the bed and stumbled toward the door. He wanted to be closer to Jimin, wanted to surround himself with the smell of sex and mateship.

Jeongguk trembled as he opened his bedroom door. He glanced down at his naked body, hesitating before he stepped into the hallway. He was literally in a den of wolves, and surely presenting himself in the nude was foolish. Dangerous. He grabbed a pair of shorts and tugged them on, snapping the waistband against his hips. It was enough. Even that little bit of fabric felt like a white-hot weight against his skin.

He followed the sounds and smells of the others, following the scent of them down the hallway until he found the room. Their voices were low, a mix of laughter and sighs bleeding out from under the door. The smell was divine. Pungent and sweet and raw. Jeongguk’s mouth watered and his stomach ached. He reached to knock at the door, but a pain jolted through him, making him double over in agony. He whimpered and steadied himself, one hand pressed against the door. Another zap of pain made him fall over completely, clutching his belly and crying out.

He heard a shuffle and the sound of hushed voices. When the door opened, it felt like a bright light washed over him, and he lost himself in it.

***

Jeongguk. Now.

Sweat glistens all over Jeongguk’s skin. He wishes he could climb out of his own body, run free through cool meadows, catching a breeze for some relief. Everything feels so hot. He can’t recall his last heat, can’t remember it ever being this hot. His body is overwhelmed with all the sensations: slick between his legs, sheets stained and damp from sweat, Yoongi’s warm hand holding his own, the bedroom sweltering in the late morning sunlight. There’s a gnawing deep in his belly, unreachable no matter how hard he scratches or twists to dull it.

Jeongguk stretches and writhes among the sheets, squeezing Yoongi’s hand until he’s sure the alpha’s hand will shatter. “Hurts,” Jeongguk hisses. It feels as though all human vocabulary has left him, only bare remnants of himself left as his animal side takes over. A second pulse throbs through him—a constant drumming making him crave.

“I know,” Yoongi hums. He glances toward the door, and Jeongguk can just barely make out the notes of worry creeping into his scent. “The hell are they?” he mutters to himself.

The door swings open, startling them both, and Yoongi lets out a loud sigh. “Namjoon, God, what took you guys so long?”

Namjoon’s eyes are wide and glassy, jaw slack as he takes in the state of the room. He smells delicious, and it makes Jeongguk squirm and kick on the bed. “Holy sh*t,” he gasps. “This is bad, hyung.”

Yoongi shushes him and waves him closer. “We’ll get through this. Come here.”

As Namjoon steps closer, Jeongguk feels a tug in his belly, his wolf howling and desperate to submit. “You sure this is okay, Jeongguk?”

Nodding, Jeongguk looks up at Namjoon, taking in his form. Under the haze of his heat, Namjoon looks different—the same, still, but amplified. “Alpha,” he whimpers.

“Ah, yeah,” Namjoon sighs, scratching his neck. His face has turned bright red, the tips of his ears glowing in the sunlight. He looks completely embarrassed by it all: Jeogguk preening at his attention, Yoongi soothing him, the clear outline of his co*ck tenting his shorts. “What do I do, hyung?” he asks, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Where are the others?” Yoongi asks. He turns back to Jeongguk and smooths his palm down his chest, resting his hand on his heart. “Settle down, pup. You’re safe. I told you.” Jeongguk’s heart races—like an erratic frightened rabbit bounding through the forest, darting away from danger.

“Seokjin-hyung is on his way up. I don’t know where the others—”

“—right here!” Jimin calls out, pushing past Namjoon. A bundle of clothing and blankets spill out of his arms, and he hurries to the bed to drop them on the mattress. “Okay, baby, I’m here. Let’s make you a nest.” Jimin’s presence instantly soothes Jeongguk. He feels a bit safer with the other omega beside him—a reassurance that he isn’t alone. That he might actually be safe.

“Okay, let’s sit you up for a sec, yeah?” Yoongi dips down and wraps his arm around Jeongguk’s waist and pulls him upright.

Jimin flits around, pulling out clothes and sheets from the tangle he dumped on the bed. His cheeks are flushed, and his movements seem a bit skittish, but he’s focused on his task. Every now and again, his eyes meet Yoongi’s, and they seem to have some wordless conversation between them.

Yoongi catches Jimin by the wrist and nods his chin at him. “You good?”

Jimin forces a smile and nods, lips pulled tight. “Yeah, you know, it’s just, my heat, you know?” His words are stilted and breathless. “Just trying to hang on for now.”

“You should get in the bed too, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi says gently.

Helplessly, Jimin glances at Jeongguk and back to Yoongi. “Hyung, it’s so new to him, what if he—”

“—’m right here,” Jeongguk mumbles. “You don’t have to act like I’m not here.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Jimin says quickly, leaning over to pat Jeongguk’s arm. He winces at his overheated skin, slick with sweat. “It’s just… no one is trying to force you into anything, and we’ve always worked through our cycles as a pack…” Jimin trails off and bites his bottom lip. “But usually we’re all in better condition. So I don’t know what to do.”

“The good news is you don’t have to decide that.”

They all turn to the door to find Seokjin there, standing tall and assertive. It’s nearly imperceptible, but Jeongguk sees the way Yoongi’s shoulders sag with relief, how Jimin quits worrying his lip, how Namjoon leans toward him like he’s drawn toward the sun. Whenever the others are around Seokjin, they seem to soften—out of deference, not submission—and Seokjin moves about them like a sun pulling them along their paths of orbit. He doesn’t move like the alphas Jeongguk has known: cruel, manipulative, exploiting their status. Instead, Seokjin is steady and calming, his respect earned by the respect he so clearly gives to his pack mates.

“Hyung,” Yoongi murmurs. A hint of a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and Seokjin answers with a beaming smile of his own. It’s not just respect, Jeongguk realizes, but love that Seokjin shows them all so clearly.

Seokjin crosses the room and pauses at the foot of the bed. He pats Yoongi’s head, his fingers lingering in his hair, brushing down the thick hair at his nape. Gently, he scratches him, and Yoongi sighs, his eyes fluttering closed. “You’re being such a good alpha to him,” he hums.

A flush of pink rushes to Yoongi’s cheeks, and he smiles bashfully. “He’s in bad shape, hyung.”

“We have a few options.” Seokjin turns his attention to Jeongguk with an empathetic smile. “We leave you with Jimin and the betas to get through your heat.”

Jeongguk grunts in disapproval.

“You can stay with Yoongi, and he’ll talk you through how to use some of our toys—”

At that, Jeongguk bristles, glancing warily at Yoongi. “Just toys?”

“Ah, well, Yoongi doesn’t really—”

“—hyung, it’s okay,” Yoongi murmurs. He looks at Jeongguk with such unbridled fondness, it makes him whimper. “I can make an exception.”

Seokjin tuts and shakes his head, smoothing his hand down Yoongi’s back. “Yoongi-yah, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Yoongi nods. “I know. But if it’ll help him…” He gestures for Seokjin to lean closer until their faces are nearly touching. “It’ll be okay, hyung. Don’t worry about me.”

Seokjin frowns—and Jeongguk can’t believe that even that looks handsome on Seokjin. Eyebrows drawn together, lips pursed and worry in his eyes—a subtle pleading expression on his face as he scans Yoongi for a hint of discomfort. “You know I will,” he mumbles.

Yoongi kisses him in a soft, swift motion, smiling at the little huff of air Seokjin exhales. “My sweet, hyung,” he hums. He kisses Seokjin again, and it’s drawn out and slow, Yoongi’s tongue dipping into Seokjin’s mouth. It’s just on the edge of heated, like honey warm and falling in satiny ribbons.

Jeongguk has never seen two alphas kiss before—not like that, at least. Not soft and tender, like they’re equals instead of rivals, partners instead of slaves to rank. He wants to be kissed like that—like he’s cared for and desired, not someone’s property or toy to play with and defile as they see fit. He wants to feel how reverent their mouths feel against his skin, wants to feel tongues against his own, teeth glossy and slick, dragging along his skin.

Jeongguk moans. Loud, broken, feverish and hungry. Yoongi turns to him with an amused smile. “You like that, pup? Seeing your alphas like this?” His eyes narrow with mirth, and his lips curl into a smile.

“Hyung, don’t make fun,” Jeongguk whispers. (Really, he’d let the teasing continue if he weren’t feeling like molten lava bubbling over from the inside and out.)

“He’s just messing with you, baby,” Jimin says, swatting at Yoongi. “He always gets a little frisky with Seokjin-hyung. But he’ll be gentle with you if that’s what you want.”

If that’s what you want. Jeongguk has never been given the choice before. He doesn’t know how to answer. “Where will you be?”

“Oh.” Jimin grimaces and glances at Yoongi and Seokjin for answers.

“Do you want a heat partner, Jeongguk?” Seokjin asks. “Do you know what that is?”

He’s heard the phrase before but isn’t sure. “I don’t know,” he admits. His mind is so foggy, he’s not sure what he can remember beyond this moment in this room.

“Sometimes omegas share their heats,” Jimin explains slowly. “Kind of a group thing? Comfort each other, talk through it, all that.”

“Have you done it before?” Jeongguk asks.

Jimin smiles and nods. “Yeah, a couple times. It can be really soothing.” He pauses. “And hot.”

Yoongi laughs and rolls his eyes. “Let’s talk boundaries and dynamics before we talk about all that, Jimin-ah.” He turns back to Jeongguk, his expression relaxing. “For some people, heats and ruts feel more…” he pauses, waving his hand in noncommittal circles, “about function and biology. Just a thing to get through. Like me. I just power through them and find very little pleasure in them. I get that elsewhere.”

“And for me,” Jimin says, rolling onto the bed, bouncing beside Jeongguk, “I find they’re easier to endure if there’s some pleasure and fun to it.” He brushes his hair off his forehead and beams at Jeongguk. “The alphas can take good care of you, give you whatever you need. And the betas, too. We make a good pack, and if you can trust us, we can get you through this comfortably.”

Jeongguk swallows. “The alphas?”

“All three of us,” Yoongi murmurs. “Or just one of us or none at all.”

The shift is immediate: Namjoon’s scent suddenly spiking with uncertainty and disappointment. He clears his throat. “Sorry.”

“And you do what to me?” Jeongguk asks. Whatever calm had settled over him starts to fray at the edges, making his stomach churn with worry. It all sounds too good to be true, too much like what he’s heard all his life: you’ll enjoy this. We’ll make it good for you. Open up, take some more. Ravenous alphas pawing at him and f*cking him until he passed out, waking with bruises and aches all over.

“Hey, hey, easy,” Jimin says, shushing Jeongguk. He tilts his head toward him, his small hand framing the outline of Jeongguk’s jaw. “You’re safe here, I promise.” He thumbs at Jeongguk’s chin, smiling at him with a knowing sadness in his eyes. “You think I’m the kind of guy to hole up with a bunch of alphas if I didn’t think they were safe and wonderful and full of love?”

Seokjin laughs. “It’s true. I think he’s more alpha than all three of us.”

“Hyung, he doesn’t look good,” Jimin whispers. “We need to figure this out.”

Nodding, Yoongi stretches out alongside Jeongguk. He’s warm and firm pressed against him, grounding him as his mind grows hazier. “I can stay with you, if that’s what you want. Tell us what you need so we can take care of you.”

How to choose? He likes how protective Yoongi feels, how strong Namjoon feels, how clear-headed Seokjin seems, how affectionate Jimin is. Even Hoseok and Taehyung have shown him a kind of adulation he isn’t sure he’s earned yet. He looks around the room to find everyone has gathered. Hoseok and Taehyung hover behind Namjoon, wringing their hands and looking worried. Namjoon’s eyes have gone shiny and wide, lips parted as he breathes deeply. Seokjin’s ears have flushed dark pink—in embarrassment or arousal, Jeongguk isn’t sure. Jimin looks at Jeongguk like he could devour him entirely, and Yoongi looks at him like he’s the only person in the entire world.

It’s overwhelming. But Jeongguk finally feels safe.

“You,” Jeongguk finally whispers. If he can allow himself to trust Jimin, he knows Jimin will protect him and help him through this.

Jimin smiles, and it’s the kind of smile that people write songs about: dazzling and beatific, the kind of smile that erases every shadow of pain in the world, the kind of smile that reassures Jeongguk that Jimin won’t leave him. “You’ve got me,” Jimin murmurs. He sits up and pulls off his shirt, and the energy of the room shifts: the alphas’ scents spike, and Taehyung bites back a loud whine.

Slick pools between Jeongguk’s legs, and Yoongi inhales sharply, his pupils dilating. “Hyung?” Jeongguk wets his lips. Waits.

“It’s fine, pup,” he answers, voice low and rough. It grates against Jeongguk’s ears like tires on gravel. A tongue against stubble. “Just let it happen.”

Before Jeongguk can respond, Jimin is on top of him, hands kneading into Jeongguk’s chest, their hips rocking together in quick, undulant motions. Jeongguk imagines himself out on choppy waves, bobbing along in a small boat, drifting on open water, buoyed by waves.

In the years leading up to this moment, Jeongguk’s body moved on autopilot: perfunctory motions dictated by biology or drugs or some vicious alpha commanding his every move. His hands never touched someone else for pleasure, never felt the dip of a collarbone out of curiosity, never plucked a nipple just to hear a lover’s deep sigh. He hardly knows what to do with his hands, keeping them stiff at his sides while Jimin glides his fingertips along every curve of his chest.

“You can touch if you want,” Jimin murmurs. “Just move your hands wherever you want. You won’t hurt me.”

Jeongguk swallows the lump in his throat. “I don’t know how or where—”

“—here,” Jimin says, grabbing Jeongguk’s hand. He places it on his hip and gives him a small squeeze. “You can hold me here if you want. Or you can follow what I do.” Jimin traces a swirl along Jeongguk’s nipple. “Do you like that?”

Jeongguk nods and exhales shakily. He lets his hand wander, fingertips gliding over the ripple of Jimin’s ribcage until he reaches his nipple. It’s pebbled and perky, a dusky pink against his flushed, golden skin. Jeongguk looks up at Jimin, questioning. Jimin nods and inhales sharply. Carefully, Jeongguk gives the little bud a squeeze.

Jimin moans—loud and showy, but it’s not like the other omegas Jeongguk has been around. Not performative and fake. It’s a pure sound: the kind that erupts from a deep place of pleasure, and it stirs something in Jeongguk’s belly. Jimin moans again, and it summons a splash of slick between Jeongguk’s legs, and he moans in response. “Feels good,” Jimin huffs. “Do you feel good?”

Nodding, Jeongguk whispers, “Yeah.” He can’t recall the last time someone genuinely asked him that or even cared about what he enjoyed.

“Can the pack help you?” Jimin murmurs, nosing along Jeongguk’s neck. “I think we could feel really good together. I can show you.”

Goosebumps wash over Jeongguk’s skin, and he shivers in spite of the heat surrounding him—Jimin’s body, Yoongi’s hands somewhere on Jeongguk, the heavy cloud of alpha pheromones hanging in the air. “Yes,” Jeongguk whispers—so faintly he wonders if he’s even said it aloud.

Things move swiftly: hands tugging off clothes, scents growing stronger and sharper, the mattress dips, more warmth, and then more hands and mouths. They don’t grab and grope like the greedy alphas who passed Jeongguk around. Each touch is cautious and delicate, laced with something that feels an awful lot like care. Jeongguk nearly cries when he feels a mouth closing around his nipple.

“That’s it, pup,” Yoongi hums. It’s his mouth on Jeongguk’s nipple: hot and wet and tugging, tongue swirling along the bud with quick flicks. “Just let us make you feel good. We’ll get you through this.”

Jimin rocks his hips and cradles Jeongguk’s face with his hands. “Do you feel how wet we are, baby?” Another dip of his hips, and Jeongguk feels it: wet and warm, and it makes his co*ck throb. Jimin grins and reaches down between them, his hand dragging his co*ck along Jeongguk’s length. “Can I?”

Jeongguk nods. He can hardly register the question when Yoongi suckles on his nipple, purring and smacking loudly. The bed dips again, and he smells Taehyung and Hoseok so clearly—bright, effervescent scents that cut through the deep musk of the alphas.

Jimin dips his fingers between Jeongguk’s legs, tracing his fingers along his rim, not pushing in but circling the puffy, sensitive skin. “So wet, we’re such good omegas,” Jimin sighs. He looks blissed out already, utterly gone to the sensation of his body writhing against Jeongguk’s, and his fingers slicking up with every pass.

“Jimin-ah,” Taehyung whines. He crawls toward him at the head of the bed and nuzzles his shoulder. “Please.” He mouths at the slope of Jimin’s shoulder, eyes pleading as he looks up at Jimin through his dark sweep of bangs.

“Come here, love,” Jimin coos. He lifts his hand to Taehyung’s lips, fingers glistening with Jeongguk’s slick. Eagerly, Taehyung opens his mouth, stretching his tongue out for Jimin’s fingers. He probes them into Taehyung’s mouth in slow, steady pumps. “You taste that? Tell Jeongguk how good he tastes.”

Taehyung groans around Jimin’s hand, eyes rolling back in his head as he gags around Jimin’s fingers. His chin is coated in spit and slick, and he’s shamelessly loud with each gasp and sigh. “S’good,” Taehyung groans.

Jeongguk could watch them endlessly, he thinks. Jimin is so commanding, even when his voice is soft and gentle, whispering filthy things to Taehyung as he sucks the slick from his fingers. A hand tilts Jeongguk’s face away, and he nearly whines.

“Jeongguk-ah,” Yoongi says gently, “what do you want? I mean, the alphas, we can give you a knot with one of the toys—”

“—no!” Jeongguk yelps. He shudders and gathers himself. “Can I, I mean, could you—”

“Yes, pup, I’ve got you.” Yoongi pushes himself up off the bed, and Jeongguk doesn’t miss the way his co*ck tents the front of his pants. Yoongi shoves off his clothing and glances at Seokjin and Namjoon. “How do you want to do this?”

Namjoon swallows and glances at Jeongguk warily. He looks hungry and scared, and Jeongguk’s heart skips a beat. He feels the same way too. “What does he want?”

Yoongi laughs and reaches for Namjoon. “Ask him yourself. Go on, hyung will help you.” He kisses Namjoon’s knuckles and nods toward Jeongguk.

“How can I help?” Namjoon asks feebly. His cheeks are flushed, and he’s made no effort to hide his own hard-on straining against the front of his shorts.

Hoseok clears his throat. “I think maybe Jimin and Jeongguk side by side and we go from there.”

Jimin laughs, turning to Hoseok. His face is sweaty and his eyes are wide and playful, mouth raw from kissing Taehyung. “Hobi, don’t worry, I’ll play with you two.”

Hoseok blushes and waves him off. “No, I didn’t mean… yeah don’t worry about me.”

“Of course we’ll worry about you,” Jimin says sweetly. He glances down at Jeongguk and smiles. “You still good? I’m going to be right beside you.”

Jeongguk nods. “Yeah.” When Jimin rolls off him, Jeongguk can see the room more clearly: Yoongi and Namjoon at the edge of the bed, Seokjin on the other side patting Hoseok (both of them impossibly pink, a blush seeming to cover them from head to toe), and Taehyung kneeling beside Jeongguk’s head, chest heaving as he watches Jimin’s every move. Seven. There are seven of them in this bedroom, gathered to help Jeongguk through his heat.

Jeongguk is no stranger to orgies. He’s used to bodies crushed together in dark, lightless rooms, and time blurring together like the sh*tty playlists party hosts insisted on piping into the rooms. Jeongguk hated the group events, hated how he was thrown into some tacky room with silk sheets and sh*tty booze. The alphas would stagger in reeking of cigars and whatever enhancers they wore for the night, thinking it made them desirable and manly. They were all pathetic: limp, pathetic knots, dicks that barely got hard, breath that stank like sour wine and desperation. It seemed like even they didn’t enjoy the experience of sharing Jeongguk among several of them. A f*cking waste. More than anything, it hurt. Jeongguk left those events feeling battered and bruised all over, his insides aching and his throat raw, the skin between his thighs chafed.

Every time one of the pack mates touches him, Jeongguk feels like one of the old memories breaks free and drifts away, like a chunk of ice shattering off the side of an iceberg. Namjoon touches him first—thumb to ankle, gentle circles along the round bone. Yoongi shuffles closer to kiss Jeongguk—quick, soft, mouth pink and tasting sweet.

“Jeongguk-ah,” Yoongi murmurs. He thumbs at Jeongguk’s cheek and smiles at him. “Namjoon is so gentle, he’s really going to be so good for you. Can he help you?”

Nodding, Jeongguk glances down at Namjoon. “Yeah,” Jeongguk exhales. “Yeah, I want you to.” He looks at Namjoon directly, heart pounding when Namjoon exhales loudly.

“Okay,” Namjoon answers. He’s nervous and trembling; Jeongguk can feel it in the way Namjoon awkwardly climbs onto the bed. “Are you okay on your back? We can move?”

Jeongguk shakes his head quickly. Jimin is on his back beside him, and Jeongguk likes that he can see his face clearly. “No, this is okay.” He turns to Yoongi and purses his lips for another kiss. He likes when the alpha kisses him: sweet and slow, like kissing him is a sacred gift. There’s no greed behind it, no entitlement or hunger like Jeongguk owes him anything. Just sweetness. Reverence.

“Okay, you tell us to stop any time, okay?” Yoongi kisses Jeongguk before he can answer. Jeongguk nods anyway, their mouths dragging together. Yoongi’s hand glides down Jeongguk’s belly and ghosts over the tip of his co*ck. “Can I touch you here, pup?”

“Yeah,” he huffs. “You don’t have to keep asking me, just do what you want—”

Yoongi sits up and shakes his head. “That’s not how we do it here,” he says firmly.

“You’re not just some plaything,” Namjoon says softly. He glances at Yoongi and clenches his jaw. Stop, he mouths at him. “We just want you to feel comfortable and cared for.”

Jeongguk nods. “Okay. Yeah.” He closes his eyes and exhales loudly. “You can touch me. Anywhere. Everywhere.”

“That’s the spirit,” Jimin quips, earning a smack and a laugh from Seokjin.

Yoongi’s hand is warm and rough, calloused along his fingertips and palm as he slides his hand up and down Jeongguk’s length. Tiny pearls of pre-cum form on the crown of his co*ck, and Yoongi coats him with it. He keeps his eyes on Jeongguk, watching for any sign of distress. He smells so good, so protective and aroused, and it makes Jeongguk whimper. “That’s it, enjoy it, pup,” Yoongi hums.

Namjoon’s hands are smoother than Yoongi’s, fingers graceful and long as he pushes Jeongguk’s thighs further apart. He kneads his thumbs into the plushness of Jeongguk’s thighs, his lips parted as he watches Yoongi jerk Jeongguk off in slow, unhurried strokes. "Have you ever slicked this much?” he asks. His voice is a low rumble—thunder in the distance. He thumbs at Jeongguk’s rim, and Jeongguk mewls at the sensation, hips bucking off the bed.

“I don’t know,” Jeongguk bites out. Yoongi’s hand moves at a glacial pace, and Namjoon is so goddamn gentle. All Jeongguk wants is to release the fire in his belly, to be filled from the inside out. “Please,” he whines.

Jimin whimpers, and Seokjin lets out a guttural groan as he collapses onto Jimin. “That’s it, hyung, need you,” Jimin gasps, fingers tangling in the dark, matted hair at Seokjin’s neck. Jimin’s scent has spiked and grown deeper, sugary in the air and coating Jeongguk’s tongue. It makes Jeongguk slick up once more.

“f*ck,” Namjoon huffs. “Okay, yeah. Let’s do this.”

“Let’s do this?” Taehyung teases.

“Ah, you know what I meant,” Namjoon mutters. Pink looks good on him as he blushes.

Taehyung angles himself between Jeongguk and Jimin to kiss Namjoon, holding him close by the back of his neck. He kisses greedily—all tongue and spit and teeth, little hums of pleasure between breaths. “Take care of him, alpha.”

Namjoon pulls back, a little starry-eyed and dazed, nodding. “I will, baby. You guys take care of Jimin, yeah?” He turns back to Jeongguk. “Okay, stop me at any time.”

Jeongguk nods, watching as Namjoon lines himself up between his legs. His co*ck is thick, longer and redder and thicker than anything Jeongguk has ever seen. Years of overly-medicated, washed up grey alphas couldn’t compare to Namjoon’s picture of health. As Namjoon teases his co*ck head at Jeongguk’s hole, he lets his head fall back among the pillows. Relax, he tells himself, relax. This is meant to help you. You’re allowed to enjoy it.

Years of abuse have taught him otherwise: how to disassociate and send himself somewhere else. Pleasure wasn’t something he was entitled to. Pleasure meant he enjoyed what was happening to him. Even when he was alone, he never touched himself, never tried things to make himself cum or feel good. For so long, he lived as if his body was just some thing he had to drag around and endure.

“Relax,” Yoongi murmurs. He mouths at Jeongguk’s nipples, his hand still jerking Jeongguk in slow, steady motions. He’s not trying to get him to org*sm yet, just soothing him.

When Namjoon pushes inside him, Jeongguk sees stars bursting against his eyelids. He feels so full, his body pliant as he takes all of Namjoon. The stretch feels good—body gone limp and wet and warm—and Namjoon moves with slow, careful thrusts of his hips. When Jeongguk finally opens his eyes, Jimin is staring at him with an amused, blissed out grin.

“How’s it feel, baby?” Jimin asks, reaching out his hand.

Jeongguk takes it, tugging Jimin closer until his palm is splayed across his heart. “Good. Crazy.”

Jimin wriggles closer, body jostling as Seokjin f*cks into him. “Good,” Jimin repeats. Their lips meet in a sloppy kiss, their bodies shifting up and down on the bed as the alphas f*ck them in slow, steady strokes. Taehyung and Hoseok have begun their own fun: Taehyung lying with his head off the mattress as Hoseok f*cks his mouth and sloppily jerks him off.

The rest happens in a haze; before long, Jeongguk’s ankles are hooked over Namjoon’s shoulders, he’s crying and spilling into Yoongi’s hand, Jimin is howling and clawing at Seokjin’s back, Taehyung is choking and laughing as Hoseok’s cum drips down his face. It’s frenzied and feral and hot and fun. The pain of the morning has all but dissipated; Jeongguk doesn’t feel the weighted ache in his belly or the all-consuming fever from before. His body feels loose and sated, tingling all over where he’s covered with slick and cum and spit. Little splotches of pink and purple bloom on his chest where Yoongi marked him.

“Close,” Namjoon grunts, squeezing the soft flesh of Jeongguk’s hips. “Gonna knot. Do you want me to?”

Jeongguk nods, fighting hard to keep his eyes open. He wants to give in to the exhaustion tugging at him, but he wants to feel full, slick plugged inside him, the weight of an alpha locked inside him. “Yeah,” he whimpers, “please.”

“So polite,” Jimin teases. His voice is lower than before, a dip that makes Jeongguk’s co*ck twitch awake.

“You’re one to talk,” Seokjin scoffs, wiping down his co*ck with a wet wipe. “You usually beg for a knot.”

“More like demand that knot,” Yoongi adds. He grins when Jimin scowls, fingers tracing over his own nipples.

“I want what I want,” Jimin hums.

“Yeah you do,” Hoseok says, leaning down to kiss him. It’s decadent and languid, tongues swirling together in a glistening string of saliva. “Open,” Hoseok hums, tapping under Jimin’s chin. He obeys, opening wide and sticking out his tongue. Hoseok spits into his mouth in a slow falling glob, groaning as Jimin swallows dramatically, keeping his eyes fixed on his face. “Obscene,” he huffs.

Jimin grins, thumbing at his bottom lip. “Thank you.”

“f*ck, I can’t focus when you guys—”

Yoongi laughs and sits up, leaning close to Namjoon. “Lot going on, huh? Focus and take care of the pup, yeah?” He licks his lips and kisses Namjoon gingerly, lips parting into a wide smile when Namjoon whines through the kiss. “Go on, give him your knot.”

Namjoon nods and slides Jeongguk’s ankles from his shoulders. He presses his knees apart and leans further, pushing into him with slow, deep thrusts. Jeongguk moans, eyes rolling back in his head. Someone’s fingers probe into his mouth, and he suckles them without questions, drooling and gagging around them. The weight against his tongue grounds him. Hands reach into his hair with gentle, soothing touches. Mouths on his skin. Hands all over. And then: he feels it. The stretch of Namjoon’s knot, skin burning where he’s had to make room for the alpha’s knot swelling inside him.

“f*ck, you feel—” Namjoon cuts himself off with a loud moan. His fingernails dig into the pillow-softness of Jeongguk’s thighs, hips stuttering to a halt as he holds himself upright. Namjoon pants loudly, chest heaving with each breath.

Maybe it’s too early, but Jeongguk thinks the old Jeongguk might be slipping away entirely. The old Jeongguk with the guarded heart and bone-deep fear. The old Jeongguk with a body that felt more like damnation than his own right. The old Jeongguk who didn’t know he could feel pleasure in so many forms: hands, mouths, words deliberately and delicately selected for him.

“Let’s clean up,” Seokjin murmurs.

Jeongguk floats in and out of consciousness. Namjoon’s weight against him is calming, their heartbeats slowing to synchronization. The others move around quietly and carefully, gathering the bits of the nest and their clothes, wiping one another down with gentle touches and soft, teasing words. Jimin murmurs something to Taehyung, and then their lips meet in loud, obvious smacks. Hoseok laughs at a joke Seokjin makes, and there’s a playful crack of a hand against a bare ass.

Yoongi stays with Jeongguk, his head resting on his shoulder, his breath fanning against his skin in warm, barely-there puffs. Namjoon grows heavier on Jeongguk’s chest, his breaths growing deeper and deeper. “I think he’s asleep,” Yoongi whispers. “All that oxytocin overload.”

“S’fine,” Jeongguk murmurs. And it is fine. Namjoon held him so closely, so fiercely and without question only hours ago. He held Jeongguk like he could do it for all eternity if it meant keeping him safe. He doesn’t mind holding onto Namjoon a little longer, especially if it means Yoongi stays beside him too.

Seokjin is the last to leave the room. He hesitates by the door, his eyebrows pinched together in worry. “Do you want me to stay?” he whispers to Yoongi.

Yoongi waves him off. “Go, get cleaned up, hyung. We’ve got this.”

Seokjin nods. If the lighting had been better, if Jeongguk didn’t feel delirious with sleep, he might have sworn that Seokjin looked disappointed to be sent away.

Chapter 5: Yoongi

Chapter Text

Yoongi. Before.

It was a freezing Friday night in January. Too cold to be charming, too dry for any snow. Well past the holidays so all that was left was the hollow, bleak feeling after all the glittering year-end celebrations had passed. Yoongi found himself at one of those cheap conveyor belt sushi bars—the kind with questionably dim lighting and neon slabs of salmon and tuna passing by on plastic plates. It wasn’t the worst place to be alone on a Friday night, but it certainly lacked any sort of magic or whimsy. Until he spotted an unfamiliar face across the bar.

The man was well-dressed—far too expensive and put together to be at that kind of place. His hair was swept off his forehead, and he spoke politely but cheerfully with the staff whenever they came by to refill his drink or take a special order. He caught Yoongi staring and grinned at him: wide, wolfish, but not unkind. Yoongi felt his cheeks burn as he turned his attention back to his nigiri.

He was swallowing a mouthful of salmon roe when a shadow passed over him. He gulped loudly and looked up to find the man from across the bar towering over him. “May I join you?” he asked, gesturing at the empty seat beside Yoongi. His voice was softer than Yoongi expected. A hint of familiarity—or maybe some foresight that they might be friends someday.

Nodding, Yoongi shrugged. “Be my guest.” It wasn’t that Yoongi was prickly in nature. He’d just had a lifetime’s worth of people giving him sh*t, and he learned not to let his guard down. Setting the bar low meant he could avoid disappointment.

“Thanks.” The man sat down and reached for a plate of inari. He offered the plate to Yoongi who waved him off. “I know it’s kind of a waste of money—all that rice, you know? But I love these. Used to stuff myself silly whenever we’d take family trips to Japan.”

Yoongi nodded, unsure of what to say. He reached for a plate of mackerel passing by. “I don’t judge.”

“Do you drink?” The man asked. Before Yoongi could answer, he was flagging down a waitress. “Another beer for me, and my friend will have…” he trailed off, turning to Yoongi expectantly.

“Beer. Thanks.” Yoongi smiled politely at the waitress then turned to Seokjin. “Thanks, you don’t have to buy me a drink.”

The man shrugged and stuffed another piece of inari in his mouth. “S’fine,” he said, his mouth full. “Happy to.” He swallowed and wiped his mouth, offering a dazzling smile. “I’m Kim Seokjin. Who do I have the pleasure of dining with tonight?”

Yoongi fought the urge to roll his eyes. If he couldn’t smell the alpha on him, he would’ve guessed by the cheesy attempt at picking him up. “Min Yoongi.”

Two beers appeared before them, and Seokjin slid a bottle toward Yoongi. “To new friends.” He lifted his drink.

Yoongi followed suit, lifting his bottle and clinking it against Seokjin’s. “To new friends,” he parroted. He took a quick swig, looking away when Seokjin’s eye contact grew too intense.

The more they ate and drank, the harder it became for Yoongi to ignore how delightful Seokjin was. They talked like old friends—the sort of light teasing that came from years of knowing one another, which buttons to press to get the loudest laugh or sharpest eye roll. Not once did Seokjin try to sniff him out, nor did he puff his chest and posture, put Yoongi down in some way. Seokjin didn’t try to guess Yoongi’s status, didn’t try to rile him up or challenge him to show off in some way.

Instead, Seokjin ate globs of wasabi, choking and sputtering and making Yoongi laugh so loud, a waitress shushed them from across the dining room. Yoongi didn’t believe in fate or angels or any sort of divine intervention, but he did feel like Seokjin had shown up at this restaurant as some sort of sign. Yoongi had spent the better part of his week planning his escape from the city. He had endured too much here, hung around for far too long. Even though he left his family’s home ages ago, he never felt settled whenever he landed in a new city. It seemed easier to move. Attachments were complicated, unnecessary.

But meeting Seokjin made something light up in the back of Yoongi’s mind. Maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t been trying hard enough to connect with other people. Watching Seokjin tell a story with animated hand gestures and silly voices made Yoongi imagine Seokjin in his quiet, serious moments, too. What kind of books did he like to read? What was his dream dinner? What childhood scars still made him self-conscious?

For the first time in a long time, Yoongi craved the feeling of knowing someone. It was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

“Well, Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin said fondly, patting his breast pocket, “I must be going.”

The endearment made Yoongi blush. He watched as Seokjin pulled out his wallet and flipped through a stack of bills. “Wait, let me chip in.”

“Oh, please, it’s my treat. I insist.” He hiccuped and blushed, covering his mouth with crooked fingers that were dainty and just as charming as the pink of his ears.

“Seokjin—”

“—hyung,” Seokjin said warmly. “Go on.”

“Hyung,” Yoongi said carefully, marveling at the honorific on his tongue, “I don’t want you to think I’m going to sleep with you after this. I mean, I don’t want to send you any mixed signals.”

Seokjin grinned and plucked a wad of bills from his wallet. “Who said I wanted to sleep with you?”

Yoongi’s cheeks burned. He felt embarrassed at the assumption but laughed anyway. The truth was he found Seokjin beautiful and charming and kind, but Yoongi’s stomach soured at the thought that he might disappoint him in some way. “Sorry, yeah, that was really presumptuous, but I just wanted…”

Seokjin’s hand landed on Yoongi’s for a moment. Soft, warm. Reassuring. “I would just like to pay for dinner to thank you for being such a wonderful companion. I hope this isn’t the last time I see you, Yoongi.”

“Me too,” Yoongi answered. It was the truth. A small part of him felt like maybe waking up to another day in this city could suck a little less if he knew he’d see Seokjin again. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Seokjin was handsome beyond measure, but Yoongi wasn’t easily swayed by a person’s looks. He just felt instantly connected to the other alpha.

“Where are you heading? I can give you a ride home if you want.” He slid off his seat and gestured to the exit.

“Nah, I’m close by. I can walk. Thanks though.” Yoongi reached for his beanie on the counter and tugged it low on his head. He brushed the bangs out of his eyes and followed Seokjin out into the cold.

Out on the sidewalk, the golden light of the street lamps made Seokjin look younger, small, even. He kicked at the ground and dug his toe into a crack in the pavement. “You think we could hug goodbye?” he asked suddenly, looking up with wide eyes. “Is that weird?”

Yoongi shook his head and smiled. “Not weird, hyung,” he said softly. “A hug would be nice. Unless you’re gonna pick pocket me.”

Seokjin barked out a loud laugh, grabbing Yoongi and pulling him close. “Or maybe I slipped something in your coat that you won’t find until later and it’ll tie you back to some grisly crime scene.”

“Well, that would be an exciting evening for me,” Yoongi joked, pulling back. “Thanks again for dinner. Really kind of you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Seokjin answered, waving him off. “Same time next week?”

Nodding, Yoongi said, “Yeah, that would be great. See you then.”

Seokjin grinned, nodding eagerly. “Awesome.”

Awesome. Yoongi repeated the word to himself as he walked home. His place was nearby—some overpriced, undersized studio that was freezing in the winter and sweltering in the summer. It was lower than humble, worse than bleak. He was certain there were people in prisons with more comfortable abodes.

He kicked off his boots and unraveled his scarf. He patted down his coat looking for his phone and felt the sharp edge of something in his pocket. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, plucking a business card out of his pocket. It was expensive, heavy paper with a name embossed on the front: KIM SEOKJIN. A phone number was printed in a neat, tight font on the back.

Laughing, Yoongi clutched the card to his chest for a moment. The thought of seeing Seokjin again next week made Yoongi feel warm and giddy all over. With his phone number in hand, he felt like he was floating.

Later, when he climbed in bed, warm and soft from a hot shower, he held the business card up to the light, inspecting its corners and the threading of the card stock. He traced the letters of Seokjin’s name, slightly amused at the pretentious script and formality of the card. It felt like another surprise in a long line of surprises Yoongi had experienced that night. When he started to doze off, the image of Seokjin’s wide, beautiful smile coaxed him to sleep.

***

If it weren’t for the business card bent among his sheets, Yoongi might have thought the night before was a dream. Good things never found Yoongi. He wasn’t what anyone could call lucky, and from a young age, he’d learned to accept that. As a kid, he was too small and too quiet. As he grew up, he was too cold and too mean. As an adult, he wasn’t sure what he was anymore. Just alone. Of course, all of those labels from adolescence clung to him: silent, sullen, aloof, weak. He didn’t think he was any of those things.

Silence could be a good thing. He liked the quiet. Liked how his mind stilled and he could observe the world without distraction. He liked the quiet of libraries and early morning trains, snow falling on residential streets, the moments after a shop closed and the lights were dimmed.

Sullen never felt like the right word. Joyless, perhaps. He’d lost enough in his life to feel like joy was a luxury he didn’t deserve.

Aloof might have been the only label that really felt accurate. Keeping people at a distance, limiting personal connections, never settling down for long—these were safe actions for a man who never felt safe if he wasn’t moving.

Weak. Well, it was easier to swallow than some of Yoongi’s darkest, cruelest thoughts he reserved only for himself.

Seokjin, however, didn’t seem to notice any of these things about Yoongi. He spoke to him like he was a delightful old friend: charming, humorous, familiar. Parts of Seokjin reminded Yoongi of an old friend back home, back before Yoongi was abandoned by his own family pack. Back before Yoongi had learned all the lessons that had hardened him as an adult.

Groaning, he rolled out of bed and reached for the business card. He spent far too long the night before staring at the card, tracing the raised letters of Seokjin’s name. It was a clever move, and Yoongi appreciated Seokjin’s boldness—or maybe his shyness—that encouraged him to drop the card into Yoongi’s pocket.

Yoongi grabbed his phone and dialed the number. The call went straight to voicemail, and Yoongi hung up without saying a word. He opened his text app and typed a message instead. Hey, it’s Yoongi. He left it alone after that.

Far too much of the day stretched ahead of him. He had to be at work in an hour, and he knew the shift would be boring and uneventful. When he accepted the double shift, that was before he was giddy after a night out with a stranger. Maybe, he decided, the long work day would be a good distraction from staring at his phone waiting to hear back from Seokjin.

That still didn’t stop Yoongi from checking his messages as he walked to work. He stared at the unread message and frowned. An unread message was infinitely better than being left on read, he told himself. He shivered as the cold wind licked at his bare hands, and he shoved his phone in his pocket and hurried toward the second-hand shop.

The store was small and overcrowded with the kind of junk that should really have been in a landfill or recycled, but occasionally, they had some items worth selling. It was a job that required very little in the way of customer service—mainly because so few customers came in. Yoongi spent most days tinkering in the shop, repairing things that were easy to fix but had been discarded out of laziness.

He was hard at work patching holes in an oversized denim jacket when the door jangled and an unfamiliar person walked in. Yoongi hadn’t been at the job for very long, but he’d come to know most of the shoppers. Many were just there out of curiosity, poking at the items on the shelves, sometimes stopping to chat with him. Very few bought anything, but they seemed to come by out of some loyalty to the old shop owner who showed up less and less each day.

This customer was about thirty years younger than the last person Yoongi had seen in the shop. Tall with wide shoulders, he tugged off his beanie and ruffled his hair. He looked around for a moment before spotting Yoongi. He made his way toward the counter where Yoongi was hunched over, needle caught between his teeth, and thread unspooled around him. “Hi.” His voice was warm and soft, low and rich like dark coffee.

“Hi,” Yoongi said, plucking the needle from his teeth. “If you’re looking for the cinema, it’s one block up. The address online is wrong.”

“Ah, no, actually,” the man shook his head and smiled, “I’m here because I heard there was a piano for sale?” He wrung the beanie between his hands and chewed his bottom lip.

“Oh.” Yoongi set down the jacket and his sewing materials. “Yeah, it’s in back. Though it’s in really sh*t condition. Don’t want you to get your hopes up.” He slid off the stool and waved at the man to follow him.

They wandered through the maze of overstuffed aisles—past the mismatched cookware and discarded bits of furniture and toys. In the back corner of the shop was an old upright piano. The paint was chipping, and it needed to be sanded and stained at minimum. Aside from its cosmetic appearance, it needed new hammers and strings, likely some pins and the soundboard, too. When Yoongi tried it last, the notes came out warbled and distorted, making him cringe with each strike of the keys.

“Here it is,” Yoongi said flatly, gesturing at the piano. “I’m telling you, it needs a lot of work.”

“But you’re really only selling it for 474,000 won?” the man asked, leaning down to glide his hand along the chipped top.

“Yeah, I mean, I think the owner just wants to get rid of it. And you’ll spend as much on repairs as you would on a brand new one.” Yoongi didn’t make commissions at the shop, but he still felt bad about trying to guide the stranger away from the purchase.

The piano was dilapidated and obsolete. Yoongi couldn’t imagine this man playing it, much less repairing it. The man stood up and beamed at him, a deep dimple creasing his cheek. “I’ll take it.”

Yoongi’s jaw dropped. “Really?”

The man nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been waiting for the right time, and now it’s here, so I wanna buy it.”

“Okay,” Yoongi laughed, shrugging incredulously. “Yeah, let’s go to the front and I’ll ring you up.” He led the man toward the cash register, calling over his shoulder, “We don’t deliver though. You got a truck? Some help?”

“Truck, yes. No help yet. Can I come back for it? Can you hold it?” He patted down his overcoat and pulled out his wallet.

“The good news is,” Yoongi said, punching the keys of the cash register, “it’s a real piece of sh*t, and it’s missing some parts, so it’s pretty light. I got a dolly and some straps in back if you want to try hoisting it together. Does your truck have a ramp?”

The man smiled and nodded quickly, signing as the credit card machine beeped. “Yup. That would be awesome if you’d help.”

Awesome. Yoongi smiled back at him. “Sure, yeah.” He tore off the receipt paper and handed it to the man. “There you go. Gimme a sec to grab the stuff. If you drive around back, we can bring it out the loading doors.”

Nodding, the man tucked the receipt into his coat pocket. “Okay, be right back.”

Yoongi watched him leave before he sighed and dropped down on the stool. Two handsome strangers seemed like a cosmic joke. He felt a similar warmth talking to him that he felt with Seokjin, even though they had said very little to one another. The way the man touched the piano with reverence, how he smiled cheerfully and seemed unbothered by Yoongi’s lackluster sales pitch—it was all so endearing and kind. Yoongi wanted to ask the man his name, ask him about the piano, what drew him to the shop.

He made his way to the back and pulled out the dolly and handcarts and loading straps. He propped open the loading doors and waited for the man to appear. The truck rounded the corner in a slow turn, the truck jostling and jerking. It was clear that the person behind the wheel had no idea how to drive. Yoongi tried not to laugh when the man finally put the truck in park after several attempts at backing it up to the doors.

“First time behind the wheel?” Yoongi teased.

The man shut the cab door and scratched his neck sheepishly. “New driver. Still don’t have the hang of driving stick shift.”

“Oh God,” Yoongi laughed. “Stick shift? In that old thing? No wonder.” He approached the truck and inspected the paint. It was an old beater, dented in the side and paint chipping along the bed. “You got a thing for old, broken sh*t?”

“Looks that way, doesn’t it?” The man laughed and lowered the tailgate. “It’s not my truck. Belongs to the rec center where I work. When people give you stuff for free, you kinda just take it.” He rolled out the ramp with a loud clang.

Yoongi nodded and gestured at the building. “Case in point. Anyway, I got the stuff. Let’s get you loaded up.” He turned back to the doors and reached for a few loading straps.

“I’m Namjoon, by the way,” the other man said, following close behind.

“Yoongi,” he grunted, crouching around the base of the piano. “Watch out for splinters. The legs are a mess.”

Namjoon squatted on the other side of the piano, feeding the loading band to Yoongi. Together, they propped it up on a dolly, tilting it precariously until it rolled with ease. Namjoon carried much of the weight, catching the piano against his back as Yoongi steered from behind. Despite the cold weather, Namjoon sweated profusely, the hair at the base of his neck growing dark and damp. The sharp winter air amplified his scent, and Yoongi felt his stomach clench—fear or desire or both, he wasn’t sure the cause.

Once the piano was loaded and tied down in the back of Namjoon’s truck, they stood back and admired their work. “Well, thanks for your help,” Namjoon said finally, turning to Yoongi. His cheeks were dusted pink from the cold and exertion, and even though he reeked of alpha, Yoongi found him impossibly gentle and kind.

“Yeah, no, happy to help, Namjoon-ssi, don’t mention it.” Yoongi stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned back on his heels. “Come back sometime and let me know how the piano works out, yeah?”

“Actually, you could come check it out for yourself,” Namjoon said. He gestured over his shoulder. “I work a few blocks up at the rec center. You know it?”

“Passed it a few times, yeah,” Yoongi answered. He’d seen the old building but never paid much attention to it. Anything that reminded him of his school days was much better to avoid entirely.

“I’ve got someone willing to repair the piano for us, so it’ll be up and running soon for the kids. You should come by sometime,” Namjoon explained. “Actually, I need someone for some craft activities if you’re interested.”

Yoongi raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Crafts?”

“I mean, you were sewing, right? Even just repairing holes would be great. Teaching kids, I mean. I need all sorts of activities for them, and anything that’s practical and useful for real life is a plus. Donors really like that.” Namjoon spoke quickly, like he was too excited to catch his breath and slow down. It only endeared Yoongi further.

“Kids don’t really like me,” Yoongi laughed, flicking at his ear nervously. “Actually, adults too, come to think of it.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Namjoon said it with such certainty, it made Yoongi’s heart ache. Suddenly aware that he’d been a bit too earnest, Namjoon cleared his throat. “Okay, so yeah. Just think about it? You don’t have to say yes now. But it would be good for the kids to be around respectable alphas, especially.”

“Alpha?” Yoongi parroted. Rarely did someone identify him so easily. Gangly and hunched over with bad posture, most people assumed he was an omega. A beta if they were feeling generous with their assumption.

“Oh, sh*t, did I misgender you?” Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“No, it’s fine,” Yoongi said quickly. “Most people assume otherwise.”

“Well, look, now that I have made things profoundly weird—”

“—you didn’t,” Yoongi interrupted.

“—I did, but thank you for pretending otherwise. Anyway, I’m gonna head out, but I’d love to talk to you more about volunteering at the rec center.” Namjoon pulled out his phone, flicking it unlocked. “Oh, hang on.” He squinted at his screen, scrolling through a message. “You wanna come over for dinner?”

“Is that your mom?” Yoongi joked.

“My boyfriend, actually,” Namjoon laughed. “He’s a good cook, and he said he’s making fried chicken and there’s plenty. Wanna come?”

Yoongi forced a smile and hoped it didn’t look as pained as he felt. That little feeling of disappointment was creeping up again, the one that told him he was foolish for ever looking at someone and imagining anything beyond their simple interactions. He wouldn’t call them crushes, per say, but he always felt a little crushed by the reality of it all when he realized he was experiencing something very different than the other person. “Nah, I don’t want to impose. It’s really okay.”

“Oh, come on,” Namjoon said, elbowing Yoongi. It was a playful gesture, familiar once again. "My boyfriend is an alpha too. Actually, I think you’d get along really well. You remind me of him.” A nice thing to say, but it stung a little.

Yoongi could tell Namjoon wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He sighed and scratched the back of his neck, smoothing down his damp hair. “Okay, if you’re sure he won't mind.”

“Are you kidding? The man lives to feed people. He told me to bully you until you said yes, so thank you for saying yes before I had to resort to that.” He tucked the phone in his pocket and nodded at the truck. “Shall we?”

“Yeah, lemme lock up.” Yoongi smiled and turned back to the store, pulling the loading doors closed behind him. As he locked the doors and closed out the cash register, he couldn’t help but smile to himself. How many nights had he spent by himself eating alone and killing time until he could go to bed and stave off the loneliness? He spent the night before eating dinner with a kind, friendly stranger, and now another one was inviting him to his home to share dinner with him and his partner.

Yoongi waited for that little, sour voice to speak up, reminding him to keep his guard up and his expectations low. But it never came. Instead, he heard only Namjoon’s voice calling to him as he hurried to the truck, climbing into the cab.

***

The ride to Namjoon’s house had been comfortable and quiet in spite of the cold. The heater in the cab was busted, and even though Yoongi had to sit on his hands to stay warm, he enjoyed the easy conversation and stretches of silence. After the first few minutes on the highway, Yoongi wondered where Namjoon lived that was so far from the inner heart of the city.

“My boyfriend has a place. An inheritance, really,” Namjoon explained, casting a quick glance at Yoongi. “sh*t, you’re shivering. I’m so sorry it’s so cold in here. I promise we’re almost there.”

Yoongi didn’t mind the cold so much. His own apartment never got much warmer, so he’d grown accustomed to layering and taking a hot shower before bed to try and cling to some heat. “It’s fine, really. I appreciate the meal.”

“Trust me, when you meet him, you’ll really appreciate the meal,” Namjoon said cheerfully.

When Namjoon pulled off the highway and the streets grew narrower and darker with thick, manicured patches of trees, Yoongi wondered idly if Namjoon might be planning to murder him. His scent must have given him away because Namjoon laughed and sputtered, waving frantically.

“No, no I promise, you’re not in danger,” Namjoon said quickly. The truck trundled down the residential street and groaned as Namjoon steered it onto a gravel pathway.

“The uh, scenery, is not really helping your case here,” Yoongi muttered. Aside from the occasional outdoor lamp, there wasn’t much light. In the distance, Yoongi could make out the outline of a large house—something bigger than he’d ever seen in person, maybe even bigger than anything he’d seen on TV. “Holy sh*t,” he gasped, pressing his face to the window, “you live here?”

Sheepishly, Namjoon nodded. He reached to roll down his window once the truck reached a towering wrought-iron gate. He punched in a code on the keypad, and the doors swung open with a dramatic screech. “I told you. An inheritance.”

“Is your boyfriend some kind of rapper or what? This house is insane.” More lights appeared along the gravel pathway leading them toward the home.

Namjoon parked the truck at the entrance of the house and unbuckled his seat belt. “Not a rapper. Though he’ll be delighted you suggested it. Come on.”

They climbed out of the truck, and Namjoon led them up the front steps and through a large, ornate front door. The smell of fried chicken greeted them immediately, and Yoongi’s stomach growled, earning a laugh from Namjoon. They toed off their shoes, and Namjoon gestured at a coat rack and a shelf with slippers. “Help yourself.” He slipped on a pair of worn plaid slippers and shuffled across the floor with ease.

“Really starting to feel like a mooch,” Yoongi mumbled, stepping into a pair of slippers.

“Please,” Namjoon scoffs, leading them toward the kitchen. “Look at this place. There’s plenty of room, and Seokjin-hyung cooks as if he’s feeding an entire army.”

Seokjin.

“Yah, there you are!” Before the man turned around, Yoongi recognized the voice immediately: Seokjin. His stomach clenched and his skin prickled with embarrassment. Of course he had a boyfriend and of course Yoongi had misread their entire encounter.

“Sorry, hyung, I had to drive slowly. I got the piano,” Namjoon explained, leaning in to kiss him.

“And a friend,” Seokjin mused, turning to Yoongi with a wide smile. “Yoongi-yah, I see you’ve met my Namjoonie.” Before Yoongi could answer, Seokjin pulled him into a tight hug, clapping his back as he laughed. “Welcome.”

Namjoon looked at Yoongi and then Seokjin with a puzzled look. “You two know each other?”

“No,” Yoongi said quickly, just as Seokjin answered, “Yes.”

Namjoon raised an eyebrow.

“Well, we met last night. He’s the one I told you about at the sushi place,” Seokjin explained, patting Namjoon’s chest gently.

“You told him about me?” For some reason, the concept surprised Yoongi.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Seokjin asked sincerely. “We had a nice time, didn’t we?”

“I mean, it felt like you were trying to pick me up last night and now I find out you have a boyfriend—”

“—hey, easy,” Seokjin said calmly. “Let’s eat and we can unpack all this, yeah? The chicken’s ready.” He turned back to the stove and plucked bits of fried chicken out of the crackling oil. “Beer’s in the fridge. Help yourself.”

Namjoon pulled out a six pack, snapping off a can and offering it to Yoongi. He accepted it and cracked it open, taking a long gulp. The bubbles tickled his nose and the foam was icy cold burning down his throat. He felt like a complete idiot standing in the kitchen between Namjoon and Seokjin, and he knew they could smell his dour disappointment all over him. He reeked of it, and he hated himself for it.

“Sit,” Namjoon said, gesturing at the table. He settled into a chair and placed the other beers in the middle of the table.

Seokjin joined them with a huge platter of fried chicken doused in sharp vinegar sauce and speckled with red and green chili peppers. He offered them some plates and chopsticks and took his seat beside Namjoon—and right across from Yoongi. “Dig in. It’s nice and hot.”

They ate in silence, but it lacked the comfort Yoongi felt with Namjoon earlier in the truck or with Seokjin the night before. This silence hung heavy, loaded with all the questions and sharp words weighing on Yoongi’s tongue.

“So,” Seokjin finally said, “I see you’ve met my boyfriend.”

Yoongi snorted. “Caught you, I guess.”

Namjoon paused his impressive gnawing on a chicken bone to watch the exchange. Yoongi couldn’t tell if he was out of the loop or just deeply engrossed in how the conversation was going to unfold.

Seokjin blinked. “Caught me? What do you mean?”

“Last night,” Yoongi huffed. “All that talking and flirting and you bought me dinner—”

“—yes, and?” Seokjin tilted his head to study him, and Yoongi hated the owlish motion, how it made him look boyish and charming.

“And now your boyfriend brings me here for dinner? What is this game you’re playing?” Yoongi asked. He set down his chopsticks and wiped his hands with his napkin before wringing it into a tight knot around his fingers.

“No game,” Namjoon said through a mouthful of food. He swallowed and reached for his napkin, dabbing at the sauce coating his spice-stung lips. “I met you, thought you were cool, and I invited you over to dinner. I had no idea you were the one Seokjin met last night.”

“The one?” Yoongi repeated.

“I mean, I told him I met someone wonderful last night over sushi. What do you want me to say?”

Yoongi couldn’t tell if Seokjin was cruelly mocking him or really oblivious to the scene. “I feel like you’ve both pulled something on me. What is this?”

“All coincidence, I assure you,” Seokjin said quickly.

“Are you swingers? Is this some spontaneous threesome?” Yoongi sputtered, searching for anything that would make sense in the moment.

“Yoongi-ssi, I would never,” Seokjin deadpanned. “I prefer scheduling my group sex weeks in advance.”

Yoongi laughed awkwardly. “I’m not really into that,” he muttered, feeling heat rising to his cheeks.

Seokjin’s shoulders drooped a bit and he shook his head, looking defeated. “Listen, listen, all jokes aside, it really is a coincidence. I met you last night, told Namjoon about our nice dinner, and then he happened to meet you today. All by chance, I promise.”

“I swear,” Namjoon added. “I didn’t realize you were the same person until we walked in and I saw the way Seokjin recognized you.”

“Okay,” Yoongi said carefully. “So last night? What was that?”

“Oh, I was absolutely flirting with you,” Seokjin said quickly.

“But what about Namjoon? What?” Yoongi shook his head incredulously. “I’m so lost.”

“We’re hoping to expand our pack,” Namjoon explained. “But we never go out looking for anyone in particular.”

“Your pack of two?” Yoongi joked dryly.

Seokjin laughed and shrugged. “A whole pack of two.”

“Well, I don’t do well with packs,” Yoongi said quietly. “My last one abandoned me, and I haven’t really seen the need for one since.”

“Totally fair,” Seokjin said. “And we’re not even sure we’re ready to invite you—or anyone yet. I promise you, Yoongi-ssi, we met you totally by some cosmic twist of fate. Awesome, right?”

Awesome.

