Bricks and lace

by Emeralluvgguk

Summary:

Jeon Jungkook had everything—wealth, status, a life free of struggle. Kim Taehyung had nothing but calloused hands and a name that meant little in a world ruled by money.

When Jungkook’s stepmother arranges his marriage to a mere labourer, he sees it as nothing more than a joke.

Chapter 1

Jungkook stormed into the grand parlor, his footsteps echoing sharply against the polished wooden floors. The silk drapes billowed slightly from the breeze filtering through the half-open window, but nothing could cool the fire blazing in his chest. His stepmother, Lady Hyejin, sat calmly at the ornate tea table, her delicate fingers wrapping around a porcelain teacup as if she hadn’t just ruined his life.

“You arranged my marriage?” Jungkook’s voice trembled. His fists clenched at his sides as he stared at her, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. “To—to a labourer?” The word tasted bitter on his tongue, not because he held disdain for the poor, but because this—this was a punishment, not a match.

Lady Hyejin sighed as she set down her cup, her painted lips curving into a smile. “Mind your tone, Jungkook. I have done what is best for you.”

“Best?” He let out a humorless laugh, his chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid breaths. “You think forcing me into marriage with some—some peasant is what’s best for me?” He shook his head, his mind spinning. “How will I continue my education, my future? What do you expect me to do—drop out of university and spend my days toiling in fields alongside this—this stranger?”

Jungkook’s stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat. His vision blurred with fury, his fingers shaking as he pointed at her. “You have no right—”

“I have every right,” she cut him off, her “Your father is gone. His wealth, his estate, everything you so comfortably live on—it all belongs to me now. And I have decided that you will marry Kim Taehyung.” She leaned forward slightly, her gaze piercing. “Perhaps that is exactly what you need, Jungkook. To learn what it means to be powerless.”

Jungkook felt his knees weaken, his whole body trembling as the weight of her words settled over him like a suffocating fog. His father’s death had already taken everything from him—but this? This was the final blow. He was being stripped of his choices, his dignity, his future.

He sucked in a ragged breath, his voice breaking. “I won’t do it.”

Lady Hyejin only smiled. “You will.”

Chapter 2: 2.

The room was quiet, painfully so, save for the occasional soft brush of the makeup artist’s tools and the distant echo of music from the wedding venue downstairs. Jungkook sat before the ornate vanity, staring at his reflection like he didn’t know who he was anymore. His face was beautiful—flawless, in fact. The makeup artist had done a remarkable job; his skin looked porcelain-smooth, his lips tinted the softest shade of rose, his long lashes curled delicately over wide, sorrowful eyes.

He looked like a doll. A beautiful, fragile doll dressed up for someone else’s shelf. His fingers, trembling slightly, brushed his cheek. 

“Look at you,” he whispered to himself, “You’re a bride. A pretty little bride… marrying a man you don’t know.” He forced a smile—just a twitch of his lips, but even that faltered midway. His chest ached with something heavy and low, “You were supposed to be studying right now, not getting your lashes curled and lips painted.”

His eyes flickered down to the stack of books tucked on the floor beside the vanity—his textbooks, worn and marked with the furious notes he had scribbled into the margins during late-night cram sessions. He had spent the entire night flipping through them, unable to sleep, unable to focus, only clinging to the pages like they were his last remaining tether to the life he actually wanted. He had reread his essays as much as he could—because who knew when, or if, he’d get to touch them again.

The dress lay on the nearby chair, pressed and folded. Jungkook hadn’t wanted anything grand. Not for this. What was the point of wearing silk and jewels when the occasion felt like mourning? It was a simple wedding skirt, pale beige with full-length sleeves, modest and unadorned. There were no gemstones sewn into the hem, no embroidery that sang of elegance. Just cloth. Just enough. Just like the life he was being handed.

He slipped into the dress slowly, letting the fabric hug his small frame. It fit perfectly, of course. Everything had been arranged by his stepmother down to the last pin. She had chosen this dress too. Jungkook remembered begging her, kneeling before her like a desperate child not a grown man, asking—pleading—for a monthly budget to continue studying even after the wedding. It was the only thing he had asked for. Not freedom, not a better husband, just a chance to finish his degree.

“Why would an omega need a degree?” she had said, “You’ll be too busy doing what omegas are meant to do—serve your husband, bear children, keep the house. You think your labourer husband can afford to send you to university? Be grateful I let you finish high school. You’re not special, Jungkook. You’re just lucky your face makes up for your attitude.”

He had wanted to scream. To throw something. To burn down the house. But instead, he had just… nodded. Like a coward. Because he had nowhere else to go, and no one left to stand up for him.

Jungkook exhaled shakily, adjusting the sleeves of his dress. His hands were cold. He looked at his reflection again—he really was a beautiful bride. That was the truth. Delicate features, soft shoulders, a slim waist. People would look at him and say, “What a lovely wedding,” not knowing how many nights he’d cried himself to sleep since the engagement was announced. Not knowing he didn’t even know what his husband looked like.

“I’m so pathetic,” he whispered, shaking his head, eyes glassy. “You didn’t even invite your friends. You were too ashamed. Afraid they’d come and see you marrying a man with dirt on his hands and callused fingers. Afraid they’d pity you. But aren’t you already a pity?”

The door hadn’t opened yet. No one had come to get him.

His voice cracked as he murmured, “I didn’t even get to say goodbye to who I was.” He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to stop tears from ruining the makeup. 

The music outside changed slightly, and Jungkook straightened instinctively. Maybe it was time. Maybe someone would come in any moment now and take his hand and say, “Come, Jungkook. It’s time to walk down the aisle.”

The door creaked open and Jungkook flinched, startled out of his thoughts. The sound of heels clicking against the polished floorboards drew closer, and his stepmother’s familiar voice pierced the heavy silence. “What are you doing still sitting there? It’s time,” she said, as though this was just another event to cross off her list.

Jungkook turned slightly, not fully meeting her gaze, his hands tightening in his lap. He hadn’t realized he’d been crying again until her eyes narrowed and she let out an audible huff, marching toward him. “Aish, look at your face. I paid a fortune for the makeup artist, and this is how you repay me? Smudged eyes like some mourning widow. Are you trying to embarrass me in front of the guests?” Her fingers, cold and impatient, gripped his chin, turning his face toward the mirror, forcing him to look at himself again. He looked awful, at least by her standards. The liner beneath his eyes had smudged into a faint gray shadow, and the corners of his mouth drooped slightly, evidence of recent sobbing.

“I didn’t ask for this day,” Jungkook whispered, voice hoarse, trying to turn his face away, but she held firm. “I didn’t ask to be dressed up like a doll and married off like I’m nothing more than—”

“Enough,” she snapped, cutting him off sharply as she rummaged through a silver pouch, pulling out a small sponge and powder. “If you ruin this moment, Jungkook, I swear you’ll regret it. You’ve caused enough trouble already. Now sit still and stop crying like a child. This is happening whether you like it or not, and I’ll not have guests whispering about how dreadful the bride looked.”

Jungkook sat still, feeling the familiar burn of shame crawl up his throat, but he said nothing. What could he say? She was right—he was crying like a child. Helpless, foolish. He blinked up at the ceiling as she dabbed at his face, silently praying the powder would also soak up the overwhelming dread lodged in his chest.

Once satisfied, Lady Hyejin stepped back and looked him over with a small nod. “Better. Keep your head high. Smile, if you can manage it. And for god’s sake, no more tears.” Her voice softened slightly, slipping into a cooing tone that made Jungkook’s stomach churn. “You’re such a lovely bride, sweetheart,” she said sweetly, cupping his cheek with mock affection. “You’ll steal everyone’s breath away. I wouldn’t be surprised if your husband faints just looking at you.” She laughed gently, kissed his cheek like she was the picture of maternal love, and turned toward the door. “Come now. They’re all waiting.”

And so he followed her. Down the long corridor lined with vases and candlelight, past the servants who stood politely with lowered eyes, past the portraits of his late father who, if he were still alive, would have never allowed this circus to unfold. The grand staircase awaited, and beyond that—the garden courtyard where the ceremony had been set up.

The moment they stepped into view of the guests, Lady Hyejin transformed again. She wore her sweetest smile, her voice all airy pleasantries and elegant chuckles as she greeted people, lightly kissing Jungkook’s cheek again for show. “Doesn’t he look stunning?” she cooed to a group of ladies, one hand on Jungkook’s back as if she were a proud mother. “Such a vision, isn’t he? My precious darling.”

Jungkook wanted to recoil, to slap her hand away, to scream in the face of everyone clapping and smiling as if this was a fairy tale. Hypocrite, he thought bitterly. Liar. Snake. This was the same woman who spat venom at him in private, who told him he was nothing more than a burden, who now acted like she had raised him with gentleness and warmth.

The soft melody of string instruments filled the air, the scent of fresh lilies wafting around him as he approached the aisle. It was a simple venue—wooden chairs, white flowers, a cloth-covered altar—but everything blurred in his vision. He could hardly breathe. Each step felt like walking deeper into a dream he couldn’t wake up from, or worse, a nightmare that was becoming real. His knees trembled slightly, and he kept his eyes fixed on the ground. He didn’t dare look up. He didn’t want to look up. Not at the guests, not at the altar, and especially not at the man waiting for him.

And then he stopped. He was standing at the front. He didn’t even remember how he got there, but now someone gently nudged him forward, and he looked down to see a pair of hands reaching out for his own.

The hands were large, rough—so rough they almost scratched as they touched his palms. Callused, worn. Jungkook’s fingers twitched at the contact, and a chill went down his spine. He couldn’t look up. His stomach twisted painfully, his pulse loud in his ears.

This is real, he thought, gripping the stranger’s hands tighter than he meant to. This is real, and I don’t even know his face. I don’t know who he is. And I’m supposed to belong to him.

He swallowed hard, his voice just a whisper in his own head. Please… just let him be gentle. Let him be the kind of man who won’t hate me. Let him not expect love from me right away. Let him not be cruel.

The soft chords of the string quartet faded out, and the priest stepped forward, robes gently brushing the edge of the altar. The hush fell like a blanket across the guests, and Jungkook’s heart thudded erratically, the silence loud in his ears.

“We are gathered here today,” the priest began, “to unite these two souls in sacred matrimony. May their journey be blessed with peace, mutual respect, and love that grows with time.”

Jungkook couldn’t focus on the words. His eyes were still glued to the floor, his hands trembling faintly in the grasp of the man before him. Taehyung, they had said his name was. Just Taehyung. No family name, no titles, just a poor laborer from the village side. Jungkook hadn’t even seen his face yet.

The priest turned to the groom first. “Kim Taehyung, do you take Jeon Jungkook to be your lawful partner, to cherish him in health and hardship, in joy and sorrow, from this day forth?”

There was a pause. A breath. Then a voice, low and coarse, with a soft roughness like soil after rain. “I do.”

Jungkook flinched slightly. It was the first time he heard him speak. The man’s voice wasn’t unpleasant—just unfamiliar. And far too real.

Then, the priest turned to Jungkook.

“And you, Jeon Jungkook. Do you take Kim Taehyung to be your lawful partner, to honor and support him, to stand by him in all that life brings, from this day forth?”

Jungkook’s lips parted, but no words came out. His breath caught. His hands twitched, and he could feel sweat trickling down the nape of his neck. He was supposed to say “I do.” Just two words. But his throat closed around them like a lock refusing to turn.

He didn’t love him. He didn’t even know him. He didn’t want this.

The silence stretched, and a few guests shifted in their seats. A whisper rose somewhere in the back. Then came the click of heels. A shadow moved beside him.

“My poor baby,” Lady Hyejin said sweetly, brushing back a strand of hair from his temple with a motherly tenderness that felt like poison. She turned to the guests, smiling. “He’s simply overwhelmed. My dear boy has never spent a single night away from me—he’s heartbroken at the thought of leaving home.”

Some guests chuckled politely. Others made sympathetic sounds.

But she leaned in close then, her lips against his ear, the sweetness in her voice curdling as she whispered, “Say the words, Jungkook. Or you’ll regret it more than you can imagine. You’ll bring shame to this family. And don’t you dare cry again. Smile, and say it.”

Jungkook’s lips trembled, his jaw tightening. There was no escape. Not today. Not from this.

“I… I do,” he whispered.

And the moment the words left his mouth, something inside him sank. As if a rope had been tied around his ankle and dropped into a lake.

The guests clapped softly, a ripple of applause breaking out. Lady Hyejin stepped back, dabbing her eyes with a silk handkerchief like this was the happiest moment of her life.

Jungkook couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

“The rings,” the priest announced.

A young boy walked up with a small cushion, offering two simple bands. Taehyung picked one up with those rough hands of his and carefully slid it onto Jungkook’s finger. It was slightly loose, the metal cold against his skin.

When it was Jungkook’s turn, his hands shook, but he managed to get the ring onto Taehyung’s finger. He still hadn’t looked up.

“And now, with the vows exchanged,” the priest said, “you may seal this union.”

Jungkook’s heart skipped. His lips went dry.

No. No, no, please no…

He braced himself for the kiss. He could feel the tension crawling through his spine, every part of him screaming not to be touched like that, not here, not now.

But it didn’t come.

Instead, a warm hand reached out and gently took his left hand. Jungkook’s breath caught as the man lowered his head.

And kissed the back of his hand.

Softly.

Tenderly.

Jungkook’s lashes fluttered in surprise.

And it was only then—when the man’s head lifted again, still holding his hand—that Jungkook finally looked up.

His eyes met the face of his husband.

And for a second, everything stopped.

Taehyung wasn’t handsome in the traditional sense. He didn’t have the polished smoothness of noblemen or the powdered charm of court boys. His face was sun-warmed and sharp, cheekbones high, skin a little tanned, a small scar tracing just below his lip. His dark hair fell messily over his forehead, slightly damp with sweat from the heat. But his eyes—his eyes were what made Jungkook pause. They were warm. Deep brown. Kind, even amidst all this unfamiliarity. He wasn’t smiling much, but there was something gentle in the way he looked at Jungkook—like he knew he was frightened. Like he wasn’t going to push him. 

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed reading it!

Chapter 3: 3.

The horse cart ride was long, slow, and filled with silence so loud it made Jungkook’s ears ring. The only sounds were the creaking of the wheels and the occasional trot of the horses as they moved down the worn-out village path. Jungkook sat with his hands balled into fists on his lap, knuckles white under his sheer sleeves, his wedding skirt neatly folded beneath him despite his trembling legs. The air was dustier here, not like the clean, perfumed air in the city estate he’d grown up in. He had tried not to breathe too deeply, fearing the scent of hay and soil would cling to his clothes. Taehyung sat opposite him on the wooden bench of the cart, silent, eyes cast down for most of the ride, perhaps aware that his presence made Jungkook even stiffer than he already was. There were no guards, no drivers in fine clothes, no shaded umbrellas or lanterns hung on the cart. Just two newlyweds heading to a home that didn’t feel like it would ever be Jungkook’s.

When they finally stopped, Jungkook blinked out of his daze and looked up. His heart dropped at the sight.

The house was exactly what he had feared—and exactly what his stepmother had waved off with that fake smile of hers when he’d asked about it. A single-level hanbok house, built with faded wooden beams and clay-tiled roofing, with weeds creeping along the edges of the stone path. The garden was more like a yard—untrimmed, unkempt, and mostly dirt. The wooden gate creaked when opened, and one of the doors was hanging slightly off hinge.

To someone else, maybe a traveler or a commoner, it would have been a humble, decent home. But to Jungkook—who had grown up in a mansion with silk-padded doors, servants who woke him up with tea, and marble floors cold enough to echo—the house might as well have been a stable.

Still clutching his small set of embroidered bags, Jungkook stepped down from the cart with shaky grace. His delicate shoes touched the dusty ground, and he had to fight the urge to lift his skirt so it wouldn’t trail through the dirt. Taehyung reached over without a word and gently took the bags from his hands. Jungkook stiffened slightly at the touch but said nothing, just stared as Taehyung slung the bags over his shoulder and began walking toward the house.

He followed.

The wooden floor creaked beneath them as they stepped into the small home. The air inside was warmer than outside, stuffier too. And it smelled faintly of rice, wood smoke, and something else—a scent Jungkook couldn’t place but didn’t particularly like.

There was no real furniture—just a low wooden table with two mismatched cushions, a small woven mat near the door, and some pots stacked by the wall. The living room bled into a tiny hallway that led to three rooms. One was clearly the bedroom—he could see the folded bedding through the open door. Another seemed like a small store room. The kitchen was separate, a small structure just outside the house with no walls, only a roof and a stove carved out of mudbrick. Jungkook’s throat tightened. There was no vanity, no bookshelf, no painted vases or curtained windows. It was all so...bare. Cold in its simplicity.

Taehyung placed his bags down in the open living space and straightened up. He turned toward Jungkook, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, clearly unsure of how to proceed. His voice was gentle when he finally spoke.

“You… you can sit here, if you want. I’ll bring you some water. Or if you're hungry… there’s still some food from the feast. I can warm it up for you.”

Jungkook blinked at him. His lips pressed together into a tight line. He didn’t want food. He didn’t want water. He wanted to scream, wanted to storm back out and demand a carriage to take him home. But there was no home anymore. His room was probably already emptied by now. His books boxed away. And his stepmother probably sipping tea with guests, celebrating how cleverly she got rid of him.

He swallowed down the rising ache in his throat and slowly lowered himself onto the cushion, sitting with his back too straight, too formal for this tiny space.

“I’m okay,” he said quietly, barely above a whisper.

Taehyung nodded, clearly sensing the stiffness in the air. He stood there for a moment longer, as though debating whether to say something else, then gently bowed his head and walked out to the kitchen without another word.

Left alone in the room, Jungkook looked around again, his hands folded in his lap, fingers digging into each other. This can’t be real, he thought. This can’t be my life now.

His eyes stung, but he blinked the tears back furiously.

“I can’t study here…” he whispered to himself, biting his lower lip. “There’s no desk… there’s not even a chair. No ink, no paper… how am I supposed to learn anything here?”

Despite Jungkook’s refusal, Taehyung returned a few minutes later with a small brass cup filled with water. The liquid rippled slightly as he walked, careful not to spill it. He didn’t say anything at first, just placed it gently on the low wooden table in front of Jungkook, then sat down across from him, leaving a respectful distance between them. Jungkook hesitated. His pride almost told him not to take it, to push it away with a scoff and glare like he used to do with servants back home when they annoyed him, but this wasn’t his home. There were no servants. There was no luxury. Just this man—his husband—whose hands looked like they knew only hard labor and cold mornings. So, Jungkook slowly reached forward and wrapped his fingers around the cool metal cup. He didn’t drink it, just held it between his palms.

Taehyung cleared his throat softly. “Uh… our neighbors are the Lees,” he began, voice low, like he wasn’t sure if Jungkook even wanted to hear. “Their house is the one to the left, with the lanterns hung outside. The old lady there—she’s a bit nosy, but she means well. And, uh… my uncle and aunt live behind the hill. They grow sesame and peppers. My cousin… he’s married too. Has a baby now. A girl.”

Jungkook nodded stiffly, still not drinking the water, just holding it for warmth. He didn’t know what to say about nosy old ladies or baby girls or sesame. He had no clue about village life. The only peppers he’d ever known were the neatly sliced ones in the delicacies he once refused to eat because they were “too spicy.”

After a moment, Jungkook asked, his voice quieter than he meant it to be, “What… what do you do?” He blinked up at Taehyung from under his lashes, “I… I mean for work.”

Taehyung looked surprised for a second, then nodded. “I work with the construction group that’s rebuilding the southern wall. Near the old market.” He rubbed his hand on his trousers, fingers stained faintly from soil or dust. “I carry bricks, load carts… sometimes I mix mortar. It depends. I get paid weekly.”

Jungkook let that sink in. So it was true. A laborer. A man who builds walls while Jungkook used to dream of painting them with art, of reading about the world beyond them.

“After work, I go to the family farm. Just a short walk behind here. We grow rice mostly. It’s not a big plot. Not for selling—just enough for our house and my aunt’s family. If there’s extra, I take it to the market.”

Jungkook nodded, his hands tightening around the cup. “So… no servants, then?” he said bitterly before he could stop himself.

Taehyung hesitated, then gave a gentle shrug. “No. Just me.”

There was an awkward pause. Jungkook looked down at the floor, staring at the wooden panels like they held answers. A part of him wanted to lash out, to scream at the heavens, to curse his stepmother’s name again for the hundredth time that day. Instead, he asked quietly, “Did you… ever study?”

Taehyung looked surprised again. He shook his head slowly. “No. I never went to school.”

Jungkook blinked. “Not even the village class?”

“There was one,” Taehyung said, voice low and a little distant now. “But we couldn’t afford it. And I was the oldest boy in my family. My father fell sick when I was around ten. I had to start working early—carrying sacks of rice, cutting wood. Then later, building homes. School wasn’t even a thought.”

Jungkook felt something sharp twist in his chest. He wasn’t sure what it was. Guilt? Pity? Annoyance? Maybe all of them.

Jungkook stifled a yawn behind his hand, tilting his face away politely, though he made no effort to hide the fatigue in his eyes. The moment Taehyung saw the slight crinkle near his eyes and the slow blink that followed, he immediately stood up from his seat, "You must be sleepy," he said, almost too quickly spoken, betraying how closely he'd been watching Jungkook’s every move. “Let me show you the room.” He gave a small gesture with his hand, inviting Jungkook to follow him.

The bedroom wasn’t far—it was a simple house, after all, and there were only three rooms in total. But when Taehyung pushed the creaky wooden door open, dust lifted visibly into the air, disturbed from the still corners like small grey clouds dancing under the weak lantern light. Jungkook immediately took a step back, his face twisting in displeasure. “Too much dust,” he mumbled, coughing once as he fanned the air with his hand, then sneezed harshly, shoulders trembling. His nose wrinkled, and he turned away with a low groan of frustration. Dust, to most people, was an inconvenience. To Jungkook, it was a nightmare. It meant uncleanliness, discomfort—it meant carelessness, and this whole situation already felt careless enough.

Taehyung looked mortified. “Ah—I’m sorry,” he said quickly, eyes wide, already rushing to the corner of the room where an old cleaning cloth hung by a nail on the wall. “It’s my fault. I should’ve cleaned it earlier, I didn’t expect— I thought they would let us stay one more day at the wedding house—” He was already wiping down the wooden chest near the wall, clouds of dust rising as he beat the surface with his hand before scrubbing furiously. “Please don’t lie down yet. Give me just a moment. You can change in the bathroom while I do this.”

Jungkook didn’t reply, but he turned and quietly walked out. He went to the bathroom, still holding in another sneeze.

When he returned to the bedroom, he paused at the doorway. Taehyung was still there, crouched near the floor, dusting the base of the wall, wiping down the window sill, sweeping the corner with a rag like a man possessed. He looked up when he heard the quiet creak of the door and stood quickly, brushing his hands against his pants. “It’s better now,” he said, breathing a little harder. “I opened the window a bit too. I hope it’s alright.”

