Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

+++

“Sometimes the cruelest goodbyes aren’t spoken. They’re forced.”

+++

Greenhouse behind the Academy Library at midnight

The moon was low, soft, and full. It shone through the fractured glass panels of the abandoned greenhouse, painting silver light across overgrown ivy and forgotten potted plants. In the far corner, two figures stood close - so close they breathed the same air. Yoongi’s fingers hovered just beneath Jimin’s jaw, not touching yet, as though he feared even the slightest contact might break whatever spell had drawn them here.

Jimin was trembling. Not from fear. From the weight of what he was about to do. “Are you sure?” Yoongi’s voice was barely a breath, his words laced with hesitation and awe.

The omega nodded, his cheeks flushed in the cold. And then, slowly, like petals falling open, he tilted his face up and closed the distance. Their lips met in the softest collision of courage and longing. Jimin sighed into it, and Yoongi’s hand finally came to rest against his cheek, grounding him. There was no hunger in the kiss. No desperation. Just two boys who had finally stopped pretending that they didn’t feel the stars inside each other. When they pulled away, their foreheads stayed pressed together.

“You’re my moonbeam in the dark,” Jimin whispered, voice shaking. “The only light that doesn’t hurt to look at.”

Yoongi swallowed hard. “Then don’t ever let go.”

He didn’t know someone had seen and how cruel the faith was towards them…

Jimin never came back to the dorm that night. The last Yoongi saw of him was a flicker of brown hair disappearing into the main building, flanked by two scentless guards. No words. No glance. Just gone.

His messages went unanswered. His calls were blocked. Even Jimin’s scent in their usual spots - greenhouse, library, garden bench - had been scrubbed away like a stain. Three days later, Yoongi found a note folded and wedged beneath the wooden beam of their secret greenhouse bench. It was barely a line.

They know. I’m sorry. I’ll find you again.

Yoongi’s hands crumpled the paper as his knees hit the dirt floor and he cried… for the first time in his life… He cried.

+++

The room smelled like leather-bound books and bloodlines. Like expectation. Like fear. Jimin stood barefoot on the marble, dragged in without warning. His wrist bore the faint bruise of a guard’s grip. His blazer was still buttoned wrong from earlier, hands still stained with greenhouse soil.

Park Dae-jung stood at the head of the room, flanked by two silent staffers. His voice was low, controlled - the kind of fury that came cold and calculating. “A Min boy?” he repeated. “Him?”

Jimin didn’t speak.

“You were caught,” his father continued. “On our grounds. In uniform. Letting an alpha’s hands on your skin like you’ve forgotten who you are.”

Jimin’s voice cracked when it finally came. “I haven’t forgotten. That’s why I love him.”

Silence.

And then the slap - loud, vicious, echoing off the high ceilings. Jimin’s face snapped to the side, his vision splitting into white and pain. Min Mira, his mother, didn’t move. She stood at the edge of the room like a marble statue - flawless, frozen.

Dae-jung leaned forward, face inches from Jimin’s. “You’ll be sent for treatment. Today. You’ll forget this disgrace. And if you ever speak his name again, I will erase everything you are.”

Jimin didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His mouth tasted like iron and shame. The young omega was sent away to a Private Clinic that same night. Jimin stayed there long enough to forget what sunlight felt like. The windows were sealed. The air filtered. His bed was made for compliance, not comfort. The nurses were gentle. Smiling. Detached. They injected him twice a day - suppressants strong enough to make his entire body feel muted. His scent faded until it was barely detectable, like stale paper and wet cotton.

Sometimes, he dreamed of Yoongi’s hands. His voice. His scent. But every morning, the dreams slipped further away. His body remembered the kiss. His heart remembered the promises. But the chemicals in his blood were doing their job. And one morning, he woke up and couldn’t remember the exact sound of Yoongi’s laugh.

He cried then. Quietly. Into the pillow. No one came.

+++

Yoongi hadn’t spoken to anyone in days. His room was dark, blinds shut tight. The television droned in the background, ignored. When his father entered, he didn’t look up.

“You will accept the internship in Zurich,” the man said simply. Yoongi didn’t reply. “Refuse, and you’ll lose everything - your position, your shares, your name.”

Still, no answer. So Min Hyun-sik stepped closer, tone dropping. “If you ever speak to Park Jimin again, I’ll see to it he’s committed. And don’t think his parents won’t agree.”

That got a reaction. Yoongi’s knuckles went white. “You’re threatening him now?” he growled. “He didn’t do anything.”

“He existed, Yoongi,” his father snapped. “And that’s all it takes for a scandal.”

Yoongi stood. Slowly. Shoulders squared. “Then fine,” he said. “I’ll disappear.”

+++

Seoul

Jimin sat in a sterile white room, watching snow fall through double-glazed windows. He wore a cashmere robe, gifted by his mother, and held a journal he no longer had the will to write in. He whispered Yoongi’s name once. Just once. Then never again.

+++

Zurich

In another city, in a quiet apartment filled with boxes and silence, Yoongi reached for his phone one last time. He typed a message:

“I love you. Always.”

But he never hit send. Instead, he deleted Jimin’s contact, closed his eyes, and let it break him quietly.

And so, they vanished.

One into chemicals and control.

The other into silence and snow.

Both still dreaming of a greenhouse kiss, beneath a silver moon.

+++

Jimin lost track of time.

The days in the clinic bled into each other, colorless and quiet. The walls were pale gray. The linens were always crisp. The nurses wore soft white shoes and spoke in even softer voices. He didn’t know any of their names. They never asked for his. They called it healing. Stabilization. But it felt like dying.

At first, it was physical: the dizziness after every injection, the nausea from the pills. The scent-dampening chemicals made his skin feel foreign, like it didn’t fit quite right. He began to smell like linen spray and sterile air - unnatural, hollow.

Then it became mental. He stopped dreaming. Stopped writing. The music in his mind — once a constant hum, Yoongi's laughter and piano keys — faded until all he could hear was silence.

There was a mirror in his room. Oval. Antique. Uncracked. He would sit in front of it every morning, staring into his own eyes. They used to be warm. Rich brown with honey at the edges. Now they were just… flat.

Lifeless.

His inner wolf, once a small but strong presence inside his chest, had gone still. Jimin couldn’t even feel it stirring anymore. The voice that used to whisper this is wrong, run, find him had quieted to a whisper. Then to nothing.

It wasn’t gone. Just buried. Asleep. Like a creature trapped under ice.

There was a day — he didn’t know what month, what season — when Jimin stood in the middle of his room and realized:

I don’t feel anything.

Not sadness. Not rage. Not longing. Just… nothing. No guilt. No tears. No fear. Not even love. Only a faint echo  -  the ghost of a memory - of soft hands once cradling his face like it was made of porcelain. Yoongi’s thumbs brushing his cheeks, breath warm, whispering words like forever and mine in the dark. But even that memory was starting to blur at the edges. Like a painting left out in the rain.

Sometimes, he would reach for his scent gland out of habit. Not to touch it. Not to mark it. Just to… feel. But there was nothing. No heat. No flutter. No spark. His body had become a cage, and he was the puppet moving inside it, joints pulled by invisible threads, dancing on command for people who called it recovery. And through it all, no one came. Not his parents. Not Yoongi.

The world had moved on. And Jimin had stayed behind.

A beautiful shell.

A locked garden.

A memory trying to remember what it used to be.

The omega forgot how to smile. Not in the dramatic, poetic way - he literally couldn’t remember how. His facial muscles still worked. He could mimic one when the nurses praised his cooperation. He could lift the corners of his lips for the bi-weekly evaluations, when doctors sat across from him with clipboards and careful words.

“How are you feeling today, Mr. Park?”

“Much better, thank you.”

“Have you had any unwanted emotional spikes?”

“No. Everything is calm.”

“Excellent progress.”

They smiled. He smiled back. And then he returned to his room and stared into the mirror again, waiting for something to move behind his own eyes. It never did.

Some days, he counted seconds. Not because he was bored - boredom required wanting something different. He simply needed to measure something. Anything.

One. Two. Three. Breathe.

One. Two. Three. Inhale.

One. Two. Three. You’re still here.

Other days, he sat completely still, staring at the wall as the clock hands circled above him. Watching the sun move across the window like a ghost he no longer knew how to chase. He remembered once having dreams. Writing. Dancing barefoot in Yoongi’s coat. Laughing so hard he fell over in the snow.

But those memories began to feel like someone else’s life. Like a book he’d read too many years ago, in a language he was starting to forget. He didn’t even know what day it was. He didn’t care.

Once, his body betrayed him. He woke up shaking. Sweat pooling at the base of his spine. Breathing ragged. He had dreamed—just a flicker—of a piano key. A hand holding his. A scent that felt like home. And for a terrifying, glorious second, his inner wolf moved. Just slightly. Just enough to gasp.

But then came the next dose. The cold press of the syringe. The blue liquid flowing into his bloodstream like winter. And the voice inside him fell silent again. More than silence. It hid.

He began to fold his clothes precisely each night. Perfect lines. Crisp corners. He lined his pens on the desk, smallest to largest. He stopped speaking unless spoken to. He stopped blinking too much during evaluations. The doctor praised him for his stability.

“You’re becoming the best version of yourself.”

Jimin almost laughed. The best version of himself didn’t exist anymore. What remained was something clean. Something tame. Something easy to control.

A perfect omega.

Polished.

Quiet.

Empty.

That night, he stood in front of the mirror again, staring at himself. He reached up and touched his cheek, very gently, where Yoongi’s fingers had once traced his skin like it was fragile, precious, adored. But this time… there was no warmth in the memory.

Only a question:

Did I imagine it?

Days passed…

It was raining that morning. Not the kind that came with thunder or drama — just a cold, steady drizzle that whispered against the clinic windows, soft as regret. The kind of rain that felt like mourning something no one else remembered. Jimin sat at the breakfast table alone. He hadn’t eaten. The nurse placed a pill beside his untouched toast. He took it automatically, swallowing without water. He didn’t ask what it was anymore. It didn’t matter.

“Your parents will be visiting today,” the nurse added with a professional smile. “You’ll want to prepare.”

Jimin blinked. The word parents didn’t stir anything in him except a vague awareness of an obligation. He nodded. Went to his room. Put on the pale gray suit they’d sent last week — the one tailored to erase his curves and soften his scent even more. He combed his hair until it lay perfectly still. Brushed his teeth until his mouth stopped tasting like sleep. Looked in the mirror.
Still didn’t recognize himself.

They arrived in the early afternoon. His father entered first, his tailored coat shaking off rain like it had no right to touch him. His mother followed, a parasol still clutched in one hand despite being inside. Jimin stood when they entered, like he’d been taught. Like he’d been trained.

Park Dae-jung looked him up and down with clinical eyes. “You’ve… improved,” he said.

Jimin said nothing. His mother sat gracefully across from him and placed a folder on the table between them. Jimin stared at it.

“We’ve arranged your engagement,” she said softly, as if it were an act of mercy. “The ceremony will be private. You’ll be bonded on paper first, and in time… properly.”

His stomach didn’t drop. His heart didn’t race. Because there was nothing left inside him to react.

“Who?” he asked, voice even.

“Han Areum,” his father replied. “Daughter of the Han shipping conglomerate. An alpha. Well-bred. Discreet. She’ll know how to handle you.”

Jimin blinked once. “Will she expect heat rights?”

His mother flinched slightly. “Only if you’re… ready. We’ve made it clear that the bond is formal, not intimate. At least for now.”

Jimin lowered his gaze. He didn’t argue. Didn’t cry. Didn’t beg.

He simply asked, “When?”

His father passed him the folder. “Next month. Don’t embarrass us.” And just like that, the meeting was over.

After they left, Jimin sat there for a long time. He didn’t touch the folder. Didn’t open it. Didn’t care to see the face of the person he was going to be given to like an heirloom. Instead, he looked out the window. The rain hadn’t stopped. It dripped down the glass in long, winding trails — soft, relentless. Like the sky itself was weeping all the tears Jimin no longer knew how to cry.

He touched his cheek again. The place Yoongi had once held so gently. So reverently. As if Jimin were something fragile and full of light. And for a moment… for a single, flickering second… He wished Yoongi had marked him. Because even pain would be better than feeling nothing at all.

+++

“I didn’t break. I vanished.”

+++

Chapter Text

+++

“You can’t mourn what no one knows you lost.”

+++

Zurich

The city was beautiful. Clean streets, quiet trams, lakes that glimmered in the early morning light. Mountains cradled the sky from every angle, and every building stood like it had something to prove. Zurich had the kind of elegance that came from centuries of order -untouched, untouchable. Min Yoongi fit in perfectly. He wore dark coats and polished shoes. His hair was always neat. His wristwatch - gifted by his father - ticked in flawless rhythm. He said all the right things in business classes. Sat at the head of the table during internship meetings. Drank espresso without sugar. He smiled, even. Politely. Quietly. And yet, he had never felt further from human.

They called him “the ice prince.” Some said it admiringly - for his precision, his sharp mind, his absolute lack of scandal. Others said it with annoyance - for his refusal to engage, to socialize, to flirt. He didn’t mind either way. He kept to himself. Ate alone. Took the long way home from the office to avoid invitations. Never brought anyone to his apartment. Never let anyone past the surface.

“No attachments,” his father had told him. “Attachment is a weakness.”

Yoongi wore detachment like armor. But his inner wolf... it never stopped suffering. It clawed at his insides in the middle of the night. Restless. Wounded. Mourning something it couldn't name aloud. It wasn’t the lack of sex. He’d been offered that. Omegas who smiled too long at him in cafés. He turned them all away.

It was scent.

It was touch.

It was Jimin.

The ghost of him lingered in Yoongi’s memory like smoke. His voice. His laugh. The way he had once whispered, “You’re my moonbeam in the dark.”

Yoongi could still remember the way Jimin's breath had caught when he said it. How he looked up like Yoongi had handed him the stars. Now, Yoongi couldn't look at the moon without turning away. He stopped playing piano. At first, he said it was due to time. Then convenience. Then, he stopped giving reasons at all. But the truth was this: Every key he touched sounded like Jimin’s name. Every melody carried the echo of laughter he’d never hear again. So instead, he kept his hands busy with contracts and his mouth shut in meetings. He passed exams with perfect scores. He charmed investors. He built walls taller than the mountains that surrounded him. On the rare nights he drank, he stared out over the lake from his apartment window and imagined what it might feel like to drown.

Not dramatically.

Just... quietly.

Like slipping beneath the surface without a splash.

One night, nearly a year after the separation, Yoongi stood in front of the bathroom mirror. He was wearing a tuxedo. Another gala. Another networking event. Another parade of heirs and alphas and polished smiles. He stared at his reflection. The suit was flawless. His face impassive. And he hated what he saw. Because somewhere along the way, he had become exactly what his father wanted — cold, clean, empty. But he didn’t feel strong.

He felt lost.

His scent had dulled, flattened. His wolf had curled into itself so tightly, it no longer growled. It whimpered. No one noticed. No one ever noticed. Because Yoongi was perfect. And perfect people don’t bleed. He didn’t protest when his father emailed the formal announcement of a new arranged engagement - a rising omega heiress named Kim Hyejin.

“Elegant,” the file said. “Ambitious. Refined. Well-suited to the Min legacy.”

Yoongi didn’t care. He sent back a one-word reply:

Approved.

In the quiet of his apartment that night, he took out a notebook he never used. He flipped to the back page and wrote a single sentence:

I should have marked you.

He stared at the words until they blurred. Then he closed the book and went back to being what the world demanded.

+++

“Some people break through walls not by force… but by simply staying.”

+++

It was late autumn when Yoongi first met them.

The café was small, tucked between a secondhand bookstore and a flower shop that always smelled like lilies. Yoongi liked it for one reason: it was quiet, and the owners didn’t ask questions when he ordered the same black coffee every morning and sat at the same window table without speaking to anyone. That day, someone was already at his table.

Two, actually.

One of them - broad-shouldered, dimples, eyes like a thoughtful river - was scribbling something in a worn notebook. The other - handsome in a crisp, oversized sweater, face glowing like he was born to be adored - was licking the lid of his coffee cup like it owed him money.

Yoongi paused. Scowled slightly. The one with the notebook looked up first. “Ah, sorry. Is this your spot?”

Yoongi didn’t answer. Just stood there.

The other one tilted his head. “You can sit. You look like you hate people as much as we do.”

Yoongi sat.

Silently.

Grudgingly.

They didn’t leave.

Over the next few weeks, they kept appearing. Sometimes they waved when he came in. Sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes they just nodded and let him sit in silence while they argued about books or shared pastries without asking if he wanted any. Yoongi didn’t speak to them for days. Then he asked for a pen. Then he corrected Namjoon’s grammar. Then Seokjin stole a sip of his drink and called it “character development.” And that was it. Somehow, they became part of his routine.

Namjoon was an academic, working on a thesis about ancient East Asian diplomacy. He had a soft voice and a brilliant mind and always smelled faintly like rain and tea leaves. Seokjin managed a Korean-fusion bakery down the street. He was sunshine with sharp edges - full of unsolicited opinions, sarcastic remarks, and homemade bento boxes that appeared in front of Yoongi more often than he ever asked for.

Neither of them ever asked Yoongi why he didn’t talk about himself. They didn’t ask about Korea. Or Min Corp. Or the way he sometimes flinched when people touched his wrist by accident. They just sat with him. Talked to him. Fed him. Treated him like a man, not a legacy or a project or a broken shell. And for the first time in years, Yoongi didn’t feel like a performance.

It came on a Thursday. Yoongi had just finished helping Seokjin carry bakery boxes to a delivery van when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He knew the number before he saw the screen.

Father.

He stepped away to take it.

“Your engagement is being postponed,” Min Hyun-sik said without greeting. “You’ll finish your degree. Then you’ll return and work five years in the company before any public bonding.”

Yoongi didn’t blink. “Fine.”

“You’re not even going to ask why?”

“No,” he replied flatly. “I don’t care.”

Silence. Then: “You should be grateful. We’re giving you time.”

Yoongi hung up. He walked back toward the café. Namjoon looked up from his phone. “Everything okay?”

Yoongi sat down. Then, for the first time since arriving in Zurich, he told them something real. “They’re postponing my arranged bond. Until I finish school and work five years.”

Seokjin blinked. “Are you… happy about that?”

Yoongi shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

Namjoon leaned forward slightly. “Then why does your wolf look like it hasn’t eaten in years?”

Yoongi didn’t answer. But he didn’t leave either.

That night, he didn’t dream of Jimin. But he didn’t dream of drowning, either. And that was something.

+++

“They called it a union. But I knew it was a burial.”

+++

Seoul

The morning of his wedding, Jimin looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the person staring back. His hair was perfectly styled - swept into soft waves, accentuating the elegant curve of his jaw. His skin had been powdered and dusted with something faintly golden, his lips tinted a shade too soft to be his own. The hanbok was white and silver, embroidered with pale cranes and delicate snow blossoms. A matching sash wrapped around his waist like a leash made of silk. He looked ethereal. Divine. Untouchable. Everyone around him said the same thing:

“You look beautiful, Jimin.”

“You’ll be the envy of Seoul.”

“Such a perfect omega.”

He blinked once. Slowly.

Beautiful.

Envy.

Perfect.

Words like paper. Words with no weight. Inside, he felt like glass filled with cold smoke. No voice. No wolf. No fire. Just the memory of a voice he couldn’t forget, whispering You’re my moonbeam in the dark.

The ceremony was held in a private garden owned by the Han family - walled off from the world, trimmed to precision. Every flower had been chosen by political aides. The press had been paid to stay away. Only invited guests - powerful, polished, performative - stood as witnesses. Jimin walked the aisle alone. No one held his hand. The music played. A soft string quartet. He didn’t hear it. He didn’t hear anything except the sound of his own heartbeat, dull and steady, like a clock winding down. At the altar stood his new wife — Han Areum. Tall. Poised. Sharp. An alpha in designer silk and icy perfume. Her beauty was precise. Intentional. She turned as he approached and offered a slight smile.

Jimin stared at her. Not in awe. Not in fear. Just… stared. As if she were a painting on a wall. He bowed his head when expected. Said the words he’d been told to memorize. Signed the papers with a silver pen. And that was it.

He was no longer Park Jimin, son of disgrace.

He was Han Areum’s omega.

The apartment was beautiful. Cold, but beautiful. Marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Everything in shades of gray and ivory, like it had been curated for a museum, not for living.

Areum took off her coat without ceremony. “You don’t talk much,” she said as she poured herself a glass of wine. “I’m told that’s a virtue in bonded omegas.”

Jimin stood still by the door, unsure whether to remove his shoes.

“You’re not what I expected,” she added, not kindly, not cruelly.

Jimin didn’t answer. She set the glass down and approached him. Close. Closer. He could feel the weight of her alpha presence as she stood in front of him, taller, stronger, the scent of alcohol and designer perfume clashing in the air.

“Let’s just get this over with,” she said, voice sharp, irritated. “We both have roles to play. I have no interest in dragging this out.”

Jimin’s hands trembled. “I-I can’t.”

She blinked. “Can’t or won’t?”

“I… I’m not ready.”

Her expression darkened. “Don’t play the fragile card, Jimin,” she said, stepping back like he was something distasteful. “You’ve been pampered for months. You’re clean. You’re dressed. You’re mine now. What else do you need?”

“I… don’t feel anything,” he admitted.

Her jaw clenched. “Of course not. That’s what they’re for, isn’t it? All those pills and shots - they carved out the omega and left a doll.” The alpha grabbed her coat and stormed toward the door. “Don’t wait up,” she snapped. “Typical. Beautiful on paper. Completely useless in person.”

She stormed out of the bedroom, grabbing her purse as she passed the kitchen. The front door slammed behind her. And Jimin stood alone in the apartment. Still dressed. Still trembling. Still empty. He curled into a chair in the farthest corner of the room, pulled a throw blanket over himself, and sat there until morning.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t move. He just waited for the sun to rise.

+++

“We didn’t fall apart. We were torn in two — quietly, politely, permanently.”

+++

Chapter Text

+++

“The silence between them became a language of its own.”

+++

They called him a success.

The media adored him - “the omega who rose from scandal to nobility,” “grace in motion,” “a symbol of quiet strength.” His photos graced high-profile magazines. His fashion appearances were viral. His calm, collected presence at charity events earned him invitations from politicians and CEOs alike. To the public, Park Jimin had become the standard. Refined. Obedient. Beautiful.

Inside, he was freezing. He moved through his days like a ghost in silk. Attended galas. Cut ribbons at openings. Stood at Areum’s side during speeches, smiling when cued, bowing when expected. People called them a power couple. But the truth was this:

They didn’t even sleep in the same room.

It started on their wedding night - the first rejection. Then a second, days later. Areum approached again, gently this time, with soft words and an open palm. She tried to kiss him. Jimin froze. Not in fear. Not in shame. Just… numbness. It felt like being kissed through glass. He let her lips touch his, but it was like kissing a mannequin. His hands wouldn’t move. His eyes wouldn’t close. His wolf wouldn’t wake up.

“I’m trying,” she said, voice tight, pulling back. “Can you meet me halfway?”

Jimin looked at her. Really looked. Her posture, her scent, her clenched jaw - she wasn’t angry. Not truly. She was frustrated. With him. With the image. With the constant need to pretend. He wanted to say something. Anything.

But all he could manage was: “I don’t feel cold on the outside… but I know I must be. Because it’s how I feel inside.”

Areum said nothing.

After that night, she stopped trying. They began sleeping in separate rooms. She took the master suite. He stayed in the guest room overlooking the garden. Their meals were taken in silence, when they shared them at all. They communicated through aides, assistants, and curated event schedules. Behind closed doors, they were strangers bound by signatures and expectation. Jimin didn’t mind. In truth, he preferred the quiet.

The apartment was beautiful - too much so. Everything was white marble and chrome. No photographs. No books. No scent of family or laughter. Just clean spaces and expensive air. He often stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows at night, looking out at Seoul like a city he’d never been part of. From this height, it felt like watching someone else’s life.

He had become the painting in the frame. Admired. Posed. Untouched. And slowly, he began to believe that maybe that was all he’d ever be.

One night, during a thunderstorm, Areum passed him in the hallway.  She paused. Looked at him. “You’re still beautiful,” she said. “But I don’t think there’s anything left inside you.”

Jimin’s lips parted, but no words came. There was nothing to defend. Nothing to explain. Nothing left to break. He simply nodded. And she walked away.

That was their marriage.

A perfect photo album of two people who never learned each other’s touch. One, too proud to beg for warmth. The other, too empty to receive it.

They started speaking. Not often. Not much. Just fragments - passing exchanges in the hall, clipped observations over shared meals, a muttered goodnight. Areum was rarely home. Some nights she came back late, dressed in dark suits and heels that clicked like punctuation against marble. Other nights she didn’t come back at all. She had meetings. Functions. Public responsibilities.

Jimin didn’t ask. He never felt like she was his to ask about. Maybe she didn’t feel welcomed in the apartment, either. Or maybe - like him - she felt safer when silence filled the rooms instead of effort. Still, the words began to happen.

“You left the window open again.”

“Your calendar changed - someone added a school visit.”

“I liked your speech.”

“Thank you.”

It wasn’t warmth. But it wasn’t war either. And in a house where neither of them could be what the world wanted, that was the closest thing to peace.

Maybe two years after their marriage, their family started pushing them once again. But… for a different reason this time.

The table was long. Formal. Staged like a magazine shoot — porcelain dishes, lace-trimmed napkins, wine glasses filled with imported red. There were too many forks. Too few real smiles. Areum sat at his right. Her hand never touched his. His mother sat directly across, wearing a silver hanbok embroidered with ivory magnolias. Park Dae-jung sat at the head of the table like a king pretending not to look down on the rest.

The conversation danced from politics to stocks, from charities to market trends. Then…

“And of course,” his father said, setting down his wine, “we’re all looking forward to hearing good news soon.”

Jimin blinked. “Good news?”

“The next generation,” his mother added, with a faint smile that never reached her eyes. “Grandchildren.”

The word hit like a dropped plate. His hands clenched together on his lap, knuckles white. He lowered his eyes. Focused on the embroidery on his napkin. On the tremble in his pinky finger that wouldn’t stop. He felt the attention shift. The room tighten. He didn’t know how to breathe.

Areum’s voice came, cool and even. “Having pups isn’t the most important thing right now.”

A pause. The air cracked. Dae-jung raised a brow. “You’ve been bonded almost two years.”

“Bonded publicly,” she corrected. “Not privately. That takes time.”

“And what exactly are you waiting for?” his mother asked, tone light and sharp like poisoned honey. “Jimin’s not getting younger.”

Areum turned to her, calm and composed. “We’re waiting until he’s ready.”

The table went silent. Jimin didn’t look up. He wanted to thank her. Wanted to feel something - relief, gratitude, shame, anything. But instead, all he could do was keep staring at his hands, as if they belonged to someone else. Later, in the car, neither of them spoke for a long time.

Areum finally broke the silence. “You don’t have to thank me.”

Jimin didn’t answer. He was still staring out the window, watching the blur of city lights pass like falling stars.

“I didn’t say it for you,” she added. “I said it because I don’t want to be forced into something either. I may not love you… but I won’t let them hurt you.”

Jimin closed his eyes. And for a moment, he wanted to cry. But there were still no tears left. The cold house was not cruel. It was simply… hollow. A space where two people learned how to coexist in silence - because silence didn’t ask them to bleed. Not like the world did.

Three years. Three full years of being married to Han Areum. Of public appearances, gala circuits, photo ops, ceremonial bows. Of exquisite fashion and perfect posture and eyes that never quite met his. Three years of sharing a name, not a life.

Areum was still rarely home. She came and went like a cold breeze in summer — there but never staying long enough to stir anything real. Some nights, she slept in the master suite. Most, she didn’t come back at all. They didn’t fight. They didn’t kiss. They didn’t know each other.

Jimin had memorized every silence in the apartment. The hum of the hallway lights. The soft click of the temperature regulator. The shift of air through vents no one noticed. The way marble echoed footsteps differently depending on if they were light… or heavy.

The omega still smiled at cameras. Still bowed his head when his name was called. Still looked beautiful in every frame the world demanded. But inside, he was wilting. There wasn’t even pain left - just a vast, slow cold. Like the space in his chest had turned to winter and forgotten how to thaw. Where his heart should be, where his wolf once stirred — there was nothing.

That night, it rained. Areum was home for once. The fire in the sitting room was crackling, the only warm thing in the whole place. Jimin sat cross-legged on the carpet, a thin cashmere throw draped over his shoulders, staring into the flickering light. He didn’t move when she entered. Didn’t turn his head.

She stood behind him for a while, watching. And then, finally, she asked: “Where is your wolf, Jimin-ah?”

The question felt like a stone tossed into a still lake. Startling. Sudden. Deep. Jimin blinked. Slowly. He didn’t look back. Just murmured: “Somewhere…”

His voice was dust. His throat dry.

For a moment, he saw Yoongi’s face -the way he had once touched him like something precious. The way he had whispered his name like a vow. But the image disappeared as quickly as it came, like breath on a cold mirror.

Then Areum asked again, quieter this time. “Maybe… with someone?”

And something cracked. Jimin’s vision blurred. Not all at once - slowly, like a frozen window beginning to melt at the edges. He blinked, confused, and raised a trembling hand to his cheek. It was wet. Tears. Real ones. The first in years.

He said nothing else. Neither did she. Areum didn’t touch him. Didn’t press. She sat on the arm of the couch, stared into the fire, and drank her wine in silence. But that night, Jimin stayed beside the fire long after the flames died. His hand stayed over his heart, where the cold had lived for years. And for the first time in a long, long time…

He wondered if somewhere, his wolf was still waiting to come home.

+++

It was early summer in Zurich. The day of his graduation dawned bright and perfect - like the university had ordered the weather. The auditorium was filled with crisp suits, proud families, and the scent of old money wrapped in expensive cologne. Yoongi stood among them in his tailored black suit, his degree folder in one hand, the other tucked in his pocket like he had nothing to celebrate.

His parents flew in for the ceremony. Of course they did. It would’ve been suspicious if they hadn’t. They stood near the front, smiling in that curated way they always did - expressions just warm enough to look human, just cold enough to remind Yoongi they were still watching him.

They brought her with them. Kim Hyejin. His future bondmate.

Tall. Beautiful. Perfectly coiffed. Her skin glowed with the subtle sheen of wealth - poreless and touched by modern medicine, as if her face had been edited in real life. She smiled at him like a queen greeting a noble subject.

Yoongi bowed politely. “It’s a pleasure.”

Hyejin’s eyes didn’t move an inch out of place. “I’ve heard so much about you.” Her voice was sweet, soft, practiced.

He smiled back. “None of it’s true, I’m sure.”

They laughed - the kind of laughter that fits in magazines. For a moment, he imagined what the press would say when the official announcement went out.

Min Yoongi — the cold heir, finally ready to bond.

But the only person he wished could see him now… was gone.

The alpha left the university ballroom before dessert was served. His parents didn’t stop him.
Neither did Hyejin. He told them he was tired. What he didn’t say: I’m full of people I’ll never be.

Yoongi walked to the city’s quieter side, where warm lights spilled from a small Korean fusion restaurant with fogged windows and a wooden bell that chimed when the door opened. Namjoon and Seokjin were already there. Seokjin was loudly scolding a waitress for putting cilantro in his rice. Namjoon had his nose in a book he hadn’t put down for the last hour.

When Yoongi entered, they both looked up. “Graduated, huh?” Seokjin smirked. “You look like someone died.”

“Someone probably did,” Yoongi muttered, sitting down.

Namjoon closed his book and slid over a plate. “We ordered you galbi-jjim. I know you won’t eat most of it, but Jin said it’s symbolic.”

“It is,” Seokjin sniffed. “Meat equals love.”

Yoongi stared at the plate for a long time. Then, for the first time in weeks, maybe months - he smiled. Not the polite smile. Not the one for family. A small, tired, real smile.

“Thank you,” he said.

They didn’t ask about the ceremony. Didn’t mention the omega. Didn’t try to pull him out of himself. They just let him eat in peace. And for a little while - Yoongi didn’t feel entirely alone.

The restaurant was nearly empty by the time they finished eating. Outside, the streetlights blinked softly against the misted windows. Inside, the air had gone quiet. Seokjin had stopped teasing. Namjoon had closed his book completely. They were watching him now - not waiting, just present.

Yoongi sat back in his chair, swirling the last of his drink. His fingers were tense around the glass. “I never told you,” he said finally, eyes on the table, “why I left Korea.”

Namjoon blinked slowly. “We figured it wasn’t for fun.”

Yoongi exhaled through his nose - not quite a laugh. Then, softly: “I loved someone.” The words sat in the air like a confession in church - soft and sacred. He let them breathe. “His name was Jimin,” he said. “We met at the academy. We weren’t supposed to… fall like that. But we did. Quietly. Fully.”

Namjoon leaned forward slightly, lips parted. Seokjin stayed quiet, unusually so. Yoongi kept talking, voice low, like each sentence scraped its way up from deep inside his chest.

“We were careful. We had to be. Our families - they saw love as a liability. Something beneath us. I thought we could hide, at least until we graduated. But someone found out. And just like that… they tore everything apart.”

He stopped. Swallowed hard.

“They sent him away. Locked him up in some clinic. My father told me if I ever contacted him again, they’d ruin him. Discredit him. Institutionalize him if they had to.”

Namjoon’s jaw tightened. “They threatened him to control you.”

Yoongi nodded. “When they sent me here, I left everything behind. Company shares. My name. They called it a disgrace. I didn’t care.”

A pause. Then Seokjin, in a voice gentler than Yoongi had ever heard from him. “You still hurt, don’t you?”

Yoongi didn’t speak right away. He just nodded once. Then turned his face away. That night, as the city slept under thin clouds and cathedral bells echoed faintly across the water, Yoongi lay in bed in his dark apartment. And missed Jimin more than he had in years.

Not just his voice. Not just his scent. But his presence. That quiet way he smiled when the world wasn’t looking. The way he whispered Yoongi’s name like it meant something sacred. The way he touched Yoongi like he believed in forever.

Yoongi stared at the ceiling, eyes burning. He didn’t cry. But he wished he could. Because sometimes, even pain was proof that something had been real.

And halfway across the world, in a cold house in Seoul…

Jimin whispered his name into the dark… but Yoongi couldn’t hear him…

Chapter Text

+++

“I don’t know what I’m coming back to… but I’m afraid of what I might still feel.”

+++

The airport smelled the same. Bleached air. Old paper. Coffee brewed too long.
It hit Yoongi the moment he stepped off the plane - a scent that didn’t belong to the city, but to the memory of it. Seoul, beneath its modern skin, still whispered of everything he had once loved… and lost.

Yoongi kept his head down as they crossed the terminal. He wasn’t famous. Not yet. But his name still carried weight, and weight had a way of drawing eyes. Behind him, Seokjin was arguing with a customs officer in a mix of Korean and French over the status of a boxed pastry set that had apparently been flagged for “unusual density.”

Namjoon was already on his second bottle of vitamin water, headphones on, mumbling about hydration and time zones. Yoongi waited. He was never good at rushing anything anymore.

They didn’t ask why he wanted to come home. They didn’t ask if he was ready.

Seokjin had simply said, one snowy evening in Zurich, “I’ve been meaning to expand to Asia anyway,” and closed the bakery two weeks later.

Namjoon, without looking up from his notes, said, “I’ll come too. I’ve always wanted to study temple records firsthand.”

Yoongi didn’t say thank you out loud. But when he looked at them now - Jin fussing over luggage, Namjoon humming as he tapped into Google Maps - his chest ached in a way that felt warm. They were more than friends. They were witnesses. To his silence. To his survival. To him.

Seoul hadn’t changed much. Or maybe it had, and Yoongi had simply stopped looking for differences. The buildings were taller. The traffic worse. There were new tech ads on every corner, new cafés with clever English names and overpriced croissants. But the bones of the city were the same. The wind still cut the same through his coat. The sky still wore that thin, washed-out grey. And the ache in his chest - the one he’d buried - stirred the moment they passed through Itaewon. That was where Jimin used to laugh the loudest when they happen to visit Seoul during their winter breaks and in secret.

“Don’t look for him,” Yoongi told himself in the back of the taxi. “He’s not here. He’s not yours. Not anymore.”

But his eyes flicked to every street corner anyway. Every glimpse of pale skin and honey-blonde hair. Every fleeting scent on the wind that was almost tangerine.

They moved into a rented building in Seongsu - a former café space that Seokjin had already claimed for renovation. Namjoon set up his study in the attic. Yoongi took the smallest room at the back of the second floor and furnished it with nothing but a desk, a lamp, and blackout curtains. He didn’t want to be comfortable. He wanted to be functional. He wasn’t going to stay there for long anyhow.