***

Months later, Yoongi would come to consider that word again: awesome. The word had lost its meaning in everyday slang, but he felt the true weight of it as he spent more time with Namjoon and Seokjin. Awesome came with great excitement, but it also came with fear. Yoongi felt that twinge of fear when Seokjin offered him a room with such ease. How could it be that simple to let someone into his life? Yoongi had never known that kind of confidence or safety with someone.

The apprehension and terror reared its head when Namjoon and Seokjin invited Yoongi to their bed. They were soft and shy about it, biting their lips and wringing their hands, both of them bumbling and a little clumsy with their words.

“Hyung,” Yoongi murmured, “I don’t think that’s something I want to do right now.”

Neither Namjoon or Seokjin pushed him. They nodded and left him alone in his room, staring at the blank walls. Seokjin had promised Yoongi he’d help him pick out paint colors and furniture, and Yoongi was too scared to accept the offer. There was something permanent about picking a color, marking a wall, and saying this space is mine. The very thought was awesome— excellent, exhilarating, terrifying.

Later that night, Seokjin knocked softly on the door and let himself in. He hovered at the edge of Yoongi’s bed, tracing his hand along the footboard. “I hope you know you never have to do anything with us. We’re not that kind of pack.”

Yoongi offered a sad smile and nodded. “Thank you, hyung.” He wished he could give them what they asked for, but the very thought made his stomach turn.

“It’s just,” Seokjin paused, gathering his thoughts, “I know some pack dynamics are solely about getting through heats and ruts and breeding pups, and that’s not what I’m trying to do here. Namjoon and I found each other when we needed a safe space, and that’s all I ever want this place to be for you, too.”

“I appreciate that, hyung,” Yoongi said sincerely. He hugged his knees to his chest and chewed his lip, weighing his next words. “My last pack was my family, and when they realized what kind of alpha I was, they cut me loose. Had no use for me, and I figured no one else would, either. Who wants an alpha who doesn’t like sex?” He laughed bitterly and sighed, hugging his knees closer. “I don’t feel comfortable around a lot of people, hyung, and I don’t feel comfortable around sex and all those expectations. It’s never felt good to me, my body doesn’t feel good to me. I just don’t have a lot to offer, and I don’t want you to be disappointed when I don’t deliver what a good alpha should.”

“Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin sighed. He climbed on the bed beside Yoongi and draped an arm around his shoulder. “What the hell is a good alpha anyway?”

Yoongi shrugged, relishing the warmth and closeness of Seokjin, the comforting aura of his scent enveloping him. “A good heat or rut partner. Strong. Tough. I dunno.”

“Do you think I’m a good alpha?” Seokjin asked carefully.

“Well, yeah,” Yoongi said quickly. “Because you’re a good person, hyung.”

“You’ve undone your own logic, I think,” Seokjin said with a grin. “You’re a good person, too, therefore you’re a good alpha.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi mumbled, fighting a smile.

“Make me,” Seokjin joked, pinching Yoongi’s arm.

So he did—with a swift kiss that was quick and awkward and one that Yoongi vowed never to forget as long as he lived. “You’re annoying,” Yoongi whispered.

“And yet you kissed me,” Seokjin teased. His eyes were wide and his cheeks dusted pink, lips drawn in a smile. “So, you like kissing then?”

“Kissing, cuddling, yeah,” Yoongi said quietly. “I don’t like the intense stuff. Don’t wanna knot or be knotted. I’d rather help my partner in other ways.” He wished he could bury himself under the blankets and avoid the conversation entirely, but a little flicker in his belly told him to continue the conversation, to tell Seokjin what he liked in hopes that one day they might explore it together.

“I’m an excellent kisser, so you’re in luck,” Seokjin joked, cackling when Yoongi groaned loudly. “And Namjoon loves to cuddle, though, my God, the man sweats like he’s in a sauna. You’ll see.”

Yoongi laughed and rested his head against Seokjin’s shoulder. “I think I’d like blue for the walls,” he murmured. “Some grey accents, too.”

Seokjin sighed happily and nuzzled Yoongi’s neck. “Perfect. We’ll get some paint tomorrow.”

Yoongi. Now.

“Hyung?” Yoongi leans against the door and listens for Seokjin’s reply. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Seokjin calls.

Yoongi steps in, closing the door behind him. Seokjin is laid in bed, staring at the ceiling fan as it whirls overhead. “You okay?” He knows how much it hurt him to be sent away.

“Yeah, how’s Jeongguk?” Seokjin asks, still staring at the ceiling. The color has drained from his face and his voice is small, exhausted.

“He’s fine, just sleeping now. The betas are taking care of him. Namjoon had to go relieve Jimin.” Yoongi climbs into bed and settles next to Seokjin. He clasps his hands on his belly and watches the fan blades. It’s hypnotic and soothing to watch them turn in slow, perfect succession. A needle in a groove. A pattern fulfilled. No surprises.

“That’s good,” Seokjin murmurs.

“I know you’re eager to help, hyung. It’s going to take some time.” He turns on his side and drapes his arm across Seokjin’s stomach. He smells distressed and defeated, and it’s an ugly scent, one that makes Yoongi whimper low in the back of his throat.

“I don’t think he even recognizes me,” Seokjin whispers.

“That’s probably for the best, hyung,” Yoongi answers carefully. “You know that.”

Seokjin sighs and turns on his side to face Yoongi. His eyes are red and swollen from tears, his lips raw and bitten, like he’s been worrying them. “Yoongi, he’s gonna hate me, isn’t he?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “No, but he’ll need some time.”

“God, you smell just like him,” Seokjin sighs. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply.

Yoongi nestles closer. “Yeah? It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin huffs. “Will you scent me? Please?”

Yoongi nods. There are few physical things he enjoys doing for his pack mates, but he does love to scent them. He likes the closeness of it—how their breaths fall in sync, how the scent makes them dreamy and loose, how he can bring comfort and pleasure to his mates through scent and touch alone. “Come here,” he says, pulling Seokjin closer. He noses along his jaw up to his ear, breathing deeply as he rubs along Seokjin’s scent gland. The damp worry is gone and now Yoongi can smell notes of Jimin—bright and sweet like a splash of color in a black-and-white painting. “Mm, you smell good, hyung,” Yoongi hums.

Seokjin shudders and angles his neck to give Yoongi closer access. He nips at Yoongi’s shoulder as he sucks lightly on Seokjin’s neck. “God, so do you,” Seokjin groans.

Yoongi remembers the early days of joining the pack—how he, Namjoon, and Seokjin made an unlikely trio of alphas. All mismatched and broken or off course, they were somehow imperfect for society but perfect for each other. When they first scented one another, Yoongi had been nervous. Baring his neck to two other alphas was risky. In spite of all the trust they had built together, Yoongi never shook the feeling that it was all a long con, some way of trapping him or forcing submission. Instead, he found two people who understood him best, who understood his hesitation and allowed him space and time to figure himself out and communicate what he wanted and needed. That first time scenting one another was transcendent, truly awesome. Excitement and trepidation.

Now, Yoongi loves to scent his pack mates. He loves the way they go limp with trust, giving themselves over to him as he marks them with his scent. He saw the act as less of a claim and more of a promise, an assurance that yes, he is here for them, yes, he will give them comfort and care because that’s what they give to him.

Yoongi could feel himself getting lightheaded and trembly, his fingertips buzzing like the old days when he chain-smoked. “He really does smell good, huh?” Yoongi slurred. He feels like he’s in a bubble, trapped with all the scents of his pack mates swirling around them.

Seokjin looks equally blissed out: eyes glassy and fluttering closed, mouth hanging slack, the smooth line of his neck exposed and speckled pink from all of Yoongi’s nips. “S’good,” Seokjin huffs. “And his smell all over you, God, Yoongi, I’m losing my mind.”

“What do you need, hyung?” Yoongi murmurs, dragging his lips along Seokjin’s neck. “Tell alpha what you need.”

Seokjin whines and tilts his head to catch Yoongi in a rushed kiss. “Just you,” he pants, “you don’t have to do anything for me. Just stay.”

Yoongi climbs on top of Seokjin and pats his chest. “Go on, hyung. Take what you need.”

Seokjin groans and clings to Yoongi’s hips, fingertips digging into the soft swell of fat. “No, it’s fine, just overwhelmed.”

Yoongi rocks his hips, grinding down against Seokjin, and he can feel how hard he is, how close to knotting he already is. “Come on, hyung,” he purrs. “You’re so close already. Let me help.” He smooths his palm along Seokjin’s length—warm and hard and straining against his shorts. “Were you sitting in here thinking about Jeongguk? Hm?”

Seokjin chokes out a laugh and covers his face with his arm. “Yeah, God, I’m disgusting, aren’t I?”

“Why? He’s gorgeous,” Yoongi answers. “Hard to see Namjoon have him first, hm? Or to see your little kitten put his hands on him, too?” It’s just on the edge of mean, but Seokjin has always liked his teasing—the sharpness of it, the sting like a sour candy burning his tongue.

Groaning, Seokjin tries to slow Yoongi’s writhing. “You know it’s not like that,” he mutters.

“Isn’t it? Your prized omega finally makes it home and you can’t even have him first?” The words feel all wrong on Yoongi’s tongue—too ugly, too close to a truth they haven’t dared to uncover yet.

“Yoongi,” Seokjin says firmly, drawing a shiver from him. “Stop. That isn’t funny.”

“Yeah, sh*t, hyung, you’re right, I’m sorry,” Yoongi says apologetically. He leans down and cups Seokjin’s face, studying the new shape of his expression. “I’m sorry, I got carried away and thought—”

“—don’t do it again,” Seokjin snaps. “You of all people know it’s not like that.”

Nodding, Yoongi climbs off Seokjin. “You’re right. I overstepped, alpha, I’m sorry.”

The silence that falls between them is agonizing—heavy like rain clouds sagging with an impending storm. Yoongi doesn’t know if he should leave Seokjin alone or stay next to him. Rarely does he find his pack leader so impossible to read.

Finally, Seokjin clears his throat. “You know it’s not like that. Finding him was never about that, about some claim or whatever.”

“I know, hyung, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“—but you know he’s not going to understand when I explain it, right? He’s going to hate me. And we’ll probably lose him forever when all I was trying to do was bring him somewhere safe.” Seokjin stares at the ceiling again, eyes following the circles of the fan blades. He seems to be talking more to himself than to Yoongi, but Yoongi stays beside him listening. “He’s going to come to his senses and remember me, and he’s going to hate me, or I’m going to have to tell him the truth myself, and he’s going to hate me. I lose either way. It’ll all have been for nothing.”

“You don’t know that,” Yoongi says quietly. “He might understand.”

Seokjin laughs—ugly, dry, and joyless. “Would you understand?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “No. But eventually I would. You’re always so clear with your intentions and feelings, hyung. He’d come around.”

“You told me once that I’m a good person,” Seokjin says quietly. “What if that just isn’t true?”

“Hyung,” Yoongi sighs. He pulls Seokjin into his arms and hooks his leg over Seokjin’s hip, drawing him closer. He cradles his head and kisses his mop of thick hair. “You’re the best person. Look at our pack, at our lives. We’re so much better because of you.”

Seokjin chokes out a sob, shuddering in Yoongi’s grasp. It’s rare to see Seokjin so small and wounded, doubting himself so deeply. Always steady, he exudes a quiet strength that’s affirming and protective. Yoongi wishes he could make Seokjin see it, but he’s no stranger to that kind of self-doubt. Instead, he just holds Seokjin and runs his fingers through his hair, pausing occasionally to scruff or scent him until his crying stops.

“Hyung,” Yoongi whispers. “Did I ever tell you about the first night we met?”

Seokjin grunts a soft no.

“When I found your business card in my coat, I jumped around my apartment like a silly kid in love. Fell asleep with your card in my bed after staring at it for so long,” Yoongi admits. Seokjin sniffles and laughs quietly. “I remember staring at the card and tracing the letters of your name and thinking, this person. This is a good person. And I wasn’t used to feeling that about anyone. It was easier to keep expectations low and never be disappointed. But with you, I wanted to let myself dream. I wanted to believe you were as wonderful as you were at dinner, and you haven’t proven me wrong.”

“Ah,” Seokjin sniffles, lifting his head to meet Yoongi’s gaze, “but life is long, Yoongi-yah, I have plenty of time to let you down.”

“Hyung,” Yoongi sighs, thumbing away the tears on Seokjin’s cheeks, “You couldn’t disappoint me if you tried. Think about everything I know about you. About Jeongguk. And I haven’t lost faith in you yet.”

“Maybe you’re just a poor judge of character,” Seokjin deadpans.

Yoongi scoffs and swats Seokjin’s shoulder. “You know that’s bullsh*t, hyung. Take it back.”

Seokjin laughs—meek and watery—and wipes his eyes. “You’re right. You’re the good one, Yoongi. The best one.”

“I know a very sweet alpha who would be very sad to be left off of that list,” Yoongi teases. He smooths his hand along Seokjin’s back and hums happily. “You’re a good person, hyung, and we’ll do whatever it takes for Jeongguk to see that. Even if the truth is ugly and painful at first.”

Yoongi. Earlier.

Helping Jeongguk clean up was easy. The omega was pliant and docile, exhausted and easily led from the bed to the bathtub. Yoongi helped him slide into the tub among the suds. They didn’t talk much, and Yoongi didn’t push Jeongguk to speak. He was exhausted from the first wave of his heat, and Yoongi was aware that there was more to come.

Namjoon had excused himself when Jeongguk grew restless and a bit skittish with the alpha. Yoongi kissed him apologetically and promised to check on him later. Jeongguk was clingy and nervous with Yoongi, like he was afraid to let him out of his sight.

Yoongi helped Jeongguk wash off, and he tamped down the urge to ask Jeongguk about his scars. As Yoongi had grown up and processed his own disappointments in life, he’d learned to be open about his scars—physical and otherwise. He knew for others, though, that wasn’t always the case. So instead of asking, Yoongi catalogued: deep welts of waxy pink criss-crossed Jeongguk’s back, streaks of silvery scar tissue crackled across his skin like lightning. On one shoulder, Yoongi thought the omega had a faint moon phase tattoo only to discover it was a series of cigarette burns.

Simply looking at Jeongguk made Yoongi ache. A dormant rage bubbled under his skin. He barely knew the omega, but he wanted to defend him, seek vengeance on all who laid hands on the sweet boy. But Seokjin didn’t run the pack that way—not on brute force and violence. Respect, dignity, safety—that’s what he offered and insisted the pack abide by.

“The betas tidied up your room,” Yoongi said softly, squeezing out the suds from a sponge. He swiped the sponge across Jeongguk’s back and felt him relax against Yoongi’s touch. “You can sleep in there, get some rest.”

“Can I stay in here?” Jeongguk asked weakly. “Like how it smells.”

“Sure,” Yoongi said warmly. “Jimin made you a nice nest, yeah? And now it smells like your pack.” Jeongguk bristled, and Yoongi backtracked quickly. “I mean, you just have all these scents now that can be very calming during a heat.”

“I’ve never had a pack,” Jeongguk said warily. “Never had a reason to trust anyone.” His voice was so matter of fact, Yoongi had to choke back tears.

“I know what that’s like,” Yoongi said quietly. He dipped the sponge and brought it up to Jeongguk’s chest. His skin was dotted all over where Yoongi had nipped him. “Not trusting people, I mean.”

“Did you have a pack?” Jeongguk asked.

“No, not before here,” Yoongi answered. Maybe it was wrong to deny his first pack—his family—but it felt true. They may have been blood, but he felt no connection to them. They didn’t give him the unconditional love that he felt with his pack mates. “You’ll know you’re in the right place, but you have to give it time. It took me a while to come around.”

Jeongguk hummed but didn’t say anything. He swished his hands among the tepid bathwater, parting the mounds of bubbles. There was something childlike to his movements—sweet and playful and shy—and it seemed at odds with his physical form—muscled, skin covered in scars and tattoos. “I don’t know if I’m staying,” he said after a beat of silence.

“That’s fine,” Yoongi said sincerely. “You don’t have to figure that out right now.”

“I’ll stay another day, though,” Jeongguk said, observing the foamy bubbles dripping off his fingers. “Just until I get some rest and think about where to go next.”

“Absolutely okay,” Yoongi said. He knew pleading with Jeongguk could have easily backfired. It was wiser to give him space and leave him be. “Let’s get you dried off and into bed, yeah?”

Jeongguk stood up and waited as Yoongi grabbed a fluffy towel, reaching to wrap it around him. Before Yoongi could step away, Jeongguk pulled him into a tight hug, dripping water all over the tile floors and Yoongi’s clothing. “Thank you,” he whispered, squeezing Yoongi.

Yoongi laughed and hugged him back. “It was just a bath, kid.”

“You know what I mean,” Jeongguk mumbled into Yoongi’s shoulder.

“You’re right, I do.”

Chapter 6: Hoseok

Chapter Text

Hoseok. Before.

“I like the camellias.”

Hoseok hummed and flipped the page. “I still like the white roses.”

“White? Hobi, come on.”

“They’re classic, Haneul, you come on.” He stuck his tongue out at her and ignored her gentle teasing.

“Classic is boring,” she groaned, grabbing the catalog from him. She hastily flipped to a dog-eared page and pointed at an array of bright floral arrangements. “That’s what I’m talking about. Color, Hobi. Life.”

He swallowed and nodded. “Life. Sure.”

“Besides, I’d like it if the guests would at least take the arrangements home. I don’t want them sitting out just wasting away,” Haneul muttered. “All that money down the drain.”

“Yah, you know money isn’t a problem,” Hoseok scolded. He slipped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “Get whatever you want.”

“It’s my special day,” she said in a mock-cheerful voice.

“Don’t,” Hoseok whispered. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m sorry,” she sighed. She set the catalog on her bedside table and nestled closer to Hoseok. “Feels like wedding planning.”

“Planning the worst party of all time,” Hoseok agreed.

“I don’t want people to cry,” Haneul said, nosing along his shoulder.

Hoseok laughed softly. “I don’t think that can be helped, sweetheart.”

“Promise me you won’t cry,” she whispered.

“Of course I’m gonna cry,” he answered. He always felt so close to tears at any given moment. He tried to tell himself that each day was harder on Haneul than it was on him, but some days, he couldn’t believe that. Not when he was washing vomit out of the bedsheets or cleaning her bed sores. Those days were hard: staring plainly at her broken body as it deteriorated little by little.

“Okay,” she said, nodding with a loud sniffle. “You can cry. Just a little bit.”

“Okay,” he agreed. “Just a little bit.”

***

Planning a funeral felt too much like planning the wedding they never had. There were caterers to call, schedules to make, flowers to order, programs to design and print. When Haneul and Hoseok started planning their wedding months before, he was happy to step back and let her take the lead. They treated wedding like a prize of sorts: she thought she would be well enough to wear a dress and walk down the aisle, he was happy to oblige and give her that day of joy and beauty. They imagined they would spend the evening surrounded by their closest family and friends in an intimate gathering, and Haneul would look beautiful, healthy, like she might actually survive the illness eating her alive from the inside.

A funeral, however, lacked the joy and excitement that their wedding planning had. Worst of all, Haneul wouldn’t be there to make people laugh, to dance and sing along loudly with the DJ they wanted to hire, to pull Hoseok away to gossip about family members or judge someone’s horrible outfit choice. Haneul wouldn’t be alive.

She insisted on planning her own funeral. She wanted it to feel more like a party for the few family members and friends they had left. That she had left. Hoseok’s parents never understood why he insisted on marrying the sick girl he’d known since childhood. (“All that suffering and for what? So you can be noble?” his mother had pleaded. “We can honor her some other way.”)

When Haneul fell asleep each night, Hoseok slipped out of bed and tucked the blankets around her. They’d long stopped sharing a bed. The closeness was difficult as she grew sicker. She needed more space to sprawl in bed, and Hoseok couldn’t help but feel claustrophobic and nauseated by the smells of her medications and ointments. He slept better on the sofa and found that he was more useful to her when he was well-rested.

Once he settled on the sofa, he started sending emails to floral shops around town. He attached a photo of the arrangement Haneul had pointed to in the catalog. If she wanted bouquets of neon flowers, she was going to get them. Hoseok was never capable of denying her anything—a trait he’d had since they were kids. He spoiled Haneul, doted on her endlessly and never once felt bad about it. She was his best friend.

Nights felt loneliest. When Haneul drifted off to sleep, Hoseok knew the hours ahead would be troubling. She’d wake in a fit of coughs, cry out in the middle of the night in anguish, stumble as she tried to lift herself from bed to use the bathroom. It was so unfair, Hoseok thought, that what little relief she got during the day would dissipate by night. The loneliness Hoseok felt was never quite for himself; he knew he could manage it. But he worried about Haneul. The stress of being a young woman with a terminal illness was evident on her face: deep, purple circles under her eyes, her complexion sallow from chemotherapy, bruises speckling her skin all over.

Friends started to drift away, one by one. They found it awkward and difficult to stop by for visits. They used to bring food and flowers, but the visits tapered off. They ran out of things to talk about. They found it hard not to stare at Haneul—the way her clothes hung off her wiry frame, the way she coughed and gasped for air, the way she tied her hair in a side ponytail in an attempt to hide the bald spots. Looking at her made them think of their own lives, of their own deaths, and it was easier just to stay away.

Hoseok had those impulses, too. He didn’t believe himself to be a saint. But he knew leaving Haneul alone would be unforgivable. When he proposed to her, he was serious: he wanted to love her and care for her until her final day. She was a radiant, beautiful soul who deserved that. And when more and more of her friends disappeared, Hoseok was fiercely determined to stay by her side and give her the best care he could.

Many nights, he questioned the justice of it all. He wondered how the universe could let a young woman like Haneul die. When they’d spend time in the hospital, he’d pass the pediatric oncology wing and grimace at the sick children languishing in their beds. He’d never been religious, but spending enough time in that hospital made Hoseok sure there wasn’t any sort of divine being out there. The possibility that one existed and allowed people to suffer just seemed too cruel.

As Haneul grew sicker, Hoseok knew his purpose was to make life easier for her. He wanted her to be happy. He was diligent about her medical care, but most of all, he wanted her time left on earth to be filled with laughter and joy and comfort. She had brought so much of that into his own life; it only felt right to give that to her, too.

The pity from those who knew the young couple was just as poisonous as the medicine Haneul took each day. People shook their heads and sighed wistfully, lamenting Hoseok’s soon-to-be status of widower. “So young,” they’d tut, “he’ll be lucky to find another mate.” Hoseok hated the pity—the way Haneul’s illness and wellbeing was eclipsed by people’s concern for his future. She was about to lose everything. How could they care more about him than her?

All throughout their engagement, people clapped him on the back, spoke about his sacrifice and integrity. In their eyes, marrying someone with a terminal illness was some sort of favor, borne out of some kind of charity they couldn’t understand. But Hoseok loved Haneul—maybe not in a way they understood, but it wasn’t for them to understand anyway.

Hoseok and Haneul had been friends since they were children. The thought of marrying anyone but her seemed impossible. It wasn’t until he was older that he understood the scope of their love: platonic, deep-seated affection that rivaled the romances he saw among his friends. Love—or something deeper—compelled them to marry, and he didn’t feel the need to explain it to anyone. There was a loneliness to that, too, binding himself to someone who had limited time left with him, carrying the weight of a marriage that from the outside seemed laced with pity. Hoseok had Haneul, and she was more than enough, but no one understood his situation.

Hoseok. Haneul. The beginning.

“Oppa, let me have some,” Haneul pleaded, yanking on the tail of Hoseok’s jacket. “You never share.”

“Don’t have to!” he laughed, holding his cup of soft serve high over Haneul’s head. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“I will be when you marry me,” she answered. She folded her arms and scowled, kicking at the ground. "You’re always so mean to me.”

“If I’m so mean,” he said, digging his spoon deeper into the ice cream, “why do you wanna marry me so bad?”

She stopped walking and looked up at him, tilting her head as she considered the question. “You make a good point. I’ll marry someone else. Maybe I’ll marry Park Sungho instead.”

Hoseok grimaced, wrinkling his nose. “Oh come on, you hate him.”

Haneul shrugged and started walking again, stepping carefully with one foot in front of the other, pretending she was on a balance beam. “But he’s nice to me.”

“But you’ll be mean to him,” Hoseok laughed. He stuck the spoon into the mound of ice cream and thrust the cup in her direction. “Here.”

“Thank you, oppa!” She grabbed the cup and eagerly scooped a bite of ice cream.

Hoseok always felt a little funny when he spent time with Haneul. Since they turned thirteen, it felt like something shifted between them. Hoseok still wore braces and felt like every joint in his body was on fire as he went through his growth spurt. He hadn’t presented yet, but he came from a long, healthy line of betas and expected the same for himself.

Haneul, however, seemed to wake up the day after her thirteenth birthday with a new light. Her hair was shinier and longer, her eyes were wide and sparkling, and her nose which was once too big for her face was perfectly shaped and curved with an envy-worthy slope. She had the sort of presentation that all girls coveted: invigorated and reborn with newfound beauty and grace, she was the epitome of an omega.

Hoseok expected her to pull away then, to find herself surrounded by other omegas or even some of the alphas presenting in their school year. But her loyalty to Hoseok never wavered. Friends since they were toddlers, she saw no reason for that to change. Hoseok was relieved to have her companionship, though he wondered how long the friendship could last when he felt something stirring deep in his gut. Not quite hunger, maybe desire, something he couldn’t name and wasn’t sure he ever could.

Never had Hoseok imagined seeing his friend as anything other than his kid sister. They’d grown up since they were pups, the two of them neighbors who were always together. Their parents were close friends, and they happily raised their pups alongside each other, enjoying backyard barbecues and weekend trips to the temples and botanical gardens. For years, Haneul simply felt like Hoseok’s sister: sometimes annoying and bratty, but mostly someone who looked up to Hoseok and loved him like he hung the moon and stars for her. Even when they were angry with one another, it never lasted long. Haneul would show up the next day, toeing the ground and begging for forgiveness.

At thirteen, Haneul was less contrite; she stood her ground with Hoseok and challenged him daily. He never told her, but he liked her attitude: spunky, sharp, clever as hell. Even when she embarrassed him at school by outsmarting him or blowing past him on the track in gym class, he secretly liked it. She was strong, so much better at facing the world and conquering it than he was.

“You’re spacing out,” Haneul said, waving the ice cream spoon at Hoseok. “What are you thinking about?”

“Ah, nothing,” he muttered, shifting his backpack.

“You like someone, don’t you?” she gasped, leaning in close with wide eyes. “You’re daydreaming about someone. Let me guess who it is.”

He waved her off. “Cut it out. It’s nothing. Just thinking about school.”

“Okay, so it’s someone from school,” she said, nodding thoughtfully. “I bet it’s Heera. You two are always ogling each other in physical science class.”

“You watch too much TV,” he mumbled. He tugged at the straps of his backpack and shifted its weight. “It’s nobody, I swear.”

“Heera’s pretty enough,” Hanuel said. “But she’s kind of dumb.”

“That’s mean,” Hoseok said quickly.

“You deserve someone smart,” she said, “as smart as you or smarter. Maybe even smarter so you can expand your mind.”

Hoseok rolled his eyes and began walking faster. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Just tell me who it is, I won’t be mad,” she said, hurrying to catch up with him. “I can talk to her for you. Give you some advice.”

Rolling his eyes again, Hoseok glanced over his shoulder at her. She was like an eager puppy trailing after him, bouncing as she walked quickly, her backpack jostling with every step. Her hair was swept back in a ponytail, and by the end of the day, it always had fallen a little loose with strands framing her face and tucked behind her ears. Hoseok always admired how effortlessly pretty she was; she didn’t fawn over herself or crowd into the bathroom to reapply lip gloss like her classmates. It was like she knew she was pretty without trying and didn’t need to fuss over her appearance like the others. It made her all the more attractive to Hoseok.

“I only have eyes for my future wife,” he joked, turning away before she could see the blush creeping up his neck.

Haneul laughed and ran to catch up with him, linking her elbow in his. “You’re so lame, oppa.”

***

When Haneul fell ill after her sixteenth birthday, Hoseok felt an ache in his chest that he’d never felt before. He hated seeing her all gaunt and pale, lying in bed without much energy. She was never sick for long—just short, intense bouts of pain and wheezing and fevers. The spark that usually glimmered behind her eyes was dimmed, and it pained Hoseok to see her looking so lifeless and weak.

The remainder of her childhood was marred by doctor’s visits and school absences. Her parents grew overly protective, keeping her home and away from her friends’ parties or large gatherings. Hoseok was one of the few visitors allowed to stop by to see her. He missed her at school: her boisterous laugh, her confident way of challenging her classmates, her fearless waving of her hand to answer a teacher’s question. Haneul was everything Hoseok wished he could be: self-assured, brave, intelligent.

By the time graduation occurred, Haneul had been absent from school for over a year. Looking around among his classmates, Hoseok felt empty. He couldn’t feel the joy his peers felt—not without Haneul. He wasn’t ready to face the fact that her absence would one day be permanent.

Hoseok. Haneul. Before the End.

“Marry me.”

Haneul laughed and shoved Hoseok as best she could. She was weaker and tired, prone to coughing fits if she laughed too hard. “Shut up, oppa.”

“I’m serious,” he said. It was a rare outing for the two of them. Hoseok was home on holiday before finishing his final year of university. Even when he was away, he called Haneul every day, updating her about his boring class lectures and job at the student bookstore.

The day he proposed, they had gone out window-shopping and stopped at a cafe for lunch. It was a rare day when Haneul felt well enough to stroll, and her mother reluctantly agreed to let her out for the day. When Haneul and Hoseok settled into a small table by the window of the shop, he let himself believe today was a normal day—that Haneul didn’t wheeze climbing the steps, that her skin wasn’t papery and dry, that her cheeks were dusted pink from the breeze and not from over-exerting herself.

Haneul sipped her coffee and averted her eyes—a rare moment of shyness. She studied the people passing the cafe, smiling as she looked away from Hoseok. “We’ve had a nice day, don’t be silly, Hobi,” she murmured.

“I’m serious, jagiya, I want to marry you.” He reached for her hand and winced at how cold she was.

“Jagiya?” she laughed, covering her mouth with her other hand. “Coming on strong, aren’t you?”

Hoseok blushed but he didn’t pull his hand away. “You know how I feel about you. You’ve always known.”

“I do, but that doesn’t mean we have to get married,” she said gently. Her hair had thinned from her treatments, but that day, she had curled the ends and swept it into a low side ponytail. If Hoseok hadn’t known any better, he would’ve thought she looked healthy with a long life ahead of her.

“I’m almost done with school,” he pleaded. “Let me make you comfortable. I can take care of you.”

She sniffed and pulled her hand away. “A pity marriage? Because who else would want me, right?”

“Haneul,” he sighed. “I don’t mean it like that. I just…” he frowned and picked up the dainty tea spoon on the table, digging it along the grooved wood. “I can’t imagine myself with anyone but you.”

Haneul sighed and let out a small laugh, wiping at her eyes. “Life is long, Hobi.”

Undeterred, he lifted his coffee and took a long swig. "Fine,” he said with a shrug, “I’ll ask every year until you say yes.”

And he did.

On Haneul’s twenty-third birthday, he sent her flowers while he was away on enlistment. On his own birthday the next year, he asked her over a meal of ramyun as they watched a drama on her laptop. On New Year’s Eve, when they were on the sofa with Haneul’s parents playing cards, he won his hand and asked for hers as his prize.

She said no each time, and he knew the reason: she was getting sicker by the day. Time wasn’t on her side like it was for Hoseok.

One night, when they were alone in her family home, they hid under the blankets of her bed, whispering in the dark. “So you’re just going to marry me and then I’ll die and then what?”

Hoseok could only shrug. Admittedly, he was so focused on winning her over, giving her this small, fleeting joy, he never considered his life after her. As far as he was concerned, there was no life after her. “I’ll figure it out.”

“When my aunt died, my uncle was never the same,” she murmured, tracing the patterns on Hoseok’s shirt. “He used to joke all the time, visited us all the time, but after she was gone, he changed.” She looked up at Hoseok with eyes full of worry. “Even his scent changed, oppa. People couldn’t stand to be around him.”

“I’ll wear blockers,” he answered quickly. Haneul had been wearing blockers for years. The stench of chemotherapy had overpowered her light, floral fragrance ages ago, the poison leaving her water-logged and sour.

“You’ll be alone when I’m gone,” she whispered. “Hobi, what’s going to happen to me?”

He sighed and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. “You’re going to marry me and wear a beautiful dress and dance to your favorite songs and eat the cake you’ve always dreamed of,” he answered. He nosed along her scalp, taking in the scent of her shampoo and mild soap.

“And our honeymoon?” She hugged Hoseok tighter.

“Wherever you want,” he promised.

***

They never had a honeymoon, never even had the wedding Haneul imagined. Her parents tearfully accepted Hoseok’s proposal and joined them at the courthouse to register their marriage. Weeks later, Haneul fell ill and was hospitalized. Hoseok stayed at her bedside every day. It was bittersweet being granted rights as her husband, but he was grateful to be allowed in her room at all hours.

Haneul’s parents stopped by each day to give Hoseok a break, encouraging him to go home and shower. Already, his scent had shifted, growing muddled and pungent, worse than the bouquets of flowers wilting on the windowsill of her room. No matter how hard he scrubbed, he couldn’t wash off the stink.

After weeks in the hospital, Haneul was discharged. A hospice nurse stopped by their home each day, checking her vitals and doling out pain medicine. The woman was older than either of their mothers—soft-spoken with wisps of gray hair and scrubs covered in cartoon characters. She always clicked her tongue and looked around the apartment, shaking her head and sighing about the tragedy of it all. Hoseok hated her for that.

Hoseok hated her and anyone else who commented on their marriage—the sadness of how short-lived it would be, the romance of marrying a childhood friend as her last dying wish. In Hoseok’s eyes, Haneul was still strong, and if he was completely honest, he would tell them she was probably helping Hoseok more through this terrible time than he was helping her. He still saw Haneul as brave and clever, with a sort of fortitude he didn’t even see when he was in the army. It wasn’t Hoseok doing Haneul the favor by marrying her; she was saving him.

Hoseok. Now.

Too many people think they can control time. They will it away when they think there’s too much. They cling to every second when they think there’s not enough. Hoseok has learned to give in to the ebb and flow of time. He can’t control it anymore than someone can control the tides. It’s easier to float along, to let time move as it must, to let it carry him from one experience to the next.

Time brings change—the gift of growth. Jeongguk’s time with the pack had shown the omega he was somewhere safe. Even though they’d accepted him into their home nearly two months ago, he was still suspicious at times, hesitant to accept their affection. Jimin had been his first real connection in the house, but Jeongguk often drifted into the living room where Hoseok and Taehyung snuggled and watched movies. For a while, Jeongguk would sit on the sofa at the far side of the room, watching the television warily, flinching occasionally when Hoseok or Taehyung moved too abruptly.

Hoseok knows better than to push him too quickly. He is hopelessly endeared by Jeongguk: his wide eyes, the careful way he stacks plates in the sink, the way he flicks at his bottom lip when he’s deep in thought. For all his muscles and inked skin, Jeongguk has a softness to him that Hoseok admires. The world in all its broken ugliness can still have room for soft, gentle things, and the thought gives Hoseok hope.

It’s early one morning when Jeongguk finds Hoseok in the kitchen humming to himself as he tidies up the dishes from the night before. As usual, Jeongguk slumps into a bar stool at the counter and watches quietly. As usual. Hoseok smiles to himself. He likes that Jeongguk has some semblance of a routine here.

“Morning,” Hoseok says brightly.

“Morning,” Jeongguk answers. He still sounds half-asleep and scrubs at his eyes. “What’re you doing today?”

Surprised, Hoseok raises his eyebrows. “Me?”

“M’hungry,” Jeongguk says softly.

“We have food,” Hoseok says, turning to the fridge. “I can make you something.”

“Can we go somewhere?” Jeongguk asks.

Smiling, Hoseok nods and leans across the counter. Jeongguk smells like clean laundry, so far from the sour smell he emitted when he first arrived. “Yeah, sure, where do you wanna go? I know a good burger place.”

“Burgers?” Jeongguk grins, and Hoseok’s heart does a little flutter thing that he hasn’t felt since… well, since Haneul. The mole under Jeongguk’s lip even reminds Hoseok of Haneul.

“Yeah, come on,” Hoseok answers. He leads them out to the attached garage, pausing to grab a set of car keys off the hook. “We’ll take that one,” he says, gesturing at the black convertible. “Supposed to be nice out today.”

Jeongguk climbs into the passenger seat and buckles his seatbelt. “Do we need to tell anyone where we’re going?”

“Nah,” Hoseok answers, waving him off. He backs down the driveway and opens the collapsible roof. The sunlight is warm, and the late-morning breeze whips their hair around their faces. Jeongguk has grown his hair out since he came to the house, and Hoseok likes the way his hair curls when wet, framing his face. Though his hair is dry now, it’s fluffy from sleep, and the wind has made his hair wavy.

They don’t talk for a while on the ride out to the burger place. Hoseok turns on the radio, and they bask in the sunshine as he drives. With Haneul, Hoseok learned to cherish the quiet moments. A quiet drive together could be just as exhilarating as a loud dinner with friends. The stillness of morning after first waking could be sacred and hushed as they held hands under the blankets. Silence, Hoseok learned, could be its own kind of gift.

“I don’t want people to pity me,” Jeongguk shouts over the music.

“Hm?” Hoseok reaches for the volume and turns it down.

“I don’t want people to pity me,” Jeongguk repeats. He twirls a lock of his hair around his finger and keeps his eyes on the road.

Hoseok nods. “That’s fair. I don’t think anyone does though.”

“You all have looks,” Jeongguk says, glancing at him warily.

“Looks?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk answers. “Namjoon-hyung and Seokjin-hyung are always looking at me.”

Hoseok laughs. “They’re the biggest overthinkers you will ever meet. I promise you, they aren’t pitying you. Probably trying to figure out how to talk to you or make you feel comfortable.”

Jeongguk sniffs, turning his eyes back to the passing scenery. “You don’t look at me.”

“Do you want me to look at you?” Hoseok asks carefully.

“No, I mean, yeah, I mean, you don’t look at me like they do, like you’re waiting for me to run,” Jeongguk stammers.

Nodding, Hoseok shrugs. “Well, I mean, if you wanna go, you’ll go. And if you wanna stay, you’ll stay. That’s not pity. That’s just giving you space.”

“I don’t want to be pitied,” Jeongguk says again, scowling as he looks down at his fingers. Since he’s come to the house, he’s stopped picking at his cuticles as much. Hoseok has noticed.

“I’m sorry if anyone’s made you feel that way,” Hoseok says gently. He grips the wheel then relaxes his hands. “I think we’re all just trying to make you comfortable and hoping you’ll stay with us. You’re a good fit for the pack, Jeongguk-ah.”

He folds his arms across his chest and leans against the door. The wind blows his hair all around his face, but he doesn’t reach to wipe it away from his eyes.

“You know, Seokjin-hyung tried forever to convince Jimin to join the pack. He didn’t join until I won him over.” Hoseok grins, glancing over at Jeongguk.

“Yeah?” Jeongguk sits up and smiles a bit. “What was he like?”

“Oh,” Hoseok laughs, “feisty as hell. He also didn’t want anyone to pity him. Wasn’t interested in being a charity case, y’know?”

Jeongguk shifts in his seat and nods, understanding. “But he stayed.”

Hoseok nods. “He stayed.”

“And you? How did you come to the pack?” Jeongguk asks.

Hoseok smiles sadly. “You might pity me if I tell you.”

Hoseok. Before.

After Haneul’s death, everything changed. Her parents sold their home and moved away, too heartbroken by their daughter’s passing to keep the claim on their son-in-law. Hoseok’s own parents distanced themselves from him during his time of grief. A widower was a poisonous thing to be: packless, unattached, scent morphing into something noxious and repellant. All Hoseok had left was their apartment and its colossal emptiness. Their old friends didn’t know how to talk to Hoseok. What does someone say to a young widower, anyway? Especially someone who chose this awful isolation for himself?

Hoseok had been working with a realtor to stage and sell his place. He had no reason to keep it, no ties to that part of the city except it was close to the hospital and an easy drive for Haneul’s parents. They gifted the young newlyweds with the condo for their marriage, and he couldn’t stand the thought of keeping it. It was too big, too awful without his wife.

Wife. They never even had sex. Haneul was so frail and sensitive, Hoseok would never let himself rest against her or touch her too much. As he cared for her, he didn’t find himself longing for any sort of intimacy. Feeling her breath on his shoulder as she dozed in front of the television was enough for him. Washing her hair in the shower as she perched on her stool was enough for him. Dressing her in freshly laundered soft pajamas was enough for him. Any pleasure or intimacy he craved for himself, he channeled into caring for her. Once she was gone, he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

The realtor called him and said they had a young couple interested in viewing the apartment. He cracked the windows and sprayed the rooms with scent-blockers, hoping it was enough. He was smart enough to hide the photos of Haneul, and he’d packed her clothes away at the realtor’s insistence after their first meeting. As far as anyone knew, it was a bachelor pad for sale.

Hoseok walked the streets of their neighborhood, hands stuffed in his jacket, face cold and chapped from the wind. It was hard to be in public most days. His scent blockers were weak, not formulated to handle the widower’s scent. Haneul had warned him, and he’d dismissed it. After some time online, he learned the scent shift was real and likely permanent unless he mated once more. He wasn’t even thirty and he didn’t dare let himself imagine a life with another mate. He resigned himself to his fate: a widowed beta with the stench of death clinging to him.

One of the few places Hoseok could frequent without hostile glares was the chicken shop on the corner. The scent of oil hung heavy in the air, and the grease and steam almost entirely masked his scent. He pushed through the heavy plastic flaps in the doorway and joined the line at the counter. He pulled out his phone and scrolled idly, half-reading the news on screen. His wedding band glistened in the dim lighting, and he frowned. He still didn’t know what to do with the thing.

“Excuse me.” A tap on the shoulder drew Hoseok’s attention away from his phone. “Can you wait outside? You’re stinking up the place.”

Hoseok looked at the young waiter patting his hands on his apron. “Sorry, what?” He was used to the occasional sneers about his beta status, and he’d grown accustomed to wrinkled noses of those who could tell he was a widower. Being outright asked to leave was a shock, especially by someone younger than him, unbothered by speaking to an older stranger so bluntly.

“Your scent,” the boy said, adding awkwardly, “sir.”

“And you want me to leave?” Hoseok was never quick to anger, but he felt something bubble up into his chest—hot and raging.

“We’ve had some complaints,” the boy stammered. He glanced over his shoulder at the counter where an old woman was counting bills at the register. “If you want to order, you can go outside and I’ll carry it out to you.” The boy’s voice softened, clearly laced with pity.

“Why would I do that? I’m almost at the front of the line,” Hoseok said flatly. “Where are your manners? This is no way to treat a customer.”

“Sir, please,” the boy pleaded, tugging at the knot at the back of his apron. “I don’t want any trouble. Just, you know, the smell. It’s upsetting people.”

Hoseok felt the fire in his chest growing, an incensed rush washing over him. “You’re gonna kick out a widower? Kick me while I’m down?” He didn’t mean for his voice to get so loud, to pitch so wild, but it felt good to release it all. “You’ll still take my money but I can’t stay in here?”

A hand touched Hoseok’s shoulder, and he flinched away, wheeling around to see who put their hands on him. “Hey, relax,” the man put his hands up, offering a careful smile. “Wanna step outside?”

“You sound like you want to fight, Namjoon-ah,” another man said, stepping closer. He turned to Hoseok and smiled—big, bright, friendly. “Hey, I know a better place for chicken. Want to come with us?”

Hoseok blinked and glanced from the smiling man to the one who approached him first. “Okay.”

“Great,” the first man said, sighing in relief.

Once on the street, Hoseok turned to the two men sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I’m not usually like this.”

“You seem like you’ve had a hard day,” the smiling man said. “Do you want to grab some food with us?”

“Oh, that was a real offer?” Hoseok laughed awkwardly. “Nah, it’s fine. Apparently I stink.” He gestured at himself, tugging at the tail of his coat.

“Widower?”

“How’d you guess?” Hoseok scratched the back of his neck and flicked at his ear nervously.

“I work with people transitioning, so I’m used to the scent peculiarities,” the man answered.

“Scent peculiarities?” Hoseok parroted. Maybe he smelled worse than he thought.

“What Namjoon is trying to explain so terribly is that he works with people transitioning and understands how the chemistry of scents can change,” the smiling man explained. “I’m Seokjin, by the way. And you are?”

“Hoseok,” he answered. He felt a little bewildered by the sudden attention and company. Some days, he passed time in his apartment without seeing or speaking to anyone else. He couldn’t recall a conversation with anyone except his realtor for the past few days.

“Nice to meet you,” Seokjin said, nodding. “It’s cold. Let’s get some food.” He led them a few blocks away to another corner chicken shop with outdoor seats and heat lamps in front. “This okay?”

Hoseok nodded and took a seat. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Any special requests?” Seokjin asked, turning to Namjoon then Hoseok.

“Extra crispy, garlic, and a beer please,” Namjoon answered. “Thanks, hyung.”

“You got it.” He smiled and squeezed Namjoon’s shoulder. “And you, Hoseok?”

“Same,” he said quickly. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Seokjin disappeared through the rubber flaps billowing in the doorway of the shop.

Namjoon cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly in his seat. He didn’t have the same confidence Seokjin had, and whatever bravado he’d shown in the other shop was long gone. He was handsome, Hoseok realized, and gentle in all his mannerisms. “So yeah, like hyung was saying, I’m a therapist and I work with people transitioning, but I did a lot of coursework in thanatology and the way it affects body chemistry.”

Hoseok nodded along, only half-hearing Namjoon. Not once did he or Seokjin wrinkle their noses in disgust or eye him suspiciously. Either they were going to mug him by the end of the night or they were just genuinely being nice to him. Getting jumped seemed more likely.

Seokjin returned with baskets of fried chicken nestled among waxed paper and a pitcher of beer and a sleeve of cups. Namjoon helped him get everything on the table and turned to Hoseok, offering him a cup.

“Sure,” Hoseok said, forcing a smile.

Seokjin poured drinks for each of them and reached for a drumstick. “I like the other place okay, but Namjoon and I found this place a couple weeks ago, and I think it’s even better.” He took a big bite of chicken, exhaling the steam and chewing slowly.

“Way better,” Namjoon agreed before taking a bite.

Hoseok reached for a wing and nibbled it slowly, relishing the salt and grease of every bite. They didn’t bother with small talk after that. They ate in comfortable silence, pausing to pluck napkins out of the holders or to refill drinks. When they finished the chicken, Hoseok reached into his coat, feeling for his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

“Leaving so soon?” Seokjin teased. “It’s on me,” he said, waving him off. “Or actually, Namjoon, because we’re on a date.”

“Oh? sh*t,” Hoseok mumbled. “I didn't mean to interrupt.”

“Please,” Seokjin scoffed. “We’re happy to have your company.”

“You’re both alphas,” Hoseok blurted out.

Laughing, Namjoon nodded. “Yeah, and?”

“Oh, yeah, nothing,” Hoseok said quickly. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

“And you’re a widower,” Seokjin said gently. He leaned close, propping his chin on his hand. “You’re young. That must be hard.”

Hoseok nodded. “Yeah. A little over a month now.”

“A month?” Namjoon repeated. “I’m so sorry. Is your pack helping you?”

Hoseok shook his head, glancing down at the pile of soiled napkins balled up on the table. “No pack.”

“And your family?” Namjoon asked softly.

“No family,” Hoseok mumbled. “It’s complicated.”

“Families are complicated,” Seokjin agreed. He leaned back and shot Namjoon a look Hoseok couldn’t decipher. “Do you have somewhere safe to sleep?”

“Oh,” Hoseok said. “Yeah, no, I have an apartment. I live nearby.”

“That’s good,” Namjoon said.

“I’m selling it,” Hoseok said quickly. He had no idea why he felt compelled to tell them that. He was certain he’d never see them again after that night. While he enjoyed the company and the meal, a small part of him felt humiliated, downright pitiful to have two strangers watching over him, exchanging glances and coaxing information out of him.

“And after you sell it?” Seokjin asked.

Hoseok shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Well, we have lots of room if you ever need a place to stay,” Namjoon said warmly. “There’s a pool, too.”

Hoseok shivered. “It’s January.”

Namjoon laughed and shook his head, his cheeks growing pink with embarrassment. “Right, yeah.”

“That’s really nice of you guys, but I’ll be fine,” Hoseok said. He hoped they didn’t hear the way his voice cracked.

“Yeah, no pressure,” Seokjin said with a final nod. “How about this, then? You want to swap numbers? Maybe we can grab dinner again? I know some real estate people, too, if you need help moving your place a little sooner.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s so nice, but really, you’ve done enough for me,” Hoseok said, shaking his head. “I’d be happy to swap numbers though.” He figured he’d save it and never bother with it again. It wouldn’t hurt to exchange information, if only to maintain the illusion of politeness.

Seokjin handed over his phone and accepted Hoseok’s. “I’m putting both of our numbers in. Seokjin and Namjoon. I put a little chicken emoji so you’d know it’s us.” He smiled warmly and handed the phone back to Hoseok.

“Thanks,” Hoseok said. “I appreciate it.”

“Well, we won’t keep you,” Namjoon said, rising from his seat. “Thank you for hanging out with us.”

Hoseok stood up, zipping his coat. “Yeah, thanks for letting me crash your date. And for saving me back there.”

“Don’t mention it.” Seokjin and Namjoon linked arms and nodded toward the opposite side of the street. “We’re heading that way. You’re good to get home?”

Nodding, Hoseok smiled. “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks again.”

When Seokjin and Namjoon crossed the street, Hoseok felt a sudden emptiness. Eating with them was the least lonely he’s felt in years, he realized.

Hoseok. Now.

The burger joint hasn’t changed much since the last time Hoseok came here. He still thinks fondly of the night when he convinced Jimin to stay with the pack. The overlook has a different feel during the day time. Gone are the glittering lights of the highway and buildings, and instead, everything is awash in sunlight. The highways stretch on like branches of a tree, fading in the distance toward the hills beyond the city. Hoseok has always loved this view. He feels big and powerful overlooking the city, watching everyone go about their lives.

Jeongguk seems to appreciate the view, too. He eats quietly, tucking the waxed paper surrounding the burger into neat corners. Since coming to the house, he’s relaxed a bit, especially with food. He doesn’t eat like someone’s coming to snatch it away. Hoseok likes how his cheeks have filled out a bit, how sometimes Jeongguk will close his eyes and let out a content sigh after a bite of food. The tiny moments of happiness—Hoseok gladly accepts all of them.

They lean against the hood of the car and share a bag of greasy, salty fries between them. Jeongguk doesn’t flinch when their fingers brush against one another as they reach into the bag. He smiles when Hoseok offers to buy another round of burgers for them. “That’s okay, hyung, you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Hoseok answers, crumpling the wrapper of his burger. “Might get a milkshake too. You want one?”

Jeongguk’s eyes light up, and it’s such a sudden flash of innocence, it makes Hoseok’s heart ache. “Yeah? Can I?”

“Of course,” Hoseok replies. “What flavor?”

“Strawberry!” Jeongguk answers quickly. “Wait, chocolate. Or banana, do they have banana?”

Hoseok grins. “I’ll find out.”

When he returns to the car, Jeongguk is holding the bag of fries to his face, leaning his head back and shaking the last bits into his mouth. Sheepishly, Jeongguk wipes the salt from his cheeks and sets the bag aside. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m so hungry.”

Hoseok laughs and sets down the drink carrier. “Trust me, I’m not gonna judge. You’ve seen how everyone in the house eats.” He plucks four cups from the carrier, lining them up on the hood of the car. “I got one of each: vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, and banana.”

“I’m gonna puke if I drink all these,” Jeongguk says gleefully. He reaches for the banana and stabs the straw into the lid. He takes a long slurp, eyes fluttering closed in pleasure. “God, this is so good, hyung, thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Hoseok says. “You can have the others. I just want this one.”

“Really?” Jeongguk’s eyes go wide with excitement.

“Yeah, go for it. I can’t drink all of these. And if you wanna give it a shot, they’re all yours. Except, maybe let me know if you’re gonna throw up so I can pull over.”

Laughing, Jeongguk nods and takes another sip of his milkshake. “Sure, hyung. And if you change your mind, you can have one of these.”

“I’m good. Seeing you eat makes me feel full,” Hoseok says, fiddling with his straw.

“That’s what Yoongi-hyung says,” Jeongguk answers softly.

Hoseok smiles. “Of course he does. He’s a good guy, isn’t he? A real good alpha.”

“And the others?” Jeongguk asks carefully.

“Ah, they’re the best,” Hoseok replies. “Namjoon and Seokjin-hyung are such good people. They really took care of me when I had no one.”

“What do you mean?” Jeongguk asks.

Hoseok shrugs and offers a small smile. “When my wife died, I was all alone. Death really changes you. And if it’s your mate? Well, that’s really something else entirely.”

Jeongguk frowns and brushes the hair out of his eyes. “Your mate died?”

Nodding, Hoseok answers, “yeah. She was sick for a long time. We had been friends since we were pups. She was the best person I knew.”

“I’m sorry, hyung,” Jeongguk murmurs.

“I met Namjoon and Seokjin-hyung by accident one night, and they could’ve blown me off, but they didn’t. They were so nice to me, and I hadn’t really had any kindness in so long,” Hoseok explains.

Jeongguk nods in understanding and chews his lip, focused on wiggling the straw through the squeaky plastic lid of his drink. “They are nice.”

Hoseok sighs and stares out across the expanse of city below them. “Really, as alphas, they could’ve been the kind of people who hated me most, you know? They could’ve treated me like sh*t and made me feel inferior to them. I mean, I’m a beta, and on top of that I’m a widower. Damaged goods.”

“What do you mean damaged goods?” Jeongguk asks quietly.

“We’re meant to be part of a pack, right? Meant to build bonds and families for protection and comfort. And when you lose a mate, that changes your scent, changes your bonds. It’s an old instinctual thing that’s deeply ingrained in us. If someone loses a mate, death is just sort of all over them, like a stain. Most packs will abandon someone who’s lost a mate. It isn’t personal,” Hoseok explains, swallowing the lump in his throat. “It’s some evolutionary bug that never left us as humans developed. It’s easier to cut someone from the pack as a way to survive. People think death is contagious or something.”

Jeongguk sets down his drink and turns a bit to face Hoseok. “So you got cut from your pack, hyung? Just because your mate died? That’s not fair.”

Hoseok nods. “I mean, in a way, I get it,” he says sadly. “But I’m still a person. I still need love, still need a family. And Namjoon and Seokjin-hyung gave that to me. They were warm and welcoming when they could’ve ignored me like everyone else. And you know, my scent eventually came back? Because a pack claimed me, gave me a chance. I smell a little different now than I used to, but they sort of healed me in that way. They gave me the kind of friendship I so desperately needed when Haneul’s health was fading.”

“Haneul,” Jeongguk murmurs. “Pretty name.”

“The prettiest,” Hoseok agrees. He clears his throat and wipes his hands on his pants. It’s been so long since he’s talked about her. Some days, it hurts too much to even think about her, much less speak openly about her. “You remind me of her a bit.”

Jeongguk smiles. “Yeah?”

“She was so smart and tough, could really read people,” Hoseok explains. “She had a little mole on her lip like you do. Sometimes I look at you and feel like she’s with me again.”

“That’s a nice thought,” Jeongguk says softly. “I’m sorry you lost her, hyung. That must have been hard.”

Hoseok shrugs and reaches for the trash on the hood. “It’s life. I don’t regret my choices. And since joining the pack, I see that everything I went through led me here.”

Jeongguk picks up his cups and follows Hoseok toward the trash cans. “You never feel like leaving?”

“Do you?” Hoseok counters, tossing the garbage into the bin.

Jeongguk shrugs. “I dunno where I’d go, I guess.”

“Me neither,” Hoseok answers. They return to the car and climb in, taking in the view of the city once more. “There’s a lot of world out there,” he says, gesturing at the sunlit landscape before them. “But I’m not sure there’s as much love out there as there is in our pack.”

Hoseok. Later.

The house is quiet for the evening. The others have been in and out all day, each of them carrying on with work or errands. Hoseok stayed home with Taehyung and Jeongguk, and he’s glad he did. Spending time with the other beta is so relaxing; Taehyung loves to snuggle and sniff at Hoseok, fluffing his hair and tickling his neck.

They’re tangled on the couch watching a movie, both of them feeling soothed by the soft light emanating from the television. They both sense Jeongguk approaching at the same time. Taehyung squirms a bit, tamping down his excitement about the omega joining them. It’s been hard for him to hold back his enthusiasm about their new pack mate. He’s wanted to cling to Jeongguk and scent him, squeeze him like a brand new puppy and wrap his arms around him at all times. Jimin and Hoseok gently remind Taehyung regularly to give Jeongguk his space.

“Easy boy,” Hoseok whispers, lips grazing Taehyung’s ear. “Don’t scare him off.”

Sheepishly, Taehyung relaxes against Hoseok and nods. “Sorry, hyung.”

Jeongguk doesn’t take his usual spot on the far side of the room. Instead, he squeezes onto the sofa next to Hoseok. He’s freshly showered, hair still damp. “What are you guys watching?”

Hoseok smiles and reaches his arm around Jeongguk, pulling him closer. “Something Taehyung picked out. Real romantic.”

“Sounds cheesy,” Jeongguk jokes.

“Hey!” Taehyung scoffs. He reaches over to flick Jeongguk’s forehead. “Sometimes cheesy is good.”

Laughing, Jeongguk rubs his forehead. “Whatever you say.”

“It’s sweet,” Taehyung pouts, snuggling against Hoseok’s shoulder.

Jeongguk shifts down and lays his head on Hoseok’s lap. When Hoseok begins to stroke his damp hair, he hums, nestling closer. “Feels good, hyung.”