Jungkook looked around without much reaction. It was clean now, sure, but it was still plain. The walls were bare, the single lantern flickered with weak yellow light, the wooden floor was uneven in parts, and the mattress laid out in the corner was low and thin—piled with folded quilts but still nothing like the plush bedding he was used to back home. Still, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to argue. He didn’t have the strength to be rude, even if he was internally screaming. So he just nodded once, slowly.

Taehyung moved to the mattress and gently lifted the quilt, motioning to it awkwardly. “Here… you should rest. I’ll sleep outside, in the front room. You can— You can have the bedroom.”

Jungkook’s lips parted, then closed again. He didn’t offer any thanks, but he also didn’t argue. Wordlessly, he stepped forward, lowered himself onto the mattress, and pulled the quilt over himself, adjusting it around his shoulders. It wasn’t warm. Not immediately. The fabric was scratchy and smelled faintly of hay. He turned his face to the wall, curling slightly on his side. His back was to Taehyung.

Taehyung stood there for a few seconds longer, unsure if he should say goodnight or apologize again. In the end, he whispered, “Rest well, Jungkook-ssi,” and turned away quietly, closing the door behind him with a soft creak.

Jungkook kept his eyes open for several minutes after that, staring into the darkness. The air was unfamiliar. The house made strange noises—wood expanding, crickets outside, the occasional barking of a distant dog. Nothing was familiar. Nothing was soft. The mattress beneath him might as well have been stone.

He closed his eyes and wished he were anywhere else.

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed reading it!

Chapter 4

Jungkook had barely fallen into a restless sleep when he felt a light hand shaking his shoulder. At first, he thought it was part of some dream—his mind still fogged from the emotional feelings of the previous day—but then the hand returned with more insistence. “Jungkook-ssi,” came Taehyung’s low but oddly chipper morning voice, almost a whisper but still enough to jolt him fully awake. “It’s morning. You need to get up.”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed before he even opened his eyes. Morning? It was still pitch-dark behind his lids. He blinked awake, turned slightly to peek out the barely open window and saw the sky was still navy blue, not even a hint of sunrise peeking over the rooftops. His throat scratched as he spoke, voice heavy with grogginess and irritation. “What time is it…?”

“Just past the fifth bell,” Taehyung replied simply, as if he had announced it was noon.

Jungkook’s head snapped back toward him. “Fifth bell? That’s barely five in the morning,” he groaned, dragging the quilt over his face with a sigh.

Taehyung hesitated, scratching the back of his neck, eyes apologetic and soft. “There are guests outside.”

Jungkook let out a low, long groan. He wanted to scream. Who in their right mind comes to someone’s house before the sun even breaks the sky? Who thought of this tradition? He wondered if he’d have to endure this every morning from now on—woken by over-enthusiastic relatives asking for tea and rice cakes before his own body could even realize it had survived the night. “Guests at dawn,” he muttered under his breath.

“They came early because they still have farmwork later.” Taehyung added.

Of course. Of course they did. Jungkook held his tongue as he tied his hair neatly behind his ears with a silk ribbon. He sat on the floor, using the polished brass mirror in the corner to pat down his flyaways, making sure his face looked presentable. Even in this small rural house, Jungkook had standards. He would not be seen by four middle-aged women looking like a ghost dragged him through the mud.

Once somewhat satisfied with his appearance, he followed Taehyung into the main room. Four women were already seated around the small, low table. All of them dressed in hanboks, their hair coiled neatly and secured with wooden pins. They turned simultaneously the moment Jungkook entered, their eyes lighting up in a way that made his stomach twist. Not with warmth—more like he was a chicken they’d all come to inspect before dinner.

Taehyung bowed politely and whispered to Jungkook as he prepared to leave, “I have to go. I’ll be late for work.”

Jungkook blinked.

He wanted to ask—what kind of man leaves his newlywed spouse just a day after the wedding to go work with cows and rice stalks? But the words never came. Instead, he forced a polite smile, watching as Taehyung slipped out with hurried steps.

“Ohhh,” said the oldest women, clapping her hands with delight, “There he is! My, my, Taehyung married such a delicate-looking flower!”

“Look how fair his skin is,” another aunt leaned in, eyeing Jungkook like a prized melon. “Like snow! I told you, didn’t I? The capital city raises such refined young ones.”

Jungkook bowed deeply, keeping the polite smile on his face, teeth gritted behind his lips. “Good morning,” he greeted, voice demure, sitting down among them as gracefully as he could.

“Morning?” one of them laughed. “It’s nearly afternoon for us, sweetheart. We’ve been up since the rooster crowed.”

“It must be hard adjusting to our ways,” the third aunt said, her tone faux-sympathetic, “But you’ll learn.”

Jungkook forced a chuckle. “Yes… I’ll do my best.”

“Oh, he’s so well-mannered!” the youngest of the group cooed, reaching over to pat Jungkook’s hand. “Taehyung’s lucky. We all said we didn’t think he’d marry such a beauty.”

“True,” chimed another, eyes narrowing slightly. “I always worried he’d end up with someone a little too plain or country-bred. But look at this doll.”

Jungkook bowed his head shyly, but inside he wanted to crawl into a hole. The conversation was suffocating enough, but it took a horrifying turn when the oldest aunt cleared her throat and leaned in a bit more conspiratorially.

“So…” she began, dragging out the word. “Did he treat you well last night?”

Jungkook blinked, stunned. “Pardon…?”

“You know…” she nudged his arm lightly with a teasing smile. “The wedding night. Don’t be shy now. We were all young once.”

The rest erupted into soft chuckles, eyes glittering with knowing amusement. Jungkook’s ears turned crimson. “Ah, we— we were very tired,” he stammered. “We, uh… just rested.”

“Oh?” the younger aunt raised an eyebrow. “That’s no fun. You should’ve tried, dear. The first night is sacred. The elders say it seals the bond.”

Jungkook looked away, praying the earth would split and swallow him whole.

“Well,” said the third, sipping her tea, “you have time. But don’t wait too long. My sister’s daughter got pregnant within two weeks. Maybe you can beat her record!”

They all burst out laughing.

Jungkook tried not to scream.

And just when he thought it couldn’t get worse, they started discussing food.

“I wonder what he cooks best,” one said.

“Oh yes,” added another, “Taehyung likes kimchi stew, doesn’t he? You’ll have to master that first. We all did when we got married. An omega should always learn to impress their Alpha as soon as they can or it will cause problems in the marriage.”

“Let’s place bets!” said the youngest with a giggle. “I think he’ll be good at savory curry. He has the hands for it.”

“I think he’s more of a soup person,” said another. “Gentle touch, precise cuts.”

Jungkook sat, nodding and smiling like a doll while his insides were melting with dread. They think I can cook. They really think I can cook. The truth? Jungkook barely knew how to boil rice. His father never let him near the stove growing up—afraid he’d burn his skin—and Jungkook had never insisted. Why would he, when everything was always handed to him?

Yet here he was, nodding like a liar, betraying himself with every polite smile. “Yes, yes… I’ll do my best.”

Inside, he was screaming.

────୨ৎ────

The moment the aunts started glancing around and shifting in their spots, eyes subtly sweeping toward the kitchen doors and murmuring about how the early morning air made one “famished,” Jungkook knew he was doomed. They didn’t ask directly—no, they were far too seasoned for that. Instead, they spoke in lilting hints, “Ah, I wonder if there’s still some of that lovely wedding food left,” one mused aloud, folding her hands daintily in her lap. Another hummed in agreement, “Yes, yes, that mushroom broth was heavenly. I could eat another bowl of it right now. But we’re burdening the bride, aren’t we?” A chorus of guilty laughter followed, none of which sounded genuinely guilty.

Jungkook smiled painfully and stood up, brushing the nonexistent dust from his hanbok as gracefully as possible. “Please, no burden at all,” he said, forcing a soft voice that nearly cracked in the middle. You’re already a burden, he thought. But what could he do? Run? Cry? No. He bowed slightly and stepped into the kitchen, releasing a deep sigh. His stomach churned—not from hunger, but sheer stress.

Thankfully, he at least knew how to reheat food. At the very least, warm food, Jungkook. A cold meal will make them question your upbringing. He lit the fire with shaky hands, the kindling proving a little stubborn in the morning air, but finally the orange glow returned to the hearth. The leftover food was stored in the big brass pots placed off to the side of the kitchen shelf, covered with wooden lids and muslin cloths. He lifted one and peeked in—some rice, slightly dry. Another—cold stew, the oil floating at the top. And one more—thin mung bean pancakes, limp and soggy now.

He reheated everything as best as he could, carefully stirring so the food didn’t burn at the bottom, adding just a bit of water to loosen the clumps. When it was finally ready, he plated it with trembling hands, laying everything on the big low table just as the aunts began to rise to their feet and stretch as though they had no idea he’d been working like a servant for the past thirty minutes.

“Oh, how thoughtful!” they chirped in harmony as he set down the bowls.

“Such grace in the way he serves. That’s a well-raised one,” another said, dabbing the corner of her lips with a handkerchief like she was at a royal banquet.

Jungkook sat off to the side, hoping they’d eat quickly and leave. But of course not. They ate like soldiers fresh from war. The rice vanished. The pancakes were devoured. The stew scraped clean. Not a single grain of rice was left at the bottom of any bowl. Jungkook watched with increasing horror. He had been counting on at least some leftovers to nibble on after they were gone—but no. These women, sharp as knives and twice as destructive, had left him with nothing but dirty dishes and a pounding headache.

When they finally stood to leave, several of them patted Jungkook’s arm or cheek like he was a child or a pet they had temporarily adopted. “You’ll adjust just fine,” one said. “It’s only the first day, dear,” added another, with a wink. Jungkook bowed deeply, hands folded in front of him, lips stretched into a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “Thank you for visiting,” he said, voice numb.

They left slowly, gossiping and chattering down the little stone path. Jungkook stood frozen until he could no longer hear their footsteps or their voices—until the dust from their sandals had settled.

And then, like a puppet with its strings cut, Jungkook collapsed.

He didn’t even go back to the bedroom. He dropped right there on the wooden floor of the hallway, laying flat on his back, arms spread out, eyes to the low ceiling. “What the hell,” he whispered. “What the hell was that?” He covered his face with both hands, groaning into his palms. Who wakes up at five? Who talks about sex over tea? Who eats that much without leaving a single bite for the host?

After a few minutes of dramatic silence and heavy breathing, his stomach let out a low, traitorous growl. Of course. He hadn't eaten properly at the wedding either—too many guests, too many stares. He had barely managed to nibble on a rice ball before he was swept away for another greeting, and by the time he had been free, the food was cold and swarmed by others.

With a loud, whiny groan, he rolled to his side and pushed himself up, limbs aching. “I deserve a proper meal,” he muttered to himself, dragging his feet toward the kitchen again. But when he opened the pot lids one by one, his heart sank deeper with each discovery. Empty. Empty. Empty. A single speck of rice mocked him from the bottom of the last pot.

He opened the pantry cabinet—just a few old jars of red pepper flakes and fermented soybean paste. In the basket on the floor sat a few tired-looking radishes, some spring onions, and a wilting head of napa cabbage. That was it. There was no fridge, just clay jars buried outside, and the small, cold storage room in the back, which Taehyung hadn’t even told him how to access yet.

Jungkook stared at the vegetables like they had personally insulted him. “What am I supposed to do with you?” he muttered, picking up a radish and turning it over in his hand like it might magically become a bowl of porridge. He put it back down with a dramatic sigh and leaned on the counter.

“I’m going to die here,” he mumbled to himself.

After standing in the kitchen for what felt like an eternity, staring at the basket of sad vegetables and muttering dramatic death declarations to himself, Jungkook finally groaned, "Fine! I’ll at least unpack.” His voice echoed faintly in the empty house, bouncing off wooden beams and the silence that had settled since the aunts left. Rubbing his sore neck, he made his way back to the bedroom, dragging his feet slightly like a child sentenced to chores.

He stepped toward the luggage—two large cloth-covered trunks neatly placed in the corner, still untouched. He squatted and opened the first one with a deep breath, the maid had folded everything so carefully, layering his finest hanboks in protective fabric. One by one, he began pulling out his clothes, shades of pastel pinks, moonlight blues, ivory whites.

When he finally moved to put them away, he turned to the small wooden door embedded in the wall near the bedding. “Closet” was too generous a term. It was a shallow alcove with a curtain instead of a door, barely deep enough to fit a grown man’s shoulder. But Jungkook opened it anyway, expecting maybe some space, maybe some shelves. What he found inside stopped him mid-step.

Two pairs of folded trousers. One linen tunic. A slightly frayed pair of white cotton undergarments. A pair of shoes—leather, scuffed, and resting tiredly at the bottom. That was it. Taehyung’s entire wardrobe. Jungkook blinked, stared, and slowly turned his head. “That’s all? That’s what he wears?” he muttered, borderline offended. “There’s monks in the hills with more clothes.”

It took only a few minutes for his own wardrobe to completely overwhelm the space. His intricately dyed hanboks were now squished together in the closet, their silks wrinkling under each other. Some of the sleeves hung out awkwardly, refusing to be tucked in. He sighed and sat back on his heels, staring at the explosion of colors that now dominated the closet.

“Well… at least now it looks lived in.”

Done with unpacking, Jungkook stood, brushing off his palms, and looked around. He’d seen most of the house in passing—the bedroom, obviously, the kitchen where he had just suffered spiritual death, the small bathroom tucked into the hallway with a porcelain basin and wooden pail for drawing water.

But there was one part he hadn’t explored yet.

The backyard.

The old wooden backdoor creaked when he slid it open. He stepped out, barefoot, onto the small stone pathway that curved toward the backyard space. It wasn’t a manicured garden, not the way Jungkook had imagined a newlywed home might have. It was raw and lived-in, a slightly uneven yard fenced in by stacked stone walls, with grass growing in defiant patches.

Then he saw it.

The swing.

It hung from the gnarled branches of an ancient tree. The swing itself was a simple plank of wood, its edges worn smooth by age, suspended by two thick ropes that looked older than Jungkook himself. It creaked softly in the morning breeze, swaying slightly, as if welcoming him. He stepped closer, drawn to it, half-expecting it to disintegrate if he touched it.

And just beside the tree, placed casually next to a large stone tub, lay a plastic wrapper—its colors faded and corners curled by time. Jungkook bent down and picked it up. It was washing powder. It was for laundry. He sighed and put it back.

He sat down on the swing, testing the weight. It creaked beneath him but held. His legs dangled from the swing as he pushed it. At least something was fun.

────୨ৎ────

Jungkook hadn’t realized how quickly the day had passed until the swing beneath him creaked to a stop and a golden warmth bathed the entire yard. The sky was turning a deep, melted orange, with streaks of pink bleeding through the horizon. He blinked up at the color-shifting sky in surprise. Had he really spent the whole afternoon out here? The wooden swing beneath him was warm now, softened by his weight and the long hours he’d sat thinking about nothing and everything all at once. His fingers absentmindedly clutched the frayed rope. He let out a long sigh—half from the ache in his lower back, half from the silence settling too heavily in his chest.

Then came the knock.

It was a single, solid sound on the wooden front door. Jungkook flinched, his entire body jolting up from the swing like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. He stumbled to his feet, the hem of his hanbok trailing slightly in the dirt as he hurried toward the house. His slippers slapped against the wooden floor as he crossed through the living room and reached for the door. With a slight tug and a wooden creak, it opened.

There stood Taehyung.

He looked different—not like the perfectly composed man who had left the house that morning. His hair was slightly damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead, strands of it clinging stubbornly to the side of his temple. His hands were covered in mud, dried in the cracks like lines drawn by the earth itself. His face was dusted in a layer of soil, the edge of his cheek smeared as though he had wiped it absentmindedly. He looked tired. Not just tired—drained.

Taehyung didn’t enter fully at first. He looked down at his hands, then up at Jungkook who was standing stiffly, “I better wash my hands before greeting you,” he said plainly, his voice a little hoarse, perhaps from the dry air, “They’re too dirty for that.”

Jungkook blinked, then nodded quietly, stepping aside to let him pass. He stayed by the door, unsure of what to do. He didn’t say “welcome home,” because it didn’t feel like a home yet—not to him. It felt more like a borrowed space, a set of walls with nothing inside except awkward silences and ghosts of expectations.

Taehyung disappeared into the bathroom briefly, and the faint sound of splashing water followed. When he returned, his hands were damp but clean, and his face had been wiped with a cloth, the smudges gone, though his eyes still looked tired. He walked toward Jungkook slowly, hesitating like someone about to enter a shrine. Then, with all the awkwardness in the world, he reached out and gave Jungkook a small pat on the head. It wasn’t graceful. It was stiff, like a man unsure if this gesture was appropriate or if it was too much or not enough. His hand hovered for a moment, then settled on Jungkook’s head, “How… was your day?” he asked, quietly.

Jungkook looked up at him, wide-eyed and unsure how to respond. The touch on his head had sent a nervous heat down his neck, and his voice got caught somewhere in his throat. “I… It was okay,” he muttered. His voice was barely above a whisper, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to be honest.

Taehyung lowered his hand. He looked away for a second, like he was ashamed of something. Then he sighed, the kind of sigh that came from somewhere deep in the chest, where guilt lived. “I’m sorry,” he said, finally meeting Jungkook’s eyes. “I… What kind of man leaves his bride alone on the second day of marriage?”

Jungkook’s lips parted, then closed again. He wanted to say it was okay, and he did. “It’s okay,” he murmured, though the words felt sour in his mouth. Because it wasn’t okay. Not really. His stomach still ached from hunger, and the loneliness had grown roots in his chest by now. But what else was he supposed to say?

Taehyung didn’t say anything more. But his eyes shifted, almost instinctively, toward the kitchen. His gaze flickered to the stove and the low wooden counter as if checking—was something made for dinner? He didn’t ask out loud, but Jungkook saw the glance and felt a pit grow deeper in his stomach. Because no, nothing was made. There was nothing left to cook with. No meat, no broth, no kimchi jars, not even rice unless you counted the hardened bits stuck at the bottom of the pot from earlier.

Jungkook lowered his head slightly, embarrassed. “I didn’t cook anything,” he said softly, hands gripping each other. “There’s nothing left, and… I don’t know how.”

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed reading it!

Sorry for taking too long to update 🩶

Chapter 5

Jungkook stood in the middle of the kitchen, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve, eyes lowered, shoulders drawn in tightly. His voice had barely made it out when he confessed, “There’s nothing to cook… and I don’t really know how.”

Taehyung, who had been scanning the shelves silently, turned back toward Jungkook at those hesitant words. For a second, Jungkook feared he might see disappointment flash across the man’s eyes — not anger, no, Taehyung didn’t seem the type — but disappointment would be worse. He braced himself, waiting for some polite nod or empty phrase, something that would tell him yes, it’s alright, but the weight of your uselessness is already showing. But instead, Taehyung just exhaled, his expression softening in a way that felt unexpectedly kind.

“That’s alright,” he said, brushing the dust off his palms. “I’ll cook.”

Jungkook blinked, his gaze lifting. “You will?”

Taehyung gave a small smile, nothing wide or dramatic, just a calm upward twitch of his mouth. “I’ve cooked for myself all this while, haven’t I?” he said as he stepped toward the small stove and lifted the lid of the clay jar sitting beside it. “Just because I have a wife now doesn’t mean I’ll forget how to chop a cabbage.” He paused, “I...didn’t marry you just so someone could stir my stew.”

Jungkook opened his mouth to reply, unsure if he should smile or apologize again. Instead, his lips pressed together in a tight line, and a breath of relief passed through his chest. Taehyung, meanwhile, was already moving — crouching beside the basket on the floor, rummaging through what looked like the last leg of their vegetable supply. There were three radishes, slightly soft to the touch, spotted at the tips. A few spring onions, thin and drooping. A head of napa cabbage. Taehyung gathered them in his arms, brushing away a layer of wilted leaves from the cabbage, and walked back toward the counter. He opened the old wooden cupboard, and inside were two jars — one filled with fermented soybean paste, and the other nearly half-empty with red pepper flakes. Not much, but enough. More than enough, if you knew what to do.

Jungkook watched quietly, still standing near the doorway, when Taehyung suddenly looked up again. “Can you…” he started, pausing like he was unsure whether to ask. Then, more clearly, “Can you go to Aunt Lee’s house? You know, the one with the three dogs that bark like they pay rent? Ask her for a few oranges — if she has any to spare.”

“Oranges?” Jungkook asked, surprised.

“Mhm,” Taehyung nodded, beginning to rinse the vegetables. “She usually has some in the basket under the front porch. Tell her it’s for stew. She’ll understand.”

Jungkook hesitated. Those dogs did bark like they were assigned guard duty from birth. He hadn’t dared go too close when he first passed by them. But now? Now, when Taehyung had just returned from a full day of labor with dirt still under his nails and not a word of complaint, and was willingly stepping into the kitchen after only moments of rest — could he say no?

He bowed slightly. “I’ll go.”

“Thank you,” Taehyung said, voice genuine.

Jungkook stepped outside, feet padding softly on the stone steps, the cool air of early evening brushing against his skin. The sky was darker now, the orange slowly giving way to purple and gray. Lamps inside homes had begun to flicker to life, soft amber glows behind old paper windows. Dogs barked in the distance — not just Aunt Lee’s but from every other house it seemed, each one sounding the alarm for no reason other than to let the village know they were awake.

Jungkook took a deep breath and walked, head bowed, clutching the hem of his sleeve tightly. The walk wasn’t long, but each step felt louder in his ears. What if she asked him something? What if she said no? What if she asked about the wedding, or worse — about the wedding night? His face burned even thinking about it. But when he reached the house with the crooked fence and the three yapping dogs, a woman came to the porch before he could even knock.

“Ah, it’s you!” she called, swatting the dogs back with a slipper. “Taehyung’s bride, eh? What’re you doing walking around at this hour?”

Jungkook bowed so low his back hurt. “I—I came to ask if you had any oranges,” he stammered. “...Taehyung-ssi said it’s for stew.”

Her eyes narrowed, then softened, then narrowed again like she was deciding whether to comment on his nervousness. “For stew, huh? He’s cooking? You’re a lucky bride, then.” She disappeared into the house and returned with five slightly green oranges in her hand, which she dropped into the cloth Jungkook had brought.

Jungkook bowed again, muttered thanks, and quickly made his way back, ignoring the dogs that barked with renewed energy at his retreat.

Inside, Taehyung had already lit the fire. The scent of sizzling onions hit him as soon as he slid open the door. Cabbage leaves were being stirred into a bubbling pot, steam rising and curling against the cold air, and Taehyung standing in front of it all, sleeves rolled, face focused. He looked up when Jungkook came in and gave a small nod.

“Got them?”

Jungkook held out the cloth silently.

"Thank you" Taehyung said with a smile, as Jungkook placed the oranges down on the shelf.