But that night, when they unpacked boxes, Namjoon placed a small framed photo on Yoongi’s shelf - a candid of the three of them on a cold Zurich night, coffee cups in hand, Jin mid-laugh. Yoongi didn’t comment. But he didn’t move it, either.

The next morning, Yoongi walked the streets alone. He told them he needed air. Really, he needed distance. From himself. He wandered near Gyeongbokgung. Then past the museum. Then - unintentionally - toward the arts district. A familiar gallery had a new exhibit opening.

Historical Portraits: The Joseon Lovers.

Yoongi stopped in front of the glass window. He didn’t go inside. Didn’t need to. Because on the banner, just beneath the artist’s name, was a quote.

“Love is not only in what we hold — it echoes in what we lose.” — P.J.P.

His breath caught.

P.J.P.

He didn’t have to ask what the initials meant.

Park.

Jimin.

Park Jimin.

But… was he still a Park though?

He turned and walked away.

Fast.

But the ache in his chest - the one he’d locked down for years - was awake again. And so the past began to move again. Quietly. Patiently. Like fate waiting for the moment to step out from behind the curtain.

It happened the next morning.

The doorbell rang at 8:07 a.m. Yoongi was still in his sweatshirt and pajama pants, nursing a lukewarm cup of black coffee while scrolling through headlines he didn’t care about. Seokjin, half-asleep and wearing mismatched slippers, cracked open the door before Yoongi could say anything.

He blinked. “Oh.”

Then, louder, with a kind of tired amusement: “Your royal highness is here.”

Yoongi didn’t even have to look.

Min Hyun-sik.

His father.

The elder alpha stepped into the room like he owned it. Which, technically, wasn’t far from the truth - Min Corp had fingers in half the real estate downtown. He wore a sharply tailored navy coat, his silver hair combed back like stone. His presence shifted the temperature in the room.

Yoongi stood up slowly, one hand still wrapped around his coffee mug. His father’s eyes swept the apartment. A pause. Disapproval hung heavy in the air.

“This is where you’ve chosen to live?”

Not even a greeting.

Yoongi didn’t react. “What do you want?”

Min Hyun-sik’s jaw flexed. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a sleek black card - metal, engraved, heavy with inherited expectation - and placed it on the counter.

“Your pass. You start tomorrow.”

Yoongi stared at it. That card meant one thing: his re-entry into Min Corp’s corporate offices. A place where reputation meant everything. Where masks were currency, and names were weapons. Where he had no choice but to return. Still, he didn’t argue. Didn’t sigh. Didn’t even ask what department.

He simply said, “Fine.”

His father’s mouth twitched - not in satisfaction, but in irritation, like he’d been hoping for more resistance. More fight. More reason to punish him further. But Yoongi had learned long ago: the best way to deal with fire was to freeze colder than it.

“Clean yourself up,” the elder alpha muttered. “This city already talks too much.”

Then, without another word, he turned and walked out. Yoongi stood in the quiet that followed, mug still in hand.

Namjoon appeared behind him, yawning, hair a mess. “Was that your father?”

Yoongi didn’t turn. “Yeah.”

Jin peeked out of the kitchen. “What’d he want?”

Yoongi’s voice was flat. “My soul. Standard package.”

Namjoon raised a brow. “You gonna give it to him?”

Yoongi finally looked down at the black card on the counter. The symbol of everything he had once walked away from. He picked it up between two fingers. Studied the engraving. Then set it back down.

“I’ll give him my hours,” he said. “Nothing else.”

That night, Yoongi sat at his desk with the lights off, staring at the framed photo Namjoon had placed there. His reflection caught in the window behind it. His wolf shifted in his chest - tired, restless, wary.

“I’m back,” he whispered.

Not to his father. Not to the city. But to the ghost of the life he left behind.

The car was waiting for him the next morning. New. Black. Polished. Silent. The kind that purred instead of growled, outfitted with tinted windows and a scentless leather interior. It had his name already in the registry, already pre-set with his preferred music settings, though he never remembered telling anyone what they were. Yoongi didn’t react. He didn’t even flinch. He simply slid into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and merged onto the road like this had been his route all along. This was the Min way. Everything done for you. So long as you did everything they asked of you.

The Min Corp tower hadn’t changed. It rose like a blade of glass in the heart of the city, its reflective façade slicing through Seoul’s morning haze. When Yoongi pulled into the VIP garage, no one looked at him. No photographers. No whispers. Just low bows. Tight nods. Politeness so sharp it could cut.

Yoongi walked through the polished halls, his steps echoing against marble. He was led through private elevators, up past floors filled with noise and ambition, until he reached the one place no one dared speak too loudly:

The Executive Wing.

Where masks weren’t optional. Where names mattered more than faces. His father was already there. Min Hyun-sik stood beside the wall-length window like a general before a battlefield. Beside him, seated neatly in a navy sheath dress with a silk scarf knotted just so, was Kim Hyejin. His future. Her legs were crossed at the ankle. Her expression unreadable. Perfect, as always.

“Sit,” his father said without turning.

Yoongi did. No greetings. No congratulations. No small talk. The elder alpha walked over and placed a folder in front of him - thick, cream-colored, stamped with the Min Corp seal and the golden crest of the Kim Group.

“You’re being appointed director of our international logistics expansion branch,” his father said. “The venture is co-funded by the Kim family. It’s important.” Yoongi looked down at the folder. He didn’t open it. “It’s yours now,” the elder alpha continued. “Make it succeed.”

Yoongi didn’t speak. Didn’t ask why. Didn’t react to the weight of his fiancé’s last name written in bold on the project’s letterhead. He already knew what this was. A leash wrapped in silk.
Responsibility disguised as reward.

“Understood,” Yoongi said.

Hyun-sik studied him for a moment, then turned away. “Good. You start Monday.” He left the room without a goodbye.

Silence fell in the office, heavy and absolute. Yoongi looked up only when he felt her eyes on him. Hyejin sat back in her chair, crossing her arms now - posture relaxed, tone unreadable.

“You don’t want this,” she said, not unkindly. “Do you?”

Yoongi tilted his head slightly. “Does it matter?”

She looked at him like she might laugh. “No. But I appreciate that you didn’t lie.”

He stared at her for a moment. “Do you?”

“Want this?” She smiled. “No. But it’s efficient. And efficiency is more valuable than desire.”

Yoongi stood. The folder still sat between them - untouched. “If we’re going to be efficient,” he said, “let’s make one thing clear. I’ll do the job. I’ll wear the suit. I’ll smile for the cameras.” He paused, eyes locking with hers. “But don’t expect warmth where there is none.”

Hyejin didn’t flinch. “Good,” she said. “I hate being lied to.”

Yoongi started work the following Monday. Sharp suit. Cold hallway. The same bowing heads and sterile greetings. The same echo of hard soles against polished marble. But this time, something was different. When he stepped off the executive elevator, someone was waiting for him outside his office. A tall young alpha, barely in his mid-twenties, dressed in black tactical uniform - clean-cut, military posture, eyes too sharp for someone so quietly still. He bowed deeply the moment Yoongi approached.

“Min Yoongi-ssi,” he said, his voice calm and even. “I’m Jeon Jungkook. Head of your security detail.”

Yoongi blinked. “I didn’t know I had one.”

Jungkook straightened with a polite, faint smile - not smug, just honest. “If you wear the name Min… you need security.”

Yoongi stared at him for a beat longer. Jeon Jungkook did not avert his gaze. His scent was clean and steady - alpha by nature, but not oppressive. No need to posture. No false intimidation. Just quiet readiness. Yoongi walked past him without a word. But he noticed that the alpha followed exactly two steps behind - never too close, never too far. Not intrusive. Just there.

Jungkook didn’t ask questions. He didn’t fill silence. Didn’t offer opinions. Didn’t try to bond through idle chatter. But he was always present - discreetly stationed near Yoongi during meetings, seated silently near the rear during press calls, waiting by the elevator each morning like clockwork.

He knew when to speak. When to disappear. When to hand Yoongi a file before he asked. When to intercept an unwanted encounter before it reached his door. It wasn’t just professionalism. It was instinct.

After three weeks, Yoongi spoke to him over lunch for the first time. They were seated on a rooftop balcony during a quiet afternoon break. “You’re not from around here,” Yoongi said.

Jungkook looked up from his bento box. “Daegu originally, grew up in Busan. But I’ve been in Seoul a while.”

“You don’t talk much.”

“I talk when it matters.”

Yoongi didn’t smile, but something softened around his eyes. “Seokjin would like you,” he said. “He hates small talk too.”

Jungkook raised a brow. “The one who curses at pastry boxes?”

Yoongi chuckled - a rare, quiet sound. “That’s the one.”

It didn’t happen all at once. But slowly, over time, Jungkook became part of something Yoongi hadn’t had in years - a circle. Not of allies. Not of heirs. Not of business chess pieces. But of people. He came to dinners at the Seongsu flat. Helped Namjoon haul books. Argued with Seokjin over dumpling recipes. Learned how to exist in Yoongi’s quiet orbit without demanding light.

One night, over drinks, Jin looked at Yoongi and gestured at Jungkook. “You’re keeping this one.”

Yoongi didn’t argue. Because somehow… he knew he was.

+++

Jimin met Taehyung at a charity fashion gala three years ago. The omega had walked the runway - tall, magnetic, every movement effortless. Dressed in a breathtaking reimagining of Joseon-era royal wear, he moved like art come to life. When he stepped offstage, their eyes met, and something in Taehyung’s soft expression made Jimin pause. He came to sit beside him later that night.

“You look lonelier than I expected,” Taehyung had said with a wry smile.

It wasn’t pity.

It was recognition.

That night, they’d sat away from the music and the wine, in the garden beneath hanging lanterns, speaking in low voices about anything but their families. Anything but expectations. They laughed once. That had been enough. From that moment, Taehyung had become his best friend.

His only friend.

Jeon Jungkook had been there too - but not as a guest. He was on duty that night, dressed in a matte-black guard uniform, stationed near the back exits of the venue. He’d kept to the shadows, but Jimin noticed him in passing - not for his uniform, or his build, or the stern expression on his face. But because of his stillness. Jungkook was watching the crowd, not just scanning it. He moved like someone who could hear danger before it arrived. There was something older in his eyes than his age allowed.

Taehyung noticed him, too. Jimin remembered the way Taehyung’s fingers paused on his wine glass, his body briefly going still as their gazes crossed. It had only been a moment. But sometimes, a moment was enough to shift the axis of something.

The younger omega never spoke much about that night again. Jimin only knew that Jungkook had approached during the event’s final hour, politely asking if Taehyung needed assistance exiting through the back, away from paparazzi. Taehyung had stared too long. Said too little. And left the next day for a short modeling tour in Paris - and didn’t talk about Jungkook again for months. Lately, Jimin found out that they’d been dating for a while… But then something happened and they suddenly stopped.

Now, Jimin met them separately.

Taehyung was a constant. He appeared in Jimin’s life like gravity - curling up in his apartment, dragging him to galleries, checking in when the silence got too loud. His presence never demanded anything but trust.

Jungkook came only when duty required. They spoke little, but Jungkook always gave him a respectful nod - a silent reassurance that someone saw him, even when the world looked away.

Jimin treasured both of them. Not for what they did. But for what they never asked of him. They never asked him to be whole. They just stayed. Until Jungkook had to leave a year ago. Jimin hadn’t seen or contacted him ever since then. Maybe he should have, because he also considered Jungkook as his friend, but with everything feeling so empty around him, the omega simply didn’t find enough strength to care.

Chapter Text

+++

“You think the past dies just because you stopped speaking its name?” - Jimin

+++

The fire had burned down to embers.

Jimin sat on the velvet chaise in his private parlor, half-curled under a cashmere blanket he didn’t remember pulling over himself. Outside the window, the lights of the city flickered - cold and unbothered. Seoul never slept, even when he desperately wanted the world to stop. He hadn’t seen Areum in days. Not that he expected to.

Their marriage had long since dissolved into carefully timed appearances and quarterly dinners - nothing more than a cold transaction wrapped in expensive silk. There were no fights, no screaming matches. Just silence. A stunning, hollow kind of silence that echoed louder than any war. He preferred it that way. Silence didn’t ask questions. Silence didn’t ask about wolves.

Jimin scrolled absently through his phone. Taehyung had sent him a picture of a new art installation opening in the south district. Something interactive, vivid with color. He’d also sent a message beneath it:

"You need to get out of that mausoleum. Let me kidnap you."

Jimin smiled faintly and typed back.

“Only if you bring cake.”

“Black sesame or I’m not coming.”

“I hate you.”

“Liar.”

He shut the phone with a soft sigh and leaned his head back. But the calm didn’t last. It never did. An hour later, while rinsing his face in the marble basin of the ensuite, his phone buzzed again. A news alert. He almost ignored it, until the notification caught his eye.

“Min Corp. heir returns to Korea. CEO’s son to lead new collaborative branch with SeoTech Industries.”

His hands froze under the stream of water. The droplets clung to his skin like glass. He stared at the headline for a long time, breath caught between inhale and collapse.

Min Corp.

SeoTech.

Yoongi…

It didn’t say his name. But it didn’t need to. There were only so many sons. Only one with that quiet gravity. Only one whose memory still felt like a scar beneath Jimin’s ribs. He sat down slowly on the edge of the bathtub, towel clutched tightly in his shaking hands. And for the first time in years… he felt something.

Not a lot. Not enough to name. But it cracked through the frost in his chest. A ripple. Barely there. He didn’t cry. He just breathed. And that, in itself, felt dangerous.

The scent of bergamot and amber hit before the bell even rang. Jimin didn’t move at first. He just sat on the velvet chaise, still in his dressing robe, hair damp, the towel from earlier now cold and crumpled at his side. The news article sat open on his phone on the coffee table, like a ghost that refused to leave.

The knock came next - a rhythmic double-tap. Familiar. Delicate.

Taehyung. “Chim,” came the soft call through the door. “I brought cake. Open up before I start singing.”

Jimin didn’t answer. But a few seconds later, the lock clicked and the heavy door creaked open - Jimin had keyed Taehyung into his penthouse long ago.

“I knew it,” Taehyung muttered, slipping off his shoes as he stepped inside. “You didn’t sleep.”

Jimin blinked slowly, lifting his eyes. Taehyung looked as he always did - impossibly beautiful, tall and ethereal in a long coat that trailed behind him like wind. But his brow was furrowed, his omega scent a little tighter, a little more protective. He placed the cake box down on the table and crouched in front of Jimin without a word.

Jimin tried to smile. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Taehyung’s voice was soft. “You only say that when you’re about to disappear again.”

Jimin said nothing. The silence stretched, raw and pulsing. Taehyung reached out and touched his wrist - featherlight. As if grounding him.

“I saw the news too,” he finally whispered.

Jimin flinched, but he didn’t pull away. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he replied, hollow. “It’s just business. They all come back eventually.”

Taehyung didn’t challenge the lie. He only asked, gently, “What did it feel like?”

Jimin’s breath caught. “…Like drowning under ice.”

They sat together on the floor, back against the couch, the cake untouched between them.

“I dreamed of him last week,” Jimin confessed after a long silence. “I don’t even remember what happened. Just the sound of his voice. I think he was laughing. And I woke up… missing someone I can’t even name anymore.”

Taehyung closed his eyes. He leaned his head on Jimin’s shoulder. “You loved him,” he said quietly. “That doesn’t just go away.”

“I didn’t even say goodbye.”

“You didn’t get to.”

Jimin felt his throat close, and he pressed his lips tight. For a while, neither of them spoke. Then, Taehyung’s voice, careful but firm: “You know Jungkook’s back too, right?”

Jimin turned to look at him, surprised.

“He’s Min Yoongi’s head of security,” Taehyung said, avoiding his eyes. “He didn’t tell me. I found out from someone else. We haven’t… talked in a while.”

A pause.

“Do you still care for him?” Jimin asked.

Taehyung hesitated. “Maybe,” he admitted. “But not like before. It’s different now. Softer. Like… like a wound that’s almost healed. He looked at Jimin then - really looked at him. “You don’t have to stay frozen, hyung.”

Jimin didn’t reply. He just looked down at his hands, remembering what it felt like when they once held warmth. He didn’t say the name. Didn’t have to. Yoongi was back. And something inside him was already starting to stir. Even if it terrified him.

The days began to blur.

Taehyung’s visit had pulled Jimin back for a fleeting moment, like sunlight filtering through a crack in heavy curtains - but the darkness always returned, heavier than before.

He stopped opening the windows.

Stopped answering calls.

The walls of the penthouse, once filled with muted classical music and the occasional hum of the kettle, fell quiet. His housekeeper came and went like a ghost, instructed not to speak unless spoken to. Meals were left untouched. Notes were left unread. His parents didn’t notice. Or pretended not to. They sent invitations to dinners, functions, gallery openings. Areum, too, had resumed her usual rhythm, returning to the house like a seasonal wind - cool and infrequent. She never asked where Jimin was when he didn’t attend events. She never mentioned the untouched guestroom between them. It was better that way.

Safer.

Jimin moved like a shadow. Beautiful, polished, dressed for appearances but empty behind the eyes. The tabloids still praised his poise, his devotion to charity work, his flawless looks. None of them saw the bruises beneath the surface - the way his soul trembled when silence fell. The way his omega slept so deeply, it was like he had died inside.

There were nights he stood before the floor-length mirror in his bedroom, staring at his own reflection like it was a stranger. There were mornings he didn’t remember getting out of bed.

Once, he opened a drawer he hadn’t touched in years. Inside was a single photograph, folded twice, edges worn soft from fingers that once held it like a prayer. Two boys. Hidden behind a library shelf. One smiling with shy eyes. The other brushing a kiss to his cheek.
A soft whisper written in pencil on the back:

"You're my moonbeam in the dark." — Y

Jimin closed the drawer. And this time… didn’t cry.

He tried. He tried.

He met Taehyung for lunch once more, dressed in silk and a smile. Taehyung talked about a new campaign, a travel shoot in Paris. Jimin nodded in all the right places. He even managed a soft laugh at something Taehyung said. But afterward, in the car, he curled against the window and closed his eyes. He didn’t even notice when they passed the Min Corp. tower - tall, imposing, a cold glass giant that sliced the sky like a blade.

Somewhere inside was a man with dark eyes and a scar he hadn’t seen. Somewhere inside was a name he never spoke anymore. And yet it throbbed in his chest like an old wound every time he breathed.

At night, he began to forget what it was like to dream. Even nightmares stopped visiting. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

+++

“Some ghosts wear perfume and diamonds, others wear your name and never speak it again.” — Yoongi

+++

The office was spotless. Cold. Surgical.

Yoongi stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the top floor branch office, the skyline of Seoul stretching like a jagged, glittering scar across the dusk. Behind him, silence reigned - interrupted only by the quiet clicks of Jeon Jungkook’s boots as the young alpha stood dutifully near the door.

“I told you,” Yoongi said without turning. “You don’t have to stand there like a soldier.”

“I know,” Jungkook replied evenly. “But I want to.”

It had been weeks since Jungkook was assigned to him - a silent shadow at first, polite, distant, respectful to a fault. But he wasn’t just a bodyguard. He was observant. Thoughtful. And slowly, without Yoongi noticing, he had become… someone. Someone Yoongi trusted. That alone should’ve warned him.

He pulled away from the window and sat at his desk, thumbing through a pile of documents he didn’t care about. Most of them came from her family's branch. He signed things without reading them. He nodded in meetings and stared through people. They called him "dignified." They didn’t see the ghost.

His father had praised his performance last week - mentioned it offhandedly over dinner with a sharp glint in his eye. “You’ve grown up,” the elder Min had said, sipping wine. “Finally learning to sacrifice.”

Yoongi didn’t answer. His wolf stirred at times, but not for her. Never for her. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt anything other than exhaustion. Not anger. Not sorrow. Just… weariness. Like his heart had become a locked room, and he’d lost the key years ago.

But lately - lately, there were twinges.

In dreams. In the corners of conversations. A scent carried by the wind that made him stop in the street and turn.

Once, Jungkook had asked, “Are you alright, sir?”

Yoongi had blinked, disoriented. “Fine.”

But he wasn’t. Not really. He was beginning to remember things he had forced himself to forget. Words whispered in a library. A smile that shattered him. A pair of trembling hands on his chest the last night they…

No.

He shoved the thought down. As always.

Later that night, he sat on his balcony, watching the city lights blink below him. Seokjin had sent a message about dinner. Namjoon was experimenting with a new recipe again. He should go. But his limbs felt like stone. His throat too tight. He thought about calling. He thought about asking even. Who? He wasn’t sure but the questions would be:

“Have you seen him?”

“Does he still smile?”

“Did he survive?”

But Yoongi said nothing. Just poured another glass of scotch and whispered to the night,
“Jimin… where are you?”

He was obligated to spend more time with his future fiancée. His father had told him that the public should get used with their image together. So, Yoongi was forced to go on events, having his future fiancée hanging on his arm. Having to be around her scent and smiling at people. Just because he had to.

He hated this suit. It wasn’t his. It was tailored perfectly, sure - charcoal grey, accented with a crisp white shirt and a dark silk tie. But it wasn’t his. It was chosen by her, her stylist, her mother. It was an image. Just like everything else these days.

“Try to smile,” she murmured beside him as the cameras began flashing. “You look like you’re being marched to your own funeral.”

Yoongi’s lips curled up just barely. A shadow of a smile. A ghost.

Hyejin tightened her hold on his arm as they stepped into the ballroom. She had presence. Her every move calculated. Her scent - roses and ice - never sat right with his wolf. But tonight was about appearances. They were attending an exclusive engagement gala hosted by her family’s associates. High society. Media presence. Investors. Future connections. His father’s voice echoed in his mind: “They need to see you together. Often. Seamlessly. You carry the name Min, and it’s time you wear it publicly.”

So he did. Like a badge. Like a shackle.

The alpha made rounds. Shook hands. Smiled. Hyejin laughed at jokes he didn’t hear. Steered conversations. Posed for pictures. Kissed his cheek once for the cameras. The flashes blinded him for a second. He thought he saw white petals falling. A memory.

And then… A scent.

Soft.

Clean.

Barely there but unmistakable.

Tangerine.

Rain-soaked paper.

Home.

His heart slammed. His wolf surged upward, nearly breaking through the mask. Yoongi staggered slightly, chest tightening. His eyes scanned the room. And then he saw him. Across the hall, beneath a cascading chandelier and surrounded by laughter, stood Park Jimin.

His hair was longer. Styled elegantly. He wore a fitted pale suit and the same soft vulnerability woven into his features. But his face… His face was carved in stillness. Dead still. Emotionless. Like someone wearing his own skin but not feeling it. Next to him stood a woman – his wife Areum - tall, striking, her arm looped through Jimin’s. She leaned in to whisper something, lips brushing the shell of his ear. He didn’t react.

Their eyes met.

Just for a second.

Yoongi’s wolf howled.

Jimin’s expression didn’t change.

And that was the worst part.

Not anger. Not surprise. Not pain. Just nothing. Like the boy he loved had been drained and polished into something silent and cold. Yoongi quickly looked away. His throat burned. His lungs forgot how to breathe.

“Are you alright?” Hyejin asked smoothly beside him, sensing the shift in his posture.

He turned his head, eyes on her but not seeing. “Fine.”

But he wasn’t. He had just watched the ghost of his past walk into the room… and realized that maybe he was the one who had died.

The hall suddenly was stifling. Not because of the tailored suit, or the lights, or the glass of untouched champagne sweating in his hand. It was the weight pressing down on his chest - that scent, that fleeting look, that empty gaze that didn’t even flicker at the sight of him.

He had imagined this moment before. A thousand ways. He thought Jimin might run to him. Or cry. Or slap him. Or look away with pain. But that look? That hollow, indifferent glance? It gutted him.

He drifted through the rest of the evening on autopilot. Names floated past him like dust. A man praised his watch. A woman introduced her daughter. He laughed when Hyejin laughed. He nodded when she leaned in and whispered something snide about another guest’s dress. All the while, his eyes were trained to avoid the far corner of the room. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. Because he wasn’t sure if he’d shatter or fall to his knees.

Later, after too many forced conversations and a silent car ride with Hyejin beside him - scrolling on her phone, humming under her breath - Yoongi sat on the edge of his bed, alone in his room above Seokjin and Namjoon’s restaurant. The windows stretched from floor to ceiling, offering a glittering view of Seoul. But he wasn’t looking. He was still there. In that hall. In that second. In Jimin’s empty gaze.

He reached for his bottle of soju and paused. His hand was trembling. He set it down again.

Jungkook had driven him home and asked quietly at the entrance if he was alright. Yoongi had nodded, silent. The younger alpha had said nothing else, just bowed and returned to his post. Now, in the stillness of his place, Yoongi unbuttoned his shirt with mechanical fingers. The space around him felt too big. Too empty.

There was once a time he imagined Jimin here. Curled on this sofa with a book. Laughing in the kitchen. Warmth everywhere. Instead, he was married. Changed. Empty. And Yoongi felt it like a wound - deep and slow, like a blade twisted just beneath the ribs.

He stared at the city for a long time, eyes glassy. Then whispered to the dark, “Where did you go, Jimin-ah…?”

The room smelled faintly of rosemary and soy sauce. Below, the low murmur of clinking dishes and the occasional shout from the kitchen reached the ceiling of their modest apartment. It was a comforting sound - one that usually made Yoongi feel grounded. But not tonight.

He sat curled on the old couch by the window, hunched like a forgotten coat. A drink - cheap soju from the restaurant fridge - sat untouched on the coffee table. The glass was sweating, unlike him. He felt frozen. His tie lay discarded across the armrest. The jacket was somewhere on the floor. The event had left a sour taste in his mouth and the phantom of Jimin’s scent lingering in his lungs.

He hadn’t expected to see him. Not like that. Not with a hand wrapped in another’s. Not with eyes that… didn’t see him. Yoongi pressed his fingers hard against his temples, breathing through his teeth.

Three years.

Three years of not knowing where Jimin was, what had happened to him. Three years of silence so absolute, Yoongi had started to believe his memories were lies. And now… that shell of a boy, painted in silk and sorrow, had stood across the room. The one who once called him moonbeam was holding another alpha's hand. Unseeing. Unfeeling.

Empty .

Yoongi hadn’t realized the glass had fallen from his hand until Seokjin’s voice called from the kitchen below. “Hyung, you okay?”

Yoongi didn’t answer. His throat wouldn’t move. A soft knock came a few seconds later. Namjoon, gentle as always, poked his head through the stairwell door. “You want something to eat? You haven’t touched anything since yesterday.”

Yoongi barely shook his head.

Namjoon didn’t push. “We’re here if you need.”

Then he left the door open - just a crack. Yoongi stared into the shadows pooling across the floor, the faint scent of spices from the restaurant slipping into the room, grounding him… barely. His wolf was pacing, agitated, as if the scent of Jimin had reawakened something feral. Something that had been buried under duty, silence, and pain.

He buried his head in his hands. “He looked right at me… and saw nothing.” His voice cracked around the truth. For a long time, he stayed there. Letting the ache settle into his bones like the cold. And just before sleep dragged him under, one bitter thought echoed louder than the rest:

He’s still mine. Even if he forgot.

Chapter Text

+++

“If I smile long enough, maybe they won’t see the hollow behind my eyes.”
— Jimin

+++

The cameras flashed. And Jimin smiled.

It wasn’t the soft, real kind he used to wear - no. This one had sharp edges, too polished to be human, the kind people expected from the polished political spouse of Han Areum. He stood at her side, his hand lightly resting on hers, like a doll posed just right in the storefront window of power.

The ballroom was packed with important names and brighter-than-life faces. Jimin had attended so many of these events that the colors began to blur - gold, velvet, silk, perfume, wine. Always the same meaningless compliments. Always the same gentle nodding.

Areum leaned into him and whispered, “Smile for the press.”

So he did. Like he always did. His back was straight, his jaw relaxed just enough to be photogenic, his eyes neither too dull nor too bright. He could do this in his sleep now. And maybe, in a way, he was sleeping. A kind of waking sleep that dulled everything - taste, touch, thought. He moved through the evening like a ghost dressed in Dior. When they clinked glasses for a toast, he lifted his flute just right. When guests approached, he let Areum do most of the talking, nodding occasionally and flashing that dead-eyed smile.

People always said the same things.

“You two make such a perfect couple.”

“Your bond must be so strong.”

“When can we expect pups?”

Jimin would laugh softly, hide his trembling fingers behind the folds of his coat, and tell them the same thing every time: “We’re taking our time.”

The irony was bitter. He couldn’t feel time anymore. Not the days. Not the nights. Just a long, grey stretch of nothing. At one point, Areum disappeared to speak to her father. Jimin drifted near the large balcony doors, needing air but not wanting to be alone. A waiter passed him a drink - he took it, even though he didn’t want it. He didn’t want anything.

Reflected in the window glass, he caught a glimpse of himself. He paused. Not because the omega looked beautiful. But because he looked unrecognizable. The Jimin he saw in that mirrored reflection was all smooth elegance and soulless grace. The one who once whispered poetry against someone’s lips, who once laughed into an alpha’s shoulder like he had the right to happiness, was gone.

“Who are you now?” he asked the ghost in the glass.

But the ghost just smiled back.

The balcony door clicked shut behind him, the warmth of the ballroom swallowed by the cold hush of night. Jimin stepped forward, the marble tiles icy beneath his thin shoes. He didn’t shiver. He never did anymore. Below, the city was glittering - alive, golden, full of promise. A cruel mirror. He stared without seeing it.

Behind him, laughter rang out like hollow bells. Champagne glasses clinked, conversations blurred into each other. People kept saying he was radiant tonight, elegant in his designer suit, so graceful for a man. His smile - the one he wore like a mask - had earned praise. But he had no idea how long he’d been standing there now. He only knew that the silence wrapped around him felt more like home than the ballroom ever could.

His fingers curled against the stone rail.

Breathe, he told himself.

Just breathe.

Then something stirred inside him. So sudden, so faint, it almost knocked him off his feet. His heart gave a traitorous lurch. His wolf - silent for so long - tensed. He blinked, his head slowly turning toward the glass doors. It was as if some echo had pressed through them… something familiar… something his.

He frowned.

But when he looked through the transparent panels, there was nothing unusual. Just more of the same: polished alphas and painted omegas smiling like dolls. Waiters. Music. Lights. No one was looking at him.

Still… the ache beneath his skin lingered.

Then - he saw a figure. Tall. Black suit. Dark hair. Familiar posture. His breath caught. The man’s face turned slightly - just enough to flash across Jimin’s memory like lightning on a summer night. A name itched at his throat but didn’t come out. He couldn't be sure. His vision blurred at the edges, nausea pooling in his stomach like old regret.

The figure looked away. And Jimin’s hand slowly dropped from the railing. Inside, he heard his name called. A staff member reminding him it was almost time for photos with his wife.

He whispered, "Just a second."

But no one heard. He stayed outside two minutes longer. Letting the scent - if it had been real at all - fade from the air. He stared at his reflection in the glass. The suit. The makeup. The mask. And then he turned back inside. The ballroom swallowed him again.

The music dimmed for a moment. Then the voice of the host echoed over the speakers:
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome one of tonight’s honorary guests - Han Areum and her husband, Han-Park Jimin.”

A soft applause followed. Polite. Expected. Like everything in their lives. Jimin walked toward the front of the hall, his arm folding automatically around Areum’s waist as she met him halfway. She smelled of jasmine and champagne and something else - an undertone he couldn’t name. Or perhaps he didn’t want to.

“Smile,” she whispered, without looking at him. Her red lips didn’t move.

He smiled. The flashes began. A hundred cameras. A hundred angles. Their fingers intertwined like they were lovers. Like they weren’t strangers playing pretend. Jimin focused on a fixed point behind the sea of faces. Not thinking. Not blinking. Just breathing.

Somewhere… His wolf whispered from deep within the hollowness. Somewhere he was here.

The sensation still hadn’t left his chest. That echo. That heartbeat that wasn’t his own. But when the lights finally dimmed and they were allowed to step down from the platform, it faded again - buried under the noise, the perfume, the expectations.

Back at their table, Areum lifted a glass of white wine. “God,” she sighed, “I need three more of these before dessert.”

Jimin didn’t answer. His fingers toyed with the edge of the folded napkin in his lap.

She watched him. “You look pale,” she said casually. “Did you not sleep again?”

He gave her a small, polite shrug. “No.”

A pause. Then her voice softened. Not kind - just quieter. “Jimin… I think it’s time we drop the charade. I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

He turned his head slowly.

Her gaze was steady. “I have a lover.”

Silence.

His heart didn’t even flinch.

“Oh,” he said, after a moment.

“That’s all?”

He looked down at his hands.

“…Yes.”

Areum let out a breath through her nose, maybe in disbelief. Maybe in disappointment. “I thought you’d at least react.”

He didn’t answer.

She went on, almost apologetic. “He’s kind to me. He touches me like I’m real. I didn’t plan it.”

Still, Jimin didn’t respond. He didn’t move. He didn’t look at her.

“I’m not ashamed of it,” she added. “We’re both prisoners here. You know that.”

He nodded, finally. “I know.”

They sat like that for a while, two strangers beneath crystal chandeliers, their names whispered across a hundred tables as a perfect couple. She excused herself soon after. Someone from her father’s company had arrived, and she needed to entertain him. Jimin remained alone, surrounded by laughter, gold-plated cutlery, and flutes of untouched champagne.

But all he could think about was the flash of a black suit. The shadow of a jawline. The ache in his ribs that wouldn’t leave.

The car ride home was quiet. The driver said nothing. Jimin said even less. City lights flickered across the tinted windows like reflections in broken glass. Skyscrapers blurred into one another. Neon signs melted into a haze of color and noise outside, but inside the car it was cold. Still. Dead.

When they pulled up to the estate, the security lights blinked on in calculated rhythm. Jimin stepped out alone, nodding to the driver without looking him in the eye. His footsteps echoed against the stone path as he climbed the wide steps leading into a home that had never really been his.

Areum wouldn’t be returning tonight. She had texted him an hour earlier. “Don’t wait up. I’ll be staying with a friend.”

He had stared at the message for a full minute before placing the phone face down on the table. He pushed the front door open. Darkness greeted him. Not even the automatic lights tried anymore.

Jimin walked straight to the fireplace in the main room and lit it with trembling fingers. The flames bloomed slowly, casting shadows against the elegant furniture, the silent paintings, the high, heartless walls. He stood there for a long while, staring into the fire, coat still on, shoes still wet from the rain that had started on the way home.

You look pale, Areum had said.

You didn’t even react.

But how could he? When there was nothing left inside to react with?

He pulled the coat from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Then he sank to his knees in front of the fire, curling his arms around his body like he could still feel warmth.

But he couldn’t.

Not really.

Not since… then.

Where is your wolf, Jimin-ah?

Somewhere…

Maybe with someone?

His throat tightened. He closed his eyes. And suddenly it was there - faint but unmistakable. The memory. Fingertips brushing across his cheeks like he was porcelain. Eyes that looked at him like he was worth the stars. Lips against his skin whispering promises that once felt like forever.

Yoongi.

His wolf stirred faintly, a breath from beneath years of forced sedation.

The pain came next.

It wasn’t loud. Or sharp. Just… crushing. Like his body couldn’t carry it anymore.

He curled closer to the flames, eyes wide open now.

And he whispered into the quiet…

“…Please.”

His voice broke.

“Come find me…”

But the fire just crackled, and the walls said nothing back.

+++

The scent of expensive perfume, wine, and camera flashes clogged the air as Taehyung adjusted the cuff of his sleeve and scanned the glittering hall. He was used to this - fashion galas, charity auctions, plastic smiles. It wasn’t the stage he preferred, but he knew how to wear grace like silk when needed.

He wasn’t here for himself tonight. His eyes found Jimin across the ballroom - standing still under the blinding light of photographers, Areum perfectly poised beside him. The perfect couple. Taehyung could see it for what it was: a performance wrapped in diamonds and disillusion. He sighed, stepping away from the velvet-rope entrance when he felt a firm shoulder brush his.

“Sorry...” he said, turning… and the breath in his lungs twisted sharply.

Jungkook.

His heart betrayed him before his mind caught up. The alpha stood in formal security uniform, blending into the background like he was born to be invisible. But he wasn’t. Not to Taehyung. Never to him.

Jungkook blinked once. “Tae.”

He hadn’t said that name in years. Not even a full syllable - just Tae. It landed with the weight of a hundred unspoken things.

Taehyung’s jaw tensed. “I didn’t know you were working tonight.”

“I’m always working,” Jungkook said simply, eyes scanning the crowd briefly - professional, composed. And yet…

“And here I thought we only bumped into each other when the world wasn’t watching,” Taehyung tried to joke, but it came out thinner than he wanted.