Hoseok hums in reply and keeps his gaze on the television. Jeongguk’s scent unfurls around them—bright and warm and comfortable—and Hoseok swallows, trying hard not to let it affect him. Taehyung shifts in his seat; it’s clear he can smell it, too, and it’s getting to him. The couple on screen begin kissing in long, passionate bursts, their lips glossy with spit as they grab at one another, stumbling backward to a bed. Jeongguk’s scent grows stronger, his arousal undeniable at the scene.

Hoseok swallows and clears his throat. “Maybe I’ll go make us some popcorn.” He tries to stand, but Jeongguk clings to him, turning to him with wide, pleading eyes.

Taehyung scrambles off the couch, tugging at the front of his shorts. “I’ll get it, hyung.”

“No!” Jeongguk yelps, reaching for him. “You don’t have to. I mean, you should stay.”

Taehyung’s eyes light up. “Yeah?”

Nodding, Jeongguk sits up, fussing with his hair to get it out of his face. “I want to.”

“Want to what?” Hoseok asks gently. He fights the urge to touch Jeongguk’s face, to press his fingertips onto each mole scattered on his skin. He can feel his heart racing in his chest, his own scent spiking with excitement.

“Want you, hyung,” Jeongguk murmurs. He chews his lip, and it’s clear he’s nervous, but the act looks so coquettish and teasing, Hoseok feels like his heart might leap out of his chest. “And you, hyung,” Jeongguk adds, glancing at Taehyung.

He inhales sharply, sitting on the couch quickly. “You sure?” Taehyung glances nervously at Hoseok.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk answers.

Before Hoseok can reply, Jeongguk climbs into his lap, squeezing Hoseok’s face and studying him carefully. Up close, he looks so much like Haneul: disarmingly beautiful, a rosebud mouth and dark, glimmering eyes. When Jeongguk kisses Hoseok, it feels entirely different: a single firework darting through the sky before bursting overhead. Jeongguk kisses like he used to eat: hurried movements, gasps for breath, charging ahead like the moment might be taken away from him without warning.

Hoseok’s hands settle on Jeongguk’s hips, guiding him to slow down. The kiss turns gentle and slow, the curl of Jeongguk’s tongue sweet in Hoseok’s mouth. He feels so good—healthy and vibrant and himself, and it makes Hoseok breathless. “Sweet boy,” Hoseok gasps between kisses. “Look at you.”

Jeongguk blushes and ducks his head, groaning softly when Hoseok’s fingers tangle in his hair, smoothing it down along his neck. “Is this okay? Is it too much?”

“You’re fine, Jeongguk-ah,” Hoseok murmurs. “If you want this, I want this. Taehyungie wants it, too.”

Jeongguk lifts his head and smiles meekly at Taehyung. “You want me?”

Taehyung exhales and nods, his eyes wide and glassy. “The others told me to chill because I just wanna,” he pauses, raising his fists, “squish you like crazy.”

Laughing, Jeongguk leans toward him. “Squish me?”

“Like, full on smother you and scent you and protect you and kiss you all over,” Taehyung answers quickly, the words tumbling out of him in a breathless heap.

“Yeah?” Jeongguk’s eyebrows pinch together. “Why?”

“I think you’re magnificent,” Taehyung sighs. “You’re beautiful and sweet, and I can tell you’re so good, and if Seokjin-hyung thinks you’d fit in here, that means you’re special.” He’s gone a little starry-eyed, like he’s rattling off a fairy tale with a sappy, storybook ending.

Jeongguk whimpers and ducks his head against Hoseok’s neck in embarrassment. He noses along his scent gland and inhales slowly. “You’re all too nice to me,” he mumbles.

“Let us take care of you,” Hoseok says, smoothing his hand up and down Jeongguk’s back. “Taehyung kisses like a movie star.”

“Hyung,” he whines, swatting Hoseok’s shoulder. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not!” Hoseok laughs. He reaches for Taehyung, pulling him closer by the neck before kissing him firmly. Taehyung melts into the kiss, and they groan against one another.

Jeongguk whimpers and shifts in Hoseok’s lap. Grinning, Taehyung turns to him and licks his lips. “Wanna find out if hyung is right?”

Nodding, Jeongguk leans forward, and sighs into Taehyung’s kiss. It’s languid and warm, and they both hum dreamily and huff between kisses. Hoseok watches with aroused fascination, delighting in the way Taehyung nibbles at Jeongguk’s bottom lip, a string of spit drawn between them whenever they separate. Jeongguk is growing harder against Hoseok’s hips, and he shifts to rut against him as Taehyung holds him steady for a kiss.

Before finding the pack, Hoseok didn’t know pleasure like this could exist for him. He had given himself over to Haneul, denying himself sex or intimacy while they were together. She was losing so much of herself, he couldn’t bring himself to take her last bits of energy, too. Hoseok had fooled around with classmates at college, had a few dalliances off base during his enlistment, but none ever felt like what the pack gave him. Pleasure with them felt both luxurious and like an inalienable right. His body could feel good, and it could feel good with other people. There was joy to be found in sex, and Hoseok felt it with his packmates.

“Honey,” Hoseok says gently, threading his fingers through Taehyung’s hair. “Let’s take care of Jeongguk-ah, yeah?”

Dazed, Taehyung nods and wipes his mouth. His lips are swollen and tender, and Jeongguk looks equally greedy and wild-eyed. Taehyung pats Jeongguk’s cheek and smiles warmly. “Do you want to go to my room? Or we can stay here?”

“Here,” Jeongguk huffs. He gasps when Hoseok’s lips meet his neck, teeth grazing over his scent mark.

They shuffle and move onto the floor, tugging the blankets and pillows off the sofa. Slowly, Taehyung and Hoseok help Jeongguk undress, ogling him and smoothing their hands over his tattooed skin as they do. "God,” Taehyung groans, “look at you.”

Blushing, Jeongguk throws his arm over his face to hide. “Stop,” he mumbles.

“You’ve eaten so well,” Hoseok says affectionately, squeezing Jeongguk’s biceps. “So healthy and happy, it looks so good on you, pup.”

Jeongguk’s co*ck twitches at the pet name and Taehyung laughs softly. “You just need to be loved on,” he says, trailing his fingers down Jeongguk’s chest. “Just need a little tenderness, don’t you?” He reaches for Jeongguk’s co*ck and gives it a few slow, gentle strokes.

“We’re gonna make you feel good, Jeongguk-ah,” Hoseok says softly. He kisses Jeongguk, pressing his tongue between his lips. As Taehyung takes Jeongguk’s co*ck in his mouth, Jeongguk gasps, and Hoseok smiles into the kiss. “That’s it,” Hoseok purrs, “gonna make you feel good.”

Jeongguk moans and writhes as Taehyung takes him deep in his mouth. He bobs his head slowly, pressing his nose into the curly hair at the base of his co*ck. He hums and kneads the plushness of Jeongguk’s thighs. Hoseok continues kissing Jeongguk, murmuring praises to him and tracing his fingers along his nipples in slow circles.

“Ah, you’re getting wet, aren’t you, pup?” Hoseok murmurs. The scent of Jeongguk’s slick is unmistakable: bright and sweet, a new note to the symphony of their scents mingling with one another.

Taehyung groans around Jeongguk’s co*ck and slips his fingers below his balls, gathering the slick on his fingers. He smears it along Jeongguk’s co*ck as he bobs his head. He pulls off for a moment with a loud gasp and suckles on his fingers, clearly relishing the taste of Jeongguk. “He’s so sweet, hyung,” Taehyung groans. His fingers sweep between Jeongguk’s legs once more, and he coats his fingers in slick, raising them for Hoseok.

Hoseok licks his lips and stares at Jeongguk, delighted by the way the omega is flushed and panting, his cheeks pink and lips bitten raw. Hoseok opens his mouth and groans when Taehyung presses three fingers against his tongue. He sucks hard around Taehyung’s fingers, his eyes fluttering closed as he moans. “S’good,” Hoseok chokes out. “Jeongguk-ah is so sweet.”

Jeongguk groans and bucks his hips, whining until Taehyung grips his co*ck again, giving it a firm stroke. “Too much,” he grunts.

Hoseok crawls closer to Taehyung and leans in to lick the length of Jeongguk’s co*ck. Taehyung strokes him slowly then squeezes the base of his co*ck, tapping the swollen red head against Hoseok’s tongue. “Go on, hyung,” he rasps.

Hoseok takes Jeongguk’s co*ck deep in his mouth, swallowing until he feels the blunt pressure at the back of his throat. He tastes like Taehyung and Jeongguk—a swirl of sweetness, the scent of sex all over them. Jeongguk’s fingers find their way to Hoseok’s hair, and he hums in approval, beginning to bob his head quickly.

Taehyung sucks along Jeongguk’s balls, taking on in his mouth and laving his tongue all over it in wet, sloppy glides. Jeongguk whimpers and cries out, hips bucking as Hoseok sucks him off in quick, hurried strokes. The sounds of the movie are drowned out by all their panting and gasping, the sticky-wet sounds of their tongues, and the guttural gasps of their mouths on Jeongguk.

“Hyung,” Jeongguk gasps, tapping the back of Hoseok’s head, “hyung, I’m s’close.”

Hoseok fumbles to reach Jeongguk’s nipple, squeezing the pebble between his fingers as he sucks him faster, aided by Taehyung’s hand pumping his co*ck and sucking at his sac. Jeongguk lifts his hips with each stroke, and finally, his body seizes as he cries out, his fingernails digging into Hoseok’s scalp.

Taehyung sits up quickly, frantically tugging down his pants to grab his own co*ck. He jerks himself off, eyes darting around for something to finish in. He reaches for Jeongguk’s shirt, but Jeongguk stops him. “On me,” he croaks, patting his belly.

“You sure?” Taehyung stammers. He’s jittery and close to coming. “I don’t have to—”

“—go on,” Jeongguk says, his voice hoarse. “You too, hyung.” He pats Hoseok’s arm. “Wanna smell like you.”

“Ah, pup,” Hoseok groans, leaning in to kiss Jeongguk sloppily. He sits up and reaches into his pants, shifting to face Taehyung. “C’mere.” They meet in a kiss, hovering over Jeongguk as they jerk themselves in furious strokes. Taehyung breaks first, crying out and streaking cum across Jeongguk’s belly. He gasps and kisses Hoseok in messy, hurried bursts, and Hoseok shudders, spilling onto Jeongguk’s stomach in warm streaks.

They collapse beside Jeongguk, each of them nosing along his neck, murmuring and mouthing against his fevered skin. Together, the three of them smell like sex and a wild field in bloom: effervescent sunlight and bright streaks of color. It’s heady and overwhelming, and Hoseok can feel himself getting a little scent-drunk off of Jeongguk as he mouths at his scent gland.

“You smell like you belong here,” Taehyung murmurs dreamily, snuggling against Jeongguk’s chest. His hair is wild and disheveled, his cheeks dewy and pink.

“I do,” Jeongguk agrees, leaning in to kiss Taehyung’s head.

Hoseok feels something stir in his chest at the sight of them snuggling. It’s the same feeling he had when Namjoon called him weeks after their first meal, asking if he could take him out for a drink. It was a subtle shift, but it felt like a puzzle piece locking into place. A quiet satisfaction of a missing piece finding its spot among all the others.

Chapter 7: Taehyung

Chapter Text

Taehyung. Before.

The overhead fluorescent lights made Taehyung’s skin prickle. He swore he could hear them buzzing even over the sound of muzak, the chatter of customers, and cash registers beeping. Still, he knew if he quit another job over something trivial, he’d be worse off than before. He needed this job, no matter how overstimulated he felt under the garish lights.

Taehyung was fine as a cashier, good enough really. He could smile and turn on his customer service charm. Nod, smile, murmur niceties to the housewives shopping midday for their families. When he took the late shifts, he was a little colder: nod, smile, keep his head down and punch the cash register keys. He hated how scratchy the collar of his polo felt against his neck, how the apron felt too constricting, even when he loosened the knot at the back. His fingertips against the flimsy plastic bags made him cringe. All those feelings, all those sensations. They set him on edge.

He had no ties to the city, no sense of mortification when people his age passed through his line. No one would recognize him or snicker at an old classmate working the register instead of working something more prestigious. A job was a job. He just wanted to keep a roof over his head. That was just about all he could do with his meager wages, but it was better than the nights on the street he’d endured before.

It was a Thursday morning when a charming couple passed through his line. They stood out among the housewives and elderly shoppers. They weren’t dressed in business attire—clearly they weren’t salary men ducking into the store mid-day on their lunch breaks. They were dressed casually: one in all black sweats, a gray beanie pulled low on his head. The other in an oversized yellow hoodie and skintight blue jeans. Taehyung tried not to stare as they unloaded their cart on the conveyor belt.

“Morning,” the one in the hoodie greeted him, smiling with a sort of familiarity that startled Taehyung.

“Morning,” he stammered, reaching for the carton of soy milk. He fumbled with the carton, scanned it, and slid it down the other side of the belt.

“I can bag,” the smiling one said, maneuvering around the cart to get to the end of the counter. He began plucking items off the belt and tucking them into some reusable bags he had dangling from his arms. “Haven’t seen you here before.”

Taehyung hummed and keyed in the code for cucumbers. He didn’t know what to say. He cleared his throat. “Ah, well, I’ve only been here a few weeks.”

“New in town?” the smiling one asked. The one in all black hadn’t said a word. Instead, he stood by the card reader, squinting at the screen watching each item pop up after being scanned.

“Something like that,” Taehyung said. He wasn’t about to divulge his life story to some strangers—no matter how inviting the man’s smile. New in town and nearly anonymous, he liked it that way.

“Those are on sale,” the black-clad man said, gesturing at the bag of apples in Taehyung’s hand. “They didn’t ring up right.”

"Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin clucked, shaking his head. “It’s probably negligible right? Surely you can spring for the apples.”

“It’s the principle of it, Jiminah,” the other man—Yoongi—muttered.

The man in the hoodie—Jimin— laughed and reached for more groceries, organizing them in neat piles to bag them. “What if I was trying to impress,” Jimin pauses and leans closer, squinting at Taehyung’s name tag, “Taehyung, hm? And he sees us arguing about a tiny price difference in apples?”

Yoongi scoffed. “Impress him how? With your asinine bagging techniques?”

The way the two bickered made Taehyung feel nearly invisible. Just barely privy to their banter. He didn’t mind it. They were more interesting than his other customers had been all morning. “I work here,” Taehyung said flatly, “I don’t think anything here could impress me.”

“Ah,” Jimin nods, pursing his lips. “What if I’m trying to impress you some other way?”

“Some non-produce related way?” Taehyung deadpanned.

Jimin grinned. “Exactly.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes and huffed a sigh. “Let the man do his job in peace.” He tugged on his beanie and shifted awkwardly.

“I usually only get old ladies flirting with me, so this is a nice change of pace,” Taehyung said, smirking a bit. He didn’t look up, but he heard Jimin’s amused hum.

“And when you aren’t working, what are you doing?” Jimin asked, placing the loaded bags into the grocery cart. “Do you work nights too?”

“Not always,” Taehyung answered. He watched as Yoongi sighed and punched the keypad with so much force, Taehyung wondered if the buttons would be permanently mashed in.

Jimin lit up with a bright smile. “I usually don’t do this—”

Yoongi scoffed and snatched the receipt from Taehyung. “Ha.”

“—but do you want to grab dinner sometime?” Jimin asked, shooting a withering glare at Yoongi. “I’d love to take you out. Maybe see how good you look in some natural lighting.”

Holy sh*t, Taehyung thought. “I’d love to. How’s tonight?”

“Perfect.” Jimin patted down his hoodie and reached into the pocket for his phone. He flicked it open and handed it to Taehyung. “Gimme your number and I’ll text you later to make plans.”

“This isn’t like that true crime podcast where you two lure me into a dark alley later and murder me, right?” Taehyung handed Jimin’s phone back to him.

Yoongi laughed loudly, startling Taehyung. “In your dreams.”

“In your dreams?” Jimin groaned, swatting Yoongi. “Hyung, you are the worst.” Jimin rolled his eyes and smoothed down his hair. “I’ll text you. And don’t worry, Prince Charming won’t be joining us.”

Taehyung grinned. “It’s fine if he does.”

“Okay,” Yoongi barked, wheeling the cart away from the register. “Let’s get the hell out of here before you two start going at it on the fruit scale.”

Laughing, Jimin gave Taehyung a small wave. “I’ll text you.”

Taehyung nodded. “I look forward to it.” He watched as Jimin jostled Yoongi as they walked past.

“Oh my God, I think we totally imprinted on each other,” he whispered far too loudly. “Did you see him? My God…” Their voices trailed off as they passed through the automatic doors.

The thud of tin cans on the conveyor belt pulled Taehyung back to reality. He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and turned around with a bogus smile. “Morning.”

***

At the end of his shift, Taehyung peeled off his apron and balled it up, stuffing it at the bottom of his backpack. His knees ached from the crummy rubber shoes they were required to wear, and his head was pounding from oversensitivity from the lights. Most days, he worked double shifts, loitering after his first shift or arriving early in the day to see if they had extra hours to give him. It was easier to stay at work. Going home meant shivering until his stomach ached and going to bed hungry.

Dinner with Jimin would be a reprieve from all that. Taehyung could pretend to be someone else, get a nice hot meal, and with any luck, return home with some leftovers to stretch across the next few days.

The end of a morning shift was always a bit chaotic. The afternoon staff were rolling in, management was changing over, and the morning cleaning crews were clearing out. It was the perfect time to poke around the dumpsters. Taehyung often circled around the back of the store, his backpack open and ready for whatever he might find. By early afternoon, the distribution trucks had already passed through, and the back of the store was left unattended.

Taehyung approached the first dumpster by the loading docks. Most food ended up there. Day old bakery items, bruised fruits, slightly expired boxes of cereal and instant rice—they were all perfectly edible if a little unappealing to customers. Some days, Taehyung left with his backpack sagging on his shoulders, the seams threatening to burst from his haul. Others, he left with a loaf of bread and some shriveled fruit if he was lucky.

Dinner with a stranger was a gamble, so Taehyung wanted to be prepared with some extra food in case Jimin took him somewhere cheap with small portions, or worse, somewhere obscenely expensive with small portions. Either way, he needed something to take home. All he had in his mini-fridge was a carton of soy milk and half a dozen eggs—the few luxuries he allowed himself to buy.

Taehyung dropped his backpack on the ground and hoisted himself up on the edge of the dumpster, peering in to inspect the garbage. He knew the bakery had some holiday pastries to toss out, and when he talked to the produce manager a couple days ago, the man lamented how he’d have to claim a loss on a large batch of cabbage since the store mistakenly overbought for the week.

The offerings were slim but promising: a half-filled crate of white peaches, bruised and dimpled. Several heads of cabbage with wilted leaves fraying at the edges. A couple iced milk coffees in ornate glass bottles. Then Taehyung spotted it: an 8-pack of ramyun that had been opened and returned with one cup missing. It was more than enough for him. He slung a leg over the side of the dumpster and dropped into it with a loud squish. Grimacing, he reached for the pack of ramyun, tossing it out onto the pavement beside his bag. He grabbed a head of cabbage and tucked it among the peaches, pausing to discard the moldy, fly-bitten fruit. He hated the taste of coffee but grabbed the bottles anyway; he could choke it down with the milk flavor. Anything for the calories.

A loud squeak caught his attention, and he ducked in the dumpster, holding his breath so he wouldn’t gag from the smell of rotting food. The metal back door swung open, and he heard the heavy footsteps of someone approaching. He waited for someone to scold him, to grab his bag and start shaking it and screaming at him, but instead the footsteps retreated. The metal lid of another dumpster clanged open, and the person grunted, hoisting a heavy object into the bin. The lid closed with a loud thud. More footsteps. The backdoor shrieked open once more, then it shut. Taehyung exhaled shakily and waited a moment before clutching the crate of peaches to his chest and climbing out of the dumpster.

Taehyung impressed himself sometimes with his cleverness. He could stretch a head of cabbage for a whole week if he was careful. With a week’s worth of ramyun and some decent peaches, he could eat enough to avoid the painful hunger-induced cramps he felt most nights. Taehyung tucked his findings neatly into his backpack and slung it on his shoulders.

The walk home was short, but even on the short journey he caught the stench of garbage on his clothes. He needed a shower—a long one, a hot one—if he was going to be anywhere near presentable for dinner with Jimin.

The shower in his building was disgusting. The building was run-down and probably condemned, but the tiny, mold-stained apartment was all Taehyung could afford. He dropped off his bag and grabbed his toiletries and towel off the hook of his door. His shower shoes slapped loudly as he made his way down the hallway to the communal bathroom. It was early evening, and he hoped he had found a lull in the shower schedule so he could duck in and rinse off. He squeezed into the small stall and cranked the water as hot as it would go. The shower head sputtered and gasped before shuddering away with a soft spray of water.

He squeezed his shampoo in his hands and worked it into a lather, scrubbing at his head until his hair was covered in foam. The smell of white tea and mint masked the bleach and mildew smell of the shower. He sighed as his scalp tingled with the suds. If he remembered correctly, this particular bottle was nicked from a one night stand in the last town he lived in.

Some people might call Taehyung a thief, he was sure of it. But he saw himself as resourceful, instead. He never took from someone who needed something more than him, never took advantage of someone or stole from children or the elderly. A bottle of shampoo from a mediocre date who talked his ear off but invited him back to his swanky place? Sure. He wouldn’t miss it. Tossed produce behind the chain grocery store? Absolutely. They’d never know. He still had his principles.

As the steam curled around him, Taehyung closed his eyes and scrubbed the suds from his hair. He imagined himself somewhere clean and expensive—some high rise overlooking Yongsan-gu. When he stepped out of the shower and slipped on his sandals, he pretended he was slipping on luxury slippers, drying off with a plush, expensive towel. With enough steam in the shower room, he could pretend the walls weren’t speckled with flecks of mold or that the grout was discolored from years of cigarette smoke and abrasive cleaners. He tried to imagine Jimin’s home instead.

If Jimin and Yoongi were shopping at his store, they could be locals—humble people with a modest home nearby. Maybe they were stopping by before driving out to a country home. Jimin’s hair was glossy and coiffed, signs of an expensive salon, or at least expensive taste. Even Yoongi’s all-black ensemble was made up of designer pieces. Anyone who wore designer loungewear was bound to have a little cash to their name.

Back in his studio, Taehyung locked the door behind him, shoving against it with his shoulder until the deadlock slid into place. He dripped along the floor as he shuffled to his bedroom. He reached for his phone off his bed and unlocked it and scrolled to Jimin’s number.

»still on for dinner tonight?

The screen lit up immediately with Jimin’s response. »Yes! I’ll send you the address right now. How’s 7?

Before Taehyung could answer, a link to a map entry popped up. He clicked it and was directed to a swanky restaurant boasting a limited menu with artisanal co*cktails. He frowned. Small portions, but a place with good drinks. A liquid dinner wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

»perfect

***

The restaurant was dark and loud—soft lo-fi music intermingling with loud chatter and clinking glasses. Taehyung arrived early; he didn’t want to sit in his apartment any longer. He put on his most expensive outfit: a pair of designer slacks he stole from an ex who treated him like sh*t, and a Valentino blouse he bought on consignment from a seller who had no idea what the shirt was worth. (Maybe he had flirted with the poor girl, flustering her as he marveled at her necklace—a cheap, gaudy thing, but his unabashed attention distracted her just the same.) He dabbed on cologne from a sample he tore out of an alpha fashion magazine in the subway station, dotting his wrists and neck with it. Taehyung could always do so much with so little.

The door jangled open, and Jimin pushed through the crowd, lighting up with a mega-watt smile when he spotted Taehyung near the hostess. “Hey!” he called as he made his way closer. His outfit left little to the imagination: a tight black button-up with the collar left open, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and the tails tucked into jeans that must have been painted on. Long, delicate earrings dangled from each ear, swinging as Jimin leaned in to give Taehyung a side hug.

“You look great,” Taehyung said, unashamed of the long, lingering up-and-down look he gave Jimin.

He grinned and mimicked Taehyung’s actions, giving him a long once over. “So do you. You clean up real nice.” There was a shamelessness and familiarity to Jimin that was refreshing and exhilarating. “One sec.” When Jimin turned away to the hostess, Taehyung felt like a shadow had passed in front of the sun. Jimin’s attention was luminescent, and Taehyung wasn’t used to the feeling.

The hostess nodded along with Jimin and collected menus, gesturing for them to follow. They weaved through the packed dining room until she seated them at a table toward the back. Jimin slid into the booth and Taehyung followed on the opposite side. Once the menus were in hand, the hostess left them.

The golden lamplight of the restaurant flickered and cast long shadows along the exposed brick walls. Potted plants lined the walls, the vines curling down in dangling loops. Jimin, of course, looked incandescent. For a moment, Taehyung wondered if Jimin picked the place on purpose: the ambience suited him well. Intimate, sultry, comfortable.

“Do you drink, Taehyung?” Jimin asked, studying him closely.

“Only if I’m in the mood,” he answered with a shrug. Drinks were expensive. Rarely did he indulge on his own, but if a date was offering, he was keen to enjoy a co*cktail or a glass of wine.

Jimin licked his lips and smirked. “Well, are you in the mood?”

Taehyung fought back a delighted shiver. “I can be in the mood.”

Flirting with Jimin felt like the big leagues. He held his own, licking his lips, quirking his eyebrow, letting his voice dip low enough to make Taehyung lean in. Taehyung was used to playing the predator—or at least the more outgoing, flirtatious date. He liked to make his dates laugh and blush, brush him off with awkward laughter while they stammered. But Jimin was unmoved by Taehyung’s brash behavior. It seemed to goad him, inspire him to bite back. Taehyung liked that about Jimin.

They ordered a round of drinks, swapping them to taste one another’s co*cktail. When Jimin reached to flag down the waitress for a second round, Taehyung twisted his co*cktail straw between his fingers, forcing a polite smile. “You’re my date,” Jimin said, placing his hand on Taehyung’s, “this is my treat.” At that, Taehyung softened and ordered another co*cktail. The bill for four drinks alone was enough to make Taehyung’s stomach turn.

“So,” Taehyung said, sipping on his second drink, “did I hear you correctly when you said you thought you imprinted on me?” He grinned and traced the edge of his glass.

Jimin laughed loudly, covering his face with his hands. It was a momentary lapse in his bravado, and it endeared Taehyung further. This is not how things are supposed to go. “Ah, you heard that, huh? I was just bullsh*tting with Yoongi.”

Taehyung hummed and plucked a cherry out of his drink before placing it slowly on his tongue. “You believe in all that? Imprinting and fated mates?”

Jimin’s face grew serious. “I didn’t until I saw you.”

Taehyung nearly choked on the cherry and sputtered, pounding his chest. “Damn, now that’s a line.”

Jimin’s grin returned, and he downed the rest of his co*cktail in a swift motion. “Not a line. I saw you and felt, I dunno, a little shiver or something. Do you have any idea how hot you are? And how ridiculous it is that you work in a grocery store? Your face deserves to be on billboards.”

A rare feeling washed over Taehyung. He was blushing. He couldn’t blame it on the alcohol. Jimin seemed to know that, too, swirling the ice in his glass before taking a long gulp to finish off the soaked fruit floating in his drink.

“I’m a beta,” Taehyung blurted out.

“Okay, and?” Jimin blinked.

“Just wanted you to know,” Taehyung mumbled. The sudden shyness unnerved him. Usually he didn’t care what others thought about him, not when he was just trying to get a free meal. “I know some people take that stuff seriously.”

“Well, some people are idiots.” Jimin’s face softened. “I don’t care about rank. That sh*t is so stupid.”

Taehyung laughed, nodding with relief. “So old-fashioned,” he agreed.

“So,” Jimin said, leaning closer, “why do you smell like an alpha, then?”

Taehyung smiled sheepishly. “I was trying out some cologne. I had a sample.”

“You smell better without it,” Jimin answered casually.

Taehyung’s stomach twisted and his mouth went dry. Guilt was a rare feeling for Taehyung, especially when it came to finding a decent meal. He could count on one hand how many people he actually liked. When Jimin sauntered up to his cash register earlier that day, Taehyung hadn’t considered he might be a new addition to the list. He forced a laugh and studied the ice cubes melting in his glass.

“Did I say something wrong?” Jimin asked gently. “Came on too strong, yeah?”

“No, it’s fine,” Taehyung said quietly. “You just seem pretty great. And I’m definitely not.”

“That’s not fair,” Jimin said quickly. “You don’t get to tell me that. Let me figure you out for myself.” His voice was fierce and assertive, steady as he held Taehyung’s gaze.

Taehyung nodded and glanced down at his glass once more. Jimin’s attention was white-hot. It felt like he was searing into him, untangling all of the lies and half-truths Taehyung shrouded himself with every day. “So the guy you were with?”

“Ah, Yoongi-hyung?” Jimin answered. He leaned back against the booth, extending his arm along the length of it. Delicate chains of white gold dangled from his wrists, a tiny tattoo peeked out from underneath them. There was a strength to Jimin that was magnetic. He didn’t need to peaco*ck and show off like most people. The quiet elegance and power that emanated from him was effortless. Jimin brushed his hair back and smiled widely. “He’s one of my pack mates.”

“Pack mates?” Taehyung repeated, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Are you pack mates or mates?”

“Both,” Jimin said with a shrug. He laughed when Taehyung stammered and fumbled with his glass. “Relax, he knows I’m here with you. They all do.”

Taehyung looked up quickly. “They all do?”

“Yeah. It’d be great if you could meet them some day. I promise the others are little more,” Jimin paused, licking his lips, “receptive than Yoongi-hyung.”

The room suddenly felt too hot, and Taehyung’s skin prickled with sweat. They’d barely made it through appetizers and already things had gotten too far. Talk of pack mates made Taehyung’s throat itch. He felt like he could throw up at any moment. He lived by a set of rules that kept things easy, uncomplicated. Nothing beyond a first date, no personal details, no meeting friends or family. Life was easier as a ghost.

Taehyung learned that early on. Born into a family of alphas as a beta, he was all but abandoned by a family that didn’t know what to do with him. Through no fault of his own, he was an embarrassment, a blighted branch on the family tree. A branch, as far as they were concerned, that would never yield anything worth harvesting.

He didn’t expect leaving to be so easy. He packed his things, left a note, waited in the doorway of his home before turning his back for good. It was too easy to leave it all behind. He expected tears—his or theirs—and he expected something to fissure in his heart, some bloodline to throb with some dormant connection to call him home. But there was nothing: just silence as Taehyung walked out the door and found the nearest bus stop.

A shadow of his old life followed him everywhere, but he rarely stopped to think about the old days. Moving forward was easier than looking back. But there were sacrifices he had to make to keep the pathway ahead clear. If he had food and a roof over his head, he didn’t want for anything else.

Jimin, however, was an unusual twist in the path—a fork in the road that Taehyung hadn’t anticipated. Taehyung felt the urge to tell him everything, to tell him how he bathed in stolen soap and shampoo, how he rationed his bruised peaches and expired ramyun so he could eat before meeting him, how his bed would be freezing cold when he returned after their date. It wasn’t pity Taehyung was after. He just wanted to connect suddenly, and Jimin’s pull was impossible to ignore.

“Hey,” Jimin said gently, reaching for Taehyung’s hand. His fingers were short, his palm smaller against Taehyung’s long fingers and wide hand. “We have a very open arrangement with our pack. I can promise you I’m not cheating on my mates or trying to keep you a secret. They know I’m here tonight.” He sat back, plucking at his collar. “Hell, this is Yoongi-hyung’s shirt.”

Taehyung chewed his lip and smiled, flicking his curls out of his eyes. “It’s a good shirt.”

Jimin laughed. “I’ll tell him you said that.” Jimin didn’t pull his hand away, and instead, he rubbed the back of Taehyung’s palm with his thumb in soothing circles. “If you’re uncomfortable, we can call it a night.”

Taehyung wanted the exact opposite of that. He wanted the rest of the night with Jimin, morning, and all the days ahead of them. “No, I’m sorry, I’m being weird.”

“Don’t ever apologize,” Jimin said gently. “Do you want to order dinner?” He reached for his menu and turned his attention to the pages. He peered at Taehyung over the pages, quirking an eyebrow. “Or we can call it a night? Try again some other time?”

“No,” Taehyung answered quickly. He wasn’t ready for the night to end, especially since he planned to never see Jimin ever again. He wanted to wring whatever time was left out of the evening. He picked up his menu and flipped through it. “Let’s eat.”

***

The dinner went by too quickly. Even after entrees, another round of drinks, and desserts, it felt like the evening rushed by. Jimin seemed just as reluctant to end the date. When the waiter dropped off the check, Jimin didn’t reach for it immediately. He leaned back in the booth, talking loudly about something (his pack? Their house? Taehyung had lost track). His foot slid up along Taehyung’s calf in careful motions. His eyes had gone glassy from the drinks, the flicker of lamplight dancing like flames in his eyes.

Taehyung tried to concentrate on Jimin’s words, but he was distracted by his lips: red with wine, plush and slick where he’d lick them before speaking. He tried not to think about the check sitting on the edge of the table, the enormous bill that he hoped Jimin wouldn’t make him split. Taehyung lost count of how much they ordered, but he knew the paltry cash in his wallet wouldn’t make a dent in the total.

“I don’t want to leave,” Jimin admitted with a sigh. He sat up and reached for the check. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and slipped out a credit card, tucking it into the bill without even looking it over. “I’m having a nice time. Are you?”

Taehyung was having an excellent time. Wine-drunk and a little scent-drunk, he felt warm and tingly all over, dreamy and loose, and on the verge of professing his undying love to this stranger. The plan to cut Jimin off after this date was starting to feel impossible. Taehyung was so intoxicated by Jimin, desperate to lean closer and learn more about him, desperate to hear the way Jimin laughed with sharp, high notes. Jimin’s very scent felt tailor-made for Taehyung: every note making him feel weak in the knees and making him salivate. Jimin had joked about fated pairs, and Taehyung was starting to wonder if maybe it could be true.

“The best time,” Taehyung exhaled.

Jimin nodded and handed the bill to a waiter who had appeared suddenly. “Do you want to walk a bit after this? Or do you need to get home?”

“I can walk,” Taehyung said, though he wasn’t sure how true that would be. He felt heavy all over from wine, a little wobbly in Jimin’s presence.

Once they paid and left the restaurant, they walked toward the waterfront. The humidity of the day had burned off, and they were left to enjoy a cool breeze coming off the water. Jimin nudged against Taehyung as he walked. Taehyung could feel his skin burning through his shirt.

They stopped along the promenade and leaned against the railing, watching the glittering lights of the city. The occasional boat passed by with flickering lights reflecting off the water. “This is nice,” Jimin mused. He turned to Taehyung and smiled, his eyes a little sleepy from the alcohol. “I want to kiss you so bad, Taehyung, can I?”

Nodding, Taehyung smiled and closed his eyes, waiting for their lips to meet.

Jimin’s lips against his own felt heavenly—pillowy and warm, the faint taste of wine still lingering on them. He turned and pressed Taehyung against the railing, pressing their bodies together. Up close, his scent was even stronger: bright and effervescent and heady. Bubbly and sparkling like champagne. Jimin sighed as he kissed Taehyung, his fingers clutching at his waist, tugging at the fabric tucked into his pants.

Taehyung allowed himself to be kissed. Giving himself over was so easy. He didn’t mind when Jimin’s tongue glided over his lips, when he kissed Taehyung deep and slow with long licks. He didn’t mind when the railing dug into his back and Jimin’s knee pressed between his legs. He didn’t mind the way Jimin nipped at his bottom lip, tugging gently with his teeth. They had so little time left. Taehyung wanted to savor it all.

Jimin pulled away, gasping a little as he thumbed at his bottom lip. “Can I take you home? I just, God, I want you so much.”

Taehyung tried to compose himself, to make his face as neutral as he could, but Jimin read his expression clearly. “I want to,” Taehyung said quickly, “I just have roommates.” A lie, but Jimin wouldn’t be around long enough to learn the truth. He rubbed Jimin’s arm as a weak consolation. “I want to, believe me.”

Jimin frowned, fingering at the buttons of Taehyung’s shirt. “I can’t take you to mine.”

“The pack mates?” Taehyung blurted out.

“Yes and no,” Jimin answered. “I just live really far away, and we try to set some boundaries about bringing people home at first.”

Taehyung couldn’t even be mad. He knew about boundaries—lines drawn as means of protection. He nodded. “Some other time,” he said weakly.

Smiling, Jimin nodded. “Another time.” He lifted on his toes to kiss Taehyung once more. “I’m going to head home then.”

“How are you getting home?” Taehyung asked. He shouldn’t care, but he couldn’t help himself. “You said it was far.”

“Some of my pack mates came into the city,” Jimin said, reaching for his phone. “I just have to call to ride back with them.”

“And if you’d gone to my place?”

Jimin shrugged. “Then I would’ve figured it out in the morning.”

Taehyund nodded and watched Jimin fire off a flurry of messages. “Thank you for tonight. For everything.”

“I hope we can do this again,” Jimin said brightly. He slipped his phone in his back pocket. “I’ll call you?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Taehyung murmured.

They waited in silence and watched the boats drift by on the water. Jimin’s phone jingled loudly, and he reached for it. “My ride’s here. You good to get home, Taehyung?”

“Yeah,” he answered. “Good night, Jimin-ah.”

Jimin smiled and Taehyung wished he could take a photo of the moment: Jimin’s cheeks rosy from the cool air and alcohol, his smile wide and affectionate, a swoop of hair draped across his eye. Everything about him was beautiful. Taehyung didn’t want to forget him.

They hugged goodbye, and Taehyung waited by the water until Jimin’s figure disappeared around the corner. He reached for his phone and deleted Jimin’s number. He flicked open their messages and blocked him then erased their chat. It was easier that way. The memory of Jimin’s face, his hands, his mouth would be enough.

***

Every day that Taehyung went to work, he dreaded the thought of Jimin and Yoongi coming into the store. To avoid any accidental run-ins, Taehyung requested the overnight shifts and joined the logistics team unloading new orders and pulling stock from the shelves. He told himself that was better. He could keep an eye on food that would be tossed out, and he could sleep all day when the apartment was warmer.

Taehyung felt guilty with each day that passed, the disappointment in himself growing like weeds and choking him. He had really enjoyed his time with Jimin. They had the sort of chemistry he’d only seen on TV or heard in songs. Jimin seemed so infinitely kind, too, delighted by Taehyung’s stories and his big appetite. But attachments, Taehyung had learned, only led to complications. No matter what, he’d never be on equal footing with another person. They’d eventually see him as too lowly and pathetic to spend time with. Or worse, they’d see him as some project, some fixer-upper in need of saving. He couldn’t bear the thought of Jimin pitying him. It made his stomach churn and his skin crawl.

It was easier to go back to what he’d known before Jimin: working until he was drop-dead exhausted and going on single dates with unsuspecting people he met online. They were never memorable. Taehyung would smile politely and nod along with their monotonous stories, turning his attention to the bread basket or the banchan, nibbling until the conversation tilted his way.

That night was no different. After a long shift and a terrible nap, Taehyung dragged himself out of bed and met his date at a barbecue restaurant. Uninspired, Taehyung thought, but it meant a large meal.

His date—Junghoon, Jihoon, he honestly didn’t remember—prattled on about some acquisition at work. Taehyung couldn’t think of anything more dull than a person whose sole personality trait was their job. He stuffed a lettuce wrap of grilled beef into his mouth and nodded, humming along with whatever the man was talking about.

“Wow,” he finally said, clearing his throat. “That sounds hard. You must be so smart.” He smiled as genuinely as he could and reached for his beer.

Pleased, the man nodded and continued talking. His voice blended in with the chatter of the restaurant and the loud music videos playing on the televisions. Taehyung watched the man poke at the meat on the grill, stirring it around before grabbing some for himself. He never offered any to Taehyung, and with his mouth full, he began to talk about his latest vacation. Tahiti or Singapore or who gives a sh*t.

Taehyung’s tongue tasted sour and his stomach clenched. All he could think about was Jimin. If Jimin had been there, he would have loaded Taehyung’s plate, filled his drink, asked him questions about himself. He would’ve leaned closer, maybe reaching for Taehyung’s hand, murmuring something flirty and charming and authentic. “Excuse me,” Taehyung said suddenly, pushing back in his seat. “I’ll be right back.” Unfazed, his date nodded and continued stuffing his face.

As Taehyung made his way to the bathroom, he nearly clipped a table. He steadied himself and locked eyes with the people at the table. With Yoongi at the table. He stammered and glanced from Yoongi to the other man and then rushed into the bathroom, his chest heaving. He leaned against the counter and turned on the water, splashing it on his face. Foolishly, Taehyung thought he was in a safe territory. The possibility of running into Jimin or Yoongi seemed unlikely, so he agreed to the date. He needed to get out of there fast.

Taehyung hurried back to the table, ducking his head and maneuvering through other tables to avoid passing Yoongi again. He settled into his seat and smiled apologetically. “I’m so sorry, but I’m not feeling well.”

His date frowned, wiping a smear of sauce off his chin. “Oh. sh*t. Okay. Do you want me to drive you home?”

Waving him off, Taehyung shook his head. “No, it’s fine. The fresh air will help me cool off.” Like most dates, Taehyung reached for his wallet in a slow, showy motion, waiting for his date to stop him. The man didn’t budge—didn’t even take his eyes off the food he was shoveling into his mouth. Taehyung scowled and tucked his wallet back into his pocket. The pig could pay for dinner. “This was nice—”

“—I’ll call you,” the man said through a mouth full of rice.

“Sure,” Taehyung agreed. Just as he turned to leave, he felt a hand rest on his shoulder.

“Taehyung, long time no see.”

Taehyung turned to find Yoongi looming over him, his companion close behind. “Hi,” Taehyung said meekly. “Good to see you.”

“Is it?” Yoongi asked, raising an eyebrow. “You seemed pretty shocked to see me back there.”

Sheepishly, Taehyung rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m feeling sick. I was actually leaving.”

“We’ll walk you out,” Yoongi said. He turned to the Taehyung’s date and offered a sickly sweet smile. “Do you mind?”

The man waved him off. “Not at all. Get home safe, Taehyung. I’ll call you.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung mumbled, getting out of his seat.

The walk to the exit felt like he was being led to his execution. If Yoongi was steel toughness, the other man was just flat, absolutely uninterested in Taehyung’s existence. Once outside, Yoongi folded his arms and glared at Taehyung. “So what the hell?”

“Hey,” the other man said gently.

“No, hyung, I wanna know why Taehyung thought he could blow Jimin off.” He turned back to Taehyung and co*cked his head. “Well?”

“We had a great time,” Taehyung began.

Yoongi scoffed. “And that’s why you blew him off?”

“He’s the one?” the other man hissed. He straightened his jacket and frowned. “You’re the reason why Jimin is all cranky and lovesick?”

“Lovesick?” Taehyung coughed. “I mean we had a nice time and all…”

“Wined you and dined you and then you blow him off. What an asshole,” Yoongi muttered.

“What do you want me to say?” Taehyung asked. He didn’t owe Yoongi any explanation. He folded his arms and kicked at the base of the lamp post.

“Is that your thing, then? Just make a sucker out of anyone who takes you on a date?” Yoongi’s words stung. He had seen Taehyung so clearly. It made Taehyung wonder if others could see him the same way, too.

“Yoongi-yah,” the other man said, touching his elbow gently. “He isn’t worth the trouble. Let’s go home.”

Those words hurt even more. Not worth the trouble. Taehyung had heard that his entire childhood, and some stranger had reduced him with the same judgment. “You don’t even know me,” Taehyung mumbled.

“I know you went out with Jimin the other night and he came home floating on air, running his mouth all about this sweet, sensitive, handsome guy he was falling for,” Yoongi snapped.

Taehyung looked up, eyes wide. “Falling for me?”

“Come on,” the other man said, turning Yoongi. “Don’t get worked up. You know the others will be all over you when we get home.” His voice was soft and gentle, affectionate like the way he slipped his arm around Yoongi’s shoulders. “And you,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at Taehyung, “don’t even think about coming around my pack if you can’t show them the respect they deserve.”

The threat made Taehyung’s blood run cold. He didn’t even know the pack, but he still felt like he lost something precious. He nodded and swallowed back tears. “Tell Jimin I’m sorry.”

***

Summer hit with a vengeance, and Taehyung’s apartment was stifling. He slept naked on his mattress, only a tangled flat sheet to cover him. His hours had been cut at the grocery store, and he hated the idle time. Worse, he hated how hungry he was when his easy supply of food had been cut off. When he wasn’t working, he’d ride the bus across town and wander the aisles of a new grocery store, pocketing the occasional packet of chestnuts or microwavable rice. He knew enough about the stores to know the blindspots of the cameras. Often, he’d enter the store with a shopping bag slung over his shoulder. He sometimes filled it with empty food packages and took them back to the store, pleading with the customer service cashier to give him a refund or let him replace the expired food. When he’d run that scam too many times, he’d try something else.

The bag was a good decoy. He could pluck something off the shelf, awkwardly shuffle against another patron, and drop it into his bag. That trick only worked every so often. He couldn’t do it too frequently or they’d catch on. He targeted a string of stores on the other side of town to avoid running into coworkers or raising suspicions. It was riskier than dumpster diving, but he was hungry, and summer only made his appetite worse. (Even as he sat hungry in his apartment, dripping sweat in front of a sh*tty fan, he felt grateful to be a beta, grateful that he didn’t have to endure the summer ruts he witnessed among his family. All that sweat and anger and fevered skin and an itch they can’t scratch—he was grateful to be spared that indignity.)

It was Tuesday in late July, and Taehyung was loitering in the breakfast aisle, admiring the packages of international sugared cereal he couldn’t afford. The sugar would taste good, he reasoned, but he’d be hungry quickly after a bowl. It wouldn’t last long, he told himself. He had a few bucks to his name, and he intended to buy some of his food that day. Sighing, he plucked a box from the shelf and turned it over. He couldn’t read the English on the package, but he liked the colorful drawings of cartoon bears. Cautiously, he glanced around, found the aisle empty and slipped the box into his bag.

When he turned to move to the next aisle, he startled to find Yoongi standing in his path, knuckles turning white as he clenched the handle of his shopping cart. “That sh*t will rot your teeth.”

A flash of heat shot to Taehyung’s cheeks, and he clutched the handle of his bag. If he pulled out the box, Yoongi would know he lifted it. But the curious way Yoongi looked at him made him feel like he already knew Taehyung had stolen it. “Ah, well.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“Your bag looks heavy,” Yoongi said. “You want my cart?”

Taehyung could feel the mortification in his veins—hot sludge making him sweat all over. “No, I’m good, thanks.” He flicked at his ear and stared at Yoongi feeling utterly hopeless

Yoongi tilted his head, assessing Taehyung. “You sure? I have room.”

Wordlessly, Taehyung pulled the cereal out of his bag and placed it in Yoongi’s cart. Yoongi blinked and let his eyes wander to Taehyung’s bag once more. Sheepishly, he pulled out a can of tuna and a pouch of microwavable rice. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

They walk in silence through the aisles of the grocery store. Whenever Taehyung’s gaze lingered on an item, Yoongi grabbed two, dropping them into the cart. When they reached the front of the store, Taehyung reached for his items, but Yoongi jerked the cart out of his way. “I got it,” Yoongi said firmly. It wasn’t mocking or cruel, just peculiarly void of any emotion, and Taehyung didn’t really know how to reply.

He cleared his throat and nodded. “Thanks.”

Yoongi paid for the groceries and pushed the cart out to his car, Taehyung trailing behind. Yoongi popped the trunk and began loading his items. He hesitated when he reached Taehyung’s bags. “Do you need a ride?”

“Nah,” Taehyung answered quickly. He wanted the moment to end. He could have crawled out of his skin at any moment.

“Hey,” Yoongi said gently, closing the trunk. “I get it. I’ve been there.”

“Okay.” Taehyung lifted his bags from the cart and slung them on each arm.

Yoongi fidgeted, twirling his keys on his finger. “I’m gonna grab some lunch. You wanna come?” As if to really sell the invitation, Yoongi smiled.

Taehyung shook his head, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “No, that’s fine. I really, really appreciate it. You’ve done enough.” He lifted the bags.

“No problem,” Yoongi answered. He hesitated for a moment, lips parting like he had more to say, then he nodded. “Alright, well, take it easy.”

Taehyung turned away before Yoongi could say anything else. He started walking toward the bus stop, his bags jostling with every step. There was more food in those bags than he’d had in weeks. He was salivating at the thought of the sugary cereal and the bottles of banana milk weighing down his bag.

As he walked, he tried not to think about the scrutinizing way Yoongi watched him or how Yoongi didn’t even blink at Taehyung emptying his stolen goods into the cart. He said he understood. That he’d been there. A small part of Taehyung believed him.

***

Unknown number

» Dinner? Friday at 7? We’ll pick you up

Taehyung frowned at his phone, wincing at the bright screen in his darkened room. He was deep asleep a few hours before his next late night shift when his phone buzzed on his nightstand, startling him awake. His eyes were bleary, and he barely knew what day it was. He started to type out another message when another text popped up.

Unknown number

» It’s Yoongi-hyung. Against my better judgment, I’m inviting you to dinner. For Jimin.

By Friday, Taehyung was a jittery mess. He scrounged up all the change he could find to take his nice clothing to the laundromat. After several rinse cycles and some pilfered scented detergent, he finally felt like his clothes were clean and presentable. He wondered if Yoongi told Jimin about their encounter in the store—how Taehyung’s old t-shirt hung off him in tatters, how his shorts were stained with dirt, how he reeked of old takeout and sweat. Did he tell Jimin about the shoplifting?

Taehyung stood outside a building a couple blocks down from his own. He didn’t want anyone to see where he really lived. He shifted nervously and tried not to fidget. Too much movement and he’d sweat off his cologne sample he lifted from the cosmetic counter in the grocer. The summer heat and humidity did little to calm his hair; he tried his best to smooth down his hair, but his curls were stubborn, unable to be tamed. He didn’t know who he wanted to impress more: Jimin or the pack mates. He wasn’t even sure who he would be meeting that night.

The urge to run was strong. With each passing car, Taehyung thought about running home, changing his phone number, throwing his sh*t in a bag and catching the next long-distance bus he could find. Things had already gone too far. Going to their home? Seeing Jimin again? Exposing his sad life to Yoongi? Each detail added up and pointed to danger. If they knew who or what he really was, would they regret trying to keep contact with him?

Taehyung hated owing anything to anyone. He hated the idea of being a burden, or worse, being some charity case. His anxiety bubbled up, and he hunched over, dry heaving until the spell passed. The longer he waited, the deeper anxiety clawed at him. All the what if’s overwhelmed him, making his head throb. This is why it’s easier to be alone.

He stood up feeling wobbly, wiping his chin and feeling grateful he hadn’t thrown up all over his shoes. Whoever was coming to pick him up was late, and he suddenly worried it was all a trick. What if they had decided to give Taehyung a taste of his own medicine? Get his hopes up and ghost him? It was what he deserved; he couldn’t even be mad about it. Glancing at the phone, he checked the time. 7:18 and no one in sight. The disappointment stung but relief washed over him at the thought he might be off the hook. He gave the streets one last look and stuffed his hands in his pockets, turning to walk home.

He didn’t get very far. A dark SUV pulled up beside him, and he immediately recognized it from his run-in with Yoongi. The passenger window rolled down, and Jimin flicked his sunglasses on top of his head and called out, “Taehyung!”

There was a warmth to Jimin’s voice—bright and familiar like they hadn’t been strangers all these months. It made Taehyung’s heart ache. He had been unkind to blow Jimin off; he knew that, but still, severing the ties felt safer. The way Jimin smiled at him proved him wrong. The car slowed and pulled over, and Jimin nodded to the backseat. “Hop in.”

Hesitantly, Taehyung climbed into the backseat and buckled his seatbelt. Yoongi glanced at him in the rear view mirror.

Jimin turned around in his seat, angling to get a better view of Taehyung. “Hyung won’t let me sit back there with you. He said he’ll feel too much like a chauffeur.”

Taehyung laughed nervously. “No big deal.” No big deal. Just climbed into the back of a car with two strangers.

“You could take a train out to our place but you’d need a cab from the station and it’s a whole thing,” Yoongi explained. “We were in town anyway and thought it was easier to pick you up.”

“And we’ll take you home, too,” Jimin added. “And if you absolutely hate everybody, I’ll call you a cab myself.”

“Everybody?” Taehyung croaked.

“Family dinner,” Yoongi grunted.

Rolling his eyes, Jimin turned to Taehyung and smiled. “Hyung thought it would be nice to invite you over. Didn’t you, sweetheart?” He rubbed Yoongi’s shoulder gently, smiling wider when Yoongi relented and smiled back.

“I’m sorry I blocked you,” Taehyung said quickly.

“Water under the bridge,” Jimin said dismissively.

“No, really, it wasn’t cool of me—”

“—sh*t happens,” Jimin answered. “I had a nice time, and you did too, and now we’re here. What’s a few months of waiting?”

Somehow Jimin looked more magnificent than the last time Taehyung saw him. His hair had grown longer, and he had lightened it since their last meeting. The rich, golden color suited him. He looked dipped in gold from head to toe with his lustrous skin and honey hair. “Well, thanks for giving me another chance.”

“We’re all about second chances, aren’t we, hyung?” Jimin asked sweetly.

Taehyung expected a gruff reply from Yoongi, but instead he smiled warmly, flicking his eyes toward the rear view mirror. “Yeah, everyone deserves a second chance.”

***

Sitting at the dinner table with a group of strangers, Taehyung felt uneasy. Jimin and Yoongi seemed willing to give Taehyung a second chance, but the others looked skeptical. Seokjin, Taehyung learned, was the pack leader and the one who had been so chilly with him at the barbecue spot months ago. Namjoon was polite but aloof, sniffing at Taehyung occasionally but keeping to himself. Hoseok was a little more brusque with him—short, clipped interactions and a cool demeanor. They all seemed protective of Jimin, hovering closely to him in the kitchen as they prepared dinner, reluctantly moving seats to let Taehyung sit next to him. He hadn’t expected a warm welcome, but he hadn’t expected to face what felt like a firing squad.

“So Taehyung,” Namjoon said carefully, passing a bowl toward him, “what do you do?”

Taehyung bowed graciously and accepted the bowl. Carefully, he filled his plate and passed the bowl along. “I work at a grocery store.”

“I told you that, hyung,” Jimin teased, forcing a smile.

“Anything else on the horizon for you?” Namjoon was steady and calm as he spoke, though he clenched his jaw from time to time. Taehyung couldn’t tell if it was involuntary or meant to make him cower in the alpha’s presence.

“Not really,” Taehyung said with a shrug. “Just doing my thing for now.”

Namjoon hummed and took a bite of his meal, glancing warily at Hoseok.

“Taehyung has a really nice style,” Jimin said, turning to Hoseok. “I think he could model or be someone’s personal stylist. He really has an aesthetic eye.”

Hoseok snorted, hunching over his plate. “Clearly. Because he likes you.”

Jimin sniffed and sat up, pretending to dust off his shoulder. “He has good taste. Who can blame him?”

At that, Taehyung cracked a smile. Jimin seemed undeterred by his pack mates’ disinterest in Taehyung. He was grateful for Jimin’s positivity. The dinner felt heavy and unwelcoming, and anxiety knotted Taehyung’s stomach.

“So you’re a beta?” Hoseok asked bluntly.

Taehyung nodded. “Yeah.”

“Me too.” Hoseok set his chopsticks down and dabbed at his lips with a napkin. “Jimin says he intends to court you.”

Taehyung laughed nervously, glancing at Jimin. “Oh. You’re serious?”

Jimin shrugged, poking at the food on his plate. “Only if you’re interested, of course.”

Seokjin leaned back in his chair. He had been quietly observing the dinner, speaking softly only to Yoongi in audible whispers. “That’s rather unconventional, don’t you think, Jimin-ah? An omega courting a beta?”

Jimin looked up from his plate, a defiant scowl on his face. “Since when do you care about conventional, hyung?” He seethed with anger, and Taehyung could smell it radiating off of Jimin.

“Courting is serious,” Seokjin continued. His voice was flat, nearly bored, it seemed. “Both parties have to be open to it. And I think the most successful courtships are between two parties who have something to offer.”

“Something to offer?” Jimin parroted. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Easy,” Yoongi murmured, glancing up at Jimin from his plate. He looked reluctant to join the interrogation.

“Taehyung,” Seokjin said, turning his attention to the guest at his table, “forgive me for asking, but the grocery store. Is this leading to something else? Are you a starving artist on the side?”

Taehyung shook his head. “Just starving,” he joked. No one laughed. “May I use the bathroom?” He stood up quickly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

“Down the hall, second right,” Jimin said, squeezing Taehyung’s shoulder.

“Excuse me.” Taehyung walked down the hall toward the bathroom, trying hard not to pay attention to the conversation emanating from the dining room.

“Probably casing the joint,” Seokjin muttered.

“If he’s so down on his luck, what’s with the designer clothes?” Hoseok quipped.

Taehyung closed the bathroom door before he heard anything else. He should have known that they knew everything. Yoongi must have told them all about their encounter at the grocery store. The washroom felt too small, claustrophobic with the large vanity lights buzzing warm overhead. Taehyung clutched the sink and tried to steady his breathing. He splashed water on his face and patted his face down with tissues until it was dry. He looked like hell: exhausted and hungry, new hollowness in his cheeks and bags under his eyes. The pack was right to warn Jimin away from him.

Shakily, Taehyung opened the door. He’d just order a car like Jimin said. He didn’t want to stay here any longer, not with the alphas sizing him up or Hoseok’s protective glare. Jimin was lucky to have people looking after him, even if Taehyung knew he was the threat. He padded softly down the hall toward the dining room and hesitated when he heard Jimin’s furious muttering.