Taehyung stirred the pot slowly, steam curling up into the air and clinging to the strands of hair falling over his forehead. Behind him, Jungkook stood nervously, arms tucked into his sleeves, swaying a little on the heels of his feet. Taehyung even hummed under his breath at one point, and Jungkook thought it sounded like an old folk song.

Taehyung didn’t turn around, but out of nowhere, he asked, “D-Do... you know how to make juice?”

Jungkook froze for a split second like he’d been caught stealing glances. “U-Um…” He looked around, then shook his head sheepishly, eyes glued to the floor. “No…”

Taehyung finally glanced over his shoulder, “That’s alright,” he said with a small chuckle. “I didn’t know either until I messed it up three times. Tried making apple juice once and somehow ended up with apple… mush.” He snorted a little at the memory.

Then, after a brief pause, he scratched the back of his neck and looked toward Jungkook again, his voice more hesitant this time. “Should I… teach you?”

Jungkook blinked. His heart thumped once — hard — then again, softer. He swallowed, cheeks warming up, and nodded. Not too fast, not too slow — just enough to be certain.

Taehyung’s smile widened just a little. “Alright then. You can start by getting that juice maker out from under the counter.”

Jungkook tilted his head. “Juice… maker?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung laughed, pointing toward a small wooden door near the bottom shelves. “It’s not electric or anything. It’s one of those old ones. You press and grind the juice out with your hands.”

“Oh…” Jungkook muttered, shuffling toward it. He bent down and tugged open the door, revealing an old, slightly rusted, heavy manual juicer with two wooden rollers and a crank handle. It smelled a little like iron and citrus from years past. Jungkook carefully picked it up — it was heavier than it looked — and set it down on the floor beside the counter, wiping his palms on his skirt after.

Taehyung glanced over and nodded. “Good. I’ll be done cooking soon, and then we’ll make juice together.”

Jungkook nodded back silently, but his ears were red and his heart was flopping all over the place. It wasn’t just the fact that Taehyung was going to teach him something. It was that he had asked so gently. Like he didn’t expect him to already know everything — like he was willing to show him, step by step.

The stew was nearly done now. Taehyung added a dash more salt and a spoonful of the orange juice they had squeezed out earlier. The hearty aroma that made Jungkook’s stomach twist painfully with hunger. He hadn’t eaten anything all day — now, the smell of warm stew filled his nose, and he found himself biting down on his lower lip to keep from drooling. His mouth watered so much it was embarrassing. He tried to act like he wasn’t staring directly at the bowl Taehyung had just filled — a generous amount of broth, radish slices that had softened into silk, spring onions curling gently on the top.

Taehyung noticed — of course he did. From the corner of his eye, he saw the way Jungkook swallowed thickly and tried to pretend he wasn’t. He picked up the bowl and placed it gently on the low table.

Jungkook hesitated for a second before lowering himself to sit cross-legged by the table. He stared at the stew like it might disappear if he blinked. “How did you… how did you make it look like this? I thought the vegetables were too—too… dead.”

Taehyung sat down across from him, wiping his hands with a cloth. “You’d be surprised what tired vegetables can do with a bit of salt and patience.”

Jungkook felt that one in his chest. Like a soft thud, somewhere beneath the ribs.

Taehyung looked away, clearing his throat. “Anyway. Let’s eat.... iuice can wait until after dinner.”

The stew was long gone by the time they were leaning back on their hands, bowls emptied and rinsed, the warmth of the meal still clinging. They sat near the low wooden table, the quiet hum of crickets outside bleeding into the silence of the room, and Taehyung was the first to speak — his voice soft, hesitant.

“So… what did you do today?” he asked, eyes flicking over to Jungkook for a second before darting away again.

Jungkook blinked, caught off guard by the question. He wasn’t used to anyone asking about his day like that. He looked down at his fingers as he picked at a loose thread on his sleeve. “Um… not much. I just… put my clothes in the closet. And looked around the house a bit.”

Taehyung nodded, a small hum vibrating in his throat. “That’s good,” he said, then after a beat, he added, “I was at the farm most of the day. The sun was really harsh today, and it made the ground all muddy and sticky. Even the wheelbarrow kept getting stuck.”

Taehyung's voice was slightly too fast, slightly too awkward, like he was afraid the silence would stretch into discomfort. He wanted to keep talking, even if the words weren’t important, just to keep Jungkook with him in that moment.

“Must’ve been tiring,” Jungkook said softly, glancing at him.

“It was,” Taehyung chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sweated through my shirt by noon. But we got most of the planting done. The sweet potatoes might actually take root this year if the rain’s kind.”

There was a small pause, comfortable this time, and then Taehyung reached over to gather their empty bowls. As he stood, he looked over his shoulder. “After we rest a bit, maybe we can go to the market.....t-together? Get some groceries.”

“Okay,” Jungkook said quietly, nodding once.

Dinner cleanup was quick. The sink water ran cold, Taehyung washed the dishes quickly, and then, when everything was done, he turned, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Come,” he said gently, voice dropping a little in pitch. “I’ll show you how to make the juice now.”

Jungkook followed, padding softly across the wooden floor. The old juicer still sat where they had left it earlier, and beside it, Taehyung had placed the last three oranges they had. He sat down first, cross-legged, and Jungkook quietly joined him, sitting close, his knee brushing Taehyung’s for the briefest second before he shifted a little to the side, nervous and warm all over.

Taehyung picked up one orange and peeled it with careful fingers, “So,” he began, “first, we peel them like this. Try not to get too much of the pith, makes it bitter.”

Jungkook nodded solemnly like he was in a real class, and reached for another orange, fumbling with the peel. His hands were smaller than Taehyung’s, and less used to this kind of work. He struggled a little but kept going, biting his lower lip in concentration.

Taehyung glanced at him and smiled — not mocking, just soft. “You’re doing fine.”

They finished peeling, and Taehyung reached for the old juicer. “Now… see this lever? You gotta press the orange half here, and then use the handle to squeeze the juice out slowly. Like this.” He demonstrated, pressing down steadily. Juice began to drip into the small bowl underneath with a satisfying little plop.

Jungkook leaned in, eyes wide.

“Your turn.”

Jungkook reached for a half of the orange, placed it where Taehyung had shown, and began to press. The handle was harder than it looked, and he had to use both hands. His brows furrowed, lips tightening as he pushed.

Then—“Ow!” he hissed sharply, jerking his hand back.

Taehyung sat upright immediately, eyes darting to him. “What happened?!”

“I-I think I pinched my finger on the metal part,” Jungkook said, cradling his hand and trying to act like it wasn’t a big deal — but his pinky was already turning a little red.

Taehyung scooted closer without thinking, grabbing Jungkook’s hand far too suddenly. Their fingers touched — and Jungkook tensed, heart slamming in his chest at the contact. Taehyung was awkward, his hands big and warm, not sure where exactly to touch, but he gently took Jungkook’s injured pinky between his thumb and forefinger, inspecting it like it was the most delicate thing in the world.

“You really did catch it,” he muttered, lips tugging into a frown. “It’s already turning red…”

“I-It’s okay,” Jungkook stammered, trying to pull his hand back, but Taehyung didn’t let go immediately.

“No,” Taehyung said softly, “you gotta be careful with these old tools. They bite.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Jungkook’s hand remained in Taehyung’s. Everything was quiet, and close.

Then Taehyung realized, with a sudden blink, that he was still holding Jungkook’s hand. He let go quickly, clearing his throat and looking down. “S-Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” Jungkook whispered, barely audible.

────୨ৎ────

Jungkook stood in front of the small mirror nailed unevenly to the wall, frowning slightly as he dabbed a tiny bit of soft pink blush onto the apples of his cheeks. It wasn’t much, just a faint hint of color, but it made him feel a little more put together. A little softer. A little more like himself. He didn’t know why he was being so meticulous—he wasn’t exactly heading to a palace, just the local market. He had even dusted his bangs with his fingers to make sure they framed his face just right, and when he slipped on his outside shoes, he paused at the door to take a breath before stepping out.

Taehyung was waiting for him just outside the room, hands tucked into the pockets of his pants, head slightly tilted as he leaned on the wall. When Jungkook stepped out, Taehyung straightened. He didn’t say anything about the blush, but his eyes lingered for a second longer than necessary, and Jungkook felt it. He felt that warmth rising up his neck, all the way to the tips of his ears. They didn’t speak much as they began walking toward the market—the sun had started to set, casting golden hues over the dirt roads.

But the market was a different world entirely.

The moment they stepped in, Jungkook’s senses were overwhelmed. The narrow alleyways between stalls were crammed with people—vendors yelling about today’s fish, children darting between legs, the occasional goat tugging at a leash, and older women fanning themselves while shouting across carts about who owed who cabbage from last week. It was loud. Jungkook had never seen anything like it. He froze for half a second, his eyes wide, almost hesitant to take another step.

But instinctively, he reached forward and lightly grasped the hem of Taehyung’s sleeve. He didn’t say anything. He just held on, his fingers curling into the fabric, and Taehyung didn’t pull away or act surprised. He just kept walking, slower now, more mindful, making sure Jungkook could keep up.

And the strangest thing was—it seemed like Taehyung knew everyone.

Every few steps, someone would greet him. An old man with a toothless grin waved from behind a stall of grains. “Taehyung-ah! The groom has come!”

Taehyung laughed sheepishly every time, dipping his head and greeting them back with casual warmth. Jungkook, meanwhile, had no choice but to bow his head shyly each time someone looked his way. The whispers traveled fast, and he heard them clearly now.

“That’s Taehyung’s bride?”

“Oh my… look how young he is.”

“So pale. He must’ve been raised indoors.”

They came to a large vegetable cart where a tall man—gruff but familiar—was already pulling out bundles of greens. “Aish, Taehyung. You’re here again?” he said, grinning with all his teeth.

“I always come when the radishes are this big,” Taehyung joked, crouching down and inspecting a bunch. “But these… these are from yesterday, aren’t they? Look at the ends. They’re drying.”

The man huffed. “You think I’d sell old radishes to a groom?”

“You would if it meant saving a coin,” Taehyung retorted with a grin, and they both laughed.

The man leaned closer to Jungkook then, eyebrows raised with mischief. “You got yourself a sharp husband, eh?” he said, then turned back to Taehyung. “Fine, fine. One coin less. Call it a wedding gift.”

Taehyung gave a pleased little hum and tossed the radishes into his bag.

Jungkook was trying to smile, trying to stay in the moment, but something had caught his eye across the way—a small stationery stall, barely noticeable among the produce and meats. A girl stood there, barely older than him, flipping through a stack of notebooks. She was smiling, tapping a pencil against her chin as she debated which one to buy. The vendor beside her was explaining the difference between lined and grid paper. Jungkook couldn’t help but stare.

She looked so normal. So free. There was no ring on her finger. No heavy stares weighing down her shoulders. Just a girl and her books. He watched as she picked out two pencils and a blue pen, paid with exact change, and walked off.

And just like that—he felt it.

That sadness.

That awful, deep sadness that had no words. Like a bruise inside his chest. Why wasn’t he studying? Why wasn’t he allowed to buy notebooks and pick out pencils and dream about what he’d write in them? He wanted that. More than anything. He wanted the soft rustle of pages. He wanted to scrawl notes, to learn things, to sit at a desk in a classroom and ask questions and feel his mind expand. But he was here, holding radishes with a blush on his cheeks, walking behind an Alpha through a crowd that kept whispering bride like it was a name and not a role that had been forced onto him.

He looked down at the hem of Taehyung’s sleeve in his hand. His fingers felt a little colder now.

Taehyung turned around then, holding up a bright red pepper. “Should we get these? Or too spicy for you?”

Jungkook blinked, forcing a small smile as he nodded. “Spicy’s okay.”

Taehyung tilted his head, studying him for a second longer than usual. But he didn’t press. He just smiled, tossed the pepper into the bag, and kept walking.

And Jungkook followed—still holding on.

Notes:

Sorry for making everyone wait so long, I will definitely start updating regularly now <33

Chapter 6

By the time they got back to the house, the sky had already melted into a deep shade of navy blue, as crickets chirped from somewhere near the edge of the small field outside. Jungkook sat on the floor just outside the kitchen, legs pulled up to his chest, chin resting on his knees. His eyes followed Taehyung as the Alpha moved about the tiny kitchen, sorting through vegetables, wiping off the greens and placing them in mismatched bowls. Jungkook's mind was still back at the market. Or more accurately, still with that girl. Or no, not even her exactly—but what she had. The notebooks. The pencils. That innocent act of picking out pens. Jungkook didn’t even know what she would write in them, whether it was a school assignment or a diary or a love letter—but he envied her all the same. He envied the simple freedom of choosing something for herself.

He didn’t even realize how long he had been staring until Taehyung turned around and caught him. The Alpha blinked, then offered a gentle smile, wiping his hands on a small cloth. “You didn’t say much after we left the market,” he said softly, walking over. Jungkook blinked and sat up straighter, forcing a tiny smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Just tired,” he replied.

Taehyung nodded, as if he didn’t quite believe him but didn’t want to push. He walked closer and, with a small grunt, sat down on the floor beside Jungkook, cross-legged and facing him. Taehyung sat there for a moment, staring down at his hands. Then, after a beat, he reached into his pocket, fingers curling around something small. With a little rustle, he pulled out a single silver coin and held it out toward Jungkook.

“Here,” he said. “For tomorrow. If you want to buy something.”

Jungkook looked at the coin in his palm, “Something?” he asked quietly, confused.

“Mm,” Taehyung nodded, gently closing Jungkook’s fingers around it. “Maybe something to eat, if you’re out. Or a hairpin, or… whatever you want.” He was smiling again, a little awkwardly, “You don’t need to ask me.”

Jungkook held the coin, he knew he couldn’t buy much with it. Certainly not pencils or notebooks. Maybe not even a full bun from the market. Definitely not the thick-lined blue book he had seen the girl flip through so casually. Still, he smiled, a little tighter this time. “Thank you.”

Taehyung nodded once, as if that was all he needed, and silence fell again for a few seconds. Then, Jungkook hesitated before speaking. “Can I go to my home tomorrow?” he asked suddenly, his voice unusually small.

Taehyung blinked, looking at him. “Ah… of course,” he said, like it was obvious. “You don’t have to ask me for it.”

Jungkook glanced down at the coin again, his thumb brushing along the rim. Something about those words made his throat feel thick. He didn’t even know why he had asked Taehyung. Maybe he did feel like he needed permission. Maybe that was the saddest part.

But before he could think further, Taehyung added softly, “This is also your home, you know.”

The words were simple. But Jungkook didn’t know what to do with that. He only nodded slightly, unsure how to react. And Taehyung, sensing the awkwardness, stood and stretched his back with a little groan. “I’ll let you sleep,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “Long day.”

And just like that, he disappeared into the main room.

Jungkook lay down later on the only mattress in the house. It was thin but still more comfortable than cloth alone. The cotton was worn in some areas, patched up. It wasn’t luxurious by any means, but it was warm. Safer than he had expected it to be. When he glanced out the curtainless window beside the bed, he could just make out the edge of the moon casting a glow over the edge of the wooden floor.

Across the room, Taehyung was already lying down on a sheet, a threadbare blanket pulled over his frame. He didn’t say anything. He just lay there, one arm under his head, eyes closed, breathing steady.

Jungkook watched him in the dark for a moment longer before slowly turning over, the silver coin still curled in his palm. He didn’t let go of it. Not yet. Maybe tomorrow he’d use it. Or maybe he’d just keep it, tucked away in the inner pocket of his robe.

────୨ৎ────

Jungkook’s eyes fluttered open when a gentle nudge stirred him from sleep. He squinted, bleary and confused, the cold morning air making him instinctively curl deeper into the thin blanket. “What time is it?” he asked, still half-dreaming as he rubbed at his eyes. His long hair was a bit tangled, falling over his cheek as he sat up slowly.

Taehyung, crouched beside the mattress with a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, replied in, “It’s five. I was about to leave for the farm, but you said you wanted to visit your house, didn’t you?”

Jungkook blinked again, the words finally processing. Right. He had asked. Yesterday. A full night had passed, and still, the ache in his chest from seeing that girl with the notebooks hadn’t quite faded. He nodded slowly.

Taehyung gave a small nod back and stood. “You can get dressed. I’ll take you to the road near the east field. That’s where the carts pass by. If we wait there, we might get a ride. The way’s too far to walk all the way on foot—you’ll wear out your legs before you’re even halfway there.”

Jungkook nodded again, murmuring a soft, “Okay,” before the Alpha turned and stepped out, leaving him alone to prepare.

He rose from the mattress slowly, his legs stiff with sleep. It was cold. Colder than expected for this time of year, but maybe it was just the hour. He rubbed his arms, changed into a soft peach hanfu, the edges slightly frayed but still elegant. The inner robe was white, thin enough for summer. He tied it delicately, smoothing it down with careful fingers. Before stepping out, he pulled a ribbon—white silk—from the small cloth pouch near the bedding and tied his hair up, letting a few strands fall around his cheeks.

When he stepped outside into the main room, the soft sound of something being stirred reached his ears. Taehyung was in the small kitchen area again, back turned, standing beside the wooden counter. There was a single glass sitting on the edge, and in his hands, Taehyung held the juicer and the remnants of what looked like a squeezed orange. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the lean muscles of his forearms.

Jungkook approached slowly. “You made juice?” he asked quietly.

Taehyung turned with a soft smile and handed him the glass, “Mm. I thought you’d need something before the walk,” he said, nodding at the drink.

Jungkook hesitated, taking the glass with both hands. “You didn’t make any for yourself?”

Taehyung shook his head with an easy shrug. “Ah, there was only one orange left. And I’m not thirsty. I had water earlier. Chanyun’s wife brings coconut water to the farm most mornings, anyway. I’ll be fine.”

Jungkook glanced down at the orange juice in his hands—and for a second, considered offering it back. But he was thirsty, and it would feel strange to deny it now. Instead, he took a small sip, the tangy sweetness washing over his tongue, and then he murmured, “Thank you.”

Taehyung just smiled, already tying the sash around his robe and slipping on his straw shoes. “Let’s go.”

They stepped outside and Taehyung locked the door behind them using a simple wooden latch. As soon as they moved past the small porch and onto the narrow dirt path between the houses, one of the older neighborhood women in her sixties with hair pulled back in a loose grey bun, peeked her head out from her open door.

“Ah, where are you two going so early?” she called, her voice loud enough to echo off the walls.

Taehyung gave a small bow, as was custom. “My omega is going to visit his mother’s home.”

At that, the woman gave a wide grin, revealing a few missing teeth. “Ahh,” she said knowingly, eyes narrowing slightly as she looked at Jungkook with the kind of gaze that made the younger male feel a little too exposed. He bowed politely as well, lowering his eyes to the ground.

But as they started to walk away, the aunt’s voice followed them, a murmur meant to sound like a private thought but clearly meant to be heard. “New brides these days, always back at their mother’s home before the bedding even cools...”

Taehyung didn’t respond. He kept walking as though he hadn’t heard. But Jungkook had. He glanced at the ground, his shoes kicking up soft puffs of dust.

The village was still mostly asleep. Roosters crowed from the distance, and a few early risers were beginning to sweep their porches or fetch water. The path to the end of the village was long, weaving between narrow alleys and fields that had just begun to glow with sunlight. Taehyung didn’t speak much. He only glanced back every few steps to make sure Jungkook was keeping up. Once, when the younger tripped slightly over a loose stone, Taehyung reached out instinctively to steady him with a hand on the elbow. Jungkook looked up, surprised, but Taehyung only offered a small smile before continuing.

When they finally reached the end of the village where the road widened, and the mountains dipped low enough to see the open stretch of dirt that acted as a passage for farmers and carts, Taehyung pointed. “We’ll wait here. There should be a cart passing by soon, going toward town.”

Jungkook nodded, tucking the ribbon in his hair a little tighter as the wind picked up.

Just as they stood in the open stretch at the edge of the village, the sound of wooden wheels crunching over dirt reached their ears. A cart was approaching from the bend in the road—a modest-looking thing, pulled by a donkey, the wooden wheels creaking. The man driving it looked to be in his late forties, skin sun-worn and arms lean, with a thick cloth wrapped over his head and neck to shield from the dust and sun. Taehyung lifted his hand in a polite gesture to halt the cart, stepping forward. The man slowed the donkey with a lazy tug of the rope and looked down at Taehyung through narrowed eyes.

“Morning, ajusshi,” Taehyung greeted respectfully, bowing slightly. “Would you be going toward Gonghwa Town?”

The man scratched the side of his neck, sniffed. “I’m going near it. Depending on where you’re headed, maybe I can take you.”

Taehyung nodded. “It’s near the eastern well, just past the herbalist’s shop. My Omega here,” he gestured to Jungkook who stood a little behind, eyes lowered, “needs to visit his mother.”

The man’s eyes flicked to Jungkook and then back to Taehyung. He nodded once, but said flatly, “It’s far. Five coins.”

“Five?” Taehyung blinked. “That’s too much, hyung-nim. It’s not even a full trip. The whole way doesn’t cost more than three.”

The man snorted, not offended but unmoved. “Then you can wait for another cart if you like. I’m not heading that way for charity. Donkeys don’t run on dust.”

Taehyung turned slightly, eyes scanning the road in both directions. The sky was beginning to brighten, more gold than blue now, but the road was still empty. No other carts. No riders. Just them and the cart. He exhaled slowly through his nose, then gave a slight nod. “Fine.”

He stepped back toward Jungkook and said softly, “Come, I’ll help you in.”

Jungkook climbed up carefully onto the back of the cart, using the wooden wheel and a foothold as Taehyung placed a hand gently at the small of his back, Jungkook settled himself quietly, tucking the edges of his hanfu around his knees so it wouldn’t get caught.

Taehyung reached into the inside pocket of his robe and pulled out a folded strip of fabric. Hidden in its folds were coins maybe seven or eight. He handed five coins over without another word.

Once the cart began to creak again, about to start its slow journey down the road, Taehyung leaned in close and whispered, “Are you comfortable going alone?”

Jungkook looked up at him, their faces close enough to feel each other’s breath in the morning chill. He hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “Mm. I’ll be fine.”

Taehyung’s expression softened. The kind of smile that didn't reach the lips fully, but lingered in the eyes. He reached out, brushing back a lock of hair that had fallen across Jungkook’s forehead and gently patted the crown of his head like someone might to a child who had just woken from a bad dream. “Alright,” he said, his voice deep and low. “Convey my greetings to your mother.”

“I will,” Jungkook murmured.

And then the cart began to move.

Taehyung took a step back, then another, his hand still raised in a soft wave. The donkey plodded forward lazily, its hooves thumping over the dirt. Jungkook turned in his seat, holding on to the side rail and watching as Taehyung remained standing at the edge of the road, still waving.

And then—slowly, quietly—Taehyung began to disappear. The road curved, the tall yellow grass rose, and Jungkook had to lean to see him one last time before the cart dipped behind a gentle slope and the man was gone from sight.