There was a silence that stretched between them. Not awkward - loaded. Like a past begging to surface but held at bay by clenched teeth and dressed wounds.

“You look good,” Jungkook said eventually, quiet but sincere.

Taehyung didn’t know what to do with that. So he looked away. “Yeah, well…” he exhaled. “Years pass.”

Jungkook nodded. “But some things don’t.”

A flash popped nearby. A group of influencers laughed loudly, and the illusion broke. Taehyung stepped aside. “I should go. Jimin’s waiting.”

He turned, walking away without another word - but his fingers were trembling. And somewhere behind him, Jungkook remained rooted in place, watching with eyes that still remembered.

The limousine windows blurred the outside world into streaks of golden streetlight and violet dusk. Taehyung sat beside Jimin in silence, their gowns perfect, their makeup untouched - but the hollowness in their chests said everything the world refused to see. It wasn’t until they were back at Jimin’s house - doors closed, shoes off, silence wrapped like a second skin - that Taehyung finally spoke.

“I saw him tonight.”

Jimin didn’t need to ask who. He simply led them to the kitchen, poured two glasses of sparkling water, and waited.

“Jungkook,” Taehyung said softly, eyes fixed on the condensation sliding down the glass. “He was working. Security detail. I didn’t even know he was there until we…” He exhaled. “Bumped into each other.”

Jimin didn’t speak. Just nodded once, his gaze warm but careful - never pushing.

Taehyung took a sip and leaned against the counter. “He looked the same. Just more… guarded. Like something inside him grew walls since I last saw him.”

“You haven’t talked about him in a long time,” Jimin offered gently.

A humorless smile tugged at Taehyung’s lips. “Because I didn’t know what to say. We barely started before I ran.”

There was a beat of silence.

Jimin turned to face him more fully, voice soft. “You ran because you were scared. Because you were still healing. You don’t have to punish yourself forever for that.”

“I wanted to be brave,” Taehyung whispered, voice cracking. “But I didn’t know how.”

His fingers curled against the cold countertop. “We had just started seeing each other. Everything felt… new, intense. But that night, when he leaned in close - just to scent me - my body… I froze. I couldn’t breathe. I remembered everything. That alpha. The one who tried to—”

Jimin reached across the space and touched his wrist lightly. “You don’t have to relive it. I remember.”

Taehyung nodded, swallowing thickly. “I was broken, and I didn’t want to bleed on someone like Jungkook. He was kind, and strong. And I… I didn’t feel worthy of that.”

Jimin’s thumb brushed over his skin. “You were worthy then, and you’re worthy now.”

Silence settled again, not heavy - just full. Finally, Taehyung let out a breath. “He said some things don’t change. And when he looked at me… it felt like no time had passed.”

Jimin’s eyes were distant now. “Some hearts… don’t know how to stop waiting.”

For a moment, they just stood there - two friends, two omegas, two broken hearts stitched together by late nights and quiet understanding.

“I miss him,” Taehyung admitted, the words so soft they almost disappeared. “But I don’t know if I’m still too scared.”

Jimin leaned forward and rested his forehead gently against Taehyung’s. “Then take your time. But if he’s still waiting… maybe he’s worth the try.”

+++

The sign was simple. Elegant serif font carved into walnut wood: Namjoon’s Pages. No flourish. No logo. Just a name, and the soft promise of stories. Yoongi stood just inside the threshold, taking in the place his friend had built - ceiling-high shelves, warm yellow lighting, soft instrumental music humming in the background like a heartbeat. It smelled of paper and wood polish. Comfort.

“You actually did it,” Yoongi murmured, eyes tracing the spines of books like old friends.

Namjoon looked up from the stack he was organizing and smiled. “You sound surprised.”

Yoongi shrugged, slipping his hands into the pockets of his long coat. “Not surprised. Just… glad.”

Namjoon gestured to a quiet corner with a couch and a small round table. “Sit for a bit?”

The alpha nodded and followed him. They settled down without speaking for a while. Namjoon handed him a cup of warm barley tea from the back counter, and Yoongi took it without question.

“Seokjin says you’ve been sleeping even less than usual,” the beta said after a while, not looking at him.

Yoongi sipped the tea. “He worries too much.”

Namjoon smiled faintly. “He’s allowed. He loves you.”

That word hung in the air for a moment too long.

The alpha stared into the cup. “You ever feel like you’ve been holding your breath for years and didn’t realize it until someone reminded you what air felt like?”

Namjoon turned to look at him. “You saw him.”

Yoongi didn’t answer directly. He didn’t need to.

The beta let out a slow breath. “And?”

Yoongi shook his head, voice flat. “He’s married. Looks the same but… not. His eyes are wrong. Empty.”

“Maybe yours are too.”

Yoongi looked at him sharply.

Namjoon didn’t flinch. “You’re not the only one who mourned what you lost, hyung. But at some point, you stopped living and just… functioned.”

Yoongi looked away, jaw tight.

Namjoon softened his tone. “You were in love with him.”

“I still am,” Yoongi said before he could stop himself.

And there it was - raw and real, like a wound never allowed to scar. The beta reached out and rested a hand on Yoongi’s knee. Not comforting, not prying. Just… grounding.

“You don’t have to fix it. Or chase it. But you deserve to feel again.”

Yoongi stared at the rows of books, letting the silence stretch.

“I don’t even know who I am without that ache,” he said finally.

Namjoon offered him a sad smile. “Then maybe it’s time to find out.”

A few days later, Yoongi knew something was wrong the moment he stepped through the door. His parents were there - already seated in Seokjin and Namjoon’s living room like they owned the space. His mother sat primly, legs crossed, lips thin and painted with silent judgment. His father stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back, posture stiff as marble. Seokjin was nowhere in sight. Namjoon gave the alpha a soft, almost apologetic look from the kitchen, then quietly disappeared.

“Yoongi,” his father said without turning. “Sit.”

He didn’t argue. He didn’t have the energy. He sat.

His mother was the one to speak first, her voice smooth and final. “Your engagement to Hyejin will be publicly announced at the Lee charity gala next month. You’ll both attend as an official couple.”

Yoongi’s fingers curled into his thighs. “I thought we agreed it would be after I had time to settle in.”

His father turned to face him then. “That was before the board started asking questions. You know how delicate these alliances are. Their family has been patient.”

Yoongi laughed under his breath, bitter and soft. “And my patience?”

His mother narrowed her eyes. “This is not about you.”

“No,” Yoongi muttered, “it never is.”

His father’s expression darkened. “You’ll do your duty. As a Min. This conversation is not up for debate.”

Yoongi’s jaw clenched. He looked at them - two strangers wearing the skin of his parents - and realized he wasn’t surprised. Only tired. “Fine,” he said flatly. “Is that all?”

His mother stood, smoothing out her coat. “We’ll send a stylist next week.”

His father followed her silently, pausing only briefly at the door. “Don’t make us regret trusting you with this branch, Yoongi.”

And then they were gone. The door clicked shut like a cell closing. Yoongi stood there for a long while, staring at the space they’d left behind. Then he walked into the kitchen, where Seokjin was chopping vegetables.

“They’re gone,” the alpha said.

Seokjin didn’t look up. “I heard.”

Yoongi pulled out a chair and slumped down. “They’re announcing it. The engagement.”

Namjoon placed a steaming cup of tea in front of him without a word. Yoongi stared at it. He didn’t say thank you. Didn’t cry. Didn’t scream. He just sat there, boiling silently inside. Because sometimes, the quiet was louder than the pain.

Chapter Text

+++

“Some flowers bloom too late… or never at all.”

+++

The waiting room was as white and sterile as the rest of the clinic - clean, cold, and humming faintly with artificial calm. Jimin sat on the cushioned bench with perfect posture, as he always did. Back straight, hands folded, legs crossed at the ankle. Just like he’d been taught. The nurse smiled when she called his name, gentle but distant. As if even she could sense it - the hollowness clinging to him like frost.

“Omega Park,” she greeted softly, leading him to the private exam room. “You’re here for your quarterly check-up?”

He nodded once. “Yes.”

Same routine. Same silence. Except this time, they asked for a more extensive scan. Routine, they said. For omegas past twenty-eight. Standard for political spouses. He didn’t even flinch. The room was too cold. The gown too thin. The gel on his stomach like ice. The doctor’s voice too soft - tiptoeing around something. He knew before she said it. When the examination was done and the doctor sat with her tablet in hand, face composed with forced kindness, Jimin already braced for it.

“There’s nothing wrong,” she began. “But…”

He hated that word.

“…based on your hormone levels and the suppression damage from earlier treatments… your next heat may be your last fertile one.”

The words echoed and faded like dust. He blinked slowly. “Ah.” No reaction. Just a breath. Then… a chuckle. It startled the doctor. Jimin looked at his hands. “A shame,” he murmured. “We were all so invested in my ability to produce pups, weren’t we?”

He laughed again - quietly, dryly, like air escaping a crack.

The doctor shifted uncomfortably. “I understand this may be difficult—”

“It’s not,” he cut in, still smiling faintly. “It’s fine.”

Except it wasn’t. It wasn’t fine. He didn’t care. Or maybe he did. But what emotion was left to feel? What was there to mourn when everything inside him had already withered?

The doctor gave him a pamphlet about options. Told him to discuss things with his spouse. Jimin nodded, tucked the paper neatly into his coat pocket, and left. He walked out into the sunlit afternoon like a ghost. Nobody on the street knew. Nobody saw. Only he felt it - the crumbling thing inside, the quiet implosion of a life never lived. He got in his limo and asked the driver to take him to a certain place.

The sound of soft jazz filtered through the air as Jimin stepped into the rooftop bar. It was mid-afternoon, mostly quiet except for a few couples enjoying overpriced cocktails and panoramic views. The sky was overcast, painting Seoul in ash and pearl. Taehyung was onstage, swaying gently under a warm spotlight. His voice - low, golden, rich with quiet ache - floated across the space like smoke. He sang like he always did. Not just notes, but secrets. Each word brushed Jimin’s skin.

The omega stood off to the side, hidden, watching his friend. Something tightened in his throat.

Taehyung looked alive up there. Vulnerable and powerful in the same breath. Aside from modeling he liked to sing. And he looked beautiful… almost unreal. His soft brown curls framed his face like art. And then, in the middle of a quiet verse, his eyes found Jimin. No wave. No smile. Just a flicker of surprise. And concern.

After his set, Taehyung came down with a sheen of sweat across his forehead. “Jimin-ah,” he whispered, grabbing a towel. “You didn’t say you were coming.”

“I didn’t know I would,” Jimin replied, his voice quiet.

They sat in a back booth near the glass railing. The air was filled with the hum of city sounds, the scent of citrus cocktails and fading perfume. Taehyung didn’t press. He never did.

He waited.

The elder omega didn’t speak about the appointment. He didn’t mention the phrase last fertile heat or the sterile room or the tremble in the doctor’s hands when she passed him the brochure.

He just said, “You sang beautifully.”

Taehyung blinked slowly, then reached across the table and squeezed his fingers around Jimin’s hand. “You look tired.”

Jimin smiled weakly. “I always do.”

They sat there for a while. Nothing said. Everything understood.

When he got back home, the house was too quiet when Jimin stepped inside. Too clean. Too perfect. The lights blinked on with motion sensors. He dropped his coat onto the chair and stood in the middle of the room like a stranger. His fingers grazed the marble kitchen island, the cool steel fridge. He passed the wedding photo on the wall - Areum’s perfectly trained smile and his painted-on one. No one was home. Of course she wasn’t. The silence crawled up the walls, wrapped around his shoulders like a wet coat. He moved to the living room, collapsed onto the couch. The pamphlet from the doctor’s office still peeked from his coat pocket. He pulled it out, stared at the bold header in blue: Fertility Counseling for Secondary Genders.

His thumb smudged the ink. No warmth stirred in him. Just a flicker of something bitter. He didn’t cry. He didn’t even sigh. The omega curled up sideways on the sofa, pulling the edge of a throw blanket over his chest. Sleep didn’t come easily, but silence did. He stared at the ceiling for hours. Empty. And alone.

The soft creak of the front door pulled Jimin from the cusp of sleep. He lay still, listening to the quiet hush of shoes being removed, the shuffle of a coat dropped onto the entry bench. The faint scent hit his nose next - cloying, sweet, undeniably omega. Not hers. Not his. Her lover… of course.

The clock blinked 04:23 AM in the darkness.

Footsteps neared the living room.

“I went for the check-up today,” Jimin’s voice cut through the silence, calm and cold.

A sharp gasp. “Shit!” Areum’s startled whisper broke the tension. “Why aren’t you sle—?”

“They said my next heat will probably be the last chance for me to have a pup.” He didn’t move. He remained reclined on the couch, staring blankly at the high ceiling. The shadows danced along the ornate crown molding, shaped like prison bars tonight.

Silence. Then…

“Wh–what?” Her voice faltered. She stepped into the light, her hair tousled, her lipstick smudged. “So… are you telling me this because you want us to—?”

“No.” His voice snapped sharper than he expected, cracking the air between them. Jimin sat up slowly, hands clenched together in his lap. His eyes avoided hers. He looked past her, toward the darkened hallway behind. “If it’s not his pup I’m carrying…” he exhaled shakily, “then I don’t want anything at all.”

The silence between them grew thick and suffocating. Areum didn’t speak. Jimin didn’t expect her to. For the first time in years, he spoke truthfully, and it tasted like ash. He wasn’t asking for understanding. He wasn’t begging for connection. This wasn’t a conversation. This was a burial. Of all the things he had never said. And all the things he would never feel again.

+++

“If I smile again, it will be for someone real.” – Min Yoongi

+++

The tie felt too tight again. Yoongi loosened it the moment the elevator doors closed behind him, his fingers shaking with irritation. Not because the fabric was too snug - but because the scent lingering on his skin wasn’t one he had ever wanted to carry.

Kim Hyejin.

His future.

His leash.

The engagement was already in motion. Invitations were being drafted. Outfits prepared. Photographers arranged. His father had made it clear: “Smile when you're beside her. The public must believe it.”

But every time she was near, Yoongi’s wolf stirred beneath his skin - agitated, cornered, baring teeth in silence. It wasn’t personal. It was instinct. A scent that wasn’t meant for him. A woman who carried herself like victory and war. Her perfume always reminded him of money. Power. Preservation. Things his family valued more than love. They sat together in another planning meeting that afternoon. Hyejin looked immaculate, spine straight, chin high. Her words were smooth and dry as winter silk.

“I spoke with Vogue’s editor,” she said, flipping through her tablet. “They’re going to run a double cover with our engagement feature and a Min Corp. spotlight.”

Yoongi hummed. A non-answer.

She looked at him then, her eyes narrowing. “Yoongi-ssi. I need you to show up properly. For both of us. We’re partners in this.”

“We’re not partners,” Yoongi replied quietly. His tone didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. “We’re paperwork.”

She scoffed, annoyed but unsurprised. “What do you want, then?”

He didn’t answer. Because what Yoongi wanted had been stolen. Drugged. Banished. What he wanted was a memory he wasn’t allowed to carry. A touch his wolf still howled for in the quiet hours of the night. Instead, he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt and stood. “I have a meeting with Namjoon,” he lied, just to leave.

He stepped into the cold air outside the gallery building, inhaling deeply. But even the wind couldn’t rid him of the wrong scent coating his collar.

It had been years, but his wolf still remembered what home smelled like.

Sandalwood and honey. Tangerine and cinnamon. Jimin.

And he still wasn’t here.

The parking lot was already half-emptied by the time Yoongi made it down. Evening shadows stretched across the pavement like they were trying to pull him down with them, and the alpha was so tired he almost didn’t care. The black SUV was waiting at the curb, polished, discreet. Reliable.

So was the alpha standing beside it. “Sir,” Jungkook said with a small nod, opening the door.

Yoongi didn’t bother with formality tonight. He just gave the younger man a tired glance and muttered, “Drive.”

Jungkook didn’t ask where to. He never did. The moment Yoongi settled into the backseat, the engine purred to life, and they pulled out of the lot into Seoul’s glittering blur of city lights.

For a while, there was only silence. It was comfortable, almost sacred - Jungkook understood the value of silence better than most. But eventually, the storm inside Yoongi pressed too hard against his ribs.

“She spoke to me like I was a press release,” he muttered, eyes on the passing streets. “My fiancée. Kim Hyejin. She listed our engagement events like stock market predictions.”

Jungkook didn’t flinch. He just kept his eyes on the road.

Yoongi ran his hand down his face. “I can’t even stand her scent. It grates under my skin like something invasive. Like poison. And still, I smiled.”

“You always do,” Jungkook said quietly. “That’s why they think you’re okay.”

Yoongi let out a breath, part scoff, part exhaustion. “I’m not.”

Silence again. Then Jungkook glanced in the rearview mirror. “You should think about moving into the penthouse,” he said. “The security systems are better. Less public exposure. Your father had it set up with full clearance.”

The weight of those words made Yoongi’s gut twist. The penthouse. Another golden box. Another symbol that he was owned, polished, prepared for display. He leaned back against the seat and looked at the ceiling of the car as if it held answers.

“I’m not ready,” he said after a moment.

“You don’t have to be,” Jungkook answered. “You just have to pretend.”

Yoongi looked at the young alpha then. The one assigned to protect him. The one who, in silence, had somehow earned his respect.

“And what if pretending breaks me?”

Jungkook’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. But his voice was calm when he replied. “Then I’ll be there to help you pick up the pieces.”

The younger alpha dropped him off at his place. Then he stayed until Yoongi got upstairs. The elder alpha knew that Jungkook would be back later to take his place and be his security. Right now, he didn’t care though. He needed to cope with what was happening with his life – the engagement mostly. So… he strode to the only place he knew how.

The kitchen was warm. Not the expensive, stainless-steel cold of the company’s private lounges or his penthouse that waited in silence - this was real warmth. Heat that clung to the skin, spices in the air, oil popping gently in the pan. The sounds here didn’t demand anything of him. They just were.

Yoongi stirred the pot again, watching the steam rise. It was almost midnight, and the restaurant had long closed. But Seokjin had left him alone in the kitchen hours ago with a single amused remark: “Don’t burn it down.”

Namjoon had laughed, too, stealing a spoonful of the sauce with a wink. “Therapy by seasoning,” he’d said, clapping Yoongi on the shoulder before they both disappeared upstairs.

Now, it was just him and the quiet hiss of boiling broth. He didn’t even know what he was cooking. Something his hands remembered, even if his heart didn’t. A recipe he’d seen once back in Zurich when he was alone for too long and had run out of distractions. He added garlic. Ground pepper. Tasted.

His wolf stirred faintly inside. Not in pain, not growling - but… watching. Tired.

The front door creaked, and a familiar voice called out, “You better not be cooking again, Min Yoongi.” Seokjin’s head popped into the kitchen, hair tousled and a kitchen towel over his shoulder. He took one look at the pan, then at Yoongi. “You are cooking again.”

The alpha didn’t answer. He just grabbed two bowls.

Seokjin leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You do realize most people cope with alcohol or questionable one-night stands. Not… midnight stir-fry.”

Yoongi set the bowls down with a shrug. “I like this better.”

Seokjin smirked. “You know… if you ever get tired of being your father’s heir, you could just take over the kitchen. Become a chef. Or buy this place off me and rename it something dramatic - like ‘Midnight Broth & Brooding’.”

Yoongi huffed. Almost a laugh.

Seokjin’s grin softened. “You’re good at it, you know. Cooking.”

Yoongi stirred the food once more, watching the colors mix. “I just… like when things come together,” he murmured. “When something actually makes sense.”

He didn’t say more. Didn’t need to.

The kitchen fell into comfortable silence as they both sat down to eat. Outside, the world carried on - loud, intrusive, full of expectations. But here, in the soft light of the restaurant’s closed hours, Yoongi found a moment of peace in the simplest act:

Feeding something.

Even if it wasn’t the ache inside him.

+++

“Some wounds don’t bleed—they cook, slow and silent, in the heat of things we never say.” – Min Yoongi

+++

Chapter Text

+++

“It’s not the thunder that hurts. It’s the silence that follows, when you realize the storm is inside you.” – Park Jimin

+++

The apartment was too clean. It always was, now. Too neat. Too quiet. Like no one really lived there. Jimin sat by the wide window in the living room, the pale curtains fluttering in the early morning breeze. The sky was dim, gray and heavy like his head. His fingers rested on the lip of his teacup, untouched. The tea had gone cold. Again.

He didn’t mind. He didn’t feel much these days. Not since the doctor’s words had slipped into the room like a knife through fabric, clean and precise.

“Your next heat might be the last chance you have to conceive, Mr. Park.”

The words echoed in his mind like a dull drumbeat. Over and over. They didn’t upset him anymore. Not really. He just carried them around like an invisible weight. A warning, not a hope. Some omegas might have cried. Others might have gone to their alphas. But Jimin had no alpha to go to. No one to touch his skin and whisper comfort. No bond to soothe the ache of biology failing.

Only silence.

And the scent of another omega on his wife’s coat.

He hadn’t said anything when she left that morning, still trying to be quiet, as if Jimin couldn’t hear the door creak or the hurried click of her heels. He didn't say anything when she passed him in the hallway the night before either, her eyes sharp and mouth red from someone else's kiss. He was long past caring. Or maybe… not past. Just buried beneath it. Still, today felt heavier than most. Like something in the air had shifted. Like something was about to crack.

A soft chime rang from his phone.

[Taehyung]: I’m passing by in an hour. Don’t say no.

Jimin stared at the message.

Then he typed:

[Jimin]: Okay. Bring something warm. The wind is cruel today.

He put the phone down and leaned his forehead against the glass. The city outside was moving. Cars. People. Lovers. Business meetings. Coffee runs. Pregnant omegas. Laughing children.

Life.

And here he was. Waiting for someone to knock on the door so he could pretend to be alive too. He thought of Taehyung’s soft, worried eyes. Of the way his friend always smiled even when his hands trembled from old wounds. Of how he still made Jimin feel seen.

“If it’s not his pup I’m carrying… then I don’t want anything at all…”

The words returned like a ghost. And for the first time since that night, Jimin exhaled, slow and trembling. Maybe it wasn’t the doctor’s words that hurt the most. Maybe it was knowing that he’d finally admitted it - aloud. He still belonged to someone who was no longer his.

The knock was gentle, like it always was when it came from Taehyung.

Jimin opened the door without checking. Only one person knocked like that - like he was asking permission to enter someone’s life, not just their home. Taehyung stood there, wrapped in a long cream-colored coat, a scarf tied loosely around his neck, his cheeks flushed from the cold. He held up a small paper bag and a warm drink carrier with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Emergency croissants and overpriced lattes,” he announced. “Because clearly, you’ve been living off air and unsweetened sadness.”

Jimin almost smiled. Almost. “Come in before we both freeze,” he murmured, stepping aside.

Taehyung slipped in, his presence already warming the cold air of the apartment. He moved like he belonged, shrugging off his coat and placing the pastries on the coffee table. His eyes flicked around the space - always tidy, always too quiet - and he frowned softly.

“It’s so clean in here, it’s starting to worry me.”

“I like it clean,” Jimin said, walking over to the window again. “It gives the illusion of control.”

Taehyung sank into the armchair, crossing his legs with grace that reminded Jimin he was a model, even when he wasn’t trying. “You texted me this morning,” Taehyung said after a beat. “That’s rare.”

“I didn’t want to be alone,” Jimin admitted quietly.

Taehyung stilled. Slowly, he reached forward and opened the paper bag. “Croissant or almond croissant?”

“Almond.”

“Good. I brought two of those. I know you.”

Jimin sat down across from him. He didn’t reach for the food. He just watched the steam rise from the drinks. “I went to the doctor yesterday.”

Taehyung’s chewing slowed. “Oh?”

“Routine checkup. Omega screening.” A pause. “They said my next heat may be the last one I’ll ever get a chance to…” Jimin exhaled. “To conceive.”

Taehyung blinked. Then leaned back, processing. “Did Areum go with you?”

“She doesn’t even know the clinic’s name,” Jimin replied, his tone as flat as the light outside. “She came home at dawn… smelling like someone else.”

“Someone else?”

“Another omega.”

Taehyung’s mouth set into a thin line. His hands tightened slightly around the croissant. “And you’re okay with that?”

“I’m not okay with anything anymore, Tae,” Jimin said. “I just… endure.”

The room grew still.

Then Taehyung reached out, placing his almond croissant back on the table. “Look at me.”

Jimin hesitated.

“Jimin. Please.”

Their eyes met.

“You are not a shell. I refuse to let you be.”

“What else am I supposed to be?” Jimin’s voice cracked. “They took everything. My choices. My future. Him.”

Taehyung’s face softened. “You’re still here. You’re still breathing. That means there’s something left to fight for.”

Jimin looked away. “Even if it’s just yourself.”

They sat in silence for a while, broken only by the ticking of the wall clock and the gentle hum of the heater.

Eventually, Jimin reached for the almond croissant. “It’s stale,” he noted.

“I got it from the overpriced place near the museum,” Taehyung smirked. “It’s always stale. It’s part of their brand.”

Jimin’s lips twitched. For a moment, the weight lifted. For a moment, he remembered who he used to be. The older omega sat on the couch, the almond croissant half-eaten in his hand, forgotten. The silence between him and Taehyung was soft, but not comforting - it stretched like a tight string between them, humming with everything unsaid.

Outside, the gray sky pressed heavy against the glass windows.

Jimin finally broke the silence. “I don’t feel it anymore.”

Taehyung turned slightly, his brows furrowed. “Feel what?”

Jimin exhaled slowly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “My wolf.”

The words tasted like ash in his mouth.

Taehyung didn’t speak. He only shifted closer on the couch.

“It’s been like this since… since they forced the treatment on me,” Jimin continued, still staring at the window. “You remember, right? That clinic. That… hormone suppressant therapy they said would help me adjust faster to being a political spouse.”

His voice trembled with quiet rage.

“They said it would make me more stable. Help me control my instincts better. But all it did was numb everything.”

Taehyung placed a hand gently over Jimin’s.

“And now?”

“Now?” Jimin laughed, but it was hollow. “Now it’s like I’m a hollow cage. I still look like myself. I still smile at events, bow at the right moments, hold her hand when the cameras flash. But inside—” he touched his chest, over his heart, “—inside it’s nothing. Just ice.”

A pause.

“He’s out there, Tae.”

“Who?” Taehyung asked softly, though he already knew.

“Yoongi.”

The name ached.

“I can feel him. I don’t know how to explain it, but I know he’s here. Somewhere in the city. Like a whisper under my skin. But I can’t find him. I can’t reach him. And maybe even if I could…” Jimin’s voice broke. “Maybe he doesn’t want to be found.”

Taehyung didn’t try to interrupt. He let the silence speak.

Jimin wiped his eyes quickly with the sleeve of his sweater.

“What’s the point of being an omega,” he said bitterly, “if I’m not even allowed to be one? They carved me up with their rules and meds and made me a perfect political spouse. But I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

“You’re still you,” Taehyung murmured, squeezing his hand. “Even if you’re buried deep. Even if you’re hurting. You’re still Jimin. The real Jimin is still in there.”

“Then why can’t I feel him?”

Taehyung leaned in and rested his forehead lightly against Jimin’s temple, a soft and steady comfort. “Because you’re exhausted. Because you’ve been holding your breath for too long, Chim.”

A tear slipped down Jimin’s cheek, but he didn’t move. “Then what do I do, Tae?”

“You keep breathing. And when you can’t - I’ll breathe for you until you can again.”

Jimin didn’t say anything else. He just closed his eyes and let himself lean, for once, into the warmth of someone who didn’t ask anything of him.

Taehyung left just as Areum stepped through the door. As always, he didn’t even try to be civil. He barely nodded at her, jaw tight, eyes flat, and Jimin didn’t miss the way his friend’s hand twitched as if to touch his shoulder - only to drop back to his side. Taehyung offered no parting words, just walked out into the hallway with his coat flaring behind him, and the silence he left behind was deafening.

Areum watched him leave with a scoff.

“Your friend’s never liked me,” she said, tossing her purse on the console table.

Jimin didn’t answer.

He didn’t have the strength.

Areum kicked off her heels and walked further inside, glancing at him only once.

“Should we have dinner? I’m not hungry, but I could eat.”

Jimin stood in the same spot, arms limp by his side, nodding without looking at her.

“Sure,” he muttered.

She flicked the TV on, the screen filling the room with too-bright light. Some high-society entertainment channel was playing. Gossip, glitz, and glam. Jimin had stopped watching these long ago. But his ears perked up when he heard a name.

“—Min Yoongi, son of the CEO of Min Corp., seen today at his official engagement ceremony with Kim Hyejin, heiress of the Kim conglomerate—”

The screen shifted to a wide shot: a glass hall bathed in golden light, filled with powerful alphas and exquisitely dressed betas. Then, the camera zoomed in. And there he was.

Yoongi.

Hair slicked back. Dressed in black and silver. His hand held by a tall, elegant woman in a couture gown. Hyejin. Her perfectly symmetrical face smiled for the cameras, her arm looped possessively around his.

Yoongi didn’t smile.

Not really.

But it didn’t matter.

Because to the world, they were perfect.

“Oh,” Areum said, halfway through pulling out takeout boxes. “Didn’t know that was happening today.”

Jimin didn’t reply.

He couldn’t.

Something inside him snapped like a brittle bone.

His knees gave out before he even realized it, and he slumped down in front of the couch, eyes still glued to the screen. The engagement photo flashed again, the headlines screaming THE POWER COUPLE OF THE YEAR.

His throat closed up.

He’s really gone.

His hands trembled in his lap. He didn’t even hear Areum moving around in the kitchen anymore. Outside, it began to rain. Gentle at first -  a light patter against the windows - but it grew quickly, wind slapping droplets hard against the glass as if the sky itself had something to mourn.

Jimin pressed the heel of his palm into his chest. Nothing helped. The pressure stayed. He couldn’t cry. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t feel anything, and yet it hurt worse than anything he'd ever known. The only thought in his mind was simple and cruel:

He looked beautiful. And he wasn’t mine anymore.

+++

“Some silences are loud enough to leave bruises.”

+++

The city outside was drowned in a sheen of rain, neon lights distorted into colors Yoongi couldn’t name anymore. His hand was still faintly damp from where Hyejin had held it for the cameras, her soft omega scent lingering in the fabric of his suit. Sweet like pear blossom and expensive perfume - delicate, cloying, and completely wrong.

She played her part well, as always. The poised, proper omega bride-to-be. Flawless makeup, soft tone, a picture-perfect smile that never quite touched her eyes. Yoongi stood beside her the entire night, like a ghost playing dress-up. Smile here, nod there. Let her lean into his side. Let the press soak it up. Let his father be proud.

“You’re glowing, Hyejin-ssi,” someone had said.

“Only because he’s beside me,” she’d answered.

Yoongi hadn’t even flinched.

But now, hours later, slumped in the back seat of the car with the silence thick and Jungkook at the wheel, the weight began to settle. “Drive somewhere quiet,” Yoongi said.

Jungkook didn’t speak. Just obeyed. He always did. They pulled into an empty parking lot behind an old bookstore, hidden under the fog of drizzle. Yoongi didn’t move for a long time.

Then…

“She smelled like a stranger,” he said, voice low, barely audible over the tapping rain. “No matter how many times she touches me, it never feels real.”

Jungkook didn’t interrupt. Just listened.

“I didn’t see him tonight,” Yoongi continued, lips barely moving. “But I kept looking. I don’t even know why.”

Liar, his wolf whispered. He knew exactly why.

The ache in his chest bloomed slow and sour. He had been watching for Jimin all evening. Scanning every entrance, every table. Hoping. Dreading. He hadn’t shown up. And somehow, that hurt more.

“I keep wondering what it would’ve felt like,” Yoongi admitted, “if it was him beside me. Even after all these years.”

He rubbed at his temple, exhausted. “But I guess that doesn’t matter now.”

Jungkook finally turned slightly toward him. “Do you want it to matter?”

Yoongi looked at the younger alpha through the reflection of the rain-washed window. “It already does,” he whispered. “That’s the problem.” He let the words hang between them, then added… “Take me to the restaurant.”

Jungkook didn’t question it. Later, in the warmth of Seokjin’s kitchen - quiet, closed for the night - Yoongi stood barefoot on cold tile, sleeves rolled up, stirring broth that didn’t need stirring. Steam rose in gentle plumes, fogging the window. The scent of ginger and soy grounded him, gave his hands something to do when the rest of him was unraveling.

Seokjin eventually appeared in the doorway, arms folded. “You trying to cook your feelings again?”

Yoongi didn’t look up. “If it works, it works,” he murmured.

“You know,” Seokjin said after a beat, reminding Yoongi about one of their earliest conversations, “if this CEO gig turns out to be a dumpster fire, you’d make a pretty decent chef. Maybe even a restaurant owner.”

Yoongi’s lip twitched. It wasn’t a smile. But it was close. The pot had long stopped boiling. The broth sat idle, forgotten, while Yoongi leaned against the counter, his hands braced on either side of the sink. He stared through the fogged glass of the kitchen window, but saw nothing beyond his own reflection. Behind him, Seokjin started putting away utensils, wiping down the cutting board. They didn’t talk much, but they never needed to. Jin had always known how to be a friend without prying.

“You should sleep,” Jin eventually said. “It’s late.”

“I can’t.” Yoongi’s voice was hoarse. “Feels like I’ll wake up to find myself… stuck again.”

“You’re not stuck. You’re just scared.”

Yoongi laughed, dry and low. “Scared of what? The life I already have? The one everyone planned for me?”

Seokjin tilted his head, eyes soft. “No. Scared of the one you could’ve had.”

That made something in Yoongi’s chest flinch. He turned the gas off, slid the pot to the side, and walked over to the small table in the corner. The chair creaked under his weight as he sat down, elbows on the table, fingers buried in his hair.

“I didn’t even see him tonight,” he said, barely a whisper.

Seokjin sat across from him, folding his hands together.

“Jimin?”

Yoongi didn’t answer - didn’t need to.

“But he was in your head the whole time, huh?” Seokjin offered.

Yoongi pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes, hard enough to blur the edges of his thoughts.

“Is that insane?”

“It’s human.”

The silence returned, thick and unmoving. Only the ticking wall clock dared speak between them.

“She’s an omega,” Yoongi muttered suddenly. “My fiancée.”

“I know.”

“It’s like the universe is laughing in my face.”

Seokjin’s gaze stayed steady. “Then laugh back. Or walk away. But don’t waste time letting it kill you slowly.”

Yoongi lifted his head, eyes bloodshot. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not.” Jin’s expression gentled. “But the longer you pretend this isn’t eating you alive, the harder it’ll be to come back.”

Yoongi swallowed, throat tight. “I miss him,” he admitted, the words breaking in the middle. “Even if I didn’t see him. I miss everything I never got to have.”

Seokjin didn’t speak right away. He stood and reached for the kettle, quietly boiling water for tea. The kind Jimin used to like.

“Then maybe,” Seokjin said over the soft click of the stove, “it’s time to decide what you want more - your father's approval or your own peace.”

On the next day, Yoongi sat at the edge of the pristine cream-colored sofa, the sunlight glaring through the wide windows of Kim Hyejin’s penthouse, making everything too bright. The table was already set. Crystal glasses, fine china, and food so delicate it barely had a scent. Everything was as polished and calculated as the woman across from him.

She was perfect, in that sterile, magazine-cover way - a sculpted beauty, all elegance and poise. Her hands moved with intention as she cut into her salad, her voice smooth and low as she spoke about the guest list for their formal engagement party. Yoongi nodded when expected. Smiled when necessary. But his eyes kept drifting toward the window. His throat, dry. His stomach, hollow. His inner wolf, curled in on itself in silence.

Something was wrong.

No, not wrong - just off. Again.

It had started the night before, when he stared into the camera lenses beside Hyejin as the engagement was officially announced. The way the lights flashed. The way the press clapped. The way it felt like suffocating behind a glass case, watching someone else live a life that should’ve never been his.

And now, here he was. Eating lunch he couldn’t taste. Sitting beside someone he couldn’t feel.

“Yoongi-ssi?” Hyejin’s voice cut through the stillness. “You’re awfully quiet.”

He blinked.

“Sorry. Just tired.”

“Understandable. You’ve been so busy lately. And we have dinner at your place later, remember?” She offered a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “My mother wants a progress update.”

Yoongi's jaw tensed.

He didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

Thankfully, his phone vibrated in his jacket pocket - the sound of salvation.

He pulled it out and stood immediately, his chair scraping softly across the marble floor.

“Sorry. I have to take this. It’s important.”

“Of course,” she said, eyes narrowed but tone gracious.