“Why are you acting like this? This isn't like you, hyung.” Jimin’s voice was firm, challenging. “You don’t have to protect me. You think I’m that terrible a judge of character?”

“You can’t just bring him home like a stray,” Seokjin hissed. Plates clattered together and someone turned on the sink. “Does he even need a pack?”

“Hyung, you’re being so unkind,” Jimin pleaded. “What’s gotten into you?”

“We just have to be careful who we bring into this pack, Jimin-ah. This is meant to be a safe place for us. I don’t know if a thief belongs here,” Seokjin answered.

“Hyung, that’s unfair.” Yoongi’s voice cut through the noise. The water stopped. “You should’ve seen him. The kid can’t even afford to eat.” There was a shuffling and the soft sounds of lips meeting. “You’d never turn someone away to starve. Why are you being so cold?”

Seokjin sighed. “It’s Jimin.”

“I appreciate the concern, hyung, but Taehyung is a good one. I promise. He needs this pack just as much as the rest of us,” Jimin said gently.

The loud scrape of a chair startled Taehyung, and he yelped, covering this mouth quickly. The door to the dining room swung open and Namjoon appeared, crowding it. “You wanna come sit or stay out here and listen?”

Blushing, Taehyung nodded and followed Namjoon. He took his seat at the table and stared awkwardly at his placemat. The table had been cleared, the dishes replaced with wine glasses. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to listen.”

Hoseok shrugged and uncorked a bottle of wine, reaching over to fill Taehyung’s glass. “It’s fine. It’s exactly what we were doing.”

“I don’t understand,” Taehyung said. “Is this poison?” He studied the glass cautiously.

Laughing, Hoseok reached to fill Namjoon’s glass. “Not poison, promise.”

“Seokjin-hyung can be,” Namjoon paused, swirling his glass, “persuasive. And if he gets a bad read on someone, I can’t help but do the same.”

“Bad read?”

“Vibes,” Hoseok explained. “Seokjin-hyung can figure a person out in like ten seconds and know if they’re a good contender for the pack.”

“And I give off bad vibes?” Taehyung’s shoulders sank.

“Not to me,” Hoseok admitted. He lifted his glass and sipped it slowly. “But we’re all protective of Jimin.”

“Sure, an omega in your pack, all those alphas…” Taehyung trailed off.

“It isn’t like that,” Namjoon interjected. “I mean, he is important because he’s him, not just because he’s an omega. But we love him and care for him, and when you blew him off, we saw how much that hurt him. Of course that raised some alarms for us.”

Nodding, Taehyung took a drink of wine. It was expensive. He could taste it. “I’ll be honest. I’m barely getting by. And usually I just go on a date with someone for a free meal, nice company, and then I move on. I don’t have anything to offer—no money, no family, no status. I’m not exactly a catch. And well, Jimin is…”

“So you cut ties,” Namjoon said matter-of-factly. “I get it.”

“Do you?” Taehyung asked. “That dinner was brutal.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon agreed, rubbing his neck, “Yeah, we weren’t being fair.”

“And them?” Taehyung nodded toward the kitchen. The voices were softer, muddled by the sound of dishes and water.

“If anyone can persuade Seokjin-hyung to give you another chance, it’s those two. Especially Yoongi-hyung. His bullsh*t detector is unbelievable,” Hoseok answered.

Taehyung smiled, looking down at his glass. “He’s really nice. He didn’t have to buy me groceries.”

“No,” Namjoon said, “he didn’t. But he did. And clearly he saw something in you that tugged on his heartstrings.”

Taehyung winced. “I’m not trying to be someone’s charity case,” he murmured. “I’m not even trying to join a pack. This is all just.. I don’t know. I’m trying to figure out what I want. Right now, it’s just Jimin. I never even get this far with things.”

“Never eat dinner with a pack of alpha body guards?” Hoseok joked, grinning at Namjoon. “Another beta around here would be nice.”

“Easy now.” The door swung open and Yoongi entered with a large cake. It was frosted with fresh dollops of whipped cream and whole strawberries glistening in syrup. “First things first, dessert, then we’ll talk pack invitations.”

“Or,” Jimin said, settling into his chair, “we just let Taehyung and me hang out and get to know each other a little better before you all start planning out his bedroom in the house.” He winked at Taehyung and nudged his shoulder gently.

“I should apologize,” Seokjin said, clearing his throat. He stood at the head of the table and glanced down nervously at the tablecloth.

“Yes you should,” Yoongi agreed.

Seokjin shot him an exasperated look, only to receive an affectionate smile from Yoongi. “Taehyung, as our guest, you deserve to be treated with more kindness than I showed you. And if you’re Jimin’s guest, then that means you are someone special, just like he is to our pack.”

Taehyung nodded, suddenly feeling self-conscious from all the attention. “Thank you.”

“And?” Yoongi said, waving his hand for Seokjin to continue.

“And, if Jimin wants to court you and bring you into our pack, I’m not going to stand in his way, and the others won’t either.” Seokjin glanced at Namjoon, then Hoseok, who nodded in agreement. “I hope you’ll stay for dessert, and I hope you’ll allow us to get to know you on our own, too.”

Taehyung smiled and nodded, glancing around at the others. “Can I try the cake first and then decide?”

Laughing, Jimin collapsed against Taehyung, jostling him. “Brat! I stuck my neck out there for you!”

“That’s the energy we need around here,” Yoongi said fondly, reaching for a knife. He began cutting the cake and passing out slices to each member.

“You sure about that, hyung?” Namjoon said, eyeing Taehyung warily. “The two of them look like they’ll be trouble.”

Seokjin finally took his seat, smiling at Taehyung. “We can handle a little trouble. Besides, looks like Jimin has finally met his match.”

Taehyung. Now.

Mornings in his new home feel like a dream each time he opens his eyes. Waking in a warm bed, nestled among sheets that are more expensive than his rent used to be… Taehyung can’t think of anything more fantastic. Surrounded by pack mates who took him in and showed him love when he was starving for it, Taehyung feels infinitely lucky. When he wakes with Jimin curled around him and Jeongguk snoring beside him, he feels an immeasurable love swelling in his chest.

Jeongguk had been with the pack for several months, and in that time, he opened himself up to them, asking questions, spending more time with them. He seemed most comfortable with Jimin and Taehyung, soothed by their energy. After that night with Hoseok, Jeongguk came to Taehyung often, usually to snuggle and scent him, sometimes to tussle and scruff one another. Taehyung still tries to tamp down his exuberance toward Jeongguk, but he gets greedy, hungry for his affection. Jimin always calms Taehyung, reminding him that before them, Jeongguk lived a life of excess—pain, touching, attention—and he didn’t crave the things that Taehyung had wanted all his life.

But Jeongguk was coming around; he initiated cuddles, touching Taehyung hesitantly, kissing him with delicate brushes of his lips. Every action Jeongguk made was exploratory, cautious. Taehyung loves kissing Jeongguk: his little sighs, the way his body goes soft, how he leans into it and chases after more.

In the mornings, Jeongguk seems softest of all, pliant and craving Taehyung’s touch, eager for Jimin to join them. The weight of being awake and powering through the day hasn’t settled on him yet. He’s safe from worry and memory, and he gives himself freely to them.

This morning was no exception. Just as Taehyung stirred awake, the bed shifted, and Jeongguk leaned closer. In his sleep, Jeongguk smells muted and sweet, but when he wakes, it’s like flowers blooming toward the sun—all color and vibrance. When he kisses Taehyung good morning, it’s like sunbursts behind Taehyung’s eyelids.

“Morning,” Jeongguk murmurs. He noses along Taehyung’s jawline, kisses the spot behind his ear that always makes him squirm and laugh.

“Morning,” Taehyung hums. He hugs Jeongguk closer and nuzzles against him, inhaling his scent. “You smell really good,” he murmurs.

Jeongguk laughs and turns, catching him in a kiss. It’s slow and candied, all sugar and spit as he licks into Taehyung’s mouth. He shifts to move on top of Taehyung, his body warm where the sun poured through the windows. In all this time, Taehyung has learned to let Jeongguk guide the actions, to explore what feels best to him. He’s still bashful around Taehyung’s endless enthusiasm for him, but when it comes to his body, Jeongguk is less shy as he feels out what makes him light up.

“S’heat,” Jimin mumbles, lifting his head from the pillow. His hair sticks up in every angle, his face puffy from the late night ramyun the three of them inhaled before bed.

“Hm?” Taehyung tries to pull away, but Jeongguk huffs and holds his chin firmly, now kissing him with hurried gasps. Taehyung groans when Jeongguk tugs at his bottom lip, teeth dragging across the plush pink swell of his lip.

“His heat,” Jimin says louder. He clears his throat and sits up, scrubbing at his face. “He’s going into heat soon. Can’t you tell?”

Jeongguk whimpers and sits up, his hands squeezing Taehyung’s chest. “How do you know and I don’t?”

“You’re still learning,” Jimin says, patting Jeongguk’s thigh. “I can smell it on you, and mine is coming early because of you.”

“Lucky me,” Taehyung jokes, squeezing Jeongguk’s waist. “Two omegas in heat here alone with me in my nest? Has a beta ever been so lucky?”

“Hush,” Jimin scolds him, though there’s no heat to his voice. He leans in and kisses Taehyung. It still makes his heart flutter, still takes him back to that first day when they kissed under lamplight, tasting like wine and possibilities. “We may need to get Seokjin involved, babe.”

Frowning, Jeongguk flops against Taehyung’s chest. “I don’t want him.”

Jimin leans over, petting Jeongguk’s hair. “I know, baby, but it might be time to let hyung help. He’s pack leader.”

“So?”

“So,” Taehyung says gently, smoothing his hands along Jeongguk’s back, “it’s a good way to bond with our leader, to really solidify your place in the pack.”

“I already feel like part of the pack,” Jeongguk answers. He chews his bottom lip and pushes himself upright, looking down at Taehyung and Jimin. “I still feel weird around him. I can’t explain it.”

“You don’t have to force it,” Jimin says gently. “I just think you’d feel better if you spent more time with him. You don’t have to be scared of him.”

“I’m not scared,” he snaps.

“Okay, okay,” Jimin says, holding up his hands in apology. “You just don’t need to tiptoe around him, you know? This is your home now.”

“Just let me do it my own way,” Jeongguk mumbles, twisting the fabric of Taehyung’s shirt around his fingers.

“Okay,” Taehyung says softly. “Your own way. And what do you want now?”

“C’mon, hyung,” Jeongguk whines. “You know.”

Taehyung grins, wiggling his eyebrows. “You want to make me into a beta sandwich with Jimin?”

“Ew,” Jimin groans. “He’s all yours, Jeongguk.” Jimin throws back the covers and slides out of bed, reaching overhead with a loud groan.

“Oh, come on,” Taehyung says. “Don’t deny the pup because I’m a—”

“—tasteless slu*t?” Jimin interrupts. He grins and leans forward, smushing Taehyung’s cheeks before kissing him on the mouth. “You taste like him,” he says, thumbing his lips. “Have fun, you two.”

Laughing, Jeongguk reaches for Jimin. “Before you leave me here with the tasteless slu*t.”

“You’re both mean,” Taehyung sighs, throwing his arm over his eyes. “Will happily take my dick but…” he mutters to himself but loses track of what he’s saying as he watches Jimin and Jeongguk kiss. It’s mesmerizing watching anyone kiss Jimin; he’s energetic and effusive, lips swollen and rosy, eyebrows moving up and down in involuntary flutters. But watching Jeongguk kiss Jimin is filthy and magical and distracting.

“You sure you don’t wanna stay?” Jeongguk whispers.

“Later, yeah? Trust me, when our heats hit, we’re gonna see a lot of each other,” Jimin says. “Have fun.”

Nodding, Jeongguk turns back to Taehyung and kisses him. He tastes like Jimin, and it makes Taehyung’s blood sing. He sits up, hugging Jeongguk closer to his chest, maneuvering his legs until Jeongguk is wrapped around him. Taehyung reaches under Jeongguk’s shirt, clawing at his back, gasping when Jeongguk nips at his lips, mouth trailing all over his neck.

Since Jeongguk stopped using the suppressants and wearing the scent blockers, his scent is potent and unfiltered. It goes straight to Taehyung’s head, making him dizzy with want, delirious as he paws at Jeongguk. He yanks his shirt off and licks Jeongguk’s neck, chasing after his scent, wanting to taste it on his tongue.

“You’re so hot,” Taehyung murmurs, dragging his lips over Jeongguk’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” Jeongguk laughs, threading his fingers through Taehyung’s hair.

“No, I mean, you’re burning up.” Taehyung pulls back, looking wild eyed as he scans Jeongguk’s body. He presses the back of his hand to his forehead. “Yeah, really hot.”

“So?” He kisses Taehyung’s neck, sucking at the faint mating mark. Jeongguk still hasn't consented to formally mating with the pack, but he seems fascinated by their marks, always mouthing at them or tracing them with his fingers when they’re snuggled together. It’s a big step, and one the pack would never force Jeongguk to take before he’s ready.

“You sure you feel okay?” Taehyung combs his hand through Jeongguk’s hair. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t feel good.”

“Does this not feel good?” Jeongguk yanks Taehyung’s hand and presses it to the front of his shorts. He’s hard, the fabric of his boxers soaked through already. “I’m okay, hyung, I promise.”

Groaning, Taehyung digs the heel of his hand into Jeongguk’s co*ck. “Yeah, okay, okay,” he stammers. “Tell me what you need, pup.”

Pup. All the pack mates learned early on that Jeongguk likes the pet name. With the alphas, it makes him a little more docile, softer and less likely to snap around them. With Jimin, it melts him entirely, turning him into a wide-eyed lovesick puppy trailing after him. With Hoseok and Taehyung, it goes either way. Pup will turn him into a snuggle bug, eager to be wrapped around the betas, squeezed between them. Or it turns him a little needy, handsy as he pushes through his embarrassment to ask for what he wants.

“You,” he huffs, rocking his hips. Taehyung groans when their co*cks grind against each other. They’re both hard, and Taehyung can see Jeongguk is getting antsy, desperate for more.

“Let’s go, pup,” Taehyung grunts, flipping Jeongguk on his back. He yanks at his shorts, tugging them down in a swift motion. He pulls off his own shirt and underwear, tossing them to the other side of the bed. “Are you all wet for me? Gonna make a mess of my nest?”

Whining, Jeongguk spreads his legs, revealing the slick glistening between his thighs. He’s clearly in pre-heat, the slick pulsing out in steady dribbles, his thighs flushed pink all over. “Before the alphas come,” he huffs, reaching between his legs and rubbing the slick over his co*ck.

Taehyung sits back on his knees. “What do you mean? What’s wrong with the alphas?”

Jeongguk shakes his head. “Nothing. I just, I mean, the knotting hurts sometimes. I can’t always remember my heats. I get all foggy and weird, and if they come in here now, they’ll make my heat start sooner. I just wanna feel good for now.”

“Ah, Jeongguk-ah,” Taehyung sighs. He leans forward and kisses him slowly, tilting his chin to kiss him deeper until Jeongguk goes breathless. “If it hurts, you don’t have to do it.”

“I’m still not used to it yet,” he whispers. “I know it’s a necessary evil, and they really are so gentle… but I like this part, when everything feels extra good and I feel like I’m in control.”

Taehyung nods and leans in to kiss Jeongguk’s nose. Grinning, he says, “I get it. Tell me how to make this feel good for you then. Maybe I can teach the alphas something later.”

Jeongguk laughs and swats at him, pulling him closer. “C’mere.”

The rest is easy: Jeongguk opens so easily for Taehyung, his slick dripping down Taehyung’s fingers as he scissors them inside. Jeongguk writhes and arches off the bed, his hips swiveling to chase after the pressure of Taehyung’s fingers working deep inside him. He whimpers and gasps when Taehyung licks alongside his fingers, groaning and humming as he laps up the slick.

Taehyung could draw out the moment, have Jeongguk in tears the same way he makes Jimin beg and blubber. But his co*ck aches, and he wants to be closer to Jeongguk, wants to be buried in his tight, wet heat. He presses his co*ck in with ease, sighing as he bottoms out. Jeongguk’s hole takes him so easily, walls clenching around him.

For all the romantic sh*t Taehyung loves about having sex with his partners, he likes the filthy stuff too: the way Jeongguk’s hole stretches and swallows him as he pulls out and thrusts in with sharp snaps of his hips. The way his slick squeezes out of him with every thrust, making obscene wet squelching noises. The way Jeongguk’s eyes roll back in his head and his mouth hangs open, just waiting to be stuffed with wet fingers. The bed rocks with every thrust, the headboard creaking and thudding against the wall. The alphas will come in soon. It would be impossible not to smell them—all sex and sugar and wildflowers filling the room, Jeongguk’s mewls like impossible-to-ignore sirens.

Taehyung presses Jeongguk’s thighs further apart, admiring the way his co*ck glistens with every thrust, the slick splattering all over the sheets. “Can I come in you?” he asks, voice breathless.

“Y-yeah,” Jeongguk stammers. He thumbs at the tip of his co*ck, spreads the wetness all over his length. He’s gone all jelly-limbed and wild-eyed, barely focused enough to stroke himself with much intention.

Taehyung unfolds Jeongguk’s legs and grabs him by the ankles, hooking them over his shoulders. Jeongguk cries out at the new position, fingernails digging into Taehyung’s thighs as he f*cks him with ruthless strokes. Tears glisten at the corners of his eyes, and he squeezes them shut as he groans Taehyung’s name.

“f*ck, I’m gonna—” Taehyung grunts and feels his body seize, his co*ck twitching as he fills Jeongguk’s hole. Still hard, he thrusts slower, watching as his co*ck slides out, covered in glossy slick and milky cum as he f*cks it back into him. “Look at you, just made for this.” He reaches for Jeongguk’s co*ck, stroking him until he whimpers and spills over into Taehyung’s hand.

“Hyung,” he groans, moving to slow Taehyung’s motions. “I don’t like that, remember?” The tears in his eyes look different now, his mouth turned down in disappointment.

“Jeongguk-ah,” Taehyung sighs. “I’m sorry, pup. I got carried away. You feel so good, and I feel so good with you. I can’t help myself.” He leans in and kisses Jeongguk’s cheek, tasting the salt of his tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he murmurs, kissing his face all over.

Jeongguk groans and pushes at Taehyung, trying desperately to get out from under him. “You took me right back to that place,” he says quietly, turning away from Taehyung. “Like that’s all I’m good for.”

Taehyung crawls across the bed and kneels behind Jeongguk, unsure if he should try and touch him again. The scars along Jeongguk’s back are starting to fade, the fresh air and sunlight healing him over time. Sometimes it’s easy for Taehyung to forget where Jeongguk came from. He melded so seamlessly into their pack, even if he was reluctant and slow to accept their affection. When Taehyung looks at Jeongguk, he doesn’t see a victim carrying the weight of the past with him. He sees someone strong and vulnerable, with untapped joy waiting to be shared.

He doesn’t say that.

“That’s not true,” Taehyung says softly. He touches Jeongguk’s shoulder, but he flinches away. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I got caught up in the moment. All this pre-heat stuff and you’re smelling so good and Jimin being so close…” They’re all excuses, and he can tell by the way Jeongguk deflates that he hears them as excuses too.

“You don’t know what it was like.” Jeongguk’s voice is weak, watery with unshed tears. He inhales shakily. “The way they treated me there. Like I wasn’t even a person. Like I was just.. just born to be someone’s plaything. Some piece of trash they could f*ck and ruin and throw away when they were bored with me.”

“Jeongguk.” Taehyung frowns. He has no idea what to say, no clue what would make a proper apology. It was careless—words babbled in the heat of the moment when he was overwhelmed with his care for Jeongguk, scent-drunk and greedy for the way he felt when they were together. All the progress Jeongguk had made in the past few months seemed to vanish instantly—all because of Taehyung's mindless chatter. “I’m sorry.” He swallows and pushes himself off the bed. “I can go get Jimin.”

“No,” Jeongguk answers quickly. “He’ll worry too much. I don’t like it when he worries about me. Makes my heart hurt.”

Taehyung felt like his chest was caving in. “Oh, pup, you know it’s because he cares about you. We all do.”

“I think,” Jeongguk pauses and sniffles loudly, “I think I’m finally ready to talk to Seokjin-hyung.”

“Really?” Taehyung didn’t mean to sound so excited, but Jeongguk’s firm request startles him. “Right now?”

Warily, Jeongguk glances over his shoulder. His eyes are red-rimmed, fresh tracks of tears down his cheeks. He swipes at them angrily and nods. “Yeah. I wanna talk to him. Alone.”

Chapter 8: Jeongguk

Chapter Text

Jeongguk. Now.

Jeongguk still finds it a little bewildering that the others can sense his heat or read his moods better than he can. It’s strange to think the body he inhabits has never really belonged to him. Whatever ownership he has of it now, he still feels like a stranger inside his own body. The others are quick to help him—easily detecting spikes in his moods or his heat approaching. He wishes he could know himself that well. Years of captivity have stripped him from a sort of self-awareness he didn’t know he lacked until he met the others in the pack.

He looks to Jimin as his guide. Jimin is always discreet, pulling Jeongguk aside to point out one of the alpha’s entering pre-rut or to warn him against the betas’ own cycles. Jimin never does it to shame Jeongguk but to prepare him. Having never been around alphas going through natural cycles, Jeongguk didn’t know what to expect. Years being passed from household to household took away any semblance of normalcy, any understanding of body cycles and seasons. He expected the alphas to turn wolfish and mean, but they were the opposite. Namjoon turned impossibly soft, nuzzling and herding Jimin and the betas until they had to laugh and fight him off, pointing him to the gym to work off some of his nervous energy. Yoongi withdrew, getting a little cross with everyone, finally sequestering himself away only to emerge days later with bright eyes and clear skin, the look of relief obvious on his face. As for Seokjin, Jeongguk still has no idea what his ruts are like. He’s kept his distance from the new omega for months, always announcing his entrance into a room, sitting far from Jeongguk and observing at a distance.

Deep down, Jeongguk knows Taehyung and Jimin are right about Seokjin. He’s the last piece to really connect to the pack, but the thought of spending time alone with him has always made Jeongguk’s skin prickle and his breath grow sharp and rapid. He has no reason to think he’d ever be in danger with Seokjin, but something deeper than memory makes his heart race whenever he imagines time spent alone with him.

Taehyung’s words earlier that morning struck Jeongguk deep in some dark place, unlocking what he thought he had hidden away by now. He didn’t mean anything by it, Jeongguk is sure of it, but the words, the possessiveness, the inhumanity of them made his fight-or-flight awaken in a way that made lightning ricochet through his veins. The scars along his back and shoulders were fading, but there was more to uncover and heal, and maybe Jeongguk had been foolish to think any of it might go away.

Taehyung looked like a heartbroken puppy when Jeongguk sent him out of his room. He felt a tug in his gut that longed to reach for the beta, to pull him closer for protection, but that same protective instinct also wanted him far away from him. Maybe a pack would never work for me, Jeongguk thinks. Not after years of abuse and neglect and example after example of groups of people breaking him down and disappointing him over and over.

Jeongguk sits on the bed staring out the wide open window. He remembers months ago when he stared at it, utterly shocked to see no bars or screens, just free-flowing air and a clear way out just staring back at him. He remembers how the others took him in so easily: no questions, no interrogations. They offered him nothing but a warm bed and safe space. If he wanted to leave, he could leave. They made that absolutely clear on his first day, and they continue to remind him that he’s free to go.

A knock at the door startles Jeongguk, and he turns, waiting for it to open. Seokjin peeks his head in carefully, glancing around the room. “You wanted to see me?”

Jeongguk nods and turns back to the window. Maybe they should’ve met somewhere else, away from the safety of his bedroom, somewhere he could run if he couldn’t handle being so close to the alpha. “Yeah, I mean, yes. Please.”

The door closes with a soft click and Seokjin leans against it. Jeongguk can smell the hesitation on him—thick and cloying, uncertain. “What’s on your mind? If it’s about Taehyung, I already spoke to him. He’s really sorry—”

“—it’s not him,” Jeongguk interrupts. “I mean, I guess it was him a little bit but he made me remember something.”

“Ah.” Seokjin stays by the door, waiting for Jeongguk to instruct him.

Jeongguk turns, shifting his weight on the bed. Trembling, he gestures at the corner of the bed for Seokjin. “You can sit if you want,” he says meekly.

“Okay.” Seokjin perches on the far corner of the bed and looks at Jeongguk expectantly. “Your room is nice. Really suits you.”

Jeongguk blinks. “You’ve never been in here?”

Shrugging, Seokjin answers, “it’s not my room.”

Picking at the comforter, Jeongguk turns his attention to the stitching embroidered along the seams. “So I remembered something, and I wondered what else you could help me remember.” When Seokjin doesn’t answer, Jeongguk looks up, finding him looking ashen and distraught. “Why did you bring me here?”

“Do you want that answer or help remembering?” Seokjin asks.

“Aren’t they related?” Jeongguk counters.

“Maybe.” Seokjin frowns and folds his arms across his chest. It doesn’t look tough or defiant, more like a child protecting himself against a scolding. “Tell me about your memory first. Does this happen a lot? The remembering, I mean?”

“No,” Jeongguk answers quickly. “Not like this. It was so real, like it took me back so suddenly. It’s not like my usual memories. Those are all hazy and foggy, like when you try to remember a dream after waking up suddenly.”

Seokjin hums in understanding. “That must feel scary.”

“Hyung,” Jeongguk sighs, exasperated. “I need to know why I’m here. How I ended up here. Why I ended up here.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Seokjin says. “You’ve seen our pack. You know how we’ve come together. We just wanted you to be part of it.”

“But you didn’t chase down the others and pay for their freedom,” Jeongguk answers quickly. “You didn’t go searching for them.”

“Not intentionally, no,” he replies carefully, “but they all needed freedom from something. They just had different price tags.” Seokjin grimaces, rubbing his forehead. “That came out wrong. But they did all need freedom from their circ*mstances, and I was able to give that to them in my own way.”

“But why me? Why spend all that money? And I’ve been so terrible to you—”

“—not terrible,” Seokjin interrupts. “You’ve been through so much. I don’t want to push you.” He forces a weak smile. “Namjoon’s making me read some of his therapy books so I know how to be around you. I want you to know I’m fighting every impulse I have about bringing you into this pack so you can have your space.”

Jeongguk’s eyes widen. “Impulse?”

Seokjin’s cheeks warm, and the tips of his ears turn bright pink. “I like comforting my pack mates. Cuddling them, scenting them. Being together if that’s what they want. But Namjoon told me I might come on too strong, make you feel obligated to me.”

“So instead of doing what you want to do, you just lurk and watch me?” Jeongguk tries to crack a smile.

“I mean, I don’t mean to lurk, necessarily, but yeah,” Seokjin says softly. “There are a lot of expectations out in the world, and our pack doesn’t abide by many of those rules. I’m pack alpha, Jeongguk-ah, there are expectations for how I should be or how you should be with me. I don’t want that. You don’t owe me anything, you don’t have to earn your place in the pack by submitting to me.” Seokjin scrunches his nose and shakes his head. “Hate the very idea of it. I’d never ask one of my mates to debase themselves like that.”

“I can’t imagine Jimin submitting to anyone,” Jeongguk laughs.

Seokjin grins, nodding. “Right? Isn’t it just ludicrous? If anything, I bow down to him.”

Suddenly feeling shy, Jeongguk turns his attention back to the loose thread he plucked at. “I don’t want you to hold back if you don’t want to.”

“Ah, yeah but it’s not about what I want, is it? It’s about what you want and what’s best for you,” Seokjin says gently.

Jeongguk looks up, eyes wide. “And if they’re two different things?”

“Then we do what’s best for you,” Seokjin answers. “I’d never forgive myself for being so selfish, Jeongguk-ah. We’ll get there some day.”

“Will you help with my heat?”

Seokjin blinks, mouth dropping open. “Oh, pup, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Please? At least be there?” Jeongguk pleads. “It could be good for me, and I want you there, hyung.”

Seokjin smiles sadly and sighs, his shoulders drooping. “Let me consult Dr. Kim, alright? I think he might be more protective of you than I am.”

“More than Yoongi-hyung?” Jeongguk asks.

Laughing, Seokjin shakes his head and climbs off the bed. “Nah, no one is more protective than him. Except maybe Jimin.”

“Jimin said my heat is soon. You’ll think about it?” Jeongguk hates how pathetic he sounds, borderline begging for Seokjin to be with him. The fear he felt about talking to Seokjin alone has disappeared, replaced with something more hungry, a visceral need to be closer to him. “Please?”

“How about a compromise?” Seokjin offers. “I’ll be there, and we’ll figure it out bit by bit, yeah? I’m not sure the timing is right for us to do much else.”

“Timing?” Jeongguk groans. “Does that even matter when I’m in heat?”

Nodding, Seokjin answers solemnly, “It matters even more when you’re in heat, Jeongguk-ah.”

***

Jeongguk’s heat cycles have been erratic. Still shaking off the after-effects of years’ worth of suppressants, he doesn’t know when to expect them. Jimin is more regular, disappearing to his nest for a couple days each month, the other pack mates rotating in and out of his bedroom. Some months, the heats skip Jeongguk entirely. It’s a strange time to be in the house. The others are all on edge, buzzing with excitement, scents heavy with one another.

Jeongguk’s last heat was less hazy than his first one. He felt more comfortable asking for what he needed, turning to Hoseok and Taehyung first before summoning Namjoon. Jimin always told Jeongguk that one day he might look forward to his heats, that he might even find some pleasure in it.

By late afternoon, Jeongguk’s skin is on fire like he’s spent too much time by the pool. Even his blood feels hot—heavy and electric, raging through his veins.

There’s a new kind of urgency to Jeongguk’s heat now. He feels a clawing in his stomach that he doesn’t recognize, a need deep in his gut that feels impossible to quell. In his room, he feels a bit safer, cut off from the pack until he reaches a breaking point. His nostrils flare. He can smell Namjoon so clearly: sweaty and overheated from working out. He smells like he’s a breath away from Jeongguk instead of downstairs on the far side of the house.

Jeongguk has tried everything he can to distract himself from the itch spreading across his skin: push-ups, a long shower, thumbing through a book Yoongi left on his bedside table, drawing designs for future tattoos. He’s just about to start a series of squats when he hears a soft rap on the door. “Come in,” he huffs, pushing himself off the bed.

The door opens and Seokjin walks in with a shy smile. Holding up some water bottles, he says, “Brought you some water. You’ll probably need it.”

“And snacks.” Yoongi appears behind Seokjin with a handful of fruit and shimmering packages of protein bars.

“Hyung,” Jeongguk says fondly, “you came.”

Seokjin nods and sets the bottles on the nightstand. He fidgets, looking everywhere in the room except for Jeongguk. “You asked me to.”

“Hyung is nervous,” Yoongi teases, squeezing Seokjin’s arm.

“Stop!” Seokjin hisses, swatting at him. “You don’t have to tell him that.”

Jeongguk laughs and sniffs at Seokjin. “I mean, I can tell for myself, hyung.”

Embarrassed, Seokjin plucks at his shirt and inhales deeply. “I just showered,” he groans. “Is it bad?” He lifts his arm and leans closer to Yoongi, angling his armpit against his face.

“Gross,” Yoongi laughs, shoving him away. “You smell fine, hyung, only teasing.”

“Shouldn’t I be the nervous one?” Jeongguk asks. “About to go into heat with three alphas by my side?” He tries to play it cool, an edge of nerves in his voice, but he can’t hide his delight that Seokjin has joined him.

“You say that, but you’re grinning, pup,” Yoongi says. He steps closer to Jeongguk and links their fingers, leaning close for a kiss. “You smell good. Feel good. Are you comfortable?”

Nodding, Jeongguk feels a bit dazed already. For all the ways Yoongi anchors him, he always makes Jeongguk feel a little wobbly, too. The intensity of his gaze, the gentleness of his affection—it unmoors Jeongguk in the best way, makes him forget that such kindness used to be so foreign to him. “Real comfortable, hyung. Might even enjoy this heat.”

Laughing, Yoongi lifts on his toes to kiss Jeongguk square on the mouth with a soft huff. “Good. I’m told they can be fun.”

“You’ve enjoyed a rut once or twice, Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin teases. His cheeks are red, and his eyes are glassy, darting quickly from Yoongi to Jeongguk.

It’s Yoongi’s turn to blush. “Okay, alright,” he says, waving him off. “We’re here for Jeongguk-ah. Aren’t we, pup?” He turns back to Jeongguk with a gentle smile. “Namjoon’s gonna shower and he’ll be here soon.”

Something stirs low in Jeongguk’s belly, and he can’t bite back the whimper in the back of his throat. “Does he have to?”

“Oh?” Yoongi lifts an eyebrow and smirks, amused to see Jeongguk so flustered. “Dirty pup. You like a big smelly alpha, huh?”

“Hyung,” Jeongguk whines, swinging their still-linked hands. “Don’t make fun.”

“Lemme go grab him and see if I can get him before he washes off,” Yoongi says. He squeezes Jeongguk’s hand and gives him a soft, knowing smile. “I kinda like how he smells after a workout, too.”

Jeongguk smiles, feeling a bit relieved at Yoongi’s admission. “Thank you, hyung.”

“Be right back, you two.” Yoongi pauses to kiss Seokjin on the way out before closing the door behind him.

“You smell good too,” Jeongguk says quickly. “I mean, it’s not just Namjoon-hyung.”

Seokjin scoffs and waves him off. “No need to placate me, pup.”

“It’s true!” Jeongguk steps closer but hesitates, unsure how to really move around Seokjin. They’ve both been in such a careful orbit of one another, never quite crossing paths. There’s still a nervousness between them. It’s clear Seokjin doesn’t really know how to act around Jeongguk either. “I’m glad you came,” he murmurs, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“It’s what you wanted,” Seokjin answers.

Jeongguk fights the urge to stamp his foot. “Yeah, but is it what you want?”

“Yah,” Seokjin sighs, rubbing his neck. “Don’t worry about me. I just want to help you with your heat.”

That’s not the answer Jeongguk wants to hear. “But it’s more than that, right? You want to be with me? Like this?”

Seokjin’s shoulders droop. “Of course,” he says gently. “I want you in all the ways.”

Jeongguk opens his mouth to speak, but he doesn’t know what to say. Seokjin is looking at him with those eyes, with that look on his face, a sort of softness that belies his alpha status. The tenderness in his expression is so new to Jeongguk—a look he thought was only reserved for the other pack mates. Jeongguk has seen that look on his face when he kisses Jimin good morning or slides another piece of cake toward Taehyung. It’s always evident on his face when Namjoon shuffles into the room, book in hand and shoulders weary. Every time he looks at Yoongi, he has the same softness of expression: eyebrows lifted slightly, lips pursed partway, halfway to kissing him. Hoseok brings it out of him too—a gentle teasing, a laugh, and Seokjin’s face softens immediately.

And now, Seokjin is looking at Jeongguk like that, and it feels like the greatest gift.

“Hyung, I want to kiss you,” Jeongguk whispers. “Please.”

“Go on then,” Seokjin says, trying hard to sound light-hearted but barely concealing his own desire. “Give hyung a kiss.”

Jeongguk feels like he’s moving through a dream: slow and syrupy, a shifting of the light across the floor. His hands find their place on Seokjin’s hips with ease. Licking his lips, Jeongguk studies Seokjin’s face for a moment, taking in the curve of his mouth, the sharp angles of his eyebrows, the soft sweep of hair across his forehead. Before he loses his nerve, he closes his eyes tightly and presses his lips to Seokjin’s.

The kiss feels good. Good and right and soft and gentle—everything the pack has given him so far, and it’s so perfectly encapsulated in a kiss with Seokjin. There’s no hunger to it, no heat, no greediness. Just the soft press of their lips, a shared breath between them, Jeongguk’s hands clutching at Seokjin’s shirt, Seokjin’s own hands pulling Jeongguk closer.

Aside from the tense limo ride to the house almost a year ago, Jeongguk hasn’t been this close to Seokjin. Rarely did he catch Seokjin’s scent in the house, save for smelling him on the others—dreamy and heavily-scented after time alone with the pack alpha. Even then, the notes were muddled, a blend of Jimin rich and potent, overpowering Seokjin’s scent. On Namjoon, Seokjin is nearly undetectable; on the betas, entirely invisible. Yoongi just smells like Yoongi: clean like cream and fresh soap all the time, no scent clinging to him even after long cuddle sessions.

Up close, Seokjin smells delicious—a scent Jeongguk could never pinpoint if asked directly. It makes his mouth water, makes kissing Seokjin feel a lot like licking an ice cream cone on a hot summer day: sweet, dripping with sugar, a greedy tongue chasing after more. Jeongguk feels that hunger like an invisible force, drawing them closer like two powerful magnets—breath caught in his throat as he presses his lips hard against Seokjin, licking deep into his mouth, laughing a bit when they stumble backwards toward the bed. He isn’t sure if it’s his heat taking over, some insatiable, unquenchable biological need making his hands move for Seokjin’s shirt. Or maybe it’s the relief that the pack alpha wants him too. The very thought makes him whimper against Seokjin’s lips.

“Hey, hey,” Seokjin gasps, cupping Jeongguk’s face with firm, cool hands. His bee-sting lips are enough to make Jeongguk want to fall to his knees, present himself to be bred and knotted and claimed by him. “You’re shaking,” he says, smoothing his thumbs along Jeongguk’s jaw. “Let’s slow down a bit. We don’t have to rush anything.” He swallows and smiles nervously.

Jeongguk nods. The lift of Seokjin’s eyebrows and tremble in his voice unnerves him. You don’t want me, he doesn’t say. “I did something wrong,” he mumbles, twisting the hem of Seokjin’s shirt around his fingers. He tugs at the fabric until it cuts off the circulation in his fingers, the color draining from his skin.

“No,” Seokjin says firmly. “You did nothing wrong. You are so good, Jeongguk-ah, so precious.” He sighs and flicks at his earlobe—an action Jeongguk has seen Yoongi do countless times. It only makes him feel lonelier, far removed from the familiar intimacy of the others in the pack.

“Then why…” Jeongguk feels like a child questioning him, and it makes him angry. The denial hurts—down in his bones, reaching into the wildest parts of him, the tiniest bits of biology that are still stamped on the tiniest cells of his very being. The head alpha of a pack rejected him. The stink of disappointment clogs the air almost immediately. His ears feel filled with cotton, the noises of the room and sounds of Seokjin’s voice going muffled with static.

“You guys good?” Namjoon’s voice cuts through the din, and Jeongguk snaps out of his fog, turning to him with outstretched arms.

“Hyung,” he whimpers, wrapping his arms around Namjoon’s waist, nose pressed to his stomach.

Namjoon combs his fingers through Jeongguk’s hair, his other hand squeezing his shoulder gently. “What happened here?” he asks, glancing up at Seokjin.

Seokjin sighs, and Jeongguk can only imagine how he looks: exasperated, revolted, uninterested. “I just wanted us to slow down a bit. We were getting a little carried away.”

“That so?” Namjoon murmurs, tucking Jeongguk’s hair behind his ear. “Heat got you feeling a little needy, pup?”

Jeongguk sniffles and shakes his head against Namjoon’s stomach. He feels like a child—helpless and desperate and pitiful, sniffling and snotting all over the alpha’s shirt. “Dunno,” he mumbles. He’s not exactly sure what happened, but he can feel his heat clouding his mind in a way that always makes him feel a little unsettled.

Namjoon unclasps Jeongguk’s hands from around his waist and crouches in front of him with a knowing smile. “Can I help take your mind off him? Make you feel a little better?” He glances at Seokjin and gives him a look—another one of those intimate asides that always makes Jeongguk feel like an intruder. “Hyung, you can take a breather right? Get your mind right before you help?”

Nodding, Seokjin climbs off the bed and makes his way toward the door. “I’ll come back.”

“No!” Jeongguk snaps, shaking his head wildly. “You said you’d stay.”

“You sure?” Seokjin asks, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk says, “I mean, unless you don’t want to be with me.”

Seokjin sighs, his shoulders dropping. “Pup, you know that isn’t it. I just don’t know what to do. Never feel like I’m doing anything right with you.”

“You should stay,” Namjoon says gently. “It’ll keep Jeongguk calm. Yoongi-hyung will be here, too. He can mediate.” He turns back to Jeongguk and squeezes his thighs, his thumbs kneading softly into his muscle. “That okay with you? Seokjin-hyung can watch and join us when he’s feeling better and you’re more comfortable?”

Nodding, Jeongguk looks over to Seokjin. He hardly seems like the person who kissed him moments ago: ravenous and breathless, fingers pressed so hard onto Jeongguk’s hips, he wonders if they might be bruised. Now, he looks small and defeated, cheeks painted with embarrassment. “Okay.”

Seokjin nods. “Okay.” He chews his bottom lip and gestures awkwardly at the oversized plush chair near the foot of the bed. Jimin had helped Jeongguk pick it out, enlisting Hoseok to drive them to the boutique to buy it, neither of them blinking when the cashier read out the astronomical amount and swiping Seokjin’s black card. At the time, it felt extravagant and unnecessary—maybe even a misguided attempt at courting Jeongguk—but now he’s delighted to see Seokjin sitting in it. The thought of his scent lingering on the chair later makes Jeongguk’s belly ache.

When Namjoon stands, he towers over Jeongguk for a moment. He looks down at him with a wide smile, his fingers reaching to cup Jeongguk’s chin. His thumb glides along Jeongguk’s bottom lip, and he lets out a surprised laugh when Jeongguk nips at it. “You feeling okay? Can hyung help you with your heat?”

Nodding, Jeongguk looks up at Namjoon through the thick fringe across his eyes. He opens his mouth and takes Namjoon’s thumb between his lips, giving it a soft suck, watching for the alpha’s reaction. His chest hitches on a sharp inhale, and Jeongguk grins, delighted to see the rosy color springing to Namjoon’s cheeks. As promised, Namjoon is fresh from the gym, ripe with sweat and salt, and Jeongguk can taste it on his thumb, wants more of that taste. He reaches for the waistband of Namjoon’s shorts and gives them a tug until they fall off his hips.

Namjoon groans—low and deep—and his scent spikes, flooding Jeongguk’s nostrils with the heady scent of pine and cloves. Unshowered, he smells even more delectable. He’s not muddled or masked by body wash and deodorant, and his natural scent makes Jeongguk whimper involuntarily. It’s a pretty, throaty sound that Jeongguk can’t seem to summon on his own, but the way it makes Namjoon’s pupils dilate and his mouth go slack pleases his omega. “Y’don’t have to,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers through Jeongguk’s hair.

“Want to,” he answers, giving Namjoon’s co*ck a long, slow stroke. Jeongguk can feel the fogginess of his heat unfurling, can feel the way it makes his vision go soft and his mind empty. It’s a different feeling than the cloudiness of the suppressants he was force-fed. It’s a willing submission, a giving in to a genetic code written long before Jeongguk and anyone around him existed. Things feel different because he has a choice, and he chooses to lean forward, taking the crown of Namjoon’s co*ck between his lips.

Namjoon groans again, this time louder and shameless, and Seokjin responds with his own loud sigh. In the background, Jeongguk can sense a shuffling; he imagines Yoongi walking in, finding Jeongguk with his lips slick and swollen as he sucks Namjoon off with slow, deliberate strokes.

In the few heats that Jeongguk has experienced, Namjoon has learned to keep the talking to a minimum. Other than some kind words of praise and gentle check-ins, he doesn’t try to talk dirty or goad Jeongguk. He likes that about Namjoon—how easily he can read Jeongguk’s body language, how he seems to understand every flicker in his eye or goosebump rippling across his skin. His imposing size overshadows the colossal heart Namjoon has, and sometimes, Jeongguk feels like it’s a secret between them. An unspoken understanding, a tenderness between them amidst the hormones and cycles.

Namjoon doesn’t let Jeongguk stay on his knees for long, smiling sweetly when Jeongguk whines. “On the bed, pup. Let hyung take care of you now.”

Jeongguk obeys and crawls onto the bed, wriggling out of his clothes until he’s naked and splayed out among the pillows. He glances toward the foot of the bed, looking for Seokjin, and he’s relieved to find him there—watching, palm pressed to his crotch in restraint, lips wet and parted. Yoongi perches on the arm of the chair, fingers absentmindedly combing through Seokjin’s hair, eyes focused on Jeongguk. His gaze is soft, but protective, his cheeks pink from watching them. “You’re here,” Jeongguk exhales, though he doesn’t know to whom he’s speaking.

“And you,” Namjoon hums, smoothing his hands along Jeongguk’s legs, “you’re here too. You look good. Smell good. Feel good?” His fingers knead gently into Jeongguk’s muscles, pressing into the curve of his calves, thumbs massaging into his thighs as Namjoon’s hands move up, up, up, in slow, deliberate motions. It’s calming to be touched so deliberately, so carefully, and Jeongguk preens at the attention.

“My best heat yet,” Jeongguk jokes, arching off the bed. He groans when Namjoon’s hands press into the soft swell of fat along his hips, fingers ghosting over his own co*ck. He struggles to open his eyes and follow Namjoon’s movements. The ministrations are soothing, his muscles relaxing the more Namjoon touches him.

The slick is overwhelming, dripping out of him like fingers uncurling against his skin. As he’s grown more accustomed to his heats and his body, Jeongguk is less embarrassed by it. No longer considered filthy or shameful, he takes it as a sign of his body healing, resuming the cycles it was intended to follow. He still doesn’t quite know when it will hit. The surprise surges still catch him off guard, but watching the others in the pack light up with excitement over his slick makes him feel a little less self-conscious.

When Namjoon spreads Jeongguk’s legs wide and gives a pleased hum before licking at his hole, all embarrassment leaves him entirely. Bodies are made to feel good, Jeongguk-ah, Namjoon had told him before. There’s more to the body than biology. Had anyone else said it to him, he might have thought it was some cheap line to get him in bed, but Namjoon meant it, his eyes serious and voice earnest. He was intent on showing Jeongguk the pleasure and safety that could come from allowing himself to feel good, to chase after release if that’s what he wanted.

Namjoon’s fingers are nimble, plunging in quickly, eased by the slide of slick pulsing out of Jeongguk’s hole. Jeongguk mewls and rocks his hips down, grinding against Namjoon’s hand, chasing after the quick electricity of his fingers against his prostate. Although gentle, Namjoon is teasing, always moving to slow Jeongguk down to feel each sensation deeper.

Jeongguk’s heartbeat throbs loudly in his ears, the blood rushing to his head as Namjoon works him open. Everything feels magnified: Namjoon’s fingers hot and thick inside him, Yoongi’s labored breathing from the other side of the room, Seokjin’s scent permeating the air, mingling with Namjoon’s and Yoongi’s. Jeongguk’s tongue feels heavy and his eyes roll back in his head, toes curling so hard, his calves begin to cramp. The pressure builds in his stomach—heavy and boiling over—and he cries out with a loud gasp, his co*ck spurting all over his stomach in erratic streaks. “Hyung,” he gasps, reaching to slow Namjoon’s hand. “Hyung, your knot,” he whimpers.

The first org*sm of your heat has nothing to do with relief, Jimin told him. If anything, it makes everything more intense, makes you greedy. Jeongguk understands it now. His co*ck aches, still hard and pooling against his stomach as Namjoon f*cks his fingers into his hole with loud squelches of slick.

“Flip,” Namjoon grunts, voice turning low and bossy in a way that makes Jeongguk shiver with excitement. His hands grip Jeongguk’s hips and help him turn over, pulling his ass up into the air. He resumes his licking—this time with slow, torturous laps of his tongue, tracing along his puckered hole and down along his dripping balls. Everything is so wet, and it makes Jeongguk groan and rut back against Namjoon’s face.

“Please, hyung, knot,” Jeongguk whines. His eyes are clenched shut, and he fists at the sheets, clutching them desperately as Namjoon teases him even more. Greedy. Jimin’s voice echoes in Jeongguk’s mind. He does feel greedy—desperate and whiny and ready to crawl out of his skin if he doesn’t get filled with a knot.

Namjoon hums and slows his movements, drawing his fingers out with an elongated pop. He smears slick all over Jeongguk’s ass cheeks, thumbs splitting him open until he’s gaping and his hole flutters, aching to be filled. “Dunno if you’re ready for a knot,” he says gently. It’s too gentle, achingly sweet when everything he’s done up until this point has been filthy and excruciating.

“Namjoon-ah,” Yoongi tuts. “Don’t make the pup cry.” There’s an edge to his voice that makes Jeongguk shiver—a note of amusem*nt, even.

“Won’t cry,” Jeongguk mumbles. It’s a lie. The tears are already stinging the corners of his eyes. Frustration and excitement make him tremble all over, eager to please the alphas, eager to see how far Namjoon can push him before he breaks.

“Not even if I do this?” Namjoon teases, crooking his fingers and suddenly pressing deeper.

Jeongguk f*cking howls at the sensation—head thrown back, tears trailing down his cheeks, loud sobs pouring out of him. It feels so overwhelmingly good, like scratching an itch that’s been impossible to reach until now. All human thought abandons him. His head is heavy, brain buzzing with bees, and his skin feels like electricity all over. The tears feel good—freeing in the way they stream down his face, his chest heaving with each loud sob. “Hyung, hyung,” he gasps, dropping his head, “it feels s’good, s’good, hyung.”

A new sensation rips through him: Namjoon pressing his co*ck into his hole in a swift motion. All at once, he feels full and stretched and satisfied. Namjoon plants one knee and keeps his other foot planted so he can angle himself and drive into Jeongguk with a steady pace. His fingers grip Jeongguk’s hips firmly, fingernails catching on his skin as he holds the omega steady to drive into him. Jeongguk’s co*ck hangs heavy between his legs, thumping against his belly as Namjoon rocks into him.

The air between them is heavy, thick with their scents, and Jeongguk’s head feels floaty—like the way he feels when he drinks wine with Hoseok and Taehyung. Giggles pour out of Jeongguk suddenly. He feels delirious from all the sensations: skin white-hot where Namjoon clings to him, his co*ck twitching with every thrust from the alpha, their scents making him feel drunk and dreamy. He forces himself to open his eyes, to steady his vision and try to find Seokjin in the room.

“Hyung!” Jeongguk beams when he finds Seokjin. He’s holding Yoongi in his lap, arms clasped around his belly, lips red and raw from biting them. “Hyung, please, feels s’good, I want you.” He reaches out an arm but loses his balance, falling face first among the pillows and rumpled comforter. This feels even better: face-down among the blankets, Namjoon f*cking him with no signs of stopping, slick squelching out of him every time Namjoon draws back only to drive back in.

In the background, Jeongguk can hear Yoongi and Seokjin whispering. Their voices are low, impossible to decipher what they’re saying. They shuffle and move, and Jeongguk can sense Seokjin coming closer. He pries his eyes open to find Seokjin crouching at the bedside, a sad smile on his face.

“Hyung, what’s wrong?” Jeongguk asks, each word puffing out of him with every one of Namjoon’s thrusts. He reaches back blindly to tap Namjoon’s thigh until he slows to a halt. Propping himself up on his elbows, Jeongguk frowns, tilting his head to better take in Seokjin’s face. Hair clings to his forehead with sweat, and Seokjin gently reaches to brush it out of his eyes.

“I can’t help you, Jeongguk-ah, not right now.” His voice is calm, careful like he’s fighting off tears.

“You don’t want me?” The tears are swift, springing to Jeongguk’s eyes suddenly.

Seokjin shakes his head and wipes at his own eyes. “The exact opposite.” His eyebrows pinch together and he grimaces, turning back to Yoongi for guidance. “I want to help you, but I can’t. Not right now.”

Jeongguk crawls closer, reaching for Seokjin. “Please, hyung, I’ll be so good. I’m ready for you. Want to be good for you, alpha.” His chin trembles, and he hates himself for how easily he crumbles in front of Seokjin. “Please.”

“I can’t,” Seokjin murmurs. He reaches for Jeongguk, thumb wiping away the tears dripping off Jeongguk’s jaw. “It isn’t right.”

It isn’t right.

Suddenly, Jeongguk remembers that voice: breathy, barely contained, lips warm and dry against his ear. The memory is hazy—broken pieces scattered in his mind, an unclear connection between them. He remembers tears in a young alpha’s eyes, how his hands trembled when they touched Jeongguk. He remembers how unsteady he was, how the young alpha seemed uncomfortable in his suit, even more uncomfortable in his own skin. His newly presented scent was still muddy and sour, not fully developed, but sharp enough to stink up the tiny room.

It isn’t right.

Jeongguk remembers red strobing lights, music so loud it made his teeth rattle, a headache blooming behind his eyes. He remembers the taste of bitter pills on his tongue, how he guzzled anything handed to him to try and chase away the aftertaste. He remembers feeling heavy and dumb, spouting off the inane lines he learned from his keepers, how his own hands were shaking as they tried to undo the knot of the alpha’s tie.

He remembers how the alpha looked too young to be there—no wisps of grey hair, no haggard lines on his face, only bright, sad eyes and unblemished skin. Soft hands that weren’t marred with scars and blisters from a day of manual labor. He remembers how softly the alpha spoke, his voice getting lost in the heavy bass of the music, how the sound-proof walls seemed to absorb every syllable between them. But what he could hear: It isn’t right.

Hands squeezing his hips, guiding him off and away. Hands patting his cheek, an apologetic smile. A promise—something foolish and impossible, swallowed by the thrumming music and drugs swirling in Jeongguk’s head. It isn’t right.

Jeongguk’s eyes widen. “It’s you.”

***

Jeongguk. Before.

It was a good day. Unusually good. Some visitors came to speak with the foster home that housed Jeongguk, and he thought maybe it was his turn to leave with a new family. He’d watched the other kids come and go—even the mean ones who never brushed their teeth. He was certain these visitors were here for him. They smiled at him and ruffled his hair, handing over a large gift basket overflowing with tins of cookies and candy, wax-covered fruits, and powdery baked goods. They didn’t swat his hand or scold him when he reached for a glistening red apple from the crinkled, shimmering paper.

Jeongguk lingered in the hallway, straining to hear what the visitors were talking about. The other children didn’t eavesdrop with him. For some strange reason, they hid themselves away—rare behavior for a gaggle of children aching to find new homes. Jeongguk plucked a handful of grapes from the basket and ate them slowly, savoring the burst of sugar on his tongue. Rarely did he get to indulge in such a treat.

The home wasn’t terrible. He’d seen worse in the twelve years he’d been on earth. They kept the children warm, fed them, gave them chores and responsibility and gave them small tokens to use on things like Pocky or sickly sweet almonds to enjoy during the occasional movie night. He wouldn’t be able to stay much longer; he was smart enough to know that few families wanted a boy his age. He was already becoming too tall, outgrowing the hand-me-downs in the communal closet. The staff murmured and worried about him presenting soon, but he didn’t think much of it. They were still kind to him, and he stayed out of trouble.

So maybe, just maybe, he thought these visitors might finally be his ticket out of the home. It was easy to imagine a life outside the group home. Jeongguk imagined a bed of his own—one with a new mattress and fresh sheets without moth holes and patches. He imagined standing in front of a closet of new clothing, fingers tracing over the tags dangling off the sleeves. If he was good enough, he might even be allowed to go to school, read books, paint with watercolors. Unlike the other children at the home, he didn’t wish for noisy video games or big televisions. He didn’t care if the house had other children, didn’t even care if they had a dog. He just wanted a home.

The visitors stayed in the office for a long time. Their voices were hushed behind the heavy wooden door. Jeongguk was growing impatient. He grabbed the gift basket and darted out the back door, racing across the prickly grass in the backyard. The sun was high, and the shadows from the trees were long, crisscrossing across the yard like a spiderweb. It was strange to be out here alone, especially in the new warmth of the spring. He thought the mild weather and basket of sweets might lure his housemates out of hiding, but no one came to play with him.

Jeongguk huddled under the largest tree and picked apart the gift basket. He set aside the gummy candies for his new bunkmate—a shy boy who rarely spoke. Everything else was his: candied ginger, powdery sweetened almonds, butter biscuits, a jar of cherries in heavy syrup. Even as he licked his fingers clean, he thought about how any scolding he received later would have been worth it.

The afternoon heat made him feel sluggish and nauseated, but he pushed himself to his feet and ran around the yard anyway, feeling antsy from all the sugar. The visitors had been there a long time. He expected he would have been called in by now to meet them. Most children were expected to hang around and smile, give a half-hearted tour of the home, bat their eyelashes and show off their best manners. He was grateful to have the alone time, even if the silence was a bit eerie.

He imagined maybe his new life would have a similar emptiness—not in a sad, lonely way—but in a way that wasn’t filled with crowded showers and noisy bedrooms with squeaking bunk beds and children who cried or talked in their sleep. Maybe he’d have a backyard all to himself, just a patch of grass where he could run and daydream and bask in the sunlight. Maybe he’d get used to the quiet. It was hard to imagine falling asleep to silence, but all the other children who’d left before him got on okay. Of course he’d figure it out too.

The grass felt good underfoot: warmed by the sun, finally dry after days of spring rain storms. Somewhere, he’d kicked off his shoes, though he didn’t care where they landed. He just enjoyed the chance to be free, to feel the sunlight on his skin, the sugar buzzing in his blood. Maybe, he thought, if they don’t take me today, I can run away. It was a fantasy he rarely allowed himself to indulge in. He was still a kid; he knew he’d have very little chance of surviving the world on his own. Worse, he knew if someone found him, he’d likely be dropped at a home far worse than his current one.

“Jeongguk!” The gruff voice of one of the staff members called out to him. He shielded his eyes and waved to Jeongguk from the porch.

Jeongguk ran across the yard as fast as he could. Surely if they saw how fast he was, they might want him. Maybe they could let him play sports. He could make them proud. Panting, he smiled and wiped his damp hair out of his eyes. “Yessir?”

“Pack your things,” he said, turning to the door.