────୨ৎ────

When Jungkook finally reached the edge of the familiar stone path leading to the house where he had grown up, it was nearing noon, and his hanfu clung slightly to the back of his neck where sweat had begun to gather during the long ride. As the cart came to a halt with a low creak, the man who had driven him gave him a curt nod, not unkind, but wordless, and with a final glance at the road ahead, Jungkook stepped down, dusting his palms on the folds of his robe. The gate to the property loomed in front of him — . It hadn’t changed. The vines on the side had grown a little, but everything else was just the same as he remembered.

He hesitated a moment before raising his hand and knocking on the door. It opened only a few seconds later, and he was met with the warm, surprised face of one of the older maids, Seonmi, who had been serving the house since before Jungkook had learned to write. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw him, and a genuine smile cracked across her weathered face as she pulled the door open wider.

“Ah, young master!” she exclaimed, stepping aside. “You’ve returned! I didn’t know you were visiting today. Come in, come in. Look at you—so beautiful. Marriage suits you well.”

Jungkook smiled softly, bowing slightly out of habit. “It’s good to see you, Seonmi-noona. You haven’t changed at all.”

“Ahh, you with that silver tongue,” she chuckled, her voice raspy, “Come, come, it’s hot out here.”

He followed her past the entryway and into the courtyard. The garden was bright with blooming irises and chrysanthemums, all arranged with the usual obsessive care that came from someone who valued appearance far more than essence. There, standing under the shade of a paper parasol, was Jungkook’s stepmother. She stood with her back slightly arched, one hand on her waist, the other waving toward a young maid trimming a rose bush too clumsily for her tastes.

“Not like that,” she snapped, not even turning fully. “Angle the shears, girl, not butcher the flowers like a fishmonger. The nerve…”

Her voice trailed off as she turned her head and noticed Jungkook approaching. Her face instantly shifted—sharp lines smoothed, lips curved up.

“Oh, look who’s here,” she said, “Our newlywed blossom. Come inside, come inside.”

Jungkook bowed politely, and followed her into the sitting room where the cushions were still embroidered with the old family crest. They settled onto the low sofa, a respectful space between them.

“So,” Herin began, folding her hands neatly on her lap, “my lovely son—how is your husband treating you? Does he beat you? Starve you? Make you sleep in the shed?”

Jungkook blinked slowly, unmoved by her smirk, and replied calmly, “He’s good to me.”

She laughed lightly, a hand fluttering to her lips, “Oh? That’s surprising. I thought those country alphas knew nothing but how to plough fields and wives.”

She turned to the nearest maid and said, “Bring tea. Something sweet. Our Jungkookie’s delicate.”

Jungkook ignored the jab. “I didn’t come for tea,” he said quietly. “I came to get my books and pencils. The ones in my old chest.”

Herin gasped, hand to her chest, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. “Books and pencils? Oh, my dear child. I gave them away!”

“What?” Jungkook sat up a little straighter, his eyes narrowing. “How could you do that?!”

She gave a loud sigh and waved her hand. “Why are you shouting? Don’t be so dramatic. They were just silly papers. Some village girl wanted them for her younger brother, and I thought, why not? You’re married now, Jungkook. What do you need all that scribbling for?”

Jungkook’s hands tightened in his lap.

Lady Cho tilted her head, her voice turning cool. “Listen, Jungkook. A married omega—especially one so young and beautiful—should focus on serving his husband. That’s what matters now. Taking care of the house, bearing pups, fulfilling your role. You should conceive soon. It’s shameful if an omega stays barren too long. People start to talk.”

“I don’t care what people say,” Jungkook muttered, throat tight.

“Well, you should,” she said, leaning forward now, eyes gleaming. “Your value now lies in how you fulfill your station. Not in dusty books and pencil stubs. You think the world waits for an omega’s poetry? No, Jungkookie. We make homes. We kneel when spoken to. We smile even when we’re sad.”

Notes:

I am trying to update regularly!

Chapter 7

Notes:

I hope you enjoy the chapter ୨ৎ

Taehyung wiped the sweat off his brow with the edge of his already-stained sleeve, the fabric now stiff with dried soil and dew. He was supposed to work till the night bell rang, like always, but something inside him twisted when he thought of Jungkook returning alone from his mother’s house—by cart, with a stranger, when dusk was falling fast and the roads would soon be empty. It was improper. Unsafe.Taehyung felt uneasy at the very thought. He approached the farm chief, bowing low and pressing his hands together.

“I know it’s against the rule,” he murmured, “but please, just today—let me leave early. I’ll work extra tomorrow, even before dawn.”

The chief, a wide-shouldered man with lines deep on his forehead, squinted at him for a long while before sighing through his nose. “One hour, Kim Taehyung. And if your plot looks the same tomorrow, I’ll have your back thrashed with the cane.”

Taehyung bowed again. “Yes, chief, Thank you.”

He didn’t even wash up. There was no time. His shirt clung to his chest from sweat, the sleeves rolled high, exposing arms caked with dried mud. His feet were bare—the straw sandals had torn during the day and he hadn’t bothered to fix them. He walked past the farms, past the mill, past where the little kids were lighting the first paper lanterns of the evening.

When he reached the edge of town where carts usually waited, his hopes dimmed. The cart-men stood lazily beside their oxen, chewing on barley stalks, one of them whistling a tune. Taehyung walked to the first man and asked the price.

“Ten coins,” the cart-man said bluntly, not even looking at him.

“Ten?” Taehyung scoffed. “It was five in the morning!”

“Then you should’ve travelled in the morning.”

Taehyung looked around at the others, but they were all nodding.

He clenched his jaw. “I’ll walk then.”

He turned on his heel, ignoring the way they cackled behind him as he left. His feet slapped against the dry road, the path rough and uneven. Jungkook's family home was further than he remembered—two hills, one bend, and that endless stretch of road. He sat down for a few minutes once, under a tree near the stone bridge, his chest heaving with exhaustion.

He stood again. Walked again. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck, his fringe plastered to his forehead. By the time he reached the gates of Jungkook’s house, the sky was turning dark blue.

He looked at his hands, caked in fresh mud from the fall he’d taken down a slope earlier. His shirt was no better, and he suddenly remembered whose house he was standing in front of. His mother-in-law. He couldn’t touch her bell with hands like this. He glanced to the left and spotted a small water pond near the gate—ornamental, but clean. He bent down and washed his hands carefully, rubbing the grime away with his fingers until they were reasonably clean. Then, wiping them on the inside of his shirt where the dirt was less visible, he straightened himself and reached out.

Ding—dong.

The sound of the bell echoed faintly. The door creaked open not a minute later, and a maid peered out. Her eyes raked over him—hair tousled, face tanned and freckled from the sun, shirt clinging to his chest with patches of dirt still clinging to the sleeves.

“Yes?” she asked, brows slightly furrowed. “What business do you have here?”

Taehyung bowed respectfully. “I’m here to pick up my husband.”

The maid blinked. “Husband?”

“Yes. Jungkook.”

Her eyes widened. She looked at him again—really looked at him this time. The man standing in front of her wasn’t what she had imagined when she thought of “Jungkook’s husband.” The maids whispered about him often, about how beautiful Jungkook was, about the mystery of his sudden marriage. This man—this muddy, disheveled, sweaty man—was his husband?

The maid bowed silently and led Taehyung through the wide corridors of the estate. His feet—still damp and slightly grimy from the road—stepped across the polished wooden floors.

When they arrived at the main sitting room, Harein was siting on the cushioned sofa, her hands arranging flower petals in a bronze basin set on the low table. A maid knelt by her side, slicing the stems of the blossoms per her instruction.

Jungkook was there too, sitting straight, his hands folded on his lap, his eyes went towards the door as soon as the maid entered. When he saw Taehyung, his body jolted in surprise, rising to his feet almost immediately.

“Why—why are you here?” he asked, eyes scanning Taehyung from top to bottom—his mussed hair, his worn robes soaked from sweat, the faded stains that water had failed to cleanse fully from his sleeves.

Taehyung gave a small smile, brushing the back of his neck. “I came to take you back home.”

Herin looked up then. Her eyes trailed over Taehyung like one would examine a..... begger. A flash of distaste crossed her face, lingered just enough to be noticed. She forced a smile that didn’t touch her eyes and gestured toward the sitting mat.

“Ah… Taehyung,” she said, tone politely clipped. “Please, come sit. Soohyun, bring something for my dear son-in-law.”

Taehyung stepped forward hesitantly, bowing low before her out of courtesy, “I am grateful for your kindness.”

The maid soon returned with a tray holding sweetened rice cakes and tea, kneeling before placing it between them. Taehyung didn’t reach for it. Instead, he sat only for a moment, lowering himself gingerly, not wanting to dirty the cushions. Herin eyes narrowed slightly at the way his sleeves brushed the edge of the mat. She spoke again.

“You must’ve walked all the way here? My goodness, such effort. But I suppose… these things are normal for men of your village, are they not?” She gave a soft laugh, lifting her teacup to her lips. “This house is quite old… the cushions are from the capital… made of silk and goose feather. Very difficult to clean.”

Jungkook froze. His lips parted slightly, and his hands clenched at his sides. Taehyung heard the message loud and clear. The cushion beneath him may as well have been firewood—it didn’t belong to him. He rose quietly and bowed again, eyes lowered. “Thank you for your hospitality. I will wait for my husband outside.”

He turned, and left the room without another word.

The moment Taehyung disappeared, Jungkook stood abruptly, pushing past the low table. “How could you say that?”

Herin raised her brows innocently, fanning herself with her silk hand fan. “Say what?”

“You embarrassed him!”

“I merely asked him to sit. I even offered him tea—”

“You implied he was too dirty for your house. For your cushions!” Jungkook’s voice trembled. “Anyone could have understood!”

He swallowed, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. But the ache in his chest burned hotter. He bowed stiffly—an insult more than a gesture—and turned away. Without waiting for another breath, he stormed through the corridor.

Taehyung stood beneath the large persimmon tree that marked the edge of Jungkook’s family’s estate, one hand loosely tucked behind his back, the other swatting away an occasional mosquito. But despite his tired posture, the moment he saw Jungkook stepping out of the gate, he straightened up, lips stretching into a smile as he called out softly, “Ah, I thought you might want to stay a little longer. I can wait here—it’s fine. You don’t need to hurry.”

Jungkook shook his head quickly, tightening his ribbon as he came closer, “No,” he said quietly, voice tight, “let’s go.”

Taehyung nodded and began walking. They walked in silence for a few minutes, the quiet crunch of their feet on the dirt road the only sound between them. Jungkook kept glancing sideways at the older alpha—Taehyung was calm, too calm, as if he hadn’t just been insulted with a fake smile. He hadn’t said a word about it. Not a frown, not a scoff. Nothing.

“Sorry,” Jungkook said suddenly.

Taehyung turned his head slightly, brow raised. “For what?”

Jungkook’s voice faltered, but he forced it out. “You already know.”

Taehyung let out a soft laugh, almost as if brushing the moment away, and turned to look at him with a crooked grin. “I would’ve ruined the cushions though. She’s not wrong.” He shrugged, eyes still warm. “Mud everywhere. Imagine the mess. That poor couch.”

Jungkook stopped in his tracks. His chest rose and fell, breathing suddenly uneven, and before he could stop it, tears welled in his eyes, stinging and heavy. His throat tightened as if something clawed up from the pit of his stomach. He bit his lip, hard, but it didn’t help. A drop slipped down his cheek.

Taehyung noticed immediately. He turned around with a small step back, his expression changing into panic the moment he saw the glisten in Jungkook’s eyes. “Why—why are you crying?!” he asked, stepping closer, “What happened?! Did someone—did I—?”

Jungkook quickly shook his head, wiping at his face clumsily with the sleeve of his hanfu. “No! No, it’s not—nothing,” he muttered, voice breaking. “Something just went in my eye.”

Taehyung paused, not pressing, but his gaze lingered on Jungkook’s flushed face and trembling lashes, clearly not believing the excuse but respecting it all the same. He gave a slow nod and gently reached over, placing a warm palm on the crown of Jungkook’s head, a small comforting pat. “Alright.”

"Come on now. It’ll be dark soon.”

They started walking again, their steps quieter than before, but closer, shoulders nearly brushing. And though neither of them said anything for a long while.

The night insects had begun their nightly chorus. Most of the road was empty now, as most villagers had returned home before the full fall of night, and the oil lamps that lit the path here and there glowed dimly, barely enough to light the way. The village was still a little far—half an hour if they walked quickly, but with tired legs and Jungkook’s shorter steps, it might take longer.

Taehyung walked silently for a while, stealing glances at the younger omega beside him. Jungkook was blinking slowly, head bobbing slightly with each step. His peach hanfu fluttered with each sleepy sway, and the white ribbon tied in his hair was loosening, slipping to the side of his ear. It was obvious he was fighting the sleep with all he had—but it wasn’t working. The yawn that escaped him was huge and muffled only by the back of his hand, his eyes even teared up from it, and he sniffled softly right after, trying to look like he hadn’t just almost fallen asleep mid-step.

Taehyung cleared his throat and gently offered, “You can get on my back, if you want.”

Jungkook quickly shook his head, cheeks already blooming with embarrassment. “No—no, you’re already tired. I can walk on my own.”

“But you’re sleepy,” Taehyung said softly, slowing his steps.

“I’m not a child. I can walk.”

Taehyung only smiled at that. “You’re not a child, but you are sleepy. And if I leave you walking like this, you might fall into a pond before we even get to the fields.”

Then, without waiting for a further argument, he gently knelt down on the dirt road, arms braced on his thighs. “Come on. I’m not asking. Just get on, will you?”

Jungkook looked at him, half flustered and half unsure. His hands fiddled with the loose end of his sleeve, lips pressed into a line. “But—won’t it hurt? Your back must be hurting already, you were on the farm since morning—”

“I’ve carried sacks heavier than you, I promise,” Taehyung said with a little chuckle. “And besides… you’re light. Now get on before I start snoring right here on the ground.”

Still hesitating, Jungkook slowly approached him and placed his arms over Taehyung’s shoulders, then finally allowed himself to be lifted. His body pressed gently against Taehyung’s back, legs dangling loosely to the sides, and the moment Taehyung stood, his arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, face resting lightly near his shoulder. Taehyung let out a low breath, his back protesting just slightly—but not unbearably. He adjusted his grip on Jungkook’s legs and began walking again, a little slower this time.

“How long will it take to get home?”

“About twenty minutes,” Taehyung replied, glancing back at him for a moment with a smile. “You can sleep a little. I’ll wake you up.”

“I’ll get down in ten,” Jungkook mumbled, tightening his arms a little around Taehyung’s neck. “I don’t want you to be more tired…”

“You say that, but you’re already drooling,” Taehyung teased lightly, even though Jungkook wasn’t—yet.

Jungkook let out a yawn. “Am not…”

Taehyung chuckled and looked ahead again. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” Jungkook whispered, but just as the word left his mouth, his stomach let out a soft growl.

Taehyung smiled to himself. “Alright. I’ll make something warm when we get back. Do you want rice porridge or—”

But he didn’t get to finish the sentence. Jungkook’s weight suddenly shifted, his arms growing heavier as they relaxed around Taehyung’s neck, head slumping gently onto his shoulder. Taehyung turned his head a little and saw that Jungkook had fallen asleep—mouth slightly parted, lashes fluttering every now and then.

Taehyung exhaled slowly, his smile softening, “Guess it’s porridge then,” he murmured to himself, walking carefully now so as not to jostle the sleeping boy on his back.

Taehyung finally reached the small curved path that led to their home, his every muscle screaming in pain with each step. The sweat had long dried on his forehead only to be replaced by fresh beads that rolled slowly down the side of his face, clinging to his jaw and soaking into the collar of his undershirt. His back throbbed deeply—like someone had hammered a rod into it—and he could feel a sharp ache climbing from his hips to his shoulders. The entire walk back from Jungkook’s family estate to the village had taken almost twice as long as expected. The road wasn’t exactly paved—rocks, dips, stray roots, and uneven dirt made it near impossible to walk, let alone with a whole person sleeping on your back.

Jungkook had shifted a few times in his sleep—once mumbling something incoherent, once sniffing softly in what might’ve been a dream. At one point, his grip around Taehyung’s neck had loosened slightly, forcing Taehyung to readjust him higher without waking him, his arms wrapping tightly around the boy’s legs again, whispering to himself, “Just a little more…”

By the time he reached the front of the house, the sky had dipped into deep navy. The oil lamps near the neighbor’s gate flickered softly in the breeze. Taehyung let out a long, low exhale and knelt down as gently as he could, feeling the strain in his thighs as he lowered Jungkook’s weight. He nudged the boy softly on the shoulder, whispering, “Jungkook… we’re home. I need you to wake up for a second.”

Jungkook stirred slowly, brows furrowing before his eyes blinked open in a daze. “Hmm?”

“We’re back,” Taehyung said,“I have to unlock the door, can you stand?”

Chapter 8

The moment Jungkook was set down outside their little gate, he blinked himself awake. His lips parted in a soft gasp, sleep still heavy in his eyes as he looked around. “I… I slept the whole way?” he said in a daze, rubbing his eyes like a child caught napping during chores. He turned to Taehyung with genuine disbelief. “You carried me all the way?”

Taehyung gave a smile, shoulders visibly sagging with exhaustion. His undershirt was soaked in sweat, “It’s okay,” he said softly, as he unlatched the old wooden door. “You were tired.”

“I should’ve walked…” Jungkook muttered under his breath, following behind him. He kicked off his shoes at the entry and turned to look at Taehyung again.

“I’ll go take a bath,” Taehyung said quietly, rolling his shoulders. He looked so worn out—his back stiff, one hand pressing against his lower side for support. There was a line of dry mud under his fingernails.

Jungkook nodded silently, watching him grab the old cloth towel and disappear toward the back of the house where the bath shed was, a tiny wooden enclosure, separated from the main house, where they stored firewood under the basin to warm the water. He waited until he heard the clatter of buckets, signaling that Taehyung had finally begun washing.

Then he looked down at his own hands, then toward the kitchen corner. He bit his lower lip in thought.

Taehyung had walked all the way to get him. In worn-out shoes. With an aching back. Had smiled, carried him, didn’t complain even once. And what had Jungkook done? Snored on his shoulder.

He frowned and turned toward the kitchen. He had no idea how to cook. None. He could barely tell salt from sugar. But the Alpha would probably be hungry after all that.

Jungkook stepped onto the uneven stone floor of the open kitchen, looking around and his eyes landed on the wooden plate tucked on the corner table. A cotton cloth covered it. He walked closer and peeked underneath. Cold rice. At least a bowl and a half of it.

“Good,” he muttered to himself, brushing his sleeves back, “At least I won’t need to cook that part…”

After several clumsy attempts—spilling too much oil on the kindling, nearly setting his sleeve ablaze, and screaming when the flames flared up, he finally managed to get the fire going. The pot sat stubbornly atop the iron grate, and he added a little water to it before scooping in the cold rice, stirring gently with a wooden spoon.

He recalled vaguely from memory, his father, before he passed away used to make something like this for him when he was too sick to eat heavy meals. Rice, chili powder, onions.

He found a few half-dried onions in the basket and began chopping. Tears welled up in his eyes—not because he was crying, but because he didn’t know how to chop and onions were evil. The pieces ended up uneven, some too thick, others nearly translucent. “They are okay,” he whispered to himself, throwing them into the rice with a handful of chili powder, probably more than necessary, and stirring fast to make up for it.

He scooped the food into two clay bowls, placing them side by side on the small wooden table. He wiped his hands on the front of his hanbok and stepped back, panting slightly.

Jungkook stared at the bowls, and just as he turned toward the door to call Taehyung in, he heard the soft sound of footsteps from the bath area. The door creaked open slowly. Taehyung stepped in, hair still wet and pushed back from his face, a plain white undershirt clinging to his chest, damp at the shoulders. He looked surprised to see the little meal laid out on the table.

Jungkook cleared his throat and looked away awkwardly. “I—I made something. You should eat. You walked too much.”

Taehyung blinked and smiled, gently, he hadn’t had expected the omega to cook. “Thank you so much,” he asked softly.

Taehyung had never quite developed a tolerance for spice. Back when he lived with his grandmother, meals were always seasoned delicately, salted just enough, a spoon of soybean paste here, and just a tiny taste of chili flake there, but never anything that burned the tongue. His body just wasn’t built for fire. The moment anything too spicy touched his lips, his ears warmed, his eyes watered, and he would start sniffing uncontrollably like a boy who'd just come in from the cold.

Taehyung stared down at the bowl. The white rice had turned almost orange from the sheer amount of chili powder mixed in. The chopped onions sat unevenly, some still a bit raw, the pieces varying in size. He scooped up a generous bite, ignoring the smell of crushed chili that hit his nose immediately, and ate.

At first, there was just warmth. Then came the heat. Then the sting.

His lips tingled, and then his tongue felt like it had been rolled over by hot coals. A soft burn began to crawl down his throat. But he smiled anyway and nodded earnestly.

“It’s really good,” he said, chewing carefully, even as his eyes began to sting with moisture. “You did well.”

Across the table, Jungkook was watching him, his own spoon poised mid-air. “You’re sweating,” he pointed out softly.

Taehyung coughed into his fist gently, then sniffed. “It’s just warm in here,” he lied with a straight face, lifting another spoonful to his mouth. His lips were already starting to go numb. “And I… I sweat easily.”

“You’re turning red.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are,” Jungkook said, lowering his spoon, “Are you okay?”

Taehyung let out a shaky breath through his nose and nodded quickly. “I’m fine. It’s good.”

Jungkook leaned forward slightly. “Do you not eat spicy food usually?”

“…No,” he admitted at last, smiling sheepishly and reaching for the cloth nearby to dab at his forehead. “Actually, I usually avoid it. My mouth feels like it's on fire if I eat anything spicy.” Taehyung made a few exaggerated noises to express his words.

Jungkook laughed, well, he hadn’t meant to laugh but the way Alpha expressed the spice made him laugh even before he could control it, “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because you made it,” Taehyung said with a soft tone. He looked at him, really looked. Jungkook’s smile faltered just a little, eyes blinking at him, caught off guard. His gaze dipped toward his bowl.

────୨ৎ────

The sun hadn’t even started to rise when Taehyung had already dressed up quietly to go to the farm. Jungkook, laying in the thick quilt on the mattress, barely stirred until Taehyung knelt near the bedding and whispered, “Jungkook… I’m leaving early today. The chef said we’ll start before sunrise since the ploughs arrived last night. Go back to sleep, hmm?”

Jungkook had barely cracked his eyes open, murmured something unintelligible, and curled deeper into the blanket. He vaguely heard the soft sound of the door latch closing and the hushed crunch of Taehyung’s footsteps on the earth outside before the house fell into silence again.

But that peace didn’t last long.

Around what must’ve been 4:30, Jungkook was jostled awake by sharp persistent knocks on the front door, startling him upright with a groggy yelp. His hair was sticking up in uneven tufts from sleep, and his cheeks were puffed from the warmth of the quilt. Blinking away the haze of slumber, he sat still for a second, trying to convince himself he was dreaming. But the knocking came again.

