Chapter Text
Yoongi is lugging a huge bag of groceries uphill when he sees Jeon Jungkook’s abs for the first time in twelve years.
It’s just one of those ad screens on the side of a bus stop, but Yoongi stops to stare anyway.
Jungkook looks well, as always. He’s wearing a hoodie which has been pulled up suggestively, and his white jeans hug the shape of his hips low enough to reveal the heavily branded waistband of his underwear.
It’s a new image for Jungkook, a turning point in his career, and sometimes Yoongi wonders if Jungkook chose it himself – if he’s proud of his body and how he’s bloomed from a fresh-faced alpha into the man he is now.
Calvin Klein, Yoongi reads slowly. His eyes wander over the contours of Jungkook’s stomach, and he tries to find resemblance to the boy who once, out of sheer necessity, pulled his shirt off shyly in front of Yoongi.
“Hey, excuse me! Your fruit!”
Yoongi glances down, just to find his grocery bag toppled over and half a dozen tangerines rolling down the curb and onto the road.
“Fucking fuck,” Yoongi hisses, bending over to gather the fruit closest to him, even though he desperately wants to flee the scene of the crime. There’s a bus coming, and he can’t bear the idea of standing there like a fool while he and a stranger and a still image of Jeon Jungkook watch his stupid tangerines get run over and squished into pulp.
It’s a sunny day in April, but Yoongi isn’t even wearing sunglasses. He can only meet the gaze of the older woman waiting for the bus and nod like everything is fine.
///
To be fair, Yoongi’s life is more than fine. He has a roof over his head, and a job that occupies no more than a third of his brain cells at any given time. He also shares a relatively mould-free flat with his ex who moved back in after they concluded that they were actually platonic soulmates, and that involving their dicks in their relationship had been a terrible idea.
“Hob-ah!” Yoongi calls out from the door. His remaining groceries bang against the wall as he makes his way to the narrow kitchen. There are things to put in the cold: half-frozen vegetables and a tub of ice cream that’s worryingly sticky on the outside.
“How was the supermarket?” Hoseok asks when he pokes his head into the kitchen.
“Awful as ever,” Yoongi grumbles and pours himself a big glass of water. It’s never been this hot in April – Yoongi feels like he’s melting inside the thin cardigan he decided to wear to protect himself from the frozen aisle of the supermarket.
“Alphas?” Hoseok asks sharply. He’s never been possessive of Yoongi, not even while they dated, but he’s got some unfortunate history with alphas that makes him wary.
“No, nothing like that,” Yoongi says, trying not to think about Jungkook who looked like the picture-perfect alpha in the advertisement. “Just a lot of people, and my credit card wouldn’t approve the payment at first.”
“Are you broke? I have some savings.”
Yoongi grimaces. Hoseok is too selfless; he needs to be protected from the evils of the world.
“Hyung is fine. Must have been some kind of error on the bank’s end.”
Hoseok hums, picking up one of the cans Yoongi placed on the kitchen counter. “Just… even if we’re not dating anymore, I want you to be able to count on me.”
“I do count on you,” Yoongi says. He’s getting frustrated all over again, which makes no sense because Hoseok is being nothing but lovely and kind and perfect.
“Okay,” Hoseok agrees, a bit too quickly for Yoongi’s liking. “I have a dance class to teach in an hour, so I’ll probably go after we’ve dealt with the groceries.”
“I can finish up here,” Yoongi immediately says and then bites the tip of his tongue when Hoseok’s face falls.
“Actually, I’d love it if you helped me.”
“I can help!”
Yoongi rolls his eyes fondly. Where would he be without Jung Hoseok?
///
Yoongi’s room is a weird mix of teenage nostalgia and minimalism that stems from growing up with parents who deemed it necessary to hold onto anything they possessed. He only has a bed, a desk, a houseplant that somehow survives the constant neglect, and a bookcase which holds the rest of his things like albums and DVDs and the few books he’s managed to read in the past decade. Yoongi’s gaze immediately flickers over to the CDs: Golden, Euphoria, Begin.
Yoongi has never gone to an actual live concert. He owns all of Jungkook’s albums and even has bought some merch, but there’s something unpleasant about the thought of seeing Jungkook on stage and not having him… available. If Yoongi tried to approach Jungkook when he was working, he’d be stopped by a squadron of security guards. He’d be one fan in the sea of thousands, most of them omegas like him, biding their time for their special moment with their idol.
A few years ago, there was even a serious incident where some deranged fan doused themselves in pheromone enhancers and threw themselves at Jungkook at the airport. The omega had thought that they could get Jungkook to imprint on them – which is a childish concept in itself – regurgitated by people who believe that there’s only one true mate for each wolf.
Yoongi grabs the leather-bound journal from his desk and scribbles today’s date in the corner of an empty page. He started journaling after he broke up with Hoseok and realised that he had no sense of direction, nothing to grasp onto. Writing down his thoughts and feelings has helped him rearrange his thoughts and focus on what’s important.
He writes about the tangerines, about the crowd that made him anxious, and the minor argument he had with Hoseok. He doesn’t mention the advertisement; it’s unimportant in the grand scheme of things.
///
It’s cherry blossom season, which brings along a flood of tourists and gentle rain showers. Hoseok has been spending a lot of time outside their flat, often coming up with an excuse at the last minute. Yoongi is pretty sure he’s dating someone new, and he appreciates Hoseok’s misguided attempt to spare his feelings, even if there’s no need for it.
It’s not Hoseok’s fault that Yoongi hasn’t found anyone new since their breakup, and frankly, he hasn’t gone looking. Heck, he runs his errands late at night in order to meet less people.
Tonight’s task is to take Yoongi’s only suit to the dry cleaner because he was called in for a more high-profile meeting with some advertising company exec. He’s done freelance work for the company for years, so the meeting is basically a gesture of goodwill. It would be foolish not to attend.
Yoongi walks down the street with huge headphones covering his ears and the suit bag swaying on his arm. He goes through periods where all music aggravates him, but for the past week he’s been listening to his old playlist on loop. The sun has set, even if there’s still a strip of apricot-coloured sky visible on the horizon.
It’s only a short walk to the dry cleaner. The safety glass of the door is scratched and cloudy, so it’s hard to see in, but the neon sign above it says ‘OPEN’. Yoongi pulls the door open and steps in, yanking the headphones down to his neck.
There’s someone standing at the desk already, talking to the stern ahjumma who runs the place. They’re wearing loose jeans and a grey hoodie, and their hair is permed and long at the nape. As Yoongi steps closer, he can hear the woman behind the counter apologising profusely. Her face is red, and if she weren’t pushing sixty, she’d look like a flustered schoolgirl.
The person at the counter reaches a hand toward her, and Yoongi can hear them say: “Please, there is no need for that.”
Yoongi stops walking. He feels strange, lightheaded. That voice – that voice.
“It was frankly my fault for requesting this type of cleaning. I should’ve known the fabric would suffer.”
The ahjumma looks like she wants the ground to swallow her, and Yoongi shares her sentiment. She throws a glance at Yoongi, like the presence of a commoner might bring her comfort, and that’s what makes the customer turn their head.
Yoongi takes in the side profile of Jeon Jungkook: the angular tip of his nose, his pronounced cupid’s bow and the strong line of his brows.
Jungkook inhales reflexively. Yoongi knows his scent is wild and confused, but he can’t suppress it.
Their eyes meet for the briefest moment, but then Jungkook reluctantly turns back to the woman. Yoongi lets out the breath he was holding, and suddenly realises that in the background, My Time is playing on low volume. The ahjumma is a fan, then.
“As I said,” Jungkook continues, rapping his fingers softly against the counter, “I don’t have any additional demands. A refund for the one item is perfectly fine.”
The ahjumma bows so deeply that her glasses nearly slide off her nose. She fiddles with the cash register before allowing Jungkook to pay. Then it’s Yoongi’s turn, and Jungkook takes a step toward the exit.
Yoongi’s throat feels tight.
“I’ll wait outside,” Jungkook mutters, barely looking at Yoongi. He doesn’t even say hello.
Yoongi’s hands shake as he counts the cash for the ahjumma and leaves his suit in her care. There’s an irrational voice yelling at the back of his head – that Jungkook will be gone by the time he’s done, or that he imagined the whole encounter and would find a confused stranger standing under the awning.
But then the ahjumma hands him a receipt, and Yoongi walks out, and Jungkook is still there, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets.
Jungkook hasn’t changed. Or he has, but the fundamental youthfulness of him is intact. Untarnished.
“Hello,” Jungkook says, smiling, piercings glinting.