It was much less fanfare than Jeongguk expected. Some of the cleaning women hovered in the doorway, encouraging Jeongguk to grab everything he could. The other kids never came out. The last time someone was adopted out, the children gathered to cry and chatter on about what their new life would be like. No one came out for Jeongguk. He filled his bag with the few things that belonged to him: a couple shirts, pairs of shorts, a pair of pants that were too short for him, some underwear, a deodorant stick, an old deck of cards, and his toothbrush. He hesitated when he reached the small table beside his bunk bed. He had an old, tattered paperback filled with fairy tales. An older girl left it for him when she was adopted. He wondered if he should leave it, but when the cleaning women weren’t watching, he tucked it into his bag.

Slowly, Jeongguk trudged down the stairs. It didn’t feel like the grand send-off he’d always imagined. Even the staff members looked sullen and upset, averting their eyes as Jeongguk looked to each of them for an explanation. “Where am I going?”

“You’ll be leaving with these nice people,” the lead house manager answered. She tried to force a smile, but the way her face crumpled made Jeongguk feel uneasy.

“Nice?” he parroted, turning to the visitors.

A woman with box-dyed inky black hair smiled at him with bright red lips. Smudges of lipstick stained her teeth. “You’ll be very comfortable with us.” Jeongguk thought she looked like a vampire from one of his housemate’s comics.

“Go on, don’t be rude, Jeongguk-ah,” another staff member said. They gestured for him to follow the woman and her companion.

“Our car has a TV in it,” the woman said cheerfully. “You’ll be very comfortable.”

The man beside her said nothing, staring ahead in his shiny reflective sunglasses. He looked like a vampire too, Jeongguk thought. Warily, Jeongguk turned back to the staff members. No one smiled at him, no one hugged him goodbye. He looked around the foyer of the house, hoping to find someone watching, waiting to run down to hug him. No one came.

Jeongguk nodded and fought back tears. “Okay.” He trudged behind the couple to their car—a sleek black sedan that made Jeongguk think of funerals.

When they reached the vehicle, the man yanked Jeongguk’s bag out of his hands and tossed it aside. “You’ll get a new one,” he barked when Jeongguk began to protest.

Jeongguk turned to run but the woman stopped him, pressing her hands to his lips until he opened them. A bitter taste spread on his tongue, and he tried to spit, but she kept her hand clamped over his mouth. “Swallow,” she said, that same strange smile on her face. He gagged and struggled until the pill went down his throat. He fought against her grip, but the man pushed him into the car with such force, it knocked the wind out of him. Jeongguk scrabbled to reach the other door, hoping to escape, but it was locked. There was no television in the car, just darkness—a black partition separated the front seat from the back. Before Jeongguk could even think of buckling his seat belt, his eyes began to feel heavy and he blinked until everything else around him went dark.

***

Time passed in strange succession after that. The first house was big, nearly empty and strangely quiet. Most rooms didn’t have furniture. If it weren’t for the meals left on the table for him each morning, he wouldn’t have believed anyone lived in the house. His thirteenth birthday passed without any acknowledgement. He’d nearly missed his fourteenth birthday because he was so lost in the strange blankness of days stretching in front of him. Most days, he was alone, wandering the enormous house, opening doors to find empty closets and bedrooms.

Sometimes the strange couple would talk to him, asking him weird questions about his body. Have you presented yet? Are you feeling feverish? Are you sweating? What’s that smell? They kept their distance from him, which he took as some small act of kindness. The woman with red lipstick sometimes looked at him with pity, but most times she stood there with the man looking at him like he was a mismatched piece of furniture that was entirely out of place.

By his fifteenth birthday, he was moved into another house. He was elated to learn he wasn't alone. An older girl, Yeona, was quick to introduce herself. “I’m new too,” she whispered. She was the first person Jeongguk had ever considered a friend. Two years passed in that house, and the one thing Jeongguk could be grateful for was having Yeona by his side.

The new house was loud and filthy. Children and flea-bitten dogs roamed the house with little supervision. Jeongguk hated it. Everything was dirty and noisy, and the adults running the home never seemed to pay any attention to the cries of the younger children. “I hate it here,” Jeongguk mumbled one day, picking off pieces of bread that weren’t speckled with green mold.

“I think we’re leaving soon,” Yeona said quietly. “Your birthday is soon, yeah?”

Jeongguk shrugged. He’d lost track of time. Birthdays didn’t matter if no one celebrated you, much less acknowledged you even existed. “What does that matter?”

“I’m turning eighteen tomorrow,” Yeona said. She flicked her bangs out of her eyes and forced a tight-lipped smile. “They won’t keep me here much longer. I heard them talking last night. They’ll send me away.”

They. Them. The children in the house didn’t even know the names of the people who adopted them. Claimed them? Kept them? Jeongguk wasn’t even sure what word to use for that, either.

He frowned. “I’ll only be seventeen.”

“I’ll ask if they’ll let you go with me,” Yeona said. It sounded so easy when she said it; she might finally leave this sh*thole and she’d take Jeongguk with her. “I promise.”

The next morning, when Yeona was pulled out of bed and sent away in a shiny black car without saying goodbye, Jeongguk understood that promises were impossible to keep.

***

Childhood is oblivion.

Jeongguk had read the phrase in a book years ago but the quote stuck with him. When he turned eighteen, he waited for some shiny car to arrive and ferry him away to whatever waited beyond the group homes that housed him. He waited to be unceremoniously dumped on the doorstep of the home, his meager belongings shoved into gossamer shopping bags and tossed at his feet.

Instead, no one came for him. Days passed, and Jeongguk wondered if he should make his own path. No one told him what he was supposed to be doing. He did his best to help the new children in the house—helping them bathe themselves from leaky faucets or squirreling away snacks for when their little bellies ached with hunger. He made himself useful and repaired the rickety beds and crooked door frames. He didn’t want to stay in the house, but he didn’t know where else to go.

Childhood is oblivion. Some days the phrase comforted him. Maybe the children in the home wouldn’t remember these days: sticky, summer days with no air conditioning or cool water to drink. Maybe they wouldn’t remember the bed bugs and heat rashes from unwashed sheets. Maybe they wouldn’t remember the days the heat was shut off and they huddled together for warmth, bodies stale and unwashed and breath rotten from unbrushed teeth. For their sake, he hoped childhood would pass by them with barely a memory.

It was a dull, bleached out day when a visitor came to the house. He was a middle-aged man, hair thinning and combed desperately over his balding head. He clutched his hat and bowed graciously, offering a small, embarrassed smile. “Forgive me for dropping by unannounced,” he said, turning to one of the women Jeongguk recognized as owner of the house. Even after years living there, he still didn’t know her name.

“Go on,” she said, waving her cigarette toward him. “I’m busy.”

“I’m told you’re quite handy,” the man said, turning to Jeongguk. “I could use some help on my property. Small things, really, but the list grows longer and I can’t do it all by myself. You look strong, capable. Might that interest you?”

Jeongguk stood up straight and squared his shoulders. “I’m very interested.” He imagined himself working alongside the man, passing tools and sharing anecdotes, maybe sharing an icy soda on a hot day. Honest work, humble work, the kind he could imagine himself doing for a little while until he figured out what to do next.

“Wonderful.” The man smiled wider, revealing a row of crooked teeth, black creeping down from his gums. Jeongguk shivered.

***

Things were spotty after that. Jeongguk couldn’t remember how he went from a comfortable car ride to a damp, dingy basem*nt. Dark spots speckled his vision, and he scrubbed his eyes, trying hard to make out shapes in the dim lighting. He cried out, feeling a sharp pang in his gut. He reached to clutch his stomach, but his arms were bound with heavy chains. “The f*ck?” he muttered, jangling the shackles, testing their strength.

“It’s better if you don’t fight it.” A woman’s voice cut through the silence. “You’ll wear yourself out and leave bruises, and they’re not gonna like that.”

“Where am I?” Jeongguk asked, craning his neck to see where the voice was coming from. He could make out a shadow across the room but little else.

“You’re not dead,” she said flatly. “Though death might be better than this place.”

Frustrated, Jeongguk tugged at the chains again, yanking as hard as he could. The stiff metal cuffs on his wrists were sharp at the edges, digging into his skin. “f*ck.”

“I told you. Don’t fight it.” A loud scrape followed, and the sound of chains dragging along the floor. The shadow from across the room came closer and crouched before him. The woman was young, maybe even his age, and her face was smudged with dirt and make-up. Dark bruises were scattered all over her neck and shoulders. She tugged self-consciously at her shirt when she noticed Jeongguk staring. “Hold still.”

Jeongguk watched as she leaned over him, working with a small pick until the cuffs dropped from his wrists. “Thank you,” he said. What else do you say to someone who’s freed you?

“It’s better to be quiet and not make a fuss,” she said, holding up a tiny sliver of metal. “They won’t check on us if we behave.”

Jeongguk rubbed his wrists, thumbing at the sliver of raw skin. “Where are we? Who are you? What is this?”

“I can be your friend if you can trust me.” She laughed and sat on the ground, leaning back on her hands. “I realize that’s an impossible thing to ask you right now.”

“Okay.” Jeongguk watched her warily. She smelled like aftershave and lotion, but her body was marked up and dirty like she hadn’t showered in several days.

“I don’t know our owner’s name—”

“—our owner?” Jeongguk interrupted. Owner.

She sighed and gestured at the gathered chains around them. “Yeah, owner. Real scary guy. Big. Important. I’m trying to learn his name, gather details. Make an escape plan.”

“I don’t understand,” Jeongguk muttered. The spot on his wrist was tender, and he couldn’t stop himself from picking at it with his thumbnail, pushing back the thin skin until beads of blood bubbled to the surface.

“You’re an omega, yeah?” She leaned closer and sniffed him. “It’s no accident you’re here. We’re here because no one wants us, and no one’s looking for us. They’re gonna make you do terrible things, but if you think of it all as survival, it’s all a little less vile.”

Jeongguk sucked the spot on his arm. The blood was bitter on his tongue, but the wound felt better once his tongue lapped over it. “What are you talking about? I haven’t even presented yet. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” He could feel his heart rate rising, could feel the bile rising in his throat, his skin itching all over with the urge to run.

“You’re panicking, I get it, but I’m telling you, if you don’t fight it, if you just do what they tell you, you won’t get hurt.” She noticed Jeongguk staring at the marks on her arms. “Too badly,” she added, forcing a smile.

“I haven’t presented yet,” he mumbled.

“Even better,” she said matter-of-factly. “They’ll want to break you. Don’t go out there and be stubborn.” She nodded at him, gesturing at his face. “Use those big Bambi eyes to your advantage. Be sweet. Docile. If you can do it on your own, you won’t have to be drugged like the others.”

“Others?” Jeongguk glanced around the room, but he couldn’t make out anyone else in the shadows.

“They couldn’t play along,” she said wryly. “I’m trying to help you, I really am. It’s awful out there. They put their hands all over you, mark you like they own you, get their stink all over you. But if you can play nice, they’ll feed you well, let you share drinks with them. If you can just close your eyes and get through it, you’ll survive.”

***

It sounded too simple when she first explained it, but Jeongguk began to understand. The first day out of the chains, he was taken upstairs, showered and covered in lotions and powders that made him shimmer and smell like cotton candy. People who never spoke to him began dressing him, draping silk shirts and beaded chains across his body. That part didn’t seem so bad.

Until he was led into a room of leering men in suits. They barked at him and called him terrible things, waving their cigars at him, dropping flecks of hot ash on his skin as he was paraded around the room. He tried his best to keep a straight face, sometimes smiling if he could muster the strength. When one man’s fat hand grabbed Jeongguk’s ass, he responded with a heavy backhand, only for someone to tackle him to the ground, a knee pressed to the back of his neck.

“Know your place, dog,” the guard hissed.

When Jeongguk returned to the basem*nt before dawn, cradling his elbow and limping to his cot, he heard his cellmate sigh and mumble, “I told you to just go along with it. No sense in fighting if they’re just gonna rough you up.”

A small part of Jeongguk knew she was right. If he could just smile and let the filthy alphas touch him and scent him, nipping at his throat, he might be safer. The very thought made him ill. He couldn’t imagine himself going along with their requests—a strange formality, as if he had a choice to even decline them. When he thought about laughing at their asinine jokes and smelling their cigar-laced breath or drinking their expensive wine, his stomach churned.

The next time he was brought upstairs, he was showered and left alone in an all-white bedroom. The design was intended to look chic and minimal, but it looked sterile and lifeless. A woman walked in with a glass of water and opened her palm to reveal a small blue pill. “Take it,” she said, thrusting her hand toward Jeongguk.

He hesitated, and she sighed as though deeply aggrieved.

“I really don’t like having to force feed you, trash. Take the goddamn pill,” she snapped. Her eyes were ablaze but cold, sharp as they watched him swallow the pill dry, the tablet catching briefly in his throat. She set the water beside the bed and turned quickly to leave.

Jeongguk flopped back on the bed, allowing himself to imagine for a moment that he was somewhere far away. How long had he been there? How long had it been since he slept on a mattress? Time was unreliable. He could look at a clock and find no reason to trust it. He couldn’t recall the last time he saw a calendar. Except for the fiery splashes of yellow and orange outside the barred window, he might not even know the season.

He allowed his eyes to close as he daydreamed. He didn’t know when they’d come for him again. The sleep was quick, covering him in darkness.

When Jeongguk came to, he was in a smoky room. Purple and red lights pulsed around the room. Music throbbed from all angles of the room—a deep treble that stirred Jeongguk’s guts and made his teeth ache. He rubbed his eyes and found his fingers were smudged black.

“Make-up,” a voice answered him.

He blinked, bleary-eyed, and found a young man on a velvet sofa watching him carefully. “What?” His mind felt foggy and dull, too slow to string together a more intelligible thought.

“You’ll smear your make-up. They’ve got you all done up, it seems.” The man fidgeted with his drink and gestured at Jeongguk. “You’ve got a little on your cheek now.”

Dumbly, Jeongguk swiped at his cheek. “Thanks.” Thanks?

“We don’t have to do anything,” the man said. Man or boy, Jeongguk couldn’t be sure. He didn’t sound very old. His voice wasn’t as rough as the men from last time. He didn’t try to crowd Jeongguk or say something vile to him.

“I don’t know where I am,” Jeongguk admitted. He tried to stand, but he wobbled and collapsed onto the plush ottoman where he must have been lying. "What is this?”

“This,” the man said, gesturing at the room, “is what high society considers a good time.” He smiled ruefully and took a sip of his drink. He winced and set it aside. “I’m only here because my father is hosting.” He leaned back on the sofa and loosened his tie. “And you’re here because you’re new, fresh meat.”

Jeongguk frowned, wincing at the pain radiating across his forehead. “I don’t understand.”

“This is your life, isn’t it?” the man asked carefully. “To be shuttled from party to party. To satisfy those disgusting assholes?” The man sounded so much like Jeongguk’s cellmate—the same cynicism, the same bluntness, the same disgust but resigned acceptance about it all.

“So why are you here?” Jeongguk asked.

“I told you. My father is hosting. Consider yourself lucky that you’re in here with me and not out there with him and the others. Normally they fall all over themselves to get their hands on a young omega like you.”

Jeongguk swallowed and glanced around the room. The walls were padded and covered in tapestries, the softness of the room swallowing all noises. The music obscured their voices, he imagined, and from what he could tell, there was no door in sight. He was locked in a room with a stranger. The after-effects of the drugs made him feel anxious and jittery. “How long will I be in here?” Jeongguk asked suddenly. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, felt the sweat beginning to cling to his palms.

“Until the night is over,” the man said. “Which is a good thing, believe me. I promise I won’t touch you. I’ll tell them you were cooperative, though.” He smiled sadly. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell them you were a disappointment so they won’t ask for you next time.”

Next time.

Jeongguk shivered and clung to his arms, realizing then that he was nearly naked. Loose, silvery beaded chains were draped around his neck, criss-crossing across his chest until they connected to a pair of leather briefs. A ridiculous get-up, he realized, and the indignity of the outfit mortified him.

“Are you hungry?” the man asked, rising to his feet. He walked over to a small gold cart that reflected the lights swirling around the room. He gestured at a platter of cheese and sliced meats, grapes and strawberries glistening under the lights. “You should eat. You’ll feel better if you do. God knows what they gave you to even get you in that outfit and in this room.”

Jeongguk fought back a laugh and huffed instead, pushing himself off the ottoman. “Okay.” He padded across the soft carpet and watched awkwardly as the man prepared a plate for him.

“Tell me when,” the man said, setting a bunch of grapes on the plate. He plucked berry after berry off the platter and set them onto the plate. When Jeongguk didn’t stop him, he smiled, this time with a kind of softness Jeongguk had nearly forgotten existed in the world. “A healthy appetite,” he hummed, adding more charcuterie and cheese to Jeongguk’s plate. “Here.”

Jeongguk accepted the food and perched on the edge of the sofa. He averted his eyes from the man and ate in silence, trying hard to slow himself down so he could savor each bite. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate something colorful and fresh. If they were lucky, he and his cellmate might get to share some stale bread or cold rice. With a mouthful of strawberries, he suddenly started choking, pounding on his chest until the man handed him a glass of water and smacked his back until he could swallow.

“Slow down, slow down,” the man said gently, smoothing his hand along Jeongguk’s shoulder. “I’m not going to take it from you. Take your time.”

Embarrassed, Jeongguk guzzled the water quickly, unbothered by the rivulets gliding down his chin. “Thanks,” he gasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I didn’t mean to, I just.. we don’t usually get much...”

The man nodded, cutting him off with a wave of his hand. “I know.”

They sat in silence, eating slowly and sharing the platter of food between them. The man hardly looked at Jeongguk. It felt strange to sit so close to someone without them staring at his body, taking him in like the people who bathed and dressed him, or even the way Jeongguk stared at his cellmate the first time he saw her.

“It’s terrible, isn't it?” the man finally said. Jeongguk nodded but didn’t say anything. He finished the last handful of grapes on his plate, and the man nudged his plate closer for Jeongguk to finish. “Who knows how our lives diverged for you to end up here next to me.” He seemed to be talking to someone else entirely, staring off into a dark corner of the room. “It’s despicable what they’re doing.”

Jeongguk swallowed and wiped the crumbs from his mouth. “So why are you here?” He flinched, expecting a swift slap to his face, but the man smiled sadly and nodded.

“Good question. What am I contributing to this by even attending these events?” He looked away again and shook his head, his smile fading. “I can’t do much right now, but I’m gonna do something someday.” He turned back to Jeongguk. “Can I ask for you again? If they think I have a favorite, maybe if they think I pity you, they’ll let me have you. I can keep you safe, even if only for a few hours each time I see you.”

“Why me?” Jeongguk asked. “You don’t know me.”

“Christ,” the man laughed, shaking his head. “You’re so young. In another life, we would be friends, even. I look at you and see what I could have easily been if not for status.” He cleared his throat. “If not for my family.”

Jeongguk wondered if pity alone was enough to save him. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling the tug of the chains against his skin. “And what about what happens in between the times I might see you?”

The man looked at him and grimaced. They both knew the answer. “I wish I could help with that. Maybe someday. Not yet.” He brushed his fingers through his hair and let out a loud sigh. “I’m new, too. Fresh meat, just like you. I have to cut my teeth a bit and then I might have some say over things.”

“Some say over things,” Jeongguk repeated.

“I’ll get you out of here one day,” the man said solemnly. “I promise.”

Jeongguk knew better than to believe the man. He’d had enough broken promises for one lifetime. Another one from a stranger wasn’t going to get his hopes up.

***

Jeongguk. Now.

“It’s you!” Jeongguk shouts. Namjoon tries to soothe him, rubbing his shoulders, but Jeongguk shoves him away. He turns back to Seokjin frantically, his thoughts racing.

Seokjin stands quickly, backing away from the bed with his hands held up in defense. “I was going to tell you, I swear, I just needed the right time.”

“The right time?” Jeongguk rips through the bedding looking for his clothes, yanking on his shirt when he finds it. He stumbles to his feet and pulls on his shorts and marches toward Seokjin. A small, ugly part of him is glad to see the alpha flinching and cowering away from him. “You let me stay here for months and you said nothing.”

“Jeongguk-ah,” Yoongi says gently, reaching for his arm.

“Don’t,” Jeongguk growls, turning to Yoongi. “You knew?” He turns to Namjoon. “And you too?”

“We did,” Namjoon admits.

“Don’t you see? I found you. I made good on my promise. I told you I’d find you, and I did,” Seokjin says quietly.

“Am I supposed to thank you?” Jeongguk hisses, balling his fists against his thighs. “You could’ve helped me a long time ago but you didn’t. I went through hell the last night I saw you—and the years after.”

Helplessly, Seokjin turns to Yoongi and then Namjoon. “I don’t know what to say. I never got the timing right. It was so hard to find you. I had to make sure I had everything perfectly planned.”

“It was all to help you,” Yoongi says, stepping closer. “Really, that’s the only motivation hyung has had the past few years. Finding you, pup.”

Jeongguk’s stomach clenches. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.” He swipes angrily at the tears on his cheeks. He doesn’t know when he started crying, but he hates himself for it. Worse, he hates himself for the pang of guilt he feels over Seokjin looking at him, utterly heartbroken and distraught.

“You wanna talk? We can sit down and—”

“No, Namjoon, I don’t want to talk,” Jeongguk snaps. Selfishly, he likes the way Namjoon winces at the dropped honorific. They’re all strangers again as far as Jeongguk is concerned. “I want you three to get the f*ck out of my room.”

“Okay,” Seokjin murmurs, nodding. “You heard him, get out,” he says, herding the others toward the door.

“And get Jimin,” Jeongguk adds. Yoongi nods before closing the door behind them.

***

Jeongguk. Later.

Jimin has offered many gifts to Jeongguk, the best one being silence. He doesn’t pry or nag with incessant questions. When he arrived at Jeongguk's room, he walked wordlessly to the bathroom and filled the tub with hot water, scattering bath salts across the surface. When the tub filled with foamy, floral suds, he gestured for Jeongguk to sink into the water.

“Sit with me?” Jeongguk asks, leaning his head back off the edge of the tub.

Jimin laughs. “What do you think I’m doing?”

“I mean in here,” Jeongguk answers, splashing the water.

“You sure?” Jimin asks carefully. Before Jeongguk can respond, he’s peeling off his shirt and stepping out of his pants. His clothing drops to the floor in a soft pile before he steps into the tub.

Jeongguk always feels safer with Jimin near. He reaches under the water and finds Jimin’s foot, rubbing the arch of it gently. “Did you know?”

Jimin hums and closes his eyes, leaning his head back. “Know what?”

“Be straight with me, hyung,” Jeongguk pleads.

Jimin smiles, his eyes still closed. “I’ve never been straight in my life.”

Laughing, Jeongguk splashes him until he sits up. “The alphas all knew. Did you?”

Jimin wipes his eyes, his expression turning serious. “I didn’t know the details. Still don’t. I just knew that Seokjin-hyung wanted to find you, and that was his priority above all else.”

“And the pack?” Jeongguk asks.

“We just happened to come along. But he was looking for you this whole time,” Jimin explains. “I don’t know the circ*mstances, but I do know hyung is a good alpha, a good person, Jeongguk-ah, and if he was searching for you this whole time, he had a really good reason.”

Sighing, Jeongguk sinks deeper into the tub, his knees poking out of the water. “I don’t understand why he didn’t tell me right away.”

“Ah, come on,” Jimin says gently, pressing his toe into Jeongguk’s thigh, “there’s no how-to guide for tracking down a long lost omega. Not even in all those books Namjoon studies. Hyung just wanted you to be comfortable here. He’s not out for glory.”

“Glory?” Jeongguk laughs bitterly. “I don’t give a sh*t how he’s feeling. I’m wondering why the alphas knew about our past and not a single person told me.”

“How do you think that would have gone?” Jimin asks. “Seriously. Walk me through how that conversation would have gone. Six months ago, would you have listened to him? Accepted his reasons for finding you?”

Jeongguk scowls and looks away. He knows Jimin is right, and he knows Jimin knows he’s right.

“Do you think finding out today is any worse than finding out months ago? Would you have been as angry as you are now? More angry? More frightened? What do you think?” Jimin trails his fingers through the deflating suds on the water’s surface.

I wouldn’t have cared about the pack then, Jeongguk thinks. I would have been free to leave, and I wouldn’t have a second thought about walking out the door.

As if reading his mind, Jimin splashes at Jeongguk playfully. “Exactly. You don’t have an answer.”

“It feels like lying,” Jeongguk mumbles. He turns back to Jimin and sighs, shaking his head. “Feels like a trap to keep me here. Get me all attached and now I’m the asshole if I leave.”

“You can’t really believe that,” Jimin says carefully. “That we’d think you’re an asshole if you left?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Jimin shrugs. “I would be hurt. But I’d understand. We’ve told you since day one: the door is open. You are free to go. You’re not being held prisoner here. And Seokjin-hyung would be devastated if you felt like you were being held here against your will.”

Jeongguk sighs and studies the water. The bath suds have melted away, leaving shimmering swirls on the water’s surface. He can make out the shape of Jimin’s legs tangled with his own, can see the soft swish of dark hair between his legs, the ripple of his abdomen. In his time at the house, he feels like he’s come to know them all in some way, but he feels closest to Jimin. The thought of leaving him hurts. But the thought of staying feels worse.

“I think I need to leave,” Jeongguk murmurs.

“Okay,” Jimin says.

“That’s it?”

Jimin huffs and shrugs, splashing water over the edge of the tub. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Jeongguk-ah. I’ll be crushed if you leave, but I’ll understand. You have to do what’s best for you. And none of us are going to stand in your way if leaving is really what’s best for you. I’m not going to fight you.”

A small part of Jeongguk wants Jimin to put up a fight. To run down the halls calling for the alphas, begging the betas to barricade him in his room. Suddenly the choice feels too colossal, too ponderous to make on his own. The freedom of choice, the freedom to leave—he’s never had that in his entire life. He’s only dreamed of it, craved it, and now that it’s staring at him, he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Just tell me when, and I’ll have the car ready to go,” Jimin says. “I'll take you anywhere you want to go.”

Jeongguk nods, swallowing the sob creeping up his throat. “Tomorrow.”

Jimin nods. “Tomorrow.”

Chapter 9: Seokjin

Chapter Text

Seokjin. Now.

The day replays itself in agonizing detail. Seokjin stares at the ceiling, watching the slow whirl of the fan as he unravels each minute of the day. He hates himself for how everything fell apart. The carefully constructed life he’d offered to Jeongguk had toppled over, revealing its fault lines, collapsing on all of them. Seokjin hates how unsettled the pack is now. They all look to him for guidance, for some assurance that everything is okay, but he can’t be sure that it is.

The other alphas cared for him—each in their own ways. Namjoon always coaxes Seokjin into a gentle submission, encouraging him to give himself over to another alpha’s control for a bit. He understands that, sometimes, not having to think at all can be a relief. He scruffed Seokjin and nipped at him, wrestled him playfully until Seokjin broke down in tears, curling himself against Namjoon’s chest. That kind of breaking was a delicate task, and Namjoon knew how to do it, how to get Seokjin to let go and give in.

Yoongi scented Seokjin until he felt dreamy and buzzed, wobbling as he nestled himself between Yoongi and Namjoon. Yoongi was always so good at soothing the pack mates, bringing them down from whatever high made them anxious or worked up, whether good or bad. He liked that he could nuzzle his pack mates until they were sighing or giggling or snoring, bodies giving in to the comforting scent of a loyal alpha. Jimin and the betas were especially susceptible to it, and Seokjin certainly wasn’t immune. He liked when Yoongi covered him with his body, nuzzling and pressing his lips to his scent gland, kissing him all over until his eyes fluttered closed.

Between the two alphas, Seokjin felt small, but he felt safe most of all. It was hard sometimes to allow himself to be vulnerable, to allow the others to care for him. He always felt like it was his duty to be the steadfast one, to care for others and make it look effortless. Years with the pack had granted them all enough time to get to know one another, and though the others could see Seokjin—flaws, insecurities, and all—they loved him in spite of them.

Long after Namjoon and Yoongi fell asleep, Seokjin stayed awake, staring at the ceiling. Namjoon’s sleep-heavy arm draped across Seokjin’s belly, and Yoongi was curled close, his breath warm on Seokjin’s arm. Seokjin envies how easily they can sleep, shucking off the weight of the day and falling into an uninterrupted slumber.

When the bedroom door cracks open and a sliver of soft light spills across the room, Seokjin isn’t surprised. He wondered how long it would be before one of the others climbed into bed, wriggling into his arms and whispering about the horrible day. Seokjin delicately pulls away from Namjoon and crawls past Yoongi, climbing out of bed quietly. Jimin waits by the door, eyebrows pinched in worry, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot.

“C’mere,” Seokjin murmurs, wrapping his arms around Jimin. He shuffles them out into the hallway, pulling the door shut.

Jimin shudders with a quiet sob and clings to Seokjin’s shirt. “Sorry to wake you, hyung, I just need to tell you something.”

“It’s fine,” Seokjin hums, patting down the wild licks of hair standing up on the back of Jimin’s hair. “Tell hyung what’s wrong.” As if I don’t know what’s wrong.

“Jeongguk,” Jimin sniffles, pulling away, “He’s gonna leave.”

Seokjin nods. He had a feeling this would happen. It pains him that it doesn’t surprise him in the least. “I had a feeling,” he admits. He smooths his thumbs under Jimin’s eyes, catching the new tears welling there.

“I said I’d take him, hyung,” Jimin says. His voice hitches on every word, shaking and shuddering with each breath. “I don’t want him to go alone.”

Seokjin hums. He sinks down to the floor and hugs his knees to his chest. “Where will you go?” He’s not sure it even matters.

Jimin sits next to him, leaning his head on Seokjin’s shoulder. He smells like bubble bath and sadness—a deep, wet, water-logged sadness, like a damp rainy day that chills someone to the bone. “Dunno. I just said I’d drive. We can’t let him go, hyung.”

“If he wants to leave, let him leave,” Seokjin says flatly. “We can’t keep him here. I only brought him here so he’d be free, not so he’d feel locked up again.”

“But he’s still in heat,” Jimin replies. “He has no money, no family, nowhere to go.”

Seokjin wraps his arm around Jimin and hugs him closer. “His heat will end soon. Maybe you can stay on the road until it passes. Lay low at rest stops, that sorta thing. And don’t worry about money.”

“I can give him money,” Jimin offers. “It’s the least I can do.”

Seokjin shakes his head and presses a kiss to Jimin’s crown. “Don’t worry about that. Hyung will take care of it.”

Jimin sighs. “I don’t know what to do, hyung.”

“Just be there like you promised,” Seokjin answers. “You know what he needs. You’ve always known. So give it to him.”

They fall silent, staring into the dark hallway. Jimin has always been a night owl, unable to shake the strange hours he used to work at the club. He’s always claimed to enjoy being up late. There’s a different kind of light in the house at night, he’d explained once before. Seokjin never quite understood it. Jimin’s breathing slows, and his head droops against Seokjin’s shoulder.

Seokjin remembers one night at the club when he was trying to court Jimin and bring him into the pack. He and Jimin had ordered bottle service, drinking champagne until they were giggling and loose—quick kisses and gentle teasing shared between them. Jimin had climbed into Seokjin’s lap, arms draped around his neck, purring some nonsense until he had drifted off to sleep. It was a profound moment for Seokjin: holding the omega in the safety of his arms, feeling his weight and warmth pressed against him. He knew at that moment he wanted to take Jimin far from that club, to let him thrive and share his dazzling self out in the open, free from gaudy make-up and outfits, free from a mirrored stage and strobing lights.

“Jimin-ah,” Seokjin says, shaking him gently, “you should get back to bed if you’re leaving tomorrow. You don’t want the pup to wake up alone.”

Jimin mumbles something unintelligible and sits up, scrubbing at his eyes. “Okay.” He leans in and kisses Seokjin on the lips before climbing to his feet. “We’ll say bye before we leave.”

Seokjin stands and smiles sadly. “You better.”

Seokjin. Before.

Since he graduated from the university, Seokjin’s life no longer felt like his own. He always knew deep down that his life had already been prepared for him, laid out on some trajectory that had been calculated by his father, and his father’s father, and so on. Going to university had given him the illusion of choice: business track or architecture track. He followed the management track in the business school, enduring the soul-sucking course work and relishing the rare quiet nights when he wasn’t summoned home for some inane networking event or forced family dinner. Once Seokjin finished school, the illusion of freedom crumbled around him, and he was back in his father’s shadow, saddled once again with the expectation of carrying on the family business.

Once he turned twenty-four, new sides of the business opened up to him. He was invited to more after-hours events—boring, swanky affairs with scantily clad co*cktail waitresses and bitter champagne, dull string quartets and smoky, noxious cigar rooms. Invitations to exclusive gentlemen’s clubs arrived weekly in the mail. It all seemed so antiquated and out of touch. Invitations arrived on thick card stock with handwritten details in swooping calligraphy. Each club boasted its own amenities, different perks for different price points. Seokjin wasn’t interested in filling his scarce free time with more events that bored him senseless. He ignored the invitations, often tossing them out without a second glance.

When an invitation did catch Seokjin’s attention, it was for his father’s own event. It arrived on Seokjin’s desk with a sticky note attached: don’t even think about throwing this out. He sighed and opened the envelope, unable to contain his eye roll at the ostentatious paper and raised gold lettering. His father was hosting clients at an intimate gathering in a private location. An address wasn’t even printed on the invitation, only a small line of text asking the guests to be outside their homes at a specific time.

Often, Seokjin wondered if there were people who liked the pageantry of money and class. He found it all so dull. He knew it was a special kind of privilege to be bored by money and all its trappings, but he never felt comfortable in that world. As a child, he felt disconnected from classmates, unable to run through the grass barefoot or get his clothes dirty. He wasn’t permitted sleepovers or outings to the movies. As he got older, he saw the gap widening between him and his peers. While they were dating and hosting birthday parties, he was wearing starched shirts and attending private operas or galas with his parents.

Seokjin was a good child: polite and obedient, never a hair out of place. He’d learned early on never to complain. Hiding in the background was easier. If he was quiet, he wouldn’t have to entertain idiotic questions about his favorite subject in school or if he was enjoying the folk music played that evening. The things that made Seokjin a good child made him a miserable adult; he lacked assertiveness and came off as a push-over. He spent his whole life hiding his opinions, and by the time he was permitted to have some, he felt void of any personality or preference in anything.

When his father insisted that Seokjin attend the event without complaint, he did. Because he was a good son: compliant and docile. Terrible qualities for a wealthy, powerful alpha, but excellent qualities for the son of a pack alpha who held most of the city under his thumb. Only Seokjin’s childhood friend Namjoon knew the real Seokjin, loved the real Seokjin in the way he desperately needed. But even those times spent together became more and more rare as they grew older. It pained Seokjin that he had to spend his time working and presenting himself as a reputable, yielding son instead of living as his true self, seen wholly by Namjoon and loved in spite of it.

The event Seokjin attended at his father’s request was different from the others. There were no overly lit, glittering ballrooms or softly lit dinners with heaps of food and long tables stretching across the room. This event was much smaller, hosted in a club that was tucked away in the basem*nt of a nondescript building. As Seokjin and the other guests descended the stairs, the music grew louder, and the lights grew darker.

Purple and rose colored lights pulsed against the darkened walls, the music thumping from some unseen speaker. Young men and women milled about the crowd in skimpy outfits that left little to the imagination. They balanced trays of champagne and flitted through the crowds, flirting and handing over drinks to all who reached for one.

Seokjin’s nose wrinkled from the smell. It was an assault on his senses—the heady aroma of pheromones and unclaimed omegas mingling in a room of half-buzzed, handsy alphas. Seokjin’s own hands itched, and he rubbed his palms on his pants, trying desperately to rid himself of the sweat beginning to form.

“We’ll start you off easy.” Seokjin’s father’s voice boomed loudly in his ear as he clapped him on the back. “Let you meet one of the new omegas, sniff each other out. You’ll like him.” His father sipped his drink and winked at Seokjin. “Pretty little thing.”

Seokjin’s ears burned. Rarely had his father ever spoken so casually to him, and certainly not about Seokjin’s personal life. He had given Namjoon a wary glance on more than one occasion, so Seokjin’s sexual orientation couldn’t have been too much of a surprise to his father. Still, it made Seokjin’s ears sting with shame to hear his father speaking to him so plainly, so brashly. Seokjin swallowed the last of his champagne, wincing as the sour bubbles raced down his throat. “What is this place?”

“Consider it another perk of the lifestyle,” his father said, gesturing broadly at the room filled with guests. “You’ll be in room two. Whenever you’re ready.” He gestured at a line of numbered doors on the far side of the room. Somehow, Seokjin had missed them when he entered. His father turned his attention to another colleague and made his way through the crowd, crowing loudly and shaking hands with the man.

Seokjin set his glass aside and wiped his hands on his pants once more. The champagne was making his stomach hurt, and the overwhelming scent of the room made him feel dizzy and disoriented. He went to the room his father pointed out and knocked before realizing it was probably a stupid thing to do. He had no idea what was on the other side. The door was unlocked, so he let himself in.

Like the main room, it was dark and soft all over, fabrics draping the padded walls, swirling lights casting purple and pink across the room. The room was empty save for a bar cart with food and another bottle of champagne and whisky. Nervously, he poured himself a drink and sat on the velvet settee. Only when his eyes adjusted did he realize there was someone else in the room: a young man who had to be close to his age, curled into a ball, sleeping soundly. Beaded chains glistened against his skin, his body exposed except for the small briefs clinging to his muscled legs. He looked strangely peaceful, lips parted as he breathed heavily. Dark sweeps of eyeshadow and thick swipes of eyeliner accentuated his eyes.

Seokjin sipped his drink and averted his eyes. The realization of what this club was for was dawning on him. It made his stomach turn to know his father not only condoned this but planned the evening. His voice echoed in Seokjin’s mind: pretty little thing. As if he’d seen others like him, had something against which to compare him. He shuddered and downed his drink, reaching clumsily to top off his glass. He wouldn’t touch the boy, he decided. He wouldn’t leave, either. He couldn’t bear the thought of someone else coming into the room to wake him.

***

Ever since Seokjin met the young man in the seedy club, he couldn’t stop thinking about him. He wanted to ask his father more about the parties, but he didn’t want him to misunderstand Seokjin’s curiosity for genuine interest in the club or its questionable practices. Deep down, Seokjin knew it was wrong to ignore the glaring horrors of the evening: the bags under the drink servers’ eyes, the welts around the boy’s wrists, the way his eyes dilated and skittered around the room like he was looking for a way out. He wanted to know more about the omega who ate in greedy, breathless gulps. He was timid but looked strong, and Seokjin ached to touch him—not in a perverted way. He felt something more tender toward the boy, an urge to hug him, to drape his jacket around his bare shoulders.

The opportunity presented itself sooner than Seokjin expected. One of his father’s colleagues—a balding, fat, idiotic sycophant—clapped Seokjin on the back, reeking of cigar smoke and coffee breath. “Didn’t think you had it in you,” he barked. “Everyone comes around to these things. Everyone.” Seokjin worried his stench clung to him all evening.

The next event was held in a glittering ballroom lined with mirrors, the golden lights of the chandeliers reflecting in all directions. It was difficult to pick out the guests from… the what? He didn’t know what to call the people who were brought in for their pleasure. Entertainment? Help? whor*s?

Seokjin had hoped to find the young man again among the crowd. He knew better than to get his hopes up. Perhaps, he realized, he used the boy as an excuse to attend another event. If anyone asked, he could blame his attendance on the boy, but maybe, deep down, he wanted to see more of this hidden world his father was slowly revealing to him. The thought made him shudder. He was different from the others at the event. He was sure of it.

He clutched his champagne flute so hard, he worried it might shatter in his hand. The longer he stood among the sniveling office workers, the more he hated himself for being part of their group. With a quick tip of the glass, he swallowed his champagne and vowed to go home. As he turned, he stumbled into a young man in a sleek black suit. It was a moment before he realized it was the young man he’d met a week ago.

“Hello,” he said warmly, smiling wide. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and his lips curled in such a way, he looked like a bunny.

“Bunny,” Seokjin blurted out.

“I beg your pardon?” The young man tilted his head, his smile turning more amused.

Seokjin could feel his ears growing hot. “Sorry, you just, you look like a bunny, your smile, I mean,” he mumbled.

The young man laughed. “There are worse things to be called, I guess.” He cleared his throat, his face relaxing. “I’m glad to see you here. Relieved, really.”

I didn’t think you’d recognize me, he didn’t say. The last time he saw the poor omega, he was hardly lucid: slurred words and wide pupils, trembling from the crash of whatever drugs he had been force fed. “I’m glad to see you, though I can’t say I’m glad I’m here,” Seokjin answered warily.

The other man nodded. “The crowd is getting antsy. I can smell it on them.” He sniffed and wrinkled his nose. Seokjin fought the urge to call him a bunny once more.

“Are there rooms?” Seokjin asked carefully. “I mean, to get away from the crowd? I don’t mean—”

“—of course,” the young man answered. He gestured at Seokjin’s elbow. “May I?” Dumbly, Seokjin nodded and watched as the other man linked their elbows. He patted Seokjin’s arm and smiled—this time with an alarming falseness. “It’ll make me look like I’m doing my job.”

“Your job?” Seokjin repeated.

The young man glanced at him warily. “Don’t act like you don’t know what this is.” He led them through the crowd, smiling and nodding at people Seokjin could only assume were in charge of the omega.

The ballroom exited into a shadowy corridor lined with flickering sconces. In nearly every alcove or doorway, Seokjin could make out the shapes of people writhing against one another, whispering and groaning. The smell of pheromones and alcohol burned his nostrils. The two men arrived at a door at the far end of the hall, and they stepped into a small, private room.

Like the last place, this room was private and draped in velvet curtains and tapestries, a bottle of champagne chilling beside a cart heaped with charcuterie and fruit. The door closed with a soft click behind them, and the man gestured at the plush, pleated sofa. “Sit, if you want.”

Seokjin sat on the sofa, sinking into the cushions. He fiddled nervously with his watch, keeping an eye on the other man’s movements. “I didn’t catch your name last time.”

“Jeongguk,” he answered easily. He popped the champagne and poured two glasses for them, offering one to Seokjin. “And yours?”

“Seokjin,” he answered. He waited to see what Jeongguk would do next. When he tipped the glass to his lips, Seokjin mirrored him, eyes locked as he drank.

“I was hoping I’d see you again,” Jeongguk said, smiling shyly. “You were kind to me last time. People aren’t very kind to people like me.”

Seokjin’s stomach churned. He couldn’t imagine what Jeongguk had endured up until that moment. “I’m sorry.”

Jeongguk shrugged and downed the rest of his champagne. “Not your fault.” He set down his glass. “May I?” He gestured at his tie.

Seokjin nodded. “Go ahead.”

Sighing, Jeongguk tugged his tie off and tossed it on a chair opposite the sofa. He unbuttoned the top button of his collar and shrugged off his jacket.

“You don’t have to—”

Jeongguk smiled. “I’m not getting undressed. But thank you.” He flopped onto the chair with another heavy sigh. “Just hate being all confined, that’s all.”

Seokjin gave a small huff and looked away. It was hard not to stare at Jeongguk. He was incomprehensibly handsome: wide, dark eyes and a cherubic smile, little freckles scattered on his face. The way he carried himself was magnetic. Seokjin didn’t know if he was feeling real attraction or if it was all some calculation on Jeongguk’s part, some learned behavior he was supposed to turn on for clients.

“I can’t stay long,” Jeongguk finally said. He plucked a grape from the cart and ate it, chomping with his mouth open. It should have been repulsive, but Seokjin’s stomach fluttered. He was hopelessly endeared. Somehow, Jeongguk was both rough and refined—a kid playing dress-up, a man who’d seen more stuff than Seokjin cared to imagine. “An hour, tops.”

Seokjin leaned forward, elbows propped on his thighs. “And what if I wanted to keep you here longer?”

Jeongguk smiled sadly. “It’s not that kind of party.” Seokjin didn’t ask what that meant.

“Are they all like this?” Seokjin asked carefully. He leaned back against the sofa. He was feeling restless, wholly uncomfortable with the situation.

“This is a nicer one, believe it or not,” Jeongguk answered casually. “Some nights, they just line us up and…” He trailed off and shook his head. “Never mind that. I’m just happy to have your company for a bit.”

Seokjin frowned, his stomach souring at the dour look on Jeongguk’s face. “What will the others do to you?”

“Do you really wanna know?” Jeongguk asked, raising an eyebrow. “You might think less of me if you knew.”

“Think less of you?” Seokjin scoffed.

Jeongguk tilted his head, assessing Seokjin for a moment. “You seem to think awfully high of me right now. Why?”

Seokjin shrugged. It was impossible to articulate. It was more than a fixation or a crush, but he didn’t know how to describe it. “You’re young,” he said, though it came nowhere near to what he wanted to say. “We could easily be in different positions.”

Jeongguk hummed. “But we’re not.”

“I know,” Seokjin stammered. His throat felt itchy, and he could feel his ears growing hot. “But what if things were different? What if I could take you away from this?”

Jeongguk leaned back in his chair, draping an arm off the corner. He laughed to himself and looked around the room. “You think you’re the first to offer me freedom?”

“Maybe the first who meant it,” Seokjin replied. “Is it even possible? I could talk to my father—”

Jeongguk laughed loudly, shaking his head. It was lifeless, resigned in a way that gave Seokjin chills. “You think the men out there care about people like me?” He leaned forward and patted Seokjin’s knee. “That’s sweet, but it’s not reality.”

Seokjin inhaled sharply and stared down at Jeongguk’s hand. His fingers had small tattoos all over them—indecipherable symbols and simple images inked into his skin. He could feel Jeongguk’s pulse thrumming in his fingertips—quick and frightened like a rabbit. “I’m gonna try anyway.”

Jeongguk gave his leg a soft squeeze. “I can’t stop you.”

“How do I find you again?” Seokjin asked.

Jeongguk leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know. I never know where I’m going or who will be there. I don’t really have a say in these things.”

Seokjin nodded. “Right, yeah, of course.”

Jeongguk smiled, and the same soft, kind expression from before returned. “I hope I see you again.”

"I hope so too,” Seokjin murmured.

When Jeongguk slid on his jacket and knotted his tie, Seokjin made a promise to himself that he’d find Jeongguk again. It wouldn’t be the last time they saw each other, no matter how final it felt when Jeongguk slipped out the door.

***

The search for Jeongguk was fruitless. Seokjin couldn’t exactly type sex slaves into Naver and expect any reasonable results. The parties were frequent but kept under wraps—dates and times only distributed through anonymous invitations. It was a gamble to attend the events. Sometimes, Seokjin arrived at a private home of some upper echelon alpha offering the services of a few scantily clad women. Other times, he arrived at damp warehouses that reeked of piss and mold, the omegas writhing and groaning on the floor, all glassy eyed and strung out. Seokjin couldn’t afford to be picky with the invitations he accepted. He went to every one that came his way. He didn’t want to miss the chance to find Jeongguk.

He lucked out a month and a half later. He was invited to a masquerade gathering—a black-tie affair that encouraged guests to leave their inhibitions at the door. Seokjin bought a new suit for the occasion—an expensive three-piece Thom Browne suit that cinched his waist and accentuated his shoulders. It was stupid, he realized, buying an expensive suit for an event he wouldn’t actually participate in. He wanted to look like he fit in. He wanted Jeongguk to see he had means, and with some luck, maybe he’d use those means to help him escape to a better life.

(Seokjin knew if he told his old friend Namjoon any of this, he’d shake his head and tut, calling Seokjin a white knight and rattling off all the ways Seokjin was setting himself up for disappointment.)

The masquerade party was unlike the other gatherings. It was difficult to discern who was there as a guest and who was there to serve the guests. Men and women clung to one another, loud laughter ringing through the marbled and mirrored room. Some people dressed up enthusiastically: ornate masks with feathers and pearls, tiaras that glittered under the candle chandeliers, fluffed fox ears and angular cat ears. To an undiscerning eye, the night would look opulent and perhaps a little boring on the surface—a stuffy room filled with red lipsticked women and sweating men in puckered, skin-tight suits. It would be easy to pass through the party and not have any idea that some of the people there were lost loved ones, anonymous faces controlled by some faceless, terrifying force.

The room lacked the usual overwhelming scent of desperate alphas and clingy omegas. Instead, Seokjin felt lightheaded from the pleasant, sickly-sweet scent that filtered through the room. His fingertips tingled, and the buzz filled his veins. He didn’t hate the smell, but he hated that he couldn’t ignore it, that it was filling the entire space around them. He tugged at his tie and scanned the crowd, eager to find a familiar face. Jeongguk’s face.

A hand touched Seokjin’s elbow, and his nose flared with the sudden invasion of a heavy perfume. He turned, schooling his face. “Oh. Hello.” A thin woman smiled at him expectantly, her lips matte ruby, teeth dazzling and white.

“You’re new here, handsome,” she purred, giving his arm a squeeze. “May I get you a drink?” She gestured at the bar across the room. “Champagne? Whisky?” She licked her lips with a slow, lewd swipe of her tongue. “Sex on the beach? Buttery nipple?”

Seokjin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He shook his head, lifting his half-empty champagne flute. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

She didn’t take the hint. “You seem bored. Are you not enjoying your time here?”

He scoffed and finished his drink. “I’m fine. Just looking for someone.”

She hummed and watched a waiter walk past and then plucked a drink off his tray. “I take it I’m not your type.”

He tried to smile warmly, tried hard to make it look kind and sincere though his patience was waning. “There’s someone I’m hoping to find tonight. Looks a bit like a bunny, real cute, but a little tough. Tattoos.”

“You mean that bunny?” she laughed, pointing across the room.

Seokjin’s stomach clenched, and he felt a hot rise of possessiveness in his throat—thick, sour, ugly. Jeongguk looked strangely at ease, eyes crinkled as he smiled and nodded along with the older man speaking to him. Maybe he had it all wrong, he thought bitterly. Maybe Jeongguk liked his circ*mstances. It seemed like he was always at the luxurious events, each time dressed in something more expensive and lush than the last. Maybe he didn’t need to be saved after all. Seokjin forced a smile and turned back to the woman. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He didn’t know what he would say when he approached Jeongguk. It felt like his feet carried him without thought, pushing him across the waxed marbled floor. Jeongguk was wearing a ridiculous outfit: a simple black mask over his eyes, a satin corset pulled tight with shimmering laces, hot pants that clung to his thighs, and fishnets leading down to thick, black platform heels.

And on his head: a pair of tall, satin bunny ears, one standing erect, the other bent in a cute little wave.

Seokjin’s mouth went dry. All this time he hadn’t looked at Jeongguk the way the others had. Of course he would need to dress this way: exposed and on display. Something to be ogled, something to be purchased.

As Seokjin stepped closer, Jeongguk’s eyes met his. The smile on his face grew wider, eyes squeezing shut with what Seokjin hoped was genuine happiness. Jeongguk murmured something to the man, leaning close and cupping his hand around his ear.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Jeongguk said warmly, turning to Seokjin once he was free.

“Your outfit,” Seokjin said dumbly, gesturing at Jeongguk’s ears. “What’s that all about?”

“Do you like it?” he teased, reaching for the ears. He smoothed the upright one and grinned. There was something different about him: an openness that seemed false, flirtation that felt unnatural. His pupils were blown wide, and he kept licking his lips with nervous swipes of his tongue. “I thought of you when I picked it out.”

Seokjin swallowed and forced a smile. “You were hoping to see me again?”

“Weren’t you hoping to see me?” Jeongguk licked his lips again.

“Can we go somewhere?” Seokjin asked.

“Absolutely.” Jeongguk looped his arm with Seokjin’s, pulling him toward a hallway of rooms. As they passed people groping and kissing one another in the hall, Seokjin wondered exactly how many places existed like this in the city: ornately decorated, labyrinthian with endless hallways and doors that led to room after room.

The room they stepped into was equipped with an enormous four post bed covered in gold and maroon linens. Seokjin scoffed at the replicas of Renaissance sculptures and paintings around the room. It was tacky, a weak attempt at looking cultured and refined.

“I know,” Jeongguk laughed, kicking off his heels. “No subtlety behind closed doors.” He tugged at Seokjin’s hand and pulled him toward the bed. “Can I call you hyung yet?”

Seokjin liked Jeongguk’s boldness, how he spoke to him like a friend already. He nodded, smiling. “Call me whatever you want.”

Jeongguk hummed and clung to Seokjin’s hand as they sat on the edge of the bed. “Crooked fingers,” he mused. Seokjin didn’t know what to say. Jeongguk was so odd at times: childlike and sweet, then flirty and hungry, then utterly unreadable.

“I brought you a gift,” Seokjin said, reaching his other hand into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a small notebook and a pouch of watercolor markers. “I saw your tattoos and thought maybe you’d like to draw, too.”

The gift seemed to sober Jeongguk instantly. “Oh,” he murmured, flipping through the empty pages of the book. “That’s very kind of you, but we can’t accept gifts.”

“Then I’ll keep it for you until next time,” Seokjin offered.

Jeongguk smiled at Seokjin. “I feel like I should kiss you.”

“If you want,” Seokjin said softly. “Only if you want to.”

“I do.” He leaned closer and kissed Seokjin with a softness that was startling—the kind of gentle kiss shared between kids, a first kiss that tests the waters, a kiss that toes the edge of romance. An innocent kiss. Seokjin ached.

Kissing Jeongguk felt wrong. But it felt so good and right to kiss him, even though the circ*mstances were all wrong. He didn’t want Jeongguk to feel like he owed him a kiss or even the attention. He wasn’t at the party for anything other than Jeongguk’s company and a chance at figuring out how to free him from the circuit of endless parties. Seokjin wished he could kiss Jeongguk somewhere else, at another time, when they both were free and happy and in control of their own lives.

“We can’t,” Seokjin huffed, breaking the kiss. “I mean, I don’t want you—”

Jeongguk’s face fell. “Oh.”

“—no, no! I mean,” Seokjin stammered, rubbing his forehead and grimacing, “I just mean I don’t want you to kiss me because you owe me anything or because you feel pressured.”

“What if I want to kiss you?” Jeongguk asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Seokjin softened. “I want to kiss you too, but I also want you to just spend time with me. I don’t expect anything from you. I mean it when I say I want to help you.”

Jeongguk nodded and looked away. His eyes still had a glassy sheen that unsettled Seokjin. He couldn’t be sure that Jeongguk wasn’t still high on something. He hated the thought that Jeongguk might not remember their exchange later, that something other than his own free will was guiding his actions.

“I’m serious about getting you out of here,” Seokjin said softly. “I’m gonna do everything I can.” He tapped the notebook, hoping desperately to redirect the conversation. “Can you draw me something?”

“Right now?” Jeongguk asked. He traced the pattern on the notebook’s cover.

“Why not?” Seokjin kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed, settling among the pillows. He tried not to think about the other people who had been in the bed before them, the kinds of things they might have done.

Jeongguk smiled, plucked off his rabbit ears, and climbed onto the bed. He opened the notebook and plucked a blue watercolor pen from the pack. “Any requests?”

Seokjin hummed, tapping his chin. “If you could go anywhere, where would you want to go?”

“Who’s going with me?” Jeongguk teased, twirling the pen between his fingers.

“Whoever you want.”

Jeongguk nodded and uncapped the pen. He sketched with quick, confident strokes that bled across the page. He angled the brush to create thin lines and broad strokes all over until a picture of ocean waves filled the page. He dotted the shoreline with little umbrellas and drew small Vs in the sky for birds. “Have you ever been to Haeundae beach?” He looked up at Seokjin expectantly.

“I haven’t,” Seokjin answered.

“I think I’ve been there once, or maybe it was in a dream. I’m not sure.” He frowned for a moment, lifting the page and tilting it to inspect his work before blowing on the ink to dry. “I’d like to go there someday.”

“Looks peaceful,” Seokjin said gently. He longed to touch Jeongguk, to hold his hand or lean his head against his shoulder, but he resisted the urge. It felt like such a natural pull, but the circ*mstances were all wrong. Everything about the situation was wrong. “When you get out of here, hyung will take you.”

“Hyung,” Jeongguk repeated, looking up with an endeared smile. “You’re sure I can call you that?”

“Of course,” Seokjin said, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Is that what this is?” Jeongguk asked, closing the notebook. He handed it to Seokjin and slid off the bed.

“What else would it be?” Seokjin asked. Jeongguk’s demeanor shifted so suddenly, it startled him. The playful, bright look on his face was replaced with a stony, pinched expression.

“Fantasy,” he huffed, slipping on his shoes. He tugged at the hem of his shorts, snapping the fishnets against his thighs. He grabbed the rabbit ears from the bed, slipping them on. “You’re not the only person to walk in here promising me some grand escape.”

Seokjin scrambled off the bed, hurrying to Jeongguk. “But I mean it. I’ll get you out of here someday. If you want to be free of all this, I’ll help you.”

“If I want to?” Jeongguk asked incredulously. “Of course I want to get out of here. Do you think I like being passed around? Drugs shoved down my throat? Strange men all over me every night?” His chin quivered and he swiped angrily at his tears. “You have no idea the sh*t I endure every night.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Seokjin agreed. “But I know I want to help you get out of here. I’ll send you to Busan if you want, put you on a plane somewhere else. You don’t have to stay with me. I just want to—”

“—help me, I know,” Jeongguk said bitterly. He leaned closer to a large gilded mirror on the wall, wiping away the black smears of mascara from under his eyes. “And then you’ll stop coming, and I’ll feel like the idiot I am for believing some alpha,” he shot a sharp, disgusted look at Seokjin, “could save me.”

Seokjin stood there idly watching Jeongguk pat his cheeks and smooth down his hair. The notebook felt heavy in his hand as he watched Jeongguk practice his smile and stand up straight, inspecting his outfit in the mirror. “I don’t know how to make you believe me.”

“Hope is dangerous, hyung,” Jeongguk said, staring at Seokjin through the mirror. “Only fools let themselves hope for things.”