Yoongi stepped out onto the balcony and answered the call.

“Jungkook.”

“Hyung,” came the younger alpha’s voice, smooth and calm. “Sorry to bother you, but you’re needed at the company. The report we were expecting came in, and it’s...not great. You should come.”

Yoongi exhaled - the first breath that didn’t feel like poison all morning. “Got it. I’ll head out now.”

“Take your time. I’ll be waiting by the car.”

They ended the call. The lie hung between them, mutually agreed and necessary.

Yoongi walked back in.

“Sorry,” he told Hyejin. “Something came up. I have to go.”

“I see.” Her face didn’t shift, but her voice cooled. “Well, I’ll see you tonight then.”

He nodded, not offering any further excuse. Not that she expected one.

By the time Yoongi slid into the back seat of his car, Jungkook was already behind the wheel, driving smoothly into the early afternoon traffic. They didn’t speak right away. The silence was a balm.

“Thank you,” Yoongi muttered.

Jungkook chuckled under his breath. “Your breathing sounded like someone drowning when you picked up.”

Yoongi leaned his head back, closing his eyes. “That obvious, huh?”

“To me? Yeah.”

A beat passed. “It’s getting worse,” Yoongi admitted. “This restlessness… I feel it in my bones. Like something’s missing. Or someone.”

Jungkook glanced at him in the rearview mirror, then looked ahead again. “Maybe it’s time to stop pretending you’re okay with all this.”

Yoongi didn’t respond.

He couldn’t.

Because he wasn’t okay. He hadn’t been for years. But now, it was becoming unbearable. And yet, tonight, she would come. Again. And Yoongi would have to smile. Again.

But how much longer could he keep going like this?

+++

“There are cages with golden bars, and still - cages.”

+++

Chapter Text

+++

“I didn’t break -  I shattered silently, piece by piece, where no one could see.”

+++

The morning after the announcement, the light in their home felt wrong. Too white. Too stark. Like it was exposing something meant to stay buried.

Jimin sat on the couch, motionless, his arms wrapped around his knees. The house was quiet except for the distant sound of rain from the previous night still dripping from the roof outside. He hadn’t slept. He didn’t think he even blinked. The TV was off. The lights were dim. The air… too still.

“Jimin-ah,” Areum’s voice rang through the space as she came down the stairs. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve been sitting there for hours.”

Jimin didn’t look at her. He couldn’t. His throat burned. His chest was tight. The announcement replayed in his mind like a cruel whisper, again and again.

Min Yoongi, heir to Min Group, will soon be engaged to Kim Hyejin…

And the image… Yoongi beside her. His shoulders stiff, face unreadable. Her omega scent wrapped around him. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t smiled. It didn’t matter that his eyes looked just as dead. He was taken. Claimed. Gone.

“Jimin-ah,” Areum said again, louder this time, walking over to him. “Why are you crying?”

He hadn’t noticed. His fingers trembled as they reached up and brushed under his eye, damp with tears. So he was crying.

“You’re being dramatic,” Areum muttered, stepping back. “If something’s wrong, say it. Don’t sit there like some ghost.”

He still didn’t answer. Not because he didn’t want to. Because he didn’t have the words. How could he explain that something inside him had died?

He had clung to the tiniest ember of hope for years. That maybe – someday - he’d find a way back to the alpha who made him feel whole. That somehow, the universe would undo what their parents and bloodlines had done. But that hope was gone now. Extinguished by a diamond ring and a televised announcement. He let out a small, shaky sound - half laugh, half sob - and rested his forehead on his knees.

“Jimin,” Areum said again, but this time her voice wasn’t frustrated. It was… uncertain. “You’re scaring me.”

He lifted his eyes. Teary. Glassy. Empty. “Then go,” he said, his voice raw. “You don’t have to watch this.”

She flinched, taking a step back. But she didn’t say anything. And Jimin… Jimin curled tighter into himself. He stayed that way long after she left the room. Staring at nothing. Listening to the sound of his heart breaking quietly in his chest.

+++

“Some grief is so silent, it devours you before anyone even hears your scream.”

+++

The rain didn’t stop.

Hours passed, and the sky remained bruised with clouds, sobbing quietly against the windows. Jimin hadn’t moved from the couch. A cold cup of tea rested on the table - untouched. The scent of tangerine had long faded into something bitter. His head leaned against the couch back, eyes watching the ceiling.

Blank.

Empty.

Breathing hurt.

Even that simple, automatic thing – breathing - felt like a betrayal. His chest rising and falling against a world that had stolen everything from him. Again.

When the doorbell rang, he didn’t flinch. It was the sound of the key turning that made his eyes shift.

Taehyung.

He stepped inside, shaking rain from his coat, a worried furrow between his brows the moment he saw him.

“Jimin-ah…” the omega said softly, voice gentle as ever. “I came as soon as I heard.”

Jimin didn’t ask what he had heard. He knew. Everyone knew.

Taehyung kicked off his shoes and walked over, crouching in front of him on the floor. “You should eat something. Or sleep. Or just… talk to me. Please.”

Jimin blinked.

Talk?

What could he say?

That the engagement was just the match thrown into a forest already in flames? That he hadn’t been okay in years - but today, something broke?

“Tae…” His voice cracked around the name. “It hurts.”

Taehyung reached out, his hand cupping Jimin’s cheek.

“I know. I know, Jiminie…”

But he didn’t. No one did. Because no one could understand what it was like to love someone so deeply that their absence became a wound that never closed. To be forced to live without them - and pretend that you’re fine. To have the world watch you perform your life like a beautiful lie, while inside you were screaming into a void.

“I can’t feel anything anymore,” Jimin whispered. “And then suddenly… it’s too much. All at once. And it crushes me.”

Taehyung’s hands trembled. He didn’t let go. “You’re not alone,” he murmured. “You still have me.”

Jimin gave him a tired, broken smile. “But I don’t have him.”

And that truth…

That one truth—

Was the sharpest blade of all.

+++

“Sometimes it’s not about wanting to die. It’s about wanting the pain to stop.”

+++

The world was too quiet.

Taehyung had stayed longer than he usually did - making tea, humming softly in the kitchen, pulling the curtains shut as if it could block out the truth. Jimin had sat on the edge of the bed like a doll that had lost its thread. Unmoving. Unblinking.

Eventually, Taehyung brought him a small pill and a glass of water. “Just to sleep, Jiminie. You need it. Please… try.”

Jimin took it without a word.

Laid down.

Closed his eyes.

Pretended.

He felt the soft pull of blankets being tucked around his frame, Taehyung’s hand lingering briefly against his hair.

“I’ll come tomorrow, okay? I’ll bring you breakfast,” the omega murmured.

Jimin didn’t respond. Didn’t move. The door clicked softly behind his friend as he left, the quiet patter of his steps fading down the hall.

Outside, the rain had turned violent. It slammed against the windows like a scream held too long in the lungs.

And something inside Jimin cracked wide open. His chest felt tight - too tight. Like it would split apart from the pressure. The walls closed in, the ceiling pressed down, and the silence screamed louder than any sound. He couldn’t take it anymore.

He couldn’t.

His breath came short, fast, uneven. Panic, maybe. Or grief. Or the echo of everything he’d buried trying to claw its way out. His body moved before he could think. He threw the blankets off. Barefoot, he stumbled out of bed, still dressed in the soft sweater Taehyung had helped him into.

His fingers shook as they grabbed for his coat. For the keys. For anything that could give him an exit.

The elevator ride down was a blur, his ears ringing.

By the time the cold air hit his face outside, Jimin didn’t feel it. The rain soaked through his coat, plastered his hair to his forehead. Still, he moved.

His car sat there like a waiting coffin, silent in the storm. He climbed inside. Closed the door. And for the first time in years, he let himself scream.

One breath.

Then another.

Then he turned the key in the ignition, hands trembling against the wheel.

He didn’t know where he was going.

He just knew he had to run before he disappeared completely.

The city lights smeared like bruises against the windshield, dulled by the storm pounding against the glass. Jimin’s hands gripped the wheel, white-knuckled, trembling. He didn’t know where he was going. He hadn’t known since the moment he’d stepped into the car. He just needed to go.

Somewhere. Anywhere that wasn’t here.

The headlights carved paths through the endless rain, but nothing looked familiar.
Every road felt foreign. Every building looked the same.

His heart beat like a bird thrashing against a cage. The pill Taehyung had given him - meant for sleep, meant for calm - pulled at his mind, slow and heavy like a tide. His head swam. His eyelids drooped. But Jimin kept driving.

Tears spilled freely now, mingling with the rain on his cheeks. The storm outside howled, but the storm inside was louder.

“I can’t breathe…” The words came out in a choked whisper, barely audible over the downpour.
His hands slipped slightly on the wheel.

His wolf was gone.

His soul was tired.

He couldn’t keep pretending.

Streetlights blurred, red and gold bleeding into one another like wounds that wouldn’t close. The road curved. Jimin didn’t. His body jerked forward… a flash of metal…
screeching tires… a sound like the world breaking.

Then… nothing.

No more pain.

No more noise.

Just floating.

Like falling asleep in warm water. His vision faded at the edges, dark creeping in like ink spilled across a page. And just before everything disappeared, Jimin saw him - not a hallucination, not a dream -  but Yoongi.

Standing in the middle of the road.

Calm.

Still.

Looking at him.

And Jimin thought…

“There you are.”

Then everything went black.

+++

“I didn’t want to die. I just wanted to be saved.”

+++

Yoongi woke with a jolt, his breath caught in his throat, his body drenched in cold sweat. A scream had ripped from his lips before he even realized it was his own.
The sound echoed through the small room above the restaurant like something feral, something wounded.

He sat up, heart hammering in his chest, clutching his shirt as if that might quiet the pain blooming beneath it. It didn’t.

His muscles ached. His bones trembled. But worst of all - his wolf was howling.

Deep inside him, something ancient and wild and sacred was panicking.

“Jimin…”

The name slipped out without thinking. It wasn’t conscious. It was instinct. He didn’t know why he said it, only that his mouth had shaped the syllables like a prayer, like he hadn’t uttered them in years. Yoongi doubled over, arms bracing against his thighs, jaw clenched hard enough to hurt.

His scent flared uncontrolled - sharp, bitter, laced with terror.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway. The door opened. Namjoon stood there, eyes wide, hair tousled from sleep. “Yoongi?”

But Yoongi didn’t look up.

He couldn’t. He was shaking too much.

“Something’s wrong,” he whispered. “Something… happened. I…” His voice cracked. “I can’t feel him.”

Namjoon frowned, stepping inside slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal. “Who, hyung?”

But Yoongi didn’t answer.

Because in that moment, the pain in his chest bloomed again—white-hot and overwhelming.

Like a bond breaking.

Like the thread that tied him to the one person he never stopped loving had just snapped.

His hands clenched into fists.

And deep inside, his wolf screamed.

+++

“Sometimes, your body knows before your heart does.”

+++

Chapter Text

+++

“There’s a moment when silence becomes unbearable—when you realize it’s not quiet. It’s absence.”

+++

The dining room was warm. Lavish. Decorated in muted golds and crystal candlelight that flickered against the glossy surfaces of Kim Hyejin’s penthouse suite. Yoongi sat at the table, suit pristine, jaw clenched, eyes lowered. He barely touched the wine. Barely touched the food.
He had said maybe five words since sitting down. To anyone else, he might’ve looked composed. Polite. To those who didn’t know him, he was the perfect image of an heir preparing to enter a lifelong alliance.

But inside, he was empty.

The low hum of conversation passed around him like smoke. Hyejin's father laughed at something his own father had said. His mother nodded along, eyes glinting like a polished blade.
Kim Hyejin's smile was as perfect as ever - lacquered, unbothered.

Yoongi felt like he was suffocating in his own skin. He didn’t belong here. Not among people who spoke only in expectations and image. Not next to an omega whose scent repelled every instinct he had. He sat still, letting the hours drag. Letting the tension coil. Letting the mask cling to his face even though it was starting to crack.

When the dinner finally ended and the parents politely excused themselves, Yoongi stood, bowed, and murmured a thank-you. He was halfway to the door when it happened.

“Breaking news ,” a sharp voice cut through the room. “Park Jimin - omega socialite and spouse of businesswoman Han Areum - has been hospitalized after a critical car accident early this morning in Gangnam district…”

Yoongi froze. His lungs locked up. His throat closed. He turned, slowly, eyes locking on the screen above the fireplace. Footage rolled: flashing lights, a crumpled car, rain pouring. A white sheet stained with red. Something deep inside him snapped.

“Oh my,” Hyejin muttered. “Isn’t he one of those charity darlings? Poor thing, but what did he expect, driving in that storm…”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi whispered, his voice barely audible over the broadcast.

“What?” she asked, confused.

But he wasn’t talking to her. He didn’t wait for another word. He was already moving - ripping the door open, dashing into the hallway, lungs burning with something sharp and ancient and unrelenting.

The air outside was cold, biting at his skin. He didn’t care. Didn’t stop.

All he could hear was the last word Jimin ever said to him. “Moonbeam…”

+++

“The body remembers what the heart tries to forget.”

+++

Yoongi stormed out of Hyejin’s apartment building like he was being chased by ghosts. The door slammed behind him, and the cold air sliced through his suit like a blade. He didn’t feel it. Jungkook was already waiting by the car, holding the door open. His posture was tense, his eyes serious. The moment Yoongi slid into the back seat, Jungkook followed, shutting the door and settling behind the wheel.

“Hospital,” Yoongi said, his voice low and cracking. “Drive. Gangnam. Now.”

Jungkook didn’t ask questions. The engine roared to life. Tires screamed as the car surged forward into the wet streets. Yoongi’s breath came in shallow bursts. His fingers dug into his own palms until they hurt.

“He’s there, isn’t he?” he muttered. “Jimin... something happened to him.”

Jungkook’s jaw flexed, eyes steady on the road. “You felt it?” he finally asked, barely above the sound of the rain.

Yoongi didn’t answer at first. His head leaned against the window as droplets raced down the glass. “I felt like I was dying,” the alpha said quietly. “Like something inside me broke and would never fix again.”

Jungkook said nothing more. He just drove faster. By the time they reached the hospital, red and blue lights blurred through the storm like smears of pain. The alpha didn’t wait for the car to fully stop. He threw the door open and rushed out, slipping slightly on the wet pavement. He didn’t care. He pushed through the main doors of the emergency ward, scent sharp and wild, drawing the eyes of nurses and staff who immediately stepped back under the weight of his aura.

That’s when he saw her.

Han Areum.

Standing in the middle of the corridor, her designer coat soaked and her arms folded across her chest. There were faint streaks of makeup under her eyes - either from the rain or from tears, he couldn’t tell. Their eyes met. For a split second, the entire hospital went silent in Yoongi’s mind.

Areum blinked, clearly not expecting to see him. “What the hell are you doing here?” she spat.

Yoongi took a single step forward, face unreadable. “I came for him,” he said simply. “Where is he?”

Areum’s lips parted in disbelief, then twisted into something like resentment.
She opened her mouth, likely to throw another bitter remark.

“Areum-ssi,” Jungkook’s calm voice cut in, appearing beside Yoongi like a shadow. “Not here.”

She flinched at his tone. And, surprisingly, she looked away. Yoongi didn’t waste another second. He brushed past her and walked down the corridor, following the distant scent of antiseptic and… Tangerine.

It was faint, almost gone. But it was there.

His wolf surged forward inside him.

Jimin.

+++

“Somehow, even after all this time, I knew it would be you who’d come running.”

+++

Yoongi moved forward, but he still felt her eyes on him - Han Areum.

They had never spoken before.

They didn’t know each other.

But the moment their eyes locked in that sterile hospital corridor, Yoongi saw the recognition spark behind her perfectly lined lashes. She knew who he was. The infamous Min heir. Her husband’s past. The reason, perhaps, for the cracks she hadn’t been able to fix in three long years.

Areum didn’t speak again, but her scent sharpened, spiking with bitter omega jealousy. It wasn’t about love. It wasn’t even about marriage. It was about territory. Image. Yoongi dismissed her with a glance. But before he could fully turn away, another figure caught his attention - one that felt more significant than it should have.

Kim Taehyung.

He was standing near the wall, his posture stiff, arms folded over his chest, chin tipped slightly up like he was guarding something fragile behind his silence.

Yoongi had never spoken to him.

Didn’t know him.

But he recognized the name. The face. The files Jungkook had once left open on his desk - those rare moments when the younger alpha got too caught up reminiscing.

The only omega Jungkook ever looked at with softness in his eyes.

So Yoongi knew. This was that Kim Taehyung. And if Jungkook had been quiet and strange these past few weeks—if he'd kept watching Yoongi from the corner of his eye, fidgeting, distracted - it was probably because of this man. But even more than that, Yoongi could smell it now: the way Taehyung’s scent wrapped subtly around the door behind him.

Jimin’s room.

That’s how he knew.

Jungkook knew Jimin. And Taehyung - he was the friend. The only person Jimin had left. The alpha stepped closer, but Taehyung shifted, placing himself more firmly between Yoongi and the door, like a silent guard dog.

The message was clear: Don’t go in unless you mean it.

Yoongi didn’t flinch. He looked at Taehyung and nodded once - just enough to say, I understand. Taehyung didn’t return the gesture. He stepped aside anyway. And Yoongi moved past the threshold.

+++

“If the world had given us just one more second… maybe I would’ve said everything.”

+++

The door shut quietly behind him, the sterile click echoing louder than it should have.

And for a moment, Yoongi couldn’t move.

There he was.

Jimin.

So small, so pale. Swallowed by a mountain of sheets, machines, wires - his body wrapped in gauze and bruises like someone’s broken porcelain doll taped together by trembling hands. The sight hollowed Yoongi’s chest. His legs gave out before he even realized he was moving. The alpha sank to his knees beside the hospital bed, rough palms pressed to the cold linoleum floor, shoulders caving in as the storm inside him spilled out in silence.

He didn't sob.

He couldn't.

It was grief beyond sound.

“Jimin-ah…” His voice broke. “God… what did they do to you…?”

The omega didn’t stir.

Yoongi looked up, hand lifting halfway - then hesitating. He didn’t dare touch him. Not with the IVs buried in fragile arms. Not with the bandages on his temple. Not with the scent of blood still lingering like a curse in the air.

The monitors beeped steadily.

Too steadily.

Too mechanical for the boy who once trembled in his arms under cherry blossoms, whispered love into the shell of his ear, smiled so bright it made Yoongi forget the darkness in himself.

“I’m sorry…” Yoongi whispered, head bowing low beside the bed. “I should’ve found you sooner.”

He didn’t expect a response.

But still… he leaned closer.

Closer to the sleeping figure that haunted his dreams for years. The same figure his father had torn from his life with threats and cold-eyed warnings. The same one who, for the past three years, he had only been able to imagine - locked behind headlines and performance photos, a pretty ghost in a glass house.

“I thought I could protect you by staying away,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “But I was wrong, wasn’t I…?” He exhaled shakily. “I should’ve fought. I should’ve burned everything down for you.”

Jimin didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. But Yoongi reached up anyway - finally, finally - and let his fingertips ghost over the back of Jimin’s hand. Careful. Reverent. Terrified.

“I missed you every day.” And then, so quietly he almost didn’t hear himself. “I never stopped loving you.”

The monitors beeped on. The omega remained still. But Yoongi didn’t get up. He stayed there, on the cold hospital floor, beside the only person who had ever made him feel like he was something more than his surname. And he kept whispering.

Even if no one could hear him.

+++

“Some debts are carved not in gold, but in flesh and silence.”

+++

Yoongi stepped out of the room when the nurse quietly informed him they needed to change the bandages. He didn’t want to leave, but he also couldn’t bear to watch them strip gauze from wounds that should’ve never been there in the first place.

The hallway was too bright.

Too clean.

Too loud with echoes.

He rubbed a hand down his face, exhaustion catching up with him in ways even his wolf didn’t recognize anymore. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten. He’d only sat by Jimin’s side, eyes tracing each bruise like an old road map back to heartbreak.

He turned toward the vending machine at the far end of the corridor, thinking maybe he’d at least get water.

“Min Yoongi.”

The voice was sharp. Cold.

Too familiar.

Yoongi froze.

The alpha turned slowly, and the moment his eyes met those of Mr. and Mrs. Park, something inside him snapped awake. It wasn’t just anger. It was something ancient. Something primal. His inner alpha, usually quiet, almost civilized after years of restraint, growled inside his chest.

The couple stood together like a wall - expensive coats, designer shoes, the faintest trace of omega-suppressants on Jimin’s mother, and a bitter scent of wealth and ambition clinging to both of them.

“What are you doing here?” Mr. Park demanded.

Yoongi didn’t answer at first.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Mrs. Park’s lips curled into a bitter frown. “You’ve done enough damage. Get out.”

Yoongi’s jaw tensed.

“You don’t belong here,” Mr. Park added, taking a step closer, squaring his shoulders like he was still the kind of man who could intimidate others.

But Yoongi…

Yoongi didn’t flinch.

Not anymore.

Not for them.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” Yoongi murmured, voice low and dark. “Showing your faces here.”

Mrs. Park scoffed. “Watch your tone.”

“You should watch your son,” Yoongi shot back, finally moving. “But I suppose it’s a little late for that.”

Mr. Park bristled. “We told you to stay away. You disobeyed.”

“I obeyed,” Yoongi growled. “For years. I stayed away while you used him like a political pawn. I stayed away while you carved out everything soft in him and replaced it with nothing.”

His voice was shaking now.

With fury.

With grief.

“He’s in that bed because of you.”

Mrs. Park went pale.

Mr. Park stepped forward again. “You don’t know anything about our family.”

“I know enough,” Yoongi hissed, eyes burning with heat he didn’t bother to suppress anymore. “I know what he looked like when he loved freely. I know what it’s like to have him fall asleep beside me and hum in his sleep. I know the warmth in him before you killed it.”

Mrs. Park flinched.

The hallway had gone silent.

Even the nurses pretended not to hear.

“Leave,” Mr. Park snapped. “Or I’ll call security.”

Yoongi took a slow step forward, the air around him thick with power. “Do it. But I’ll still be here tomorrow. And the day after. Until he opens his eyes. And if you try to keep me from him again…” His eyes narrowed, black as a thundercloud. “I will bite.”

The elder couple went silent. Yoongi exhaled slowly, then turned away, shaking with restrained rage. He returned to Jimin’s room the moment the nurse waved him back in. And as he stepped inside again, the air changed - cool, still, but not lifeless. Because Jimin was still there. Still breathing. And Yoongi… Yoongi was never leaving again.

The door clicked softly behind him as he stepped back into the room. The moment it shut, the pressure that had been pressing into his chest - those sharp words, that poisonous history, the sheer audacity of Jimin’s parents - began to dissolve.

But the ache?

The ache didn’t leave.

Jimin was still there, lying too still, his pale form half-buried beneath white sheets and the steady rhythm of machines.

Yoongi walked closer, slower this time.

His hands trembled as he reached out but stopped just above Jimin’s wrist.

He didn’t dare touch him.

Not yet.

Instead, he dragged the visitor’s chair closer and sat down beside the bed with a quiet thud.

“…They were here,” he whispered, as if Jimin could hear him. “Your parents.”

He swallowed.

“They haven’t changed. Still arrogant. Still cruel. Still pretending they’re doing what’s best for you, when they don’t even see you.”

Yoongi looked down at Jimin’s face. Pale. Too pale. The kind of stillness that didn’t belong on someone like him.

Not the boy who used to laugh with his whole body.

Not the man who used to dance as if the world depended on it.

Yoongi shifted in the chair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of his mouth. “You should’ve told me,” he murmured. “That you were still hurting… that you never stopped hurting. I would’ve…”

He paused.

No lies.

No ‘what ifs.’

No could haves.

He let the silence stretch before speaking again.

“I’m sorry I let go of your hand back then. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting you by staying away.” A breath caught in his throat. “But you were alone.”

He looked at Jimin again.

“I can smell it now,” he said softly. “That emptiness. That hollow scent around you that your suppressants couldn’t cover. The scent of someone who’s been surviving, not living.”

He leaned forward, voice cracking.

“You don’t have to survive anymore, Jimin. Not alone.”

His fingers twitched again above the sheet, then finally, very gently, touched the back of Jimin’s hand.

Cold.

Still.

But there.

Yoongi’s touch was feather-light, as if the skin beneath his fingers might disappear if he dared to grip. “I don’t know if you’ll wake up. I don’t know what happens next.” He let his forehead fall against their joined hands. “But if you do - if you open your eyes - I’ll be here. Every damn day. I won’t run. I won’t listen to anyone else. Not again.”

His breath trembled.

“Come back to me, Jimin-ah. Please.”

The monitor beeped steadily.

The rain had softened outside, but the world still felt heavy.

Yoongi didn’t care.

He stayed.

He stayed even when the nurses offered to bring a blanket.

He stayed when visiting hours technically ended.

He stayed even as exhaustion crept in, curling into his spine.

Because leaving wasn’t an option anymore.

Not when Jimin was still breathing.

Not when there was a chance.

Even if it hurt.

Even if it killed him.

He would stay.

+++

“I will stay. Even if you don’t wake up. Even if you never speak again. I will stay.”

+++

Chapter Text

+++

“Sometimes the smallest flicker is enough to burn down the darkness you’ve been living in.”

+++

The first grey light of morning bled into the corners of Room 305, muted by the rain-streaked window. Yoongi had not moved from his chair. His back ached, his legs were stiff, but his hand was still wrapped around Jimin’s. Every so often, the alpha would glance at the monitors - not because he trusted machines to tell him how Jimin was, but because it reassured the staff that he was paying attention.

He was paying attention, just… to something else.

The way Jimin’s scent, though faint, had grown warmer through the night. The way his breathing now carried a rhythm instead of that fragile stutter. The subtle difference in the tension around his eyes. The change wasn’t dramatic, but it was there. And Yoongi had seen enough battles - physical and otherwise - to know that sometimes, survival hinged on the smallest shifts.

He wasn’t going to miss this one.

The door opened softly. A nurse entered with a chart in one hand and a tray balanced on the other. She hesitated when she saw him, as though trying to remember whether anyone had officially told her he could be here.

Yoongi met her gaze without flinching. “I’ll step out when you need to change anything,” he said.

She nodded once, adjusted an IV line, made a note, and left without further comment. The hallway noise followed her out - murmurs, the distant squeak of a gurney wheel - but the quiet reclaimed the room quickly.

It didn’t last.

“Still here?” The voice came from the doorway. Areum.

Yoongi didn’t turn right away. He tightened his hold on Jimin’s hand, his thumb sweeping once over the omega’s knuckles before finally facing her. “Yes.”

She stepped inside, her heels clicking softly against the tile, stopping at the foot of the bed. “You’re not his mate.”

Yoongi’s wolf pushed forward instantly, not with aggression, but with the unshakable certainty of mine. He kept his voice even. “No. But I’m the reason he’s not alone right now.”

Her eyes searched his face, something unreadable flickering there. She didn’t argue. She only said, “I have meetings. I’ll be back later.”

When she left, Yoongi let out a slow breath. The conversation hadn’t been a victory, but it was permission - enough for now.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the bed’s edge.

“You’re stuck with me, my moonbeam,” he murmured, voice so low it was almost a growl. “No one’s taking me out of this room.”

Outside, the rain still fell, soft against the glass, as Room 305 held its fragile peace.

It happened so subtly at first that Yoongi thought he imagined it.

He’d been sitting there for hours, tracing lazy, grounding circles over the back of Jimin’s hand with his thumb. Talking to him quietly when the silence became too loud. Telling him about the weather, the taste of Seokjin’s coffee, even muttering about how Jungkook drove too fast on wet roads.

Nothing important - just threads of his voice to anchor the omega somewhere in this world.

But then… there it was.

A faint, almost imperceptible twitch beneath Jimin’s lashes.

Yoongi froze, every sense sharpening. He didn’t dare speak this time, afraid the sound would spook whatever fragile thread was tugging Jimin back toward him. Instead, he leaned closer, watching.

Another flicker. His breath caught. The omega’s lashes fluttered once, twice, then stilled again. Yoongi’s heart thudded against his ribs hard enough to hurt.

“Jimin-ah…” The name was barely a whisper, his voice thick, as if dragged up from somewhere deep and unused.

No response.

He swallowed hard and reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from Jimin’s forehead. His fingers lingered, almost trembling against the cool, too-pale skin.

“You’re safe,” he murmured. “You’re in the hospital. I’m here.”

For a moment, he thought it was over - that he’d imagined it entirely - until Jimin’s eyelids fluttered again, this time with more effort. A sliver of dark, unfocused brown appeared, glassy with confusion.

Yoongi’s wolf surged forward so violently it almost stole his breath. His body wanted to pull Jimin up into his arms, scent-mark him until the whole world knew who he belonged to. But he forced himself to stay still.

“It’s alright,” he said, leaning close enough that his words were more felt than heard. “Don’t try to move yet. Just… stay with me.”

Jimin’s gaze didn’t fully focus, but Yoongi swore he saw recognition - like a candle trying to catch light - in the depths. His fingers twitched weakly in Yoongi’s hold, and that tiny, fragile movement nearly undid him.

He didn’t care that the monitors were beeping faster. He didn’t care that the nurse would probably rush in any second. All that mattered was that, for the first time in years, Park Jimin had found his way back to him, if only for a heartbeat.

Yoongi exhaled shakily, his thumb brushing over Jimin’s knuckles once more. “That’s it, my moonbeam… you’re doing so well. I’m not going anywhere.”

Outside, the rain eased to a drizzle, as if the world itself dared to breathe again.

The faint flicker in Jimin’s eyes was still burned into Yoongi’s mind when the soft creak of the door pulled him back. A nurse stepped inside, her eyes scanning the monitors before falling on the omega. She froze for half a second, then looked straight at Yoongi.

“His vitals are improving,” she murmured, her tone sharper now, almost urgent. “You should step outside so we can assess him—”

“I’m not leaving,” Yoongi said without looking away from Jimin. His voice was quiet, but it carried the kind of weight that stopped people in their tracks. The nurse hesitated, clearly torn between protocol and whatever invisible force Yoongi’s presence seemed to have in this room.

In the end, he did move - but only enough to take a single step back, his hand lingering on the bedrail for a moment longer before releasing it. “I’ll be right outside. Don’t make me wait.”

It wasn’t a request.

He slipped out into the corridor, jaw tight, and spotted Jungkook leaning casually against the wall, still exactly where Yoongi had last seen him. The younger alpha straightened instantly when their eyes met.

“Call Taehyung,” Yoongi said.

Jungkook’s brows pulled together. “Now?”

“Yes. Tell him Jimin’s waking up.”

For a moment, the younger’s eyes flickered with something unreadable - hesitation, maybe - but he gave a short nod. “Alright.”

Satisfied, Yoongi pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled to the number Areum had given him the night before. He typed quickly: He’s waking.

The alpha didn’t wait for a reply before sliding the phone back into his pocket. His heart was still hammering, his wolf still pacing restlessly inside him, demanding he get back into that room. He was halfway to the door when movement down the hallway caught his attention - fast, purposeful strides. His gaze sharpened, every muscle in his body locking tight.

His parents.

And beside them, walking in perfect sync, was Hyejin.

Her perfectly styled hair hadn’t moved an inch despite the brisk pace, her face a mask of polite concern that didn’t fool him for a second.

The low growl that built in his chest was nearly inaudible, but it vibrated through him all the same. His inner wolf bristled, tail high and teeth bared, every instinct screaming that they didn’t belong here - not now, not anywhere near Jimin. By the time they reached him, Yoongi’s eyes had cooled to something dangerous.

They stood like a blockade in the corridor - three figures who had dictated too much of his life. Min Hyun-sik’s posture was a perfect portrait of power and disdain, his dark eyes calculating. Min Ha-eun wore elegance like armor, but Yoongi knew the steel beneath it. And Hyejin… her scent was too sweet, too deliberate, like she wanted to mask the stench of manipulation clinging to her.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Hyun-sik said at last, voice crisp, like he was delivering a business verdict.

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed. “Neither should you.”

His father’s jaw flexed. “Your place is with your fiancée, not… here. Not with him.” His voice dripped with the unspoken insult.

“Careful,” Yoongi warned. His wolf bristled under his skin, muscles coiled. “You don’t get to talk about him like that.”

“This isn’t about him,” his father countered. “This is about you disgracing yourself - disgracing us - by being seen here. You’re engaged now. Every step you take is under scrutiny. The Min family name—”

“—means nothing to me,” Yoongi cut in, voice sharp enough to draw startled looks from a passing nurse. “Do you really think I care about the Min name more than I care about him?”

Min Ha-eun’s lips thinned. “You’re letting emotions dictate—”

“My life?” Yoongi snapped, stepping forward. The space between them shrank. His father’s scent stiffened, braced for the challenge, but Yoongi didn’t back down. “Do you even hear yourselves? I’m not here for a scandal. I’m here because he nearly died. But you wouldn’t understand that, would you? You’ve spent years making sure I forget what it’s like to feel anything.”

“Don’t twist this, Yoongi,” his father said, voice low but brimming with anger. “We protected you. We—”

“You threatened him.” The words were a growl. “Don’t pretend you didn’t. You think I forgot that night? The last time I saw him, the only reason I walked away was because you made me believe you’d destroy him if I didn’t.”

Hyun-sik’s nostrils flared - not with denial, but with a warning. The same kind of warning that had caged Yoongi for years.

Hyejin’s soft, rehearsed voice floated in. “Yoongi, maybe we can talk about this later—”

He turned to her slowly, his glare freezing her mid-sentence. “Don’t. You don’t know a thing about this, and you don’t want to.”

His father’s tone hardened further. “If you walk back into that room, you will drag us all through the gutter. Is that what you want? Is that the legacy you want tied to your name?”

Yoongi’s reply was steady, cold, and final. “I’d rather have my name in the gutter than live one more day with the stain of abandoning him again.”

For the first time, Hyun-sik’s composure cracked - a twitch in his brow, the faintest hitch in his breath. His mother’s gaze darted away, almost like she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes.

Yoongi leaned in just enough for his voice to be a quiet, lethal promise. “If you try to take this from me again, I will burn every bridge and every deal you’ve ever built. You won’t just lose your heir - you’ll lose me entirely.”

The air between them was suffocating, thick with dominance and decades of unspoken resentment. And then the young alpha stepped back, turning his shoulder to them in dismissal. Without another glance, he walked to Room 305, shoved the door open, and let it slam shut behind him - leaving his parents and fiancée staring after him in the sterile hallway.

Yoongi’s pulse was still hammering when he shoved the door to Room 305 open.
His palms were tight fists, shoulders coiled with the same heat that had been boiling in him since he first saw them. Their voices clung to him like smoke - the threats, the old wounds they thought time had buried.

But then he looked at the bed. And just like that, all of it - the anger, the fire, the ache in his knuckles from clenching them too hard - unraveled. Jimin lay there, pale but breathing, the steady rhythm of the heart monitor replacing the echo of his father’s voice. His lashes trembled faintly, like the remnants of a dream still clinging to him. Even bandaged, even bruised, he was still… Jimin.

Yoongi’s chest tightened, not with rage this time, but with something rawer, something older.
He crossed the room in slow, deliberate steps, afraid that moving too fast might shatter the fragile peace in here. The door clicked shut behind him, muffling the outside world.

He sat back down in the chair he had claimed over the past hours, dragging it close to the bed until his knees brushed the mattress. For a long moment, he just looked at him - memorizing every rise and fall of Jimin’s chest, the faint color returning to his cheeks.

The alpha in him quieted, curling down from its restless prowl. His wolf didn’t care about family names or politics. It only cared that its omega was here, alive.

Yoongi leaned forward, resting his forearms on the mattress. His fingers inched toward Jimin’s, hesitating just before touching, afraid of hurting him. But he couldn’t help himself - the tips of his fingers brushed against the back of Jimin’s hand, light enough not to disturb a single wire or bandage.

The contact was almost nothing… yet it grounded him.

“I’m here,” he murmured, voice low, as if speaking too loudly might scare him away. “And I’m not leaving you again.”

For a moment, he thought he imagined it - but then, ever so faintly, Jimin’s fingers twitched under his own. The tension in Yoongi’s spine eased another fraction. His breath left him in a slow exhale, and he stayed there, holding on to that small proof that Jimin was still reaching for him… even unconsciously.

He would face his parents again. He would deal with Hyejin. He would walk through fire if it meant keeping this hand warm in his. But for now, he just sat there, eyes on Jimin’s face, letting the storm outside and in his veins finally quiet.

+++

“Sometimes, waking up hurts more than the fall.”