“Hello,” Yoongi replies. Jungkook shakes Yoongi’s hand – an awkward gesture which he must have adopted during his time training overseas. They don’t press their wrists together to scent each other, but Yoongi can still smell him clearly: bergamot and something fresh, zesty.
“How have you been?” Jungkook asks. It’s the kind of question distant acquaintances ask. Which is what Jungkook and Yoongi are, at the end of the day.
“I’ve been well,” Yoongi says, a willing participant in this charade. They’re actors on a stage, and the set design is eerily life-like.
Jungkook acted in a drama once. Yoongi has watched it twice, and he remembers every rushed line of dialogue. Jungkook was young, then. He was casted to play a beta, which angered the fanbase at the time.
Jungkook has grown into his masculinity so beautifully. Of course, Yoongi has witnessed it from afar – how could he have not? But it’s a different beast in real life, the alpha that lurks beneath Jungkook’s golden skin and his corded muscles. There are many people who are not one with their inner wolves. They try to fight them instead of embracing what and who they are. Those kinds of alphas are the ones who end up falling into bad habits: drugs, alcohol, beating their omegas to feel something.
Jungkook smiles shyly and brushes the back of his neck.
You’re so beautiful, Yoongi wants to say. It would be entirely inappropriate after all these years.
“Mind if I smoke?” Jungkook asks. A small crack forms in Yoongi’s rose-tinted glasses. But it’s fine.
“As your hyung, I should scold you for that.”
“Really? You’d still scold me?”
Yoongi’s tongue feels heavy and swollen in his mouth. There’s something about Jungkook’s tone.
“I promise I don’t do it often,” the alpha adds. “It’s been a stressful week.”
“Why?” Yoongi holds his breath. He’s no longer privy to anything about Jungkook’s personal life, but oh how he yearns to reclaim that privilege.
Jungkook lights a cigarette and then squints at Yoongi through the smoke. He keeps swaying from side to side, which Yoongi remembers from their puphood. “There’s a new choreo I’m practising for a collab.”
“With whom?” Yoongi immediately asks, not even stopping to think about industry secrets and non-disclosure agreements.
“Park Jimin,” Jungkook says easily. “If you know him.”
It takes Yoongi a lot of effort to react like a normal, reasonable person. Jimin is an omega idol with an angelic voice, and from interviews Yoongi also knows that he and Jungkook are great friends. If not something more.
“I like his music a lot,” Yoongi decides to say, because it’s true. He could call himself a fan, even if he’s never followed Park Jimin’s career with the same fervour he’s directed at Jungkook.
“You like his music but not mine?” Jungkook laughs. He elbows Yoongi lightly in the side, and Yoongi thinks he’s going to fall over. He doesn’t, of course, but the feeling of weightlessness refuses to subside.
“I like your music, too,” Yoongi says. He doesn’t reveal that he’s much more than a casual listener, because wouldn’t that be weird? Is there an etiquette for stumbling upon a childhood best friend turned global icon and eligible alpha bachelor?
“Why is a superstar like you handling his own dry cleaning?” he asks instead, reaching for the light-hearted tone he uses when Hoseok is being ridiculous.
Jungkook doesn’t answer at first; he holds the cigarette delicately between two fingers. He doesn’t seem like a seasoned smoker, but Yoongi can’t help but worry about his singing voice.
“Ah, it’s… I’m a bit particular about my clothes, I guess. And I don’t like it when my assistants run errands for me late at night. They have their private lives, too.”
Jungkook turns his head and flicks cigarette ash onto the pavement.
“Right,” Yoongi says. His heart feels tender and soft, and he can’t have that. Not now. “Do you uh… live in the area?”
“No, no. I was filming something nearby, and they brought my dry cleaning here.” Jungkook shows the bag in his hand as proof.
“That’s a fun coincidence. I live just a couple blocks away.”
Jungkook’s eyes are huge and round. Another critical strike.
“It’s a nice neighbourhood.”
Yoongi licks his lips. “It’s really not, all things considered.”
“You haven’t changed much, Yoongi hyung.”
That word on Jungkook’s lips… Yoongi averts his gaze from the alpha’s face, but there’s nothing he can safely look at. The sleeves of Jungkook’s hoodie have been rolled up just enough to expose the tattoos snaking up his arm. Yoongi has seen pictures of them, but they’re somehow more intimidating in person.
“I’ve changed,” he says. It’s a chilly night, so Yoongi wraps his cardigan more tightly around himself.
“Yeah, I suppose you have changed at least in one way,” Jungkook muses. Yoongi can hear that he’s smiling, that there’s a hidden meaning to his response, but he’s careful not to lift his gaze. “Can I have your number?”
Yoongi chokes on his own spit, but Jungkook is already offering his phone politely, with both hands. There’s no way to decline the request, and Yoongi doesn’t really want to.
So he types his number into the caller window and watches Jungkook send him a smiley face emoji.
“Now hyung will have my number, too,” Jungkook says enthusiastically.
“Okay,” Yoongi says and offers Jungkook an awkward half-wave as they turn in opposite directions.
The next day, he can’t recall how he got back home or what he did for the rest of the night. It’s possible he just stared at the wall until Hoseok came home and asked him why he hadn’t switched the lights on in the kitchen.
Yoongi said he wanted to save electricity, and Hoseok laughed so hard he fell onto the floor and then asked if Yoongi was okay.
Now, it’s the morning and Yoongi ponders that very question, lying on his back with blankets draped over his hips.
Yoongi takes his phone and checks the messages. He saved Jungkook’s contact as JK because he knows that Jungkook prefers that nickname these days. He knows a lot of things about Jungkook while Jungkook knows nothing about him.
JK: :)
Years of silence and a smiley face?
What a funny joke, ha ha. Someone pinch him now.
///
It was a sweaty summer evening when Yoongi presented as an omega. He was on his way home from basketball practice when Jungkook appeared from nowhere, claiming he wanted to walk Yoongi home because it was getting dark.
“It’s me who should protect you,” Yoongi remembers saying. “I’m the hyung.”
“But I’ve been working out,” Jungkook argued, flexing his bicep. Yoongi found it endearing, which is why he didn’t argue further. Or maybe there was more to it – maybe he’d already felt it – the creeping fatigue, the hunger pangs and phantom aches in his belly. He’d been missing easy shots because his eyes just wouldn’t focus correctly.
The heat hit Yoongi some twenty minutes later. They were close to where Yoongi’s parents lived at the time, just a block or two away, but they still had to cross a busy street with some restaurants and a convenience store. A flock of moths circled a streetlight, and Yoongi felt the flutter of their wings on his skin, in his throat. He braced a hand on the brick wall next to him and realised that there was something wet sliding down his leg.
He was sixteen years old, and Jungkook nearly fourteen.
“Are you in heat, hyung?” Jungkook asked, almost like he knew the answer. There was no way he could’ve known, of course – his nose was still undeveloped, and Yoongi hadn’t shared that his yearly physical had indicated that his anatomy and hormone levels showed signs of presenting as an omega. In the past, one’s subgender would come as a complete surprise, but modern medicine has proved that presentation isn’t quite as spontaneous as was once believed.
Yoongi can’t recall what he said to Jungkook in response to his question, but he remembers the smell of exhaust fumes and the sound of sneakers on pavement. He felt exposed in his loose basketball gear, flattening himself against the wall like a frightened animal.
There were a few alphas hollering at them, telling Yoongi that he was a little slut for going out so close to his heat and that he ought to be more careful unless he truly wanted to throw himself at any passer-by.
Jungkook started yelling at the alphas, and Yoongi tried to hold him back whilst toppling over from the pain.
“Little runt thinks he can have the pretty omega all to himself,” one of the alphas laughed, and Yoongi wanted to throw up – which he probably did somewhere between the basketball court and his house.
“He’s thirteen, you piece of shit,” Yoongi slurred. His vision swam, making him nauseous, and then reality started to splinter into tiny shards – some of them filled with light and moths, others with Jungkook’s scared voice that told Yoongi to climb onto his back.
Jungkook was tiny, but somehow, he managed to walk two blocks with a delirious Yoongi piggybacking him.
“Hyung, you smell like yuja tea,” Jungkook said when they reached the metal gate in front of Yoongi’s home.
“What are you talking about?” Yoongi asked, but Jungkook wouldn’t elaborate. To this day, it’s the most detailed description anyone has given of Yoongi’s scent, and Jungkook shouldn’t have been able to smell him clearly as an unpresented pup.
Most often when Yoongi asks other people about his scent, they say it’s floral and citrusy but somewhat sweet, and that it reminds them of home for some reason. Yuja tea is a common cold remedy.