***

Seokjin looked at Jeongguk’s drawing of the beach every day. When Jeongguk was drawing, his mind seemed to drift elsewhere, his face softening as he focused on each pen stroke. Seokjin wanted to help him find that peace again. He wasn’t foolish enough to think Jeongguk would want him as part of that freedom. He didn’t dare entertain the idea that Jeongguk might one day want him in that way. Still, he focused all his free time on figuring out a way to help him.

Any exit strategy for Jeongguk needed to include Seokjin’s own exit. He needed to figure out his finances and how to sever the ties from his family. Renouncing his pack would have lifelong consequences. Surely his father would oust him from the company, disowning him entirely. Seokjin knew he was entitled to his trust fund—an obscenely padded account established by his grandfather and legally left to him. Not even his father’s vicious corporate lawyers could finagle the money out of Seokjin’s possession.

Seokjin spent all his free time calculating his savings, evaluating how much he could live on and save to buy Jeongguk’s freedom. He couldn’t even begin to guess what it would even cost. He couldn’t exactly search only for the cost of an actual human being. Briefly, he wondered if buying Jeongguk’s freedom made him part of the crime ring too. Surely law enforcement would see his actions as a misguided act of vigilantism? When he really considered the cost of things, the money was the easy part. Finding Jeongguk was more difficult.

Whenever Seokjin worked alongside his father at the office, he tried to broach the subject of the parties, but his father waved him off. “You’re young, you’ll lose interest,” he said, waving him off.

“But until then,” Seokjin said carefully, “How do I find the more upscale events?”

His father looked up from the paperwork scattered on his desk. “You’ll burn through your savings if you keep going to all those expensive parties.”

Seokjin tried to laugh and play it off like his father was scolding him for reckless partying. “I’ll be careful, I swear.”

Unconvinced, his father reached for his desk drawer and pulled out a gold business card holder. He flicked through the small cards until he found a black business card embossed with silver ink. “This is truly an elite club,” he said, holding the card just out of Seokjin’s reach. “You embarrass yourself, you embarrass me. And then we’re going to have a big problem, you hear me?”

Seokjin swallowed nervously and nodded as he accepted the card. “Okay.”

“They meet on Thursdays at this address,” his father said, shifting his attention back to the paperwork. “Ten sharp. Don’t be late. And if they ask for a password, tell them moonlight.” He tapped a folder and looked up at Seokjin. “Back to work.”

The card felt like a brick in Seokjin’s pocket all afternoon.

***

Thursday night at 9:55, Seokjin arrived at a darkened doorway. He knocked carefully, stepping back. After a moment of waiting, a slot within the door opened, and two skeptical eyes stared back at him. “Password.”

“Moonlight,” Seokjin said quietly, leaning closer to the door. The slot closed, and nothing happened right away. Seokjin looked around curiously, wondering if someone was sneaking up on him or if he’d said the wrong thing. He could always call his father and try again. Just as he reached for his phone, the door swung open, leading into a foyer with hazy lighting.

“Right this way.” A young woman appeared, leading Seokjin toward a darkened room lit with candles. Soft piano music filtered through the room. People gathered in small groups, laughing and speaking softly. Everything looked so intimate, right down to the sofas and ottomans placed around the room. There were no artificial scents piped into the room, no loud chatter or brazen laughter. Everything seemed more discreet, hushed. His father’s voice echoed in his ears: truly an elite club. When Seokjin’s eyes landed on the mayor of the city, he looked away quickly, embarrassed that he had been caught staring.

He walked up to the bar and ordered a drink to calm his nerves. Blood thrummed loudly in his ears. He couldn’t even hear himself think, had no idea what he had ordered to sip until a drink was slid across the bar to him. He wandered the room aimlessly, trying hard not to stare at the other guests. He couldn’t exactly ask around about Jeongguk; he didn’t want to alert suspicions, or worse, find out that he was occupied.

The music switched to something more upbeat but still subdued, heavy bass lines encouraging people to begin mingling and dancing on the makeshift dance floor. By the time Seokjin realized the room was filled with people, he felt a little drunk and overwhelmed. The natural scent of the room was intoxicating, making his skin tingle all over. The omegas smelled delicious: healthy, virile, turned on by the atmosphere. It made Seokjin’s own scent spike and his mouth run dry. He hated how easily his body succumbed to his baser instincts.

A young woman passed by, smiling over her shoulder as she nodded toward the dance floor. Seokjin smiled and shook his head politely. He knew entering the throng of people would only make him feel even more foggy and unable to focus.

“Hyung.”

Seokjin turned quickly, relieved to find Jeongguk smiling at him. He looked stiff in his suit, the top button of his collar fastened, and the starch collar straining against his throat. “You’re here.”

Jeongguk nodded. “So are you.”

“I told you I’d find you,” Seokjin said. “I meant it.”

“I see that.” Jeongguk’s expression softened and he held out his hand. “Shall we dance?”

Dazed, Seokjin nodded and accepted his hand, following him into the crowd of people. The music had shifted again, this time to something sultry and unsuitable for dancing, but it didn’t stop people from writhing against one another with their arms draped around each other’s shoulders.

“Big night,” Jeongguk murmured, leaning close to Seokjin.

“Is it?” Seokjin shivered at the sensation of Jeongguk’s warm breath against his ear. Jeongguk felt so good in his arms: warm and sturdy, hips moving against his own as they danced.

“You’ll see.” Jeongguk pulled Seokjin closer, draping his arms around his neck. He was less flirtatious than the last time they saw one another, but not nearly as cold as when they parted. Resignation seemed to be painted all over his face.

“Is there somewhere we can talk?” Seokjin murmured.

“Not that kind of party,” Jeongguk answered. He pressed his cheek to Seokjin’s cheek and inhaled. “You smell good, hyung, not like these other alphas.”

Seokjin shivered at the feeling of Jeongguk’s lips brushing against his cheek. He wanted to touch Jeongguk, to really touch him, feel his hands around his waist or their lips pressed together. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Let’s just dance while we can,” Jeongguk sighed. He led their movements, clinging to Seokjin and keeping their cheeks pressed together. His scent was stronger than Seokjin recognized—notes of desperate wanting sharp and clear.

Holding Jeongguk felt heavenly, like he was always meant to be here in Seokjin’s arms, the two of them wrapped around one another. The music slowed and the lights began to rise incrementally until the room was entirely visible. The dancers began to part, small groups moving to various parts of the room: a small stage, a section of chairs lined up in front.

Jeongguk pulled away reluctantly, smiling sadly at Seokjin. “If you meant what you said, now’s your moment.” He leaned in quickly and kissed Seokjin on the mouth before he could answer.

Seokjin watched as Jeongguk climbed on stage with the other young men and women. A man walked up to the podium and beat a small gavel to gather everyone’s attention. “Gentlemen, if you’ll please take your seats, the auction is about to begin.”

Frantically, Seokjin looked around to find the seats had been filled. He grabbed the only empty one he could find and sat nervously. He grabbed a plastic numbered paddle from below his seat, looking around the room to see what others were doing with them. Jeongguk looked as nervous as Seokjin felt, chewing his bottom lip and shifting his weight from side to side. The others gathered on stage looked equally frightened, squinting into the bright spotlights pointed at the stage.

“Tonight’s auction begins with omega number one,” the man gestured, and a young man stepped forward. He was tall and skinny with sharp cheekbones and wide eyes. Long blond hair framed his face, and occasionally, he’d reach up to tuck it behind his ear and out of his eyes. “One previous owner, aged twenty-two, fully presented on synthetic hormones. We’ll start the bidding at…”

The room suddenly felt too small. Seokjin tugged at his collar and wrestled with his tie to loosen it. They were bidding on omegas. The realization came suddenly, and Seokjin felt so colossally stupid at not understanding things sooner. The parties, the events, they were all covers for selling sex slaves, moving them from owner to owner. Seokjin started to sweat, and he prayed that he didn’t smell as desperate and terrified as he felt. The bidding ended swiftly, loud cheers erupting all around him as one man smiled proudly at his purchase. The man on stage looked dead behind the eyes.

“Next up, a stunning specimen, a real prize for tonight’s winner,” the auctioneer said. He gestured at the line and called out, “Omega number two. Two previous owners, aged twenty-two, fully presented on synthetic hormones. We’ll start bidding—”

Seokjin didn’t even hear the number the auctioneer spat out. Blindly, he raised his paddle. His heart raced in his chest. He felt like he could throw up or pass out or both. The other alphas in the crowd murmured and turned to him, sizing him up. It made his blood run cold to be stared at so intensely.

Another bidder challenged him, and Seokjin raised his paddle again. He’d figure out the finances later. He was good for the money even if the sellers didn’t think so. Another bidder called out, and Seokjin turned at the sound of his voice: his father’s voice. He turned to find his father at the back of the crowd, hand raised as he made his bid. It was nearly double what Seokjin had just offered, far more than he could hope to scrape together on short notice.

The auctioneer squinted into the spotlight and pointed his gavel out toward the crowd. “Going once, going twice—”

Another bidder raised his paddle, again doubling the price. The crowd gasped and murmured, a ripple of nervous laughter working through the room.

“Sold!” The auctioneer pounded his gavel and gestured for Jeongguk to resume his place in line.

Seokjin turned back to the stage, staring at Jeongguk until he made eye contact. I’m sorry, he mouthed. It wasn’t enough, but it was all he could offer in the moment. Jeongguk scowled and looked away. Seokjin didn’t miss the way his chin trembled.

Halfway through the third auction, Seokjin excused himself, moving quietly through the crowd toward the exit. He was hoping he could find out where Jeongguk would be sold or where he could find him next. It was stupid, he knew that, but he didn’t know what else to try.

In the foyer, Seokjin felt like he could breathe again. He walked through the hallway looking for anyone who might be able to help him. Instead, he found his father waiting by the door, head bowed as he typed furiously on his cell phone. He looked up when he heard Seokjin’s footsteps against the tiled floor. “You think I haven’t been keeping tabs on you? That I don’t know where you go night after night?”

Seokjin shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“What were you thinking in there? To spend that kind of money? On a plaything?”

“He’s a person,” Seokjin snapped.

“Not one that matters.” His father snapped his fingers. “We’re leaving. This little rescue mission you’re on is over.”

“I don’t know why you care,” Seokjin mumbled, following his father out the door and through the dark alley. They climbed into the sedan waiting outside for them.

“I care because if word gets out that my son is blowing his cash on some worthless omega, you’ll make us look weak. Pathetic. Like you can’t find yourself a suitable mate. What did you think was going to happen with him? How was this going to play out, Seokjin?” His father stared at him, waiting for an answer he didn’t have.

“We were going to leave,” Seokjin admitted.

“Leave what exactly?” his father snapped.

“I want out,” Seokjin said. He dug his knuckles into his thigh, pressing hard and hoping for a bruise. “I want Jeongguk, and I want out.”

His father scoffed and looked out the tinted window. “Jeongguk. So the kid has a name.”

“How can you see what happens in there and be okay with it?” Seokjin asked. Hot tears pricked his eyes. He didn’t want to cry in front of his father, didn’t want him to see the frustration he’d tamped down finally bubbling to the surface.

“There are two kinds of people in this world, son,” his father stated calmly. He twisted the large, jeweled ring on his finger. “The weak and the powerful. You’re where you are because I’m powerful. He’s where he is because he’s weak.”

Seokjin scowled and stared out the window, watching as the city lights blurred past them. He hated that he always felt indebted to his father. All his life, he felt like he had accrued some debt without knowing it, and one day his father would come to collect. He cleared his throat and turned to his father, trying hard to fight the tremble in his throat. “Maybe I don’t want to be where I am.”

“Bullsh*t,” his father spat. “You’ve got everything a person could ever want. You’d be an idiot to leave all this.”

“Leave what, exactly?” Seokjin countered. “I hate working for you. I hate these parties. I hate the family. I want out.”

“What if your mother heard you right now?”

Seokjin shrugged. Not once did Seokjin feel like his mother was on his side. Even as a child, she was cold and aloof, uninterested in nurturing him or talking to him. She made it very clear from an early age that he was simply an extension of the bloodline, a pup to shape into someone to one day lead the pack and the company. Seokjin’s entire existence was a down payment on a future he wanted no part of. “She’d survive,” he muttered. He couldn’t even recall the last time he even saw his mother. Chuseok? New Year?

“Ungrateful,” his father said incredulously, shaking his head. “You’d give everything up for some mutt on the auction block?”

“I’d want out even without him,” Seokjin answered coolly. He liked the way his father seemed to bristle, his unbothered facade beginning to crumble. “I want my inheritance, I want my share, I want out.”

His father co*cked an eyebrow. “You sound like you’re threatening me.”

“It would be a shame if word got out that you were associated with sex trafficking and prostitution,” Seokjin said, shaking his head and feigning worry. He pursed his lips and sighed dramatically. “What would your clients think?” He gasped, eyes widening. “Or what if the client list were to be leaked? Not just your name but all your clients hosting the parties. Ah, that would be something. The papers would have a field day with this story.”

“You’d only implicate yourself,” his father said. Seokjin could smell the worry beginning to fill the backseat. Small beads of sweat dotted his father’s hairline, and his cheeks began to flush.

“I don’t have that much to lose,” Seokjin said with a shrug. “I would tell the authorities I was just trying to help break the story.”

“The authorities know about the auctions and the parties. You’d have a hard time finding someone who gave a damn.” He fidgeted with his tie and kept his eyes glued to the window. His ears turned pink, and the passing street lamps illuminated them with small flashes of light. His father had very few tells, but like Seokjin, his ears grew warm and red whenever he was upset. It was one of the few traits they both shared.

Seokjin shrugged again. “Worth a shot. I can make a lot of calls. I’m sure someone would love to pick up the case.”

“So let’s settle the terms then,” his father said, turning back to Seokjin. His face was blank, no trace of sadness or anger in his eyes, no creased forehead.

“I told you. I want my inheritance and my share of the company. Buy me out. I know you’ve got the money for it.”

“And the house?”

Seokjin waved him off. “I don’t want it. I told you I’m happy with my apartment.”

“You’re taking it. Sell it, if you want, but the deed is in your name, and I don’t want anything to do with it.” He adjusted his watch and studied Seokjin’s face for a moment. “You’ve really been so unhappy you’d throw it all away?” A softness crept into his voice that unsettled Seokjin.

“I’m not cut out for this life,” Seokjin said softly. “I’ve never fit in here. And I can’t be happy being part of a pack or a company that condones what they’re doing in those places.”

His father shook his head, wagging his finger at Seokjin. “If you keep measuring everyone against your moral code, son, you’re going to run out of people to be around.”

Nodding, Seokjin offered a sad smile. “I think I’m okay with that.”

***

There was no grand goodbye, no mother crying in his doorway, no gathering of the housekeepers to send him off. Seokjin’s father wasn’t even there the day he left. He actually preferred the quiet departure. He was spared the indignity of an insincere speech from his parents. Everything he owned was already in his apartment in the city, so there wasn’t even reason to be at the house other than returning his keys and collecting an envelope of cash with a slip containing the banking information for his new accounts. He half-expected his father to show up with some final speech about family and loyalty; why else would he have insisted Seokjin come to the house to collect the money? Instead, he was greeted by a silent house which felt like all the condemnation he expected anyway.

Driving away from the family estate, Seokjin felt little relief. It seemed too easy. Severing ties with his father, the family, and the company took far less effort than Seokjin expected. Part of him was hurt that neither of them could muster much energy for a fight. How important had he actually been to the family if his father cowed to his pathetic threats so easily?

The only thing that made Seokjin feel better about the severance was his newfound free time and funds to search for Jeongguk. It would be hard to gain access to parties without his father’s connections. Surely I could still bank on the family name, he thought. He knew his father well enough to know he’d never admit to his son leaving the pack or the company; he’d want to save face and likely wouldn’t tell anyone about Seokjin’s departure, at least not the circ*mstances for it. There were so few benefits to being part of the Alpha Kim Pack, but maybe earning an invite to future auctions and finding Jeongguk would be one that remained.

***

The chance to attend another event came sooner than Seokjin expected. Within a few months, he had found his way into another party. It was surprisingly easy to finesse some of the hosts into inviting him by dropping his name and offering some cash. He had a few invitations he held onto once he realized he might be able to track Jeongguk down. Seokjin was pleased that he’d had the foresight to keep some of them, even when he was emptying out his desk at work, blindly dumping the contents of his desk drawers into the trash.

The event was at a rundown building—something that might have once been eclectic and chic but now looked grubby and tired. Seokjin entered through a velvet curtain entrance and immediately coughed when the scents of the room assaulted him. The place smelled dank and sour, the kind of stench that hung in the air at funerals: sweet and devastating and soggy. He loosened his tie and tried not to gag as he pushed his way to the bar.

As far as he could tell, there weren’t any omegas working the floor. A few bleary-eyed alphas talked loudly at the front of the room, hovering near the stage. Mismatched chairs were scattered around with numbered paddles on the seats. He had hoped it would be an auction; he came prepared with his checkbook and an envelope of cash. He had more than what his father outbid him last time, and he was confident he might have a chance at winning Jeongguk. He just needed to confirm he was even there.

A woman in a skintight black dress walked across the stage. Her dark hair was long and curled, a shock of white framing her face. With a gloved hand, she tapped the microphone and gestured toward the chairs. “Gentlemen, please take your seats. Our auction is about to begin.” She looked like a cartoon villain: sharp all over with bright red lips and shiny black heels. She kept smiling and licking her teeth, an attempt at being sexy or intimidating, Seokjin wasn’t sure.

He took his seat at the back of the room, watching the other alphas carefully. He didn’t recognize any of them from other events. He wondered if maybe they were sent to do the bidding by their more powerful bosses. The numbered paddle was flimsy, and Seokjin twirled it in his hands nervously.

Once everyone was seated, the woman smiled and addressed the crowd. “Tonight, we have a small selection, but we think you’ll be happy with the variety.” The curtains behind her parted and a harsh spotlight appeared, illuminating the people on stage.

Seokjin’s stomach dropped. Jeongguk was in the middle of the row. He looked downtrodden, dirty, painfully skinny. He didn’t look like the Jeongguk he’d seen before. This person was a shell: hollow and lifeless, the color gone from his cheeks, replaced with something sickly and sallow. “The f*ck,” Seokjin gasped under his breath. He looked around and wondered what the other alphas in the room thought. The people on the auction block looked emaciated and unwell, void of any kind of life. How could anyone want someone in that state?

The paddles raised faster than Seokjin expected, and the alphas began barking out their bids, shouting and leaping out of their chairs in competition. The auctioneer tried her best to steer the bidding, asking the men to slow down as she brought each omega up one by one. By the time she got to Jeongguk, the alphas were practically foaming at the mouth to bid and outbid one another. He tried to keep up, waving his paddle among the fervor of the audience. The bids continued, and soon, they were well past the money Seokjin had in his savings and his checking account, far more than the cash he had in his pocket. They were all playing a game he wasn’t cut out for.

When the final bid was accepted, the crowd erupted in congratulatory cheers, turning to the alpha in the front, clapping him on the back. A security guard clad in black arrived on stage, gesturing for the omegas to exit. Seokjin jumped to his feet and called out, waving his paddle, “Jeongguk! Jeongguk, I’ll find you! I promise!”

Jeongguk glanced over his shoulder. He looked like a man walking toward his own execution. Seokjin never forgot that look on his face. It became his sole motivation for the years to come.

Seokjin. Now.

Seokjin couldn’t sleep the rest of the night. As he laid in bed, he tried to unravel the past few years leading up to this moment. He thinks about how he hid it all from Namjoon for so long. It took him months to finally tell Namjoon that he left the company, turning his back entirely on his family. It was still so fresh at the time, the wound too tender to acknowledge. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Namjoon about his heartache while he helped nurse him through his own. As much as Seokjin felt excluded from his own family, he hadn’t expected to feel so anguished once he was on his own. He’d told Namjoon the house was some attempt at encouraging him to find a mate, settle down, raise pups. He hated starting their relationship with so many lies, and here he was doing it all over again with Jeongguk.

By morning, Seokjin’s eyes feel like they’re dried out and filled with sand. He envies the way Namjoon and Yoongi sleep—deep and undisturbed. Climbing out of bed, he wonders if he’ll have a chance to say goodbye to Jeongguk, to try and apologize for going about everything all wrong. Intent versus impact, Namjoon is always saying. Seokjin thinks about that as he slips out of the bedroom and pads softly down the hall.

He finds Jeongguk’s door ajar, and he hesitates before knocking softly. “Come in,” Jeongguk answers.

Seokjin pushes the door open. A few bags are packed at the foot of the bed. Jeongguk is stripping the sheets from the bed, folding them neatly. “So you’re really going.”

“What do you want?” Jeongguk huffs.

“To apologize. To send you off. I don’t know.” He chews his bottom lip and stands helplessly in the doorway. “Where are you going to go? Do you think it’s really going to be better out there?”

“If you’re here to guilt me into staying, I’m not interested,” Jeongguk snaps. He sets the folded sheets in a small stack by the pillows. “Just tell me one thing.”

“Anything,” Seokjin answers quickly. “Whatever you want.”

“What do you get out of all this?”

“Out of what?”

Jeongguk scoffs and waves his hand. “This. Collecting all these broken people. What for? Amusem*nt? You’re no different than the people at the auctions, buying up all these sad, broken people to use however they see fit.”

Seokjin winces. “You can’t really believe that,” he says calmly. “I told you I’d find you, and I did.”

“So what? You think you can just buy me and that’s it? Settle the score? You’re guilt-free now and I’m supposed to stay here and be grateful? You promised me years ago that you’d rescue me. Years. You have no idea what I went through to survive.” Jeongguk’s chin quivers, eyes welling with tears. “So now I’m in your debt, right? I owe you something?”

“Nothing,” Seokjin says softly. “You owe me nothing. I only wanted to fulfill my promise. I told you I’d save you, and I did. I’m sorry it took so long—”

“—but you built a pack, hyung,” Jeongguk whispers. The honorific pierces right through Seokjin’s heart. He feels like his knees could buckle. “You had time to create this pack, all the while I was out there.” Sobbing, he sits on the edge of the bed and covers his face.

“Jeongguk-ah,” Seokjin says gently, “I didn’t plan for the pack to happen. They happened to me, really. And they all knew I was looking for you. That was always my number one priority.”

“Was it?” Jeongguk looks up, eyes searching Seokjin’s face for an answer. “Your number one priority? Then why did it take so long?”

“Trust me, if I could have found you sooner, I would have. I needed time to get the funds, needed time to find you, Jeongguk-ah,” Seokjin explains. “I knew if I came for you, I had to be certain no one would beat my bid, and more importantly, that no one would come looking for you.” He sits on the opposite side of the bed, smoothing his hand across the bare mattress. “You’re free to go, if you want. But if you leave, I can’t guarantee your safety.”

Jeongguk sniffles and wipes his nose with his sleeve. “I don’t need it.”

Seokjin smiles weakly. “You might.”

Jeongguk groans and punches the pillows by his side. “Why did you wait so long to tell me?”

Shrugging, Seokjin sighs. “I don’t know. You were just finding your place in the pack, bonding with the others. I didn’t want you to think I expected anything of you.”

“I went through hell that night,” Jeongguk whispers. He wipes his eyes and turns to Seokjin, staring at him directly. “They did unimaginable things to me. I thought I was going to die, hyung. But the thought of you finding me kept me alive. But then another auction happened, or another party, and you weren’t there.”

Wordlessly, Seokjin nods.

“Do you know what it feels like to be broken? Like really broken? Body and mind broken? All will to live stripped away?” Jeongguk’s tone grows sharper, and Seokjin shivers, feeling the hair stand on the back of his neck. “I was force fed drugs, forced to do inhumane things to myself and other people. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. They stole something from me a long time ago, and I thought maybe they wouldn’t steal that bit of hope I had left, the hope you gave me, hyung, but they did. That might have been the worst part of all.”

“Jeongguk-ah, I don’t know what to say,” Seokjin murmurs. “I did the best I could. I’m sorry I took so long. I had no idea what I was getting into. I should have told you when I brought you here. I did everything all wrong, and I’m sorry. It’s not enough, but I’m sorry.”

Jeongguk stands and sniffles again, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “Jimin and I are leaving soon.”

Nodding, Seokjin responds, “Okay.”

“Okay.” Jeongguk presses his lips together firmly.

“I hope you’ll wake the others and say goodbye. They care about you so much. They’ll be crushed if you leave without seeing them.” He won’t even allow himself to imagine how heartbroken they would be to wake and find Jeongguk gone.

“Will you go get them? Jimin and I have to pack the car. I don’t want any big speeches, either. You won’t convince me to stay.” Jeongguk reaches for a duffel bag, slinging it over his shoulder.

Seokjin nods. “Yeah, I’ll get them.”

Waking them proves easier than he expected. When Seokjin returns to his bedroom, Taehyung and Hoseok are already in bed with Yoongi and Namjoon. It’s a sweet image: the four of them tangled together, whispering and half-awake, bedhead and curls and puffy cheeks.

“Morning, hyung,” Taehyung says. His voice is watery and shaky, and it makes Seokjin’s heart break.

He clears his throat. “Jeongguk and Jimin are leaving soon. He’d like to say goodbye." He points at Namjoon, trying hard to joke. “No speeches, he said.”

The four pack mates reluctantly crawl out of bed. Taehyung clings to Yoongi, shuffling behind him with every step. Hoseok and Namjoon walk side-by-side, hands linked as they make their way down the stairs. Jimin is near the front door, a ring of shiny keys dangling from his finger and large mirrored sunglasses on top of his head.

“All packed?” Yoongi asks.

Jimin nods. “All packed.”

The door swings open and Jeongguk steps in, face falling when he sees everyone gathered. Seokjin doesn’t dare let himself believe this moment might change things. Hoseok is the first to step forward, pulling Jeongguk into a strong hug. He squeezes his shoulders and steps back, cupping Jeongguk’s face. “Be good, okay? Seek good.”

Jeongguk nods and forces a smile. “I will, hyung.”

Taehyung flings himself into Jeongguk’s arms, crying loudly and sniffling into his shirt. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

“—it’s not you, hyung, I promise,” Jeongguk answers gently.

Taehyung hugs him tighter, refusing to let go. “I hope you’ll come visit sometime.”

Jeongguk nods, wiping his eyes. “I will.” Though it might be a lie, Taehyung smiles and nods.

Namjoon offers an awkward, but gentle hug, patting Jeongguk on the shoulders before letting him go. Jeongguk looks up at him with wide, pleading eyes but doesn’t say anything. Namjoon clears his throat. “Be safe out there, yeah? Call us if you need anything.”

Yoongi steps forward next, hesitating before wrapping his arms around Jeongguk, pulling him closer. They hug in silence, and Yoongi steps back and offers a small smile and a nod. Jeongguk does the same, mirroring the lopsided way Yoongi sometimes smiles.

Jeongguk’s eyes dart over to Seokjin for a moment, then he turns to Jimin. “You ready?”

Jimin nods. “Yeah. Here, go start the car. I’ll be out in a sec.” Jeongguk takes the keys and gives a small wave to the pack before stepping outside. Jimin turns back to Seokjin and pulls him close in a tight hug. “I’ll take care of him, hyung, promise. Get him situated somewhere safe. I won’t come back until I do.”

Seokjin clears his throat and nods, tears finally spilling now that Jeongguk is gone. “Take him to Haundae beach, okay?”

Jimin smiles. “How very specific of you, hyung.”

Seokjin wipes his eyes and tries to smile back. “Trust me. Listen to hyung, I know what I’m talking about.”

“I love you,” Jimin says, resting his head against Seokjin’s shoulder. “You did everything you could.”

Seokjin kisses the top of Jimin’s head and gives his shoulder a soft squeeze. “Call me when you get there, yeah?”

Nodding, Jimin answers, “Of course.” He turns to the others and waves. “Take care of hyung, alright?”

“Of course,” Hoseok answers.

“Love you all,” Jimin says, blowing a kiss. When he closes the door behind him, it feels like all the air is sucked out of the room.

Seokjin’s knees buckle, and he falls to the floor, letting the sobs claw out of him freely. It hurts. Everything hurts. He digs his fingernails into the hardwood floors, scraping until he feels his nails splinter from the pressure. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, he thinks. He wanted to save Jeongguk, wanted a pack where they’d all feel safe, and now they feel fractured, more broken than when they were all separate.

Seokjin. Later.

Days pass. The sun rises and falls, darkness washes over the house, then light spills through uninvited. Jimin hasn’t called yet, and Jeongguk has turned off the phone Yoongi bought him. Taehyung is restless, pacing the house and snapping at the others, picking at his hair until he makes his scalp bleed. He’s never been separated from Jimin this long, and missing his mate has turned him panicked and needy.

Hoseok has started smelling like his old self again—that fetid, rotten stench of decay that clung to him after his wife died. It’s a subtle shift, but Namjoon notices it immediately, trying hard to scent Hoseok until he smells like the pack again. Eventually, Namjoon begins to dissociate entirely, locking himself away and studying, muttering about finding answers.

Yoongi had been stoic the day Jeongguk left, but he’s been teary and forlorn ever since. Seokjin can do little to console him, and it makes him feel so helpless and inadequate that he can’t comfort his mate.

Jeongguk had left an indelible impression on the pack. They had learned to shape their lives around him, carving out space for him and finding ways to show they cared about him. Seokjin had gone and f*cked it all up. The thought nags him each day. His pack mates are suffering because he couldn’t be honest with Jeongguk. His own pride or vanity or whatever about saving Jeongguk had clouded his judgment, and now his pack is fissured and disjointed. Packs could break permanently over something like this.

Seokjin doesn’t know what to do with himself these days. He sleeps alone, each of the alphas retreating to their own rooms. Taehyung and Hoseok sleep together, or at least he assumes so since he sees them going into the same bedroom each night. He doesn’t know if the others are giving him space as a punishment or because they don’t know what else to do with him. He had failed them.

The house began to feel less and less like a safe haven. At night, alone in his bed, Seokjin ponders selling it, ridding himself of the last connection to his family, to the life before when he found Jeongguk in the first place. He wouldn’t leave the others out to dry, of course. He’d find them a new place to live, somewhere they could truly be free and out from under his shadow.

One night, after hours of scrolling real estate listings and imagining his pack mates starting a new life in a sunlit condo on the other side of the city, Seokjin startles at the sound of the door opening. He locks his phone and sits up, squinting as the light from the hallway spills in. He smells them immediately: the comforting scents of the alphas, the soothing calm of the betas. His heart clenches. Maybe they’ve already decided to leave without me, he thinks. Namjoon or Yoongi would make an excellent pack leader. They’re both level-headed and compassionate, firm but understanding. They would be lucky to be led by either of them. Yes, he’s decided, they’re here to break the pack up.

“Hyung.” Yoongi’s voice is whisper-soft, the one he uses when he and Seokjin steal away in their nest, kissing and murmuring and hiding from the world. It makes Seokjin’s heart hurt even more. He’ll miss that voice.

“Come in, come in,” Seokjin says, waving at Yoongi. He can smell the others behind him, can see the top of Taehyung’s head poking up between their shoulders.

“We came to spend time with you,” Hoseok said warmly. Without invitation, he climbs into Seokjin’s bed, nuzzling him and squeezing him. He smells like his old self again: vibrant and pleased, and it makes Seokjin smile.

“You seem to be feeling better,” Seokjin says softly, threading his fingers through Hoseok’s hair. “And you?” He turns to Taehyung and opens his arm, gesturing for him to climb into bed.

“I miss Jimin,” he huffs, crawling into Seokjin’s arm. His neck is blotchy with red marks, and a tender spot is on his crown where he’s plucked out his hair with nervous fidgeting.

“I know, baby,” Seokjin answers, kissing the top of his head. “Me too.” He lifts Taehyung’s chin and studies him carefully. His eyes are bloodshot, with dark sweeps of purple under his eyes like bruises. “You’re not still picking, are you? He’ll be so upset if he comes back and sees you’ve hurt yourself.”

Taehyung sniffles and buries his head in Seokjin’s chest, exhaling loudly. “I’m trying, hyung. I’m trying.”

“We’re working on redirecting his behavior,” Namjoon says proudly, patting Taehyung’s leg. He seems to be nervous about approaching, somehow aware of what Seokjin had been thinking about them taking over the pack.

“Hyung, we wanted to be with you, make you feel better,” Yoongi says gently. He crawls up the length of the bed with slow, cat-like motions. Years ago, when Seokjin purchased the oversized king bed, Yoongi had teased him mercilessly, but now that the five of them are gathered, Seokjin feels affirmed once more that it was the right decision.

Seokjin nods and smiles, swallowing the tears that threaten to fall. “I’ve failed you all.”

“None of that, hyung,” Namjoon says quickly. He climbs into the bed, spooning Taehyung and pressing him closer to Seokjin. “Mistakes happen. We knew bringing Jeongguk here could be difficult.”

“If you two want to take the pack, I mean, really lead it,” Seokjin stammered, “I would understand.”

Yoongi shakes his head and kisses Seokjin’s belly. “We wouldn’t dream of it, hyung. You are the leader. We’re your pack. What kind of family would we be if we abandoned you now?”

Hoseok nods, pushing up on his hands to look at Seokjin directly. “You found each of us in our darkest moments and brought us together. That’s what a good leader does. And you’re only as good as your pack, so we’re here. Saying we love you and we stand by you.”

Seokjin lets out a watery sob, reaching to cover his face, but Taehyung pulls his hand away. “It’s true, hyung. We love you. And we want to take care of you.”

Seokjin doesn’t know how it happens, but time seems to tilt, the earth shifting underneath them as the others begin to pull him out from under the blankets, hands reaching to peel off his clothes. They take their time kissing him all over, threading their fingers through his hair, fingertips gliding over his bare skin with delicate, reverent touches. He cries through it all: Yoongi cupping his face, kissing him hard and nipping at his neck, sucking on his mate mark; Namjoon’s hands all over his thighs, fingertips brushing between his legs; Taehyung’s mouth mapping kisses down his torso until his breath washes warm over Seokjin’s co*ck; Hoseok teasing his nipples with one hand, and the other holding him steady as he endures all the sensations.

It’s overwhelming to be loved like this: selfless hands and hearts and mouths opening to him. His pack mates turning to him during their darkest hour, giving him comfort when he has none to offer them. The tears stream down his cheeks, and he feels the sadness give way like sand shifting underfoot, melting with the rough tides and sea winds.

And then: relief.

Relief when Namjoon’s fingers press deep inside Seokjin, relief when Taehyung gasps around his co*ck, relief when Hoseok’s teeth begin to tease the sensitive buds of his nipples, relief when Yoongi’s kisses turn soft and slow, languid and drawn out like kissing him is a luxury. It all feels like more than he deserves. There’s no way to thank them for this gift of pleasure and distraction and affection, no way to even the score when they give themselves to him so freely.

“Thank you,” he sighs between kisses.

Yoongi smiles at him, nose brushing against Seokjin’s. “We love you, hyung. Don’t ever forget it.”

“Turn over, baby,” Namjoon hummed, squeezing Seokjin’s thighs. Seokjin turned on his side and Namjoon settled behind him, mouthing along his shoulders, inhaling his scent as he rutted against his back. Yoongi shifted, giving room for Taehyung to squeeze in, pressing himself against Seokjin’s front. His hand snaked between his legs, squeezing his co*ck with firm, steady strokes.

It’s blissful and overwhelming: the heat of Taehyung and Namjoon encasing him so thoroughly. Taehyung kisses him with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, conscious and humming with each pass of their tongues. He’s a greedy lover—not steady and calm like Namjoon, not teasing like Hoseok, or gentle and measured like Yoongi. Seokjin loves the contrast between Taehyung and Namjoon—how Taehyung kisses and nibbles his lip, hand moving in jerky, wet motions, how Namjoon teases his rim with one finger, then two with careful precision.

Seokjin feels like he’s pushing himself out of a dream, forcing his eyes open as he reaches out for Hoseok. “You aren’t leaving, are you?” He wants to be surrounded by his pack mates, wants to feel them all over, wants to be marked with their scents, wants to build a nest around them to keep them safe forever.

“No, hyung, I’m staying right here.” Hoseok smiles at him with the kind of radiance Seokjin hasn’t felt in ages. Hoseok nudges Taehyung and they shuffle down the bed, their mouths ghosting over Seokjin’s co*ck as they take turns sucking him with torturous, slow strokes.

Yoongi leans closer, nipping at Seokjin’s bottom lip. “I can stay too, right?”

Seokjin laughs—loud and awkward and airy. “Of course, baby, don’t ever leave me.”

“As if any of us could,” Yoongi murmurs. Before Seokjin can answer, Yoongi kisses him again with such tender force, it takes his breath away. Seokjin gasps against him, suddenly feeling electric and full as Namjoon f*cks into him with deep, steady thrusts.

The pain of the past few days releases its grip on Seokjin’s mind. He feels himself relaxing, giving in to all the sensations and forgetting all of his worries. His mates swallow every gasp and moan, clinging to Seokjin like something precious and beloved. The smell of them together—sex and pheromones and them—is restorative, the balance of the pack beginning to realign and settle into its rightful place. The tears feel different now: a cathartic release that Seokjin had denied himself for so long.

When Seokjin dreamed of being part of a pack some day, he envisioned something warm and safe. There were no faces he imagined as his pack mates, no house or apartment in his imagination. It was a nebulous dream—shapeless and without detail. But with each new pack mate, the dream began to take on shape, began to fill out with light and color he never imagined. There was simply no way to dream up the life he’d one day have, no way to dream up the selfless souls who would fit into his life, make him part of theirs while situating themselves firmly, permanently, irrevocably in his heart.

Chapter 10: Jeongguk

Chapter Text

Interlude.

When Jimin finally climbed into the car after saying his goodbyes, he sniffed loudly then lowered his sunglasses. Other than, “let’s go,” he said nothing to Jeongguk.

The ride has been quiet for an hour. Neither of them have much to say. Jeongguk adjusts the radio, clicking through stations until he lands on some pop station. Jimin hums along with some of the songs, but Jeongguk doesn’t know them. It’s a strange reminder of his time in captivity—little things like the dramas the pack watches together, popular songs that everyone knows, references to current events that Jeongguk has never even heard of. Some days, it’s easy to forget he was hidden away, deprived of sunlight and socialization. Other days, it feels glaringly obvious how out of touch he is with his new life.

Leaving Seoul feels strange. Jeongguk is certain he’s left the city before, but he doesn’t know for sure. The holes in his memory frequently rattle him. How much of his life has been lost to blackouts? Some nights, when Jeongguk sleeps alone, he tries to piece it all together. Other nights, he tries to unravel it, tracing his memories backwards until he stumbles over a blank spot on the timeline. If it weren’t for the others, he’d barely register the seasons changing. When he was captive, time was meaningless. What point was there in tracking the days? There was no difference between a Monday or a Friday, a birthday or a national holiday. Back then, time and all its meaning was stripped from him.

With the pack, time moves differently. They mark their days with work schedules, meals, the shows they watch together, exercise routines. Jeongguk has never had so much time that was his own. Even riding in the car as Jimin navigates them out of the city, it feels like the highways are opening up like time stretching before him. There’s just so much of it.

Jeongguk dozes off and on, lulled to sleep by the sound of the car humming along. A sudden storm has rolled through, seeming to follow them on their drive, hovering and pouring rain in steady drops. The car is cozy with its heated seats, and Jimin’s warmth and calming scent make Jeongguk feel cocooned and tucked away safely. Silence between them has never felt fraught. Jimin doesn’t observe him like Namjoon does sometimes; he’s not calculating his next question or weighing his next comment. Jeongguk knows Namjoon is only trying to give him space, but sometimes, he feels like he’s being studied, like an animal in captivity, some case study like his textbooks.

With Jimin, they’re simply equals. Maybe it’s something unspoken between omegas, a sort of wavelength they’ve settled on together. Whatever it is, Jeongguk is comforted by the time he spends with Jimin. It’s not that the others don’t make him feel safe or wanted; they just have to work at in a way Jimin doesn’t have to. He seems to understand Jeongguk with a glance or a small brush of their hands. It’s something Jeongguk has envied among the pack—their little acts of intimacy and silent communication. He feels he finally has something like that with Jimin, however small.

Still, Jeongguk feels a pang of guilt gnawing at him about pulling Jimin away from the pack. The thought plagues him even in his sleep. The dreams are quick, often interrupted by a rough patch on the road or a song that startles him awake.

After a drowsy, quiet two hours have passed, Jeongguk sits up with a loud yawn. His neck and shoulders ache from curling in on himself in the front seat, the seatbelt digging into his chest.

“Hey, sleepy head,” Jimin says warmly, reaching to turn down the radio. “I had no idea you snored.”

Jeongguk laughs and rubs the back of his neck, stretching until he feels a satisfying pop. “I didn’t either.”

Jimin smiles. “It’s cute.”

Jeongguk’s heart flutters. Jimin has a way of looking at everyone with unfettered affection. He doesn’t withhold smiles or laughter, instead choosing to dole out gentle touches or loud giggles freely. Everything about Jimin is so free. He doesn’t seem to calculate his movements, weighing each word before choosing how to spend them on another person. He gives himself, and his adoration, like he has an infinite supply and might never run out. After a lifetime of careful calculations, Jeongguk still doesn’t know how to match Jimin’s endless love.

“I’m sorry you had to leave the pack,” Jeongguk says, turning to look out the passenger window. He knows with all of Jimin’s openness, he’ll have a hard time masking his disappointment about leaving. Jeongguk can’t bear the thought of watching his light dim for even a moment.

Jimin shrugs, his face softening. “Anyone would have offered.”

“But you,” Jeongguk says. “You’re the one here now. Why?”

Forcing a smile, Jimin glances at Jeongguk then back to the road. “You know why.”

Startled, Jeongguk blinks and shakes his head. “I really don’t.”

“We’re practically bonded, Jeongguk,” Jimin says carefully. “We felt it as soon as we met. I’d be a mess if someone else were here taking you to your new life. I have to see this through.”

Nodding, Jeongguk chews his thumbnail and studies the grooves on the rubber floor mats of the car. “But what about the others? Don’t you have the same bonds with them?”

“The same,” Jimin confirms with a shrug, “but different. It’s the power of a pack, right? Different connections between us. None more important than the others, but we have our own special links. Some take longer than others to find.”

“And Taehyung?”

Jimin’s face lights up. “Ah, yes, well and then there are soulmates. Pack or no pack.”

Soulmates. The word stings, and Jeongguk can’t help but flinch at the proclamation. Whatever he has with Jimin can’t compare to what Jimin and Taehyung have. Jeongguk swallows. “I see.”

“Hey,” Jimin says gently, reaching to pat Jeongguk’s thigh. “It doesn’t mean I care about you any less than him. It doesn’t mean I care about the others any less than him. It just means, I dunno.” He pauses and inhales deeply. “It just means, I couldn’t live without him, that I couldn’t imagine our pack being complete without him.”

Another sting—biting and sharp, wriggling deep between Jeongguk’s ribs, confirming his darkest fears. The pack had been complete before Jeongguk ever arrived. The six of them had something that he was thrust into, and he was an interloper in their world.

“It also means we thought we were complete and then you came along, Jeongguk-ah.” Jimin smiles again, a new softness settling onto his face. “You filled in an emptiness we didn’t know we carried with us every day. You brought so much joy to our pack, so much relief to Seokjin-hyung. Finding you was really like finding the final puzzle piece.”

“And now I’m leaving.” A sour taste rises to the back of Jeongguk’s throat. “And you’re the one who has to go all this way to get rid of me.”

Jimin clenches the steering wheel, his jaw twitching as he steadies his breathing. “No one is getting rid of you. But if you want space, we’re going to give it to you. A pack understands we have to do what’s best for a member, even if it f*cking hurts.” Jimin’s voice cracks and he clears his throat, loosening his grip on the wheel.

“I don’t know where I’m supposed to go,” Jeongguk admits.

“We’ll figure it out,” Jimin says matter-of-factly. “If it’s not with us, then we’ll find you some place safe. And if you wanna come back, we’ll bring you back. If not, that’s okay too.” He laughs and shakes his head. “Well, not okay, but like, we’re not going to hold you back from doing what you need to do.”

Jeongguk nods, unsure of what to say next. He stares out the window, watching as the sky bleeds dark purple into pinks and oranges as the sun breaks through the storm clouds.

“I left the pack once,” Jimin says after a long stretch of silence. “Before Taehyung, actually.”

“You did?” Jeongguk turns back to Jimin, mouth open in shock. “Why?”

Shrugging, Jimin continues, “I dunno. Just had to figure myself out first. Seokjin-hyung had come on so strong, you know? Just charming and sweet and it all seemed so impossible that he wanted to help me get out of that club.”

Jeongguk nods. “Impossible,” he echoes. “Yeah.”

“It was overwhelming. Namjoon took me in so easily. Hobi, too. They treated me like they’d been waiting for me all along. Yoongi-hyung gave me a hard time, though.” Jimin laughs, shaking his head. “All his own way of showing love, of course. But it was really overwhelming having these guys ready to make space in their homes and lives for me. I wasn’t ready for that.”

Jeongguk can hardly believe it. Jimin seems so perfectly enmeshed with the pack, it seems unlikely that he’d ever feel like he didn’t belong to them. “So what happened?”

“Seokjin-hyung handed me the keys to his car and told me to go do what I needed to do. He gave me some money, they all hugged me goodbye, and next thing I knew, I was on the road driving to Busan to my grandmother’s house.” Jimin smiled sadly, glancing at Jeongguk. “She’s been dead for years. But the pull to go home felt so strong, I had to go.”

Jeongguk pulls his knees onto the seat, hugging them to his chest. “Then what?”Home.He isn't sure what that even feels like.

“When I got there, I realized it wasn’t home,” Jimin answers softly. “It could never be home again. My home was with the pack.” He laughs and pounds the steering wheel, startling Jeongguk. “But I’m stubborn and couldn’t just go back that night, and I couldn't stay at her place either. I suffered three days alone in a crappy hotel before I turned around and went back. At least the pack didn’t gloat when they saw me slip through the front door. Not one of them said they expected me to come back. Even if they knew all along I’d return, they didn’t take it as a chance to tease me. They were just happy I was back.”

“And that’s it? You just came back?”

Jimin nods. “Yup. It was like no time passed at all. No one grilled me about my time away or made me feel guilty about it. I was home and that’s all that mattered.”

“That must have felt nice,” Jeongguk murmurs.

“Felt amazing,” Jimin agrees. “Poor Taehyungie tried to run away while I was courting him, but Yoongi-hyung helped bring us back together. You know, Seokjin-hyung was pretty tough on him at first. Taehyung almost broke my heart, and Seokjin-hyung was not interested in this guy coming around. But then he found his place too. Even if he had to win back hyung’s approval. I really had to beg him to see how special Taehyung was and to welcome him into the pack.”

Jeongguk can’t bring himself to ask the question weighing on his tongue.

Jimin glances at him quickly before looking back at the highway. “And before you ask, everyone wanted Seokjin-hyung to find you. Everyone. There was no convincing to be done. We knew how much it meant to him that he find you. Even if we didn’t know why, we knew it was important to him, so it was important to us.”

There is absolutely no reason for Jimin to lie to Jeongguk, and there’s no reason for Jeongguk to think he’s being dishonest now, but it’s still hard to believe. The truth seems too impossible, too big to wrap his mind around. Seokjin wanted him. They all wanted him.

Silence settles between them after that. Jimin turns the radio back on, humming along as if he hadn’t just laid himself bare to Jeongguk. Glancing in the side mirror, Jimin flicks on the turn signal and takes the closest exist. “M’starving,” he mumbles. They pull into a convenience store attached to a large rest stop, and Jimin cuts the engine. “Wanna come with? Get something to eat?”

Nodding, Jeongguk fumbles with his seatbelt and climbs out of the car.

The convenience store is well-lit with loud, buzzing fluorescent lights. The coolers in the back of the store hum and sputter, and Jimin’s heels click loudly on the tile floor as he leads Jeongguk through the snack aisles. He plucks a bag of chips, then a package of gummy worms, then a tube of something indecipherable. Jeongguk trails behind him, unsure what he should grab. He comes to a halt and frowns, inspecting the shiny, crinkled bags of snacks adorned with cartoon characters.

“What’s wrong?” Jimin turns around, eyebrows lifted in concern. “Don’t worry about the price. Just grab whatever you want.”

Jeongguk frowns. “I don’t know what I want.” How could he? As he stares at all the packaged snacks, he has no idea what he’s even looking at. It’s all so foreign to him. He doesn’t have a bank of childhood memories to nudge him toward a nostalgic favorite. He can’t even guess what some of this stuff is.

Softening, Jimin pats Jeongguk’s arm and points at a row of blue and black bags with large drawings of roasted corn. “You like those. They’re the ones you’re always stealing from Hobi-hyung during movie nights.”

Jeongguk turns to Jimin with a hopeful smile. “Yeah?”

Nodding, Jimin grabs both flavors and points his toe at a lower shelf. “And you like those. The spicy ones that make Taehyungie cry.”

Crouching, Jeongguk grabs a bag, inspecting it. It does look familiar. He stands and sighs, shaking his head. “I feel like an alien sometimes,” he says softly. “All these little everyday things, I just don’t know…”

Jimin nudges Jeongguk with his shoulder. “Chin up, pup. It’s all garbage anyway, and if you eat enough of it, you’ll realize they all kinda taste the same. You’re kinda lucky, in a way. You get to try everything for the first time with a fresh palate.”

Jeongguk snorts. “Lucky.”

Rolling his eyes, Jimin nods toward the end of the aisle and turns to lead them to the next one. “You know what I mean.”

“How could I be lucky?” Jeongguk asks, dragging his hands along the shelves, flicking the price tags along the way.

“You’re alive, aren’t you?” Jimin glances over his shoulder and smiles at Jeongguk—wide and dazzling and sincere. “That’s pretty damn lucky.” Before the moment turns too saccharine, Jimin turns and waves Jeongguk toward the coolers.

They stand in front of the frosted glass doors, staring at the wall of colored drinks. The selection is even more dizzying than the snack aisles. Jeongguk reaches for the door and opens it, shivering as the cold air blasts him. He grabs two bottles of tea and turns to Jimin. “What do you want?”

“Grab me the ginseng tea with the red label and a milk tea, please.” He shifts his armful of snacks and smiles when Jeongguk grabs the bottles. “You got enough? We can grab more if you’re hungry.”

“Maybe some ramyun for the night?” Jeongguk suggests.

“You sure? We can find a diner or something. We won’t be much longer,” Jimin answers.

They walk toward the cashier, pausing at the aisle of instant noodles and microwave rice. “Maybe tomorrow?” Jeongguk says. He reaches for a few cups of instant noodles and a sleeve of ramyun packages. “You’ve been driving so long, and I’m tired.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jimin says with a smile. “If we’re getting noodles, let’s get some beer too.” With their hands full, they carry their items to the cashier, dropping everything onto the counter. Jimin grins sheepishly at the sleepy, elderly cashier. “We’ll be right back.”

Returning with a six pack, Jimin pushes everything toward the cashier and reaches for his wallet. The cashier doesn’t speak to them or pay any attention to the way Jeongguk stares at everything around him. If the cashier notices Jeongguk’s eyes widening at the wall of cigarettes behind him or the posters of soju models curling away from the walls, he doesn’t say anything. They pay for their snacks and thank the cashier before grabbing the flimsy bags and making their way back to the car.

“Shouldn’t be long,” Jimin says, starting the car. “Feel free to dig in—”

Jeongguk is already elbow-deep in a bag of toasted corn crisps, munching and swiping away the flavor dust at the corners of his mouth. “Sorry,” he mumbles with his mouth full, “hungry."

Laughing, Jimin shoves his hand into the bag, reaching for a handful of crisps. “It’s fine, I’m hungry too.”

The rest of the ride feels more comfortable, the two of them sharing a bag of crisps then the bag of gummy worms. They laugh and listen to the radio turned up, and when the clouds finally clear, they roll down the window. The smell of the salty beach air grows stronger as they drive closer to the coast. It’s easy to forget I’m running away, Jeongguk thinks.

***

“This place looks scary,” Jeongguk says, closing the car door with a loud thud.

“It’s not, I promise,” Jimin says, leading them toward their room on the open second floor of the building. The parking lot is cast in a rusty glow from the orange lamps dotting the property. Jimin fumbles with the key and pushes the door to their room open. He flicks on the light, and they both squint as their eyes adjust.

It’s an older motel, the kind of beach motel from a bygone era. What used to be pastel and charming, reminiscent of American beach decor in the 1950s now looks outdated and washed out. A large framed print of Hawaiian surfers hangs crooked over the bed, and the comforter is a tacky pattern of hibiscus flowers and paisley swirls.

“Okay,” Jimin laughs. “It was much cuter last time I was here.”

Scrunching his nose, Jeongguk shuts the door behind them and locks the deadbolt and the chain. “And when was that?”

“Twenty years ago for a family vacation?” Jimin slips off his shoes and sets down their bags of snacks. He touches the enormous pink conch lamp and turns to Jeongguk with an embarrassed, apologetic smile. “It was chic back in the day. We can go somewhere else if you want.”

“Nah,” Jeongguk says, pulling back the bed spread. He smooths his hand over the bone-white bedsheets and leans in, inspecting it for bugs or stains. “It’s fine, I guess.”

“We’ll find a new place tomorrow, promise.” Jimin flops onto the bed, stretching and groaning as he cracks his neck.

“I hope the weather lets up,” Jeongguk says, turning his attention to the window. The sunset was cut short by fast-moving clouds dropping more rain. He yanks the curtains shut and gestures at the bed. “Can I?”

“Course,” Jimin says, fluffing the pillow beside him. “I’m not gonna make you sleep on the floor.”

“Oh so I’d be the one on the floor?” Jeongguk teases, settling next to Jimin. The popcorn ceiling stares back at them, a large water spot spreading across the far corner.

“I mean, I drove,” Jimin says, shrugging. He turns on his side and stares at Jeongguk before giving his shoulder a soft squeeze. “If you’re uncomfortable sharing, I can sleep on the floor.”

“Why would I be uncomfortable?” Jeongguk asks, glancing at Jimin. “You sleep in my bed all the time.”

Jimin shrugs again. “I know, I just don’t want you to feel pressured or weird or like I’m trying to make your departure harder on you.”

Jeongguk rolls over and shakes his head. “You’re not. I’m glad you’re here.”

Jimin smiles. “I’m glad I’m here, too.” He closes his eyes and nestles into the pillows. “Just gonna rest my eyes a bit, then we can make some ramyun.”

Jeongguk hums in agreement and rolls over, throwing his arm across his eyes. He feels heavy all over, sleep tugging at him easily.

When Jeongguk wakes, it’s to the smell of spicy ramyun. Jimin changed into his pajamas—a large sleep shirt that Jeongguk recognizes as Taehyung’s, and a pair of ratty cotton shorts. He’s seated at the small table, one leg propped on the chair as he stirs the noodles with a pair of disposable chopsticks. “Hope you’re hungry, pup,” Jimin says, gesturing at the cup opposite him.

“Starving,” Jeongguk mumbles, climbing out of bed. He ruffles his hair and lets out a loud yawn as he takes his seat. The chair is rickety and old, giving a loud creak when he sits down. He reaches for his chopsticks and peels back the lid on the noodles. “Smells good.”

“See?” Jimin slurps his noodles loudly and exhales hot steam. “You know what you like. You’ll figure out all the other stuff eventually.”

Nodding, Jeongguk hunches over his cup and starts eating quickly, wincing as the water scalds his tongue. The noodles are spicy, stinging his lips and making his eyes water. “So good,” he groans between bites.

Jimin nudges a beer toward him. “It’s good with the beer, too. You picked a good one.”

“I grabbed the one I always see Yoongi-hyung get,” Jeongguk admits. He pops open the can and takes a long swig, exhaling with a loud ahh. “I don’t even know if it’s any good but it tastes good with ramyun.”

“The beauty of sh*tty beer,” Jimin hums. “Goes great with sh*tty food.”

Laughing, Jeongguk finishes his beer with a final gulp, crinkling the can as he sets it down. The icy bubbles make him shiver as they work their way down his throat. He reaches for another can and plucks it off the plastic ring, sliding it toward Jimin. He grabs another for himself and cracks it open. “Are you leaving right away tomorrow?”

“And leave you here with all the snacks?” Jimin scoffs. He shakes his head and takes a sip of his beer. “Nah, I’d like to stick around a bit. Make sure you get all set up. That okay?”

Nodding, Jeongguk smiles. “Yeah, that would be great. Maybe we can go to the beach tomorrow.”

“That would be nice,” Jimin agrees. He smiles, tracing the edge of his can carefully. He flicks at the aluminum tab and looks up at Jeongguk with a soft, serious expression. “Why did Seokjin-hyung tell me to bring you to Haeundae?”

Shrugging, Jeongguk mirrors Jimin’s action, gliding his finger along the rim of his drink. “I told him about it once. Long time ago.”

Jimin hums and nods, not pressing the question further. “I see.”

“I told him I always wanted to come here,” Jeongguk explains carefully. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been here, or if I’ve just dreamed about this place… but I told him about it once.” Jeongguk smiles and shakes his head. “He bought me a little book and some markers. Asked me to draw for him.”

“Oh?” Jimin asks, surprised. “When did he do that?”

“Before,” Jeongguk murmurs. “Back then. He used to track me down at parties, spend all his money on me so I wouldn’t have to be around those, those, those people,” he stammers.

Smiling, Jimin nods. “Sounds like him. He used to do that for me. Dropped ridiculous amounts of cash for the VIP room just to hang out with me so I didn’t have to give private dances to those animals.” Jimin clears his throat and forces a smile. “It’s a kind thing to do, however temporary.”

“Yeah.” Jeongguk nods. It was a kind thing to do. Jeongguk always thought it was kind, even if a little desperate or painfully temporary. “I drew a little beach scene for him,” he continues. “Told him about Haeundae. How I’d like to come here some day.”