+++

Pain came first. Not sharp - not yet - but a deep, dragging weight that seemed to pull at every bone in his body. The kind of pain that made him feel too heavy for his own skin. Jimin drifted in that murky place between sleep and waking, where sound was distorted, as though the world spoke to him from the other side of a tunnel. Muffled beeps, the distant shuffle of feet, the low hum of air-conditioning.

And then… A thread of something warm. Familiar. Impossible.

He stilled.

It was faint, like an old memory stirring from the back of his mind, but it hit him with such force his breath caught. Sandalwood. Dry, steady, grounding sandalwood, threaded with the kind of quiet power that once made his knees weak. His heart thudded painfully against his ribs.

No. That wasn’t possible.

The thought was almost bitter. His parents had made sure of that five years ago. Their “treatment” had gutted him - stolen away his connection to his own omega, left him hollow in a place where there should have been instinct. He didn’t scent things like that anymore. He wasn’t supposed to.

But there it was. Seeping in. Curling around the edges of his mind like smoke.

In his half-asleep haze, Jimin almost let himself believe it. He didn’t want to open his eyes and have it vanish.

Then…

“...Jimin-ah…”

His name. Spoken low. Gravelly. Shaking, as if the voice was holding back too much.

He knew that voice. He knew it in his bones. His chest tightened until it hurt. He wanted to call out, but his lips barely moved. Other voices joined in - brisk, professional. Nurses. Doctors. The shift in the air told him they were closer now, hands on him, adjusting something near his arm. He felt the tug of tape against skin, the cool sting of antiseptic. Someone murmured about his vitals.

The voice came again, closer this time, almost over his head. He could hear the tremor in it now.

Yoongi.

It couldn’t be. It shouldn’t be.

But…

Reality crashed into him like ice water. His eyes flew open, only to squint against the sterile white light above. The room swam into view slowly, every shape too bright, too sharp. The scent was still there. And so was he.

And with that came the memory…

Rain. The storm. The wheel slipping under his fingers. The blinding glare of headlights. Metal screaming. His own voice - no, not a voice, just a cry - before everything went black.

He was alive. And for some reason, that thought didn’t bring relief. It brought heat to his eyes, a tight, breaking pressure in his throat. He had survived. And it hurt.

Tears slid down his temples into his hair, silent at first, until his breath started to tremble and he couldn’t stop it. He turned his face away from the light, away from everyone, curling in as much as his battered body allowed. The monitors picked up the stutter in his heartbeat, the change in his breathing. Someone spoke his name again, more urgently this time. He didn’t answer.

Because surviving meant the pain was still here. And right now, it felt like it would never leave.

The haze pulled at him like deep water, heavy and stubborn, but the sound cut through it again - voices. Low, murmuring, some brisk and businesslike. He couldn’t make out the words at first, only the rise and fall of tone.

And then…

That scent.

Sandalwood. Warm, steady, grounding. Too vivid to be memory, too close to be a dream. It wrapped around him before he could think, threading into the edges of his consciousness until it was the only thing he could focus on.

His chest tightened. No. No, this wasn’t possible.

Because that part of him - the part that could recognize an alpha’s scent and feel something in return - didn’t exist anymore. His parents had made sure of that. They’d ripped it from him, buried it, drowned it in treatment after treatment until he couldn’t feel anything except the quiet, numb static that had become his life.

His inner omega was gone. Wasn’t it?

But under his skin, something moved. A flicker. A restless stirring he hadn’t felt in years, like the faintest brush of fur against bone. His breath caught.

No.

It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

“...Jimin-ah.”

That voice again.

Deeper now. Closer. The faint scrape of breath as though the speaker was leaning toward him, coaxing him from the darkness.

His name wasn’t just spoken - it was called. Not loud, but raw, weighted with a pull he didn’t know how to resist. He tried to cling to the darkness, to stay where it was safe, but the sound found him anyway. His pulse betrayed him, skipping in a way that made the monitor above his head chirp.

“Come on,” the voice murmured, softer this time, and there was something in it that made his throat ache. “Open your eyes for me… just once. Please.”

Yoongi.

He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew. The syllables of his own name carried that same cadence they used to, quiet but demanding, as if Yoongi had all the time in the world but refused to waste a second.

Jimin’s lashes fluttered. His body felt heavy, clumsy, but he could feel that scent wrapping tighter around him now  -  not imagined, not a phantom, but here. It was enough to make that restless flicker under his skin push harder, pressing against the walls he’d built over years of silence. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Jimin was afraid to open his eyes…
Because if Yoongi was really here, he didn’t know if he could bear it.

The weight on his chest grew heavier, but it wasn’t pain - it was the pressure of that voice, that scent, that impossible closeness. It pulled at him like gravity, and for all his fear, he realized he was leaning toward it, reaching without moving at all. His lashes trembled again, the light beyond them searing after so long in the dark. He forced them open, just a fraction, and the blur of white ceiling swam above him. His vision caught on a shadow, a shape leaning over the bed, still and waiting.

And then…

The blur sharpened.

Dark eyes. Not just dark - him.

Yoongi.

The years fell away in an instant, crashing into him all at once - the warmth, the pull, the ache of what they had been, and the emptiness of what they had lost. Time hadn’t dulled the sharp edges; it had only buried them deeper. Now they cut just the same.

Jimin’s throat tightened. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a ragged breath. He wasn’t ready for the way Yoongi was looking at him - like he was both a miracle and a wound.

“Hey…” Yoongi’s voice was almost a whisper, low and rough as if scraped raw. “There you are.”

There was no relief in the words, not entirely. It was too tangled with something else - something heavier, older, almost desperate.

Jimin’s lips parted, but nothing came. His eyes burned, and the only thing keeping the tears from falling was the way Yoongi’s gaze pinned him in place. The alpha didn’t move, didn’t touch him. But the air between them was alive, humming with everything unsaid. Jimin could feel his inner wolf pushing harder now, clawing at the surface as if it recognized something his mind still refused to admit.

For a long, suspended moment, neither of them looked away. The beeping of the monitor faded into the background, the sterile smell of the room drowned out by sandalwood and the faintest hint of rain clinging to Yoongi’s clothes.

Jimin’s chest rose and fell faster, and he realized too late that the tears were slipping free anyway, streaking hot across his temples. Yoongi’s jaw clenched, his own eyes glinting with something dangerous and vulnerable all at once. He leaned in just enough for his shadow to fall across Jimin’s face, voice barely more than breath.

“I lost you once… and I’ll burn the world before I let it happen again.”

The words hit him like a storm breaking over his head, rattling every fragile wall he had built inside himself over the past five years.

I lost you once… and I’ll burn the world before I let it happen again.

They shouldn’t have meant anything anymore. Not after everything. Not after the silence, the absence, the way the universe had torn them apart and left him bleeding in ways no one could see.

But they did. God, they did.

He could feel it in the way his chest ached, in the way his pulse tripped over itself, in the way his body - traitorous, broken - leaned toward him as if even now it still knew where it belonged.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Yoongi could still make him feel like this. That even after the years, after the ruin of their story, Jimin’s soul still recognized him - like a scar remembering the wound.

He wanted to speak, to tell him to go, to tell him to stay, to tell him anything. But his voice wouldn’t come. All that rose was a sound caught between a sob and a sigh.

Yoongi didn’t move. He didn’t touch him. But his presence wrapped around Jimin like a second skin, suffocating and safe all at once. The air felt too thick, his heart too loud. And then, for just a second, Jimin let himself close his eyes - not to shut Yoongi out, but because he was afraid that if he kept looking at him, all the pieces he’d been holding together would finally break.

In the darkness behind his eyelids, the scent of sandalwood was stronger. His wolf shifted under his skin, restless, almost… hopeful.

That was when it hit him - the cruelest truth of all.

He wasn’t ready for this.

He wasn’t ready for him.

But part of him, buried deep where no one could touch it, had never stopped waiting.

The tears slipped hot and silent down his cheeks, his lips trembling as he whispered so quietly it might not have been real at all.

“Why did you come back now?”

+++

“Some voices never stop echoing inside you.”

+++

Chapter Text

+++

“Sometimes the cruelest thing the universe does is give back what you’ve already learned to live without.”

+++

The words shattered him. Not because they were harsh, but because they were true.

“Why did you come back now?”

Yoongi’s chest constricted, every instinct in his body urging him closer, urging him to close the impossible distance between them. But he couldn’t. Not when Jimin’s voice had cracked like that, not when the tears streaked down his cheeks with a fragility Yoongi had never been allowed to see before.

The alpha inside him - the wolf that had lain silent and half-dead since the day Jimin was ripped from his side - was awake now, clawing at the edges of his restraint. It wanted to snarl, to howl, to bite the world for daring to hurt their omega like this. But Yoongi didn’t. He forced himself to remain still, kneeling by the bed as if chained, his hand trembling inches from Jimin’s.

“Because I didn’t know where else to go,” he admitted at last, his voice low, almost broken. “Because the moment I heard your name, the moment I smelled blood on the air, something in me,” his throat closed, the words burning, “something in me knew I’d already lost you once. And I can’t… I won’t… let it happen again.”

Jimin’s eyes - glassy, wide, unbearably beautiful - searched his face. For what, Yoongi didn’t know. Anger? Lies? Redemption? Whatever it was, he was terrified he didn’t have it to give.

His fingers brushed against the edge of the blanket, aching to reach for him. To touch. To prove with his hands what his words never could. But he didn’t dare, not yet.

“Jiminie,” he whispered, his voice breaking open in ways it never did, not even before his parents, not even before Hyejin. “I’m sorry. For everything I couldn’t stop. For everything I wasn’t strong enough to protect. For every night I chose silence instead of burning down the world to get to you.”

The monitors hummed steadily, indifferent witnesses to his unraveling. Yoongi bowed his head, shoulders trembling, every piece of armor he had spent years building reduced to nothing by the sight of the man he loved - alive, but so painfully fragile. And still, even through the grief, the fury, the guilt, his wolf whispered one single truth in his blood:

Mate.

For a long, suffocating moment, there was only silence between them. Yoongi’s pulse thundered in his ears, his whole body taut, waiting, begging for something - anything - from the man in front of him.

Then, at last, Jimin’s lips parted. His voice came soft, cracked, uncertain. “You… shouldn’t be here.”

The words pierced, clean and merciless. Jimin’s gaze flickered, never holding Yoongi’s for too long, as if the weight of it was too much. His body was rigid, every muscle coiled tight, like a wolf who had forgotten what safety felt like.

Yoongi swallowed hard, fighting the urge to reach out again. He could feel it, even without touching - the way Jimin’s inner wolf stirred beneath his skin. But it was muffled, fragile, like something that had been pressed under glass for years. Suppressed. Controlled.

Dormant.

The realization hit him like a blade. He had heard whispers once, rumors about treatments that families used to quiet unruly omegas, to sever instincts they found inconvenient. Back then, Yoongi never believed Jimin’s parents could be so cruel. Now, looking at him - alive but dimmed, breathing but fractured - guilt twisted into something sharp in his chest.

“I shouldn’t be here?” Yoongi’s voice was low, hoarse, but steady. “Maybe not. But I am. And I’m not leaving you again, Jimin. Not this time.”

Jimin flinched — barely, but Yoongi saw it. His lips trembled as he whispered, “Don’t say things like that. Not when you don’t mean them. Not when I can’t—” He stopped, his throat working as if the rest of the sentence lodged there like glass.

Yoongi leaned closer, unable to help himself now. His hand hovered over Jimin’s arm, not touching, just close enough for the warmth to bridge the gap. “I mean every word,” he said, softer now, almost pleading. “I see what they did to you. I feel it. And I should have been there to stop it. I should have burned down the world the moment they took you from me.”

Jimin’s eyes glistened, guarded but unbearably vulnerable. He finally met Yoongi’s gaze fully, and for the first time since opening them, he didn’t look away. His breath shuddered.

“You’re too late,” he whispered, though his voice broke in the middle, betraying him.

The words sliced deeper than any blade could. Yoongi’s throat tightened, but he forced himself not to flinch, not to recoil as Jimin’s eyes flickered with hurt that still lived raw beneath the surface.

“I know,” Yoongi whispered, his voice breaking with truth. “I should’ve torn down everything that stood between us. I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve—” He stopped, his chest heaving as his hand clenched around air, the wolf inside him clawing at his ribs. “I let them win. I let them take you, and I let them break you. And I’ll never forgive myself for it.”

Jimin’s jaw tightened. His lips parted, then pressed shut again as though he was swallowing down words too dangerous to let loose. His hands trembled faintly where they rested on the sheets, and Yoongi’s wolf howled to cover them with his own - to still them, to soothe them. But Jimin’s guarded gaze warned him off.

“You think saying that makes a difference?” Jimin murmured. His voice was soft, but beneath the fragile surface there was steel. “Five years, Yoongi. Five years where I had to survive on my own, where they decided who I was, what I was allowed to feel… while you were…” He stopped again, his eyes darting away, as if finishing the thought would hurt too much.

Yoongi’s chest burned, but he refused to let the words slip past. “While I was dying without you,” he said instead, his tone stripped bare. “I wasn’t living, Jimin-ah. I wasn’t anything. My parents, their deals, their expectations - none of it meant a damn thing without you.”

Jimin blinked hard, the faintest shimmer of tears threatening his lashes before he shut them tight. “Stop,” he whispered, breath shaky. “Don’t say things I can’t afford to believe in. I’m not… I can’t…”

Yoongi leaned forward, his voice low, almost trembling. “Then let me prove it. Don’t believe me yet. Just… let me stay. Let me be here. Even if it’s only as someone who refuses to leave you again.”

Jimin’s eyes opened slowly, meeting his. Guarded still, fragile still, but there was something else flickering there - something Yoongi’s wolf recognized like an old scar aching in the rain.

And then the door clicked open.

The sterile hush of the room broke as nurses entered, their presence brisk but professional. They moved to the machines, their voices gentle but firm as they explained they needed to change Jimin’s bandages. Yoongi pulled back reluctantly, giving them space, his gaze never leaving Jimin’s face. But then he froze.

Because behind them, stepping quietly into the room, was Areum.

Her eyes swept the space, pausing briefly on Yoongi, something unreadable - not hostility, not warmth, but something steadier - before softening as they landed on her husband. Yoongi’s chest constricted. The wolf in him bristled, possessive, protective, but the man forced himself still. This wasn’t his right. And yet, it felt like it was. The air grew taut, charged with everything left unsaid.

The room was quiet again once the nurses slipped out, leaving behind only the steady beep of monitors and the faint hiss of oxygen. Yoongi stood at Jimin’s bedside, his hand hovering but not touching, the wolf inside him pacing, restless.

And then Areum’s voice cut the silence.

“I should explain,” she said softly, though her tone carried weight. She stood at the foot of the bed, hands folded neatly in front of her, her gaze moving from Jimin to Yoongi and back again. There was no malice in her eyes - but there was no softness either.

Yoongi turned to her slowly, his spine tense, ready for a battle he had no right to fight. But she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at Jimin.

“At the beginning,” she began, her voice even, “I wanted it to work. I wanted our marriage to mean something, Jimin. I thought if I gave it everything, if I was patient, if I was careful enough, maybe… maybe I could make you happy.”

Yoongi’s chest tightened. Jimin’s eyes flickered, guarded but glistening, his lips parting only to press shut again.

Areum’s shoulders lifted with a faint sigh. “But I was wrong. There was always someone else standing in the space between us. A shadow I could never reach past.”

Her gaze shifted then - directly onto Yoongi. And for a moment, he nearly faltered. Because her eyes didn’t hold blame. They held understanding. Resentment, maybe. But not hatred.

“I didn’t know the truth, not at first,” she continued, turning back to Jimin. “But when I found out what happened between you and him - how it ended - I still told myself I could be enough. That I could rewrite the ending for you.” Her voice trembled, just faintly, but steadied again. “But love doesn’t work that way, does it? You can’t fill an empty place with the wrong shape.”

Yoongi’s throat constricted. Every word pressed against his chest like a stone.

“And so,” she said more quietly now, a finality lacing her tone, “I stopped trying. Because I realized… I couldn’t give you what you needed. What you had lost. I found someone else. An omega who gave me the warmth I wanted, and who wanted me back. We’ve built something real together. Something honest. Not… not whatever this was.”

Jimin’s breath hitched, but he didn’t look away. Yoongi did, his gaze dropping to the floor, his fists tight at his sides. Guilt burned in him - guilt for what had been stolen from them, guilt for what Jimin had endured, guilt even for the strange relief threading through his veins at Areum’s confession.

Because she was right.

She could never be what Jimin needed.

Only he could.

The silence stretched, heavy and trembling, the three of them caught in a fragile triangle of truth.

+++

“Some truths don’t break you. They only remind you how broken you already were.”

+++

He didn’t look shocked.

How could he, when none of this was new to him?

His eyes followed Areum as she spoke, her words careful and honest, but they slid over him like rain on glass. He had known. He had known about the omega who warmed her nights, who gave her the affection she stopped asking from him long ago. It wasn’t betrayal - not really. More like inevitability.

And he hadn’t cared.

Not then. Not now.

Because he wasn’t interested. He wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t even angry. All he felt was the ache of emptiness spreading through his chest like a shadow, the reminder that he had never been chosen. Not fully. Not freely. Not by her, not by anyone.

He blinked, his lashes heavy, and for a moment thought he could almost feel something stir under his skin - the faintest echo of his inner omega, clawing weakly at the walls of the cage where it had been trapped for years. It was too faint to grasp, too smothered to name. The haze of medication and years of dormancy had dulled it to the point of silence.

So when Areum’s confession hung in the air, Jimin didn’t flinch. Didn’t fight. Didn’t even sigh.

He only felt alone.

The kind of alone that no ring could fix, no promise could fill, no substitute could soothe.

His gaze wandered then, almost unwillingly, to the other figure in the room. Yoongi. Standing stiff and silent, his eyes burning with something Jimin couldn’t read, something he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

And yet… when Jimin’s chest tightened with that crushing loneliness, it wasn’t Areum’s presence that made it ease, even slightly.

It was his.

Yoongi.

The one person he had been told he should never need. The one person whose absence had carved this hollow into him in the first place.

Areum’s voice faded into silence. For a moment, the only sound was the steady beep of the monitors by his bed. Jimin’s throat felt dry, but the words clawed up anyway.

“I know,” he murmured.

Areum blinked, startled. “You… what?”

“I know about her,” Jimin said more clearly this time, though his voice was still rough, half-asleep, half-alive. He shifted weakly against the pillows, his eyes not quite meeting hers. “I’ve known for a while.”

There was a pause - long, uncomfortable. Areum’s lips parted, but she didn’t seem to know how to respond.

“I’ve kinds… figured you do… And you don’t care?” she asked at last, the faintest edge of defensiveness creeping in.

Jimin let out something between a sigh and a laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Care?” His eyes flickered to hers, empty, tired. “No. I stopped caring a long time ago.”

The words hung heavy in the room.

Yoongi shifted, but didn’t speak. Jimin could feel his gaze like a weight pressing against his skin, hot and unbearably present.

Areum looked away first, her shoulders tight. “I thought - I thought maybe you’d fight for me. Or at least for us.”

“There was never an ‘us,’” Jimin whispered. His voice cracked then, not with anger, but with exhaustion. He swallowed, his eyes slipping shut for a moment. “You wanted me to play a part. I tried. But I was always alone.”

The room felt too still. Jimin’s eyes opened again, and for a moment, against his better judgment, they found Yoongi’s.

“You left me alone too,” he said quietly. Not an accusation, not even a question. Just a fact spoken out loud, fragile and broken.

Yoongi flinched.

“I don’t know why you’re here,” Jimin added, his tone guarded, trembling at the edges. His hand twitched against the blanket as if he wanted to curl into himself. “But it hurts. It hurts to smell you again. To hear you. It feels like…” His voice caught, and he shook his head. “It feels like I’m losing something I never even had.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. Yoongi’s alpha scent rippled, restrained but trembling at the edges, and Areum looked between them with something unreadable on her face — guilt, maybe, or resignation.

Jimin turned his gaze to the ceiling then, refusing to look at either of them. “I’m tired,” he said, softer now. “I just… I just want to rest.”

The words had left his mouth and settled like ash in the room. He thought it would end there - thought Yoongi would take the hint and leave like he always had before. That was how it went, wasn’t it? People left.

But Yoongi didn’t move.

Instead, he stepped closer. The chair scraped softly against the floor as he sank into it again, right at Jimin’s bedside. His hand came to rest on the edge of the mattress, not touching him, but close enough that Jimin felt the heat of it, felt his body ache with an unwanted familiarity.

“No,” Yoongi said, voice low but firm. “I told you. I’m not leaving this time.”

Jimin’s throat closed. He turned his face away, staring at the ceiling as though it could shield him. “You don’t get to say that,” he whispered. “Not after…” He stopped, breath hitching, because the memories hurt too much.

“I know,” Yoongi said quickly, almost desperate. “I know what I did. What I didn’t do. I should have fought harder. I should have--” He cut himself off, exhaling shakily. “But I’m here now. And I’m not walking away again.”

Something hot burned behind Jimin’s eyes. Anger? Sadness? He couldn’t tell. It all blurred together, dizzying. “Don’t,” he said, sharper now. His voice cracked, but his words cut anyway. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Don’t stand there and pretend…”

“I’m not pretending.”

The interruption startled him. Jimin blinked, finally turning his head just enough to look at Yoongi. The alpha’s eyes were raw, dark with something that looked too much like pain.

“I’m not pretending,” Yoongi repeated, softer this time. “You can push me, scream at me, tell me you don’t want me here - I’ll take it. But I’m not leaving you. Not now.”

The sound of it cracked something inside Jimin. His chest felt too tight, his breath shallow. His body wanted to lean into that voice, into that scent — sandalwood, steady and grounding - but his mind recoiled. His dormant omega stirred faintly, confused, hungry, wanting what Jimin had denied it for years.

“You don’t understand,” Jimin whispered, broken. “I can’t… I can’t do this again.”

Yoongi leaned forward, his hand twitching like he wanted to reach for Jimin but forcing himself not to. “Then don’t,” he said. “Don’t do anything. Just breathe. Just stay here. I’ll do the rest.”

Jimin shut his eyes, a single tear sliding down his cheek. He hated how much he wanted to believe him. Hated how the warmth of Yoongi’s voice dug past every wall he had built.

“Please,” Jimin whispered, though he wasn’t sure if it was a plea for Yoongi to stay, or to go.

Yoongi’s hand finally brushed against the blanket by Jimin’s fingers, the faintest touch, hesitant but there. “I’m here,” he said simply. “Even if you hate me for it. I’m here.”

And… Jimin didn’t have the strength to push him away.

+++

“Sometimes loneliness isn’t about being left behind. It’s about realizing no one was ever walking beside you.”

+++

The silence after his words was taut, a string pulled so tight it could snap at the slightest touch. He didn’t look at Areum, not at first. His whole focus was on Jimin - pale, trembling, yet still here, still breathing. For that alone, Yoongi refused to move.

Then Areum’s voice cut through. Steady, not unkind, but sharp enough to leave no doubt. “If that’s how it’s going to be… then I’ll file for divorce, Jimin.”

Yoongi didn’t even flinch. His chest tightened, yes, but his focus was locked on Jimin - his weak breathing, his guarded eyes. Divorce was inevitable, and maybe it was mercy, but hearing it spoken aloud inside this room made every scar between them ache.

And then the door slammed open.

“Yoongi!”

Hyejin’s voice. His fiancée.

She stormed in like she owned the place, fury in every step, her perfume cutting through the sterile air. But before her sharp tongue could strike, before his rational mind could form a reply - his wolf moved first.

A guttural snarl ripped free, unrestrained. His muscles coiled, pulling him instinctively in front of Jimin’s bed. The sound was savage, raw, the kind of warning no one in their right mind would ignore. He felt his fangs press against his gums, his scent spilling heavy into the room - sharp sandalwood, dominance, a territorial wall.

And beside him - another snarl.

Areum.

Her alpha instincts detonated in full force, her voice vibrating low and deadly as she stepped up, shoulder nearly brushing his. The clash of their scents thickened the air, two alphas standing as one barrier, daring anyone to come closer.

Hyejin froze, just for a breath, her eyes darting between them.

“What the hell is this?” she spat, her face twisting with fury. “You… protecting him? With her?”

Yoongi’s wolf only pushed harder, demanding she retreat. The sound in his throat grew louder, sharper, as his entire being roared the truth: No one threatens him. Not again.

Areum’s eyes didn’t leave Hyejin. She radiated control, but her dominance was undeniable. “You need to leave,” she said coldly. “Now. You’re not welcome here.”

For a heartbeat, Yoongi saw it - Hyejin faltering, cornered under the weight of two alphas. But then her mask snapped back in place, her glare vicious.

“This isn’t over,” she hissed.

Yoongi didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe until she finally turned on her heel and stormed out, the slam of the door leaving only silence in her wake.

But the silence wasn’t empty. It was thick with the shared growl still humming in his chest - and the strange, reluctant acknowledgment that he and Areum, for this one moment, had stood on the same side.

The echo of the slammed door still rattled through the sterile walls, but Yoongi didn’t relax. His scent still poured heavy into the room, dominance crackling off him in waves that left no room for argument. Areum hadn’t moved either, but when his gaze finally cut to her, he saw the truth in her posture.

Her alpha stood strong, yes - but his wolf was stronger. Always had been. Always would be. And she knew it. Her chest rose once, sharply, before she lowered her eyes and bowed her head ever so slightly. Submission. Acceptance. It was brief, but it was real - an acknowledgment not just of rank but of the fact that this fight wasn’t hers to win. Not against him. Not when it came to Jimin.

Yoongi’s muscles eased, just enough to let air return to his lungs. His inner alpha still bristled, still wanted to bare its teeth, but it relented when it sensed Areum’s shift. She wasn’t the enemy. Not in this moment.

“If you truly want him this time,” Areum’s voice broke the silence, lower now, calmer but edged with steel, “then prove it. Not with words. Not with your name. With actions. Protect him. Stay. Don’t vanish when it matters.”

Her words struck deeper than he wanted to admit. His guilt already weighed like chains around his chest, and hearing her echo his own unspoken vow only tightened them.

Before he could answer - before the storm in him could settle - a sound pulled his attention.

Soft. Fragile.

Jimin.

Yoongi’s head whipped toward the bed. He froze.

The omega was stirring, his lashes trembling against pale cheeks. His scent - faint, so faint it almost wasn’t there - quivered in the air. Not the muted void Yoongi had grown used to, but something fragile breaking through, like the first crack in long-forgotten ice.

And beneath it… his wolf recognized the call.

Jimin’s inner omega, dormant for years, was reaching out - confused, weak, but searching. Searching for him. For his alpha.

Yoongi’s breath caught, his hands clenching at his sides as the urge nearly toppled him forward. His wolf howled in silent triumph, desperate to answer, to gather the omega close and make the bond whole again. But he forced himself still, jaw tight, afraid of breaking the fragile moment with too much force.

All he could do was stand there, burning with the need to respond, while Jimin’s eyes fluttered open — blue glinting just for an instant, before fading back to guarded brown.

The sight gutted him.

Even broken, even half-asleep… his omega is calling for me.

+++

“When a wolf bares its teeth, it is not always for war — sometimes, it is to shield what it cannot bear to lose.”

+++

Chapter Text

+++

“To protect what’s mine, I must first break what was never meant for me.”

+++

The decision weighed on him like iron, but he’d already made it. The engagement was a chain around his throat - one he’d accepted out of duty, out of exhaustion, out of years of letting his parents dictate his life. But now, with Jimin lying in the hospital bed behind him, fragile yet breathing, Yoongi couldn’t stomach another day of pretending.

If he wanted to stand at Jimin’s side, truly stand there, he had to sever the chain.

He lingered by the door of Room 305, glancing back once more. Jimin was still asleep, his breaths shallow but steady. The steady beep of the monitors gave Yoongi a cruel kind of comfort - fragile life, tethered to machines, but still there. Still his.

A sound behind him made him turn. Taehyung was already there, arms folded, gaze wary. The young omega had been quiet around him until now, but Yoongi could feel the weight of his protectiveness radiating like a wall.

“You’re leaving?” Taehyung asked bluntly, his tone edged but not hostile.

Yoongi straightened. “Only for a while. I need to handle something.”

The omega didn’t move, his eyes narrowing. “He shouldn’t be alone. Not now.”

“I know.” Yoongi’s voice softened, surprising even himself. He paused, then admitted, “That’s why I’m asking you to stay with him. Watch over him until I come back.”

Taehyung’s arms tightened across his chest. He was silent for a long moment, as if weighing whether to trust Yoongi with something so precious. Yoongi didn’t push. He understood. If their positions were reversed, he wouldn’t trust anyone either.

Finally, Taehyung asked, “Where are you going?”

The alpha exhaled slowly. “To end something that should’ve never begun. My engagement.”

Taehyung’s eyes widened just slightly, but he didn’t argue. The sharp edge in his stance softened. He glanced past Yoongi, toward Jimin’s bed, and for the first time that day, the omega’s posture eased into something almost approving.

“Then go,” Taehyung said quietly, turning toward the bed. “I’ll stay.”

Yoongi inclined his head once, an acknowledgment. His wolf still bristled at leaving Jimin behind, but this was something he couldn’t avoid. Not anymore. Not if he wanted to prove - to Jimin, to himself - that he was serious. And so, for the first time in years, Yoongi walked out not because he was forced to, but because he chose to break free.

The restaurant where Hyejin had asked to meet was quiet, far too quiet for the storm brewing in his chest. He arrived with Jungkook waiting in the car, because this wasn’t a matter of security and he didn’t have the meaning to stay for long. It was a matter of freedom. She was already seated, perfect as always. A designer dress draped flawlessly over her frame, her hair styled with clinical precision, her every movement rehearsed like a performance. Even the smile she offered him as he sat down was polished - cold elegance masquerading as warmth.

“You’re late,” she said softly, a rebuke dressed in silk.

“I wasn’t planning on coming at all,” Yoongi replied, his voice flat.

Her eyes narrowed a fraction, but she tilted her chin gracefully, as if dismissing his words as a joke. “Well, you’re here now. That’s what matters.”

“No,” Yoongi said firmly. “That’s not what matters. What matters is that this ends. Tonight.”

Hyejin’s smile faltered, but only for a heartbeat. “Excuse me?”

“I can’t do this anymore.” He kept his tone low, steady, but every word came out edged with steel. “I won’t marry you. I won’t mate you. The engagement is over.”

Silence dropped heavy between them. For the first time, Hyejin’s mask cracked. Her perfectly manicured nails curled against the stem of her wine glass, her voice tightening. “You think you can just decide that? After everything our families have arranged? After the press announcements, the events, the investments?”

“Yes.” Yoongi leaned forward, eyes sharp, unflinching. “Because none of that matters if I can’t breathe in my own skin. This engagement was never mine - it was theirs. I’m ending it before it poisons me any further.”

Her jaw tightened. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being honest.” His hands curled into fists under the table. “Do you even hear yourself, Hyejin? You talk about plans, families, investments… never once about love. Never once about choice.”

“I don’t need love,” she snapped suddenly, her composure cracking. “What I need is power. What I need is security. And with you, with the Min name, I can have both. And you—” she jabbed a finger toward him, her voice rising— “you need me. You need this. Otherwise, what will you be? Just another pawn to your father, a man who will never let you go unless you break free through me.”

Yoongi inhaled sharply, his wolf bristling under his skin, furious at her audacity. “You think you’re freedom? You’re another chain. A gilded cage painted to look pretty, but still a cage.”

Her eyes burned. “And what then, Yoongi? Who do you think will take you if you walk away? Do you imagine the world will let you be with someone else? With—” she cut herself off sharply, but the word hung in the air unspoken, heavy and dangerous: Jimin.

Yoongi’s gaze darkened, his voice dropping to a near growl. “Careful.”

For the first time, Hyejin looked rattled. She pressed her lips together, adjusting her posture, trying to reclaim her icy composure. “You’re making a mistake,” she said tightly. “Once you walk away, there is no coming back. Our parents will never forgive this. The press will devour you. And the board will…”

“Let them.” Yoongi stood, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. His presence loomed, alpha energy filling the quiet restaurant until even Hyejin faltered. “I’d rather be devoured than live another day in chains.”

Her eyes widened, and for the first time Yoongi saw fear - not of him, but of losing the power she thought she already owned.

He leaned closer, his voice low, final. “This engagement is over, Hyejin. If you want to hold on to something, hold on to the press statements. Frame the pictures. But don’t hold on to me.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, his wolf roaring in triumph at the sound of breaking chains.

The air outside the restaurant was sharp and cool, but it did nothing to clear the fire burning in his chest. Each step away from Hyejin felt like a weight falling from his shoulders, but the relief was poisoned with dread. Because he knew it wasn’t over. His wolf stilled mid-step, ears straining. Through the glass doors he could hear her voice, sharp and tight, already hissing into her phone.

“…Appa, it’s happening. He’s walking away—”

Yoongi didn’t need to listen further. He didn’t need to hear the rest of the call. He knew exactly what was being said. Knew exactly what would follow.

His parents. At the hospital.

His hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles white as his jaw clenched. He could already picture it: his father’s cold fury, his mother’s manipulative softness, both sweeping into Room 305 with the arrogance of people who believed they still controlled everything. And behind them, the storm they would unleash on Jimin - the same storm they had five years ago.

Not again.

Yoongi’s wolf surged inside him, pushing his body forward before his mind could fully catch up. He broke into a fast stride, then into a near run, ignoring the startled glances of pedestrians as he headed for the car waiting down the block.

Jungkook straightened the moment he saw him, eyes widening at the look on Yoongi’s face. “Hyung—”

“Hospital. Now,” Yoongi barked, sliding into the passenger seat without another word.

Jungkook didn’t hesitate. The engine roared to life, and the car sped down the street, weaving through traffic with sharp precision.

Yoongi’s fingers dug into his knees as the city blurred past. His chest was tight, his breaths shallow, every nerve in his body pulled toward Room 305. He’d left Jimin once before - left him to the mercy of those who claimed to know best. That mistake had cost them five years of pain and emptiness. This time, he wouldn’t be late. This time, if his parents dared to appear, they’d find him standing there already. And for the first time, his wolf wasn’t just howling in grief or longing. It was howling in fury, in warning, in promise.

Mine. And no one touches what’s mine again.

+++

“Hope is a dangerous thing - it flickers like a match and burns you when you dare to touch it.”

+++

When he woke, the room was quiet. The steady beep of the monitors and the faint hum of the machines were the only companions to the pale light spilling through the blinds.

And Taehyung. The omega was curled in the chair at his bedside, phone in hand, but his sharp eyes lifted the moment Jimin stirred.

Yoongi wasn’t there.

Jimin felt the absence before he even looked. The scent of sandalwood still lingered faintly in the sheets, but it wasn’t fresh. It had cooled, like smoke after a fire. A part of him had expected this - had almost counted on it. Yoongi always left. That was how it went.

His lips parted, ready to say something dry, something to protect himself from the ache building in his chest, but Taehyung spoke first.

“He didn’t leave you,” Taehyung said firmly, as if he could read the thought before Jimin could shape it into words. “He had to go… to break it off. With her.”

Jimin blinked, the words slow to reach him. “What?” His voice cracked, weak and disbelieving.

Taehyung leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “He told me himself. He went to end the engagement.”

For a moment, Jimin just stared at him, the sterile room blurring at the edges. Something sharp twisted inside him - something like relief, something like pain, something like the faintest spark of hope clawing its way out of the dark. But he forced it down. He couldn’t let it grow. Not yet. Not ever.

“Don’t,” he whispered, shaking his head against the pillow. His throat tightened. “Don’t say things like that, Tae.”

“I’m not saying it,” Taehyung countered softly. “He did. And I believed him.”

Jimin let out a shaky breath, his fingers twisting into the blanket. He wanted to believe it too. God, he wanted to. The thought of Yoongi severing those chains for him - for them - it ached so much it felt like drowning. But he couldn’t trust it. Not after everything.

His gaze slipped away, fixed on the blank ceiling. “I don’t want hope,” he whispered. “I can’t afford it.”

Taehyung didn’t argue. He just sat there, quiet but present, his hand eventually resting gently on Jimin’s arm. And in the silence that followed, Jimin closed his eyes again, trying to pretend he didn’t feel the dangerous flicker of warmth deep in his chest.

The knock at the door wasn’t gentle. It was sharp, insistent - the kind that didn’t ask permission but demanded entry. Jimin’s chest tightened instantly. He didn’t need to see them to know who it was.

The door opened before he could answer. His parents stepped in like they owned the room. His father’s posture was stiff, his mother’s face set in that practiced mask of disappointment she wore like perfume. Their presence made the air heavier, choking, even more suffocating than the machines tethered to him.