“Who is it…” he muttered, dragging himself out from under the quilt. His bare feet padded against the cold floor. With a loud yawn, he ran his fingers through his hair in a hopeless attempt to tame it, smoothed the creases in his skirt, and straightened the sash tied at his waist. His hanbok had become loose during the night, so he hastily tightened the knot, cleared his throat, and made his way to the front.

As soon as he opened the door, he regretted not splashing water on his face or at least fixing his expression. There they were, his neighbouring elders, four middle-aged aunts. He had seen them a few times here and there.

“Oh, my!” one of them gasped, her wide eyes taking in the sight of Jungkook’s tousled hair and sleepy gaze. “You just woke up?! This late?!”

Another aunt clucked her tongue, already stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Heavens, it’s nearly dawn and you’re still in bed? An Omega should have the fire going before the rooster crows!”

“I—uh—please come in,” Jungkook said hurriedly, stepping aside and bowing politely. His ears burned with embarrassment, but he forced a small smile and led them toward the open wooden chairs near the kitchen.

The aunts made themselves comfortable with the familiarity of women who had long decided this house was as much theirs as it was anyone else’s. They didn’t need to be offered tea or seats—they already knew where everything was. They each took a seat and fanned themselves dramatically with the edge of their sleeves, looking at eachother.

“Young brides these days,” one muttered, “Don’t even know how to manage a household.”

Another leaned in toward Jungkook with a gentle smile. “Jungkookie-ah, dear… your husband left early, hmm?”

Jungkook nodded, sitting down on the floor, cross-legged, hands neatly folded. “Yes… the farm. He told me he had to leave before dawn today.”

“Aigoo, such a hard worker, your husband,” said the third aunt, her eyes gleaming. “And you should be up with him! Packing him a little rice bundle or at least boiling some water for tea. These little gestures are how a marriage is kept warm.”

“I’ll remember that,” Jungkook said with a polite bow, biting back a sigh. He wanted to say he was still adjusting, that this was all still new to him, but he knew how these aunts operated. Any form of excuse would only make them go on longer.

“And what about food, hmm?” one asked, folding her arms. “What are you preparing today?”

“I—I haven’t decided yet,” Jungkook admitted truthfully.

They exchanged looks. “Aigoo,” one of them sighed heavily. “You need to learn quickly, dear. An Omega should never appear clueless. It gives your Alpha a bad name.”

Jungkook looked down at his lap, resisting the urge to frown. “I understand…”

Jungkook sat still on the floor, hands politely folded over his lap, trying not to fidget as the cackling laughter of the older women rose. He had barely rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and yet here he was—being scolded as though he had committed some kind of great crime.

The eldest among them, Mrs. Seo, clicked her tongue disapprovingly and said, “You’re still young, Jungkookie-ah, but no Omega in this village sleeps in like that. It’s already so late—it’s nearly a quarter to five!”

Jungkook nodded slowly, blinking with a soft, forced smile, trying to hide how embarrassed he was. “I’ll make sure to wake up earlier next time…”

“Yes, yes, you must!” the second one chirped, adjusting her shawl around her shoulders. “A good Omega prepares his husband’s meal before he wakes, lays out his clothes, combs his own hair neatly, and starts the morning with incense and a wiped-down floor. That’s how your home remains blessed!”

"He’s just new,” the youngest among them said, but even her voice had a teasing tone. “Maybe he’s just tired from the night...”

There was a brief silence.

And then a snort, followed by a flurry of muffled giggles. Another aunt elbowed the youngest one, laughing with a hand on her mouth, “Aigoo, you’re wicked!”

Jungkook blinked, not getting it at first. He tilted his head slightly, confused.

“What night?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“Oh my, so innocent!” Mrs. Baek said, her teeth flashing. “You mean to say your husband didn’t even touch you last night? That can’t be.”

The laughter grew louder now, not mean exactly, but overwhelming. Heat rushed to Jungkook’s cheeks in a wave of horror the moment he realized what they meant. His eyes widened just a touch before he immediately looked down, his ears burning.

“W-We just... it’s been busy,” he said, trying to laugh but it came out strained and high-pitched. He reached for a corner of his sleeve to tug on, seeking something, anything.

“Busy or not, pups don’t make themselves, darling.”

Jungkook’s eyes darted up at her.

“You’re married now. Your body’s ready. An Omega’s duty is to keep the house and bear strong children. You shouldn’t delay. Some people wait and then regret it.”

The rest murmured in agreement.

“One month gone, then two… and you’ll still be walking around with no pup. It looks bad on your husband. People will talk.”

“You’re young and pretty. This is the best time.”

“The longer you wait, the harder it gets for the body.”

────୨ৎ────

Taehyung was trudging his way back home. He had worked longer than usual today—his back ached, his arms felt like they were made of stone. Today the chef had been extra strict with him today because he left early yesterday. One hand was on his lower back where he had fell because of the slippery mud in the field.

That’s when his eyes caught the familiar cart.

The same book cart they had passed during his first outing with Jungkook. It was a simple wooden stall, with its canopy slightly frayed at the ends, tucked between the vegetable seller and the man selling sweet rice cakes. But what caught Taehyung’s attention were the shiny, neat stacks of notebooks and tightly bundled pencils on display—just like last time. He could still remember how Jungkook had gone quiet for a moment, his eyes lingering longingly at those books while Taehyung was busy haggling over radishes.

He walked closer now, eyes fixed on the cart, until the stall owner glanced up and wrinkled his nose.

“Yah, yah, yah—don’t touch anything with those hands!” the man barked, wagging his finger sternly. “You’ll get dirt all over the paper.”

Taehyung immediately recoiled, his hands half-raised in surrender, stained dark with dried soil. “I wasn’t going to touch. Just wanted to ask the price.”

The owner grunted and leaned on the counter, eyeing Taehyung like he was an insect too close to the food. “Which one? The small notebook? That one’s nine coins.”

“Nine coins?!” Taehyung blinked, astonished. His jaw nearly dropped. “You putting gold dust in the pages or something?”

The owner gave a short laugh, “It’s imported paper. All the kids at the city use this. And the ink doesn’t bleed through.”

Taehyung scratched the back of his neck, and decided to check the paper but then quickly dropped his hand again when he remembered how dirty it was. Nine coins… that was more than what he’d spent bringing Jungkook back from his mother’s house. More than half a day’s wage. For one notebook.

He stared at it again. A simple, cream-colored cover, neat spine, and clean pages. He wouldn’t know what to do with it himself—he was illiterate, had never held a pencil in his life.

Chapter 9

Taehyung looked toward the notebook that had been pushed to the side, after thinking for sometime, a little more than four minuties, he decided to get it. It was surely expensive though but his omega might like it so he nodded slowly. "This one then."

The vendor pulled the notebook and looked back at Taehyung. "You want pencil with that?"

Taehyung paused. "What is that?"

The vendor looked stunned. "Pencil! The thing you write with. What good’s a notebook if you got nothing to write with?"

Taehyung scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. "I don’t know these things." The vendor's tone made him feel small for not knowing a pencil.

"Of course you don’t," the man muttered, then pointed at the wooden box by his feet. "Charcoal pencil. One coin."

Taehyung took a deep breath and reached into the cloth pouch tied around his waist, fingers brushing the coins carefully counted from this week's harvest payment. He took out 10 coins—9 for the notebook, one for the pencil—and placed them silently on the cart. The vendor grunted as he collected the payment, then wrapped the notebook and pencil in a thin plastic pouch, a leftover from imported goods, not common in the village—and handed it to Taehyung. "Here. Don't press the pencil too hard or the lead will break."

Taehyung took the package carefully, like it was something sacred. He bowed his head deeply.

────୨ৎ────

The late spring sun had just begun to dip behind the distant mountains, and long golden shadows were across the worn dirt path that led from the market place to the houses. Taehyung’s hands were rough and darkened from hours of toil. A cool breeze tugged gently at the ends of his hair as he walked. In his hand, swinging lightly, was the transparent plastic bag.

He reached the house just as the sky began to turn dusky lavender. He stepped onto the wooden porch, brushing his palms quickly against the hem of his pants to remove the worst of the dirt before lifting his hand and knocking twice—firm, familiar knocks.

From inside, faint footsteps approached, light and hurried. The door creaked open to reveal Jungkook, dressed in a pale hanbok top, his sleeves slightly rolled up, cheeks flushed as though he’d been by the kitchen fire. His eyes landed on the alpha standing there with a bag in his hand, and as always, they softened instantly.

“Welcome home,” Jungkook said, bowing politely. He stepped aside slightly, allowing space for Taehyung to enter. Taehyung dipped his head in return, his tall figure brushing past the Omega as he stepped inside and pushed the door closed behind him. The sound of the wooden latch slotting into place echoed softly.

Without speaking, Taehyung held the plastic bag out toward Jungkook, a small, almost sheepish smile on his face. Jungkook blinked, looking between the alpha’s face and the bag. His hands came forward slowly, hesitantly. The bag was thin, the contents clearly visible—the soft-colored notebook and the lone pencil. Jungkook’s lips parted slightly in surprise.

“I saw you looking at them that day,” Taehyung said, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand. “At the market. Thought… maybe you wanted one. So…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, only motioned with his chin at the bag now in Jungkook’s grip.

Jungkook pulled the notebook out carefully. The cover was smooth and creamy, the pages inside thick and faintly lined, untouched. His fingers trembled slightly as he traced the spine, then gently pulled out the pencil as well. It had a little silver ring near the eraser, the wood still sharp from the factory cut.

“You bought this for me?” Jungkook asked, barely a whisper, his lashes fluttering as he looked up at the alpha.

Taehyung nodded, his smile widening ever so slightly as he saw the boy’s expression. “Mm. Thought you might like it.”

Jungkook looked down at the items in his hand, then slowly back up, lips parting again. “How much did it cost?” The notebook was of good quality so Jungkook figured out that it wouldn't have been cheap at all.

“Nine coins,” Taehyung replied, “The man said it’s good quality. He said it's what people in towns use.”

“Nine?” Jungkook repeated, clearly shocked. He blinked rapidly, clutching the notebook close to his chest, “You shouldn’t have…” He actually didn't meant those words, he was really happy about the notebook but spending that much coins on it didn’t really made Jungkook relax either.

Taehyung only chuckled, reaching forward to pat Jungkook’s head gently, his fingers brushing through the Omega’s dark hair, “But do you like it?” he asked.

Jungkook nodded, eyes shimmering slightly, “I love it,” he whispered, looking down again, this time not in hesitation but to hide the way his smile spread shyly across his face.

Taehyung nodded once, simply, as if that was all he needed to hear. Then he slowly made his way to sit by the low wooden table, stretching his legs out with a soft grunt. Jungkook stood by the door a little longer, still holding the notebook against his chest, fingers curled around the pencil.

After a moment, he turned and quietly padded to where Taehyung sat. “Alpha… would you like tea? You must be tired.”

Taehyung leaned his head back against the wooden beam, letting out a breath. “Tea would be nice.”

────୨ৎ────

Jungkook’s joy was something so pure, his cheeks were round and pink from smiling, and his movements were unusually quick as he placed the cream-colored notebook down with all the gentleness of handling something sacred. “Aigoo—” he whispered to himself, brushing his fingertips across the smooth cover, eyes wide. His feet made small, excited stomps against the wooden floor, as if his happiness couldn’t be contained in his chest alone. “Alpha really bought this… for me?” he whispered again under his breath. He turned to look at Taehyung who was now seated on the floor by the low wooden table, legs folded neatly under him, one hand supporting his jaw as he watched the Omega.

Jungkook struck the match once, no flame. Again—nothing. “Come on now…” he muttered, shielding the tiny fire from the cool air slipping through the floorboards. It finally caught on the third try. “Aha!” he said, placing a small blackened pot on the flame. From the wooden cupboard he took a narrow tin and measured out the water. He reached for the clay jar that held the last bits of milk. It was barely a half ladle full, but he poured it in anyway with care, then he pinched some tea leaves from another little cloth pouch, dropped them into the pot, and let the mixture bubble softly.

From the floor where he now sat cross-legged beside the stove, Jungkook kept peeking up at Taehyung. The Alpha looked tired, but softer now. His eyes occasionally wandered towards Jungkook and the notebook placed on the side. Taehyung didn’t say much, just smiled a little when their eyes met, and Jungkook turned back quickly, cheeks warming.

When the tea was ready, Jungkook rose and carefully poured it into two small clay cups. He wiped their rims with the edge of his sleeve, then brought them over. Sitting down next to the Alpha, his knees barely brushing Taehyung’s, he placed one cup gently in front of him. “Here,” Jungkook said in a soft tone, tucking his hands between his knees afterward.

Taehyung took the cup with both hands and bowed his head slightly in thanks. “Thank you,” he said softly, blowing on the surface before taking a small sip. His eyes fluttered shut briefly as he swallowed, the warmth tracing down his throat. Then, glancing at the boy whose eyes flicked between him and the notebook, he spoke, “What will you write in there?”

Jungkook blinked, lips still curved. “Something,” he said, as if the thought of limiting it to just one purpose seemed absurd. He sipped his own tea and let the silence sit there for a heartbeat before Taehyung spoke again.

“Start with your name.”

The idea made Jungkook’s eyes brighten even more if that was possible. He nodded quickly. “Okay.” He shifted forward, leaning just slightly, and picked up the notebook with care. Then, he reached for the pencil Taehyung had bought him. He set his cup gently on the wooden floor and placed the notebook on the table between them.

Jungkook opened to the first page. It gave off a faint woody smell, and for a moment, he just looked at the blank space, then he held the pencil close, thumb and forefinger on its edges, and wrote slowly.

Taehyung watched, eyes moving with each stroke of the pencil, his brows slightly furrowed in curiosity. He looked amazed, truly. His gaze didn’t move from the forming shapes, as if each line Jungkook made was a magic spell. When Jungkook had written the final character, he turned the notebook a bit, angling it for Taehyung to see.

“See?” he said softly, a bit proud, a bit shy. “That’s my name.”

Taehyung stared at it as if he’d just seen fire for the first time. He leaned in slightly. “It’s beautiful,” he said, then Jungkook looked up at him and asked, timidly, “Do you want to try?”

The Alpha leaned back a little, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t know how to. I’ll ruin the paper.”

“No,” Jungkook said, almost immediately, “You won’t. At least try. You should know your name too.”

And without another word, Jungkook reached out and took Taehyung’s large hand. The Alpha didn’t resist, just watched as the boy gently placed the pencil between his fingers and curled them to hold it. It felt awkward, stiff. Taehyung looked down at it like it was a weapon he didn’t know how to use.

“It’s like… this,” Jungkook murmured, adjusting the grip slightly. His fingers touched Taehyung’s skin—it was warm, slightly rough, and calloused from years of work. The pencil looked too small in those large hands. Jungkook moved the notebook closer, flipped to a fresh page, and said softly, “Write your name. I’ll help.”

Taehyung gave a breath of uncertainty and let the pencil hover over the page. “I don’t know where to start,” he muttered.

Jungkook smiled. “Here,” he pointed with his finger. “Start with this character.” He guided Taehyung’s hand slowly, helping him form the lines. They were crooked. They were too thick in places, faint in others. The character didn’t look quite right.

The tip of the pencil trembled in Taehyung’s hand as he furrowed his brows at the paper, “Like this?” he asked with genuine hesitation, dragging the pencil in a crooked arc that looked nothing like a letter. Jungkook, who sat beside him with his cup of tea long forgotten, bit back a tiny smile and shook his head gently, strands of hair falling over his cheek as he tucked his knees close to his chest. “No, not like that… here, let me show you.” His fingers hesitated mid-air before settling—awkwardly, shyly—on top of Taehyung’s much larger hand. The Omega’s fingertips were cool, soft, like early morning dew, and Taehyung swallowed thickly, eyes darting down to where their skin now touched.

“You write like this,” Jungkook murmured, leaning in, his breath soft on the Alpha’s cheek. His hand guided Taehyung’s slowly, gently curving the pencil along the paper as they formed the first syllable together. “ㅌ... See that?” he whispered, voice trembling slightly. “It’s the start of your name. Taehyung.”

Taehyung didn’t answer. He was watching their joined hands, the tiny strokes the pencil made, the crease between Jungkook’s brows, the way his lips moved ever so slightly while he concentrated. His face was a little flushed, too—maybe from the heat of the stove.

Jungkook’s hands moved again. “Now... ㅐ... like this, down first, then curve here.” The Omega shifted a little closer unconsciously, and Taehyung could feel the warmth of his thigh against his. When they finished the name—"태형"—Jungkook exhaled a tiny laugh and pulled back just enough to look up at him. “There.”

────୨ৎ────

Jungkook had stood up with Taehyung, brushing the dust off his clothes, still smiling. His heart was still fluttering from earlier, from the way he had gently held Taehyung’s large hand and guided it across the paper. There was dried sweat on his forehead from making tea earlier. And now, as Taehyung turned to leave and retreat outside the room for the night, Jungkook immediately stepped forward, stopping just before they separated.

“Alpha—wait,” he said quickly, bowing in a small, polite motion. “Thank you again… for the notebook. It means a lot to me.” His voice came out softer than he intended, slightly shy, slightly breathless from joy.

Taehyung paused and turned his head, he smiled faintly and nodded slowly. And Jungkook bowed once again, giddy all over again before retreating to his room. The moment he stepped inside, the omega let out the smallest of squeals, one hand pressed against his mouth to muffle it. He flopped onto the mattress like he weighed nothing, landing with a soft ‘whump’, arms stretched out like he was trying to hug the air. “Oh my god,” he whispered into the pillow, cheeks hurting from the smile. “He really gave me a notebook… an actual notebook.” It was pressed against his chest tightly. Still smiling to himself, he curled up on his side, the mattress slightly cold but he didn’t care—he fell asleep before he even realized it.

────୨ৎ────

He didn’t know when he woke up, but it wasn’t early. The room was filled with a soft greyish glow that hinted it was probably around 6 or 7 AM. The birds were chirping just faintly outside the window, but something felt… off. He rubbed his eyes and blinked blearily at the empty space around him. Wasn’t Taehyung supposed to wake him up before going to the fields? Jungkook sat up quickly, the blanket slipping off his legs. He slid off the mattress and padded out of the room, feet barely making a sound on the wooden floor.

But then he froze.

Taehyung was still lying there on the mat near the low table. Covered in the thin blanket he always used, his eyes closed, brows slightly furrowed… and something about his stillness wasn’t right. Jungkook’s stomach twisted. “Alpha…?” he called, but there was no answer. He immediately rushed forward, dropping to his knees beside the older man.

“Alpha?” He placed his hand on Taehyung’s arm. Still no movement. Jungkook reached up and pressed the back of his hand against the Alpha’s forehead.

It was burning. Not just warm—burning.

“Oh Lord,” Jungkook muttered under his breath, panic rising. He touched his forehead again to be sure, then his cheeks, and his neck. Taehyung was sweating lightly, yet shivering too. His lips looked a little pale, and Jungkook swore he could hear his shallow breathing. “Alpha… hey,” Jungkook shook him gently, his voice rising in alarm, “Taehyung-ssi, you’re sick. You have a fever.”

But Taehyung barely stirred, his body too hot and sluggish to respond.

Chapter 10

Taehyung stirred faintly on the thin mat, his brows furrowing as his eyes blinked open to the hazy morning light pouring in from the rice-paper window. He turned his head slightly, finding Jungkook sitting beside him on the floor, his body bent forward. Taehyung’s eyelids fluttered tiredly, and his voice came out rough, scratchy, “What time is it?” he asked, throat dry, the back of his hand lifting to his forehead instinctively.

Jungkook immediately leaned closer, his hand gently intercepting Taehyung’s to bring it down. “Alpha, don’t move,” he said softly. “Lay down, please. You’re not well.”

“I have to go to the fields, Jungkook,” Taehyung mumbled, his body attempting to rise out of sheer habit more than energy. “The weeds… I didn’t finish the—ahh—” He grimaced, his body jolting slightly as a sharp pain lanced up his back. His hands flinched back to press against his lower spine instinctively.

“No, no, no. Alpha, stop. Don’t move,” he whispered, almost in a panic now as he placed both hands gently on Taehyung’s shoulders, carefully easing him back down onto the mat. “Don’t sit up. Just stay like this, okay?” His voice was soft, but there was an urgency to it, a trembling undertone that made Taehyung stop trying to argue. Jungkook’s brows were knitted together with worry, lips slightly parted as if his next breath might carry more panic. He reached to adjust the blanket around Taehyung’s middle.

“I’ll be right back,” Jungkook said in a hushed tone, giving the older male’s arm a gentle pat before getting up. His bare feet made soft tapping sounds against the wooden floorboards as he hurried to the small kitchen area. He picked up a clean bowl and carried it to the pump outside the back door, pumping hard until water gurgled and spilled out, filling the bowl halfway. It wasn’t cold water—not even cool.

He carried the bowl back carefully, both hands steady despite how fast his heart was pounding. His eyes flicked to Taehyung, who was now lying still. Jungkook set the bowl beside the mat and stood up again, wiping his palms on his skirt before rushing to his room. His hands went straight to the shelf where he kept the things he never let get dirty. He opened a small wooden box, rummaging gently through it until he found a clean white handkerchief, the fabric neatly folded.

He rushed back to the main room where Taehyung lay. Without saying a word, he knelt beside the Alpha again, dipping the handkerchief into the bowl of water and wringing it gently. Then he folded the damp cloth and pressed it gently to Taehyung’s forehead, his fingers brushing along the hairline. Taehyung let out a soft exhale, eyes fluttering shut again.

“Better?” Jungkook asked, voice low, barely a whisper.

Taehyung nodded slowly, his lashes trembling against his cheeks. “Yeah… yeah, that’s better,” he murmured.

────୨ৎ────

The sun was now a full blaze overhead. Taehyung's fever wasn’t coming down—if anything, the Alpha’s skin was only growing warmer under his fingers, and his groans had become more frequent, his lashes fluttering in unrest as his body wrestled with the rising temperature. Jungkook had been dipping the handkerchief in the bowl of water and placing it on Taehyung’s forehead again and again, whispering softly, “It’s alright, Alpha…” as if his words could cool the heat that burned beneath Taehyung’s skin. But the water in the bowl, which hadn’t been cold to begin with, had long lost what little coolness it had. It had turned warm—too warm. The sun had only made it worse. The cloth wasn’t doing anything anymore, and Jungkook knew it. He pressed his palm lightly to Taehyung’s temple, biting his lip hard when he felt how scorching it still was.

The Alpha was asleep, if it could even be called that. His breaths were uneven, lips cracked, and every now and then a rough groan would tear from his throat. Jungkook whispered, brushing the damp hair off his forehead, trying not to panic, “You’re burning up…”

After another moment of indecision, Jungkook stood up abruptly. He looked down at the Alpha one more time and gently said, “I’ll be right back, okay? Just… don’t move. Please.” He placed the damp handkerchief over Taehyung’s forehead one last time and took off, heading through the tiny kitchen and slipping on his worn slippers by the door. The streets outside were quiet except for the occasional bark of dogs that always roamed freely in the village. Jungkook hated them—they were loud, and far too interested in chasing anyone who looked like they didn’t belong. Clutching the hem of his sleeves tightly in both hands, he walked cautiously, head down, flinching slightly when a dog barked sharply in the distance.