“Ah.” Jimin leans across the table and reaches for Jeongguk’s hand. “And now you’re here. Just like you wanted.” He smiles and gives Jeongguk’s hand a squeeze. “Hyung really came through for you. For us.”

Jeongguk’s stomach twists. He wonders if maybe a promise kept means more than he realized, even if that promise took years to come to fruition. “Yeah,” he mumbles. He pulls away and reaches for his drink, downing it in a long gulp. “I’m gonna shower.”

Jimin sits back and nods, smoothing his palm over his knee. “Okay. You want more? I can heat it up while you’re in there.”

Shaking his head, Jeongguk collects his trash from the table and dumps it into the bin. “Nah, I’m good. Just gonna wash up and then try to sleep.”

“Hey,” Jimin says softly, grabbing Jeongguk’s wrist as he walks by, “I’m sorry for overstepping. I promise I have no agenda here.”

Jeongguk forces a smile and nods. “I know. Just tired, hyung.”

In the tiny bathroom, Jeongguk studies his face in the mirror. The light is garish and too bright, one bulb flickering in and out as it strains to stay lit. His cheeks have filled out since joining the pack. He snorts. He hasn’t joined anything. He’s just been on the periphery, one foot in, one foot out. He looks more rested than he has in years, the dark bruises under his eyes all but disappeared. Even his skin looks healthier; the time spent by the pool or working outside has done him good. He’s been well fed and cared for, given plenty of space when he needed it, and plenty of care when he’s needed that, too.

Maybe leaving is the wrong thing to do, he wonders. If anything, they’ve kept him safe and comfortable, and he isn’t so sure he can find that on his own. Is that really reason to stay? Would it be a lie to stay just for creature comforts?

Even that thought feels dishonest. When Yoongi teaches him how to play piano, it never feels like pity or biding time. He seems invested in helping Jeongguk learn, genuinely delighted when Jeongguk masters a song quickly, embellishing it with tinkling notes throughout. When Hoseok spoils him with take-out burgers and teaches him how to drive in empty parking lots, it feels special, like Hoseok looks forward to their time together too. Even working out with Namjoon with long, punishing sets of weights and calisthenics feels sacred: an alpha and an omega sweating in the same room, pushing their bodies and minds to achieve more, more, more with every rep. Jimin and Taehyung… well, they spoil Jeongguk, doting on him like he’s the sweetest thing they’ve ever laid eyes on, and they make him believe it.

And then there’s Seokjin.

Jeongguk steps into the shower, turning the handle until the water turns scalding. He squints and stands under the spray, letting the hot water pelt him. He stands there for a minute letting the water wash over him until his skin tingles with warmth. He fumbles for the sample-sized shampoo and squeezes it into his palms, working up a lather before scrubbing at his scalp.

He can’t bring himself to think about Seokjin. There are too many pieces there, scattered between memory and his current state, and he doesn’t know how to begin assembling them into a cohesive picture.

You promised me.

I found you as soon as I could.

Do you know how long I waited for you? What they made me do?

Could he really fault Seokjin for doing his best even if it took him years? All that time, Jeongguk wondered if he had been like all the other alphas who passed through those parties. He spent years thinking Seokjin was just as bad as the rest, maybe worse, for getting him to believe freedom might be an option, that one day he might be given a new life, maybe even one that included Seokjin. That hoped sustained him for so long, until one day, it turned sour, wilted like a bouquet left too long in the sun. Jeongguk can’t remember exactly when it happened—maybe a slap to the face by a cruel, domineering client. Maybe when he was forced to his knees and spat on, kicked until he doubled over in agony. Maybe when some faceless, sweaty asshole f*cked him until he was sobbing and begging for death.

Whenever that hope turned sour, Jeongguk felt something shift inside him, like a finally letting go of something he had been clinging to tightly for too long. Coming back from that seemed impossible, even when it was Seokjin looking at him with tenderness, kissing him with a long-forgotten softness that had buried itself deep in Jeongguk’s memory.

Maybe Seokjin hadn’t meant for it to happen, but he killed off Jeongguk’s hope, and that felt like a betrayal he couldn’t overcome.

***

Jimin is already asleep when Jeongguk finally steps out of the bathroom. He stood under the shower spray until the water ran cold, stinging him all over with icy droplets. Jimin feels so much like a promise of the future—what Jeongguk could be if he’d let his guard down, if he’d allow the pack to care for him the way they wanted to, if he allowed himself to reciprocate those feelings. He often felt that urge. It startled him at times, how desperately he wanted to hug them back, to cry in their arms, to just be with them the way they seemed to exist so easily with one another.

The pack had their moments. Jeongguk would sometimes lose himself in belly-aching laughter after a raucous card game and several bottles of soju. When they watched a sad movie with a heartbroken couple, he’d feel tears stinging his eyes as he thought about losing whatever tenuous link he had to the pack. The moments were there, but they never seemed permanent. But looking at Jimin felt like looking into the future. If only he’d let himself love them and be loved, he too could move on and be fierce and strong, lovable and desirable.

Slipping into the bed beside Jimin, Jeongguk curls his legs, hugging them to his chest, trying desperately not to take up too much space in the bed. With the lights off, the room is gray with the golden rays of the lights in the parking lot bleeding through the seam in the curtains. The bed feels strange—its scent sour from the overuse of bleach. He hadn’t realized how comforting he found his bed back at the house. There, he was surrounded by the scent of the pack. Here, even with Jimin beside him, he feels lonely, disconnected. He hadn’t realized how he’d grown accustomed to the pack’s unified scent. A sob snakes its way up his throat, and Jeongguk tries to tamp it down, turning to muffle it in the pillow. Jimin stirs, lips smacking as he sniffles and rolls over.

“Y’okay?” Jimin murmurs.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk lies, sniffling quietly.

“Sweetheart,” Jimin sighs. He scoots closer, shuffling under the blankets until he finds one of Jeongguk’s hands. He lifts it, pressing a soft kiss to his hand. “What’s wrong?”

Jeongguk laughs, and it’s an ugly watery sound that embarrasses him even more. “Everything. Nothing. I don’t know. I mean, I wanted to leave. Why does it feel like it’s the wrong choice?”

“Ah.” Jimin nods, wriggling closer to Jeongguk until their faces are nearly touching. He smells like the sweet lotion Hoseok uses before bed each night. The fragrance makes Jeongguk’s chest ache. “Well,” Jimin says softly, “if you’ve never had to make any big choices on your own, they can be really scary. You missed out on all that stuff, so you’re experiencing it now, and that must be really frightening.”

“What do you mean missed out?” Jeongguk asks.

“You know what I mean,” Jimin answers. “Even at the convenience store, you didn’t know what to pick out. That’s, like,” he pauses, eyes flitting up to the ceiling as he gathers his thoughts, “a quintessential thing to experience, you know? Blowing your money on junk food. You’re just on a delayed timeline, that’s all.”

“Yeah, but that’s different. The stakes are lower with snacks,” Jeongguk says. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Now I’ve gotta figure out what to do on my own.”

Jimin smiles, and even in the dark, Jeongguk can make out the rise of his cheeks, the way his eyes nearly close and crinkle at the edges. “In a world where you’ve had no choices, I’d imagine any choices at all would be overwhelming.”

“Tell me what to do, Jimin-ah,” Jeongguk whispers. “Please, hyung.”

“Oh, pup, I can’t do that,” Jimin says, his smile fading. “What I want might not be what you want, or what you need, and if I’m gonna be a good pack mate, I have to let you decide on your own.” He reaches to touch Jeongguk’s shoulder, fingertips gliding over the slope of his bare skin, tracing over the curls of black ink. “Tell me about these. You must have made some choices to get these, right?”

Jeongguk shrugs. “I guess. I don’t know.”

“I know for me, I wanted my tattoo to reclaim my body, you know? I wanted to own some part of myself even while others thought I belonged to them,” Jimin explains.

Nodding, Jeongguk places his hand on Jimin’s, moving it along his arm, guiding him over the map of tattoos. “There was a girl with me,” Jeongguk says softly, “she taught me how to do it.”

Jimin hums, a little throaty sound encouraging Jeongguk to go on.

“She thought maybe if we were all marked up, we wouldn’t be as,” he pauses, feeling a sour heat rise to the back of his throat, “appealing to the clients.”

“Do you know where she is now?” Jimin murmurs, tracing a looping scrawl down Jeongguk’s forearm.

Jeongguk clears his throat. “No.”

“She sounds smart, and she helped you. I bet she’s out there somewhere, finally free.” Jimin’s voice cracks, and he laughs at himself, swiping at his eyes.

“I’d like to think so,” Jeongguk says. He thumbs at the tear trailing its way down Jimin’s chin. “I think she helped me survive in a lot of ways. And Seokjin-hyung, too.”

“It’s good we have those people,” Jimin says. He leans into Jeongguk’s hand and closes his eyes, sending another tear rolling down his cheek.

“How do you do it?” Jeongguk whispers. “How do you make yourself believe your body, your life is finally your own?” Pack or no pack, Jeongguk isn’t sure he’ll ever get to a point where he feels finally free and in control of the blinding, expansive future in front of him.

Jimin shrugs. “I don’t know. Just move forward the best you can. One day, you’ll just believe it. And if you’re lucky, you’ll have others around you telling you it’s true, too.”

“I’m scared.”

“That’s okay.” Jimin blinks his eyes open, and even in the milky darkness of the room, Jeongguk can see the fresh tears shimmering in them.

It’s a selfless thing to be vulnerable, Jeongguk realizes. There’s nothing to be gained, no upper hand to be won, no victory in being weak or uncertain. And Jimin does it so easily, as if shucking off his armor is the easiest thing in the world, laying himself bare before the shimmering, slicing blade of truth.

“This bed smells bad,” Jeongguk mumbles, wiping his cheeks.

Jimin laughs, rolling into Jeongguk’s arms. “That awful disinfectant smell always gets to me, too.”

I miss my bed, Jeongguk doesn’t say.

“I brought some stuff from home,” Jimin says carefully. “In case you wanted it.”

“Like what?”

Jimin wriggles out of Jeongguk’s grasp and climbs out of bed, darting quickly to his bag. He pulls out an armful of clothes, tossing them onto the bed and then jumping into the pile. “I grabbed some stuff out of the laundry basket,” Jimin explains, lifting a shirt to his face. He inhales loudly and holds it out to Jeongguk. “This one’s from Namjoon-hyung.” He pulls out a sweater and a hoodie, pausing to smell each one before tossing it onto Jeongguk’s face. “Taehyungie and Hobi-hyung.” He lifts a pair of ratty flannel pajama pants and sniffs. “Yoongi-hyung.”

Jeongguk already feels himself calming as he’s surrounded by their scents. “And Seokjin-hyung?” he asks hopefully.

“Here,” Jimin says, grinning as he hands him an oversized t-shirt. “Oh, and something from me, too.” He hands over a pair of soft sleep shorts. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want all this.”

Jeongguk traces the seam of one of the tops, smiling to himself. “Yeah, this is great. Thank you.” He looks up at Jimin, delighted to find him smiling back with such open affection.

Jimin adjusts the blankets, making space for the piles of clothing. “I figured since we’re both finishing our heats, we could use some scents to help calm us. And like you said, the bed stinks.”

“Won’t they miss their stuff?” Jeongguk asks. He recognizes the hoodie as one of Hoseok’s favorites—an oversized olive sweatshirt with frayed cuffs and knotted drawstrings.

Jimin shrugs and lies down among the pile, adjusting the clothes and the bedsheets until he’s comfortable. “It’s for a good cause. They’ll understand.”

Laughing, Jeongguk nestles among the clothes, inhaling deeply. The invasive stench of the industrial bleach is masked by the pack’s scent. It’s soothing, enough to make Jeongguk feel weightless with sleep. As he begins to doze off, he can’t help but think for a moment that maybe this is what home smells like.

***

Jimin, for all his strange sleeping habits, handles morning like a champ. He’s careful not to wake Jeongguk, shuffling quietly around the room, but when he bumps into the table, stubbing his toe, he lets out a string of colorful curses that rouses Jeongguk from his sleep. “Motherf*ck,” he hisses, sitting on the corner of the bed to inspect his foot.

“Morning,” Jeongguk mumbles.

“Sorry,” Jimin mutters. “I was trying so hard to be quiet, too.”

Laughing, Jeongguk sits up, scrubbing at his face. “What time is it?”

Jimin squints, leaning to make out the bedside clock. “Eight? I think?”

“It’s early,” Jeongguk huffs. “Let’s sleep a little more.” He reaches for Jimin’s shirt, tugging at the tail of it. “C’mere.”

“Don’t you want to get a jump start on looking at apartments?” Jimin asks gently. “We can visit some places now and spend the afternoon on the beach. Storm’s cleared up.”

Jeongguk frowns. “We can still do all that. Let’s sleep some more.” He’s in no rush to start piecing together his new life, not when he’s feeling so conflicted. Sleeping among his makeshift nest with Jimin made him feel comfortable and safe. He dreamed all night about the pack—dinners shared in the large dining room, playing in the pool, dog piling one another in tickle fights. He doesn’t feel rested at all, and a headache throbs behind his eyes, heavy like a hangover and leaving his mouth dry.

Jimin nods and peels back the blankets, nestling closer to Jeongguk. “Okay, more sleep. Then we get out there and find you a new place.”

Jeongguk knows it’s just Jimin being Jimin: set on a goal, blinders on, focused on the task they need to complete, but still, it hurts. If Jeongguk didn’t know Jimin, he’d think he was trying to get rid of him. Maybe it’s Jimin’s steadfast earnestness in finding Jeongguk a new place that hurts. Even if it kills Jimin, he’s going to complete his mission of setting Jeongguk up in a new place to start his new life.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Jimin grumbles.

“Sorry, hyung,” Jeongguk huffs.

Jimin wriggles his way into Jeongguk’s arms, turning so his back is pressed against Jeongguk’s chest. “It’s fine, just knock it off or we’ll never get to sleep.”

Jeongguk fights the urge to scent him, to bury his nose deep in the soft curls of hair on the base of his neck. Even holding Jimin this close is overwhelming, his body radiating a steady, luminous warmth, and his scent unmuddled and clear on his skin.

“Go on, pup,” Jimin murmurs, angling his neck.

Embarrassed, Jeongguk noses along his neck, stopping where the scent is strongest: where his mate mark overlaps over his scent gland. The effect is always staggeringly immediate—fragrance going to his head like bubbly champagne, making him feel dreamy and a little buzzed. “Feels good to have you here, hyung,” Jeongguk sighs. “Feels good to smell you first instead of all the disinfectant in here.”

Laughing, Jimin shrugs Jeongguk off, squirming as he noses along his jawline. “Clearly you can’t smell yourself right now.”

Jeongguk hums, delighted by the way Jimin squirms and laughs, making no effort to free himself from Jeongguk’s grip. Jimin’s laughter turns soft, into a low, steady rumbling purr. It’s a satisfied sound, one that Jeongguk has only come to recognize in himself recently. “You’re purring, hyung,” Jeongguk murmurs, mouthing at Jimin’s shoulder through the soft cotton of his shirt.

“You’re making me feel good,” Jimin answers dreamily. “Being a real good mate, Jeongguk-ah.”

Mate. Becoming an official mate of the pack had been offered multiple times—a promise bound by a fierce mark given by each member of the pack. They never pushed Jeongguk though, aware that marking was, in a way, a kind of ownership, and they knew Jeongguk hated the idea of being claimed by anyone. He knew they cared for him regardless of his mate status; he knew they’d give him the whole world if he asked for it, mark or no mark. They weren’t interested in traditional pack dynamics like withholding protection or intimacy for anyone not traditionally mated. They also resisted the tradition of pairing off, drawing lines between them to separate themselves into smaller factions. We’re a pack. Period. Seokjin had said that countless times. Being in a pack meant you were in the pack, regardless of official mating status. End of sentence. Period.

“You think I’d be a good mate?” Jeongguk asks softly.

“You already are,” Jimin answers quickly. He rolls over and smiles at Jeongguk, lifting his chin gently. “You’re a wonderful mate and a wonderful member of our pack. Whether you leave or come back, that will always be true.”

Jeongguk wants to believe that’s true. The wounded little boy inside him wants to accept Jimin’s words, to believe in the promise that he always has a place among the others. The years of abuse have closed him off to believing it though. He doesn’t mean to push the others away or to expect them to navigate through the obstacles he’s laid in their path. It’s too frightening to let them in, to risk that they might hurt him. It’s an insidious, poisonous shadow that clings to him, marring everything he encounters, casting it in a black darkness that’s impossible to see through.

After a moment, Jeongguk clears his throat and nods. “Okay.”

“Let’s sleep some more, and then we’ll hit the beach,” Jimin says. He leans in, pressing his lips to Jeongguk’s cheek, smiling when he feels Jeongguk relax.

***

The beach is crowded and noisy, filled with tourists and seagulls. The sky is clear, the blue sharp and expansive as it stretches across the sea. The water is calm now that the storm has passed, and the waves lap quietly on the shore.

Jeongguk likes the blazing sun, how the sand is warm on his feet as he and Jimin shuffle barefoot across the beach. The air smells fresh and salty, renewed after the hours of rain the day before. He and Jimin fell into silence after they arrived—Jeongguk unwilling to entertain the idea of looking at apartments, Jimin smart enough not to push him. When Jeongguk scowled and stared out the window as Jimin drove them toward an apartment complex, Jimin wordlessly redirected them toward the beach, not bothering to consult Jeongguk.

He’s putting off the inevitable, Jeongguk knows that. He knows soon he’ll have to look at apartments or rooms for rent, and then Jimin will leave, and Jeongguk will be all alone. It’s too big to wrap his mind around, too terrible and nebulous for him to imagine. The thought of Jimin closing a door behind him after a sad goodbye just makes Jeongguk feel like he could throw up, his stomach wrenching in knots.

Instead of nagging Jeongguk to visit apartments, Jimin does what he does best: he distracts Jeongguk, walking him along the beach, squinting into sunlight and letting the silence settle between them. The air tastes like freedom—all salt and sunlight, nothing but the ocean stretching endlessly in front of them, the sky cloudless and achingly bright. Jeongguk imagines himself on one of the catamarans hauling passengers across the water. How would it feel to float on the endless shimmering waves? He wonders if he’d long for the shore, to feel his feet on solid ground again, or if he’d dive deep into the water, reaching and holding his breath until his lungs burned and darkness swallowed him entirely.

Jimin flicks his sunglasses onto his head, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. “The work we did back then,” he begins carefully, “it was agonizing. Every moment of it made me feel dead inside.” He doesn’t look at Jeongguk. Instead, he keeps his eyes trained in front of him, continuing his leisurely stroll through the sun-warmed sand.

To passersby, they might look like they’re having a casual conversation. Maybe even discussing what they’ll have for dinner, whether they’ll pop by the Haeundae Market or return at dusk to watch the buskers on the promenade.

Jimin continues, “Even when I felt good about my work, I knew deep down I always owed something to someone else. That everyone looked at me like a thing. Just something to be used and tossed away. That feeling never really goes away, you know? I still feel like that sometimes—like my body never quite belongs to me.”

Jeongguk nods, though Jimin still hasn’t looked at him. He kicks the sand, flinging it in bursts in front of them with each step. “Do you think it ever goes away?”

“I hope so,” Jimin says, turning to him with a sad smile. The sun has kissed his cheeks, turning them pink and shiny. “They took so much from us. I’m not sure I’ll ever truly know what I lost back then.”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk answers.

Jimin gestures in front of them, telling Jeongguk to sit. They settle in the sand, each of them digging their toes into it as they stare out across the water. Families with small children dot the beach, their laughter and shrieks of happiness rising and falling on the ocean breeze. “I’m not saying what you and I went through is the same, Jeongguk-ah, but I do feel like maybe I understand you the most. Is that fair to say?”

“That’s fair,” Jeongguk agrees. “Seokjin-hyung really hasn’t told you all my story?” He wiggles his toes, feeling the shards of shells scrape against his skin.

Shaking his head, Jimin leans back on his hands. “Nope. He said it isn’t his story to tell. I just know he found you at that terrible auction and then he brought you home.” Jimin smiles, nudging Jeongguk with his shoulder. “The mystery omega he’d been searching for.”

Jeongguk wonders if it would’ve been easier for Seokjin to tell the pack the truth: how he knew Jeongguk, how he’d come to find him again. Keeping it a secret must have been hard for Seokjin. Or maybe it was self-preservation, some misguided attempt at protecting himself from the judgment of the others for taking so long to find him, for ever meeting him in the first place.

“I don’t know what there is to tell you,” Jeongguk murmurs. A jet ski cuts its way through the water, leaving a wake of white foam behind it. An umbrella nearby flaps loudly in a gust of wind. “When I was a kid, my parents died, and I got passed around until I ended up in this awful house that sold me off, and then…” He trails off and shakes his head. “It’s hard to come back from that and feel whole again.”

Jimin nods. “You were a kid.”

“I’m not sure I can ever truly trust another person after all that. Not when I’ve seen what I’ve seen, had to do what I’ve done.”

“You’ve had your moments,” Jimin says gently. He reaches for Jeongguk’s hand, and they link fingers in the sand. “I think you want to trust us, Jeongguk-ah. I wish we could help you see we only have the best intentions for you. There is so much love and protection just waiting for you if you could trust it’s real.”

“How?” Jeongguk whispers. “Sometimes I think being disappointed is worse than the physical hell they put me through.”

“It’s a real leap of faith,” Jimin says, turning his attention back to the water. A boat drives by slowly, a young woman rising into the air with a bright orange parasail overhead. “You have to trust that we’ll catch you.” He nods toward the parasail gliding across the sky. “Or trust that we’ll raise you up and carry you. Either way, we’ll be there, whether you crash or fly.”

“Ah, hyung, you’re starting to sound like Yoongi-hyung,” Jeongguk laughs.

“What can I say? We do love a good metaphor.” Jimin grins and gives Jeongguk’s hand a squeeze. “I wanna ask you to so badly to stay, but I know it’s not the right thing to do.”

Jeongguk looks away, too ashamed to admit defeat and agree to leave with Jimin. He’s starting to feel a bit foolish about it all: his outburst, his departure, dragging Jimin all this way only for him to realize maybe the pack is the place to be, even if he isn’t sure he’ll ever feel completely part of the family.

***

By the time they return to the hotel, both of them are sunburned and covered in sand, exhausted by the heat. Jeongguk flops on the bed, his arms outstretched as he lets out a loud groan.

“Ah, come on,” Jimin whines, “you’ll get sand all over the bed.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s worse on the bed,” Jeongguk laughs, smoothing his hand along his belly. He and Jimin had shucked off their shirts on the beach, looping them into the belt loops of their shorts. Jeongguk failed miserably at not staring at Jimin, taking in all of his smooth skin, eyes tracing over the dark lettering across his ribs. The two of them drew stares as they walked shirtless along the sand, the stench of curious alphas catching in their noses occasionally. They decided to return to the hotel as the sun was setting, both of them feeling a bit unnerved by the unwanted attention.

Jimin crawls up the foot of the bed and collapses beside Jeongguk. He smells like sweat and sunlight, his natural scent in full bloom, accented by the salt of the beach. “We’re burnt to a crisp,” Jimin sighs, touching his belly delicately.

“We’ll be fine,” Jeongguk says.

They lie on the bed in silence for so long, Jeongguk wonders if Jimin has fallen asleep. He turns to find Jimin staring at him—lips parted and pupils blown wide. A new flush has washed over his cheeks.

“What?” Jeongguk laughs nervously.

Pink sun light spills through the crack in the curtains, washing them in a soft glow of the fading day. “You are really something, Jeongguk-ah,” Jimin murmurs. “I hope some day you come to understand how special you are.”

Embarrassed, Jeongguk drapes his arm across his face. “Hyung, come on.”

“It’s true,” Jimin says, pulling his arm away. “Look at you—all soft and sweet all over, but strong. So strong. I don’t think you know how strong you are, you sweet, sweet love.” He scoots closer and wets his lips. “Whatever you decide, I hope you know that I will always care for you. Thank you for letting me in as much as you have.”

Jeongguk swallows, trying hard not to look away and break Jimin’s gaze. “Thank you, hyung, for everything.”

“When you join a pack,” Jimin says softly, “you’re not giving yourself up to become part of them. You’re gaining so much from them. Filling in those parts of yourself you didn’t know were empty or in need of repair.”

“And all the parts I know that are broken?” Jeongguk whispers. “What about all that?”

“Those pieces come together in their own time,” Jimin answers. “No need to force it to happen. Time and trust and love will take care of that. No sense in fighting time.”

Jeongguk wants to answer, to offer some challenge to Jimin, but he’s looking at him with such intensity, such affection, the only thing Jeongguk can do is kiss Jimin. The surprised gasp that meets his lips makes him feel warm and powerful. Jimin kisses him back—equally breathless and hungry, scrambling to move until he’s on top of Jeongguk. Their sunburned skin feels warm all over, each of them like burning coals smoldering against one another until Jeongguk feels like he could burst into flames.

“You’re beautiful,” Jimin huffs between kisses. He threads his fingers through Jeongguk’s salt-tangled hair and kisses him again, tongue sweeping deep into his mouth. “I don’t want to lose you, we can’t lose you,” Jimin whispers.

When Jeongguk kisses him again, he tastes new salt on his lips. “Don’t wanna talk about that,” he murmurs. He kisses Jimin slowly, drawing it out until their breathing slows. “Just be here with me now.” I can’t think about the future. I can’t think about what happens beyond this moment. It’s too big. It’s too much.

Jimin rolls off of him, settling on his back among the pillows. “Okay,” he says, a little breathless. “I’m here. Just you and me. Right now.” He begins to wriggle out of his shorts, and Jeongguk does the same, climbing out of bed to shake the sand off him.

He crawls onto Jimin, bracketing him between his arms. “You sure? Is this okay?”

Nodding, Jimin pulls him closer, answering with a long, sloppy kiss. “Just you and me. Right now.”

It doesn’t take long for them to get lost in the loud smacks of their kissing, hands roaming over salty skin and hidden patches of sand. The dusky light turns from pink to purple, turning them silvery in the new shadows. Jeongguk kisses down Jimin’s neck, mouthing at his mate mark until he feels the spot throbbing against his lips. Jimin smells like childhood and summertime—when days were endless and warm, when worry didn’t exist, and the sky was punctuated with fireflies.

“Hyung,” Jeongguk whispers, lifting his head to meet Jimin’s eyes.

“Yeah, baby?” Jimin cards his fingers through Jeongguk’s hair, smiling at him.

“I’ve never, you know, I don’t know—”

“Do you want to?” Jimin asks.

“I’d like to try.”

“Okay, baby, let me show you.” Jimin spreads his legs wider and reaches for his co*ck, stroking it idly. “Think about what you like. What feels good for you?”

Jeongguk blushes. It feels strange to share what he likes, to even be allowed a preference. “I dunno,” he mumbles.

“Come on,” Jimin urges him gently.

“When Namjoon-hyung uses his fingers, he goes real slow and he lets me feel everything first before, you know.”

Nodding, Jimin takes Jeongguk’s hand, guiding him along his thigh. “I like that too. Can you do that for me?”

Jeongguk’s fingers brush between the dark, wet spot between Jimin’s legs. Already, he’s slicked up, muscles flinching as Jeongguk moves his fingers between his ass cheeks. “Like that?”

Jimin nods, letting out a shuddering breath. “Yeah. Take your time, okay? It’ll feel better for both of us.”

Jeongguk allows his fingers to explore, moving along Jimin’s slick-covered skin. He’s never been tasked with givingpleasure before. The pack has only slowly begun to help him discover this part of his heats, and it still feels so strange to him. His fingertips catch on the tight pucker of Jimin’s hole, and when Jimin shivers and lets out a dreamy sigh, he can’t help but feel a surge of pride. Slowly, he presses a finger in, watching Jimin intently for signs of distress. Instead, his body relaxes, the muscles smooth and forgiving, swallowing him with ease. “That okay?”

“God, yeah,” Jimin groans, rocking his hips slightly.

Jeongguk feels a pulse of his own slick dribbling down his thighs. “It feels incredible, hyung.”

“Try putting in two,” Jimin huffs. When Jeongguk obliges, Jimin mewls, goosebumps rippling across his skin. “Another.”

With three fingers in Jimin, Jeongguk begins pulling them out slowly, pressing them back in, marveling at the way his fingers move in and out easily, slick pulsing with each movement. Each of Jimin’s sounds are better than the last, far better than the warm, velvety sensation of his walls clenching down on Jeongguk’s fingers. “Hyung,” he rasps, feeling his co*ck ache against his belly.

“Yeah,” Jimin groans, “yeah, I’m ready.”

Shaking, Jeongguk pulls his fingers out and squeezes his hand along his co*ck, spreading Jimin’s slick all over him. He’s seen the alphas do the same, their eyes turned glassy as they admire the way Jeongguk’s slick coats them. He understands the feeling now—being covered in another’s scent, feeling the warm slick gliding over his leaking co*ck. “Now what?”

Laughing, Jimin pats his thigh. “You move slowly with your dick like you did your hand.” It’s not unkind, just amused, and Jeongguk nods, determined to bring Jimin back to that place of breathless, moaning pleasure.

He spreads Jimin’s legs wider, lining himself up and teasing the tip of his co*ck at Jimin’s glistening rim. It feels wrong to be so entranced, but he can’t look away from his co*ck pressing into Jimin, how the pink ring of his muscle stretches around Jeongguk’s co*ck. Jimin feels so impossibly hot and tight, and Jeongguk can’t swallow the loud groan that rips through him. “Holy sh*t, hyung,” he gasps.

Jimin tosses his head back among the pillows, keening and groaning. “You feel so good, Jeongguk-ah, don’t stop.”

Jeongguk finally bottoms out, and the sensation nearly takes his breath away. Jimin is leaking slick, his insides throbbing around Jeongguk’s co*ck. His own slick pulses and drips down his thighs. He leans down, catching himself on his arms so he doesn’t entirely collapse on Jimin.

Up close, everything feels even better. Their skin is warm from the sun, glistening with sweat, bits of sand grinding between them. Jimin presses his forehead to Jeongguk’s and pries his eyes open, his mouth hanging slack as Jeongguk f*cks into him with slow, hesitant thrusts.

“C’mere,” Jimin huffs. He pulls Jeongguk closer for a kiss, their mouths sloppy and uncoordinated. “That’s it, just like that.” He hooks a leg around Jeongguk’s hip, and his fingernails dig into Jeongguk’s back, dazzling in their sharpness against his sensitive, sunburned skin.

The feeling is overwhelming, their mingled scents dizzying, the taste of Jimin on his tongue, spit drawn between them every time they part to catch their breath. With each thrust, Jeongguk feels more confident, more greedy for the way Jimin’s eyes flutter closed or he gasps and squeezes at Jeongguk’s back. He pushes up on his hands so he can watch himself f*ck Jimin, mesmerized by the shimmering slick dripping between them, the hungry way Jimin’s ass takes his co*ck. Everything feels so raw and electric, a new clarity unlike anything he’s felt during his heats.

Jeongguk doesn’t know how long they stay like that—tangled among the sheets, sand and salt and sweat all over them, mouths tender and bruised, slick coating their skin. When he finally comes, Jimin isn’t far behind, a loud wail breaking the hush between them. Jeongguk collapses onto Jimin, shivering and sighing when Jimin peppers kisses all over him, praising him for making him feel so good.

When Jimin whispers to him, teeth catching on the shell of his ear, Jeongguk thinks this. This might be home after all.

Chapter 11: Jeongguk

Chapter Text

Jeongguk. Now.

Jeongguk wakes to the feeling of Jimin pressed against him—body warm and heavy, one leg thrown over Jeongguk’s hips. He snores softly, and his cheeks are glossy pink after the day spent in the sun. Faint freckles dot his nose, and Jeongguk resists the urge to roll over, smothering him in kisses.

They spent the night kissing and f*cking, scenting each other and crying, whispering under the paper-thin sheets about life beyond the motel. By the time they fell asleep, Jeongguk had no answers for what to do next. Jimin wouldn’t allow himself to sway Jeongguk, insisting that he had to figure it out for himself. A small part of Jeongguk felt guilty about their intimacy. Was Jimin trying to placate him? Lure him back to the pack? Or was it just pity-f*cking before he dumped Jeongguk off at some sh*tty apartment before heading home?

None of it seems possible.

When Jimin looked at Jeongguk with starry eyes and kiss-bruised lips, Jeongguk was certain the man couldn’t lie to a living soul, especially not him. During his time with the pack, Jeongguk had no reason not to believe the others when they promised him protection, safety, room to grow and figure out his new life. Was he stupid to throw that away? Was it possible they were the outliers in a life filled with a steady pattern of disappointment, cruelty, and pain? Each day, it seemed more and more likely that they were the exceptions to the rules laid out before Jeongguk.

His stomach rumbles, and he shifts nervously in the bed. Jimin continues sleeping, unbothered by Jeongguk’s groans and movements. His skin feels tight from the sun exposure, shoulders pink and tender and warm. He winces and sits up in the bed, swiping at the bits of sand among the sheets.

As Jeongguk looks around the room, he tries to imagine himself waking alone. Where he goes next, he’ll be alone. He’ll exist among four walls, silence surrounding him, and then what? He tries to imagine himself working somewhere. The image is fuzzy. He can’t even imagine where he would go or what he would do. As far as he knows, he doesn’t even have identification. How would he get a worker’s permit? A license? The paperwork would be impossible without a birth certificate or any documentation. Out in the world, Jeongguk wonders, do I even exist?

His chest feels tight, and breathing feels sluggish and slow. Deep inhales and exhales never quite soothe him, don’t seem to reach his lungs. He tries to calm himself, pressing his hand to his bare chest, breathing in and out slowly like Taehyung and Namjoon taught him. The longer he practices, the worse he feels, head growing dizzy and faint as he starts to gasp for breath. It hurts— like sand in an open wound—and it scares him how difficult it is to take a breath.

Life beyond this motel is enormous. Infinite. Filled with so many things Jeongguk doesn’t know, filled with so many things Jeongguk doesn’t know he doesn’t know. It makes his head spin—the edges of his vision blurring, temples throbbing with a looming headache. How is he going to fend for himself? He can barely buy snacks at the rest stop. How will he pay bills? What will he wear? How does he find a job? Who will he cross paths with every day? What if they find me again?

Tears prick the corners of his eyes, and his heart pounds against his hand as he tries desperately to catch his breath. He feels like he’s been sprinting, chest heaving like after a long workout with Namjoon. Each breath burns as he tries to calm himself, lungs stretching with every gasp.

“Hey, hey.” Jimin wraps his arms around Jeongguk and rests his chin on his shoulder. “Slow down, that’s right, like that.” He smooths a palm across Jeongguk’s chest and rests his hand on top of Jeongguk’s. “Easy, Jeongguk-ah, easy.” Jimin is warm all over, a grounding weight against Jeongguk’s back.

He slows his breaths, mimicking Jimin’s exaggerated breaths until he feels his heart slow. Jimin’s body rises and falls with Jeongguk’s every breath. Soon, he feels calm and a little jittery, the adrenaline tapering off as he comes down from his panic attack.

Jimin kisses the slope of Jeongguk’s shoulder and nuzzles him behind the ear. “Are you alright? What happened?”

Jeongguk laughs—a dry, rough sound—and he swipes at his eyes. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Supposed to do?” Jimin parrots. He gives Jeongguk a squeeze and pulls away, settling beside Jeongguk. Their thighs press together, and Jimin leans back on his hands, dangling his feet off the bed. “What do you mean what you’re supposed to do? This is about what you want to do.”

Jeongguk shrugs. He has the urge to take Jimin’s foot, to knead at the high arch of his foot, to feel the soft sole against his thumbs. “How do I figure out my life?”

Laughing, Jimin sits up, nudging Jeongguk with his shoulder. “I don’t know. Same as the rest of us, I guess. Find your people, find somewhere safe, make some mistakes and figure it out. Trial and error, that kind of thing.”

“Are you my people?” Jeongguk turns to Jimin, teeth worrying his bottom lip. “How do I know?”

Jimin smiles gently. “What makes you think we aren’t your people?”

“Can that really be it? Seokjin finds me and brings me to the pack and that’s it? I’ve found my forever family. Is it really that easy?” Jeongguk picks at a flake of skin on his thigh, rubbing it off between his fingers.

“I think,” Jimin says carefully, “after a lifetime of hardship, anything easy feels suspicious. Like maybe there’s a hidden fee somewhere, some strings attached.”

Jeongguk nods. “Yeah,” he exhales. “Exactly.”

“I see it a little differently,” Jimin says. “What if after a lifetime of just terrible, terrible sh*t, this is the universe’s way of setting things right? Giving you something good, free of charge, because maybe you’ve had enough of the bad stuff, and now it’s your turn to balance the scales with something good.”

Scoffing, Jeongguk shakes his head. “You really believe that? Some larger cosmic power is setting things right? Then why put me through hell in the first place?”

“Okay,” Jimin laughs and shrugs, conceding, “You have a point. But I’d like to believe that maybe it just hits a point where you’re due something good. And Jeongguk-ah, you’re long overdue for something good. You just have to trust that we’re good.”

“I do trust it,” he whispers. “But what if I’m not good? What if I’m not worth the trouble?”

“Oh.” Jimin’s face softens, eyes suddenly glassy. He shakes his head and takes Jeongguk’s hand, squeezing it firmly. “You are so worth it. We would spend forever trying to prove it to you if you’d let us.”

Jimin couldn’t lie to a living soul, Jeongguk thinks. He studies Jimin’s face, feeling his own chin tremble as the tears build in Jimin’s eyes. “Would they take me back?”

Jimin smiles, letting out a small laugh and shaking loose his tears. “Without question.” He wipes his eyes and nods, patting the wet spots on his cheeks. “I told you, when I came back, there were no questions asked. I was home and that’s all that mattered.”

“Tell me you want me to come back,” Jeongguk murmurs.

“Of course I want you to come back,” Jimin sighs.

“I’m scared I’ll change my mind.”

Jimin smiles sadly. “Me too.”

Jeongguk sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “Don’t tell them yet.”

Nodding, Jimin squeezes Jeongguk’s hand. “I won’t.”

“Can we just drive? Let me think some more?” Jeongguk asks carefully. He worries he’s testing Jimin’s patience, that whatever goodwill he has toward his fellow omega is running thin. But when Jimin’s smile lights up, Jeongguk knows that can’t be true.

“We’ll take the back roads. Really take our time. And if you want me to turn around or go somewhere else, I will.”

“Thank you,” Jeongguk murmurs.

“Anything for a pack mate,” Jimin answers. He pats Jeongguk’s thigh and pushes himself off the bed. “I’m gonna shower real quick. Do you want to leave soon?”

Jeongguk nods. “Yeah, before I lose my nerve.”

“It’s fine if you do,” Jimin says gently. “You can come wash up with me if you want.” He holds out his hand, and Jeongguk happily accepts, lifting himself off the bed.

“Do you think I’m a flight risk?” Jeongguk teases, following him into the bathroom. It’s cramped and stuffy as they shuck off their clothes, bumping into one another.

“No,” Jimin laughs, reaching for the shower faucet. “But I do think you stink—”

“—hey!” Jeongguk laughs, swatting at Jimin’s bare ass. “If I stink it’s because I smell like you.”

“You like it.” Jimin grins and leans back against the counter as they wait for the water to warm.

“Will Taehyung be mad?” Jeongguk asks suddenly, tugging at the edge of the shower curtain. “About us? Doing this?”

Jimin waves him off. “I can guarantee he’s in bed with the hyungs working through whatever jealousy or fear he might have.” He clears his throat. “In all seriousness, though, the way our pack works is simple: we trust each other. While we all have different bonds, we’re still together. Everyone’s terms might be different, but it’s understood, we’re equal. Period.”

Nodding, Jeongguk sticks his hand under the spray, testing the water temperature. “So you and the others?”

Jimin tugs back the shower curtain and steps in, making space for Jeongguk. “Not just heats and ruts. Other times too. Other things, too. We all have very clear boundaries. You’ll figure yours out too.”

“But that’s physical stuff,” Jeongguk says, reaching for the sliver of soap in the corner of the tub. He lathers himself up, offering the bar to Jimin.

Jimin turns and points to his back for Jeongguk to wash him. “Jeongguk-ah, there is so much love in that house. It’s a real blessing to have so many people to share it with. I thought I wouldn’t have enough for everyone, but it’s the opposite. There’s so much there, I can’t imagine life without them.” He turns to Jeongguk, lifting the soap out of his grasp. He smooths the bar over Jeongguk’s chest, swirling it in soapy circles. “I know it sounds hard to believe, but Taehyung won’t be jealous. He’ll be thrilled. Love has so many shapes, and the others will figure out what you like and how you like to be cared for.”

Jeongguk leans his head back against the tile, allowing his eyes to close as Jimin swipes suds across him. It’s not a sexual touch, but something deeper than that. Hands gentle and reverent, soap gliding along his muscles, body relaxed as Jimin hums and washes him clean. “I want that.”

“It’s waiting for you whenever you want it,” Jimin hums. His hand dips between Jeongguk’s legs, hand working gently to build the suds among his dark hair. “So much love and care just waiting for you, and five others dying to give it to you.”

“Yeah?” Jeongguk’s breath catches in his throat as Jimin gives his soft co*ck a teasing stroke, soap gliding along his length.

Nodding, Jimin lifts on his toes and presses his lips to Jeongguk’s throat. “Promise.” His hand moves to Jeongguk’s hip, and suddenly he feels like he’s about to collapse.

“I want that,” Jeongguk whispers. He opens his eyes and smiles, the soft spray of the shower pelting against his skin. “I want all of that.”

***

When Jeongguk closes the door behind him, he hesitates for a moment, fidgeting with the duffel bag in his hand. Jimin leans against the car, sunglasses low on his nose, fingers typing furiously on his phone. Jeongguk wonders if he’s sending the others a play-by-play, some detailed account about their time together. He promised he wouldn’t say anything, and Jeongguk wants to believe that’s true, but his stomach twists. He tries to shake off the feeling and bounds down the steps, crossing the parking lot to the car quickly.

“Look what Taehyung sent me,” Jimin says, holding up his phone with a big grin. On screen, Taehyung smiles back at them, a large red bean bun in hand. » it’s as big as my head!!! the text reads.

Jeongguk smiles and shakes his head. “That’s what you’re talking about?”

Jimin laughs and pockets his phone. “Very urgent, as you can tell. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him we’re on our way back.” He opens the car door and slides into the driver’s seat. “Mind if we drive with the top down?”

Jeongguk tosses his bag in the backseat and climbs in. “Sounds good.”

Jimin starts the engine and lowers the top before reaching for the radio. “I’m driving toward home, but the minute you want to take a detour or turn around, I’m on it.”

Nodding, Jeongguk turns the radio up. He recognizes the song from trips with Hoseok. It’s a punchy pop song, little samples and sound effects embedded throughout. He smiles thinking of Hoseok singing along and making the sounds too.

“You like this one?” Jimin looks over with a smile. “Hobi likes this one too.”

“I know.” Jeongguk grins and waits for the little ding in the bridge that Hoseok always imitates without fail. Jeongguk flicks his finger like he’s tapping a bell and laughs. “He always does that part.”

“You spent a lot of time with him, huh?” Jimin asks. He turns his attention to the road, grip on the steering wheel relaxed, and one hand draped on the driver side door. The air is crisp and breezy, the sky cloudless and bright, stretching on for eternity in front of them.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk answers fondly. “I like when we go grab burgers. They’re greasy and make me feel like sh*t hours later, but they’re so good.”

Jimin groans and nods. “God, they’re so good, aren’t they? Did Yoongi and Namjoon take you to that fried chicken place yet? Total gut-buster but the best food coma you could ever ask for.”

Jeongguk laughs. “They took me to two chicken places because they kept fighting over which one was better.”

“Sounds like them,” Jimin laughs. “You either stumbled into what will be a lifelong feud for you, or they really just wanted to make sure you were well-fed.”

Maybe Jeongguk has been too slow to piece it all together, he realizes. All the moments with the pack haven’t been separate, but instead part of a larger tapestry. “They never do anything halfway, do they?”

Jimin glances at Jeongguk over the top of his glasses and smiles knowingly. “Of course not. That’s not how our pack does things.”

Jeongguk nods and turns away, swallowing the lump forming in his throat. Maybe he’d been too hasty. Maybe he should have stopped to tally everything, to set it out for inspection to see that every offering the pack made to him was a gift—no strings, no expectations, no debts. “I feel stupid,” he mumbles. Jeongguk folds his arms on the ledge of the door and rests his chin. The wind whips around him, twisting his hair. “It was stupid to run off like this.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid at all,” Jimin says gently. He turns down the radio and keeps his focus on the road. “You needed your space. I’d say this was a successful trip.”

“But to come back? After only a couple days?”

Jimin scoffs. “Would you rather me drop you off in some bed-bug infested apartment for a few days then come back for you?”

“No,” Jeongguk mumbles.

“I understand that the house can be overwhelming at times,” Jimin says. “I was resistant at first, but I learned to accept the comfort they were offering me. Taehyung had a hell of a time adjusting.”

“Yeah?” Jeongguk sits up, turning to face Jimin.

“Yeah,” Jimin answers solemnly. “Thought Seokjin hated him. Was always a bit skittish, really cautious around food. He’d even steal from the pantry until Namjoon and Yoongi sat him down and explained that everything in the house was his too.” He glances at Jeongguk and smiles sadly. “He had a hard time understanding that. After a lifetime without much to call his own, he couldn’t fathom that he had his own room, a stocked fridge, and a family ready to give him anything he ever wanted.”

“How do you overcome that?” Jeongguk asks. “Seriously? How? I feel like I’m going to be broken forever.”

“Well, we have resident counselor Namjoon,” Jimin answers, laughing softly. “But seriously, we have each other, we have our therapists, we have outside friends. We make space to heal, and we all know it looks different for everyone.”

Jeongguk snorts. “You all sound so… well-adjusted.”

Jimin laughs, throwing his head back and pounding the steering wheel. “I’m gonna tell Namjoon-hyung you said that. He thinks we are a mess.” Jimin softens and shifts his hands, moving one to Jeongguk’s thigh. “We do the best we can with what we’ve got, you know? That’s all anyone can do. I won’t lie and say it’s perfect. There’s always bound to be the occasional fight or disagreement—”

“—the dumpling incident,” Jeongguk interjects.

Jimin rolls his eyes. “We won’t talk about that.”

Laughing, Jeongguk pats Jimin’s hand, admiring how small it looks against his own. “I’ve seen it, though, how sometimes you guys take breaks from each other to cool off.”

Nodding, Jimin answers, “Exactly. If a pack doesn’t have a foundation of respect, it’s not really a pack, now is it?”

Jeongguk shrugs. “I’ve never really had a pack. I wouldn’t know.”

“I was like that once,” Jimin says. “Now I can’t imagine not having them.”

***

The back roads are winding and quiet. They rarely pass another car, and the quiet thrum of the asphalt against the tires makes Jeongguk feel drowsy. He drifts in and out of sleep, waking occasionally when Jimin mutters at a pot hole or sings a long with the radio.

Jeongguk yawns and sits up, scrubbing at his eyes. “Are we close?”

“Almost there,” Jimin says. “Still time to turn around though.”

Shaking his head, Jeongguk answers, “No. I’m ready to go back.”

“I hope you are ready for a lot of dramatic tears,” Jimin jokes.

“I will be really upset if there aren’t tears,” Jeongguk laughs. His stomach feels like it’s filled with butterflies, his heart rate quickening as they enter the city.

“Do you want me to call them? Let them know we’re on our way? They’ll be so bummed if they aren’t home.” Jimin nods at his phone in the cup holder.

“No, let’s just hurry back.” Jeongguk forces a smile and fights the wave of nausea tugging at his gut. “I don’t know what I’d say anyway.”

Jimin nods. “I’m sure someone will be there.”

The road begins to narrow as they creep onto the highway. Each lane is packed with cars inching toward their destinations. The city looks different today, Jeongguk thinks. A little less foreign to him, a little more like a place he remembers and knows. He isn’t sure, but maybe this is what it feels like to come home: recognizing landmarks along the way, the fluttery way his breath catches in his throat, the anticipation of drawing closer and closer.

Before long, they’re trundling down the long gravel driveway leading them to the front of the house. Jimin parks the car and cuts the engine, turning to Jeongguk expectantly. “I can go in first or—”

“—no,” Jeongguk interrupts. He opens the passenger door and steps out. He feels wobbly, like the gravel underfoot might open up and swallow him with one wrong move. “Together?”

Smiling, Jimin steps out, closing the door behind him. “Together.” He reaches out a hand, and Jeongguk takes it gladly, allowing Jimin to pull him toward the front door.

“Should we knock?” Jeongguk asks, staring up at the wide doors.

“This is home, Jeongguk-ah. Would you knock on your own front door?” Jimin nods toward it. “Go on.”

Exhaling shakily, Jeongguk reaches for the door, surprised to find it unlocked. For so long, he felt like he lived behind locked doors, deep in the shadows, hidden away, and the idea that this safe place would be open and unlocked makes him feel a bit dizzy. Life here really is another world entirely.

“Hello?” Jeongguk calls out meekly. Silence greets them. He turns to Jimin, his chin quivering unexpectedly. He hadn’t expected to be disappointed, and that shakes him.

Jimin nudges him and whispers. “Again.”

Jeongguk clears his throat. “Hello? Yoongi-hyung? Namjoon-hyung? Anybody?”

A door upstairs opens, then another, then the steady sound of footsteps coming down the carpeted hallway. “Jimin-ah? Jeongguk-ah?”

Taehyung appears at the top of the stairs first, eyes wide and smile enormous and genuine. “You’re back!” he gasps, hurrying down the stairs. He nearly slips on the last step, staggering and crashing into Jeongguk. “You’re back!”

Jeongguk laughs, nearly toppling over from the force of Taehyung. “I’m back.”

Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok appear from the kitchen, their faces red and dusted in flour. “Holy sh*t,” Yoongi mutters.

“Jeongguk-ah!” Hoseok cries. He wipes his dirty hands on his shirt and shuffles over. “I’m a mess, I’m sorry, but you’re here! You’re back!”

“It’s okay, hyung, I don’t care,” Jeongguk laughs. He extends an arm, grateful to feel Hoseok slinging his arms around his neck, squeezing in beside Taehyung. He glances up at Yoongi and Namjoon, smiling through tears.

“Ah, pup,” Yoongi croons, stepping closer. He wipes his hands on a small tea towel, draping it over his shoulder. “Welcome home.”

Taehyung releases his hold on Jeongguk, turning to Jimin with watery eyes and a wobbly smile. Jeongguk reaches for Yoongi, clinging to him tightly once he’s embraced. “I’m home,” Jeongguk murmurs. Tears stream down his cheek, and he feels a sense of relief, like he’s been holding his breath for months, carrying an impossible weight that’s finally been lifted. He’s home.

“We’re glad you’re here,” Namjoon says warmly. He takes Jeongguk in his arms, hugging him tightly and nuzzling the crown of his head.

It feels so good to be back—to be held and wanted, to see the tears in his pack mates’ eyes, to see the relief and happiness clear on their faces. Jimin, Taehyung, Hoseok, Namjoon, Yoongi—all of them looking fondly at Jeongguk, their hearts at ease to see him back in the house.

“Where’s Seokjin-hyung?” Jeongguk asks suddenly. “Is he home?”

Yoongi glances at Namjoon for a moment—a quick exchange, but Jeongguk sees it. “He’s here,” Yoongi says carefully. “Do you want to see him?”

Nodding, Jeongguk rubs his eyes, wiping away the tears. “Yeah, I wanna see him.”

“He’s up in my room,” Yoongi answers. “Go on up.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Jimin whispers.

Shaking his head, Jeongguk waves him off. “No, that’s okay.”

“Let’s go finish up, yeah?” Hoseok says, nudging Namjoon. “We’re making a crepe cake. With any luck we’ll be done this century.”

Jeongguk laughs. “Save me a slice, yeah?”

“Course,” Hoseok answers.

Jeongguk turns to Taehyung and Jimin. “You probably wanna catch up, huh?”

Taehyung shrugs, smiling shyly at Jimin as he swings their intertwined hands. “I mean, whatever.”

“I’m gonna go up,” Jeongguk says, gesturing at the stairs. He takes a breath and gathers himself. He feels a little buzzed, knees trembling as he takes on step after the next. The staircase feels endless as he climbs to the top floor. When he reaches Yoongi’s door, he hesitates for a moment. He doesn’t know what to expect when he steps into that room. Will Seokjin be glad to see him? Will he be angry? The desperate desire for Seokjin’s acceptance hadn’t been obvious before, but now that it’s staring Jeongguk down, he’s terrified of rejection.

“Yah, stop hovering and open the door, Yoongi.” Seokjin’s voice is muffled and soft through the closed door.

Jeongguk’s chest aches. Slowly, he opens the door and waits in the doorway. Buried underneath a mound of blankets and pillows, he can make out the shape of Seokjin’s body. Jeongguk clears his throat. “Hyung?”

The blankets are thrown back suddenly, Seokjin rising from the fabrics with mussed hair and a puffy face. “Jeongguk-ah?”

Jeongguk is so endeared by the sight of Seokjin—his unruly hair, flat with bedhead in some parts, wild wisps and curls sticking up in others. Seokjin’s ears are bright red, and his eyes are wide with genuine surprise. “I’m home.”

“Home?” Seokjin echoes. “What do you mean home?”

Jeongguk approaches the bed. “Home, hyung. I’m staying.”

“You are?” Seokjin’s chin quivers, and he shakes his head. “Impossible. Who put you up to it?”

Jeongguk laughs—a watery, weak sound—and sits on the bed next to Seokjin. The alpha smells weak—a watered down scent, steeped in disappointment and sadness. It draws a whine from Jeongguk that he can’t swallow. “I’m sorry I ran away. I just needed some time, hyung. This place, this pack, you, it’s just so much, hyung.”

Seokjin shakes his head and waves Jeongguk off as he tries to collect himself. He shudders and exhales, laughing at himself as the tears stream down his cheeks. “I’m sorry I took so long, Jeongguk-ah, I’m sorry it took so long to find you, to tell you the truth. I did the best I could, I just wanted—”

“—I know, I know, hyung,” Jeongguk sobs. He throws his arms around Seokjin’s neck and pulls him closer, burying his nose in the crook of his shoulder. “You did the best you could. The very best.”

They collapse against the pillows and give into the tears, the two of them sniffling and crying. Jeongguk feels like he’s releasing the tears of an entire lifetime—all that he lost as a child, all that he lost in the years leading up until now. Jimin’s voice rings loudly in his mind: you’re long overdue for something good. Jeongguk can’t imagine why anyone would deserve the hell he endured, but maybe Jimin is right. Maybe Jeongguk has good things ahead: a pack, a home, a love that will multiply if he’d allow himself to accept it and give it just as freely as the others.

“I wish,” Seokjin sighs and hiccups, gathering his thoughts, “I wish I could tell you how hard I looked for you.” He wipes his cheeks, though it does little to erase the tear tracks glistening on his skin. “I wish I could make you feel what I felt as I searched for you. Going through all those disgusting places, hoping to find you, going home empty-handed. Jeongguk-ah, I wish you could just see all of that and know I did everything I could to find you.”

Jeongguk sniffles, wiping his nose on a pillow. He’s sure Yoongi will scold him for it later, and the thought makes his lips curl into a faint smile. “I know, hyung. I think deep down I always believed you’d come find me. I had to let myself believe that. But it f*cking hurt,” he murmurs. “I looked for you every night, too. And when you weren’t there…”

“I can’t make up for that lost time,” Seokjin says, thumbing at Jeongguk’s cheek, “but I’ll spend the rest of my days making it up to you. Giving you everything you’ve ever wanted. Even if it’s not with me or the pack.”

Jeongguk shakes his head. “It’s here. With you.”

“Oh, you sweetheart,” Seokjin sighs. “We are so lucky to have you. We’re all so much better with you in our lives.”

Embarrassed, Jeongguk smushes his face into the pillows. “Hyung,” he mumbles.

“It’s true. And I’ll spend every day trying to prove it to you.” Seokjin threads his fingers through Jeongguk’s hair and hums. “I’m sure the others were delighted to see you come back.”

“I’m pretty sure Taehyung broke one of my ribs,” Jeongguk jokes, turning to face Seokjin.

“What about Yoongi?”

“He and Namjoon were very stoic,” Jeongguk answers, “and covered in flour.”

Seokjin grins. “Ah yes, well, Yoongi can tell you later how he cried himself to sleep. I don’t want to embarrass him.”

“What about you, hyung?” Jeongguk asks carefully. “Did you cry?”

Seokjin’s face softens. “Nary a tear was shed,” he deadpans. The bags under his eyes and faint, spidery red veins in his eyes give him away.

Jeongguk nods, pretending to understand. “Yes, of course. Pack alpha has to be strong.”

“You get it,” Seokjin answers. He clears his throat and brushes the hair off his forehead. “If you must know, I was a wreck. Even asked the other alphas if they wanted to break off and take the others with them. I felt like I really failed everyone.”

“Oh.” Jeongguk’s heart aches. He reaches for Seokjin’s hand among the blankets and links their fingers, giving him a soft squeeze. “Hyung, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Seokjin lifts Jeongguk’s hand and presses a soft line of kisses along his knuckles. “No need to apologize. You’re here now. And if you ever need more time and space, it’s yours. Got it? We can’t function as a pack if you don’t feel comfortable.”

They stare at each other for a moment—the kind of long-lingering stares Jeongguk always sees Jimin and Taehyung sharing. It’s unnerving to look so closely, to be looked at so closely. Looking into Seokjin’s eyes, Jeongguk can clearly see the young man who came to him years ago, promising to take him to a better life. Jeongguk had lived a life of broken promises and outright lies, but even then, he thought Seokjin might be genuine in his desire to help. He’s still the same, Jeongguk realizes—earnest and gentle as ever, too handsome for such an ugly world.