Yoongi’s father appeared on the porch soon after that, grabbing Yoongi and hurling him to his room to suffer in privacy. Jungkook earned a good standing in the Min household from that day onward; he was like their third son who’d gallantly saved his older brother from dangerous alphas. That narrative was pushed until the day Jungkook signed his trainee contract, and the visits grew sparse.
///
The meeting with the marketing firm boss is a bore, but at least Yoongi is awarded free drinks and snacks that he nibbles on until he loses his appetite and skips lunch. It’s a terrible decision which leads to a pounding headache and slight nausea. It’s because his delicate omegan body is less tolerant of fluctuating blood sugar.
The sun is still high in the sky as Yoongi wanders toward the metro station, cutting through some smaller alleyways with his tie pulled loose and his suit jacket draped over his arm. He’s wearing scent blockers, as has become standard in the corporate world after some high-profile sexual harassment lawsuits, so most people wouldn’t clock his subgender. The side effects of oral scent suppressants can be quite severe, though, which is why Yoongi doesn’t quite understand why it befalls the omega to make sure that an alpha superior can keep their hands to themselves.
Yoongi’s phone chimes to let him know about a new message when he reaches a small community park. He sits down on the bench – despite his freshly dry-cleaned slacks – and taps at the notification.
JK:
Sorry if this comes too quickly, but would you like to have dinner tonight? Filming finally wrapped up, and I’m leaving for New York tomorrow.
Yoongi blinks at the screen that feels too dim even though the brightness is set to the highest level allowed. Jungkook has made an effort to fit Yoongi into his extremely packed schedule, between a video shoot and an overseas trip.
The headache still lingers behind Yoongi’s left eye, a low-grade migraine that is probably aggravated by the sun. He squints his eyes at the phone screen and types:
You:
When would you be free?
JK:
8 pm?
Yoongi reacts with a thumbs up and quickly pockets his phone and all but sprints to the metro station even though eight o’clock is still hours away, and he’s wearing clothes that are entirely unsuitable for running a distance of three city blocks.
He gets home, sweaty and starving, and chugs a strawberry-flavoured yoghurt drink in front of the fridge in nothing but his undershirt and slacks. Once again, Hoseok comes home from his early afternoon classes right in time to witness Yoongi acting irrationally.
The alpha circles him with a bewildered expression, filling an old plastic bottle with water from the tap and then turning to leave.
“I…” Yoongi’s shoulders rise and fall. “I need to tell you something.”
Hoseok stops in his tracks, and his worried expression morphs into something hopeful.
“You can tell me anything, hyung.”
Yoongi throws the yoghurt bottle into the recycling bin and lets out a heavy sigh.
“I met Jungkook a couple days ago.”
“What?” Hoseok looks him up and down. Yoongi knows his cheeks glow pink, and his belt hangs open in a mildly inappropriate manner.
“Jeon Jungkook. My childhood friend.”
“How…?”
“We crossed paths by accident, and now he wants to take me out to dinner.” The phrasing sounds wrong to Yoongi’s own ears, so he rushes to correct himself:
“I mean, to catch up, I guess. We haven’t seen each other in years.”
Hoseok sits down in the kitchen chair which Yoongi fixed just a few days ago because one of the legs was loose.
“How do you feel about seeing him tonight?”
How does Yoongi feel? Like he’s about to pee his pants out of nerves – though that sounds too outrageous to say out loud.
“I don’t know,” he admits, sitting down in the other chair and crossing his arms over his chest because he can feel his nipples poking through the thin fabric of his undershirt.
“It’s been a long time, and our lives are so different. He said he’s going to New York tomorrow, so we have to meet up tonight.”
“Wah,” Hoseok says. “He’s an alpha, right?”
Yoongi nods hesitantly, feeling the rare urge to say more. Explain himself, somehow.
“I mostly remember him as an undesignated pup. Jungkook moved to Seoul soon after he presented, and that entire period of time felt like a whirlwind of, well, everything. Growing up, maturing too early.”
“I see.”
“What do I do, Hoseok-ah?”
A shrug is all he gets.
“It’s your call,” Hoseok says. “But I think you should go see him with an open mind. Make up for the lost years. I know how much he meant to you.”
“It’s not that simple,” Yoongi argues.
“Oh, I’m well aware of that.”
Yoongi purses his lips together, not even trying to interpret Hoseok’s words because they might just open a can of worms that he’s not willing to face.
“I don’t know what to wear,” Yoongi says sourly.
“Fret not,” Hoseok exclaims. “I know the etiquette of meeting up with estranged friends like the back of my hand.”
///
Yoongi checks himself for the fifth time in the reflective surface of the restaurant window. His hair is combed behind his ears, revealing the double silver hoops on each side. He’s wearing a fuzzy sweater that exposes a bit of neck and collarbone – nothing indecent of course, but Hoseok’s reasoning was that Yoongi shouldn’t look like an uptight librarian if he were to spend time in the presence of a global superstar.
It’s two minutes past eight, and Yoongi can’t stop imagining how he would feel if it turned out that Jungkook had stood him up. His scent blockers from the morning have nearly worn off, and he anxiously fiddles with the stick of GlandFresh in the pocket of his jeans. The thought of carrying his emotions on his sleeve, for Jungkook to dissect at a whiff, is frightening.
Three more minutes pass. Yoongi applies lip balm and sniffs at his own wrist. As far as he can tell, his scent is still fairly mild.
“Oi, over here!” The voice comes from the opposite direction where Yoongi was looking. Jungkook is jogging toward him, a black mask covering the lower half of his face. As soon as he reaches Yoongi, he pulls the mask down and flashes him a charming grin.
Jungkook is wearing the same brand he was advertising in the ad at the bus stop: Dark jeans and a matching shirt. A black belt that accentuates his narrow hips and even narrower waist. His hair is a tad shorter than when they saw each other at the dry cleaner, which makes the alpha look more familiar. More like his Jungkook.
“Yoongi!” Jungkook says with an easy, boyish grin.
“Dropping honorifics already?”
Jungkook shrugs, still smiling, and Yoongi tries to dismiss the thought that alphas are technically allowed to call omegas by their first name even if they’re younger. In the southern provinces, it’s not even uncommon to hear older omegas sticking to formal language with their younger alpha partners.
“I like how people abroad call each other by first names,” Jungkook explains, which finally jostles Yoongi out of his spiralling thoughts.
“And I like how your name sounds,” the alpha adds. “It’s pretty.”
Yoongi isn’t sure how to take the compliment – if he should play it for a joke or act like a fanboy who’s being flirted with by his favourite idol. Both seem like equally horrible options, but luckily Jungkook has moved onto studying the menu taped to the restaurant window.
“Should we go in?” Jungkook asks after giving a satisfied nod at the dishes on offer. Yoongi agrees, and suddenly he feels a slight pressure between his shoulder blades. Jungkook guides him into the restaurant, maskless and perfectly relaxed while Yoongi remains a nervous wreck.
He hides behind Jungkook’s ridiculously broad back while the alpha lets the server know about his reservation. Yoongi still isn’t sure what’s expected of him, or what would happen if he was photographed in Jungkook’s company. The restaurant is busy and perfectly ordinary, not at all like the places that celebrities seem to frequent.
They’re shown to their table and instructed to scan a QR code just to access the menu. The server seems obligated to quote how many reams worth of paper the save every year by doing this.
A group of young women, betas judging by the cloud of scent-enhancing perfume that surrounds them, keep throwing glances in their direction. Two of the girls have their phones out, and they’re taking pictures and videos without shame.
“Is this… bad?” Yoongi asks, gesturing in the women’s direction. Jungkook looks up from his phone and shrugs.
“Possibly. In an ideal world, I would never even step out of my house. But I’m allowed to catch up with an old friend, am I not?”
“If they realise that I’m an omega…” Yoongi bites his tongue because it feels weird to draw attention to his subgender when it’s just Jungkook and him. “I just mean… What if they sell those pictures to Dispatch, and we end up in some kind of dating scandal?”
Jungkook looks amused. Genuinely so. He smiles at Yoongi with his front teeth on display. “Would it be so bad to get into a dating scandal with me?”
Yoongi swallows hard.
“Relax. I’m an unmated alpha in my late twenties. I’ve been in ten dating scandals just this year. The PR department at our company works around the clock, but I promise they’re paid their worth.”
At first, Yoongi nods, trying to pick which noodles he wants so that they can order and get out of the restaurant, but he can’t hold his tongue.
“I’m just curious…”
“Yeah?” Jungkook hums.
“How can you deal with this? Every single day of your life.”