When he finally reached the familiar faded blue gate of Mrs. Cha’s home, he exhaled shakily and knocked gently. Once. Twice. A third time, just to be sure. Moments later, the wooden door creaked open, and there stood Mrs. Cha. Her eyes immediately softened when she saw Jungkook.

“Oh, dear, what brings you out in this heat?” she asked, voice kindly but curious.

Jungkook gave a polite, deep bow before whispering shyly, “I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs. Cha. But… do you happen to have any cold water? Taehyung-shi is sick.”

Mrs. Cha’s eyes widened immediately. “Oh, the poor dear. He’s sick? Fever?” She stepped aside and gestured for him to come in. “Come inside, quick, you must be tired from walking. I’ve got cold water in the clay pot near the pantry. Sit down for a bit, the others are here too.”

Jungkook stepped inside hesitantly, glancing at the living room where a couple of elderly neighbors were seated on the floor, fanning themselves lazily and chatting. They paused, looking over at Jungkook curiously, but he quickly bowed and kept his eyes low.

Mrs. Cha gave a dramatic tsk and waved off the other aunties. “Aigoo, such a sweet wife,” she muttered under her breath. “Taking care of his Alpha like this… Even though he’s so young. Tch, tch.” She disappeared into her kitchen and returned a few minutes later with a large steel bowl filled to the brim with cool water from her earthen pot, condensation already forming on the sides.

“Here,” she said, handing it carefully. “Take care of your husband."

Jungkook nodded quickly, grateful. “Thank you… I’ll bring the bowl back later.”

Mrs. Cha patted his shoulder lightly. “Don’t worry about it.”

────୨ৎ────

Jungkook came back into the house, hands carefully holding the bowl of cold water, he had nearly tripped over a stray shoe by the door in his hurry. He kneeled beside the Alpha again, his knees folding onto the mat with a soft thud, and set the bowl down. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for the handkerchief again and dipped it into the cold water, letting it soak, squeezing it gently until water dripped back into the bowl in fat plops. Then, he placed the damp cloth on Taehyung’s forehead once more, adjusting it gently as if he feared disturbing even a single strand of the Alpha’s damp hair.

Taehyung, who had been asleep with furrowed brows and shallow groans escaping his lips, visibly relaxed at the touch of the cool cloth. His lips parted with a soft exhale, and his shoulders slumped slightly as if the fever finally relented just enough to let him breathe deeper. Jungkook watched the Alpha’s face carefully, and wiped his own damp hands on his thighs.

Just then, Taehyung’s hand twitched under the blanket. The Alpha’s fingers curled against his own chest before tugging clumsily at the thick robes he still wore. His skin must be boiling. Jungkook's heart skipped. The Alpha was trying to remove the layers, struggling in his feverish haze.

"A-alpha?" Jungkook whispered softly, inching forward. "Alpha, don’t move too much… please…" He touched Taehyung’s hand gently, trying to coax it away, but Taehyung only gave a low groan and kept tugging at the sash of his robe, mumbling incoherently.

The sight made Jungkook’s cheeks flare pink. His stomach twisted in flustered knots. He bit down on his lower lip, eyes flickering between the Alpha’s face and the robe. He… he knew the Alpha was uncomfortable. Sweat clung to Taehyung’s neck and ran down the hollow of his collarbone. The fever was too high—his body was practically steaming. Jungkook hesitated, chewing on his lip harder. He could just… loosen it. Just a little. For the Alpha’s comfort.

"J-just..... a little," he muttered to himself, as if needing to justify it. His fingers reached hesitantly for the cloth sash tied tightly around Taehyung’s middle. His hands trembled with nerves, and he cursed internally when the knot wouldn't undo at first try. He gave a frustrated huff and then tried again, slower this time, tugging the damp fabric free. It came loose with a soft sighing sound. Jungkook quickly diverted his gaze as the robes parted at the chest, revealing flushed golden skin damp with sweat.

He nearly choked.

His face turned crimson.

"Jungkook shielded his eyes with one hand as he picked up the soaked handkerchief again and, trying not to stare, pressed it gently against the Alpha’s bare chest. Taehyung shifted, sighing again in relief at the coolness, his head turning slightly toward Jungkook.

The Omega gulped.

"I-It’s okay," he muttered, his voice barely audible, as he dabbed gently along the Alpha’s collarbone. "You’re going to feel better soon…." He peeked through his fingers briefly and saw Taehyung’s cheeks flushed from the fever, strands of damp hair clinging to his temple, the faint rise and fall of his chest under the cloth..... he looked handsome.

Jungkook pulled back suddenly and scolded himself in his head, cheeks puffing out. "Stop being weird!" he hissed quietly, then immediately covered his mouth in case he had woken Taehyung.

But the Alpha remained resting, breathing deeper now, his body cooler—if only slightly. Jungkook allowed himself a breath of relief. He sat back on his heels, hands resting on his thighs again, eyes still refusing to linger too long on the Alpha’s chest. Instead, he quietly resumed dipping the cloth and repeating the process—cool, squeeze, dab, press—all while blushing so violently it felt like he might faint before Taehyung’s fever did.

────୨ৎ────

The flush in Taehyung’s cheeks had softened, the sweat no longer poured down his temples, and his breathing—God, his breathing had returned to a pace that didn't make Jungkook’s heart clench in fear every few seconds.

Feeling a small wave of calm rush over him, Jungkook stood, knees popping from having knelt too long on the hard floor. He stretched his arms above his head, back cracking as he yawned, eyes scanning the small kitchen. His stomach grumbled, and he instinctively held it, glancing once again at the sleeping Alpha. “You need to eat something warm when you wake up,” he muttered to himself, dragging his feet toward the tiny corner of the kitchen. The pantry was nearly bare, just a few potatoes, a carrot, half an onion, a bag of dried chili flakes, and a tin of turmeric that had seen better days. And meat? What meat? These days, they were lucky if they could even afford eggs. He exhaled slowly, squatting down to rummage through the small basket of vegetables.

The pot clanged softly against the metal stove as he set it down. The water poured in next, followed by a generous pinch of salt, some black pepper, a smidge of turmeric, and just a little chili powder—not too much, because Taehyung’s throat was probably sore. He peeled and sliced the carrot thinly, chopping the potato into small cubes, and tossed them in. Even the half onion he had, he sliced slowly, tearing up a little.

The soft bubbling of the pot began to fill the quiet house. Jungkook sat on the stool beside the stove, chin in his palm, other hand lazily stirring the broth with a wooden spoon.

He was lost in thought when the sudden knock on the door jolted him back into the present.

He blinked, startled, setting the spoon aside. Wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, he hurried over and opened the door, already bracing himself.

There stood Mrs. Wan, her hair tucked under a mismatched floral scarf, holding a metal container in one hand and a curious little boy clinging to her skirt with the other. Her grandson, about four years old, with large eyes and a runny nose—peeked out from behind her, chewing on the hem of his sleeve.

“Oh—Mrs. Wan,” Jungkook blinked, surprised.

“Mrs. Cha told me that Taehyung is sick this morning when I went to get radish.” She didn’t wait for permission and stepped inside, brushing past him with the familiar audacity of elderly women who’ve decided you're family whether you like it or not. “I brought you some beef broth. Not much, but it’s hearty. Boiled it since dawn. Give it to him when he wakes up.”

Jungkook’s mouth opened slightly, heart thudding. “You didn’t have to, really, we were just— I mean, I was making vegetable broth—”

She gave him a look. “Vegetable water, you mean. That won’t do. Take this. He needs real strength and it will only come from beef.”

“I— Thank you. Really, I...” Jungkook bowed deeply, both hands receiving the warm metal container she placed in his palms. “Thank you so much.”

Jungkook quietly placed the warm bowl of beef broth Mrs. Wan had brought beside the pot of simmering vegetable soup, adjusting the position gently so the rising steam wouldn’t make the surface of the broth film too quickly. He gave her a soft smile, still a little flustered and bowing slightly in gratitude as he asked politely, “Would you like some tea, Mrs. Wan? It’s no trouble, really."

Mrs. Wan, already easing her knees onto the low wooden chair with a familiar groan of aged joints, waved a hand with a small puff of air through her wrinkled lips. “No, no, child. I won’t be here for long,” Her little grandson had already run off toward the courtyard area, spinning around a discarded plastic bottle as if it were a toy from the gods themselves.

Jungkook glanced toward the pot on the stove, gave it a gentle stir, and then crouched down a little to check the fire underneath—adjusting the small wooden sticks and blowing lightly to keep the embers alive. Mrs. Wan’s gaze was heavy, and Jungkook could feel it even as he busied himself, tucking some stray strands of his hair behind his ears.

“You know, dear,” she began, folding her hands over her lap, “you should always be well dressed. Especially now that your Alpha is sick.” She gestured with her chin towards Jungkook’s attire. “When men are weak, they need something warm to look at. Comfort. Something to remind them why they fight to get better.”

Jungkook paused mid-stir. He didn’t look back immediately, just tightened his grip on the spoon and slowly resumed a gentle rhythm in the pot. “I—I made sure that he is warm,” he said, but she chuckled at his response.

“No, no. Not warm like that, silly child. I mean you. You should be dressed prettily, with fresh clothes, your hair brushed, maybe a little lip tint. Omegas must always look like flowers for their Alphas,” she said, matter-of-fact, as if she were quoting scripture. Her voice lowered slightly, “If you don’t, they get bored. That’s the truth of it. Then they start wandering. Remarrying. And then poor Omegas sit and cry, wondering what went wrong.”

Jungkook swallowed, the ladle stilling in his hand. He turned to her with a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I…I understand, Mrs. Wan. Thank you.”

The elder woman gave a satisfied nod, as though she’d handed over some great inheritance of wisdom. “It’s just how the world is, Jungkook-ah. I was married off at sixteen. I didn’t know anything back then. But I learned, quickly. You don’t want to give them a reason to look elsewhere. Especially not in these times. Omegas must work harder now. You’re lucky. Your Alpha’s handsome. Polite. Strong-looking. Keep him close, hmm?”

Jungkook simply nodded again, silently, gaze falling to the floor as her words settled heavily in his chest. He wasn’t upset—he knew Mrs. Wan didn’t mean harm. This was what they were all taught. Generations of Omegas who had been told love was earned through beauty and quiet compliance, never through simply existing, never by being enough. He kept his head down, eyes now fixed on the soup as it bubbled gently.

Then suddenly the little boy came running with excitement gleaming in his eyes, clutching a fistful of crumpled, folded shapes with tiny hands. His cheeks were flushed, possibly from the running, and his eyes sparkled as he thrust his paper crafts in front of Mrs. Wan with pride. “Halmoni, look! I made boat!” he chirped, practically bouncing on his feet. Mrs. Wan, delighted, leaned down with a broad smile and clapped her hands softly.

“Oh, my smart boy! Such neat folds! This one really looks like a boat.” she laughed, tossing the small paper boat lightly.

Jungkook, standing by the stove with the ladle still in his hand, smiled politely, but a small furrow had crept between his brows. He tilted his head slightly, observing the clean white pages. That was odd. They didn’t really have spare paper lying around the house.,For a second, he told himself maybe the boy had brought paper with him—maybe some old newspaper scraps. Children sometimes had those with them for coloring or folding. So Jungkook shrugged it off, stirred the simmering soup again.

Mrs. Wan was praising her grandson again. “Go on, make more! Let’s fill the basket and take them home. Maybe you can show your appa how clever you are too, hm?” she said fondly, patting the boy’s head.

Jungkook smiled again, then blinked as curiosity returned. He dried his hands on a nearby towel and asked, “Hey... sweetheart, where did you find that paper from?”

The boy turned around with wide eyes, “There was a book!” he replied simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “A big one with soft cover. Pages were clean! I took them from there.”

Jungkook’s stomach dropped. “A... a book?” His voice cracked slightly.

He exchanged a fleeting glance with Mrs. Wan, who seemed unfazed, still watching her grandson with a proud grin, humming softly.

“I’ll just—I’ll be back in a minute,” Jungkook excused himself quickly, wiping his slightly clammy palms down the front of his skirt, and made his way across the small house, heart now pounding hard enough to feel in his throat.

Jungkook's feet carried him to the far end of the house, beside the broken bookshelf and the cracked window. The notebook,
Alpha had had bought for him—was on the ground. Or rather, what was left of it.

Its cover had been torn in half. The pages—his clean, untouched pages—were all ripped out, crumpled. Some were folded into fans, some crushed into balls, others used as a base for the little paper boat the boy had made. His careful handwriting on the first two pages—were now torn right down the center.

A voice echoed faintly from the kitchen, Mrs. Wan calling out, “Jungkookie? The soup smells really nice!”

Chapter 11

When Mrs. Wan and her grandson finally left the house, the creaking of the wooden gate felt like a relief to Jungkook. He didn’t move from where he sat. His small hands, still trembling, were trying their best to flatten the crumpled pages of his notebook on the straw mat. The crispness of the paper was gone. It was wrinkled and damp from earlier, where he'd cried, breath catching in his throat as he tried not to sob too loudly. His knees were tucked to his chest, sleeves of his soft cream hanbok bunched in his lap, damp at the ends where he kept wiping his face.

The boy was barely five, Jungkook knew that. He shouldn’t be angry at a child. But oh, he was angry. Angry and heartbroken, and mostly helpless. What was he supposed to do? Scold him? Raise his voice? It would only make him look worse, and besides that it wouldn't fix his notebook.

A few more tears slipped down his cheeks, and he hurriedly wiped them away again, trying to be quiet. He didn’t want to wake Taehyung. The Alpha had only just begun to recover from his fever—his skin was still warm to the touch, breaths still a little too slow.

Taehyung stirred under the worn quilt, groaning faintly, the scratch of his throat audible.

“...Jungkook...?” the Alpha murmured.

Jungkook immediately sat up straighter, wiping his face furiously with the sleeve of his hanbok. He leaned over, helping Taehyung sit up slowly, tucking the quilt around his waist. “Careful,” he whispered. “You’re still warm.”

Taehyung blinked several times, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand. But then he turned to look at Jungkook fully—and his brows furrowed deep with worry.

“Jungkook-ah… your face...are you crying?”

Jungkook tried to shake his head, tried to lie and say it was nothing, but his lips trembled before he could form any words. His body betrayed him. And just like that, the dam broke. He started crying. Loudly. Ugly sobbing, hiccuping cries that wracked his whole body and made his shoulders shake as he covered his face with his hands. It startled Taehyung, who immediately reached out, trying to pull Jungkook closer.

“Jungkook,” Taehyung said, panicked, trying to steady him. “What happened? What’s wrong? Did someone say something to you?”

Jungkook shook his head violently but didn’t speak, only cried harder. His cheeks were flushed pink, nose red and dripping, and his hands were gripping the hem of his sleeves, “I—I,” he gasped between sobs, words coming out in broken pieces.

Jungkook was crying so much, “H-Huh—hhic—hnghh…” he kept making helpless, painful sounds, like his chest couldn’t handle what he was feeling. His frame was trembling so violently it made Taehyung’s own breath hitch just watching him.

Taehyung’s heart clenched hard in his chest, and he knelt down in front of the omega, lowering himself so he was eye-level with Jungkook even if he wouldn’t look up. He wanted so badly to pull Jungkook into his arms—but he hesitated. What if Jungkook didn’t want to be touched right now? What if a hug made it worse? “Omega… please, talk to me,” he tried gently, voice soft like he was trying not to scare a wounded animal. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying so much, hmm?” He tilted his head, eyes wide with concern.

Still no answer. Just more soft sniffling.

“Okay… okay,” Taehyung exhaled shakily and inched closer, his hand hovering beside Jungkook’s arm without touching. “Can you… can you just look at me for a second?” he whispered. “Just look at me, that’s all. You don’t have to say anything. Please?”

Jungkook shook his head again, tighter this time, and sniffled so hard it sounded like it hurt. “D-Don’t… want to…”

Taehyung moved his hand closer, gently resting it beside Jungkook instead of directly on him. “Please… look at me, Jungkook,” he tried again, softer now, almost pleading. “Just once…”

A long pause.

Then, jungkook finally lifted his head just an inch. His face was a mess—red eyes, wet lashes, flushed cheeks, nose running, lips trembling. He looked like a kitten that had been caught out in a storm. He peeked up through his bangs.

Jungkook's fingers tugging uselessly at the crumpled notebook in his lap. The pages were torn at the edges and damp in the corners, "Mrs. Wan a-and her g-grandson came.... I wa-as cooking a-and he used my no-notebook to make p-paper boats.." He lifted the notebook and shoved it toward Taehyungs. The pages fluttered sadly between them, some clinging to one another from moisture. “It’s ruined…” he let out another loud sniffle.

Taehyung looked down at the notebook handed to him, he reached out with his long fingers and gently took it, resting it in his lap. His other hand came up to rub at the back of his neck, as he glanced sideways at the fuming younger. “Aigoo,” he exhaled dramatically. “Jungkook-ah you should have scolded him.”

“I th-hought Mrs. Wan w-would get mad,” Jungkook replied immediately, his nose was still red. “I...... I-It looks like a mop,” tears again began falling from his eyes as he looked at his notebook once more.

"Shushh, don't cry, don't cry."

He leaned back a little, inspecting the pages. “Mmm, it’s bad, but not hopeless,” he murmured, flipping one bent page carefully with a fingertip. “Uncle Han can stitch the spine for you tomorrow. He does a very good job, trust me.” He glanced at Jungkook and saw the way his lower lip was still jutted out, how he was staring at the ruined notebook. Taehyung’s heart tugged with something and he reached out to rest his hand gently on Jungkook’s head.

"The n-notebook was already expensive and now y-you will have to pay more to f-fix it," Jungkook whispered, not meeting Taehyung’s eyes.

Alpha ruffled the messy dark strands of the omega before letting his palm settle there. “Come on now. This is the bare minimum. Alpha can at least do this for his omega. Can’t he?” His tone softened even more, his thumb lightly caressing the crown of Jungkook’s head as he looked at him with a slight smile.

Jungkook didn't respond right away. His lashes lowered, and he blinked slowly, a little ashamed now for crying so hard earlier. He hated being seen like that. But the Alpha didn’t mock him, didn’t roll his eyes or tell him to grow up or that he should have been more careful. Instead, he handled the ruined notebook like it was valuable, touched his hair with care, and promised to fix it without hesitation. That made his throat feel tight again.

He sniffed and rubbed his nose, this time more gently, trying to hide the way his lips were twitching toward a pout. “I’ll… I’ll get you some beef broth,” he said suddenly, “Mrs. Wan left some. I didn’t reheat it yet.” He stood up slightly clumsy, sleeve flapping as he wiped his cheek.

────୨ৎ────

The soft chirping of birds outside was the only sound that stirred the silent morning air as the golden light of morning spread through the rice paper window. Taehyung blinked slowly, his vision adjusting as he woke up, the faint ache in his back was a familiar companion from years of sleeping on firm bedding. He stretched once, a long, quiet sigh leaving his lips—but just as he moved to rise, his gaze landed on something that made him freeze.

There, curled up on the hard wooden floor just beside his mattress, lay Jungkook.

The younger’s body was turned slightly toward him, one small hand tucked under his cheek, his dark lashes casting shadows over the soft swell of his cheeks. He wasn’t wrapped in a blanket. Not even a sheet. His limbs were pulled in for warmth. The pale light from the window fell gently across his face. His lips were parted slightly, drooling.

Taehyung hissed under his breath, guilt tightening in his chest. “Aish… how could I have slept through the night with him down there?” he muttered, frowning as he sat up straighter.

He had fallen asleep again when Jungkook went to get beef broth.

Taehyung pushed the blanket off himself and knelt down beside Jungkook. His large hands hovered at first, unsure where to touch. He didn’t want to wake him just yet, but he also couldn’t leave him lying there any longer. The floor was too cold. Finally, he slid one arm under the boy’s knees, the other behind his back, lifting him gently. Jungkook stirred slightly, a soft breath escaping his parted lips, but he didn’t wake. His head lolled slightly against Taehyung’s chest as the Alpha gently placed him on the mattress.

With a smile, he pulled the blanket up over Jungkook’s body, tucking it carefully around his shoulders and feet. His fingers lingered for a moment at Jungkook’s forehead, brushing a strand of hair away before patting it softly.

“Sleep properly,” he whispered.

He stood and padded quietly to the outer bathroom. The water was cold, as always, and it made him suck in a sharp breath when he splashed it over his face. He washed quickly, the cold jolting him awake properly. A few birds flew overhead as he stood under the low sun, drying his face with a towel slung over a wooden peg. The village was slowly coming alive, the distant clatter of pots, a rooster crowing, the hum of daily life beginning.

He returned to the house and opened the wooden closet where he kept his clothes. He pulled out his faded hanfu, the fabric rough against his fingers. It had been mended several times—visible stitches at the sleeves, a small patch near the hem, but it was clean and strong. He pulled it on swiftly and stood before the small mirror nailed to the wall, tying the faded navy sash tightly around his waist. As he cinched the last knot, he paused, remembering something.

The notebook.

He turned, eyes searching the small shelf beside the mattress where he’d left it last night. He found it, still resting there with its bent pages. He grabbed it, tucked it securely into his sash at the front, the thick edge pressing lightly against his stomach. “Let’s get you fixed up,” he muttered to the notebook, then turned back toward the mattress.

Jungkook was still asleep, curled slightly on his side now, the blanket kicked halfway down. Taehyung shook his head and stepped closer. He crouched down again, this time not to move him, but to wake him.

“Omega,” he called softly, shaking his shoulder once, gently. “Jungkook-ah.” Jungkook groaned quietly, his face burying deeper into the mattress.

“I am going to the fields.”

At that, Jungkook stirred more visibly. His eyes blinked open slowly, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. “You’re going now?” he asked sleepily, trying to sit up but failing halfway and slumping back down.

“Hmmm."

Jungkook blinked, yawning into the blanket. “Are you going to fix the notebook today?”

Taehyung patted the sash over his stomach where the notebook was hidden. “It’s with me. I’ll stop by Uncle Han’s place on the way back.”

Jungkook’s face softened at that, eyes still fluttering with sleep. He mumbled something that sounded like “okay” and let his body sink back into the mattress. As Taehyung stood, he felt the omega’s eyes on him—half-lidded but soon the omega was slightly snoring once again.