“Jimin,” his father said, his tone already edged with anger. “What nonsense have we heard? Areum filed for divorce?” The words landed like stones. Jimin didn’t respond, his lips pressing tightly together, his fingers curling into the blanket.

His mother’s voice was sharper, cutting across the silence. “You will not sign those papers. Do you understand me? The damage to our reputation would be irreversible. Do you have any idea how this looks?”

Jimin’s throat closed. He couldn’t summon the strength to speak. Not to them. Not when every word would be twisted, every protest dismissed.

“Say something,” his father demanded.

But before Jimin could even try, Taehyung rose from the chair beside him. “Enough.”

The single word rang like a warning bell. His friend’s shoulders were squared, his expression hard, his eyes locked on Jimin’s parents with a defiance that made Jimin’s chest ache.

“You shouldn’t even be here,” his mother snapped, her gaze flicking to Taehyung with open disdain. “This is a private family matter. Leave us.”

“No.” Taehyung’s voice was calm, but it carried the weight of a promise. “I’m not leaving him alone. Not with you.”

His father bristled. “You have no right—”

“I have every right,” Taehyung cut in, his chin lifting higher. “Because unlike you, I’m here for him. Not your name. Not your image. Him.”

The silence that followed was thick, vibrating with tension. Jimin’s heart raced, caught between fear and gratitude, his eyes stinging as he looked at Taehyung’s profile. His friend stood like a shield between him and the storm, refusing to move. For the first time, Jimin wasn’t completely alone in the face of their fury.

“Taehyung,” his father’s voice thundered, “you will step aside. This is none of your concern. You are meddling in matters far above your place.”

Taehyung didn’t flinch. “With all due respect, sir,” he said, the title dripping with disdain, “you forfeited the right to call this your concern the moment you sold your son’s happiness for reputation. If you think I’m moving, you’ll have to drag me out.”

“Enough!” his mother snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. She turned her glare onto Jimin. “And you - look at me, Jimin.” His head jerked up against his will. Those eyes - cold, unyielding - froze him like they always had. “You are not signing anything,” she hissed. “Do you hear me? That divorce will not go through. Do you understand what people will say if you do? You will shame this family beyond repair.”

Jimin’s lips trembled, but no words came out. His throat burned, his fingers clawing at the blanket as if he could hide beneath it.

“Say something!” his father barked.

The pressure was unbearable. His lungs felt too small, his chest too tight. He wanted to scream, to tell them to leave, but the words stuck like knives in his throat. He could only whisper, “I don’t want this.”

His mother’s nostrils flared. “Don’t be childish. You owe this family. You’ve embarrassed us enough as it is. You will stay married. You will do your duty. And you will not,” her voice dropped, low and poisonous, “crawl back to that boy.”

Jimin’s breath hitched. The air seemed to vanish from the room.

Taehyung took a step closer, fury sparking in his eyes. “How dare you talk to him like that? After everything you’ve done? Do you even hear yourselves?”

“Stay out of this!” his father roared. “You’re nothing but a distraction, clinging to him like some stray mutt.”

That did it. Jimin saw Taehyung tremble with rage, his fists curling, his chest rising and falling like he might tear into them right there. “I’d rather be a stray mutt at his side than parents who treat their own son like a burden,” he spat.

“Tae…” Jimin’s voice was faint, pleading, but he couldn’t stop him. His chest hurt, torn between terror of his parents and gratitude for his friend.

His mother sneered. “Do you hear what your so-called friend says, Jimin? He fills your head with poison. And you let him. You always let others think for you because you’re too weak to…”

“Stop!” Jimin’s voice cracked, startling even himself. Tears burned in his eyes. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

For a heartbeat, the room was silent. His parents stared at him, shocked by the outburst.

Then his father growled, “You ungrateful boy—”

The door slammed open. The sound was like a thunderclap, rattling the glass in the frame. All heads turned. Yoongi stood in the doorway.  The air changed the moment the young alpha stepped into the room. It was thick, heavy, charged with his scent - sandalwood sharp as a blade, pressed down on everyone like a command. Jimin felt it first in his chest, then in his bones. His dormant omega stirred, startled, pressing weakly against the walls that had held it silent for years. He trembled. Not in fear. In recognition.

His parents faltered under the weight of it, their anger suddenly muted, their bodies stiffening as if something primal deep inside them warned danger.

“Mr. and Mrs. Park,” Yoongi said, his voice steady, deceptively calm. But Jimin could hear it - the edge beneath, the storm threatening to break. “How nice to meet you again.”

His mother recovered first, lifting her chin. “Min Yoongi. You shouldn’t be here. This doesn’t concern you.”

Yoongi’s lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “On the contrary. This concerns me more than anyone. More than you.”

His father bristled. “Watch your tone—”

“No,” Yoongi cut in sharply, his voice like a whip crack. “I’ve watched my tone long enough. I kept silent five years ago when you ripped him away from me. When you threatened his life, his name, his soul. I thought my enemy was my own parents.” His eyes glinted, hard as steel. “But this? This is better. Because now I can finally say it to your faces.”

The silence vibrated with tension.

Jimin’s mother’s eyes narrowed. “You presume too much—”

“I presume nothing,” Yoongi snapped, stepping closer, his shadow falling across their polished shoes. “I know what you did. You drugged him. You silenced his wolf. You locked him in a marriage he never wanted, in a house that froze him to death. You buried the light in him because you were afraid of scandal. Afraid of whispers.”

Jimin’s breath caught. His nails dug into the blanket, his chest burning at the words he had never dared to say aloud.

“You call yourselves parents?” Yoongi’s voice thundered now, his wolf bleeding into every syllable. “Parents protect. Parents love. Parents don’t break their child’s spirit and then demand gratitude for the ruin.”

His father stiffened, fists clenching. “You have no right—”

“I have every right,” Yoongi growled. “Because you don’t deserve him. You never did. You don’t get to dictate his future anymore. You don’t get to poison him with your greed. If you want a fight…” His eyes flashed, fierce and unyielding. “Fight me. Because I won’t let you touch him again.”

The words hit the room like thunder.

Jimin’s heart was racing, his whole body trembling, but for the first time, he wasn’t trembling from fear. The weight of Yoongi’s presence - the fury in his voice, the unshakable stance in front of him - it was overwhelming, consuming, but it was also safety. A shield.

His parents were silent now. Their faces stiff, their pride wounded. They couldn’t speak under the force of it. Yoongi turned slightly then, just enough to glance at Jimin. And in that look, for one fragile second, Jimin saw not just the alpha storming against his parents, but the boy he had once kissed in a library. The boy who had promised to be his moonbeam in the dark.

The words trembled through him, unspoken but certain:

He came back. And this time, he isn’t leaving.

+++

“Some battles aren’t chosen. They wait for you in the dark - and when the moment comes, you either bow… or burn.”

+++

Chapter Text

+++

“Some wounds don’t bleed — they breathe in silence until someone dares to speak for them.”

+++

Taehyung had always been sensitive to the shifts in others’ wolves - it was part instinct, part survival. As an omega himself, he noticed things alphas and betas often ignored. And right now, what he felt from Jimin terrified him. There was something there, faint and trembling, like a candle struggling to stay lit in a storm. Jimin’s inner omega - weak, smothered, almost gone. It pressed against the air like a ghost, confused and afraid, not knowing if it was even allowed to exist.

Taehyung clenched his fists in his lap. He wanted to cry, to rage, to scream - but he stayed still, sensing, breathing with his friend.

And then it happened.

Jimin made the faintest sound. Not a word. Not even a full breath. Just a whimper, broken and startled, escaping his lips like a plea from somewhere deep inside him. Yoongi moved instantly. It was as if the alpha had been waiting for it, listening for it. He rushed to Jimin’s side before Taehyung could even stand, his body bending protectively over the fragile figure on the bed. The intensity of it sent a shiver through Taehyung’s bones.

But what struck him most wasn’t Yoongi’s speed - it was Jimin’s parents. They didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. Like they didn’t hear it. Or worse - didn’t care. The rage hit Taehyung so fast it made his vision blur.

“How dare you?” he snapped, rising to his feet with such force the chair scraped against the floor. His voice shook, but it was loud, sharp, impossible to ignore. “Do you see him? Do you even see what’s left of him?”

His mother blinked, startled. “Excuse me—”

“No!” Taehyung’s voice cracked, raw with fury. “Don’t you dare pretend you don’t know what you did to him. You destroyed him! You smothered his omega, you caged him, drugged him, forced him into something he never wanted! And now you come here, after everything, demanding more?”

His father stiffened, jaw tightening. “Watch your tone, boy—”

“I won’t!” Taehyung’s chest heaved, tears burning his eyes but not falling. He pointed toward Jimin, trembling under Yoongi’s protective presence. “Look at him! Look at your son! He’s broken because of you. You call this love? You call this parenting? You did this to him!”

The room rang with the echo of his words.

Jimin’s mother’s face hardened, but Taehyung didn’t stop. His voice shook, but his conviction was iron. “You should have protected him. Cherished him. Instead you turned him into an empty shell so you could polish your family name. You destroyed him just to keep your pride intact. And you’re still not satisfied. You still want to drag him lower.”

His vision blurred as he took a shuddering breath. “You don’t deserve to be his parents.”

Silence fell, heavy and suffocating. Jimin’s parents bristled, but neither had words ready. Yoongi’s alpha presence pressed against the room like a wall, daring them to try. Taehyung’s fists trembled at his sides. He glanced at Jimin - pale, fragile, eyes wet with tears he was too exhausted to shed. The sight nearly broke him.

So Taehyung did the only thing he could. He stood taller, his voice lowering but no less fierce. “From now on, if you want to get to him, you’ll have to go through me. Through us. And you’ll lose.”

The silence after his words was a knife-edge. Jimin’s parents looked at him as though he were filth daring to speak above his station.

“You insolent child,” Mr. Park seethed, his voice like venom. “How dare you speak to us this way? You’re nothing but a hanger-on, a nobody clinging to our son like a parasite.”

Taehyung’s breath caught, but he didn’t back down. He refused. His hands trembled, nails digging crescents into his palms. “Better a parasite who cares than parents who crush their own blood,” he spat.

Mrs. Park’s eyes glinted coldly. “You will regret this. We can ruin you, boy. One word, and every door in this city closes to you. Modeling career, friends, reputation - gone.”

Her threat sliced through him, but before the chill could sink into his bones, the door burst open.

Jungkook.

The young alpha stormed in, broad-shouldered and bristling, his presence filling the sterile room with cedarwood and steel. His eyes locked instantly on Taehyung, and in a blink, he was at his side.

“What’s going on here?” Jungkook’s voice was low, sharp, edged with barely restrained aggression. His gaze swept over Jimin’s parents, unflinching, before dropping to Taehyung. “Are they threatening you?”

Taehyung’s lips parted, but no sound came out. His heart skipped - stuttered - at the way Jungkook’s stance angled slightly in front of him, protective, instinctive.

Mr. Park’s voice thundered. “This is none of your business. Step aside.”

Jungkook didn’t move. His jaw tightened, his alpha aura pressing heavier, steady and unyielding. “If you’re threatening him, it’s my business.” His words were calm, but the warning beneath was unmistakable.

Mrs. Park scoffed, her composure cracking. “Who are you to—”

“I’m the one standing between you and him,” Jungkook cut her off coldly, his eyes dark as they flicked back to Taehyung. “And I won’t let you touch him.”

The weight of those words sent a shock through Taehyung’s chest. He’d never needed protecting, not really - or maybe he’d just never let himself admit it. But hearing it now, from him, made something deep inside him quiver.

Taehyung’s throat tightened. He wanted to speak, to say thank you, to say anything, but all he could manage was his heart thundering against his ribs and the thought that for just a moment, he wasn’t standing alone. And it scared him almost as much as it comforted him.

But the room still pulsed with tension, scents clashing, words like knives cutting through the air. Taehyung could feel Jungkook’s presence beside him like a wall, steady and unyielding, but Jimin’s parents weren’t backing down.

“Do you see what you’ve done?” Mrs. Park hissed, her voice rising. “You’ve allowed strangers to speak for you, Jimin. Strangers who will ruin you.”

Jimin flinched, curling further into Yoongi, and Taehyung’s blood boiled. He wanted to scream, to claw, to tear the smugness from her face - but before he could move, Yoongi’s voice cut through the noise.

“Enough.”

It was low, firm, but it carried the weight of finality. The kind of word that made even alphas pause. Yoongi stepped closer, his scent filling the room with raw dominance, until even Mr. Park’s posture stiffened like he’d been struck.

Yoongi’s eyes, dark and burning, fixed on Jimin. “Tell me,” he said, voice steady but gentle. “Do you want them here?”

The silence was deafening. Jimin’s lips parted, but no sound came. He looked small, pale against the sheets, his fingers twisting in the blanket as though searching for something solid. His gaze flickered, uncertain, confused - until it found Yoongi’s. Taehyung watched the way Jimin’s eyes softened, the way his shoulders trembled, as if Yoongi’s presence alone gave him strength. Yoongi gave the slightest nod, subtle but sure, and Jimin drew in a shaky breath.

“I…” His voice was so thin it almost broke Taehyung’s heart. “I want them gone.”

The words weren’t loud, but they were final.

Taehyung’s chest swelled with pride so sharp it made his throat ache. That’s it, Jimin. That’s you. Finally.

Mrs. Park’s face went pale, then red with fury. “You ungrateful—”

“You heard him.” Yoongi’s voice cut across hers, cold and lethal. “Get out.”

Mr. Park stiffened, his jaw tight, but even he didn’t argue. The room vibrated with Yoongi’s alpha command, an authority so absolute it left no room for negotiation.

For the first time, the Parks looked smaller. Defeated. They gathered themselves stiffly, their silence sharp and bitter, before turning toward the door.

“We’ll discuss this later,” Mr. Park snapped, but it was weak - a hollow threat.

“No,” Yoongi answered, his tone final. “There won’t be a later.”

The Parks left, the slam of the door echoing through the room like the last clap of thunder after a storm. Jungkook followed them, probably to make sure they were really gone. Taehyung let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His hands still trembled, but this time it wasn’t with rage - it was with relief. He looked at Jimin, pale and shaking but freer than he had been minutes ago, and for the first time in years, Taehyung allowed himself a proud, trembling smile.

You did it, Jimin. You chose yourself.

The room still felt heavy even after the Parks had left. Yoongi hadn’t moved from Jimin’s bedside, and Taehyung could feel it - the pull between them, strong and unbreakable. His place wasn’t here anymore, not tonight.

He stood quietly, brushing invisible dust from his jacket, and leaned toward Jimin. “I’ll come tomorrow,” he murmured, his voice gentler now, his pride still lingering in his chest. “You’re safe tonight.”

Jimin nodded faintly, his gaze drifting toward Yoongi before closing his eyes again. That was enough for Taehyung. He left the room, his footsteps echoing down the sterile hall.

“Need a ride?” Jungkook’s voice broke through the silence before he even reached the exit. The alpha was leaning against the wall near the elevators, his uniform jacket undone, his posture relaxed - but his eyes sharp, watching him.

Taehyung hesitated. His pride wanted to refuse, to walk out on his own. But his heart - traitorous, foolish - leapt at the offer. And before he could stop himself, his mouth answered for him.

“…Yeah.”

The faint smile that touched Jungkook’s lips was almost enough to undo him.

The ride was quiet at first. Taehyung sat stiffly in the passenger seat, his eyes fixed on the rain sliding down the glass. But inside, his chest was a mess. He hadn’t realized until now how much he had missed that cedarwood scent, warm and grounding. He’d gone a whole year without it, and now, sitting inches away, it wrapped around him like a memory he couldn’t shake.

His phone buzzed. He flinched.

“Eomma,” the screen read.

His stomach dropped.

He answered anyway. “Hello.”

“Taehyung.” Kim Kyuri’s voice was as cool and restrained as ever, every syllable wrapped in composure. “Mrs. Park just called me. You caused a scene today.”

His grip on the phone tightened. “I spoke the truth.”

There was silence on the line, the kind that weighed heavier than words. Then: “You should be careful. Recklessness has consequences. You know that better than anyone.”

Something inside him twisted. He wanted to scream, to ask why she never once stood up for him, why her silence had always cut sharper than his father’s commands. But the words stayed locked in his throat, swallowed down like every other time.

“I have to go,” he muttered, ending the call before she could reply.

He stared out the window, trying to steady his breathing.

“You okay?” Jungkook’s voice was low, careful, but sincere.

Taehyung laughed once, bitter and sharp. “Not really. I don’t want to go home.”

There was a pause. Then Jungkook’s voice, steady and certain: “Good. Because I have a better idea.”

Taehyung turned, startled. Jungkook’s eyes met his briefly before flicking back to the road, but there was something there - a quiet promise, a spark of something Taehyung wasn’t sure he could survive touching again. And yet his heart, traitorous as always, beat faster.

+++

“Some truths arrive not with words, but with the air itself - thick, undeniable, and cruel in their timing.”

+++

He had meant only to watch over him.

Jimin’s breaths had evened out hours ago, his lashes trembling faintly in sleep, the monitors humming with their steady rhythm. Yoongi had sat back in the chair, arms folded across his chest, eyes half-closed but never truly leaving the omega on the bed. At some point exhaustion crept in, dragging his eyelids shut. He dozed - not deeply, never deeply - until something woke him.

It wasn’t sound. It was scent.

The air in the room was different. Richer. Sweeter. Not just the sterile sharpness of antiseptic and faint sandalwood lingering from his own skin, but something new - faint, fragile, but alive.

Tangerine.

Yoongi’s body reacted before his mind caught up. His wolf stirred, snapping awake with a sharp interest that made his chest tighten and his pulse quicken. It wasn’t overpowering, but it was enough - enough to make him ache, enough to make him realize that Jimin’s omega wasn’t gone.

It was waking.

Yoongi pushed himself to his feet instantly, forcing his instincts down, locking his wolf in its cage before it clawed its way free. He couldn’t think about what he wanted. Not now. Not here.

He opened the door sharply, his voice firm. “Nurse.”

She came quickly, startled by his tone, and within minutes a doctor followed, flipping through Jimin’s chart as if the answers might already be written there. They checked his vitals, adjusted the monitors, moved with the calm efficiency of people who had seen everything before.

But Yoongi hadn’t. Not this.

When the doctor finally spoke, the words made Yoongi’s gut twist.

“His heat is starting,” the man said matter-of-factly. “The first one since the suppressants were stopped.”

Yoongi blinked. “Suppressants?” His voice was sharp, his wolf bristling.

The doctor nodded, glancing briefly at him. “From the records we received - administered at the facility several years ago. High-dose, long-term suppressants. His heats were chemically shut down. His system is only now attempting to reset.”

The floor tilted under him. His breath left in a harsh rush, anger snapping through his veins like lightning.

Suppressants. Forced. Against his will.

He wanted to roar, to tear down every wall in this building, to hunt down every hand that had held Jimin down and fed him poison. His fingers curled into fists so tight his nails bit into his palms. His wolf howled in his chest, furious and grieving all at once.

And then the doctor added the final blow.

“This will likely be his last viable heat,” he said clinically, as if discussing the weather. “If conception does not occur this cycle, the chances in the future are close to none. The damage from years of suppressants is… irreversible.”

The words hollowed Yoongi out. His chest felt like it caved in, rage and grief colliding until all he could do was stand there, staring at Jimin’s still form, the faint scent of tangerine growing richer by the minute.

Last chance. Because of them. Because of what they did.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry, his voice low but trembling with fury. “They stole everything from him.”

Neither the doctor nor the nurse replied. They adjusted the blankets, noted the changes in his chart, and left quietly, leaving Yoongi alone again. Alone with Jimin. Alone with the knowledge that the boy he had loved, the omega he had been forced to give up, had been robbed of years he should have lived - and now faced the last chance to carry the life he deserved.

Yoongi sat back down heavily, his eyes burning as he looked at him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, though his voice cracked under the weight of it. “I should have been there. I should have stopped them. But I swear… not this time. Not again.”

His wolf rumbled inside him, vowing the same.

The room was quiet again, but the silence was no longer the same. The faint sweetness in the air was growing stronger, threading through the sterile scent of antiseptic, weaving itself into his senses until it was all he could smell. Tangerine. Ripe, vulnerable, warm. His wolf pushed against the walls of his chest, ears pricked, tail bristling, every part of it alert and restless.

Heat.

Not the kind that could be ignored, not the kind a locked door could keep out. It wasn’t a storm yet - more like the first drops of rain, teasing the earth before the downpour. But Yoongi knew what was coming. And he didn’t know if Jimin wanted him there for it.

He looked at the omega’s sleeping face, so pale against the pillow, so fragile it made his chest ache. Yoongi wanted nothing more than to stay - to guard him, to chase away every shadow of fear. But another part of him, the rational part, whispered that he might not be wanted when the storm truly broke.

What if he doesn’t want you here? What if you’re a reminder of everything he lost?

His wolf snarled at the thought. Want or not, the omega was his, and leaving him to suffer alone was unthinkable. Yet Yoongi forced the beast down, locking his jaw, gripping the armrest of the chair until his knuckles whitened. This wasn’t about him. It wasn’t about his wolf. It was about Jimin.

Yoongi leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring at the slow rise and fall of Jimin’s chest. “Do you want me here?” he whispered, though he knew no answer would come.

The words hurt anyway.

His wolf stirred, restless, circling inside him like a caged animal. The image of Jimin swollen with his pup flashed through his mind unbidden, sharp and raw. It hit him in the gut, a fierce ache he hadn’t felt in years - an ache his wolf howled for, demanding, urging.

The thought of Jimin carrying his child. Their child.

Yoongi’s body tensed, heat rushing through him in a way he hadn’t expected. His nails dug into his palms as he forced the image away, forced his wolf back into its cage. This wasn’t the time. It wasn’t the choice to make now, not when Jimin was vulnerable, not when he hadn’t asked for anything.

“Not like this,” Yoongi muttered, shaking his head as if to dislodge the thoughts. His voice cracked against the empty room. “If it ever happens, it has to be his choice. Not desperation. Not duty. His choice.”

The wolf resisted, growling, pacing, claws raking at the inside of his chest. It didn’t care about choice. It cared about survival, about instinct, about the bond it had been denied for too long. But Yoongi fought it, tooth and nail, until his body trembled from the effort.

He sat back, closing his eyes, dragging in a shaky breath. The scent was stronger now - faint threads of Jimin’s heat bleeding into the air - and it was agony to ignore, but he would. For him. He would stay. Guard. Protect. Even if it meant burning alive in the pull of that scent.

Yoongi opened his eyes again, gaze fixed on Jimin’s fragile form. His voice was low but certain when he whispered, “I don’t know what you want from me, Jimin-ah. But whatever it is - I’ll give it. Even if it kills me.”

His wolf rumbled in his chest, restless but softening. A vow, unspoken yet binding. And so Yoongi sat back down, letting the hours stretch on, the storm brewing in the air.

The first sound was a whimper, faint and almost fragile. It pulled Yoongi from his thoughts like a knife dragged across glass. He turned sharply, his eyes locking on Jimin. The omega’s lashes fluttered against his pale cheeks, his body shifting uneasily under the blankets. A sheen of sweat glistened at his hairline.

Then Jimin’s eyes opened. Confusion clouded them, deep brown unfocused at first, then darting around the room as if searching for something he couldn’t quite name. His lips parted, breath quickening, and Yoongi saw it - the tremor in his hands, the sharp intake of breath, the way his chest rose too fast.

It wasn’t fear. It was his body.

The first waves of heat.

“Jimin-ah,” Yoongi said softly, rising from the chair. His wolf surged inside him, demanding to close the distance, to cover him in their presence, to soothe. And though Yoongi hesitated for only a heartbeat, instinct carried him forward.

The air shifted around him, his pheromones unfurling instinctively, rolling through the room in calming waves - sandalwood, grounding and steady, wrapping around the omega like a cocoon.

Jimin’s eyes flicked toward him, hazy but present. “Wh-what’s… happening to me?” His voice was weak, trembling with both pain and bewilderment.

Yoongi sat on the edge of the bed, careful to keep his distance yet close enough to be there. “Your body is waking up,” he explained quietly. “It’s your heat, Jiminie. The first since… since they put you on those suppressants.” His jaw clenched at the word, but he forced his voice to stay calm, steady. “That’s why it feels strange. Painful. Confusing.”

Jimin swallowed hard, his lips trembling. “It… hurts.”

“I know,” Yoongi murmured, leaning closer without touching. His pheromones thickened slightly, soothing, protective. “Your wolf doesn’t know what to do. It’s been asleep for too long. But I’m here now, okay?”

For a long moment, Jimin just stared at him, chest heaving, caught between pain and disbelief. His fingers twitched as if reaching for something, then stilled.

Yoongi’s own hands tightened in his lap. He wanted to reach out, to gather him close, to take the pain away. But he didn’t move. He couldn’t - not unless Jimin asked.

“Breathe with me,” Yoongi said softly, lowering his voice to a soothing rhythm. He exaggerated his inhales and exhales, slow and steady, letting the omega mirror him. “That’s it. Just breathe. You’re safe.”

The tangerine in the air thickened, faint threads curling around Yoongi’s sandalwood like shy tendrils. His wolf rumbled inside him, pleased, protective, but Yoongi forced it to remain gentle, calm. This wasn’t about claiming. This was about keeping Jimin grounded.

Minutes passed, the silence broken only by their breathing. Jimin’s trembling eased, though the pain still flickered in his eyes. When he finally whispered, “You won’t leave?” Yoongi’s chest ached so deeply he thought it might break.

“Never,” he swore, the word leaving him before he could stop it.

And he meant it.

+++

“Even if the whole world abandons you, I’ll stay - through every storm, through every fire. I’ll stay.”

+++

Chapter Text

+++

“When the body breaks, the soul remembers who it longs for.”

+++

At first, it was only pain.

A deep, bone-aching pain that spread through him like fire under his skin. His chest felt too tight, his muscles trembling, his skin feverish to the touch. His breath caught on a whimper before he could stop it. He thought he was dying.

He could hear voices - soft, clinical, words he couldn’t string together. A nurse. A doctor. Something about numbers, cycles, suppressants. None of it mattered. None of it reached him. Because there was another voice. Low, steady. Rough in a way that wrapped around him like safety.

Yoongi.

The sound pulled him back from the haze, from the drowning fire consuming his body. And the scent - gods, the scent. Sandalwood, thick and grounding, cut through the sterile air, chased away the shadows and anchored him to something solid. His wolf - weak, smothered for years under medicine and his parents’ control - stirred violently under his skin. It pushed against him, confused and desperate, clawing for that scent. For that voice. For him.

“Yoongi…” The name escaped his lips, cracked and fragile, but real.

There was movement. A chair scraped closer, weight shifted near the bed, and the scent grew stronger.

“I’m here,” Yoongi’s voice murmured, close now, steady and sure. “Breathe, Jimin-ah. Just breathe with me.”

Jimin tried. His chest rose and fell in ragged gasps, his body trembling with each attempt. Pain licked through his veins, sharp and searing, but Yoongi’s tone was like cool water poured over burning skin. He found himself clinging to it, mimicking the rhythm of his breaths, desperate for relief.

Still, the fire surged. His skin felt too hot, his body both too heavy and too light. He wanted to crawl out of himself, to run, to do something - but all he could do was lie there, shaking, with the ache consuming him. And yet, even in the haze, there was a truth he couldn’t ignore.

It hurt less when Yoongi was close.

The pain was still there, but muted, softened by the steady roll of protective pheromones wrapping around him. His wolf keened at the scent, pressing weakly against him, begging him to reach out. To let it out. His fingers twitched, searching the blanket, until they brushed against something warm.

Yoongi’s hand.

Jimin froze. For a heartbeat he couldn’t breathe at all. The world shrank to the point of contact - the warmth of Yoongi’s skin against his, steady and grounding, like the anchor he hadn’t known he was searching for. His body shook, a whimper escaping his throat. He hated it. Hated sounding weak, hated being fragile. But he couldn’t stop. His wolf wouldn’t let him.

“Shh,” Yoongi murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles. “It’s your heat. The first one in years. Your body’s confused, but it’s going to be okay. You’re not alone.”

Jimin’s vision blurred. Not from fever this time, but from tears burning at the corners of his eyes.

Not alone.

The words cracked something inside him, something he had spent years burying under obedience, silence, and numbness. He pressed his lips together, trembling, as if the tears themselves might betray him. But his body didn’t care. His wolf didn’t care. They both reached for the alpha beside him, desperate for the touch, the scent, the promise of safety.

His breath stuttered as he whispered, “Don’t leave me.”

Yoongi’s grip on his hand tightened, steady as stone. “Never!”

The omega drifted in and out of the fever, his body twisting between pain and flashes of relief whenever Yoongi’s scent pressed close. At some point, exhaustion dragged him under completely. When he opened his eyes again, the room was dim - shadows stretching long across the walls. His throat was parched, his skin damp with sweat, and his body ached in ways he couldn’t name. But what drew him fully awake wasn’t the heat consuming him.

It was voices.

“…You don’t understand.” Yoongi’s tone was sharp, angry - sharper than Jimin had ever heard it. “He’s weak. He just woke up from a crash. I won’t—”

“You don’t have a choice,” the doctor countered, his words clipped and clinical. “His body is in distress. Years of chemical suppression have damaged his cycle. This heat isn’t like a normal one. He’ll burn himself out if it goes untreated. And the only treatment,” the man’s voice lowered, weighted, “is an alpha. The alpha his body recognizes as his.”

Jimin’s heart lurched. He closed his eyes again, fighting for breath. He knew what the doctor meant. He felt it in the marrow of his bones, in the raw cries of his wolf clawing at him from within. It wanted Yoongi. Needed him.

But Yoongi’s voice cut back, harsh with defiance. “And if I refuse? If I touch him and he resents me for the rest of his life? You want me to ruin him more than his parents already have?”

The silence that followed was heavy, charged.

Jimin’s hands trembled as he tried to push himself up on the pillow. His throat was dry, his body weak, but he forced sound through cracked lips. “Stop.”

Both men turned instantly. Yoongi was at his side in a heartbeat, the fury still flickering in his eyes but replaced by worry as he reached for him. “Jimin-ah”

“I heard you.” Jimin’s voice was raspy, but steady enough. He let his gaze flick between them, then settle on Yoongi. “I’m lucid. I know what’s happening to me. And I know what I want.”

Yoongi’s expression tightened. “You don’t have to say this. Not now.”

“I do.” Jimin swallowed hard, heat flushing his cheeks. He hated how vulnerable he felt, but his wolf clawed at him, demanding the truth. “I don’t want to pressure you, alpha. I know you’ve carried enough guilt for years.” His voice cracked, but he pressed on. “But I can’t lie to myself anymore. My body knows you. My wolf knows you. It doesn’t want anyone else.”

Yoongi’s breath caught, his hand hovering inches above Jimin’s, trembling as though afraid to close the distance.

“I want you,” Jimin whispered, every word heavy with trembling honesty. “Not just because it hurts. Not just because they say it’s my last chance for a pup. But because it’s you. Because it’s always been you.”

The silence that followed was unbearable, his heart pounding against his ribs like it wanted to break free. He could feel every tremor in his body, every plea from his wolf pushing outward, begging for the one alpha it had been denied for years.

Yoongi’s lips parted, but no words came. His eyes were dark, burning, and for the first time, Jimin didn’t look away.

He let him see. All of it. The pain, the longing, the truth.

And in that moment, with sweat on his skin and fire in his veins, Jimin whispered the words that felt like a vow:

“Make love to me, Yoongi…”

+++

“The hardest battle is not with the world, but with the beast inside that demands everything all at once.”

+++

The words fell from Jimin’s lips like a prayer - fragile, trembling, and yet more powerful than anything Yoongi had ever heard.

Make love to me, Yoongi.

His chest tightened painfully, his wolf snarling in triumph, in hunger, in desperate need. The air around them grew thicker with scent, Jimin’s tangerine rising sweet and unsteady, pulling at every instinct Yoongi had tried so hard to keep locked away.

He fought it. God, he fought it. His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into flesh, every muscle in his body taut with the effort of keeping his wolf caged. To give in too fast would be to risk losing control. And Jimin… Jimin deserved more than instinct.

He deserved choice.

With trembling hands, Yoongi forced himself forward slowly, deliberately. He sat on the edge of the bed, his weight dipping the mattress, his wolf pressing so hard against his skin it almost hurt. He lifted one hand, reaching out, pausing inches from Jimin’s face.

His voice cracked when he spoke. “Are you sure?”

Jimin’s eyes glistened in the dim light. He looked at him with such rawness, such painful honesty, that it nearly undid him. “Yes,” he whispered, steady despite the tremor in his lips. “Completely sure. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

The beast inside him howled, clawing to the surface, demanding to claim, to soothe, to knot. His control wavered, his chest rising and falling sharply, but this time he didn’t hold it back.

He let his alpha surface.

The shift in the room was immediate. His aura expanded, rolling over the walls, pressing into every corner. Dominance laced with devotion, heat tempered by years of longing, crashed into the air. The monitor beside Jimin flickered faster, Jimin’s body responding even before his mind could.

The doctor froze, his hand stilling over his clipboard. His throat bobbed nervously as the wave of power settled over him. “I… I’ll leave you both to it,” he stammered, backing away.

Yoongi didn’t look at him. His eyes were locked only on Jimin, his palm finally brushing against the omega’s cheek.

“Go,” Yoongi growled low, not unkindly but with a weight that left no room for argument.

The door clicked shut behind the retreating doctor. A heartbeat later, Yoongi heard the lock slide into place - whether by the nurse outside or some other instinctive command, he didn’t care. All that mattered was that no one could interrupt now. The world had narrowed to the fragile boy beneath him, his Jimin, trembling under the fire of his first real heat.

Yoongi’s thumb stroked across damp skin, his heart shattering and mending all at once at the way Jimin leaned into the touch. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me,” Yoongi whispered, his voice rough, torn between fear and desire.

“I do,” Jimin breathed, his eyes glassy but lucid, his wolf pressing through the cracks of his restraint. “I want you. Not anyone else. Just you.”

The words ripped through the last of Yoongi’s defenses. His wolf surged forward, not in blind fury, but in fierce, unrelenting devotion. He bent down, his forehead pressing against Jimin’s, their breaths mingling. His scent poured out around them, rich sandalwood wrapping Jimin in a cocoon of protection and promise.

“I’ll take care of you,” Yoongi vowed, his lips brushing against Jimin’s temple, his voice shaking with everything he’d held back for years. “Not because the doctor said so. Not because your body demands it. But because I love you. Because I’ve only ever loved you.”

Jimin’s lips parted, a soft sound escaping him, half whimper, half sigh. His hands clutched at Yoongi’s shirt, pulling weakly but desperately, as if trying to fuse them together. And for the first time, Yoongi let the storm consume him.

The omega’s breath hitched, his body trembling beneath Yoongi’s touch. His lips parted, his eyes wet and shining in the dim light. “It’s… it’s my first,” he whispered, so quiet Yoongi almost missed it.

Yoongi froze, his chest tightening, his wolf snapping to attention. “Your first?” His voice was low, rough with disbelief.

Jimin nodded, his cheeks flushed, the heat crawling across his skin. “I never… not with her. Not with anyone. This… this is my first heat with an alpha.”

For a moment, Yoongi couldn’t breathe. Pride surged in him, fierce and overwhelming, mixing with a dark, satisfying joy that shook him to his core. His wolf preened, growling in approval, claiming the truth as theirs. No one else had touched him. No one else had been here. Only him.

Yoongi didn’t hide it. He let the pride show, let his satisfaction curl into a smirk softened by the tenderness in his eyes. “Good,” he murmured, his thumb brushing Jimin’s cheek. “I’m glad it’s me. It should’ve always been me.”

Jimin’s lips trembled, but this time in a faint, fragile smile. His fingers tightened in Yoongi’s shirt, tugging him closer.

That was all Yoongi needed.

He bent down, capturing Jimin’s lips in a kiss that was nothing like the storm raging in his chest. It was slow, reverent, tasting of tears and heat and years of longing pressed into a single moment. Jimin gasped softly against him, his body arching, and Yoongi deepened the kiss, careful but claiming, pouring every unspoken vow into it.

The omega whimpered, his scent spiking sweet and sharp, and Yoongi’s wolf nearly broke free. But he held back, every motion deliberate, tender. His hands framed Jimin’s face, stroking gently, reminding himself over and over: this is about him. Not instinct. Him.

When they broke apart, both gasping, Yoongi pressed his forehead against Jimin’s, his voice hoarse. “Tell me if it’s too much. Tell me to stop, and I will. Always.”

Jimin’s breath shuddered out, his eyes fluttering shut as he whispered, “Don’t stop. Please, Yoongi. I need you.”