“Why do you think so many celebrities sniff cocaine and end up taking their own lives?”
Yoongi coughs, and Jungkook’s gaze finally softens. His eyes are just as round as they were when they were young, but there’s jadedness in Jungkook that Yoongi doesn’t recognise. It’s like an extra puzzle piece that doesn’t fit, but it’s there nonetheless.
“I have a great support network at work,” Jungkook explains, then, pressing the small button to call for the server, even though Yoongi didn’t voice that he was ready to order.
“I’m glad,” Yoongi says.
“Yeah. There’s my manager Seokjin, and my main songwriter Namjoon. Those two are the ones I’m closest with.”
“You mean RM?” Yoongi asks without thinking.
“Oh, so you are my fan after all. How curious.”
“RM has a solo career, too,” Yoongi grumbles. “You can tell him that Indigo was a masterpiece.”
“I’ll let him know… Although I’m afraid he’s the type of person who only sees flaws in his work and wants to improve. He wasn’t happy with how the album turned out.”
“Are you like that yourself?” Yoongi asks.
“Maybe not to that extent,” Jungkook says, placing his elbow on the table, next to the button that now glows red.
“But as a trainee you were,” Yoongi points out softly.
Jungkook makes a face. “I forgot that I can’t hide anything from you, hyung.”
The server comes to them with a practised customer service smile on her face, even though it’s clear that she’s losing her mind a little. Jungkook orders noodles, and then recommends a dish for Yoongi when he doesn’t know what to get.
“I’ll have that, then,” Yoongi confirms awkwardly, and Jungkook smiles so brightly that Yoongi feels heat rush to his cheeks.
The server has an intense, floral scent despite the scent blocking patch on her wrist. There’s a faint, pinkish outline on her neck, which looks suspiciously like a mark left by a recently removed patch.
“Our kitchen is a little busy, so I’ll bump your orders to the top of the queue,” the server says with a wink.
“How kind of you,” Jungkook replies before turning his gaze back to Yoongi and steadily ignoring her until she gets the hint and scurries back toward the kitchen.
“How about this?” Yoongi asks. “Being blatantly flirted with? Do you mind it?”
Jungkook takes his time pouring Yoongi a glass of water before filling his own glass.
“I do mind it. Which is why I just have to be extremely firm when someone tries to overstep.”
Yoongi nods, even while thinking: The Jungkook he knew was always shy and eager to please. A timid little pup who was clueless of the ball of unharnessed talent inside him.
As promised, the food arrives in record time. This time, the server leaves more quickly because Jungkook pays her no mind. The noodles are oily and spicy, and they taste great, so Yoongi doesn’t bother to ask what’s in his dish; doesn’t even care as long as he can watch Jungkook eat.
The alpha is focused on devouring his meal, a deep pinch between his brows, which means that he’s thoroughly enjoying himself. Yoongi has heard of the insane diets in the idol world, and he hopes that Jungkook gets to eat well every day. He deserves it.
While Jungkook eats like he’s been stuck on a deserted island for a week, Yoongi wracks his brain for the next topic of conversation. Not because he minds the silence but because he feels like his time is running out. Jungkook hasn’t said a word about when he’s coming back from the States, and Yoongi definitely shouldn’t assume that his old friend is looking to rebuild the relationship they once had. It would make sense that Jungkook asked him to dinner out of a sense of obligation, or as a way to tie up loose ends.
“Are you enjoying your food?” Jungkook asks suddenly. He has polished off his entire plate in a matter of minutes.
“I did, thank you for the recommendation. But I think I’m getting full.”
Jungkook frowns. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, quite sure. The portion size was huge. Just look at all this extra food.”
Jungkook looks disbelieving.
“Can you help me finish it?” Yoongi asks, leaning his cheek against the back of his hand. “Do a favour for your hyung, hmm?”
Even if Yoongi expected a bigger fight, he doesn’t get one. Jungkook takes the bowl with a wordless grunt and starts eating. He really has been starving himself for the shoot, and for what?
Yoongi tries to press the call button to order more food, but Jungkook stops him by grabbing his wrist. The alpha’s fingers nearly overlap when wrapped around Yoongi’s wrist, and for a terrifying moment it seems like they’re both noticing the same thing.
Jungkook lets go of Yoongi’s hand and clears his throat. “I’ve had enough, okay?”
“Okay.”
Yoongi’s entire arm tingles, and he has to clench his fist under the table to get rid of the sensation. He quickly excuses himself to the bathroom, even though he doesn’t necessarily need to pee.
There are two stalls in the omega bathroom, both of them reserved, so Yoongi just stands in front of the mirror for a few minutes, applying more lip balm and washing his hands twice. Then, one of the stalls frees up so Yoongi tries to pee just in case. He feels acutely omegan, counting the minutes he’s been gone while sitting on the toilet with a layer of toilet paper between his ass and the plastic seat.
When Yoongi returns to the dining area, he can’t see Jungkook anywhere. Not at the counter or by the door, or even at their table that is now occupied by a happy-looking couple.
Anxiety spikes in Yoongi’s throat. Did paparazzis find them? Did the server girl try to make another move on Jungkook?
Suddenly, a low whistle pierces the air. It’s a sound Yoongi has heard before, and it instantly makes his shoulders drop. Jungkook is standing just outside the door, partially hidden in the shadows.
Yoongi scurries over to Jungkook who explains that he already paid the bill.
“Thank you,” Yoongi says, even though as the hyung he should’ve at least offered to pay.
“You looked nervous in there,” Jungkook notes in a perfectly neutral tone. “May I walk you home?”
“Did you choose this place just because it was in my neighbourhood?”
“No. We came here once with the filming crew, and our director-nim embarrassed us by drinking too much. But the food was nice.”
Yoongi nods. The evening is chilly, so he pulls the sleeves of his sweater over his fingers. Jungkook hasn’t suggested a round of drinks, which probably means that he has an early flight to catch in the morning.
“What were you filming, anyway?”
“A music video for my new single. We even had one of the streets blocked for a few hours.”
“What’s the name of the song?”
Jungkook laughs and taps his lips.
“No spoiler,” he says in English. Yoongi laughs, too, as they cross the street. They walk in companionable silence until they reach the city block which Yoongi lives in, and once again he feels out of time.
“It’s weird seeing you like this,” he blurts out, looking strictly ahead.
“Like what?”
“All grown up. Of course I’ve seen pictures of you, but those glossy magazine covers are, to an extent, a figment of someone’s imagination.”
“Are you disappointed to see that I look nothing like you imagined?”
“No, on the contrary,” Yoongi says, propping his chin onto his hand. “You actually look a lot like you do in your editorial photos, which shouldn’t be possible. It’s hard to rewire my brain when it’s only the old Jungkook I have a frame of reference for.”
Jungkook smiles. “But I’m still the old Jungkook.”
“I hope not, because the old Jungkook was a terrible brat.”
“I was not!”
Yoongi ignores Jungkook’s complaints and quickens his step. Another set of traffic lights, a left, and then…
“This is me,” Yoongi says, reaching for the door handle. “The buzzer is broken, so instead of fixing it, they just unlocked the door to the lobby.”
“That sounds dangerous,” Jungkook says, eyeing the door suspiciously.
“I’m sure they’ll get it fixed eventually.”
“But what until then? What if someone breaks into your house?”
If someone tried to rob them, Hoseok would probably laugh in the thief’s face for thinking there was anything worth stealing in their flat. He doesn’t share this scenario with Jungkook who looks increasingly worried.
“It’s okay, take a deep breath. No need to go into alpha mode over something like this.”
Somehow, Jungkook obeys Yoongi immediately, inhaling with his entire chest.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you.”
“You didn’t spook me,” Yoongi says truthfully. “It was nice to see you again, Kook-ah.”
“You too, hyung,” Jungkook replies. “Let’s keep in touch.”
///
The last time Yoongi spoke to Jungkook was on the phone on Jungkook’s eighteenth birthday, almost a decade ago.
It was a short call. Jungkook’s fame had skyrocketed into unforeseen heights; he was the nation’s golden boy who was growing perfectly into his expected role. He was extremely busy with promotions, sleeping no more than four hours a night – that much he revealed on the phone.
Next year, Yoongi attempted to text his birthday wishes to the same phone number, but the message wouldn’t go through. Apparently, Jungkook’s phone number had leaked online, and he’d had to change it.
Yoongi cried that night because he realised it was over, and there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t even blame Jungkook who was reaching for his dreams and achieving even the loftiest ones. Over the years, Yoongi has wondered if Jungkook felt any guilt over the way their friendship fizzled out, but he doesn’t know how to bring it up. Or if he even should.