────୨ৎ────

Taehyung made his way down the narrow, trodden path that led into the village square. The roofs were damp with dew, and smoke curled lazily from a few chimneys, mingling with the soft scent of soybean stew and pickled radish from the neighboring homes. His straw sandals tapped against the uneven earth. The village was slowly waking. Roosters crowed from somewhere near the mill, and he could hear the gentle scolding of a grandmother chasing a child who had gone out barefoot again. As Taehyung turned into the alley where Mr. Han’s little sewing shop was, a small wooden shop with faded red lanterns hanging at the corners and bolts of cloth rolled up in the open windows— he saw the older man already sitting outside, a bowl of steamed barley balanced on one knee, chopsticks held loosely as he chewed slowly, eyes squinting at the sky like it owed him an explanation.

“Going to the fields?” Mr. Han asked without looking down.

Taehyung dipped his head respectfully, the kind of bow young men gave to village elders they respected, but didn’t fear. “Yes, good morning, Mr. Han,” he greeted warmly, straightening with a soft smile, pulling the notebook from his sash. “But first… I came with a small request.”

“Small request?” Mr. Han muttered, finally looking down as Taehyung approached, and blinked at the tattered, crumpled object being handed to him. “What’s this mess now?” He set aside his barley bowl and took the notebook in both calloused hands, fingers brushing over the bent covers and the torn pages. The old tailor pursed his lips and opened it carefully, flipping through the pages, “Aigoo,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “This one’s been through war.”

Taehyung chuckled quietly, rocking on his heels. “Mrs. Wan’s little grandson got too curious yesterday and tore papers from it to make boats.”

“He is a sweet boy but oh well,” Mr. Han mumbled absently, returning to the notebook. He studied the spine, ran a thumb over a tear on the edge of one page, then exhaled loudly through his nose. “I can sew it. Rebind it too, better than before. But…” He looked over his spectacles and gestured toward a few torn sheets, “Some pages are too far gone. I’ll need to use new ones to replace these. So it will cost more.”

Taehyung raised an eyebrow and clicked his tongue. “Aigoo, so now you’re going to ask me for more coins? Tsk, tsk, Mr. Han, I come here in peace and you attack my pocket?”

The elder burst out laughing, the lines on his face deepening with amusement. He reached over and smacked Taehyung’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “You brat. Always talking big for someone who still owes me five coins from the wedding cloth I stitched!”

“Eh? That debt’s still alive?” Taehyung gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “You keep accounts better than the governor.”

Mr. Han chuckled, waving him off. “It’ll be done by tomorrow. Come get it before sunset.”

“Understood, understood,” Taehyung replied with a bow.

Mr. Han muttered something, already getting up to take the notebook inside, brushing off the dust from his knees as he walked back into his shop.

With a grateful nod and a final wave, Taehyung turned on his heel and headed toward the fields, the morning sun rising behind him, casting long golden shadows over the red-dirt path. His fingers absentmindedly brushed his empty sash, thinking about Jungkook’s puffy eyes, the way the omega had tried to hide his tears, and the gentle way his voice trembled when he said he’d make beef broth for him. Taehyung smiled softly, eyes warming.

────୨ৎ────

Taehyung’s rough hanfu was soaked through, his hair plastered to his forehead, and his hands were blistered despite years of callouses — but he didn’t complain. He was used to this life. The ache in his spine, the burn in his arms — it was familiar. His broad shoulders heaved as he bent down one more time to tug at a stubborn root, using all the force in his lean, muscled arms until the soil gave way with a satisfying pop and the plant came loose. He straightened slowly, wiping the sweat from his brow with a rag that was no longer white but stained with dirt and time. Around him, the other farmers had started sitting down under the shade of the lone tree that grew beside the paddy wall, pulling out water gourds, fanning themselves with wide leaves, laughing and stretching and letting their muscles rest.

Taehyung lingered a moment longer, then finally made his way to them, joining the half-circle of tired men on woven mats and overturned baskets. He dropped down onto an overturned bucket with a sigh, unscrewed his water bottle, and drank deeply. Just as he poured a bit of water onto his rag to cool his neck, he heard a raspy voice from across the group.

“Taehyung-ah,” came the drawling tone of Mr. Baek, a gruff man in his fifties with a thick beard and a permanent sneer that he probably thought passed as a smile. “You’re not young anymore, huh. Been working these fields for what eleven years now?”

Taehyung raised an eyebrow and offered a curt nod, not really looking for conversation. He dabbed the rag on the back of his neck, closing his eyes briefly.

Mr. Baek didn’t get the hint.

“You should start thinking about having a few children,” the older man continued, chewing on the end of a rice straw. “Someone to inherit your work, someone to carry your name. Can’t let all your work die with you, eh?”

A few others chuckled politely, but Taehyung didn’t return the humor. “My omega isn’t ready yet.”

Taehyung always had the believe that only his omega will get to decide how many kids they should have, and when they should have. He didn’t had the right to force his partner to go through something that painful if they weren't ready.

“Not ready?” Mr. Baek snorted, spitting to the side. “That pretty little thing of yours doesn’t want children? You let your omega decide for you now?”

Taehyung’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t answer. He went back to wiping his face.

But the man didn’t stop. “Tch. God forbids, what if—” he let out a dramatic exhale and leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee, “what if your omega’s barren? Eh? Did that thought ever crawl into your head? Might be why there’s no pup yet. All that sugar and soft skin but no seed to sprout.”

It happened in a flash.

The rag slipped from Taehyung’s hand and hit the dirt.

He stood so suddenly his overturned bucket wobbled, and before anyone could react, he had crossed the space between them and grabbed Mr. Baek by the collar with a force that startled the rest of the resting farmers. Dust kicked up around their feet as Taehyung yanked the older man upward, fists clenched tightly in the fabric of his loose work robe.

“What did you say?” he growled, close enough for Mr. Baek to smell the sweat and rage coming off him. “How dare you speak about my omega like that?”

Mr. Baek’s eyes widened, face going red with a mix of shock and anger, but his pride wouldn't let him back down. “You lost your damn mind?” he snapped, trying to jerk away, but Taehyung held firm.

“You think you can say whatever filth comes to your mouth about my omega?”

“You’re being a damn fool!” Mr. Baek shouted, shoving at his chest, but not with enough strength to break free. “You gonna beat me up now for a joke?”

Other farmers rushed in between them then, hands outstretched, trying to pull them apart. “Alright, alright, enough! That’s enough!” one man shouted, pushing against Taehyung’s chest while another tried to separate Mr. Baek.

“Taehyung, stop! You’re gonna get blood on your hands for a stupid mouth!” someone else said, voice rising with panic. Then, Taehyung punched Mr. Baek right in the face, at that moment he forgot that he was raising his hands on someone elder than him.

His chest was still heaving, his hands clenched tightly into fists, the other man had fallen back, stunned more than injured, holding his jaw and still cursing under his breath. The heated tension in the field drew eyes from every corner, farmers paused their chewing of barley rice, and even the oxen tied nearby were startled by the raised voices. Just then, the chief, marched up through the dirt rows, his straw hat barely staying on his head. His eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of Taehyung standing while the other man was crouched and cursing.

"Kim Taehyung!" the chief shouted, "I let you work this field out of respect for your late father! But you—" he pointed a thick finger at him, walking closer until he was almost nose-to-nose, "—first don't show up yesterday, and now you think it's alright to throw punches in the middle of the fields like it's some tavern brawl?" Taehyung opened his mouth to explain, but the chief didn’t allow it. "Don't give me excuses!"

Taehyung's jaw tensed as he lowered his head, fists still tight. "He insulted my omega," he said under his breath.

"What? Speak up!" the chief barked.

Taehyung raised his head, eyes fierce. "He said my omega might be barren."

The chief blinked, his anger faltering for a second before hardening again. "I don’t care what filth he spewed! You think you're the only one people talk about in this village? You could’ve walked away. But no—every time you act like you’re above everyone. You think you work harder than others? You don’t even show up half the time."

Taehyung’s face flushed red, part rage, part shame.

"And today you're here stirring up trouble instead of working! That's enough. You're not a kid anymore, Taehyung-ah," the chief growled, spitting to the side. "If you can't hold your temper or your responsibilities, then you don’t deserve this field. Go find yourself another ridge to till. You're no longer needed here."

Chapter 12: House

So someone asked me if I could make a sketch of Taehyung’s and Jungkook’s house so that the parts relating the house are easier to grasp. I am not really good at this stuff but I tried, I hope you understand it better now.

Chapter 14

Jungkook had been sitting by the low wooden table, legs folded neatly beneath him, sorting through the rice grains in an old, shallow bamboo tray. They hadn’t much in the house, just enough rice left for a meal, and even then, Jungkook knew he’d have to add more water than usual to make it stretch. A few pieces of radish sat in a wooden bowl nearby, to be boiled into a thin soup.

The clay stove in the corner was already heating with a small, frugal fire. Jungkook had crouched low earlier to coax the flames, tucking his sleeves up as he blew carefully into the embers, not wanting to waste too much wood. His hair was loose today, brushing the sides of his face. Just as he reached to scoop the cleaned rice into the iron pot, a noise at the gate caught his attention, a faint tok-tok against the wooden door. He froze for a second, his first thought being that it might be one of the neighbors again. He set the tray of rice aside, brushed off his hands on his skirt, and stood, stepping quickly over to the door.

When he slid the latch and opened it, he didn’t expect what he saw.

Taehyung was there. The Alpha stood in the afternoon light, his broad shoulders slumped in a way Jungkook rarely saw. His hair was slightly damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead, and his white undershirt clung to his chest and back.

“Alpha… why are you home so early?” Jungkook asked, his voice soft but filled with confusion. Usually, Taehyung didn’t come back from the farm until the sun dipped low.

“...Good evening,” he said simply, and stepped inside the house.

Jungkook closed the wooden gate behind him and slid the latch firmly into place. “Why are you home early from the farm?” he asked again, his brows knitting together as he followed Taehyung into the main ground.

Taehyung didn’t answer right away. He sat down heavily on the floor, crossing his legs, his back leaning slightly against the wall. His skin glistened with sweat, and he exhaled, “Water,” he muttered quietly, glancing toward the corner where the water pot was kept, “Can you… get me some water?”

The request made Jungkook straighten immediately. “Of course,” he said, almost too quickly, and padded to the corner. He lifted the lid from the clay jar, dipped the wooden ladle in, and poured water into a simple clay cup. It wasn’t that cold, but it would be refreshing in this heat. He came back to Taehyung and crouched down to offer it with both hands.

Taehyung took it and immediately started drinking it. A few drops slid down his chin and darkened the front of his robes. When he finished, he let out a low breath and set the cup down beside him. Jungkook shifted closer, his knees pressing lightly against the ground as bent down slightly.

“What’s wrong Taehyung-shi?” he asked softly, his hands resting on his lap.

Taehyung’s gaze was fixed on the ground, his jaw tightening silently before he finally said, in a low tone, “...The chief kicked me out of the farm.”

Jungkook’s breath caught, his lips parting slightly as a small gasp escaped him. “...What? Why?” Work was scarce, land even more so, and losing a place on a ridge meant losing food for the winter.

Taehyung shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flickering briefly to Jungkook’s face before looking away again. “There was an... arugument," he said shortly.

Jungkook’s brows furrowed. “arguing?” he repeated.

But Taehyung only nodded his head slightly, his lips pressed into a thin line. He wasn’t going to tell him Jungkook because it was going to hurt the omega. He was already ashamed for losing his work.

Taehyung sat there for a long moment, his broad shoulders slumped forward, one hand rubbing over his tired face as though it might wipe away the heaviness pressing down on him. There were dirt stains on his robes, he hadn’t even thought of stopping to wash before coming home. It wasn’t like he could go back to the farm now anyway. The more he thought about the chief’s words, the more a bitter taste coated his tongue. It wasn’t just that he had been kicked out—it was that he wasn't even in the wrong. Was defending his omega this wrong for others? He lowered his hand and glanced sideways at Jungkook, who was now siting beside him.

"…It’s fine," Taehyung said suddenly, "The construction work in the east will start again soon. They said it’s just a matter of weeks. I’ll go there, earn from that. And tomorrow I’ll start asking around for another place to work in the meantime." He forced a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "Your Alpha won’t let you go hungry, hmm?"

Jungkook didn’t look up immediately, he just let out a slow breath. "Alright." There was no judgment in it. “Drink more. You’re overheated,” he murmured.

Jungkook watched the way Taehyung’s fingers fingers dwarfed around the cup once again, the way his knuckles were reddened, not badly, but enough to tell him the fight hadn’t just been words.

They sat in silence for a while, the crackle of the kindling catching on the small fire filling the area. Outside, the wind rustled faintly through the old wooden gate, and somewhere in the distance a rooster crowed late. Taehyung’s thoughts wandered bitterly again, to the almost-empty grain jar, to the small pouch of coins tucked away in the corner of the chest. Twenty coins. Two weeks, if they were careful. And after that? The price of rice had gone up again last week, and even vegetables were costing more.

Taehyung shifted slightly, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He didn’t regret marrying Jungkook—never that—but some part of him burned with shame at the thought that his omega, so young and gentle, had been bound to someone like him. Someone who could barely keep enough food in their bowls.

Then jungkook looked over his shoulder and saw that there was stream coming out from the pot of water he had set on the fire.

“...... I will go and cook.”

────୨ৎ────

Jungkook sat on his knees, the steam from the boiling pot rising in thin curls that blurred the edges of his vision. His mind, however, was not on the rice in front of him. He stirred once, absentmindedly, the wooden spoon scraping lightly against the inside of the pot, but his thoughts were miles away. No work. No pay. No food beyond what they had left for two days. Jungkook’s small fingers tightened around the spoon as a new wave of fear washed over him.

What would they do now? His throat felt tight. Ever since Taehyung bought the notebook for him, he had been meaning to tell the alpha of his wish of studying further. But how could he ask now, when Alpha couldn’t even guarantee food for the next week? The words he’d imagined saying died in his mind before they could even form.

His eyes fixed on the glowing orange embers beneath the stove. The rate of rice had gone up again last week, and he knew even the smallest bundle of vegetables now cost more than it had last month. Would they… actually starve? He shook his head quickly, as if shaking off the thought would erase the reality.

He didn’t even notice the faint burning smell at first. His stirring slowed, his mind still turning over the same bleak questions. The smell grew sharper, a bitterness mixing with the steam, until it finally reached a point that snapped him back into the present. His nose twitched. Something… was wrong.

His eyes darted to the pot. The steam looked different now, thicker, darker at the edges. Panic shot through him. “Oh no—!” he gasped. He moved without thinking, his body jerking forward.

In his rush, he forgot the most basic thing — the clay pot had been sitting directly over the fire for several minutes now. Without hesitation, he grabbed its handles with his bare hands.

The pain hit instantly.

“A-ah!” he yelped, as a searing burn shot through his palms and fingers. It felt like the heat was burrowing deep into his skin. Instinct made him drop it, and the heavy pot clattered against the stove, jolting his knees. The lid slipped sideways, and with it, precious grains of rice tumbled out, spilling onto the floor.

His eyes went wide in horror. “No, no, no—” he muttered frantically, almost breathless. He scrambled forward, ignoring the sting in his hands, his knees scraping against the wooden floor. He pushed the pot upright, but it was too late. At least half of the rice was gone, scattered in a messy heap that couldn’t be saved, the dirt from the floor had already clung to it.

The rest, still inside the pot, was burnt at the bottom. The blackened smell was strong now. Jungkook’s breathing came in short, shallow bursts. There wasn’t enough left for even one person to be full.

His hands throbbed painfully, the skin reddened and raw. He cradled them against his chest, biting his lower lip to keep the tears at bay. But the knot in his throat was too big, and his vision blurred anyway. There was nothing else to cook. He wanted to scream, to rewind the last few minutes, to be careful, to pay attention — but instead he just sat, small and shaking, his fingers curling instinctively against the burn even though it made the pain worse.

"Jungkook-ah?"

Taehyung had changed into his cleaner, simple brown robes, still worn from years of use, but far better than the dirt-streaked clothes he’d been wearing in the fields earlier. He was rubbing his still-damp hair with the edge of his sleeve, his broad shoulders slumping forward but the moment his eyes swept over the area and landed on the sight before him, his body stiffened, and all traces of weariness seemed to vanish in an instant.

The clay pot lay on its side on the floor near the low hearth, its lid tilted awkwardly against the edge of the brick stove. A thin trail of steam curled upward from the spilled grains scattered across the ground, some clumped together in sticky lumps, others already drying where they had landed. Jungkook was kneeling on the floor beside it, his small frame hunched forward, both hands cradled to his chest. His wide doe eyes were glassy, shimmering as though on the verge of tears, cheeks flushed pink from both the heat of the hearth and the shock of what had just happened.

Taehyung’s breath caught in his throat. “Jungkook-ah,” he called quickly, as he crossed the area in long strides. “What happened?”

The omega’s head snapped up at the sound of his voice, his lips parting as if to speak, but instead, a small whimper escaped him first. “I—I was making the rice,” Jungkook stammered, his words tumbling out in a rush as if saying them fast enough would make the situation less terrible. “I didn’t notice it was burning until I smelled it, so I tried to take the pot off, but it was so hot—I didn’t think—and I just—” He winced sharply, pulling his hands closer to his chest. “It fell, Alpha. I dropped it. And now… now there’s hardly any rice left.” His voice cracked at the end.

Taehyung didn’t waste another breath. He crouched down in front of him, taking Jungkook’s smaller hands into his own much larger ones. The moment his rough fingertips brushed against Jungkook’s skin, he could feel the heat radiating off the burns, the skin already angry red in patches. Taehyung hissed quietly, his jaw tightening. “These are bad,” he murmured, without letting go, he shifted one hand away only to reach for the water jar set against the wall. He dipped a nearby clay cup into the cool water and gently guided Jungkook’s hands toward it. “Here—keep them in the water. It’ll help with the pain. Don't worry about the rice, I wil figure something out.”

He didn’t even glanced at the rice, not even once.

Jungkook’s lips trembled as his fingers sank into the cool water, a sharp hiss escaping him. “Ah—it’s cold,” he complained softly, but didn’t pull away. He bit down on his lip, shoulders curling in.

“Alpha…” Jungkook’s eyes darted toward the mess on the floor, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “We don’t have much left. If we eat what’s there today, we’ll have… maybe a day or two before we run out. I...... I am sorry.” His voice wavered, and he pressed his lips together, clearly trying not to cry.

Taehyung reached out, gently tilting Jungkook’s chin upward until their eyes met. “Jungkook-ah. I said I figure it out,” he said, slower this time, “I can still make something from what’s left. Maybe a thin soup. We’ll both eat from it. It won’t be much, but it will be enough for today.”

Jungkook’s lips parted, as if he wanted to argue, but instead, he lowered his gaze again and gave the faintest of nods. “I’m still sorry,” he murmured.

Taehyung’s hand brushed over the back of Jungkook’s head, “keep your fingers in the water a little longer.” He stood, glancing toward the pot still on the floor. With a slow breath, he crouched again and lifted it carefully with a cloth this time, setting it back on the brick stove. He peered inside, frowning slightly at the thin layer of rice clumped together near the top while the bottom was clearly burned black. “I will scrape what’s good and put it into soup.”

He didn’t want Jungkook to see the worry that had been eating at him all afternoon, so he turned back to the hearth, crouching low as he began to scrape out the salvageable rice into a smaller clay bowl. “I told you,” he said after a moment, keeping his tone steady, “I’ll find another place to work. And when the construction starts again, I’ll join there. We just have to make it through these next few days Don’t worry about anything. Your Alpha is a useful man, I can choop wood, carry water, mend fences and.... even scrub floors if needed.”

────୨ৎ────

The soup was done now, it was mostly water, clear with only a few grains of softened rice drifting near the surface, and some reddish. He lifted the pot carefully so as not to spill a single drop, pouring the watery broth into two rough clay bowls. After placing the bowls onto the low table, he took the small mound of rice they’d salvaged—barely enough for one—and put it into a third bowl. His gaze flickered toward Jungkook again, checking his hands before he even sat down.

Jungkook was sitting quietly, cradling his injured hand in his lap. Taehyung walked over, and knelt in front of him.

“Let me see,” he murmured, and reached for Jungkook’s hand and carefully unwrapped the cloth, revealing reddened skin and faint blistering where the boiling pot had scorched him. Taehyung’s jaw tensed, a small crease forming between his brows.

“It’s not as bad now… the burning’s cooled,” he said after a moment, “Still—” he pulled a strip of clean cloth from the folded pile near the wall, wrapping Jungkook’s fingers in it. His fingers lingered just slightly on Jungkook’s wrist before he tied the knot securely.

“Let’s eat,” Taehyung finally said, leaning back just enough to meet Jungkook’s eyes.

Jungkook gave a small nod, trying to smile, but his lips barely curved upward. They both knew the soup was little more than flavored water, but neither mentioned it. They sat together at the table, the bowls steaming faintly in front of them. Jungkook reached for his spoon but faltered—his right hand, the one he used for eating, was wrapped and stiff. He tried to awkwardly switch to his left hand.

Taehyung noticed instantly. “Don’t,” he said softly, picking up the rice bowl himself. “I’ll help you.”

Jungkook hesitated, cheeks warming faintly. “It’s fine, I can—”

“You can’t,” Taehyung interrupted gently but firmly, as if the matter were settled. He scooped a small portion of rice into his rough hand, then dipped it into the watery soup so it soaked up what little flavor there was. He blowed on it a few times.

And then he brought it to Jungkook’s lips without a word, holding it steadily until the omega leaned forward, opening his mouth slightly to take the bite. The texture was soft, almost mushy, but warm. Jungkook chewed quietly, lowering his gaze to avoid the intensity of Taehyung’s eyes.

“Is it too hot?” Taehyung asked after a moment.

Jungkook shook his head. “No… it’s good,” he murmured.

Taehyung scooped another bite, dipping it again in the soup before offering it. “Eat slowly,” he said, his voice low.

Jungkook took the bite, this time glancing up briefly. “You should eat too,” he said softly. “You worked all day—”

Taehyung gave a small, humorless chuckle. “Not today,” he said, his jaw tightening for the briefest second before he smoothed his expression again. “I’ll eat after. You first.”

Jungkook swallowed, looking at the soup and rice between them. “We should share evenly—”

“We are,” Taehyung said simply, holding another bite near Jungkook’s lips after blowing on it.

────୨ৎ────

After they had finished eating, Taehyung left with the clay pot to refil it from the well nearby. Jungkook sat for a while after Taehyung left, just staring at the empty bowls on the table and feeling the faint pulse of his fingers under the cloth bandage. Sitting here and doing nothing made him restless.

He drummed his uninjured fingers lightly on the wooden table before standing up with a sigh. “Maybe… I should go to him.” He muttered it under his breath as if saying it softly would make it less of a bad idea. He didn’t actually know where the well was, but he figured it couldn’t be too far. The village wasn’t that big. He stepped out, the sun pressing its heat against his back immediately. He kept glancing around, trying to remember if Taehyung had ever mentioned where the well was.

He wandered past a row of houses with low fences and little gardens where laundry hung out to dry. He squinted ahead, unsure which way to turn, when a faint murmur of voices caught his attention. It was the kind of sound that made people instinctively slow down, that low, gossipy hum along with bursts of laughter that didn’t feel entirely kind. Curiosity tugged at him, and before he realized it, his steps carried him toward the source.