The plea shattered what little restraint Yoongi still had. He kissed him again, deeper this time, while his hand slid down to lace with Jimin’s trembling fingers. Their palms pressed together, heat and promise in the simple touch. Yoongi let his wolf’s presence expand, not in dominance, but in comfort - sandalwood wrapping around tangerine until the room itself seemed to hum with their bond that wasn’t yet sealed, but already alive.

His lips trailed down Jimin’s jaw, across the fevered line of his throat, each kiss slow, reverent. Jimin shivered beneath him, his body alight with fire, yet his trust still there.

Yoongi whispered against his skin, “You’re mine, Jimin-ah. Always mine. And tonight… I’ll prove to you that you’ve never been alone.”

The omega trembled against him, his smaller frame wracked with shivers that had nothing to do with the cool room temperature. His fingers clutched at the front of Yoongi’s shirt, knuckles white. “Yoongi…” he whispered, the word ending in a shaky exhale.

“I’m here,” Yoongi murmured, his voice a low rumble. He brought his hands up, one cupping the back of Jimin’s neck, the other splaying across the tense muscles of his lower back. “I’ve got you. Just breathe with me.”

He dipped his head, nuzzling into the junction where Jimin’s neck met his shoulder. His skin was fever-hot and damp with a fine sheen of sweat. Yoongi inhaled deeply, letting Jimin’s unique, distressed omega scent flood his senses, and in response, he pressed his own calming alpha scent against Jimin’s skin, a grounding wave of sandalwood and fresh rain. He felt more than heard Jimin’s shaky sigh, the omega’s body loosening its panicked grip by a fraction.

“That’s it,” Yoongi coaxed. “Just let me take care of you.”

Jimin tilted his head, granting better access, a silent plea for more. Yoongi obliged, brushing his lips over the heated skin. It wasn’t a kiss meant for passion yet, but one of reassurance, of claiming, of mine, safe, protected. He placed soft, lingering kisses along Jimin’s throat, feeling the frantic pulse there begin to slow its frantic rhythm.

“My first…” Jimin started, his voice cracking. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Yoongi said, pulling back just enough to look into Jimin’s glassy, worried eyes. “You just have to feel. Let me show you.” He shifted his hand from Jimin’s back to cradle his jaw, his thumb stroking over a high cheekbone. “Can I kiss you?”

A desperate, grateful noise was his only answer before Jimin surged forward, capturing Yoongi’s mouth with his own. It was messy, urgent, all clashing teeth and frantic movement. Jimin kissed like a drowning man gasping for air, and Yoongi let him set the frantic pace, meeting his desperation with steady, calming pressure. He let Jimin explore the kiss, his tongue sliding against Yoongi’s. The alpha’s hands roamed down Jimin’s back, learning the elegant curve of his spine through the thin hospital gown.

When Jimin finally broke for air, panting, Yoongi gentled the contact. He traced Jimin’s swollen lower lip with his thumb. “Slow down, my baby. We have time. All the time in the world.”

He leaned in again, this time initiating a kiss that was entirely different. It was slow, deep, and languid. He sipped from Jimin’s mouth like it was the most precious nectar. He felt Jimin melt against him, the last of his tension dissolving into a boneless warmth. A low, needy whine vibrated in Jimin’s chest, a sound so purely omega it made Yoongi’s cock twitch painfully in his trousers.

His hands went to the ties of Jimin’s hospital gown. “Can I take this off? I want to see you. All of you.”

Jimin’s breath stuttered, but he nodded, his eyes dark with a mixture of fear and overwhelming want. “Yes. Please.”

The alpha made quick work of the simple knots, his fingers surprisingly steady. The gown fell open, then slipped from Jimin’s shoulders to pool at his waist. Yoongi’s breath caught. Jimin was pale and beautifully slender, his chest smooth and heaving with each rapid breath. But Yoongi’s gaze was drawn lower, to the evidence of Jimin’s arousal.

Nestled in a thatch of dark, fine hair, Jimin’s small omega cock stood erect, a flushed, slick length no longer than Yoongi’s thumb. It was perfect, utterly captivating, and glistening with the proof of his need. Below it, Yoongi could just see the puffy, pink furl of his entrance, already glistening with a different, more telling wetness. The sight was so vulnerable, so intimate, it stole the air from Yoongi’s lungs.

“You are so beautiful,” he breathed, the words filled with awe. He didn’t touch yet, just let his eyes worship the sight. “So perfect for me.”

A deep blush spread across Jimin’s chest and neck. He tried to shy away, but Yoongi held him gently firm.

“Don’t hide. Let me look at you.” He finally reached out, not for Jimin’s cock, but to stroke the soft skin of his inner thigh. He felt the omega jolt at the contact. “I’m going to make you feel good. Just focus on my hands.”

He guided Jimin to lie back on the raised hospital bed, arranging the pillows behind his head. The omega watched him with wide, trusting eyes, his body pliant. Yoongi knelt beside the bed, his face level with Jimin’s hips. The scent of him was overwhelming here, the sweet-tangerine omega slick a direct invitation.

“Alpha…” Jimin whimpered, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary jerk.

“I know, baby. I know.” Yoongi kept his touches light, tracing patterns on Jimin’s stomach, his hips, the sharp crest of his pelvis, everywhere but where Jimin desperately wanted to be touched. He was drawing out the anticipation, making every nerve ending sing. Jimin’s breaths became ragged pants, his hands fisting the sterile white sheets.

Finally, the alpha closed his hand around Jimin’s small, hard length. Jimin cried out, a sharp, broken sound, and his back arched off the bed. The skin was silken and hot against Yoongi’s palm. He started to move his hand, a slow, torturous glide from root to tip, using the copious slick that beaded at the slit as natural lubrication.

“Ah! Ah, hyung…” the omega chanted, his eyes squeezed shut. His own hands came down, tangling in Yoongi’s hair, not guiding, just holding on.

Yoongi watched his own hand work Jimin’s tiny cock, fascinated by the way Jimin’s whole body responded to the rhythm. He increased the pressure slightly, his thumb swiping over the slick head with every upstroke.

“That’s it,” the alpha murmured, his own arousal a heavy, aching throb. “Just let it happen. Come for me, Jimin-ah. Let me see you.”

Jimin’s cry was sharp and keening, a raw, unfiltered sound of release as his body seized. His small cock pulsed in Yoongi’s hand, spilling warm, pearlescent streaks across his own trembling stomach and Yoongi’s fingers. His entire frame shuddered, muscles taut like a drawn bowstring before going completely, bonelessly limp against the sheets, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. The sweet, intoxicating scent of his climax filled the air, mingling with the heady aroma of his heat.

The alpha didn’t wait for the aftershocks to fully subside. He knew this was only the beginning, a prelude to take the very edge off. Jimin needed more. He needed more. With a low, possessive growl rumbling in his chest, he moved with a swift, certain grace.

“Turn over, my sweet love,” he murmured, his voice a husky command laced with tenderness. His hands were firm on Jimin’s damp hips, guiding the pliant omega onto his hands and knees.

Jimin went willingly, his movements sluggish and dazed from his powerful orgasm. He let out a soft, confused whimper as the position shifted, the cool hospital air hitting his sweat-slicked skin. He instinctively arched his back, presenting himself.

The sight stole the air from Yoongi’s lungs. Jimin’s ass was pale and perfectly rounded, the cheeks parted just enough to reveal what lay between. Nestled there, flushed a deep, rosy pink and glistening with the evidence of his heat, was Jimin’s entrance. It was a small, delicate pucker, clenching and fluttering rhythmically with the aftershocks of his climax and the relentless demand of his cycle. It looked desperately hungry. Below it, Jimin’s small, soft testicles were drawn up tight.

“Fuck, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi breathed out, the words choked with awe and pure, undiluted want. He ran a single, reverent finger down the damp path between Jimin’s cheeks, not quite touching that quivering center yet. Jimin jolted at the contact, a full-body shiver wracking his frame. “You have no idea how beautiful you are like this. So perfect for me.”

“Hyung…” Jimin’s voice was a thin, reedy thread of sound, muffled by the sheets. He pushed his hips back in a small, involuntary motion, a silent plea. “Feels… empty. It’s… a lot.”

“I know, baby. I know. I’m going to fill you up. Gonna make it better,” Yoongi promised, his own cock aching, hard and heavy against his stomach. He coated his fingers in the slick that was trickling freely from Jimin, the fluid warm and slick against his skin. He used his free hand to spread Jimin wider, exposing him completely. He traced a slick fingertip around the tight, clenched ring of muscle.

Jimin gasped, his fingers clawing at the sheets. “Yoongi.”

“Just relax,” the alpha soothed, pressing the pad of his finger against him. The resistance was fierce, Jimin’s body tight and unused. He applied steady, constant pressure, circling the nerve-filled flesh until, with a soft, yielding gasp from Jimin, the very tip of his finger slipped inside.

Jimin cried out, a sharp, startled sound that quickly melted into a low, continuous moan. The heat inside him was immense, a velvet, clenching heat. Yoongi worked his finger in slowly, to the first knuckle, then deeper, feeling every minute tremor that raced through Jimin’s body.

“There… oh, god, there…” Jimin babbled, pushing back onto the intrusion, his earlier shyness consumed by the biological imperative coursing through him.

“You’re taking me so well,” Yoongi praised, his own control leaving. He added a second finger, scissoring them gently, stretching Jimin for what was to come. The slick sounds were obscene and erotic. He crooked his fingers, searching, and when he brushed over a specific bundle of nerves deep inside, Jimin nearly collapsed.

“What… what is that?” he shrieked, his voice pitching high with shock and pleasure.

“That’s your spot, baby,” Yoongi growled, rubbing over it again. “That’s what’s going to make you see stars when I’m inside you.”

He withdrew his fingers, and Jimin whined at the loss, a sound of pure desperation. The alpha positioned himself on his knees behind him, one hand guiding his own thick, flushed cock. The broad, plum-dark head pressed against Jimin’s slick, stretched entrance. The contrast of his darker skin against Jimin’s pale perfection was stark and deeply arousing.

He looked down, watching himself press against that fluttering, eager hole. “Look at that,” he muttered, more to himself than to Jimin. “Look at you, taking me.” He pushed forward, just the thick crown popping past the tight ring of muscle.

The omega screamed. It was a raw, torn sound of pleasure-pain, his body seizing up for a moment before forcefully relaxing, inviting him in. Yoongi held still, his own breath coming in ragged gasps, letting Jimin adjust to the immense, stretching fullness.

“Okay?” he gritted out, his voice strained.

“M-more… please, hyung, more… need it…” Jimin begged, pushing his hips back in a shallow, frantic rhythm.

That was all the permission Yoongi needed. He gripped Jimin’s hips, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh, and pushed forward in one long, slow, relentless slide until he was buried to the hilt. He was sheathed in impossible, molten heat, Jimin’s body clenching around him like a vice. He bottomed out, his hips flush against Jimin’s ass, and stayed there for a long moment, both of them panting, overwhelmed by the connection.

“Fuck, Jimin… you’re…” He had no words. He began to move, a slow, deep withdrawal until only the tip remained, followed by a smooth, powerful thrust back in.

Jimin’s moans became a constant, melodic stream, rising and falling with each of Yoongi’s thrusts. Yoongi set a deep, rolling pace, each movement measured and intense, aimed perfectly at that sweet spot inside Jimin that made the omega see stars. The sound of their bodies meeting, skin slapping against damp skin, was a rhythmic counterpoint to their ragged breathing.

He leaned over, blanketing Jimin’s back, and reached around to take Jimin’s small, already hard-again cock in his hand. He pumped him in time with his thrusts, his mouth finding the mating gland on Jimin’s neck, teeth scraping gently over the sensitive skin.

Jimin was lost, completely mindless with pleasure, his vocabulary reduced to shattered versions of Yoongi’s name. “Y-Yoon… don’t stop… ’s so good…”

“I’m not stopping,” Yoongi promised against his skin, the pace of his hips beginning to quicken, growing more urgent. The base of his cock began to swell, the knot starting to form, promising a connection that would bind them together. “Gonna knot you, Jimin-ah. Gonna give you everything.”

The pressure at the base of Yoongi’s cock was a relentless, living thing, a thick pulse of need that demanded to be seated. “It’s coming, Jimin-ah,” he gritted out, his voice a low rumble against the shell of Jimin’s ear. His thrusts grew shorter, more forceful, each one pushing the burgeoning knot against Jimin’s stretched rim. “Just a little more. Open up for me, sweet love.”

Jimin’s reply was a ragged, high-pitched whine, his body tensing then yielding all at once. “Yoon-ah! It’s…it’s too much, it’s…”

The final, deep drive of Yoongi’s hips cut him off. The swollen base of his knot pressed insistently past the tight ring of muscle and then, with a final, wet pop, it slid home. They were locked. A perfect, airtight seal. Yoongi groaned, a sound of pure, real satisfaction, as he was finally, completely sheathed within the omega he loved. The sensation was overwhelming - a scorching, velvety tightness that gripped his knot in a vice-like embrace, milking him instantly.

His hips gave a final, involuntary jerk, and then the world narrowed to the point where their bodies were fused. A hot, powerful rush surged up from his core, and his release started. It wasn’t a single pulse but a seemingly endless flood, jetting deep into Jimin’s clenching heat. He could feel each thick, hot spurt, a strong claim marking Jimin’s insides as his own. He collapsed forward, his full weight settling onto Jimin’s back, one arm wrapping possessively around his slender waist to keep him close, the other bracing them both on the mattress.

Beneath him, Jimin was shuddering violently, a continuous, full-body tremor. A broken sob escaped his lips. “So full… alpha… you’re… filling me up.”

“That’s it,” Yoongi murmured, nuzzling into the sweat-damp hair at Jimin’s nape. His teeth found Jimin’s mating gland again, not to bite, but to soothe with his tongue, laving over the sensitive skin as his body continued to spend itself. “Taking my seed so well. So perfect for me.” He could feel the internal flutters of Jimin’s own climax, a series of gentle, rhythmic squeezes around his sensitive cock that drew his orgasm out, prolonging the exquisite pressure.

The intensity was staggering. Yoongi’s vision swam, his alpha instincts roaring in triumph. Claimed. Bred. Ours. The thoughts were primal, simple, and absolute. He rocked his hips in tiny, impossible movements, the minimal friction sending sharp jolts of pleasure through both of them. The omega mewled, pushing back against the gentle rocking, seeking more of the overwhelming sensation.

Slowly, the violent pulses of his release began to ebb, settling into a warm, constant flow. The urgent need softened into a deep, thrumming contentment. The room was silent except for their harsh, synchronized breathing and the soft, wet sounds of their joined bodies. The air was thick with their combined scents - Yoongi’s dark, stormy alpha musk blanketing Jimin’s sweet, softer omega pheromones into something new, something uniquely theirs.

Yoongi shifted his weight carefully, mindful of their connection, and rolled them onto their sides, his front still molded perfectly to Jimin’s back. The movement made Jimin gasp, a sharp intake of breath as the knot shifted inside him. “S’okay,” Yoongi soothed, pulling the thin hospital sheet over their damp skin. He tucked Jimin’s head under his chin, his arm a secure band across Jimin’s chest, his hand splayed over the omega’s frantically beating heart.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his lips moving against Jimin’s temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jimin’s body began to relax by degrees, the tension leaching out of him until he was a soft, pliant weight in Yoongi’s arms. His small hand came up to cover Yoongi’s, their fingers lacing together. His scent was now one of utter satiation and peace. “Yoon…gi…” he slurred, his voice heavy with impending sleep. “…love you…”

“Love you more,” Yoongi answered, his own voice thick with emotion. He kept up the gentle, idle petting, stroking Jimin’s stomach, feeling the slight, impossible hope of what might be growing deep within him now. He focused on the feeling of Jimin’s breath evening out, becoming deep and regular. He listened to the soft, sleepy sounds Jimin made, feeling the occasional, contented twitch of his fingers.

The knot would hold them for a while longer, a physical tether as powerful as the emotional one that had always bound them. Yoongi closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of his omega, finally home, finally safe, finally his. The low lights of the hospital room hummed, casting long shadows, but in their cocoon on the bed, the world was perfect, warm, and complete. Jimin’s breathing deepened further, a sure sign he had drifted off. Yoongi held him tighter, a quiet promise breathed into his hair.

+++

“In the silence after fire, I found my home again - not in walls or names, but in the heartbeat pressed against mine.”

+++

Chapter Text

+++

“The morning after should have felt like shame - but instead, it felt like waking up in someone’s arms for the first time in my life.”

+++

The first thing he felt was weight. Not crushing, not suffocating - but steady, solid, grounding. An arm heavy across his waist, a leg tangled with his own, the warmth of another body wrapped around him. The next thing was scent. Sandalwood. Faint traces of smoke. The kind of scent that had haunted his dreams for years.

And then, memory.

Jimin’s lashes fluttered open, his eyes adjusting to the dim hospital light. The white walls, the machines all reminders that he wasn’t in some fantasy. But the ache deep inside him, the soreness threaded with lingering heat, told him exactly what had happened.

Yoongi had been here. Yoongi hadn’t left. Yoongi had touched him - not with pity or restraint, but with love. And Yoongi was still here now, in his bed.

Jimin turned his head slightly. The alpha’s face was close, closer than it had been in years. Yoongi’s mouth was slack in sleep, his brow relaxed in a way Jimin had almost forgotten it could be. One of his hands rested low on Jimin’s stomach, fingers curled protectively even in slumber, as though his body refused to let go.

A lump caught in Jimin’s throat.

He should’ve felt shame, panic, something cold and cutting - but he didn’t. All he felt was fragile, like porcelain held too tightly. His body throbbed faintly from the knot they had shared, heat still coiling low in his belly, reminding him that it wasn’t over yet. He shifted slightly, and the movement must’ve stirred Yoongi, because the alpha groaned softly, his arm tightening around Jimin instinctively. The pressure made Jimin gasp, not in pain but in the overwhelming sensation of being held.

“Yoongi…” His voice cracked, hoarse.

The alpha’s eyes opened immediately. Dark, alert, and then softening the moment they met his. “Jimin-ah.”

Jimin swallowed. His lips trembled, words scattering before they could form. He wanted to ask why are you still here? He wanted to say this is a mistake. He wanted to say don’t ever let me go again. But all that came out was a shaky breath. Before he could find the words, another wave of heat rolled through him, sharp and unforgiving. His body seized, a soft cry leaving his lips before he could bite it back.

Yoongi was already awake, pulling him close, scent flooding the room in thick waves of sandalwood. “It’s starting again,” he murmured, calm but firm, pressing kisses to Jimin’s temple. “I’ve got you. Breathe with me.”

Jimin’s fingers clutched at Yoongi’s shirt, his body trembling. His wolf, long buried and dulled, reached weakly for the alpha’s presence, guided by instinct he hadn’t felt in years. The panic that always lurked in him didn’t surface this time. Instead, he found himself pressing into Yoongi’s chest, desperate for his scent, his warmth, the anchor he had always been.

“It hurts,” he whispered, ashamed of how small his voice sounded.

Yoongi’s hand stroked down his back, patient, grounding. “I know. But you’re not alone.”

The words undid him. Jimin’s tears spilled freely, dampening Yoongi’s shirt as the alpha held him through the wave. Yoongi’s knot wasn’t inside him anymore, but the memory of it lingered, his body aching with both need and relief.

“Don’t leave me,” Jimin breathed, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

Yoongi pressed his forehead against Jimin’s, his grip firm. “Never again. Not in this life, not in the next.”

Jimin’s wolf whimpered at the vow, curling tighter against Yoongi’s presence. And for the first time in years, Jimin didn’t feel hollow. He felt full - fragile, yes, trembling and raw - but full. He clung tighter, letting himself be held, as if Yoongi’s arms alone could keep him from falling apart.

The wave didn’t pass this time. It grew sharper, hotter, each tremor stealing more of his strength. He clung to Yoongi, his nails biting into the alpha’s skin, as if letting go would mean crumbling into ash.

“Yoongi…” His voice was ragged, nearly unrecognizable. “Don’t… don’t leave me.”

“I’m not leaving,” Yoongi whispered against his temple, arms tightening, scent pouring over him in steady waves of sandalwood. “I’m right here. Always.”

The reassurance soothed, but only for a moment. His body still burned, his wolf scratching wildly under his skin. The emptiness from years of suppression screamed to be filled, not just touched, not just comforted. His instincts screamed for more.

“Please,” Jimin whimpered, his voice breaking as he arched closer to Yoongi, heat consuming him. “Please…don’t stop. I can’t—” His words scattered, dissolved into a sob. “If you leave, I’ll disappear. I’ll break.”

Yoongi’s breath hitched, his forehead pressing against Jimin’s. “You won’t break. I won’t let you.”

But Jimin shook his head, his wolf pushing forward, demanding. “No… no, you don’t understand.” Tears welled in his eyes, rolling hot down his cheeks. “If you don’t… if you don’t mate me, Yoon—” He choked, his voice collapsing into a plea. “I’ll lose it. I’ll disappear. My omega won’t let me survive this.”

The words hung in the air like thunder.

Yoongi’s eyes burned with conflict. His hand cupped Jimin’s face, thumb brushing away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “Jimin-ah… don’t ask me for this now. Not when you’re hurting. Not when you’re burning up and not thinking clearly.”

“I am thinking clearly!” Jimin cried, his voice cracking. His body trembled with both heat and desperation, every nerve raw and pleading. “I’ve thought of nothing but you for years. You’re the only one who can touch me, the only one who makes me feel like I’m still here. Please, Yoongi. Bite me. Claim me. Make me yours.”

Yoongi groaned low in his chest, his wolf clawing at his restraint. The alpha’s scent spiked, heavy and possessive, filling every corner of the room. “Moonbeam…” His voice was hoarse, frayed with instinct. “If I do this… there’s no going back. You’ll be mine. Forever.”

Jimin’s lips trembled. He leaned up, his forehead pressing desperately against Yoongi’s. “I’ve always been yours. Even when they tore me away, even when they broke me. I never stopped being yours.”

The truth cracked something open inside Yoongi. His hand slid into Jimin’s hair, his eyes fierce and pained as he searched his face. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” Jimin whispered, shaking. “I’ve only ever been yours.”

And then the alpha broke.

The kiss that followed was nothing like the tender ones before - it was consuming, desperate, filled with years of longing and rage and love all tangled together. Jimin moaned into it, arching helplessly against him, letting the alpha’s weight ground him as another wave tore through.

Yoongi moved with him, guiding him through the fire, their bodies fitting like they had been carved for this alone. Each time the knot swelled inside him, Jimin’s cries turned into whimpers of relief, his omega drinking in every touch, every breath. They came together again and again, the fire demanding more, their bodies answering.

But still, it wasn’t enough.

Tears blurred Jimin’s eyes as his wolf clawed at his chest, howling for what it had been denied for too long. “Yoon… alpha… please. Bite me.”

The alpha froze, his jaw tight, his body trembling with restraint. “Jimin-ah…”

“Please,” the omega begged, clutching at him. “I can’t hold on. My wolf… my body… it won’t stop until you do. I need you to mate me. I need it to be you.” His voice broke on the last word, raw and honest, the plea of a soul laid bare.

Yoongi’s growl filled the room, low and guttural, his wolf breaking free of its chains. His eyes burned as he pressed Jimin down, their scents clashing and twining until the air itself shook.

“Mine,” Yoongi snarled, before his teeth sank into Jimin’s neck.

Pain flared, then a wave of pure heat and release flooded through him. Jimin gasped, his body arching, his wolf crying out in recognition. The bond roared into place, stronger than anything he’d ever imagined. It tethered him, filled him, made him whole. Instinct drove him before thought could catch up - he turned his head, his teeth sinking weakly into Yoongi’s shoulder, marking him back. The taste of his mate’s blood sealed it, the bond slamming shut like the final note of a song long unfinished.

They collapsed together, breathless, bodies slick with heat and tears, but finally – finally - complete.

Yoongi kissed his damp hair, voice shaking as he whispered, “Forever, Jimin-ah. You’re mine forever.”

And for the first time since he was torn away from him years ago, Jimin believed it.

+++

“I thought I would break apart in the fire, but instead I found myself reforged in his arms.”

+++

Hoseok had seen a lot in his years at the hospital.

Omegas carried in delirious with heat, terrified without a trusted alpha by their side. Alphas broken after suppressing their wolves too long. Betas torn between duty and exhaustion. He had worked every ward, every night shift, and eventually found his calling: caretaker for omegas post-heat.

It was steady work. Necessary. Someone had to stay with them, help them shower, eat, regain strength. And as a beta who didn’t crave what alphas and omegas craved, Hoseok was safe. A neutral presence. Still, he didn’t expect to be assigned to Room 305. The file was thin: an omega recovering after a severe crash, complications in heat. No details, no family listed. Hoseok didn’t ask. He never did.

He straightened his jacket, knocked twice, and pushed the door open.

And was immediately slammed against the wall by a growling alpha.

The world blurred - one second steady, the next full of teeth and pheromones. The alpha was taller, broader, his scent flooding the room like fire and woodsmoke. His forearm pressed hard against Hoseok’s chest, pinning him, his eyes flashing red with a threat that wasn’t empty.

Hoseok froze, every instinct screaming at him to stay still. Betas didn’t win fights like this.

“Yoongi!”

The voice - fragile, familiar, achingly familiar - cut through the tension like glass.

The alpha’s grip didn’t ease, but his head turned. And Hoseok’s eyes snapped toward the bed.

Jimin.

Hoseok’s lungs stuttered. Not the shy high school boy he remembered, who danced under stage lights and laughed with eyes that crinkled like sunshine. This Jimin was paler, thinner, his body marked with scars and shadows. But it was him. Older, fragile, but him.

“Yoongi,” Jimin repeated, his voice soft but steady. “It’s okay. Let him go. He’s a friend.”

The alpha’s eyes narrowed, his wolf visibly battling with instinct. For a long moment Hoseok was certain he’d be crushed. Then, finally, the pressure lifted. The alpha stepped back - not leaving, not even turning fully away. He retreated only enough to place himself between Hoseok and Jimin, his body tense, his gaze sharp and watchful. Guarding.

Hoseok sucked in a breath, pressing a hand to his chest where the weight had pinned him. His legs trembled, but he managed a shaky smile as his eyes found Jimin again. “Jimin-ah…” His voice cracked. “It’s you.”

Jimin smiled faintly, almost apologetically. “It’s been a long time, Hoseok-hyung.”

Relief crashed through Hoseok, followed by sadness so sharp it hurt. He looks so different. Still beautiful, still carrying that quiet light, but dimmed - as if someone had smothered him for years.

“Yeah,” Hoseok managed, stepping cautiously closer though the alpha tracked his every move. “High school feels like a lifetime ago.”

The alpha growled low under his breath, and Jimin reached out, fingers brushing the back of his mate’s hand. “Yoongi, it’s fine,” Jimin murmured. “Really. He won’t hurt me.”

Only then did Hoseok see it.

The mark.

Dark, fresh, sharp on Jimin’s neck - mirrored on the alpha’s skin where his shirt collar gaped. Mating marks. Not faded, not tentative. Claimed. Bonded.

Hoseok swallowed hard, the truth dawning. Jimin wasn’t just an omega recovering from heat. He was an omega newly mated, tethered so fiercely to the alpha before him that the bond practically pulsed in the air.

The alpha - Yoongi - never stopped watching, his posture protective, his hand resting close enough to Jimin’s wrist to remind Hoseok that he wasn’t welcome too near.

But Jimin’s eyes softened as he whispered, “Hyung… I’m glad it’s you. I trust you.”

And Hoseok realized something then: whatever had broken Jimin before, whatever scars lingered in his body and his wolf, something in this bond - in this terrifying, protective alpha - had begun to stitch him back together.

The air in the room was still heavy though, almost suffocating. Hoseok had tended to dozens of omegas after their heats, some with their alphas nearby, some completely alone. But he had never stepped into a room that felt like this - thick with possessive pheromones, the edges of the alpha’s control so sharp they seemed to cut the air itself.

Yoongi didn’t sit. Didn’t ease. He hovered close to the bed, shoulders tense, eyes flicking to every move Hoseok made. His wolf was close to the surface - Hoseok could feel it in the low growl vibrating just beneath his chest, in the way he positioned himself always between Hoseok and Jimin.

He’s not going to let me near him.

The realization wasn’t a surprise. What startled Hoseok was how absolute it was - as if this alpha had forgotten he was human at all, clinging only to instinct.

Jimin must have noticed too, because he reached for Yoongi’s wrist, curling his fingers around it gently. “Yoongi-ah,” he whispered, voice soft as a balm. “It’s okay. He’s not here to hurt me.”

The growl quieted, though Yoongi’s eyes never left Hoseok. His body didn’t move an inch from guarding the bed.

Hoseok, careful not to provoke, stayed close to the door. He cleared his throat softly. “Jimin-ah… why is he still like this?”

The omega’s eyes flicked to him, then back to Yoongi, who had settled slightly at the sound of his name but remained taut as a bowstring. For a long moment, Jimin was silent. Then he sighed, pressing his free hand over the fresh mark at his neck.

“It’s… a long story,” he admitted, his voice quiet, tired. “We’ve been apart for years. And now we’re here again, closer than we’ve ever been, and…” His eyes softened as they lingered on Yoongi’s profile. “His alpha doesn’t want to let me out of sight. Not after everything. Not after what we lost.”

Hoseok tilted his head. “Lost?”

Jimin gave a small smile, but it was full of sadness. “Mistakes. Choices that weren’t ours. He probably still feels guilty. And guilt…” His hand tightened around Yoongi’s wrist. “…makes his wolf overprotective.”

That word - overprotective - felt like an understatement. Hoseok had seen alphas guard their mates before, but this was different. This wasn’t just protectiveness. This was a wolf pushed to the edge, ready to tear apart anything that might touch what it thought could be taken again.

Curiosity itched at Hoseok’s tongue - what kind of history left scars like that? - but he swallowed it down. Jimin’s fragile expression told him enough: this wasn’t something to dig at. Not yet.

Instead, he offered a gentle smile, the kind he used with patients who needed reassurance more than explanations. “I see. Then I’ll come back later.”

Jimin blinked, surprised. “You’re leaving?”

“For now,” Hoseok said, raising his hands in a show of peace. “I’m here to take care of you, Jimin-ah, but not if it means agitating him.” His eyes flicked toward Yoongi, who hadn’t budged from his place, his stare still burning holes into Hoseok’s skin. “It’ll do more harm than good. I’ll return once he calms down.”

Jimin looked conflicted, glancing from Hoseok to Yoongi. His lips parted like he wanted to argue, but he seemed to know Hoseok was right. At last, he nodded slowly. “Okay, hyung. Thank you for understanding.”

“Of course.” Hoseok softened his smile. “You’ve been through enough. The last thing you need is more tension in this room.”

Jimin’s hand brushed over Yoongi’s wrist again, a silent tether, as if assuring both his wolf and Hoseok at the same time. “Come back when it feels… safer.”

“I will.” Hoseok inclined his head respectfully, not to Jimin this time, but to the alpha whose body still radiated suspicion. He didn’t wait for a response. He stepped backward, quietly letting himself out of the room.

As the door clicked shut, Hoseok leaned against the cool wall of the corridor, releasing a long breath.

That wasn’t just a bond. He had felt bonds before. What he saw in that room was something older, sharper, forged in absence and grief. Something that frightened him, but also - strangely - gave him hope. Because Jimin had looked fragile, yes. But for the first time in years, Hoseok had seen a flicker of life in his eyes.

And it was because of this… Yoongi.

+++

“Wolves bare their teeth when they’re afraid of losing what little they have left.”

+++

Chapter Text

+++

“It wasn’t rage that made me bare my teeth — it was fear of losing him again.”

+++

He could still taste it - the metallic bite of adrenaline on his tongue, the echo of his wolf snarling through his chest. His hands still ached from pressing the beta against the wall, his muscles still tense as if ready to lunge again.

It wasn’t rational. He knew it. Hoseok wasn’t a threat. Betas never were.

But the moment the door had opened, Yoongi’s instincts had flared white-hot, louder than reason, louder than the part of him that knew hospital staff had to come and go. His wolf hadn’t seen a caretaker. It had seen someone new, someone unknown stepping into Jimin’s fragile sanctuary. And unknown meant danger.

Danger meant loss.

Loss was something Yoongi’s wolf would not allow. Not again.

He sat in the chair now, close to the bed, watching Jimin’s chest rise and fall. The omega slept fitfully, his body still weakened from days of heat, but the bond pulsed faintly between them - a thread Yoongi could feel tugging every time Jimin whimpered or shifted.

It was new, raw, fragile. And yet, it was everything.

He pressed his palms against his knees, forcing his fingers to still. His heart hadn’t slowed since Hoseok left, and guilt pressed heavy on his chest. Jimin had told him it was okay. Jimin had told him to release him. And he had - but only because Jimin had asked. He’d only listened to Jimin.

Yoongi exhaled sharply, dragging his hand over his face. He wasn’t used to this, this loss of balance. He had always prided himself on his control, his ability to keep his wolf chained even when his father’s rage demanded he break. But around Jimin, after everything, the chain barely held. His wolf wanted to guard, to claim, to tear apart anyone who came too close. Because beneath the bond, beneath the relief of having Jimin in his arms again, there was still the raw memory of losing him.

The nights he had searched, finding nothing. The silence. The fear. The hollow years of imagining Jimin in someone else’s arms, someone else’s life. It had carved into him, left scars so deep that now, even when Jimin was here, alive and mated, his wolf didn’t believe it was real. It needed proof, constant and absolute. He reached out, brushing the back of his knuckles against Jimin’s cheek. The omega stirred faintly, leaning into the touch even in sleep.

The sight eased something sharp in him.

“I scared him,” Yoongi murmured softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Hoseok. I know I did. But I can’t—” His throat closed, the words faltering. He bowed his head, his forehead brushing Jimin’s temple. “I can’t risk anyone taking you again. Not even for a second.”

His wolf rumbled low, agreeing. Protective. Relentless.

Yoongi sighed, pulling back just enough to watch Jimin’s face again. Pale, bruised, but alive. Breathing. His. And maybe, he thought, that was why he had been so territorial. Because it wasn’t about Hoseok. It was about every ghost of the past clawing at the edges of his sanity, every reminder that Jimin had been stolen once before.

His wolf didn’t care about reason. It only cared about keeping what was finally, irrevocably theirs. Yoongi sat back, adjusting the blanket over Jimin’s body. He’d have to apologize to Hoseok eventually. Explain himself. But not now. Now, his only focus was Jimin. Because protecting him wasn’t just instinct anymore. It was survival.

The room was too quiet. The kind of quiet that left his wolf pacing inside his chest, claws scraping, ears pricked for threats that weren’t there. He tried to sit still. He tried to breathe normally. But every shift of Jimin’s body on the bed, every small sigh, made his instincts flare again. His wolf didn’t want him sitting across the room. It wanted him pressed close, covering Jimin, blocking out the world.

And Yoongi didn’t even know if that was his wolf talking anymore - or if it was him.

His father’s voice sometimes crept in during the silence. Control yourself, Yoongi. An alpha who loses control is nothing but an animal. But his father hadn’t spent years clawing through emptiness, wondering if the only person who had ever made him whole was gone forever. His father hadn’t looked into the glassy eyes of a boy being dragged away and known he was powerless to stop it.

Yoongi had.

And that memory lived in his skin like a scar.

He ran a hand over his face, trying to ground himself, but when he looked back at Jimin, the guilt made it worse. Jimin was pale still, his lips dry, his body weakened not only by the crash but by the storm of heat they had weathered together.

And now he bore Yoongi’s mark.

His wolf rumbled with satisfaction every time his eyes fell on it - fresh, dark, carved into Jimin’s delicate skin. But Yoongi’s heart clenched. Because even though Jimin had begged him, even though he had wanted it, Yoongi couldn’t shake the fear that he had been selfish. That he had taken advantage of a moment where Jimin was too vulnerable to know what he truly wanted.

His fingers brushed his own shoulder, where Jimin’s bite still throbbed faintly. The bond hummed between them, warm and alive, undeniable.

“Does it make me selfish to want this?” he whispered to no one but the still room.

His wolf growled in answer: No. It makes you whole.

Yoongi shut his eyes, leaning back in the chair, feeling the bond tug with every rise and fall of Jimin’s chest. It should have soothed him. It should have told him that Jimin wasn’t going anywhere. But the ghosts were louder. His father. Jimin’s parents. The years apart. The silence.

He opened his eyes again, staring at the closed door. His wolf snarled low in his chest at the memory of Hoseok stepping through it, at the thought of anyone else crossing that threshold. Yoongi hated the reaction. Hated that it proved his father right - that he was closer to beast than man now.

But when he turned his head and saw Jimin again — fragile, marked, alive — the truth became unbearable.

