Chapter Text
“Excuse me, would you help us, please?” a woman in her mid-twenties asks him, tugging at his sleeve to get his attention. “There’s an omega over there who’s being harassed, and we would love if you could help us do something about it, alpha.” She’s clearly aiming for coy, but her voice betrays her tension. A few steps behind her, Jungkook sees two younger girls, one looking at him hopefully, the other craning her head to keep an eye on the action.
Jungkook nods. “Of course. I’m no alpha, but I’ll help.”
“Oh, thank goodness, thank you,” she says, dragging him along by the sleeve. She’s suddenly all business now that he’s in. “These girls asked me if I have any alpha or beta friends with me, but I don’t.”
“Is it their friend who’s being harassed?”
“No, we don’t know him,” one of the girls explains, “but they’re getting so aggressive, we had to do something. Look, over there.” Jungkook can immediately tell who they mean: a small man, cornered at one end of the bar counter by not one but three alphas, who seem to be quarrelling over him. He picks up the pace, using his superior bulk to help make a path through the crowd.
“We omegas have to stick together,” the older woman says fiercely.
Jungkook smiles. This is his favourite thing about being an omega in the big city, without question. “Yeah,” he agrees. “We do.”
She stops in surprise, sending the other two careening into their backs. “Oh! I thought you were a beta.”
“You thought I was an alpha, at first,” Jungkook laughs.
“Four—five of us against three alphas.” She thinks. “I don’t know if that’s enough, if it gets bad. Did you come with any friends?”
“They’re both omegas,” Jungkook explains. “Male, but still… and our table’s on the other side of the club. It’s okay, I got it. You guys go call security. I’ll hold them off. People usually think I’m an alpha; it’ll work for a while.”
“I’ll come with you,” the woman insists, worried for him, but Jungkook shakes his head. Truthfully, passing as an alpha would be better than going with more numbers, and she knows it. It wouldn’t work if she were to come with him.
“You should go with them. If the bouncer won’t come, you might have to talk to the manager, and you know they won’t listen to them, they look so young.”
“We’ll be as fast as we can.”
Jungkook rolls his shoulders back and strides over, hoping that he can bluff his way out of this. The omega man is hunched over his drink, shoulders up nearly all the way to his ears, while the alphas crowd around him, loudly fighting each other for his attention over his head. Jungkook would never endorse such behaviour, of course, but it’s obvious why they’re interested—the man is the living epitome of omega beauty, with his lily-white complexion, rosebud lips and sweet round cheeks. Jungkook shucks off his leather jacket, leaving him in just a white short-sleeved t-shirt. “Excuse me, sirs,” he says, loud and firm over the thumping background music. “I’m going to need you to break this up.” He crosses his arms over his chest, flexing so that his pecs and biceps bulge. With his height, muscles and tattoos, he knows he looks the very picture of a club bouncer.
Rather than backing down, one of the alphas actually growls at him, teeth fully bared, and it takes everything Jungkook has inside him not to flinch and bare his neck. Drawing from the infinite well of omega solidarity, he manages to stand his ground, hoping that the alphas can’t see he’s trembling slightly. “Right,” Jungkook says with all the equanimity he can muster, “All three of you need to leave immediately. If you continue to behave belligerently, I’m going to call the police.”
Unfortunately, they don’t turn and leave—they turn on him, all three of them. Jungkook grips his arms tightly to keep his hands from shaking and bares his teeth at them, a growl rumbling at the back of his throat. But before he can say anything, the omega man stands abruptly, blocking him from the alphas’ sight.
“Enough is enough!” he snarls, and the area around them pulses suddenly with a powerful flare of alpha scent, acrid with anger and strong enough to cut right through the club’s scent neutralisers. Jungkook stumbles back in shock. Is—?
“Leave him alone,” the omega—no, the alpha—growls. Even though he’s shorter than all of them, Jungkook included, his presence is suddenly huge in the room. All the people around them, who had been wilfully ignoring the three alphas’ posturing earlier, are turning to stare. “He’s just doing his job,” the pretty alpha continues. “Go be idiots elsewhere.”
The three alphas gape at him. “You’re—”
“An alpha. Yes.” The pretty alpha crosses his arms over his chest. His voice is drawling, bored. One of the other alphas is already leaving in disgust. The other two are still staring, but the pretty alpha seems to glare them down because they both drop their heads slightly in concession and take a step back.
Jungkook heaves a sigh of relief when he sees the omega woman from earlier weaving her way back to the bar with a burly bouncer. “Do we have a problem here?” the bouncer asks, his hand on the taser at his hip. He grimaces at the miasma of angry alpha pheromones surrounding the bar area, strong enough to overpower the scent neutralisers.