Jeongguk remembers the second night Seokjin found him at a party, how relieved he felt to see that same soft, familiar face among the crowd. I was hoping I would see you again. You were so kind to me. That had been it from the beginning: Seokjin’s kindness and unwillingness to partake in a game rigged for him to win it all if he wanted. But still he looked at Jeongguk like a human, like someone precious to be protected, polished, and given a shiny new life.

“Do you remember what you said to me, hyung?” Jeongguk whispers. His breath catches in his throat, and his heart pounds. “About our positions?”

Seokjin nods, licks his lips. Pauses. “Yeah. That we could have easily been in different positions in life.”

“Is it all luck?” Jeongguk asks—more to himself than Seokjin. “Some of us are born lucky and some of us aren’t?”

“Depends on what you call lucky,” Seokjin answers. “I feel pretty lucky now with you and the pack.”

“And your life before? Wasn’t that lucky in some way?”

Seokjin sighs, his breath puffing warm against Jeongguk’s face. “I don’t know about lucky, but it led me to you, so that’s worth something, right?”

“Why don’t you touch me like the others?” Jeongguk whispers.

Frowning, Seokjin brushes a curl off Jeongguk’s forehead, tracing along the shell of his ear. “I never wanted you to think that’s why I brought you here. You’re not some prize I won to use however I’d like.”

“You don’t want me?” Jeongguk feels fresh tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“Oh, bun,” Seokjin murmurs. The pet name feels like an arrow piercing Jeongguk’s heart. He remembers that too: Seokjin’s sudden blurting out bunny! , how his ears turned red, how it only made Jeongguk feel even more fond of the kind stranger searching for him. “I want you in every way. I just want my intentions to be clear. Your safety is my priority. I didn’t dare let myself wish for anything more than getting you to safety.”

A soft tapping at the door draws their attention, and Yoongi pokes his head in, smiling warmly at the pair snuggled in his bed. “Am I being evicted?”

“Never,” Seokjin laughs. He pushes himself onto his elbows and smiles down at Jeongguk before turning back to Yoongi.

“Take your time in here, yeah? Dinner will be ready soon.”

Jeongguk sits up, hugging his knees to his chest. He likes the way Yoongi is looking at him—endeared and starry-eyed, how that same look extends to Seokjin when his eyes flit over to the other alpha. “Family dinner?”

Laughing, Yoongi nods. “Family dinner.”

***

Dinner is no different than any other meal Jeongguk has shared with the pack before. Just as Jimin described, they all carry on like Jeongguk had never left. They don’t interrogate him about his absence, don’t pester him with questions or tease him for returning so soon. It isn’t for lack of caring; it was because they care about him that they treat him the same as always: as a member of the pack, in his rightful place.

Taehyung may have been a little clingier than usual, and Yoongi may have heaped Jeongguk’s plate more than the others, and Hoseok may have slung his arm around Jeongguk’s neck and hugged him repeatedly throughout dinner—but it still feels the same. Warmth, laughter, love—all of it permeating the room, making the seven of them drunk with affection. Jeongguk still feels a twinge of disbelief taking it all in. It’s an ordinary night with dinner and jokes, mouths filled with food and chopsticks moving quickly in the air during an animated round of storytelling. This isn’t a special occasion but it is special because it’s them, the seven of them together at the table, each of them exactly here they belong.

When they finish dinner, Jimin and Seokjin begin clearing plates. Jeongguk leans back in his chair, his belly and heart full. The weight of it all settles on Jeongguk, and he can’t help but cry out, the tears startling him to the point of laughter.

“What’s wrong, pup?” Yoongi asks quickly, rushing to his side.

How can he even explain it? The freedom is larger than he ever imagined. All his life, he imagined freedom as something endless and expansive, without any boundaries or walls. He saw it as a place, not a feeling. But here, in this home, he sees freedom as a feeling, as a series of choices that he can select or disregard as he pleases. Every day, he can be free to love and be loved, free to move about a house that feels a bit more like home each day. Freedom is so much bigger than he imagined—beyond selecting snacks at the store or picking out paint for his bedroom. He can choose this pack, he can choose to let them care for him, he can choose to care for them. These enormous, incalculable choices are exhilarating, liberating, even.

Jeongguk doesn’t know how to express this to Yoongi, especially not when he’s smiling at him so tenderly, his eyes glassy and all-knowing. “Happy,” he chokes out, wiping his eyes. “Just happy.”

Yoongi gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad, Jeongguk-ah. I’m happy, too.”

Happines, Jeongguk realizes, is a choice too.

***

“You sure? You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Jeongguk says, peeling back the covers of the bed. He felt shy asking Seokjin earlier if he could spend the night with him, but when Seokjin sputtered and his ears turned red, Jeongguk felt at ease. Before Seokjin could say anything else, Jeongguk nestled among the pillows, pulling the comforter tight around his shoulders. The bed smells like the entire pack, and Jeongguk likes the thought of all of them crowded together there.

Seokjin turns off the lights and climbs into bed. His feet are cold, and when he accidentally brushes against Jeongguk, he yelps, flinching away. “Sorry. Jimin always says I’m cold like a corpse.”

“I thought alphas ran hot,” Jeongguk teases.

Seokjin laughs. “I’m not like other alphas.”

“No you’re not,” Jeongguk says softly.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Seokjin says suddenly. “I couldn’t believe I was losing you again after all that.”

Embarrassed, Jeongguk groans into the pillows. “I’m sorry, hyung.”

“No need to be sorry,” Seokjin says gently. “You needed time away. I should have come clean ages ago. I don’t know why I was so scared to tell you.”

“I don’t know that I would’ve reacted any differently,” Jeongguk admits. “Might have been angrier, I guess. I think now I’m just scared.”

“Oh, bun,” Seokjin sighs. “Scared of what?”

“Life?” Jeongguk laughs. “I don’t know how to do anything. How do I get a job? Do I even exist out here? What do I do with myself?”

“Whatever you want,” Seokjin answers earnestly. “You can work, not work. If you want to get the documents sorted, we’ll do that. Get you a driver’s license if you want. But I’m teaching you how to drive. I don’t trust Hobi or Jimin to teach you street legal driving.”

Jeongguk snorts. “Does it really work out like that though? That sounds so.. easy.”

“When you have as much money as I do, a lot of things are easy,” Seokjin deadpans. “What good is all that money if I can’t help someone rebuild their life, y’know? I just want to take care of my pack mates.”

“I don’t even know what I’d be good at,” Jeongguk murmurs. He wishes he shared Seokjin’s optimism, that he could see things as clearly as he does.

Seokjin shrugs, unbothered. “You have lots of options. We’ll figure something out. Whatever you want.”

“And what about pack stuff?” Jeongguk asks carefully. “Mating and all that?”

“Why don’t we cross that bridge when we get there?” Seokjin says softly. “You’ve just gotten back. You should settle in, get things sorted for yourself before we talk about all that.”

Jeongguk whines. The rejection from the alpha stings, and he hates the involuntary sound that escapes his throat. “Will you still want me without it?”

“Of course,” Seokjin says quickly. “It’s just a really big step. Really important.”

“More intimate than having sex with everyone?” Jeongguk teases. The room is dark, but he’s certain Seokjin is blushing furiously.

“It’s different, Jeongguk-ah. It’s not the same as getting through a heat or taking a knot,” Seokjin explains. “It’s so intimate.”

“And what would you do if you marked me?” Jeongguk whispers. He licks his lips and waits for Seokjin to speak. “What does it feel like?”

“Well,” Seokjin says, his voice dipping low, “I’d mark you here.” His fingers brush a tender spot behind Jeongguk’s ear, making him shiver all over, skin rippling with goosebumps. “It starts a lot like a kiss. I’d be gentle, of course, but it hurts a little bit.”

“Hurts how?” Jeongguk leans into Seokjin’s touch. He’s certain the alpha can feel his pulse thrumming hard against his fingertips. The room seems to tilt, and Jeongguk closes his eyes.

“Ah the teeth, you know? It hurts at first, but then it’s like having a little too much champagne—that warm, bubbly, floaty feeling.” Seokjin traces his fingers over the spot.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Jeongguk hums.

“It’s not bad after that first bit,” Seokjin explains. “And the feeling after, it’s unlike anything I can describe.”

Jeongguk scoots closer. “Try?”

Seokjin purses his lips, considering how to answer. “You know when you laugh so hard you stop breathing? Like you feel like you can’t get enough air?”

Jeongguk nods.

“It’s like that, but better, like your lungs and heart just feel like they could burst because there’s so much joy in them,” Seokjin says. “Like when someone looks at you, and you just know they love you in this really special way that you could never quite articulate?”

Jeongguk nods again. He thinks he knows that feeling. He’s felt it here, in this house, with each of them. “Yeah,” he whispers.

“It’s all of that at once—physical and emotional and bewildering and exciting.” Seokjin’s voice trails off and he sighs fondly. “There’s a reason why it’s taken so seriously, you know? A mating mark isn’t just someone chomping your neck and giving you a hickey. It goes deeper than that, re-writes your genes, your past, your future.”

“And you have to have that to be in a pack?”

“Ah,” Seokjin shakes his head, “not at all. We will love you and care for you no matter what, Jeongguk-ah. The mark can protect you in public though, shows you’re part of a pack, that you have someone watching out for you.”

“That you own me,” Jeongguk says softly.

“No,” Seokjin says firmly. “We don’t think of it that way here. It’s a promise between all of us. I don’t own you, the others don’t either. It’s not like a brand. It’s a symbol, a promise. And we will never, ever force you to give or receive a mating mark.”

Jeongguk fidgets under the blankets, picking at the cuticles along his thumb. “I know some people do. Force the marks, I mean.”

“And that’s a gross violation,” Seokjin says firmly. “I see it as the highest form of trust exchanged between people.”

“Are you marked, as lead alpha, I mean?”

Seokjin nods and scoots closer, tugging his shirt collar away from his collarbone. “They’ve faded, but they’re there. You can see them better in the light. But I can feel them, I know they’re there, and others can sense them too. I would never do it to my pack mates if I wasn’t willing to have them mark me, too. It’s a sign of mutual respect as much as it bonds us together.”

Jeongguk tries to imagine the feeling of six mouths on him, their teeth piercing through his skin, the glittery, sharp feeling Seokjin described washing over him. “I don’t know if I want that after all,” he admits.

“And that’s okay, bun. I told you, you’re a member of this pack, mark or no mark.” Seokjin smiles and leans in, rubbing his nose against Jeongguk’s. It’s a sweet, childlike action that makes Jeongguk smile in return. Seokjin has been nothing but gentle with him—even back in the dark days before.

Jeongguk scoots closer, squeezing himself against Seokjin’s chest, nosing at his shoulder. “Thank you, hyung,” he murmurs. “For everything.”

Seokjin swallows, squeezing Jeongguk tighter. He threads his fingers through Jeongguk’s hair—still wavy from the salty air and the drive home with the top down. “I think, if I’m being honest,” he says quietly, “I have loved you for a very long time, Jeongguk-ah. And if I can make you believe that, really believe that, then it’ll be better than any mark I could give you.”

Jeongguk. Later.

“See that red squiggly line?” Namjoon asks gently, pointing at the computer screen. “That means you have a misspelling. If you click it, it’ll show you a list of words to replace it.”

Frustrated, Jeongguk clicks the mouse and stares at the list of words that have popped up on screen. “How do I know which one is right?”

“Well, you can sound it out,” Namjoon answers. He glances at Jeongguk and sees him glowering at the screen, eyebrows scrunched in anger. “Or I can tell you it’s the first one.”

“How will I even get into this stupid school if I can’t even fill out the application?” Jeongguk groans. “It’s pointless.”

“The point,” Namjoon says, pulling the mouse out of Jeongguk’s grasp, “is to get you into a program so you can learn all these skills and catch up. There’s no shame in that.”

“I’ll be the oldest one there,” Jeongguk pouts.

“I’m not sending you to grade school, pup,” Namjoon laughs. “This program is for adult learners. That’s what you are. You’ll be with others around your age, maybe even older.”

“Ah!” Yoongi rounds the corner into the living room and settles on the floor beside the others. He sets down his laptop and turns it, pointing triumphantly at the screen. “I found some online programs in case you’re not into the in-person classes.”

“Online?” Jeongguk asks. He turns the laptop and leans closer, his nose nearly brushing the screen.

“You’ll go cross-eyed,” Namjoon says, tugging at Jeongguk’s elbow, “sit back.”

“Okay, appa,” Yoongi teases. “Give the kid a break. He’ll be fine.”

Jeongguk has learned to accept the ways the alphas fuss over him. In fact, he enjoys watching them fawn over him, eager to teach him how to sign up for an email address or outline an application essay. Re-entering the world feels a little less debilitating and terrifying with Namjoon and Yoongi by his side. They each care for him in their own ways: giving him gentle assurance, holding him accountable with completing his applications, showing him new shortcuts on the computer and helping him read through all the school materials.

“I was thinking,” Namjoon begins.

“Always thinking,” Yoongi teases, glancing at him fondly.

“You wanna check out the rec center with me?” Namjoon turns to Jeongguk. “Thought you might like seeing where I work. Maybe you can touch up our mural or hang out with the kids. We got new basketball hoops, and some of the kids are absolutely wild on the court. They wear me out.”

“You sure? You wouldn’t mind?” Jeongguk asks.

Namjoon shakes his head. “Not at all. There’s plenty for you to do there, or not do, if you wanna hang out with the kids. They’d love to meet you.”

***

Jeongguk had underestimated the kids’ enthusiasm, he realizes. As the kids swarm him, eager to ask his name or marvel at his tattoos, he sees Namjoon hanging back, grinning proudly. None of the children know Jeongguk’s past, none of them seem frightened by his tattoos or curious about the faint scars on his arms. Instead, they ask his name, his favorite color, how tall he is—a bombardment of endless questions and enthusiasm. They don’t question how smart he is or judge him for stumbling over a word when he reads aloud to them.

A hopeful, giddy feeling surrounds him. Each child shows him another possibility. They show him that the world is still filled with kind, curious people. Happily, Jeongguk spends the day hustling across the basketball court, taunting the kids and accepting their ridicule for his terrible shooting skills. He likes the quiet parts, too, when the kids concentrate on making collages, their tiny hands jammed in safety scissors and covered in glitter and glue.

By the end of the day, when Namjoon is shutting off the lights and locking up his office, Jeongguk feels both exhausted and invigorated. “Good day?” Namjoon asks, slinging an arm around Jeongguk’s neck.

“Really good, hyung,” he answers, resting his head against Namjoon’s shoulder. “Thanks for inviting me. I had a lot of fun.”

“I can tell,” Namjoon laughs. “You’ve got the tell-tale marks of a guy who’s been claimed by the pups.” He gestures at the glitter clinging to Jeongguk’s shirt and the strips of dried glue along his arms, his fingers covered in markers and dirt from the old basketballs.

“You think I could come back?” Jeongguk asks.

“Of course!” Namjoon leads them toward the back parking lot where Yoongi is waiting in the car for them. He climbs in the backseat. “We’d love to have you back,” he says as Jeongguk climbs into the passenger seat.

“Good day?” Yoongi asks.

Jeongguk laughs. They’re so in sync, they sound the same. “Namjoon-hyung asked me the same exact thing.”

Yoongi huffs, pretending to be offended. “Well, was it a good day?” He starts the car and glances at the rearview mirror expectantly.

“Great,” Jeongguk answers. “Namjoon-hyung said I could come back again.”

“Ah,” Yoongi sighs, shaking his head with an exaggerated frown, “I guess that means you won’t be coming back to the shop any time soon.”

“Hyung,” Jeongguk groans. “It’s too quiet at the shop.”

“Too boring,” Namjoon teases.

“Rude,” Yoongi scoffs. He turns to Jeongguk with a pleased smile. “I’m glad you had a good time at the rec center. It seems like a good fit for you. The kids probably enjoyed having you.”

“Loved him,” Namjoon clarifies.

The rest of the ride home, Jeongguk rattles off the details of his day: how he loved the kids’ unbridled excitement over his ability to do cartwheels; how even the bruised, dirty kids were accepted by their peers without question; how he witnessed small acts of kindness throughout the day that made him feel like maybe he could make his way through the world if he found more people like the children at the rec center. Yoongi nods along eagerly, encouraging Jeongguk to tell him more about the collages or wrangling kids for nap time. Namjoon chimes in occasionally, usually to praise Jeongguk’s patience and creativity, his willingness to handle even the most stubborn or uncooperative of children.

***

Sunlight ripples on the water, shimmering like diamonds scattered across the surface of the pool. It’s a hot afternoon: the sun blistering and unforgiving, the sky cloudless and endlessly blue. Jimin, Taehyung, Hoseok, and Jeongguk are splashing in the pool, rough-housing one another, gasping with laughter and spitting mouthfuls of water at each other. It’s a carefree weekend—no jobs to worry about, no schedules calling them inside.

This is what life should be, Jeongguk thinks. Only bright things: the smiles of his pack mates, the glittering bottom of the pool, sunlight so bright that it bleaches out everything it touches. Happiness comes more easily to him now. It feels less like something to be snatched away, dangled over his head to taunt him. Now it feels like something he deserves, and he cherishes that new feeling with each passing day.

Jimin and Taehyung swirl together on the edge of the pool, whispering plans to dunk Hoseok and Jeongguk when they aren’t looking. Jimin’s shoulders are dotted with fresh freckles, and Taehyung’s skin has grown darker from the sun exposure. They look healthy and beautiful, and Jeongguk feels less like an outsider watching them and more like someone appreciating a piece of art from afar. They are his, just as much as he is theirs, and he knows if he swam over to them right now, they’d welcome him with open arms and kisses tasting of chlorine.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Hoseok teases, splashing Jeongguk in the face.

Grinning, Jeongguk shrugs and doggy-paddles closer to Hoseok, backing him into the wall. “I can stare at you for a while instead, hyung.”

“Yeah? And what’s the pup gonna do about it?” Hoseok grins back—beaming and beautiful and a little mischievous.

“We can compete with them, easy,” Jeongguk says, slipping his arms around Hoseok’s neck. He likes how lithe the beta is, how he’s lean and firm and strong all over, but still he looks small in Jeongguk’s arms sometimes. He studies Hoseok’s face, admiring the way the sun has turned bits of hair gold—little streaks of sunlight clinging to his locks.

“Easy,” Hoseok murmurs. He leans in, pressing his lips to Jeongguk’s, kissing him slowly. It’s soft and delicate—nothing like the hard outline of his co*ck through his swim shorts pressing against Jeongguk’s thigh.

Hoseok tastes like sunshine: bright and hot. His tongue curls against Jeongguk’s, his hand reaching to cup Jeongguk’s head. The concrete wall of the pool is rough against Jeongguk’s knees, but he likes the sensation; it grounds him as he floats in the water, kissing Hoseok like they have all the time in the world. Don’t we? Jeongguk thinks. There’s no clock counting down their time together, no end in sight to the glorious, golden days stretched out before Jeongguk.

“Whoah, whoah, whoah!” Seokjin’s voice calls out from the sliding door. “We have beds, you know?” He peels off his shirt and leaps into the pool, pulling his knees to his chest in a cannonball.

A wave of water splashes Taehyung and Jimin, sending them sputtering and cursing at Seokjin. “Ah, come on, hyung,” Taehyung groans, scrubbing at his eyes with balled fists. “You’re no fun.”

“Hyung is just jealous,” Yoongi teases. His flip flops smack loudly against the pavement as he meanders over to a pool chair. He flops down and flicks his sunglasses on top of his head. “You can’t leave him out, you know that.”

Namjoon follows soon after, precariously carrying a tray with a pitcher of lemonade and a stack of cups. “Come get something to drink, you guys. You’re gonna get heat stroke.”

“Aw, is our alpha caring for us?” Jimin teases, wading across the pool.

“Rather do it now than later when you’re all crying about sun stroke,” Namjoon mutters, though he’s having trouble fighting off his smile. He hands a dripping glass to Jimin and begins pouring more drinks for everyone.

“I just got in and now you’re calling them out,” Seokjin sighs, smacking the surface of the water.

Jeongguk swirls in the water, relishing the weightless feeling as he spins. “I’ll stay in, hyung. Keep you company.”

“Yeah?” Seokjin grins, swimming toward him. “Keep me company the way you were keeping Hobi company?”

“Yah,” Hoseok scoffs, shaking his head. “Shameless, hyung.”

Shrugging, Seokjin floats closer to Jeongguk and backs him against the wall. Now he feels small as Seokjin crowds against him, his wide shoulders obscuring the sun behind him. “You don’t mind, do you, bun?”

Jeongguk smiles, feeling a flutter in his chest. “Not at all.”

Seokjin kisses him gently, teeth tugging at his lower lip. He’s become more comfortable kissing Jeongguk now or reaching for his hand when they’re piled on the sofa for a movie night. Jeongguk likes the new attention, how it feels so sincere, so much like those early days when they first met. Seokjin still looks at him like he did all those years ago: enamored and protective, utterly fond of the omega in ways he can’t always articulate. “Hello, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pulling back with a smile.

“Hyung,” Jeongguk huffs, ducking his head against Seokjin’s shoulder.

“Aw, you’ve made him shy!” Taehyung calls.

“Shush!” Jimin scolds.

The sound of the others goes fuzzy for a moment, and all Jeongguk can hear is the gentle, endeared way Seokjin laughs at him. Glimpses of the sun peek out from behind Seokjin, casting him in dazzling light, and it makes Jeongguk squint and have to turn away. There’s so much beauty, he thinks. And right now, he finally believes it’s all meant for him.

Chapter 12: Epilogue: Seven

Chapter Text

Namjoon. Now.

Time has a tendency to warp memories—shrouding them in a gilded light that often feels false, erasing the ugliness or barbs that hurt in the moment. For Seokjin, though, time has only made him better, giving Namjoon a new appreciation for his pack leader. Watching Seokjin flourish with the family makes Namjoon feel even more in love with Seokjin. It’s a weighty, bewildering kind of love. Catches him off guard some days, actually. Namjoon thought maybe he had already discovered the ways to love and appreciate a person, but Seokjin—and the others—have shown him that love, like time, can evolve and take on new shapes.

On Namjoon’s long class days, he comes home feeling beaten down and weary, his bookbag like a colossal weight on his shoulders. But then he sees Seokjin laughing in the kitchen, amused and flustered by Jimin and Taehyung dancing around him, squishing his cheeks and planting sloppy kisses until they’re all breathless. It fills Namjoon with satisfaction to watch the others love on Seokjin. (Really, it would be impossible not to love Seokjin, he thinks.) Although Namjoon is the one studying counseling, Seokjin has an innate talent at drawing people out of their insecurities and making them feel safe, seen, loved. No textbook or rigid exam could explain or quantify that. His ability to love so openly and to draw it out of his pack is nothing short of magic.

The boy Namjoon fell in love with all those years ago is still there: effervescent and charming, his worries disappearing each day as he learns how much the pack needs him, respects him. Tonight, the house is quiet, and Namjoon slips off his shoes with a soft sigh. His board exams are fast approaching, and he feels like he’s missing out on all the important pack moments lately. When he rounds the corner into the living room, he’s relieved to find the others cuddled on the sofa and floor, their faces awash in the soft, blue glow of the television.

The sound of the movie is hushed by the quiet murmurs and gentle movements under blankets. Jeongguk is nestled into the crook of Seokjin’s arm, eyes closed in slumber, mouth agape as he breathes heavily. Hoseok and Taehyung are nuzzling one another dreamily, kisses slipped between the words they whisper. Jimin is draped across Yoongi’s lap, blinking slowly and fighting sleep as Yoongi cards his fingers through his hair. The room smells like family: warm and indescribable, a symphony of their scents mingling as one that is distinctly theirs.

“Hyung,” Jimin murmurs, reaching out toward Namjoon. “C’mere.” He sits up, wriggling closer to Yoongi to make space on the sofa. “Welcome home.”

Wordlessly, Namjoon obeys, sinking into the couch cushions and leaning into Jimin’s embrace. If Namjoon could purr, he would, content and cozy as he feels. Instead, he hums and relishes the feeling of Jimin’s low rumbling purr in his chest. It’s a steady vibration—as calming and certain as a heartbeat.

If someone were to ask Namjoon what he loved most about his pack, he’d answer without hesitation: this. The way they fall together in a tangle of limbs, soft skin and smooth hair, silence surrounding them like the coziest blanket. What they have goes beyond words, takes up more space than he can possibly try to contain. This is his pack: refuge from all storms, sanctuary when the world is unwelcoming. And they chose one another. Perhaps that’s the most mysterious, incredible part of it all. They chose to be here, to push through the hard parts, the challenging bits. That, Namjoon is certain, must be magic.

Love, day in and day out, is a choice, and they all choose it, over and over again. As sure as the sun rises. Namjoon can count on them like he can count on the golden rays creeping out from the horizon or bursting through dark clouds. Their pack like the sun around which he orbits.

***

Jimin. Now.

For too long, life seemed to be an endless road ahead of Jimin, no detours or pit stops in sight. The empty highways of life didn’t appeal to him, didn’t call to him with the promise of adventure. Instead, he saw a journey he would take alone—some grueling pathway that he’d have to travel with nothing but his shadow in tow. It would have been safer that way. Jimin could keep his eyes focused on the future without distraction or danger. He learned, however, that life like that was lonely.

He sees it now when he’s with his pack. They’re just as much his as he is theirs. Every piece of himself that he chased alone, he found in his pack mates. Humans by nature are pack animals. Jimin had heard that all his life and never understood it until he saw the life Seokjin was offering him. Safety, love, protection, more than he could have ever imagined.

The days feel less terrifying as they stretch ahead without an end. He wakes nestled between Jeongguk and Taehyung, falls asleep with Hoseok and Yoongi on the sofa, naps by the pool with Namjoon and Seokjin. The cadence of his life is familiar but never mundane. The comfort of waking and sleeping beside his pack mates gives Jimin a renewed sense of promise. He’ll never be alone.

When winter comes, Jimin likes the warmth of his mates, how their limbs warm the sheets like they’re made of coals. Jeongguk has given in to his nesting urges, and he dragged his quilts and sheets into Jimin’s bed, piling it high with extra pillows. The nest has attracted the others, pulling the seven of them into Jimin’s bed—a rare, but not unwelcome experience.

“S’small,” Namjoon grumbles from deep inside the pile.

Yoongi grunts, and Jimin feels a shift under the blankets—weight and legs moving beside him. “You’re too big,” he huffs, voice muffled by the pillows.

Jimin grins, delighted to have the alphas in his space, even if they are stubborn and unwilling to admit that the bed wasn’t made for all seven of them. “Well, you weren’t technically invited,” he teases, yanking back the blankets. Jeongguk clings to him with one leg thrown over his waist and Taehyung clinging to him, chin hooked over his shoulder, lips parted as he snores softly against Jeongguk’s neck.

“Your bed is so small,” Hoseok whines, yanking at a corner of a quilt, nudging his butt against Jimin. “I thought you said it was comfy.”

“It is comfy,” Jimin laughs, pinching the soft swell of fat on Hoseok’s hips.

“Not for all of us,” Hoseok sighs. He sounds halfway to sleep. He’s always drifted off with ease, especially when surrounded by his mates.

“Well, usually only a few of us are in here. Three is different than seven,” Jimin says gently.

“It is different with seven, and isn’t it marvelous?” Seokjin croons, wriggling his way into bed. Hoseok and Yoongi grumble good-naturedly and make room for the pack alpha to squeeze between them. “I’d take seven any day.”

“Me too,” Jimin agrees, leaning across someone to kiss Seokjin on the cheek. He smells like the early embers of campfire, and Jimin knows his rut is close. He always likes the alphas’ winter ruts—how they seem less frantic and rough than the summer ruts, more luxurious and clear-headed, the warm bed coaxing all of them to linger a little longer together. Soon, Jimin thinks. Soon the worries of everyday living will fall away, and it will just be them: bodies and moon cycles and hormones and all that love coming together as one.

***

Yoongi. Now.

For much of his early life, Yoongi always felt like he was broken and unlovable. A family wouldn’t abandon a child in their time of need if they weren’t lacking something, he told himself. He learned to accept the choice his family made; it’s not like he had much of a choice otherwise.

Broken and unlovable, he carried the idea around with him like an unlucky coin. Something he could run his fingers over in times of anger or sadness, smoothing its rough edge with steady attention. Broken and unlovable, the refrain of a song he couldn’t shake from his head—incessant and jangly, a hook on repeat. Broken and unlovable. As it turns out, he’s neither, he learned.

With the pack, he is loved and respected for who he is. They don’t see him for what he lacks, what he denies them, what he keeps to himself. They love him for what he shares with them, what he draws out of each member. He has his rightful place in the pack, and the pack mates adore Yoongi, and he adores them just the same. He feels up to the challenge of being an alpha, of guiding his pack and supporting the pack alpha. With them, he can re-write the rules of his own life, how he’s supposed to be and who he gets to be.

Love brings with it liberation—a kind of freedom he couldn’t even dream of. When someone loves you, really loves you, they free you from the self-doubt and soul-crushing expectations heaped on by the world. That kind of freedom is delicious. Yoongi had no idea love could take on so many shapes. With six pack mates, he’s learned it can appear anywhere in any form. Like when Seokjin tugs off his socks when he’s fallen asleep in bed (his hyung knows how much he hates the feeling of waking with overheated feet, socks damp with sweat under the covers). Or when Jimin hugs him from behind at the stove, lifting on his toes to hook his chin and watch as Yoongi makes kimchi fried rice.

Love is Namjoon interrupting Yoongi’s quiet time in his bedroom, hands waving frantically, earbuds thrust into Yoongi’s ears so he can hear what will surely be his new favorite song. Love is Hoseok’s loud laughter and teasing that draws a stubborn smile from Yoongi until he’s breathless and cackling too. Love is Taehyung’s whispered thanks, hyung after Yoongi invites him to snuggle on one of those heavy, wordless days that hurt down to the bone.

And Jeongguk? He’s love embodied, too. Maybe a little broken, but more than lovable. A sweet soul with a songbird voice that he’s begun to share more openly. Love is Jeongguk singing with eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back, hand on his belly as he rivals the classic crooners piped through the home stereo.

Love is the seven of them gathered around the table, flecks of rice on their chin, beer foam overflowing from their glasses, arguments over the last dumpling, raucous laughter, embellished storytelling, bellies filled with spicy tteokbokki and salted squid. Love is all around them, never taking, always giving. Dazzling and dizzying with its infinite supply.

***

Hoseok. Now.

The grief never quite fades, but Hoseok learns to grow around it. He allows himself to feel the weight of loss, to give in to tears and silence. Other days, he allows himself to honor Haneul with joy—ringing laughter and greasy fries and scenting his mates. Sometimes, days will pass without her face coming to mind. He used to hate himself for that—the forgetting, the carelessness with her memory.

The pack has helped him with all those feelings. Grief, this strange, unwieldy thing, seems easier to recognize and manage with his companions by his side. They never nudge him to move on from the pain, never ask him to forget the way others do. The pack has embraced Hoseok, and they see him as lovable and important and necessary to their family—not something to be blotted out or neglected entirely. Pity has found no place among the pack.

The first time the seven of them gathered at Haneul’s resting spot, Hoseok thought it might look strange: seven young men gathered, tears glistening on their cheeks. Instead, Hoseok felt at peace. “Look at my new family,” he murmured, gesturing at the pack. The tight squeeze of Seokjin’s hand on his shoulder made him feel brave, made him puff up with pride. “I’m not alone, sweetheart.” When Jeongguk’s hand slipped into his, Hoseok choked back a sob. Hoseok wished she could see the men who welcomed in, the mates who made Hoseok feel worthy of love and a new life. He knew she’d adore all of them.

Sometimes, he’d lie in bed and tell the others about his late wife. “She’d love you, Kookie, just love you,” Hoseok sighed. “Might have even tried to seduce you if she’d been well enough. You both have the same laugh.” He liked to imagine her meeting everybody—how she’d groan loudly at Seokjin’s jokes or cook quietly alongside Yoongi. Some days, he was sure he could imagine her strolling a museum with Namjoon and Taehyung; she would have easily kept up with their intellectual debates and brooding silence as they pondered some abstract sculpture. If Haneul had met Jimin, Hoseok knows without a doubt she would have favored him most—the two of them loving and generous, but fierce and firm when necessary. When Hoseok thought about it too long, the pain felt insurmountable. It seemed cruel that Haneul’s death might draw a hard line between these two parts of his life, but he felt lucky that everything after her was filled with promise and hope. When he first lost her, he couldn’t imagine feeling anything but despair gripping him in a chokehold.

Visiting Haneul became easier. The sadness seemed lighter, the happiness rising easily to the surface. Their last visit was on her birthday. When they returned home, they peeled off their suits—the pack insisted on dressing up whenever they visited Haneul—and ordered takeout and watched reality TV until they were groggy with salt and grease and dozing on the sofa. It was more than Hoseok ever thought he deserved. He thought he had one opportunity to fall in love, and he thought his turn was over. When the pack took him in and showed him that he could love not one but six other people, he learned how wrong he was. Grief, he learned, could give way to love if he let it. And he did. Each and every day.

***

Taehyung. Now.

After so many years of scraping by, Taehyung still has to stop and reflect on the fact that he lives in abundance now. He has everything he’s ever dreamed of and more. He had no idea he could fall asleep with a full belly and a full heart, a roof over his head, and a promise that it would be there tomorrow. Finding Jimin had felt like prize enough, but finding the other pack mates was more than he ever felt he deserved. It was a slow start with the pack—winning over a still-skeptical Seokjin, assuring Yoongi he was worth the trouble. But once he settled into their world, it slowly began to feel like hisworld, too.

It feels a little greedy some days. When Taehyung wakes among Jimin and Jeongguk, he feels lucky, heart overflowing with gratitude. There are days it seems impossible that he could go from a life of nothingness—acetic, bone-thin, an unsatisfied, ever-present hunger dwelling in his gut. Now, there are days when Taehyung doesn’t quite know what to do with all of this.

He rolls over, snuggling closer to Jimin, nose grazing over the mate mark that binds the two of them. Kisses will do. He’ll channel all this abundance to kisses: slow presses of his lips against the delicate black moon outlined on Jimin’s neck, lips fluttering along Jimin’s jaw line until he stirs from sleep.

“Bear,” Jimin murmurs, lips twinging with a smile. “S’early.”

“I missed you,” Taehyung answers, nosing at Jimin’s earlobes, delighting in the way the thick hoops flop back against his nose. Taehyung knows its ridiculous to say such things, especially after a long night in bed with Jimin and Jeongguk—the three of them tangled like roots of an ancient tree, blooming and thriving with every dip of fingertips or sweep of tongue. But it’s true, and it’s greedy, and maybe a little selfish, but Taehyung wants Jimin to know: he misses him all the time. Tiny pangs prick his heart whenever they’re apart. Jimin had joked all those years ago that maybe they imprinted on one another, and Taehyung sometimes wonders if that is true. It certainly feels like Jimin is tattooed on some secret, hidden part of his heart.

And Jeongguk? He squeezes his arms around Taehyung’s belly, buries his nose in the thick sweep of hair curling along his neck. The cosmic tug Taehyung felt when they first met had knocked him breathless, made him wonder if the universe could possibly grant him a second soulmate. The abundance! More than he deserved, he was sure of it. “Noisy, hyung,” Jeongguk mumbles, lips brushing against the collar of Taehyung’s shirt. “Always talking.”

Taehyung laughs, shaking both Jimin and Jeongguk, and they grouse and grumble, though the softness always breaks through—stubborn sun bursts through storm clouds. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not,” Jimin teases, rolling over until he’s facing Taehyung. He brushes at a wisp of dark hair cast across his forehead. “You woke us up on purpose.”

Jeongguk snorts, hands clutching at Taehyung’s belly. “You woke us up on purpose,” he repeats.

Taehyung wriggles onto his back, stretching his arms until they’re wrapped around Jeongguk and Jimin, pulling them close to his chest. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. You can’t prove a thing.”

Jimin hums and hooks a leg over Taehyung’s hips and shifts until he finds a comfortable spot. “I’m going back to sleep. You know the alphas are going to be awake soon, we’ll have to get ready for everything.”

Heat flickers in Taehyung’s belly and he squeezes Jeongguk and Jimin closer. It’s the first rut with the seven of them, the final season of the year—one abundance after another. “You sure you’re okay?” He asks, turning to Jeongguk.

Nodding, Jeongguk reaches for Jimin’s hand, intertwining their fingers and resting their hands on Taehyung’s belly. “More than okay. I’m ready.”

***

Seokjin. Now.

The pack is happy. Settled. Calm. All the things a good pack alpha could want. His mates are cared for, content with what they have, and harmony is stretched among them like a shared blanket. Seokjin is happy too. The kind of happy that feels like he’s swallowed butterflies, the kind of happy that makes him tear up at family scenes on screen, the kind of happy that bubbles out of him with loud laughter.

The kind of happy that feels dream-like and unreal. Like Jeongguk snuggling with him on the sofa, his attention drifting from the movie until he’s focused on Seokjin. It’s slow and lazy the way they move together: Jeongguk’s lips shiny and full, tongue dipping into Seokjin’s mouth. Seokjin imagines the way cream flows into coffee with soft curls swirling in the darkness. That’s how he pictures Jeongguk in his lap—rocking and huffing with soft breaths, hands deep in Seokjin’s hair, eyes closed like he’s chasing a dream. All sweetness and cream, the warmth of his mouth, the cool slick of his tongue.

Seokjin slips his hands around Jeongguk’s waist, fingers grazing the skin just under the hem of his sweatshirt. Jeongguk’s skin is warm to the touch like a coal before catching fire. Gently, Seokjin squeezes him, delighting in the way it draws a gasp from Jeongguk. “God, you just—” his words are snatched away by another kiss from Jeongguk, this time more frantic, more needy and hungry. Teeth graze against Seokjin’s lips, and he sighs into it.

He’d always had a feeling kissing Jeongguk might feel like this. They fit together. Seokjin felt it years ago when they first met. Even in the dark, smoky rooms or under the garish, sickly lights, Seokjin knew something was there. Jimin might call it the invisible string of fate—some magical force drawing them closer, tying them together without either of them noticing. Seokjin doesn’t know what it is, but he’s grateful it’s brought them together.

Grateful seems too small a word for the feeling of a happy, healthy pack. And when the others drift in slowly, piling themselves on the couch, interrupting this moment with Jeongguk, Seokjin can’t even be angry. He’s happy to share this warmth and happiness and comfort. He always wanted a pack of his own, wanted a family that wouldn’t turn their backs on him, a family that wouldn’t betray the very foundations of a pack: loyalty, trust, love. Seokjin wanted to create a safe place for people the world had neglected. It wasn’t about saving them—it was about saving himself, paying the universe back for all that it lined him: privilege, comfort, safety, love. Now he feels like his debts are settled for good.

***

Jeongguk. Now.

Jeongguk was always told home is a feeling, not a place. Surely it is a place, he thinks. Like when he’s bundled in his nest, surrounded by the pack, with cold, relentless rain drumming against the windows. If that isn’t home, what is? He feels it walking barefoot on the patio—each step more sure and certain than the last. He feels it in the kitchen, leaned into the corner of the counter. He feels it in the bath tub—that quiet oasis where his mind empties itself. Each part of this house feels like home, each corner and shadow feels completely his. This place, this home surrounds him, fills the emptiness he always assumed would swallow him some day. He never imagined he would have his own bedroom—even the walls and a door feel marvelous, the carpet indulgent and beyond imagination, the plush bed piled with pillows a miracle. Finally, a space belongs to him, and he’s not confined by it.

It’s an early winter morning, and Jeongguk woke to the muffled sound of Hoseok and Taehyung arranging a nest in Seokjin’s room. The alphas’ rut is fast-approaching. Electricity seems to buzz through the air—tiny sparks of hormones growing stronger and stronger as the hours tick by. Jeongguk didn’t sleep well the night before. It’s his first time joining the pack during a rut. He doesn’t know what to expect. Yoongi tried explaining it to him with scribbled diagrams and monotonous YouTube tutorials, but Jeongguk couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

He feels certain that he’s ready to join the pack. Officially, he’d clarified when he choked out the words to Namjoon and Seokjin days before. They didn’t do their usual routine of brushing him off, assuring him it could happen later. Instead, they shared some unspoken conversation through a long glance before turning back to Jeongguk with soft smiles. Okay, they’d said. And that was that. Jeongguk was going to officially join the pack.

It would be a lie to say he’s not nervous. He chews his bottom lip and paces the hall, socks kicking up sparks from the plush carpet underfoot. Seokjin had laughed when Jeongguk asked if there was some sort of ceremony for the whole thing. It was gentle laughter, his hand quickly reaching to squeeze Jeongguk’s. “No ceremony, no. It’s just us.” That had been enough for Jeongguk.

It’s just us. It sounded more like a promise, some eternal vow than anything the others had said to him before.

As Jeongguk paces past Seokjin’s room again, a hand yanks him back. “Not too close, pup,” Jimin says gently. He’s freshly showered, smelling like baby powder and something soft, and floral. His cheeks pink like the petals of a peony.

“Should I be scared?” Jeongguk asks, glancing over his shoulder toward the bedroom.

“Not at all,” Jimin says quickly. “It’s just, the alphas have this thing they do before they’re ready for us. Some meditative thing—”

“—Namjoon’s idea?” Jeongguk interrupts.

Jimin smiles. “Yoongi’s idea. To keep them grounded, to make sure all boundaries are clear and that everyone can have a safe, enjoyable time.”

“I worked a rut party once,” Jeongguk murmurs. He picks at his bottom lip, fingernails flaking off a bit of skin where he’s worried his lip raw. “It was awful.”

“Oh.” Jimin nods and presses his hands to Jeongguk’s chest. Jeongguk is sure Jimin can feel the way it’s racing like a terrified rabbit leading a pack of dogs on a race track. “It won’t be like that. I promise.”

The rut party had been one of the few lucid moments in Jeongguk’s memory. Unsedated and achingly sober, Jeongguk had felt everything: every rough hand, every jagged set of teeth, every thrust and every bruise. Any semblance of order was lost to the hormones of the alphas. They were hopped up on adrenaline, blood boiling and eyes blinded by their ruts.

“Hey,” Jimin says softly, “you can change your mind, you know. You said you’re ready but maybe we should wait.”

Jeongguk swallows and shakes his head. “Tell me what to expect. You said it’s different. I want to be ready.”

Smiling, Jimin gives a half-hearted shrug. “It’s nice, actually. The alphas let us guide everything, let us set the pace. Hoseok and Taehyung give and take when they’re feeling a little wound up or aggressive, and I’ve always been able to keep things slow, soften them up a bit, make them exercise a little patience.”

“Patience.” Jeongguk nods. “Okay.”

“It’s winter, so their libidos operate a little differently,” Jimin continues. “The nest is comfy and warm, and they’re not all worked up and overheated like they are in the summer. It’s still a nice time then, too, but I always like winter a bit more. The alphas get a little gentler, a little less foggy and more responsive.”

The door to Seokjin’s bedroom opens, and Taehyung sticks his head out into the hall, glancing around until he spots Jimin and Jeongguk. He already looks flustered: lips swollen and kiss-bitten, hair disheveled and shirt collar stretched wide over his shoulder. “They’re ready for us.”

Jimin snorts. “Looks like someone got a head start.”

“It was me,” Hoseok says, sticking his head out. “You know how I like to tease the alphas a bit.” He swipes at his lips and grins at Taehyung. “Bunch of whimpering puppies in there.”

Jimin laughs and tugs Jeongguk’s hand, pulling him toward the door. “You still good? You can change your mind.”

Jeongguk inhales. “Let’s go.”

***

Seven. Now.

The nest is bigger than Jeongguk imagined: heaps of blankets and down comforters, pillows gathered from all corners of the house, pilfered articles of clothing tucked among the padded mats on the floor. Seokjin’s bed has been removed, cast aside somewhere to make room for all the soft mounds piled together. The room is cozy—warm with the seven of them among the blankets and pillows, the lights dimmed and the curtains drawn. It nearly feels like any other day when they gather for a movie night or a group snuggle. Except.

Namjoon smells deliciously different, his scent spiking and making Jimin’s nostrils flare and Taehyung’s eyes go wide and glassy. Jeongguk feels a stirring in his belly, and even his teeth feel like they’re salivating. He can feel the pheromones making him a little drowsy, a fogginess edging into his vision.

“C’mere.”

A hand draws Jeongguk closer by the nape, lips meet his, and it’s a syrupy slow kiss, lips unmistakably Yoongi’s: plush and wet, careful but guiding. Jeongguk melts into it, and another set of hands peel his shirt away. It’s heady and surreal the flurry of hands and mouths on him, each marking him like a bruise without the ache—just tender skin and pretty, rosy splashes of warmth.

Namjoon kisses him next—all tongue and wet lips, content sighs exhaled with every press of their mouths. Jeongguk feels tingly all over, the sensation of falling asleep washing over him. Everything moves slowly: bodies moving together, hands so many hands, mouths all over one another, their scents mingling together.

The first knot is easy. Namjoon is gentle, so gentle, with Jeongguk, holding him close, his large hands splayed against Jeongguk’s back as he holds him in his lap. They rock together—smooth and steady like a boat bobbing on a calm ocean—and Jeongguk clings to Namjoon’s neck, nose tucked into his collarbone. Yoongi whispers to him, fingers brushing the damp hair away from his forehead. Each touch is featherlight, cool against his sweltering skin. Namjoon holds Jeongguk for what feels like an eternity—skin on fire and mouth like a hot coal gliding over his skin.

When Namjoon’s knot deflates, he collapses against the pile of pillows with Jeongguk still clinging to him. They’re bone-limp and exhausted. Someone has cracked open a window, and the winter air filters into the room.

Yoongi settles next to Jeongguk. His eyes have gone dark like sea water after a storm, and beads of perspiration gather at his hairline. He’s undressed down to his boxer briefs, his co*ck tenting the fabric and dotting it with pre-cum. His chest heaves with each breath like he’s over-exerted himself. Jeongguk blinks hazily and smiles at him, reaching out a hand. “What do you need, hyung?” he murmurs. The sound of his voice surprises him: hoarse, over-spent.

“Just this,” Yoongi sighs. He palms at the front of his briefs, his eyes falling closed in relief. Jimin shuffles closer on all fours and leans over Yoongi, smiling sweetly. There’s no teasing in his eyes, no sharp barb on his tongue for the alpha. “Just you.”

“We got you, hyung,” Jimin says. He noses along Yoongi’s temple at the patch of wet hair, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt on his skin.

Jeongguk’s jaw goes slack as he watches, heat pooling in his belly, stretching down to his toes. He can’t help but stare: Yoongi is lost in his own little world, hand dipping under his waistband, Jimin purring and murmuring as he sucks on Yoongi’s neck. Jeongguk whimpers and touches himself, feeling the blood race to his co*ck.

“That’s it, go on,” Hoseok encourages him. He crawls over to Jeongguk and settles next to him. His scent is calmer than the alphas, his very presence cooling and calm. “Show the alphas how good they make you feel.” His hand curls around Jeongguk’s, guiding him with slow strokes.

Groaning, Jeongguk arches into it, chasing after Hoseok’s firm grip around his co*ck. His own hand feels foreign—clumsy and graceless—but Hoseok’s hand slows him, moving him with firm glides up and down his co*ck. “They’re so, you’re so—”

He’s hushed with a kiss. Taehyung kisses him over and over with quick presses of their lips, relentless and greedy until Jeongguk laughs and sputters. “It’s good, right?” Taehyung’s eyes are wild and shiny, like an animal ready to pounce. “All of this?” He gestures around them.

Jeongguk’s vision has gone blurry, but he can make out the shapes of everyone: long limbs tangled into one human mass, pheromones perfuming the room, grunts and sighs from all angles. He nods, lips pursing involuntarily, waiting for someone to kiss him. Hoseok and Taehyung take turns kissing him, alternating between quick pecks and long, spit-slick deep kisses.

Yoongi groans loudly, shushed by Jimin who coaxes him through his org*sm, stroking his hair and nuzzling at his mate mark. The skin where he’s been marked has grown darker, fiery and bold, like a beacon proclaiming he’s home. This moment, these people, this place—all connected to the promise branded on his skin.

Jeongguk feels his own org*sm bubbling up like they’re rising from his toes, spreading through his legs into his co*ck until he’s spilling into his hand with a loud cry. Before he can catch his breath, Hoseok and Taehyung are on him, lapping at his co*ck with pleased hums, thumbs kneading into the meat of his thighs. Jeongguk’s head is spinning, skin prickled all over with goosebumps, beads of sweat trailing down his torso, toes cramping and curling.

“f*ck,” Namjoon grunts. His knot has swelled to full size again, his hand fisting furiously at his inflamed co*ck.

“Gorgeous, aren’t they?” Seokjin answers. He watches the others with an engrossed expression: eyes taking in the details of his mates, lost in their shared pleasure, bodies writhing and responding to each and every touch.

“Hyung,” Jeongguk gasps. He shivers as Taehyung takes his co*ck in his mouth, gagging around the base of it. “Want you,” Jeongguk says, reaching a trembling hand toward Seokjin.

“Hyung is here, I’m here, bun,” Seokjin answers softly. The gentleness of his voice nearly betrays the moment—unbridled bliss and rapture, the room smelling of sex and sweat. He kisses Jeongguk hard, like all the years of waiting for this moment have finally come to a head: years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes of deep-seated yearning, the kind of desperation that’s shaped every moment they’ve ever spent apart. Jeongguk feels it all in the way Seokjin kisses him, hands threaded through his hair, fingernails rough against his scalp, eyes closed and mouths open. Over and over and over and over—

Everything has led to this moment. Jeongguk feels something inside him shift, some final piece of a puzzle rooting itself in its deep, rightful place. All the promises Seokjin made him years ago finally feeling real, settled, certain. Jeongguk is here, Seokjin is here, they are all here, together—the seven of them inseparable and bound together by something stronger than fate, a nameless, invisible, shimmering thing linking them forever.

“I want you, hyung,” Jeongguk huffs between kisses. His heart is pounding out of his chest, and he’s sure everyone can hear it: loud and crystalline and booming.

“Want you too, Jeongguk, always have.” Seokjin takes Jeongguk into his arms, pulling him close until they topple over. Jeongguk looks down at Seokjin, dark strands of his hair draped over his eyes, and he takes it all in: the face of a man who promised to save him years ago. The traces of sadness from before are gone, replaced only with exuberance and pure joy. They’re here, together, in spite of it all.

Hands map out trails all over Jeongguk’s back, urging him closer to Seokjin, and he gives in to the weight of their palms. “That’s it, nice and slow,” Taehyung says—voice deep and velvety, soft as the blankets underneath them.

Seokjin slides into Jeongguk with ease, eyes rolling back in his head at the hot, wet sensation. Jeongguk presses closer, their chests tacky with sweat. They move together, bodies undulant and overheated, skin slick with salt. A key and a lock—the two of them fitting together like they were made for one another.

The years fall away. The dark, damp memories of childhood dissolve in a wave of shimmering light. The heaviness that always settled onto Jeongguk’s shoulders fades. All that pain and fear tightly wound around his heart finally seems to loosen. He’d felt it before—the seismic shift of that trauma losing its hold on him—but now he feels it: sudden and overwhelming. His rightful place in the pack a promise that those days are far behind him.

“God,” Seokjin grunts, “You’re perfect, bun, just perfect.” He cups Jeongguk’s face, studying him carefully with each thrust of his hips. “Look at you. You’re here. You’re here.” Tears glisten at the corners of his eyes, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he tries to swallow the sob threatening to spill. “You sweet, sweet thing, you’re here.” Bewilderment colors his voice—like he’s marveling at Jeongguk’s very presence, unable to believe that he’s here in Seokjin’s arms.

The surprise of it all catches Jeongguk off guard. He blinks away his own tears and thumbs at Seokjin’s lips, smiling at him. “I’m here, hyung, you saved me. You brought me here.”

Jimin’s voice breaks the spell, and Jeongguk and Seokjin look over to find him crying openly. Taehyung and Hoseok cling to him, nuzzling and scenting him, kissing his shoulders gently. “I’m sorry,” Jimin chokes out, “it’s just, you saved us all, hyung.”

Taehyung nods, swiping at the tears gathering on his eyelashes. “It’s true, hyung.”

Seokjin’s chin trembles, and he looks from side to side, taking in the faces of his pack mates. Yoongi has settled back against Namjoon’s chest, content as a cat lounging in the sun. The two of them look tearful and earnest, nodding along with the others. “We’re all here because of you,” Namjoon says, voice breaking.

“All of us,” Hoseok agrees.

(Later, Jeongguk is sure they’ll laugh about the moment turning sickly sweet—the over abundance of sentimental tears and kisses, the interruption of the alphas’ rut, the way they all laughed and touched one another like shy school boys.)

How lucky to have this pack, Seokjin thinks. How lucky and unreal, and how undeserving he feels to have such a surplus of joy and love surrounding him. Before he can answer, the others gather and take turns kissing him, stroking his hair, scenting him. His co*ck is still deep inside Jeongguk, and he feels himself twitching with each kiss, feels his belly growing tighter as the kisses change from soft and chaste to filthy and long, tongues pressing deep in his mouth, tasting the last person who put their mouth on him. An especially deep kiss from Yoongi makes Seokjin moan, mouths parting for the sound to escape. He feels the base of his knot expanding, feels the stretch of Jeongguk’s hole, the squelch of slick dribbling down his co*ck. “M’close,” he chokes out.

“Want your knot, hyung,” Jeongguk whines. He rocks his hip down against Seokjin’s, chasing after the new pressure around his swelling knot. The stretch doesn’t burn or tear at his skin—not like the uncouth, violent alphas from his life before. It feels natural, like his body was made for this moment of taking Seokjin deeper and deeper.

Seokjin lets out a loud groan and presses up in his heels, driving deeper into Jeongguk until his calves shake with cramps. “God, that’s it, bun, right there.”

The swelling knocks Jeongguk breathless, erases all semblance of words and syllables from his mind. It’s a white hot, sightless feeling: bodies locking together in one final thrust. Jeongguk collapses onto Seokjin’s chest, mouth slack and pressed against Seokjin’s mate mark. “I want mine,” he finally mumbles, nosing at the distinct outline of teeth glowing like embers on Seokjin’s skin. “Mark me, hyung. Want everyone to mark me.”

The others move swiftly. Blankets rustle around them, pillows are moved. The window is opened further to allow more freezing winter air to permeate the room. Stars and dark spots speckle Jeongguk’s vision, his heart races as he comes down from his org*sm. Seokjin looks far away—eyes dark and distant, a half-smile curled on his lips. The others move around them, preparing the space, and then Jeongguk feels more hands on him—careful in their movements, soft against his exhausted muscles.

Before long, Jeongguk is on his back, nestled among the pillows, his head in Yoongi’s lap. Hoseok kisses up his neck, humming happily until their lips meet. Somewhere, Jimin’s hands warm Jeongguk’s skin, kneading and making him feel boneless and unreal.

Namjoon and Taehyung kneel near Jeongguk’s feet, kissing with sloppy, hungry mouths, content hums escaping from both of them. And then Seokjin: eyes wide and watching, flitting from them to Jeongguk, ears and cheeks and mouth pink, so pink, and he smiles. It’s incandescent—a smile Jeongguk has seen Seokjin flash at the others, but this one is for him, this moment is for him.

“Hyung,” Jeongguk whispers. “I’m ready.”

“Yeah?” Seokjin crawls toward Jeongguk, his skin mottled with bite marks and finger prints pressed deep. He leans forward, nuzzling against Jeongguk’s neck, breathing him in until Jeongguk finds his own breathing has slowed to match Seokjin’s. “You know you’re part of this pack no matter what,” Seokjin murmurs, his breath fanning across Jeongguk’s neck. “We only do this if you want to.”

“I want to,” Jeongguk exhales.

The bite surprises him: Seokjin’s teeth break his skin without warning. Jeongguk imagines his skin breaking like a tomato’s, wonders if he tastes as sweet and sharp to Seokjin as the summer sun on a cherry tomato. Jeongguk gasps, back arching as the feeling rushes over him: cold water on a hot day, a sweltering sauna after an ice bath. All sensations all at once.

Overwhelmed, Jeongguk cries out, the tears streaming down his cheeks with ease. It doesn’t feel the way he thought it would. Just as Jeongguk feels floaty, teetering on the edge of sleep, Seokjin pulls away and hovers over him, eyes wide with concern. His lips are raw and swollen, cheeks flushed with effort. “You okay, bun?”

Jeongguk nods, a dreamy smile forming on his lips. “And the others?”

Seokjin laughs and leans closer, nose brushing against Jeongguk’s. “They’re all here. We’re here. Your pack is here.”

One by one, the others mark him—each time the sensation feels different: cool water on sunburned skin, biting into a hot sweet potato on a frigid night, breath snatched from his lungs from a free fall. His toes curl and his muscles tense each time, body wanting to fight against the others claiming him until he relaxes. His heart seems to know there’s no threat here, not among the seven of them.

Jeongguk thought it would hurt—he thought love had to hurt, that it came with a price that no one could truly afford. Love, he realizes, isn’t pain. It’s the healing balm for every ache, a soothing caress on a burning cheek, a gentle touch to a tender wound. Love isn’t pain—only what heals it, what makes it dissolve over time.

It’s this moment and the next: present and future. Love is the unwritten mystery stretched out before him. Love is the six faces looking down at him, the cool lips on his fevered brow, the fingers combing through his sweat-soaked hair. Love is everywhere, all the time, taking up all the space in a room and filling the tiniest cracks. Love is this, love is them, love is home. Love is priceless, doesn’t keep score, doesn’t lay down a ledger and point to what’s owed. Love comes with no debt attached.