If being a beast was what it took to keep Jimin safe this time, then maybe he could live with that.

Yoongi’s wolf purred, content with the thought.

And Yoongi, exhausted and guilty, let it.

+++

“When you’ve been hollow long enough, even the faintest heartbeat feels like a miracle.”

+++

The days blurred together after the fire of his first heat finally ebbed.

He had thought he would never recover from it, that his body would split apart under the weight of instincts it hadn’t been allowed to feel for years. But every time he thought he would drown, Yoongi had been there - arms steady, voice steady, scent steady.

It was because of him that Jimin realized, that he was still here at all.

The suppressants his parents had forced into his veins had hollowed him out, left his omega quiet, buried, hibernating. For years, he had been a shell. Breathing but not alive. Existing, but not feeling. His wolf had been muted, silenced so completely he thought it had died.

But now… now he could feel it again.

It was faint, like a candle flickering after years in darkness, but it was there. His inner omega stirred each time Yoongi touched him, calmed each time his scent washed over the room. It was as if the bond they had forged - reckless, desperate, and necessary - was the only medicine strong enough to wake him. Sometimes, lying half-asleep, Jimin could feel it clearest. The tether that stretched between their marks. It hummed when Yoongi came close, pulsed when his hand brushed over Jimin’s skin. It made him shiver, not from fear but from recognition.

Mine, his wolf whispered faintly. Always mine.

But his body was still weak.

The crash, the heat, the years of suppression - they had taken their toll. The doctors said he needed to be kept under observation for at least two weeks more. His blood pressure, his hormone levels, his still-unstable omega rhythms… all of it needed time to even out.

Yoongi never left his side.

The alpha had finally allowed people back into the room - cautiously, reluctantly - but only after Jimin’s quiet voice convinced him. Nurses came and went, changing IVs, checking monitors. Hoseok had returned, calm and professional, though Yoongi’s eyes followed him at every step. Taehyung visited often, keeping his voice light but his eyes heavy with worry.

And then there was the unspoken thing.

The test.

Jimin heard the doctors discuss it quietly in the hall, thinking he was asleep. A test once his body stabilized, once the hormones from his heat settled. A test that would confirm whether the fire they had endured together had left something behind.

Pregnancy.

The word made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t understand. He had never let himself imagine it before. Not with Areum, not with the cold emptiness he had lived in. He had believed it impossible, something his body would never allow. But now, every time he placed a hand against his abdomen, he wondered. He wondered if his wolf was whispering for a reason. If the bond had not only woken him but planted something new.

And he wondered how Yoongi would react.

Sometimes, in the quiet hours of the night, Jimin watched him doze in the chair by the bed, his features drawn tight even in sleep. He thought of all the guilt Yoongi carried, all the ways he had blamed himself for their separation, for the lost years. Would this heal him? Or would it break him further?

Jimin exhaled shakily, closing his eyes. He didn’t know the answer. All he knew was that, for the first time in years, he felt alive. Weak, yes. Fragile, yes. But alive. And when the time came for the test, whatever it revealed - it would change everything.

The nurses spoke softly whenever they entered the room, but Jimin could hear the weight behind their words. The test. Soon. When his body stabilized.

The phrase looped in his mind like an echo he couldn’t silence. He had two weeks under observation. Two weeks to regain strength, to let his body recover. Yet with each day that passed, he felt the tension knot tighter in his stomach. It wasn’t just physical recovery anymore. It was the shadow of what they would look for - what they might find.

Pregnancy.

The word frightened him. Not because he didn’t want it - but because he wasn’t sure if his body could give it. Years of suppressants, years of forced silence in his omega core… what if they had ruined him permanently? What if his wolf had woken too late?

Sometimes, late at night, he pressed his palm gently against his lower abdomen, feeling nothing but soft skin. No sign, no proof, just emptiness and uncertainty. And yet his wolf stirred faintly when he did, whispering in soft, instinctive tones: something is there.

Jimin wanted to believe it. Gods, he wanted to. But he remembered disappointment too vividly. The look in his parents’ eyes whenever he failed to “perform” as the perfect omega son. The cold, clinical tests. The shame. The way his body was spoken about as if it belonged to them, as if it were machinery that had failed.

Now, the possibility of new life didn’t feel like freedom. It felt like a knife balanced on its edge - ready to heal him or cut him apart.

Yoongi had tried to ease him, but Jimin could feel the weight pressing on him too. He saw it in the alpha’s eyes when he thought Jimin was sleeping. The guilt, the hope, the fear. Yoongi carried them all silently, as though his own wolf demanded he take the burden alone.

One evening, Taehyung visited. He chattered about work, about fashion week, about trivial things that barely landed in Jimin’s ears. But then he leaned close, his hand brushing Jimin’s. “You’re terrified, aren’t you?”

Jimin couldn’t answer. His throat closed, his lips trembling.

Taehyung squeezed his hand gently, his expression unusually solemn. “It’s okay to be afraid, Minnie. But whatever happens… you’ll still be you. Not broken. Not ruined. Just you.”

The words cracked something in him, tears slipping unbidden down his cheeks. He hated how fragile he felt, how weak. But Taehyung stayed, held his hand, and didn’t let go until Yoongi returned to the room, scent heavy and protective as always.

The night before the test, Jimin couldn’t sleep. His body shook with anticipation, his mind spinning with every possible outcome. He lay awake in Yoongi’s arms, watching the alpha breathe, listening to the slow rhythm that calmed him even as fear gnawed at his chest.

When Yoongi stirred and murmured his name, Jimin whispered into the dark, “What if it’s nothing? What if there’s nothing left of me to give?”

Yoongi’s arms tightened instantly, pulling him closer, his voice firm even in half-sleep. “Then we’ll still have each other. That’s everything.”

The bond pulsed between them, warm and reassuring, but Jimin still cried quietly into his shoulder, clinging like a child afraid of being left behind. Because tomorrow, everything could change.

The morning of the test came too quickly. Jimin woke to the sound of nurses moving quietly around the room, setting up equipment, murmuring instructions to each other. The faint beeping of machines cut through the silence, sharp and unforgiving. He lay still, trying to keep his breathing even, but every muscle in his body trembled with unease. His hand drifted instinctively to his lower belly, pressing lightly against the skin as though he might feel something. There was nothing, only warmth beneath his palm.

Yoongi sat at his side, his hand firm over Jimin’s. He didn’t say much, but his presence was everything - grounding him, his sandalwood scent spilling across the room in quiet defiance of the sterile hospital air.

The doctor entered, a clipboard in hand, his expression neutral. “Park Jimin-ssi, we’ll be doing a hormone and ultrasound test today to confirm if conception occurred during your last heat. It won’t take long.”

The words landed heavy, each syllable a hammer against Jimin’s ribs. He nodded faintly, unable to trust his voice.

When the nurse asked him to sit back and lift his shirt, Jimin’s cheeks burned with humiliation. His body had been prodded and examined too many times in his life - stripped of dignity, reduced to function. But this time was different. This time, when shame threatened to choke him, Yoongi was there. The alpha’s fingers threaded through his, warm and unyielding.

“I’m right here,” Yoongi whispered, leaning close enough that only he could hear. “Breathe, Jimin-ah.”

The gel was cold against his skin. The probe pressed lightly, the machine humming softly. Jimin’s chest rose and fell in uneven rhythm, his eyes locked on Yoongi’s face instead of the screen. He didn’t dare look. He couldn’t.

Minutes dragged like hours. The doctor adjusted settings, murmured something to the nurse. The air grew heavier with every second of silence. Jimin’s heart pounded so loudly he was sure it filled the room.

What if it’s nothing? What if I’m empty?

He couldn’t bear to hear it. He wanted to cover his ears, to run, to disappear before the words could be spoken. But Yoongi’s grip tightened around his hand, keeping him tethered.

Finally, the doctor cleared his throat. “There’s a presence of elevated hormone levels. And…” He adjusted the monitor, angling the screen slightly. “Here.”

Jimin’s eyes flicked up before he could stop himself. The image was blurry, incomprehensible - just gray and white shadows. But the doctor’s tone softened, almost reverent. “It’s very early, but it’s there. You’re pregnant.”

The world tilted.

Pregnant. The word echoed, hollow and full all at once. His vision blurred as tears welled hot in his eyes. His body shook, his wolf howled inside him - not in pain, but in recognition, in fierce joy.

Beside him, Yoongi’s breath stuttered, the alpha’s scent flooding the room in a wave of sandalwood so strong it drowned out the sterile air. He pressed their joined hands to his lips, his voice breaking. “Jimin-ah…”

Jimin’s tears spilled over, silent but relentless. He didn’t know whether to laugh or sob, so he did both, his shoulders trembling under Yoongi’s hold. For so long he had thought himself hollow, ruined, and incapable. But now… now something was growing inside him. Something theirs. His hand slid instinctively back to his abdomen, fingers trembling against the spot where life had just been confirmed.

He whispered, voice raw and cracked, “I’m not empty anymore.”

Yoongi kissed the back of his hand again, fiercely, reverently, as though agreeing with every broken syllable.

And for the first time in years, Jimin let himself believe in tomorrow.

+++

“For years I was told I was hollow, but now - with one fragile heartbeat - I know I carry the proof that love survived.”

+++

Chapter Text

+++

“Joy should have been enough, but my father’s voice still echoed louder than my own.”

+++

The words “You’re pregnant” should have set him free.

They should have broken the chains of years spent apart, should have filled him with nothing but elation. And part of him felt that, the part of him that clutched Jimin’s hand so tightly his knuckles ached, the part that couldn’t stop pressing kisses against his skin. His wolf was howling in triumph, tail high, chest out, proud to the point of bursting.

But under that swell of joy, guilt gnawed like a parasite. Because when he heard it - when the doctor confirmed that life had sparked inside Jimin - the first thought Yoongi had wasn’t we did it. It was I don’t deserve this.

The memories came unbidden, flooding like a tide. His father’s voice, sharp and cutting. An alpha’s worth is measured by what he can build, not what he can feel. Control yourself, Yoongi. A wolf that bares its teeth is weak. A wolf that loves is weaker.

Yoongi could still feel the sting of his father’s grip on his arm when he had dragged him away from Jimin years ago, the fury in his eyes. You will not shame us for a boy who brings nothing to this family. Do you want to ruin him? Do you want him destroyed?

And Yoongi, cornered, had swallowed his howl. He had let Jimin go. The guilt of that moment never left. And now, staring at Jimin’s trembling smile, at the hand pressed protectively over his abdomen, Yoongi’s chest tightened. Because this miracle wasn’t just fragile - it was vulnerable. And Yoongi knew exactly what his family would do if they found out.

He closed his eyes, fingers tightening on Jimin’s hand. The bond pulsed between them, steady and alive, but his wolf snarled with unease. Protect. Hide. Guard. The instincts were overwhelming, pressing like claws against his ribs.

He thought of his father again. Min Hyun-sik, towering and cold, eyes sharp enough to slice through bone. He remembered standing before him as a boy, being told he was too soft, too easily distracted. He remembered the punishments when he faltered, the lessons carved into his skin until control became his shield.

And now, all of that control was slipping.

He opened his eyes again. Jimin was still crying, still laughing through his tears, his palm flat against his stomach as though guarding something precious. Yoongi’s heart ached at the sight, a longing so fierce it nearly doubled him over.

“I’ll protect you,” he whispered, more to himself than to Jimin. His thumb brushed over Jimin’s knuckles, tender but desperate. “Both of you. No matter what it costs me.”

His wolf purred at the vow, satisfied. But deep inside, the shadow of his father’s voice lingered, cold and cruel. You can’t keep him safe. You never could.

Yoongi clenched his jaw, shutting the voice out, forcing his gaze to stay fixed on Jimin. On what was real. On what was his. Because this time, he wasn’t going to let go.

The alpha didn’t notice when the door opened. His eyes hadn’t left Jimin for hours. The omega was sleeping again, curled on his side, his hand still resting over his stomach like an unconscious vow. His scent was calmer now, softer, and Yoongi breathed it in like medicine. The monitors hummed in rhythm, each beep a reminder that Jimin was alive, that the fragile life inside him had begun. And still, the voice of his father gnawed at him. You can’t protect him. You’ll only destroy him.

The sound of shoes scuffing against the floor broke his spiral. Yoongi turned sharply, his wolf bristling until his eyes landed on Jungkook. The younger alpha had slipped into the room quietly, posture relaxed but gaze sharp. He closed the door behind him without a word, standing there for a moment as if giving Yoongi time to decide whether he was welcome.

Yoongi’s jaw tightened. “What are you doing here?”

“Checking on you,” Jungkook said simply, his voice calm, steady. He stepped further inside, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. “And on him.” His eyes flicked briefly to Jimin, then back to Yoongi.

Yoongi scoffed under his breath. “You shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t need anyone else right now.”

“Maybe,” Jungkook agreed, unbothered. “But you do.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Yoongi’s chest tightened, his wolf baring its teeth at the implication, but Jungkook didn’t flinch. He walked closer, stopping just far enough not to intrude on the protective radius around the bed.

“I was there, outside the door when they told you. I saw the way you looked when the doctor said it,” Jungkook said, his tone quiet, even. “Like you’d been given the world… and cursed with it in the same breath.”

Yoongi looked away, his throat tight. He wanted to deny it, to tell Jungkook to leave, but the words refused to come. Because it was true.

“You think you don’t deserve this,” Jungkook continued. “That you’ll fail him. That you’ll fail… them.” His gaze softened. “But you won’t. Not if you choose differently this time.”

Yoongi’s fists clenched in his lap. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jungkook tilted his head slightly. “Maybe I don’t know everything. But I know what it looks like when someone carries chains that aren’t theirs to carry. You think your father’s voice is truth, but it’s not. It’s poison. And if you keep listening to it, you’ll miss what’s right in front of you.”

Yoongi’s eyes snapped back to him, fury flashing - not at Jungkook, but at the rawness of his words. At being seen so clearly.

Jungkook didn’t waver. He folded his arms loosely, his tone softening. “Hyung… he chose you. Despite everything. Despite what they did to him. He still chose you. And if Jimin can forgive you, then maybe it’s time you forgive yourself.”

Silence pressed between them. Yoongi’s wolf paced inside him, unsettled, yet soothed by the conviction in Jungkook’s voice. Finally, Yoongi looked down at Jimin again. The omega shifted slightly in his sleep, sighing softly, his bond pulling at Yoongi’s chest like a lifeline.

“I can’t lose him,” Yoongi whispered, more to himself than to Jungkook. “Not again.”

“Then don’t,” Jungkook answered simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

For a moment, the weight in Yoongi’s chest loosened. The ghosts didn’t vanish, but they quieted, replaced by something steadier. Something like hope. Yoongi met Jungkook’s gaze again, and for the first time, he saw not just a subordinate or a bodyguard - but someone standing with him. Someone ready to fight alongside him, even if he didn’t ask.

Jungkook’s words lingered in the air long after the silence settled again. Yoongi sat back in the chair, his eyes fixed on Jimin’s sleeping form, but his mind pulled backward - into shadows he thought he’d buried.

===Flashback===

The study smelled of cigars and expensive whiskey. Yoongi remembered the sting of smoke in his lungs, the sharp cut of leather against his cheek where his father’s hand had struck him. He had been nineteen. Too young to hold power, too old to hide behind excuses.

“You shame me,” Min Hyun-sik’s voice thundered, low but venomous. “An alpha who dotes on a useless omega boy? Have you lost your mind? Do you know what people will say when they see you with him?”

Yoongi had stood there, fists clenched, his wolf snarling beneath his skin. “I don’t care what they say. He’s mine.”

His father’s hand gripped his collar, yanking him forward until they were nose to nose. The alpha’s scent was suffocating, authority pressed into every molecule of air. “Then you’ll kill him,” Hyun-sik spat. “You’ll drag him down with you. Do you want that, Yoongi? Do you want to see him crushed under the weight of what you can’t carry?”

The words had sliced through him sharper than any blow. And when Hyun-sik leaned closer, voice colder than steel, Yoongi had felt the threat coil like a blade.

“Leave him. Or I’ll make sure he never walks this earth again.”

===End Flashback===

Yoongi blinked, breath shuddering in his chest as the memory faded. He pressed a hand against his thigh, grounding himself in the present - in the soft sound of Jimin’s breathing, in the faint pulse of their bond.

But his father’s voice echoed still. Leave him. Or I’ll destroy him.

Yoongi didn’t listen back then. Still, the fear had never left. It had curled in his chest for years, dictating every step, every silence, every distance he forced between himself and Jimin after they had split apart. And now, even with the bond sealed, with Jimin pregnant with their pup, that fear gnawed at him.

He turned slightly. Jungkook was still standing by the door, silent, watchful. His presence was steady, like an anchor Yoongi hadn’t asked for but desperately needed.

Yoongi drew a shaky breath. “He told me he’d kill him,” he admitted, his voice rough. “If I didn’t let go. That’s why I… that’s why I—” He couldn’t finish the sentence, the shame too heavy.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened, his young face darkening with a quiet, controlled anger. “Then he’s not just cruel. He’s a coward.”

Yoongi looked away, but the words planted themselves deep, battling the echo of his father’s venom.

He reached for Jimin’s hand, brushing his thumb gently across his knuckles, grounding himself in the only truth that mattered now.

Past or not, fear or not - Jimin was here. Breathing. Carrying their pup. Alive.

And Yoongi would fight the whole world if he had to, just to keep it that way.

+++

“Even when silence fills the room, I can hear the storm inside him.”

+++

He woke slowly, the kind of waking where the world was still blurred at the edges. For a moment, he thought the quiet meant Yoongi was asleep. But when his senses caught up, when the bond tugged faintly in his chest, he knew better.

Yoongi wasn’t asleep. He was drowning.

Jimin blinked his eyes open, the ceiling a pale blur before he turned his head. Yoongi sat beside him, hunched slightly, his gaze fixed on their joined hands. His thumb brushed absently over Jimin’s knuckles, but the absent rhythm betrayed the thoughts that weren’t here in this room.

The scent told him even more.

Sandalwood, warm and grounding - but edged sharp, restless, like smoke caught in a closed room. Yoongi’s wolf was uneasy. Guarded. Angry. Not at Jimin. Never at Jimin. But at something heavy enough to make the air thick. Jimin exhaled softly, shifting just enough to brush his fingers against Yoongi’s wrist. The alpha startled faintly, his eyes snapping up, his control slipping for a second before he smoothed his face into calm.

“You’re awake,” Yoongi said softly, as though he hadn’t been holding his breath.

“Mm,” Jimin hummed, his voice still rough with sleep. He let his eyes wander briefly across the room, noticing the faintest trace of cedar lingering near the door. Jungkook had been here. Jimin could tell. The scent was there, steady, but not overwhelming. His wolf wasn’t disturbed - it wasn’t strong enough to rattle him, not when Yoongi’s scent wrapped heavier, closer, protective. It reassured him in ways he didn’t understand.

But Yoongi… Yoongi was another matter.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Jimin whispered, his lips tugging into a faint, tired smile.

Yoongi blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I can feel it,” Jimin said quietly, his eyes fluttering shut again. “Your wolf. The way it paces. The way you…” He swallowed, searching for words. “…the way you can’t breathe unless you’re holding me.”

The alpha stiffened, guilt flashing across his features, but Jimin tightened his grip on his wrist before he could pull away.

“I don’t mind,” Jimin murmured. His thumb brushed clumsily against Yoongi’s skin. “I like it. Knowing you’re here. Knowing you’re… fighting.”

Yoongi’s chest rose sharply, like the words had pierced him deeper than they should have. His gaze softened, but the storm didn’t fade.

“You shouldn’t have to feel that,” he said hoarsely. “Not after everything. Not when you need peace.”

Jimin shook his head slowly against the pillow, his body still heavy with weakness. “Peace doesn’t feel real without you.”

The bond pulsed then, warm and alive, answering for both of them. Jimin’s wolf stirred faintly beneath his skin, no longer silent, no longer buried. Just reaching - timidly, but reaching - for Yoongi’s alpha.

Jimin sighed, letting the exhaustion pull him halfway back into sleep, but not before whispering, “Stay close, Yoongi. I don’t care what you’re fighting. Just… stay close.”

Yoongi bent forward, his forehead brushing against Jimin’s temple, his hand covering Jimin’s smaller one. He didn’t answer, but Jimin felt the vow anyway, humming through the bond like a heartbeat.

And that was enough.

The word pregnancy lingered like smoke in his mind. Every time he let himself think it, his chest tightened until breathing hurt. He couldn’t tell his parents. Not yet. Not ever, a part of him whispered, though he knew the truth would eventually come to light. His parents, with their endless scrutiny, their sharp words, their polished masks - they’d tear this apart before it had a chance to bloom.

And Yoongi’s parents… Jimin shivered at the thought. If the truth reached them too soon, it would no longer belong to him. His child - their child - would become another bargaining chip in a war he never agreed to fight.

“Yoon…” Jimin’s voice cracked, quieter than he meant it to. His hand slipped over his stomach almost unconsciously. “I don’t want them to know. Not my parents. Not yours. Not yet.”

The alpha stilled beside him, his sharp eyes softening as soon as he understood. He leaned closer, his hand covering Jimin’s trembling one, grounding him with that familiar warmth.

“They don’t know,” Yoongi said firmly, his voice carrying that rare, unshakable certainty that soothed Jimin’s wolf. “Only you, me, and Jungkook. That’s it.”

Jimin blinked, searching his face. “Jungkook…”

Yoongi nodded. “He was with me when I needed someone. He won’t betray me. He won’t betray you. I made him promise.”

The thought of Jungkook - the young alpha with steady cedar in his scent - knowing about this fragile truth should have unnerved him. But it didn’t. Jimin had seen something unspoken in Jungkook’s eyes the few times they’d crossed paths: loyalty that ran deeper than words.

Still, the fear gnawed at him.

“What if…” Jimin’s throat closed up. His chest rose and fell too quickly. “What if they find out anyway? What if they take it from me? From us?”

Yoongi’s answer came immediately, low and guttural. His wolf speaking almost as much as he was. “They won’t. I’ll protect you. I’ll protect both of you.”

Something in Jimin broke at that. Not from fear this time, but from the fragile trust seeping back into his bones. He clung to Yoongi’s sleeve, his lips trembling as he tried to anchor himself in those words.

Yoongi’s hand shifted, cupping his jaw with a tenderness that silenced the storm in Jimin’s chest. “You’re not alone anymore, Jimin-ah. Not now. Not ever again.”

Jimin let the tears fall, his inner omega curling toward that vow like a pup to warmth. He believed him. Against all reason, he believed him.

+++

“For the first time in years, the fear didn’t crush me - because his promise was louder than my silence.”

+++

Chapter Text

+++

“We signed the end in silence, and yet it still echoes — like a promise that couldn’t die right.”

+++

The sky looked different after the hospital - too bright, too open, almost cruel in how it allowed life to go on. The air was sharp with early spring, but he still felt cold. He stood outside the main doors, one hand resting over his abdomen, his other holding the discharge papers that said stable condition. Stable. It sounded like a lie.

Yoongi was beside him, his expression unreadable beneath his cap and sunglasses, but Jimin could feel the tension radiating off him. His alpha wanted to keep him close - Jimin could sense it in the subtle pull through their bond, in the protective energy humming beneath his scent - but reason fought instinct.

“I’ll stay with Taehyung,” Jimin said softly, as if repeating it might make it real.

Yoongi’s head turned slightly, his jaw tight. “You don’t have to,” he murmured. “You can stay with me. The apartment—”

“I know,” Jimin interrupted gently, his tone more tired than defiant. “But you have your family to deal with. And the company. And the fallout. I don’t want to make things harder.”

“You’re not making anything harder,” the alpha said, his voice rough enough to make Jimin’s heart ache.

Taehyung appeared from the car then - his beige coat fluttering, expression soft but firm. “Come on, sunshine,” he said, his tone light but eyes serious. “You need rest, and my guest room is already waiting. Jungkook helped me fix the curtains.”

Jimin smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You didn’t have to—”

“I did,” Taehyung interrupted. “You deserve peace, at least for a little while.”

Yoongi didn’t speak, just stared between them - between Taehyung’s calm conviction and Jimin’s fragile quiet. For a moment, it looked like he would protest again, but then he just exhaled, slow and heavy.

“Alright,” he said finally. His tone was even, but his fingers flexed slightly - the only sign of his unease. He stepped closer, enough for Jimin to feel the warmth of him, and tucked a strand of hair behind Jimin’s ear. “Promise me you’ll call if you need anything. Anything.”

Jimin nodded, eyes flickering up to meet his. “I promise.”

Taehyung cleared his throat lightly, breaking the tension with a small, sympathetic smile. “You two look like a sad drama ending,” he said, placing a gentle hand on Jimin’s shoulder. “Let’s move before I start crying.”

Jimin chuckled weakly, allowing himself to be guided toward the car. He didn’t turn back, but he could feel Yoongi’s gaze on him the entire time - heavy, magnetic, reluctant to let go. When the car door closed, the world outside blurred behind tinted glass. Jimin leaned his head against the window, watching the hospital shrink in the distance, his reflection pale and tired.

Taehyung spoke quietly after a while. “He didn’t want to let you go.”

“I know.”

“And you didn’t want to leave.”

Jimin pressed his lips together, feeling the truth settle in his chest. “I had to,” he whispered. “Sometimes… loving someone means knowing when to breathe for both of you.”

Taehyung didn’t answer, just nodded faintly. The silence that followed was gentle, not heavy - the kind that wrapped around rather than pressed down. Outside, the city passed in colors. Inside, Jimin closed his eyes and tried to believe that this new beginning - this fragile, borrowed calm - would last. But even as the car turned onto Taehyung’s street, he felt it: that quiet pulse of instinct deep inside, reminding him that their story wasn’t over. Still… he needed his peace for now.

Taehyung’s apartment felt like a world apart from everything Jimin had known these last few years. He had been there before but never really paid attention. Now he did.

It smelled of bergamot tea, paint, and soft fabric - all warm, all human. Not sterile like the hospital, not cold like the penthouse he once shared with Areum. Here, there were books scattered on the coffee table, a blanket thrown haphazardly over the couch, and the faint hum of a washing machine somewhere in the distance.

It felt lived in. Safe.

Jimin’s things barely took up space - a single suitcase by the door, a small box of medications Taehyung insisted on keeping on the kitchen counter, and a folded hospital discharge note. He moved carefully, his body still adjusting, his hands always hovering near his stomach as if protecting something he still couldn’t fully believe was real.

Taehyung fussed, of course - fluffing the pillows, checking the temperature, asking a dozen questions in his calm, melodic voice.

“Do you want the window open or closed?”

“Open. Please.”

“You sure you don’t want soup? I can order that mushroom one you like—”

“Tae,” Jimin murmured with a small smile, “I’m okay. Really.”

Taehyung studied him for a moment before relenting, sighing softly. “You’re too good at lying, you know that?”

Jimin didn’t argue. He didn’t have the energy to.

Later that evening, when Taehyung left for a quick shoot and Jungkook promised to drop by later to check on them both, the apartment was quiet again. Jimin sat by the window, watching the sunset blur into shades of apricot and indigo. His tea had gone cold.

The knock on the door startled him. He thought it was Taehyung returning early - but when he opened it, his breath caught.

Areum stood there.

She was dressed simply, no makeup, no jewelry. For the first time in years, she looked like herself - not the poised politician’s daughter, not the woman bound by name. Just Areum.

“Can I come in?” she asked quietly.

Jimin hesitated, then stepped aside.

She didn’t move far, just enough to stand near the table, clutching an envelope between her fingers. “These… came today,” she said. “Your copy.”

Jimin glanced down. The divorce papers. His name, hers. Clean lines. Empty signatures waiting for ink.

He didn’t touch them. “You could’ve sent them through the lawyer.”

“I could have,” she said softly, “but I owed you more than that.”

He looked up. Her tone was different. Not cold, not cruel. Just weary.

“I know what you maybe still think of me,” she continued. “And maybe you’re right. But I didn’t hate you, Jimin. I just… didn’t know how to love you the way you needed. The way you deserved.”

Her words sat heavy in the quiet.

“I thought I could fix things. That maybe time would make us real.” She smiled faintly, though it didn’t last. “But then I saw you in that hospital. I saw how he looked at you. And I realized… it’d have never been me.”

Jimin’s throat tightened. “Areum—”

She shook her head gently. “I met someone,” she said. “An omega... as you know. His name’s Minseo. He makes me laugh. He doesn’t flinch at who I am.” She paused, searching his face. “I think I love him.”

Jimin nodded slowly. “You should.”

Silence. The kind that didn’t ache anymore.

Areum placed the envelope on the table. “Sign them when you’re ready,” she said. “No rush.”

When she turned to leave, Jimin found himself speaking before he could stop. “Thank you.”

She looked over her shoulder, smiling softly. “For what?”

“For letting me go.”

The door closed quietly behind her. Jimin stood there for a long while, his reflection faint in the window glass. The city lights blinked alive outside, but for the first time in years, he didn’t feel trapped by them. He looked down at the envelope on the table - Paper Divorce - and thought, strangely, that endings could sometimes feel like mercy.

+++

“Some goodbyes aren’t cruel. They’re just the final kindness between two people who were never meant to stay.”

+++

A few days passed but he kept doing the same routine over and over again. He would go out, walk aimlessly and then come back to his apartment.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

Yoongi stepped inside, kicked off his shoes, and let the silence close in around him. The faint scent of coffee and clean linen still clung to the air, but it felt wrong now - sterile, hollow. The space that had once been filled with Jimin’s scent, his voice, his soft breathing, was now just air and walls.

He had agreed to let Jimin stay with Taehyung because it was the rational thing to do. Because Taehyung was steady, protective, someone Yoongi trusted. But logic didn’t soothe instinct. His wolf hated the separation - pacing inside him, restless, clawing at the edges of his composure.

He’d tried to ignore it. He’d told himself that Jimin needed stability, not possession. Yoongi didn’t last more than fifteen minutes before standing up again, grabbing his coat, and locking the door behind him. The penthouse felt like a mausoleum - a place meant for ghosts, not the living.

The streets were quiet when he reached Seokjin and Namjoon’s place. The glow of their restaurant’s sign - Sundown Spoon - cut through the drizzle in soft amber light. Yoongi hesitated before stepping inside.

Seokjin was there, of course. He always was. The omega stood behind the counter, wiping glasses with a clean towel, his face calm but alert. When he looked up and saw Yoongi, the practiced smile faltered just enough to reveal genuine concern.

“Long day?” Seokjin asked.

“Long life,” Yoongi muttered, sliding onto one of the corner stools.

Seokjin arched an eyebrow. “That bad?”

Yoongi didn’t answer right away. His fingers traced the rim of the glass Seokjin placed in front of him - just water, no alcohol. He didn’t drink much these days. Not when his wolf was this volatile.

“I let him go,” Yoongi said finally.

“Jimin?”

He nodded.

Seokjin leaned forward, his voice lowering. “You let him go, or you had to?”

Yoongi gave a weak huff of a laugh. “Does it matter? Either way, he’s not here.”

The omega studied him, his gaze soft but sharp - the kind of empathy that didn’t pity. “It matters if you think you’re doing him a favor when all you’re doing is hurting yourself.”

Yoongi’s jaw tightened. “He needs peace. He’s pregnant, Jin. He doesn’t need more chaos.”

“Maybe,” Seokjin said, nodding slowly. “But peace isn’t the same as distance.”

Yoongi frowned, his fingers curling against the glass. “What do you mean?”

Seokjin set down the towel, crossing his arms on the counter. “I mean, every time something hurts, you disappear. You pull back. You let your parents’ voices in until they drown out your own. And then you call it protection.”

Yoongi’s stomach clenched. The words hit too close to home.

“You broke the engagement,” Seokjin continued quietly. “Good. That’s one chain cut. But you still have the same pattern. You run before they get to you. And they know that. They’ve always known that.”

The alpha looked up sharply, his eyes flashing. “You think I’m scared of them?”

“I think you’re tired,” Seokjin replied evenly. “And tired people mistake silence for strength.”

For a moment, Yoongi didn’t breathe. Then, slowly, he exhaled - a long, shuddering sigh that left his chest hollow.

Seokjin didn’t push. He poured him another glass of water, sliding it across the counter. “Namjoon’s still at the bookstore,” he said gently. “He’ll come by later. He’s been sorting through old poetry. You should stay for dinner.”

“I shouldn’t,” Yoongi murmured, though his voice lacked conviction.

Seokjin smiled faintly. “Which means you will.”

The omega turned toward the stove, the soft sounds of chopping vegetables and sizzling oil filling the space. For the first time that evening, Yoongi’s wolf stopped pacing. The warmth, the normalcy, the quiet - it grounded him, tethered him back to something human.

When Namjoon walked in an hour later, shaking the rain from his hair, Yoongi didn’t flinch. He even smiled - just a little. Maybe Seokjin was right. Maybe breaking free wasn’t about distance. Maybe it was about staying - and not running - even when it hurt.

It was past midnight when the decision finally took shape in his mind - not in a rush of courage, but in the calm that follows a storm.

He sat at the small wooden table in Seokjin’s kitchen, the smell of broth still faint in the air, a cup of cold tea untouched beside him. The laptop screen glowed dimly in the dark, the blank document waiting. For a long time, Yoongi just stared at it. The cursor blinked like a heartbeat.

Then he began to type.

Official Statement:

I, Min Yoongi, hereby confirm that my engagement to Miss Kim Hyejin has been officially terminated by mutual consent. This decision was made after careful consideration and mutual understanding between both families. I request that my private life remain private, and that no further inquiries be made regarding this matter.

— Min Yoongi, CEO, MinCorp.

He read it again, word by word, until his vision blurred. Then he hit send. The press team received it within minutes. It would hit every outlet by morning. For the first time in years, the air in his chest felt lighter. Not clean, not easy - but lighter. He closed the laptop and leaned back in his chair. The city outside his window glimmered faintly with rain. His reflection in the glass looked unfamiliar - older, sadder, but freer.

When the news broke that evening, the television in Seokjin’s restaurant was already tuned to the headlines. Yoongi had stayed late, nursing a glass of water while Seokjin cleaned up and Namjoon read poetry at the corner table.

The anchor’s voice was steady, professional.

“Breaking news: The engagement between MinCorp CEO Min Yoongi and Miss Kim Hyejin has officially been called off, according to a statement released earlier this afternoon…”

Seokjin looked over at him but said nothing. Yoongi just nodded, exhaling quietly.

Then the next line froze him in place.

“In related news, socialite and philanthropist Park Areum confirmed the mutual filing of her divorce from Park Jimin, son of the Park Holdings family…”

Yoongi’s pulse skipped. The water glass in his hand trembled.

“Yoongi?” Seokjin asked, but Yoongi was already standing.

He didn’t think. He just moved. His body, his wolf, his heart - all acting before reason. He pulled his phone from his pocket and stepped outside into the cool night air. The drizzle kissed his skin, soft and cold.

He dialed.

The line rang twice. Then …

“Hello?”

Jimin’s voice. Tired, hushed, but there.

For a moment, Yoongi couldn’t speak. His throat was tight. “Jimin-ah,” he breathed finally. “Did you see it?”

A small, almost disbelieving chuckle answered him. “The divorce?”

“And the engagement,” the alpha said quietly.

“Yes,” Jimin murmured. “I saw both.”

Silence stretched between them - not awkward, just heavy with everything they didn’t know how to say. The sound of rain filled the spaces between their breaths.

“I thought I’d feel… sad,” Jimin said finally, his voice barely a whisper. “But I don’t. I just feel… relieved. Like I can breathe again.”

Yoongi’s chest ached. “You can,” he said softly. “You deserve to.”

Jimin hummed faintly. “And you?”

“I don’t know yet,” Yoongi admitted. “But maybe tomorrow I will.”

He could almost hear the omega smile on the other end. The silence turned gentle again - warm, almost shy. Then Jimin’s voice came through, soft and raw:

“I miss you, Yoon...”

Yoongi closed his eyes, leaning his head against the cold wall outside the restaurant. The words hit deep - not as a confession, but as a truth.

“I miss you too,” he whispered. “So much it hurts.” There was a pause. Then Yoongi asked, quietly but firmly, “Can I come see you tomorrow?”

The answer came almost immediately, without hesitation. “Yes.”

“Morning?”

“Morning,” Jimin said, and Yoongi could hear the faint smile in his tone.

“Okay.”

Neither of them hung up right away. They just stayed there - breathing, listening, letting the sound of the rain fill what words couldn’t. When the call finally ended, Yoongi stayed outside for a long while, staring at the dark sky. For the first time in years, the storm didn’t feel suffocating. It felt like a promise.

+++

“Two endings met that night - and somewhere between them, our beginning waited, patient and sure as dawn.”

+++