“Just a fucking pretty boy alpha wasting our fucking time,” one of the alphas sneers.
“I told you to fuck off ages ago,” the pretty alpha says mildly. “You wasted your own time.”
The other alpha turns on him angrily, but the bouncer is quick to interpose the bulk of his frame between them. “I’m going to be escorting you out now,” he says calmly. The two alphas look from his big arms to the taser in his hand and decide to cut their losses, though they still hurl a nasty epithet at the pretty alpha as they go.
Jungkook and the omega woman share a nod and a smile. As she heads back to wherever she had been sitting, Jungkook lets himself rest for a bit on a bar stool, waiting for his heart rate to go down. With a few controlled breaths, he feels his tense muscles start to relax; his body is thankfully used to processing adrenaline.
“I’m so sorry about that,” the pretty alpha says, his shoulders slowly loosening as he drops his defensive posture. “I should have handled it instead of letting it go on until you felt you had to step in.” He shifts his weight awkwardly.
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault,” Jungkook says, smiling reassuringly. “You didn’t ask to be harassed.” He manages to catch the bartender’s eye and orders three drinks.
“Oh—don’t you work here?” the alpha asks, surprised.
Jungkook shrugs. “Nah. It’s just that if you pretend to have some authority, it makes dickheads more likely to listen.”
Looking even more abashed, the alpha tries to apologise again for troubling him.
“Hey, it’s really fine, don’t worry about it. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night,” Jungkook adds, taking his tray of drinks from the bartender, and goes back to the table where Hoseok and Jimin are waiting for him.
*
“Hyung, congrats on a great performance.” He passes a drink to Hoseok and watches his face light up.
“Thanks, Kookie!” Hoseok chirps, taking a sip. “Mm, my favourite.”
Jimin pouts.
“I got you something stronger, you big baby.”
Jimin gives him an eye-crinkling smile, but sticks his tongue out at him for the insult. Jungkook makes a silly face back that makes Hoseok giggle and fall over into Jimin’s lap. He's happy to see that Hoseok is so much more relaxed now compared to when they’d arrived an hour ago. Jimin had to sign him up for his open mic slot because he kept chickening out of it, and then they had to drag him up to the stage together. But once the music started playing, he totally killed it. The crowd had been a little bored so early in the night, but Hoseok’s energetic beats really hyped up the room and that energy still hasn’t died down, so Jungkook thinks Hoseok should really be proud of himself.
They’re enjoying their drinks and talking idly about maybe getting up to dance in a bit when the music fades out. Jimin clutches Jungkook’s arm suddenly and points towards the stage. “Kookie, isn’t that—?”
Jungkook looks. “Oh my god,” he says. The guy who’s just come on stage is turned away from them, talking to the sound guy, but he could recognise those thighs anywhere. “Namjoon-hyung?”
“Namjoon?” Hoseok asks. “Like, the bouncer at your bar?” They’d met a few times when Hoseok came to visit them at work.
Jimin doesn’t respond, his eyes huge in his face and his tiny fingers digging sharply into Jungkook’s forearm like claws. “Yeah!” Jungkook says for the both of them. “I didn’t know he raps. Jimin’s going to die.”
It soon turns out that Namjoon doesn’t just rap—he utterly kills it. Jungkook only catches a third of the verses through the roar of the crowd, but the beat is sick and the words he does catch are a dizzying cascade of searing wordplay. They’re the kind of lyrics that Jungkook probably needs ten read-throughs and two dictionaries to really appreciate, but Namjoon’s flow and stage presence are so good that the crowd gets drawn in rather than alienated by that. It’s amazing. Jungkook doesn’t think Jimin takes a single breath throughout the whole thing.
“Whoa,” Hoseok says when Namjoon’s song closes out. “That guy, wow.”
Namjoon gives the crowd a moment to cheer themselves hoarse before bringing the mic up to ask, “Y’all had enough?”
“No!” Jungkook yells along with everyone.
“Oh god, is there more?” Jimin screws his eyes shut and leans heavily against Jungkook. “I don’t think my heart can take it.” Jungkook puts his arm around him and pats his shoulder comfortingly.
“Mind if I bring a friend up?” Namjoon asks, and the crowd goes wild. From the level of enthusiasm in the room, it’s clear that Namjoon and his friend have something of a following. Namjoon grins. “Hey Suga, come on out.”
A shorter man wearing a black face mask and a cap pulled down low saunters onto the stage to raucous cheering. He and Namjoon slap hands in a bro shake, then split up to work different sides of the stage. “We got a new song for you tonight,” Suga says, pulling his mask down to speak into his mic, “but first, we thought we’d give you a classic. Cypher pt. 2. Let’s go.” His low voice, amplified through the club, sends a frisson down Jungkook’s spine. Namjoon signals to the sound guy to start the music.