Near a cluster of shade trees, a group of women were gathered. They stood in a loose circle, baskets of laundry at their feet, their hands busy folding or shaking out clothes. Jungkook’s pace faltered. He ducked behind the side of a small storage shed, only close enough to hear without being seen.

“—and I’m telling you, the chief was furious,” one woman said, her voice pitched high with disbelief. “First that boy doesn’t even show up to work yesterday, and then today he’s throwing punches like some drunk in the marketplace. What does he expect?”

The others murmured in agreement. Another voice, lower but firm, added, “Taehyung's lucky the chief didn’t have him beaten for disrespect. Everyone has omegas. If someone says a word, you ignore it. You don’t go swinging your fists.”

Then one of the older women said, “It’s that omega of his. Trouble always starts with them. He’s been married for a while now and still no pups. What kind of omega can’t give his alpha pups? It eats away at a man’s pride. No wonder he’s so short-tempered. I don't blame Taehyung, it's always the omegas.”

A ripple of laughter and agreement passed through the group. Jungkook’s breath caught, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. He wanted to step forward, to scream that they didn’t know anything about him, about them. But before he could even gather the courage, another woman, younger but with a cruel edge to her tone, said, “Maybe the omega’s just… barren. You can tell sometimes. Some of them just have that look.”

Then a few low hums of agreement followed.

Jungkook pressed his back against the shed wall, his nails digging into the wood. His throat felt tight. Barren? His cheeks burned hot, his lips trembling as he bit down on them hard to keep any sound from escaping.

He told himself not to listen, that they were just bored women with nothing better to do than spit poison.

“Honestly,” another woman said, lowering her voice, “I wouldn't be suprised if Taehyung remarries, that boy gives him nothing. He got a pretty face but what's the point of it when there's no good news.”

There were soft, pitying noises, the kind that weren’t real pity at all. Jungkook’s hands curled into fists. His burnt fingers throbbed painfully with the movement, but he didn’t care. He swallowed hard, forcing back the lump rising in his throat. His voice came out sharp, almost trembling from the pressure building in his chest. He was done, so done.

"Who are you," he said, stepping closer so they could see him, "to speak about whether I am barren or not? Who gave you the right to talk about such things as if it’s your life?"

The group of women, all older than him, exchanged glances, some gasped knowing at Jungkook has heard them. They were glancing at each other not knowing what to say. They weren’t regretful though.

"And if I am?" Jungkook snapped, stepping forward until they instinctively leaned back a fraction. "What if I am barren? Am I only born to make pups for your approval? Is that all an omega is to you? Just a vessel?"

They looked at him as though he had just spat on the temple altar. One woman clutched at her chest and muttered, "God forbid… God forbid!" The others quickly echoed, "God forbid, God forbid!" as though chanting it would erase what he had said from the air.

The oldest among them narrowed her eyes, "Careful with your tongue, boy. Speaking like that, you are rejecting God’s blessings. Pups are blessings—every omega should know this. To say otherwise is to invite misfortune upon yourself and your alpha."

Jungkook’s jaw tightened. His chest was rising and falling faster, "Blessings?" he repeated bitterly. "You think my worth is measured only in whether I can give children? You think if I am barren, I am less of an omega, less of a husband, less of a human being?"

He didn’t cared about how loud his voice was now, how much more could he have taken in without doing anything?

Chapter 15

Jungkook’s chest was still rising and falling sharply, his breath was uneven as he stumbled back toward his home. His feet crunched against the dry earth, and though he kept wiping his face with the sleeve of his thin robes, the heat in his cheeks wouldn’t go away. His head was still filled with the voices of those women. He wanted to tear those words out of his head, but they wouldn't leave. He muttered curses under his breath, and each one came out shakier than the last. By the time he reached the wooden latch of the gate, his small hands trembled as he pushed it open, and the old wood creaked as if mocking him. He stepped inside, closing it behind him quickly, pressing his back against it for a moment. He sniffled again, biting down on his lip, still fuming, still hurting, still so confused why everyone thought they had the right to speak about him.

Jungkook wiped at his wet lashes again and muttered, “Who are they to say such things…?” His voice broke, softer than he wanted it to be, because even though he wanted to sound strong, he just sounded like a boy who was tired of being kicked around.

And then, the wooden door creaked open again. Jungkook startled, his breath catching, and turned his head quickly.

Taehyung stepped inside, carrying the heavy bucket of water balanced on one side. His hair was slightly damp where he had bent at the well to lift the bucket. He pushed the door shut with his foot, carefully set the bucket down against the wall, and wiped his forehead with the back of his arm.

Seeing him—seeing his alpha, standing there as though nothing had happened, Jungkook’s throat tightened painfully. Tears stung his eyes all over again. Taehyung had fought… gotten into trouble, lost work, all because of him, and now he was standing here pretending nothing had happened?

Jungkook’s lips parted before he could stop himself. “What… what was the fight about at the farm, Alpha?”

Taehyung stilled. He had been reaching for a cloth to dry his hands but froze mid-motion, Slowly, he turned to look at Jungkook. He gave a faint smile, but it was tight, strained at the edges. “It was nothing,” he said quietly, lowering his gaze to the floor as he busied himself with straightening the water bucket. “Men quarrel over work all the time. Someone said I wasn’t doing enough, and I—”

“No,” Jungkook interrupted sharply, his voice wobbling, his fingers were twisted into the fabric of his own robe, “Don’t… don’t lie to me, Alpha. I already know.”

Taehyung’s head shot up at that as he stepped closer in two strides, his shadow falling over Jungkook, “Who told you? Did someone say something to you? Jungkook-ah, tell me did someone speak to you?”

Jungkook opened his mouth, but no words came out. His throat closed up, choked with the memory of those women’s harsh voices, their hissing tongues. He wanted to tell Taehyung, he wanted to say it all but his chest was aching too much, his face was already wet, and before he knew it, hot tears spilled again down his cheeks.

His body shook as he cried, hands clutching helplessly at his robe. He hadn’t wanted to.

Taehyung’s eyes widened in panic. “Jungkook-ah what is it? Who said something to you? Tell me, right now!” His voice was shaking now too, threaded with rising anger. His fists clenched at his sides.

He was halfway to the door, his body already tense with the urge to fight again, when Jungkook’s hands suddenly latched onto his robe. Jungkook threw himself forward and wrapped his arms around Taehyung’s waist, burying his face against his chest.

Taehyung froze. Completely froze. For a moment, he could not even breathe. His heart stopped and then started pounding so hard it hurt. Since the day they were married, Jungkook had never… never once reached for him like this. Never once clung to him, never sought comfort in his arms. The boy had always been distant, shy.

Taehyung’s arms hovered awkwardly in the air for a long moment, as though he was afraid that if he moved wrong, Jungkook would push him away.

“...Jungkook-ah,” he said softly, his voice lower now, “Is this… is this alright? Can I…”

Jungkook didn’t answer with words. He only pressed closer, his tears soaking into the rough fabric of Taehyung’s chest, muffling his sobs against the alpha’s warmth. His grip was so tight that it almost hurt.

That was all the answer Taehyung needed. His arms came down slowly, carefully, and then firmly around Jungkook’s small frame. He held him close, one hand cradling the back of his head, fingers brushing against the soft strands of his hair, the other wrapping protectively around his waist.

Jungkook’s sobs grew louder, almost wailing now, his whole body was curling into Taehyung’s. Taehyung rocked him gently, back and forth, like calming a child, his hand never leaving Jungkook’s hair. After what felt like forever, Jungkook’s sobs began to quiet, though his body still shook with hiccups. His fingers, reddened from the burns, were still knotted tightly in Taehyung’s robe. Taehyung leaned down, speaking softly.

“Shh,” Taehyung whispered, brushing the side of Jungkook’s nose with the back of his knuckle. “I don’t care about what everyone says.”

“They don’t have any right to speak about my omega. Not one word.” His voice rose just slightly on the last line, then he lowered it again, softening, his hand still cupping Jungkook’s cheek.

And before Jungkook could speak again, Taehyung lowered his head and pressed his lips against Jungkook’s burnt fingers. His mouth pressed on the wrapped cloth and the reddened tips where the skin had begun to heal.

Jungkook froze at the touch, his breath catching audibly. He stared down at Taehyung with wide, trembling eyes, unable to believe what he was feeling. His hand looked so small in Taehyung’s much larger one.

Taehyung lifted his head then, “If an alpha doesn’t speak up for his omega, Jungkook-ah,” he said, “then who will? Who else is there? No one.”

Jungkook hiccuped then, his nose was runny, his cheeks were streaked, and his chest rose and fell in uneven gasps. He sniffed hard, pressing his sleeve against his face, embarrassed but unable to stop.

Taehyung exhaled, soft and heavy, before lifting his other hand to wipe away the fresh tears. He guided Jungkook gently down to sit on the thin mat near the low table, crouching beside him so their eyes were level. His large palm pressed against Jungkook’s back, then slid upward to pat his shoulder and head.

“Listen to me carefully,” he said looking at Jungkook directly, “I lost nothing today. Do you understand? Nothing. A job can be replaced. Fields can be worked again, another place will take me. But if I had kept quiet, if I had let them spit those words at you without a fight.....that is when I would have truly lost everything.”

Then, softer, quieter, his hand still warm against Jungkook’s face, Taehyung said, “We will not speak of this again. Whatever they say, whatever they think, it dies at our door.”

Jungkook blinked up at him, and only gave a tiny nod, his breath still shuddering. Taehyung let out a faint hum of approval, patting the back of his head again before shifting to sit properly beside him. He reached out, wrapping an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders, pulling him gently against his side.

────୨ৎ────

Taehyung stirred awake before dawn, as he always did. His body was trained by years of farm labor to rise at the faintest hint of light seeping in through the wooden slats of. He shifted on the mat laid across the floor, pushing himself up with a quiet grunt, his bones stiff from sleeping directly on the hardened surface. He rubbed his shoulder where the muscles ached from yesterday’s tension. He stood in the narrow room, tilting his head to peek inside where Jungkook still lay curled on the bedding. His omega’s frame was barely visible beneath the thin blanket, his hair spilling across the pillow in an unruly mess. His face was half-buried against his arm. Taehyung’s gaze lingered a second longer, softening, before he quietly turned away.

He slipped out to the bathhouse, carrying his towel and rough cotton underrobe. After showering, he changed into his work robes, tying the sash firmly around his waist. His hair, damp from the wash, clung to the sides of his face, and he ruffled it with one hand, shaking out the excess moisture. When he stepped back into the main room, he poured himself a small cup of water from the clay jug.

As he set the cup back down, he reminded himself of one errand, he had to fetch the repaired notebook from Mr. Han’s shop.

He reached for the door latch, ready to step out, when the sound of footsteps made him pause. From the inner room, Jungkook emerged, his steps were hesitant at first. Taehyung blinked in surprise. His omega was never awake this early, usually, the boy clung to sleep well past morning. Jungkook’s hair was tousled, his eyes still puffy from rest, his hanfu slightly loose on one shoulder where he hadn’t tied it properly in his drowsiness. He rubbed at one eye with the back of his hand like a child, blinking blearily at the alpha.

“Oh? You’re awake?” Taehyung said, adjusting his tone, not wanting his surprise to sound like disapproval. “Why so early? You should sleep more.”

Jungkook shook his head quickly, though his hair flopped messily into his face. “I couldn’t sleep,” he mumbled, though there was no truth in the excuse. He had forced himself awake, determined to rise when Taehyung did. “Where are you going, Alpha?”

Taehyung reached for his outer robe, shrugging it on. “To find work,” he answered simply. “Go back to bed. You should sleep more.”

But Jungkook took a step forward, his bare feet padding softly against the floor....“Can I come with you?” he asked.

Taehyung paused, his hand frozen mid-tie at his sash. He turned fully to face Jungkook, studying the boy’s face for a long moment. “Come with me? Why?”

“I can help you,” Jungkook said quickly, almost defensively. “I can carry things, or… or fetch water, or… anything.” He pressed his lips together, lowering his gaze. His hands twisted nervously in the folds of his sleeve. “Let me come.”

“It will take a lot of walking, Jungkook-ah. The sun will be strong later. And you…” His eyes dropped to Jungkook, “You are not used to walking such distances.”

Jungkook’s head shot up, his eyes narrowing in faint indignation, though the redness from last night’s crying still lingered. “I can manage,” he said firmly, his voice louder now, “I won’t slow you down. Even if my legs ache, I won’t complain.” For a moment, Taehyung only looked at him, silent. It made something in Taehyung soften entirely. He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

“Aigoo… what am I to do with you?” Taehyung muttered, not really asking for an answer. He stepped closer, placing a hand briefly on Jungkook’s head, ruffling his already messy hair. “Fine. Then you may come.”

“Thank you, Alpha.”

Jungkook hurried to slip on his shoes, his fingers were still bandaged from the burn, making the task awkward, but he managed. He smoothed his hanfu, patting down the wrinkles, and trotted to Taehyung’s side. The alpha gave him one last glance, as if to ensure he was ready, before sliding the door latch open.

Taehyung and Jungkook stepped out together, the wooden latch of their little house creaking as it closed behind them. Jungkook walked close to Taehyung, he was still fixing the front of his robes.

Taehyung’s gaze flicked often to Jungkook, as if worried the omega might stumble or tire. “You can still go back if you want, Jungkook,” Taehyung said quietly, his voice low, almost coaxing, like he didn’t want to force him but wanted him to know he had a choice. “The walk is long, and we don’t know how much work there will be.”

But Jungkook shook his head immediately, “I said I’ll come,” he replied softly. “I want to. I don’t… I don’t want to just sit at home all the time.” He hesitated before adding, “Besides, I can help you carry things, or maybe I’ll learn something.” His cheeks warmed.

Taehyung’s lips curved into the smallest smile, “Alright then.”

The first place they went was Mr. Han’s shop. Mr. Han himself was already there, sitting behind his counter, his thick brows knitted together as he scribbled something on a piece of paper. When Taehyung stepped inside, the man looked up, and his eyes crinkled. “Ah Kim!” Mr. Han greeted, his voice booming in the small space. “What brings you here so early, eh? Come, come in.” His eyes shifted to Jungkook, who had followed silently behind Taehyung, hands folded neatly in front of him. The older man’s gaze softened, and then, with a chuckle, he said, “And this must be your omega. My, my. Very beautiful indeed. You didn’t tell me, Taehyung, that your home was blessed with such grace.”

Jungkook startled at the sudden attention, his lips parting in surprise. His ears flushed a delicate pink, and he quickly bowed, his voice a little breathless when he said, “T-thank you.”

"I came for the notebook,” Taehyung said.

“Ah, yes, yes, I have it here,” Mr. Han said, fumbling beneath his counter before pulling out the notebook bound with simple string. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was sturdy, with clean pages exactly what Jungkook needed. “Better than the last one,” the man added proudly. “Made sure the paper was thicker. You won’t find the ink bleeding through this time.”

Jungkook leaned forward just slightly, curiosity brightening his eyes as he gasped under his breath. “It’s… it’s really nice,” he whispered, almost as though it were a treasure rather than a mere notebook. He bowed again, a small, shy smile playing on his lips.

Taehyung’s chest warmed at the sight, and for a second he just watched him, his own smile growing without him realizing. Then he reached into his sleeve and pulled out a few coins, setting them down on the counter. “Half price,” he said simply.

Mr. Han clicked his tongue, pretending to be annoyed. “Half again? You think I’m running a charity here, boy?” But there was no real bite in his words, “Every time you come, it’s always half. If it weren’t you, I’d have chased anyone else out with a broom."

“You always say that, old man, but here I am still standing inside your shop.”

Mr. Han grumbled under his breath but accepted the coins anyway, muttering, “You and that stubborn tongue of yours. Don’t know how your omega puts up with you.” His eyes flicked toward Jungkook again, who immediately ducked his head, embarrassed. “But I’ll let it go this time. Only because I like the look of him. A polite one, unlike you.”

Taehyung chuckled softly, shaking his head. He picked up the notebook and tucked it safely into his robes. “I’ll return when I have more coins,” he promised.

Mr. Han waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, I’ve heard that before. Now go on, both of you, before I start thinking you’ll rob me blind.”

────୨ৎ────

Jungkook was now walking beside Taehyung, he had tucked the notebook carefully into the sash around his waist, as though it were a delicate jewel that might break if held too roughly. His fingers kept brushing against it every so often, almost nervously, as though reassuring himself that it was still there, that it hadn’t slipped out while they walked. Taehyung's eyes were on the road ahead. His hands remained loose at his sides, though the furrow in his brow betrayed his unease.

Then they stopped at was a vendor’s stall, an older man, hunched over, who sold beans and grains from wide, woven baskets. Taehyung greeted him with a polite bow, “Uncle, I heard you were looking for help.” The man looked up briefly, his eyes narrowing at the sight of him. He didn’t return the bow, only sniffed as though the very presence of Taehyung soured the air.

“Not anymore,” the man said flatly, returning his attention to the beans he was scooping into a sack for a customer.

“But I heard that yesterday,” Taehyung replied, his tone still calm though Jungkook, standing slightly behind him, could see the tension that curled at the edge of his shoulders. “You said—”

“That was yesterday,” the vendor cut him off sharply. He glanced past Taehyung, his eyes flicking toward Jungkook for a brief second before darting away again. “I don’t want trouble in my shop. Go elsewhere.”

They tried another stall, this one a meat seller with thick forearms and an apron stained with blood. The smell of raw meat hit Jungkook’s nose sharply, but he endured it, clutching the notebook close to his chest. Taehyung bowed once more. “Brother Min, I’m looking for work. Do you still need help with cutting and carrying?”

The butcher’s laugh came out harsh, almost mocking. “Work? With you?” He slammed his cleaver into the block, the sound sharp, startling Jungkook enough to make him flinch. “I’ve heard about your little outburst in the fields. Think I’m about to hire a man who can’t keep his fists to himself? You’ll break bones before you chop meat!”

Taehyung’s jaw tightened, but his voice stayed even. “I can control myself. That was—”

“That was enough for the whole village to talk,” the butcher snapped, glaring. “You think I’ll risk my stall, my customers, because of your temper? Hah. Not a chance.” He spat on the ground for good measure before turning back to his work, dismissing him entirely.

Jungkook’s fists curled into the fabric of his robe, anger bubbling up in him. He wanted to shout, to tell the butcher he knew nothing of Taehyung, that Taehyung was good and kind, that he had only fought because of the words of the other man! He looked up at Taehyung, expecting him to say something, anything, but Taehyung merely nodded, and turned away. His silence stung worse than any insult.

They continued like that, stall after stall, corner after corner. At the vegetable seller, the man had smiled politely until Taehyung introduced himself; then his face fell, and he muttered something about “positions already filled.” At the blacksmith’s, the apprentice had sneered outright, saying, “Careful, he’ll hammer our heads instead of the metal.” Even the fishmonger, who usually smiled and joked with everyone, turned them away with a pitying look.

At last, after being turned away from yet another shop, Jungkook finally spoke. He caught Taehyung’s sleeve, “Why are they saying this? You didn’t do anything wrong!”

Taehyung stopped walking, and looked down at him, “Jungkook-ah,” he said softly, “Don’t take it to heart. People talk. That’s all.”

────୨ৎ────

The sun was now blazing overhead, its heat merciless as it poured down onto the dusty roads of the village. Jungkook’s steps had grown slower and smaller, his sandals dragging lightly against the ground. The sash around his waist felt heavy from carrying the notebook. He had watched as stall after stall, shop after shop, turned Taehyung away, not even giving him the dignity of consideration. Either the owners scoffed outright or they offered him such degrading conditions, long hours for almost no coins, that it was practically mockery. Jungkook could see the exhaustion tugging at Taehyung’s broad shoulders, though the Alpha did not let it show in his stride.

By the time they reached the edge of the marketplace, Jungkook was panting softly, his cheeks flushed from the heat, a thin sheen of sweat forming at his temple. Taehyung, noticing the way his omega seemed almost ready to collapse, paused and glanced around. His eyes softened, and he said, “Sit here for a while, Jungkook-ah. You look tired.” He pointed toward a shaded step in front of a closed stall.

Jungkook blinked up at him, lips parting as if to protest, but the truth was his legs ached terribly. He nodded, giving a little “Mm,” and lowered himself onto the wooden step with a relieved sigh. The shade felt like a blessing after walking for hours. Taehyung gave him one more lingering look, then said, “Wait here. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Jungkook tilted his head, “Where are you going, Alpha?”

“Don’t worry,” Taehyung replied, “I won’t be long.”

Jungkook bit the inside of his cheek but didn’t press further, too drained to argue. He leaned against the post of the stall and let his eyes drift over the bustling marketplace. Women carried baskets of vegetables, their hanbok skirts brushing the dirt road. Children ran between stalls, laughing as they chased each other. Vendors shouted over one another, advertising their foods, steamed buns, grilled fish, sweet rice cakes. Jungkook’s stomach twisted faintly. He was hungry, but he said nothing, knowing their situation.

A few minutes later, Taehyung returned, and Jungkook’s eyes widened at what he saw. The Alpha was carrying two paper cones, each filled with something that glistened under the sun. He crouched before Jungkook and handed one to him.

“What is this?” Jungkook asked, staring at the mound of crushed ice, drizzled with brightly colored syrup.

“Flavored ice,” Taehyung said with a small smile, watching Jungkook’s reaction. “It’ll cool you down. Eat.”

Jungkook hesitated for only a second before bringing it to his lips. The first spoonful made his eyes widen. Cold, sweet, refreshing. A soft gasp escaped him. “Oh…” He quickly took another bite, his small shoulders relaxing. “This is so good…” His words were muffled by the spoon in his mouth, but his brightened eyes said enough.

Taehyung chuckled quietly, his heart easing at the sight. “Slow down, or you’ll freeze your teeth.” He took a spoonful of his own ice.

Jungkook’s gaze soon wandered again, darting across the stalls of the market. He watched the vendors with their rows of food, bowls of noodles steaming, fish skewers sizzling, buns stacked high in bamboo baskets. His little mind began to stir. Each stall had customers, each vendor was making a living by selling food. Jungkook’s heart beat faster as a thought took shape. He quickly turned to Taehyung, eyes sparkling.

“Alpha!” he burst out, “I have an idea!”

Taehyung, startled by the sudden energy in his omega, raised a brow. “What is it, Jungkook-ah?”

Jungkook set his half-finished cone aside, his small hands gesturing animatedly. “What if… what if we open a stall too? Look—” He pointed at the vendors across the way. “They’re all selling food, and people are buying it! Every stall has customers. If they can do it, we can too, can’t we?”

Taehyung blinked at him, taken aback by the suggestion. “A stall?”

“Yes!” Jungkook leaned closer, his eyes wide and earnest. “We don’t have to rely on someone else hiring you. We can make our own money."

Notes:

Hope you all enjoyed it!