Unlike what happened years ago, Jungkook has been texting Yoongi every few days or so. He’s still in New York, so the time difference makes their communication erratic at best, but the effort is there. Jungkook doesn’t talk about work much. He sends Yoongi pictures of the food he eats – Italian, Lebanese, Korean fusion.
‘It’s the best part about having to travel’, Jungkook texts him one night. He’s thirteen hours behind Yoongi, which means that for him it’s nine in the morning. Yoongi asks him what the worst part about travelling is, and Jungkook replies: ‘People’. He doesn’t elaborate, but Yoongi thinks he understands. People are everywhere; they spawn from the earth like mushrooms after rain, just to perform all these important functions while thinking that working hard at their job makes them special.
Jeon Jungkook may be an extraordinary individual, but the same cannot be said for most.
The next day, Jungkook catches Yoongi in the morning, when it’s late evening in New York.
JK:
I wish I could go to New York with someone.
You:
Maybe you can, in the future.
JK:
And not just the city. There are other places too…
JK:
Long Island is pretty this time of year. And my manager once took me to a nice place that was near this hill. I can’t remember anything else. My brain was so foggy because of the diet my personal trainer had put me on.
You:
That sounds lovely. Are you eating properly now?
JK:
Did you know that I have a motorcycle licence?
No, Yoongi did not know that. What a bad fan he has been. The conversation goes on, but Jungkook is barely acknowledging Yoongi’s responses.
His heart aches as he sips on a decaf Americano, and he scolds himself for letting that ache bloom into something substantial that follows him throughout the day.
///
In reality, Yoongi’s relationship with Jungkook started deteriorating long before he moved. They were so young – God how young – when everything changed overnight.
Jungkook became a trainee at fourteen years old, only months after he’d carried Yoongi home while he was in heat. He was still unpresented at the time, so while the company saw potential in Jungkook, they weren’t taking his training too seriously, and he was allowed to commute back home on the weekends.
But the version of Jungkook that Yoongi got to see during that time was a shadow of his usual self. Bags under his eyes, constantly tired, falling asleep in the strangest places.
One time they were sitting in front of a Family Mart, listening to music on Yoongi’s crappy MP3 player, when Jungkook fell asleep on the uncomfortably narrow bench and started drooling all over himself. Yoongi didn’t own a smartphone, so the moment wasn’t captured on camera, but he’ll never forget how light and vulnerable Jungkook felt when he carefully lifted his head to rest on his thigh.
Then, Jungkook presented as an alpha, and he was given a new ultimatum.
“Hyung, the company says that I have a higher chance of debuting now that I’m an alpha, so I should go live in Seoul full-time,” Jungkook told Yoongi, smiling like an idiot because he’d been given sedatives during his rut. The medical practice had later been abandoned, but at the time doctors believed it would prevent injuries related to rut aggression, and to music labels the physical health of their trainees had direct monetary value.
Yoongi had a hard time believing that Jungkook could be truly aggressive, even in rut – not that he lets himself think about things like that.
When Jungkook left their hometown more or less permanently, Yoongi didn’t cry because it didn’t feel fully real at the time. He wrote angsty songs that never saw the light of day and took basketball even more seriously than before. His team scored pretty well in his division, but there was no money in omegan sports, so he dropped out for good before moving to university – and there was one more chapter in his life closed for good.
///
Jungkook returns from New York, and Yoongi braces himself for the text messages to stop. It makes sense that Jungkook would feel lonely abroad, in need of someone to talk to, but his whole life is here in Seoul – work, events, a long list of celebrity friends to hang out with. Yoongi could never compete.
In a way, his assumption proves true. Jungkook no longer texts him; he starts calling instead.
First, it’s just short audio calls that leave Yoongi shaky for hours afterwards.
“I’m bad at texting,” Jungkook cites as the reason when Yoongi asks. He’s apparently waiting for his makeup artist to finish up so that he can start shooting a commercial.
“What product are you advertising?” Yoongi asks.
“Just a foldable smartphone or something like that. I like iPhones way more, but you know how it is. As an idol, it’s my patriotic duty to boost the country’s economy.”
Some conversations are light-hearted like that. Others graze the surface of hurt that lies underneath.
One night, Jungkook calls him from his bed; it’s a video call, and Yoongi almost declines it, thinking it must be a mistake. But Jungkook just smiles at the camera, shirtless and sans makeup, a white sheet tangled up around his torso.
“Hi there,” he says softly, his voice just a tiny bit slurred.
“Have you been drinking?” Yoongi asks, combing his fingers through his hair because he hasn’t looked in a mirror since the morning, and he’s wearing a shirt that reads: 10 km Walk for Children’s Relief 2014.
“Only a little bit,” Jungkook says and sits up on his bed. The sheet falls off him, revealing thick arms and a well-built chest. The room behind Jungkook is oddly bare, just white walls and an empty clothing rack.
“I was doing a livestream on this app idols use, but my team threatened to cut it off if I took the stream to my bed again.”
Again? Yoongi grinds his back teeth together at the thought of Jungkook’s fanbase, who aren’t exactly known for being tactful, having that level of access to him.
“Listen, Yoongi…”
“Hmmh?”
“Do you ever go home and feel like you’re just waiting for the next thing on your schedule to start?”
You don’t like being home?” Yoongi asks, dodging the question. Hoseok is in the bathroom, singing to himself and running the water because he does an eight-step skincare routine every night.
“Well… no,” Jungkook says. “My house looks like a soulless twenty-something alpha lives here.”
“What do your partners think of it when you invite them over?”
Yoongi’s mouth falls shut with a loud snap as soon as he realises what he just said, and in what kind of tone. Jungkook’s eyes are huge and round.
“I don’t have that many partners over,” he says. “I’ve been too busy for too long.”
“Ah, of course,” Yoongi squeaks. Not that many, but some. For his ruts, undoubtedly.
“You should come over sometime. Keep me company.”
The way it’s worded – Yoongi feels like throwing himself off the nearest cliff. But none are available, so he clutches the phone in his hand, frozen still.
“I’d make you dinner,” Jungkook adds. His voice is sultry, like he’s about to burst into song. “I’m a good cook, you know? I’ve picked up recipes from here and there, but I rarely get to treat anyone I truly care about.”
“Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi breathes out.
“My manager Seokjin brews his own makgeolli. We could share a bottle with some spicy pork. How’s that sound?”
“It sounds…”
“Just say yes,” Jungkook pleads in a whiny voice.
Yoongi can picture how the night would proceed. He would enter Jungkook’s luxury apartment complex and sip on chilled makgeolli while gazing at the city from the wall-height windows. He would feel out of place and flustered if Jungkook touched his arm or made those little jokes that didn’t quite sound like jokes.
“Later, Kook-ah,” he says eventually. “It’s wonderful to have you back in my life, to get to hear your voice every day…”
“Why do I keep hearing a ‘but’ in there?”
Yoongi’s cheeks burn. Must he spell it out? To someone like Jungkook?
“It’s just a lot,” Yoongi says, which in no way conveys the gravity of what he feels right then.
“I understand,” Jungkook replies, and he sounds truly genuine.
“It’s not about you. I don’t think I’m doing a good job explaining it, though.”
“Then explain it to me.”
Yoongi breathes in. Jungkook’s tone is still kind but decisively alpha. And maybe that’s the problem – seeing Jungkook through the lens of subgender. Yoongi is a progressive omega above all else. He’s good with a screwdriver and files his own taxes every year. His romantic relationship with Hoseok fell apart because they realised that they actually yearned for friendship and closeness rather than love with all those vague connotations.
“These conversations we’ve had in the past few weeks – they mean a lot to me. To witness just how well you’ve grown up is a privilege that I'm quickly growing used to.” Yoongi feels like he’s reiterating his earlier words, but he has to make Jungkook understand. “Hyung can get greedy, too.”
Jungkook’s eyes are twinkling like two distant galaxies on Yoongi’s phone screen.
“Be greedy, then.”
Should he?
Out of the fear of saying something more incriminating than that, he drops the subject. Jungkook has kept him at arm’s length for years even though he could have looked up Yoongi’s number and contacted him at any point. It’s better they take things slowly, give Yoongi some time to brace himself for the worst.
“You promise to call me tomorrow?” Jungkook asks, interrupting Yoongi’s musings. “Pinky promise?”
“Don’t be a child, Jungkook-ah.”
Jungkook’s laugh is muted, as though he’s leaning away from the microphone. “Don’t worry, hyung. I grew up a long time ago.”
///
One day, Yoongi’s bathroom sink gets clogged.