If Namjoon was awe-inspiring on his own, he and his friend together are truly a force of nature. Suga spits bars like a machine, speeding through so many syllables it makes Jungkook’s head spin. Where Namjoon’s verses blindside him with their intellect, Suga’s hit him right in the soul. With the two of them working in tandem, Jungkook is completely overwhelmed. He fumbles for Jimin’s hand and clutches it tight. Honestly, he’s always been more of a ballad guy; he’s only here tonight to support Hoseok. But if this is what the Seoul underground rap scene is like, he’s really been missing out. When Suga ends off with a devastating smirk and a violent jerk of his thumb across his throat, the crowd surges like a wild thing, screaming its approval, and Jungkook can’t stop grinning from the sheer exhilaration of the diss. If the washed-up rapper they were roasting isn’t rolling in the grave of his career, Jungkook will eat Suga’s cap.
“Okay, no more playing,” Namjoon grins when the crowd calms enough to speak over. “It’s fuck capitalism time.”
“This is Strange,” Suga says, and after a few bars of piano, he tips his head up and starts to sing. As the stage lights hit his upturned face, Jungkook starts. He hadn’t realised it before, with the cap and the mask obscuring his features, but those rosebud lips—
“Everything in lust; what do you see?” Suga sings, and Jungkook shakes off his surprise to focus on the music. Strange is a much slower song than Cypher, but Jungkook’s never felt more immersed in anything in his life. As Namjoon and Suga rap, he feels a familiar tide of emotion wash over him, catching in his throat: that feeling when he’s lying in bed scrolling through headlines in the morning, like he never wants to get out of bed again. The crushing immensity of the pointlessness of living: chasing dreams in a mousetrap, unable to escape culpability, helpless to make change.
“There’s no correct answer; that’s the answer,” Namjoon concludes, and maybe that should make Jungkook feel worse. But here in this small club in Hongdae, holding hands with his friends and singing the mournful chorus in solidarity with a crowd which had been so gloriously happy together just minutes ago, at least the emptiness isn’t echoing.
*
“Kim Namjoon!” Jimin yells the second Namjoon is within earshot. They’ve been watching impatiently as he worked his way over to them from the bar, having successfully caught his attention when he got offstage. Suga had been with him at first, but split off for a different table halfway through.
Namjoon laughs and ducks his head. “Thanks for buying us shots.” He toasts their table and knocks back the vodka that Jimin had bought him. Jungkook manages to steal a chair from the next table for him to sit in.
“You never mentioned that you rap,” Jimin chides him, reaching over to prod him in the chest. “Aren’t we friends?”
“Sorry, sorry.” Namjoon dimples at him bashfully. “It’s a little embarrassing so I don’t really like to bring it up at work. You know.”
Hoseok smiles, a little incredulously. “You were great. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“Hoseok-sshi, we heard you just now! You were great, too.”
Hoseok blushes. “No, I’m just starting out. You and Suga-sshi are the real pros.”
Jungkook smiles as Namjoon and Jimin take the opportunity to heap praises on Hoseok, leaving him a blushing mess. Normally he would join in, too, but he finds his eyes wandering over to where Suga is standing. He’s talking to an abnormally beautiful man, which seems right, given how beautiful he is himself.
“More drinks?” he asks the table, realising that he shouldn’t be staring. He memorises their orders with practised ease and heads over to the bar. When he gets back, he finds that the party has doubled in size, Suga and his friend having joined them while he was away. As he approaches and his friends start hailing him loudly, Suga’s eyes widen in recognition. Jungkook shoots him a smile, leaning across the table to distribute the drinks as Namjoon introduces them. “Jungkookie, this is Min Yoongi. He’s a ‘93. And this is Kim Taehyung; he’s a ‘95 like Jimin.”
“Ah, I’m Jeon Jungkook. ‘97.” He bows politely.
“It’s good to meet you properly,” Suga—Yoongi—says with a smile. “We met at the bar earlier,” he explains in response to everyone’s curious looks. “Jungkook rescued me from some persistent alphas.”
He doesn’t say it mockingly, but Jungkook blushes anyway. “You didn’t need rescuing,” he mumbles.
“No, I appreciated the help,” Yoongi says sincerely.
“Our Jungkookie always saves us from stupid alphas. We’re all omegas,” Hoseok explains—Jungkook can’t help but notice Yoongi’s surprise, though he hides it well—“so when we go out, we always have problems, but it’s better when Jungkookie is with us. Especially if it’s an unscented place like here, then they can’t really smell that he’s an omega.”
Jimin pats Jungkook’s biceps. “Our Jungkookie is so strong.”