When it becomes obvious that there’s no solving the issue with a plunger, Yoongi dresses himself for battle: rubber gloves, old t-shirt, floral-patterned trousers and a pair of rubber-soled slippers he stole from his dam for a home renovation project and never bothered to return.
Screwing the P-trap open and scraping goo out of the pipes with a used toothbrush should be easy enough, but it’s a hot day, and Yoongi’s back aches because he’s old – and because his heat is coming soon.
His only companion is a small Bluetooth speaker sitting on the closed toilet lid. Standing Next to You comes on the shuffled playlist, and Yoongi scoops the grease and dirt into a plastic bag while humming the melody to himself.
Does Jungkook ever have to unclog his own sink? Does he kneel on the floor while dirty water drips into a bucket between his legs?
Satisfied with his progress, Yoongi stops to wipe his forehead with the somewhat clean part of his arm. He still has to reassemble the P-trap and clean the floor and the sink, but Jungkook is singing prettily and giving him strength.
The doorbell rings, and Yoongi jolts upright, almost hitting his head on the bottom of the sink.
It must be the grocery delivery he placed earlier. They’re a bit early, but it’s fine. Everything is under control. While rushing to the door, Yoongi tries to remove one of the rubber gloves without getting everything else dirty.
“Hi, you can just leave everything –”
He stops talking mid-sentence as the door opens all the way. It’s a scene from a romcom. A bad one.
“Leave what?” Jungkook asks. He looks like he’s come straight from a photoshoot: hair gelled back, eyebrows freshly plucked and skin flawless with foundation.
And then there’s Yoongi: A mess.
“Not you,” he says in utter disbelief.
“Were you expecting someone else?” Jungkook asks warmly. “Another alpha, perhaps?”
Yoongi acts on pure instinct, grabbing Jungkook’s jacket sleeve with his clean hand and yanking him into the narrow foyer because it’s already bad enough that Jungkook isn’t wearing a mask or sunglasses.
“I can explain the outfit,” Yoongi blurts out, praying that on top of the floral print and rubber shoes, he doesn’t smell of sewage.
“You look cute, hyung,” Jungkook says with a shrug. The collar of Yoongi’s shirt is worn and loose, and it’s almost like the alpha’s eyes are flicking downwards.
“Suddenly you know your honorifics?” Yoongi says listlessly, tugging at the waistband of his trousers because they’re too loose for him.
Jungkook ignores him and says, “They still haven’t fixed the buzzer? Should I hire someone to check it out?”
Absolutely not, Yoongi wants to say, but he’s too preoccupied with the realisation that he’s leading Jungkook toward the kitchen but has nothing to offer him. There are tangerines in a bowl, and a few bruised bananas, but that’s about it unless one is desperate enough to count the weird-tasting protein bars Hoseok has stashed into every bag and drawer in the house.
Jungkook eyes the table for a moment before saying: “You still love tangerines?”
“Yeah, well…”
The alpha grabs one and starts peeling it with a cheerful expression. “I remember when you told me that your biggest dream was to go somewhere cold and eat tangerines in the winter. I didn’t understand what you meant at the time, but I do now.”
“Hmm?” Yoongi hums, feeling distracted by the icky feeling on his skin. He sneakily discards the other rubber glove in the sink and washes his hands while Jungkook gathers his thoughts.
“I just wondered how someone could have such a trivial dream,” Jungkook says. He’s cleaning the small white bits off the surface of the tangerine, which is a perplexing sight because Jungkook has never been that kind of picky eater. “But when I thought about it more, your dream had multiple smaller dreams packaged into one. The desire to leave everything behind and rest. The desire to enjoy the small things that often escape notice.”
Yoongi stares at Jungkook’s hands. He’s speechless.
“I wish I could allow myself to have small dreams again,” Jungkook continues. The tangerine is perfect, now, the peels stacked neatly in a discarded mug.
“Like what?”
“Like coming home to someone who smiles at me. Or laughing so hard that I fall on the floor.”
Jungkook splits the tangerine into wedges and holds one out to Yoongi, plump and perfect.
First, Yoongi just looks at it.
“I saw you wash your hands. Take it.”
Yoongi accepts the piece of fruit and chews quickly, bashfully.
“What are you doing here, Jungkook-ah?” he asks once his mouth is empty.
“I missed you, I guess,” Jungkook says. “I was at work, getting ready to leave, when it suddenly came over me that I’m an independent adult and can go see my friends whenever I want.”
Yoongi wants to point out that Jungkook probably has had managers and bodyguards tailing him for most of his independent adulthood, but that would seem unnecessarily cruel.
Instead, he says: “Hyung missed you too.”
Jungkook’s features light up. He sits down in Hoseok’s favourite chair and looks out the window, perhaps to hide the smile on his face.
“I like your place,” he says, and Yoongi doesn’t correct Jungkook that it’s not his place alone, even though he probably should. Hoseok has been out since yesterday, so his scent must have faded enough not to be obvious in the kitchen.
There’s no logical reason for why Yoongi doesn’t want to disclose to Jungkook that he lives with a roommate who also happens to be his ex-boyfriend; it shouldn’t matter because it doesn’t matter to them.
“So, what were you up to before I so rudely barged in?” Jungkook asks, lifting his brows.
“Doing hard labour in the mines,” Yoongi deadpans.
“A pretty omega like you shouldn’t have to work so hard,” Jungkook jokes back. His tone is featherlight, and the grin on his face matches that, but an involuntary shiver still runs down Yoongi’s back.
He quickly excuses himself to run into his bedroom to snatch one of his good sweaters out of his nest. He wore it to cuddle Hoseok on the couch a few days ago, but he can’t find any trace of the alpha upon a tentative inhale.
The moment Yoongi finishes dressing himself in the sweater and a loose pair of linen slacks, his sensitive ears pick up footsteps right behind him. Stopping at the door which he foolishly left ajar.
An alarmed omegan noise rolls up Yoongi’s throat as he rushes back to the door to block Jungkook’s view of his nest, which is in no way impressive outside of heats.
“Did your dam teach you no manners?” Yoongi demands, embarrassment winding on tight coils in his belly.
“Relax, hyung. I’ve seen your nest before.”
That’s right, some losing, rational portion of Yoongi’s brain points out. But it’s completely different because Jungkook was unpresented. And he didn’t know how lovely and tidy nests were supposed to look – they didn’t even have Instagram back then!
“You can’t look at it,” Yoongi insists. He plants his palms on Jungkook’s chest and wrestles him back into the corridor. The alpha lets him do as he wants, but only until they’re back in the kitchen and Yoongi has effectively pushed him into a corner.
Something flashes in Jungkook’s eyes, and next he has snatched Yoongi’s wrists and flipped their positions. Yoongi feels faint under Jungkook’s victorious grin, leaning most of his weight against the kitchen cupboards. Jungkook is taller than Yoongi, bigger in every way.
“Let me go,” Yoongi says. He fails to sound playful.
“Don’t know if I want to, yet,” Jungkook murmurs. His pheromones are out of control, and he doesn’t seem to notice. Yoongi licks his lips; tries to breathe through his mouth.
Jungkook is looking at his exposed scent gland, which tends to become more pronounced the closer Yoongi is to his heat – his body doing everything it can to be more appealing in the eyes of alphas looking to find a mate. Late follicular phase, as it was called in Yoongi’s subgender ed textbook.
For a moment, Yoongi is scared that Jungkook will blurt out something, or even touch his neck, because then they would have to address it. But Jungkook lets Yoongi go and flexes his jaw – in the same way young alphas do when their freshly dropped canines ache something fierce.
Yoongi rubs his wrists awkwardly. His skin tingles where Jungkook held him, palms digging into his secondary scent glands. Yoongi must reek of Jungkook now. Bergamot with a hint of something that reminds Yoongi of grapefruit. It’s such a pleasant, harmonious scent for an alpha. Even at full force, it’s masculine without being overbearing.
“I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable,” Jungkook says at last.
“You didn’t,” Yoongi says, tugging the sleeves of his sweater over his hands and turning to face the kitchen sink. It’s a mistake, with Jungkook still right behind him.
“Thanks for the tangerine,” Jungkook says, his breath tickling the shell of Yoongi’s ear.
This time, the playful tone does nothing to help lighten the mood.
///
Hoseok comes home two hours later. It takes him one look and sniff at Yoongi for his best friend to tackle him to the floor.
The betrayal Yoongi feels.
“Get off me, you stinky alpha,” he whines as Hoseok noses at his jaw curiously. Seeing that Hoseok is the only person allowed anywhere near Yoongi’s nest, they can get a little handsy at times, but this is outrageous treatment!
“You smell like an alpha,” Hoseok announces, hopping up from the floor with a dancer’s grace.
“What an astute observation,” Yoongi replies, spreading his arms and legs into a starfish shape.
“Did I just get a whiff of a global pop star?”
Yoongi groans. “A rude pup, more like. He stopped by uninvited.”
“Oh, did he now?” Hoseok pads over to the fridge and takes out a can of sugar-free Sprite. “And how did that lead to… you know?”
After cracking the soda can open, the alpha makes a gesture with his hands that vaguely represents a knot entering a hole. It’s so much worse than any verbal description Hoseok could’ve given.
“Nothing happened,” Yoongi says from the floor. “We wrestled a little, that’s all.”
“Okay, sure. And that’s why I can barely smell you from under the possessive scent mark he put on you.”
God, Yoongi’s wrists. He tried to wash his hands well after Jungkook had left, but accidental scent marks can be a bitch to dissolve.
“It was probably my fault,” Yoongi tries to explain. “My hormonal cycle is at that annoying point right now.”
“I’m an alpha too, hyung. You don’t see me losing my mind over here.”
“But…”
“You’ve been video calling him late at night,” Hoseok continues. His tone isn’t accusatory, but Yoongi can’t help but bare his little canines.
“Hey, relax,” Hoseok sighs, taking a sip of his Sprite. He’s dressed in a t-shirt that looks too big on him and definitely doesn’t belong to him, and he smells faintly of a stranger. It’s unfair that Yoongi hasn’t gotten to interrogate him at all about it.
Yoongi sits up, wrapping his arms around his knees.
“I just want you to be safe,” Hoseok adds. “Jeon Jungkook is extremely famous and powerful, and yet you’re treating everything so lightly.”
“I’m not taking this lightly,” Yoongi protests, even though Hoseok’s words jostle something inside him.
“Good. Because the way you smell – that alpha is not playing around. When I stepped through the door, my alpha felt like it was being challenged in its own den.”
Yoongi has to look away. Hoseok’s honesty is his best and worst quality.
“I’ll talk to him soon,” Yoongi says, pressing his thumb into the scent gland on his wrist, unsure if he wants to contain Jungkook’s scent mark or rub it off.
“Good. I’m happy for you as long as you’re happy.”
Yoongi nods, glancing at Hoseok’s shirt. He wants the same for his friend.
///
Yoongi struggles to fall asleep that night. Approximately ten days before he starts showing preheat symptoms, his libido spikes out of nowhere.
Somehow, he has opened a bunch of Jungkook fan accounts and is scrolling through compilations of the alpha dancing on stage, his face and neck glistening with sweat. The songs played in the background would make Yoongi laugh or scoff at any other time, but tonight he’s mesmerised by the tight cuts that align with the beat, the closeups of Jungkook’s face that pan out to showcase his body.
The edits are one thing, but the same accounts post other things as well. Strings of Tweets that range from suggestive to explicit, talking about Jungkook’s knot and virility, and how he has chemistry with everyone from his beta translator to his producer-songwriter Kim Namjoon, who is also an alpha. Every subgender is included in these fantasies.
Yoongi clicks on another account with even longer stories about Jungkook, but the language gets so explicit that he quickly returns to the previous one.
There’s a fanart of Jungkook without a shirt on, then an edit of his recent ad campaigns that also featured a generous number of shirtless shots.
Yoongi presses a hand between his legs and finds them warm and damp. He thinks about Jungkook lying in bed, his groin barely covered by the bedsheet and his tattooed arm braced behind him. Jungkook grabbing a mic with that same hand, wiping sweat off his forehead.
Grabbing Yoongi, pressing him against the edge of the sink.
No, he really shouldn’t.
But his heat is near, and he needs some quick relief to sleep. He rocks his hips back and forth and scrolls to the next edit.
JK’s canines could pop me like a juice box!
Yoongi groans at the description but stares at the closeup shots of Jungkook’s nose and mouth until he’s panting and biting his lips to keep quiet. Sweat beads on his temples because he’s too self-conscious to kick the blankets off and face the physical reactions of his own body.
When he finally emerges on the other side, sweaty and trembling, Yoongi quickly closes all apps on his phone and slips the damn thing under the bed.
///
A few days later, Jungkook asks Yoongi for a drive, which he agrees to against his better judgement. It seems terribly intimate but less so than a full dinner and drinks at the alpha’s house. And while Yoongi would never admit to it out loud, he’s flattered by the persistent attention.
Jungkook picks Yoongi up at eight. He drives an expensive-looking black car that is probably worth more money than Yoongi will ever earn in his lifetime.
“I wanted to meet up at a bar or something, but the company has been on my ass lately,” Jungkook explains, fiddling with the temperature controls on the fancy touch screen display. Yoongi is wearing a lilac cardigan, jeans and sneakers, and Jungkook’s car alone makes him feel slightly underdressed.
“Did something happen?” Yoongi asks, thinking back to the girls who recorded them at the restaurant.
“Not really,” Jungkook says dismissively. He starts up the car and joins the traffic, and Yoongi lets his spine melt into the buttery smooth leather seat.
“They want me to behave myself because I have a few projects coming out soon.”
“Ah, you must be busy.”
“Well, filming has already wrapped up, so I only have a few live appearances to take care of. Which is probably why they’re scared I’ll do something dumb in the meantime.”
Yoongi swallows the lump in his throat. He wants to ask if Jungkook’s team knows that he’s been hanging out with an unmated omega from his past, and if Yoongi is actually the problem here.
Jungkook looks relaxed, though. He’s driving one-handed, his left elbow resting on the edge of the driver’s seat window.
“Where are we going?” Yoongi asks, as the question only occurs to him now.
“Somewhere with a nice view,” Jungkook says. “I bought snacks from the convenience store near your place.”
It sounds way too romantic. Like a date. Yoongi hasn’t been on many dates in his life; Hoseok and he were more comfortable staying home, watching variety show reruns.
Jungkook puts on western pop music to fill in the gaps between conversation. The songs are only vaguely familiar to Yoongi, but the alpha seems to know a lot of the lyrics by heart. And when he doesn’t, he still hums along with the melodies and nods his head to the beat.
During one of their phone conversations, Jungkook asked Yoongi about his work and expressed genuine interest in it. He was also eager to hear about Yoongi’s uni experiences since he’d only attended an online university for show. Companies don’t like their idols to be completely uneducated, but getting an actual degree from a reputable school would take too much time away from training and promoting.
Some time later, Jungkook pulls up onto the side of the road. They aren’t that high up or even outside the city limits, but it’s a quiet spot, and the view indeed is nice. Namsan Tower glows in the distance, high above the silhouette of skyscrapers.
“Let’s get it,” Jungkook says as he steps out of the car and picks up a crinkly plastic bag from the back seat. They sit down on a flat-topped stone fence, dangling their feet off the ledge with a drop to some dense bushes a few metres below them. On the other side of the road, a staircase leads up toward the family homes that have been built right next to each other to save space.
“I’ve always thought that I’d want to raise my family in a neighbourhood like this,” Jungkook says, pulling a few bags of seaweed snacks, triangle kimbaps and bottles of soda out of the plastic bag.
“Why?” Yoongi asks.
“I like quiet areas like these. Living here would keep me grounded. And the pups, too.”
Yoongi hums.
“I like walking through places like these and picturing myself at forty years old, walking my son to school and teaching him to never cross a road without looking both ways.”
Again, Yoongi doesn’t know how to reply. He rolls his ankles and opens a bag of snacks.
“Meeting you has made me think about stuff like this.”
“Why me?”
Jungkook dips a hand into the bag of snacks that’s propped up between Yoongi’s legs. He munches on a piece of dry seaweed before answering.
“You are proof of how much time has passed without me even noticing. For an idol, there’s only the present, your career. And then there’s the grey mass of retirement that looms in the future.”
“You’re still young,” Yoongi says, mostly because he doesn’t want to think of himself as old.
“Oh, but I could make a mistake and be forced to retire tomorrow,” Jungkook argues. “I feel like… no matter what I do, I keep messing things up.”
Yoongi glances at Jungkook who suddenly looks solemn. “What do you mean? You haven’t messed anything up.”
“Yes, I have,” Jungkook says. Suddenly, he’s facing Yoongi with one of his legs pressed flush against Yoongi’s thigh. He reaches for Yoongi’s hand, closing it between his palms. “I’ve wanted to apologise to you ever since we met at the dry cleaner.”
“You don’t have to apologise,” Yoongi quickly says, but Jungkook just squeezes his hand harder.