“Ah, hyung,” Jungkook whines.
Namjoon and Yoongi have on that uncomfortable face that alphas and betas make when they hear about omega sexual harassment, like they feel bad but they don’t know what to say. “It’s kind of the opposite for us,” Namjoon ventures. “Whenever I go out with Yoongi-hyung, we’re always getting approached by random alphas.”
“When they figure out I’m an alpha, they usually leave me alone,” Yoongi is quick to add.
“But your scent is pretty sweet, so they can’t tell even when they get close.—Cinnamon,” Namjoon explains to the rest of them. It’s hard to discern anyone’s scents clearly in a place like this, with all the competing scents and the scent neutralisers muffling everything.
“It’s interesting going out with you, hyung,” Taehyung tells Yoongi. “Alphas always hit on you first, and then when they find out you’re an alpha they feel too stupid to hit on me so they just go away.” Everyone laughs.
Taehyung is very beautiful, but he’s not really the kind of beautiful that alphas usually go for. Like Jungkook, he’s tall, and his sculpted features make him look intimidating when he isn’t smiling like he is now. It turns out that he’s a fashion designer—“It’s just a small label,” he demurs, but as Jimin and Hoseok have both heard of it, Jungkook thinks it might be more popular than he’s letting on. “Hey, I’d love for you guys to model for me sometime, if you’re interested. All my friends do.”
Jungkook can’t help but feel warm. They’ve known Taehyung all of ten minutes, and he’s already calling them his friends and inviting them into his life. Even if he’s just saying it to be friendly, it’s sweet. But as the conversation turns to fashion, Jungkook zones out a little; to Jimin and Hoseok’s eternal dismay, Jungkook’s only ever been interested in wearing sweatpants and t-shirts.
“Hey, you’re an omega?” Yoongi asks. “I know you said it was okay, but I feel really bad now. It must have cost you a lot to intervene.”
“I thought you were an omega, too,” Jungkook admits. “Sorry for misgendering you. That's why I tried to help—omegas have to stick together. But I guess we should all help one another out, shouldn’t we? I don't regret stepping in. Um, unless you were offended, of course. I’m sure you didn’t need my help at all.”
“Of course I’m not offended,” Yoongi protests. “I’m grateful, actually. I knew that if were to get into a fight I wouldn’t be able to perform well afterwards, but they just wouldn’t go away.”
“Then I’m glad I could help,” Jungkook says firmly, and they smile at each other.
“So what do you do, if you don’t work here?” Yoongi asks.
“I am a bartender, actually,” Jungkook explains. “But this isn’t my bar. I actually work with Namjoon and Jimin over at Euphoria in Myeongdong.”
“Ah.”
“You should come sometime. I’ll make you a drink.”
“I think I’m the one who owes you a drink,” Yoongi protests, but Jungkook just shakes his head.
“You don’t owe me anything. Hey, I saw you guys up there just now. You were amazing. I love your music.”
Yoongi breaks eye contact and looks down at the table. “Thank you.” Cute.
Jungkook startles at the weight of a hand on his shoulder. When he looks over, he sees Jimin, who’s trying not to laugh. “Earth to Jungkook. We’ve been trying to get your attention. Taehyung wanted to tell you something.”
Taehyung nods. “I’m serious about the modelling thing. Jiminie and Hoseok-hyung say they’re interested. Would you like to try it out too?” ‘Jiminie’ and ‘hyung’ already, Jungkook notes.
“It’s omega fashion,” Hoseok adds, raising his eyebrows at Jungkook over Jimin’s shoulder. Ah.
“Oh. I don’t really wear omega fashion,” Jungkook says hesitantly.
“We have something for everyone,” Taehyung says. It’s clearly a point of pride. “I’m certain we can find something you’re comfortable wearing.—But no pressure,” he adds quickly, seeing Jungkook’s discomfort. “Just know that you’re welcome anytime. Here, give me your phone. Let’s get coffee or something, and be good friends, okay?”
“Okay. Thank you, Taehyung-sshi,” Jungkook says, opening a new contact page and handing his phone over. Taehyung is really so sweet. Namjoon has great friends. He laughs when he gets his phone back and sees that Taehyung’s saved himself as KIM TAEHYUNG CALL ME HYUNG!! “Hyung,” Jungkook says obediently. Taehyung grins widely and reaches over the table to ruffle his hair.
Another phone appears in front of him and he takes it by reflex. It’s from Yoongi. “Put your number in,” he says, half turned away and resolutely avoiding eye contact. “And you can call me hyung too. If you like.”
“Okay, hyung,” Jungkook says immediately. He sees the corners of Yoongi’s lips turn up in response, and he can’t help but grin down at his phone.