“Months and years passed so quickly while I was a trainee, but that’s not an excuse, I know that. I should’ve called more often, should’ve made an effort. But I was swept away by the attention, and then I felt like it was too late. I thought that surely an omega like you would have gotten mated already – that me trying to insert myself back into your life would have caused us both grief.”
“Jungkook-ah…” Yoongi mutters.
“The truth is that I… I was being selfish. I couldn’t bear the thought of reconnecting with you and being forced to watch how well you lived.”
“So, you’re happy that I’m miserable?”
“No!” Jungkook is nearly shouting. His scent is strong and earnest; it makes Yoongi’s inner omega wag its proverbial tail.
Suddenly, Yoongi feels two warm hands on his cheeks – oh so warm despite the cool night air surrounding them. He can’t avert his gaze. Jungkook won’t let him move an inch.
“Hyung.”
Yoongi blinks.
“Can I kiss you?”
More blinking. Yoongi’s vocal cords seem paralysed, but if he could, he might blurt out something stupid like: I don’t know, can you?
Jungkook gazes deep into Yoongi’s eyes and connects their lips.
It’s a clumsy kiss; Jungkook’s hands squeeze Yoongi’s cheeks and force his lips to purse together. When the alpha leans back, his eyes remain open, as though he can’t get enough of looking at Yoongi.
“Sorry,” Jungkook says, smiling first and then frowning. “It felt like the right moment.”
Did it now? Yoongi thinks, utterly dazed and useless.
“Do you know how I felt when I saw you again and realised that you were unmated?”
Yoongi shakes his head – or tries to. Jungkook’s hands are at the back of his neck, sliding into his hair, behind his ears, anywhere he can reach.
“Overjoyed,” Jungkook says. “I was so happy that I still had a chance.”
///
“My heat is coming up in three days,” Yoongi says, tracing the frosted rim of his glass with a finger. It’s just a thing, it doesn’t mean anything. In fact, it’s hardly worth mentioning, but sometimes his friends have gotten worried when he locks himself into his room without a word and emerges days later, looking like he was hit by a truck.
Hoseok folds his hands delicately below his chin and narrows his eyes in the way Yoongi doesn’t like one bit.
“What?” he grumbles, taking another sip of his beer. He’s a little tipsy, which also doesn’t mean anything.
“Are you going to ask Jungkook to help you with your heat?”
Taehyung, who’s sitting next to Hoseok, nearly spits out his drink. He’s their mutual friend from uni who’s one of the few people who would put up with Yoongi’s and Hoseok’s combined bullshit. Yoongi doesn’t have anything in his mouth to spit out, but he shares Taehyung’s sentiment.
But first, let’s rewind to the night Yoongi came back home from his car ride with Jungkook: Hoseok was home and instantly sensed something was up. Reluctantly, Yoongi told him about their conversation – as well as the kiss – and Hoseok’s entire outlook on the situation changed, just like that.
Instead of laughing, Hoseok said that Jungkook had shown “remarkable vulnerability” with his apology. That he seemed like a good alpha.
Still, Hoseok must have lost his mind.
“Why would I… ask him?” Yoongi demands to know. The syllables feel wrong in his mouth; they come out choppy.
“Why not?” Hoseok shrugs. “We both know how you get during…”
“But why,” Yoongi hisses, spit flying everywhere, “why would I ask Jungkook?”
“Alpha like Jeon Jungkook? Are you worried he wouldn’t be able to satisfy you sexually?”
Yoongi’s eyes bulge out of his head. He tries to slap a hand over Hoseok’s mouth, but the bastard is faster, using Taehyung as a convenient meat shield.
“You know that’s not the point,” Yoongi whispers. Or yells. It’s loud in the bar, the air suffocating and tinted with cigarette smoke that’s coming from the open windows.
“What’s the point, then?” Hoseok demands, leaning over the back of his chair with a graceful arch in his back to stay safely out of the range of Yoongi’s flailing arms. “You’re practically dating Jungkook, and it’s clear that the poor bastard has been obsessed with you for years.”
“Hoseok-ah, just… shut the fuck up.” Yoongi heaves a near-painful breath. “You’re supposed to be my ex-boyfriend, so act like it.”
Taehyung lets out a quiet laugh – his first contribution since Hoseok started spewing nonsense. “Hyung, you should go for it. Even I have heard that you’re insatiable in heat.”
“From whom?” Yoongi asks slowly. “Hoseok, I swear to God I’m going to…”
Taehyung acts perfectly innocent. He majored in performing arts and acting, but he’s only gotten supporting roles in period dramas since graduating. It’s a tough field of work, even with Taehyung’s good looks.
Hoseok gets up from his seat in a flash. “Gentlemen, the next round is on me. Should we have some somaek?”
///
The last time Yoongi got this drunk was at one of Taehyung’s house parties two years ago. They’re all way too old to have parties like that, but Taehyung is a social butterfly who doesn’t know when to stop. And Yoongi can’t hold his alcohol during heat week; it’s some biological thing he swears. He gets all floaty and emotional and doesn’t know where to stop.
Yoongi blinks his eyes open and realises that he’s in his own bed, lying on top of the covers, fully clothed.
Floaty and emotional – doesn’t know where to stop.
Wait… surely not?
Yoongi sits up, welcoming the wave of nausea and pounding headache behind his left eye. It feels like a deserved punishment. He’s over thirty years old; he should at least have some shame.
Next to the pillow, Yoongi finds his phone, a few crumpled ten thousand won notes, and his headphone case. One of the Bluetooth headphones is gone. With a muttered curse, Yoongi tosses the case back on the bed. He’s desperate for a glass of water, but the kitchen is far away.
He remembers stumbling through the door in the middle of the night and gulping water straight out of the sink until the front of his shirt was wet and he was giggling to himself. He remembers reaching for his phone and scrolling through his contacts…
No.
He didn’t.
Yoongi unlocks his phone, just to check, even though he can already remember: Calling Jungkook at one in the morning, switching the video on.
Jungkook was in bed, wearing a modern hanbok, hair fluffy and lips shiny with lip balm. Yoongi said he looked good.
“You look good tonight.”
That’s what he said.
Yoongi rolls onto his stomach and screams into his pillow, which only makes his headache bloom into something splittingly vicious. All this time he’s acted as though he’s the weary adult, and Jungkook something young and volatile, an alpha in his prime who could do what he wanted and face few repercussions.
“Are you drunk, hyung?” Yoongi remembers Jungkook asking. He didn’t make fun of Yoongi, didn’t take advantage of the fact that Yoongi would’ve done anything Jungkook asked of him.
“Kind of,” Yoongi admitted. He was leaning heavily against the kitchen counter at the time, the tap still running. “Hoseokie is being awfully mean to me.”
“Ah. Who’s Hoseokie?”
“My ex,” Yoongi replied guilelessly.
He really admitted that. Yoongi stumbles out of the bed, back to the crime scene. He fills a large glass with water and gulps it down even though the sudden movements aggravate his headache.
The scene keeps playing in his head with terrifying clarity.
“And why is he mean?” Jungkook asked next.
“Well, it’s because he knows my heat is coming up and he still made me drink. It fucks with my tol… tolerance.”
“Aw, poor baby.”
“I’m not your baby. I’m older.”
“My apologies,” Jungkook said. “So, your heat is coming up?”
“Yeah, but that’s a secret.”
“Oh, is it?”
That’s when Yoongi came to his senses and hung up the phone. He snorted and giggled to himself in the dark and then crawled to bed.
Yoongi lowers the glass on the kitchen counter and lets himself slide all the way to the floor in a sad heap. His heat is almost here, and on top of the misery of his own bodily functions, he’s made a fool out of himself in front of Jungkook.
He must fix things, but he doesn’t know how. Jungkook must be at work already, busy as he is.
A piping hot shower and a light breakfast later Yoongi still doesn’t know what to do, though he feels marginally better. Hoseok is long gone, working or hooking up with his newest conquest, whom Yoongi has never met and probably never will.
Yoongi wishes they had a balcony in their shared flat – to feel the wind on his face and come to terms with his own insignificance in the grand scheme of the universe. The thing is, Yoongi should exist as a mere blip on Jungkook’s radar. He’s an alpha who could have anyone he wanted.
Anyone.
Yoongi looks at his phone and sees a new message from Jungkook:
JK:
Eat something when you wake up
JK:
And take 800mg of ibuprofen if you need it. Seokjin hyung told me that the other kind is bad for your liver when you’ve had drinks.
Yoongi bites his lip as he reacts to the message with a heart instead of the typical thumbs up emoji. He has nothing to lose, right? Everything that could go wrong has already happened. So, he begins to type:
You:
Are you busy this weekend?