Chapter Text
Namjoon loves his pack more than anything. He does. He loves them so much it’s difficult to put any words on it. If there is a way to say it that doesn’t feel utterly inadequate, he hasn’t found it yet. But that’s okay. He doesn’t mind the thought of spending his whole life trying.
What he does mind are those times when trying just isn’t enough.
They would never say it, of course. In fact, they’d vehemently dispute any doubt that he could be anything other than the perfect alpha for them.
But sometimes Namjoon doesn’t even know what he is—all he knows is that it’s painfully far from perfect.
Jimin needs more reassurance.
Taehyung needs more physical touch.
Jungkook needs a stricter hand.
Seokjin needs more rest.
Yoongi needs more, period, and one thing he is not going to do is communicate those needs.
And Namjoon is just one very overworked idol group leader and pack alpha, trying to make things work.
And they do, for the most part.
Except for when everything happens all at once, hit after hit. Jimin is having a hard time, and Jungkook can’t regulate his feelings well when he feels neglected, and Taehyung draws into himself when a “not now” feels a little too much like rejection from his alpha, and Seokjin is Namjoon’s rock in all of it, taking care or everyone, cooking, doing chores, but he is also tired, and Namjoon shouldn’t have to rely on him so much, and dear god, why is Yoongi drinking chicken from a fucking blender.
As an alpha, keeping however many omegas in check is supposed to be easy for Namjoon. It’s supposed to be second nature.
It’s not supposed to give him sleepless nights.
It’s not supposed to make him resent his own self.
Because he can do it—he can tell them to kneel. He can silence them with a single stare. He can flip that switch, and they’ll be mumbling their apologies, and they’ll do everything to please.
But Namjoon doesn’t like it.
He’s an alpha, and he doesn’t mind what he is or his body or any of that, but he doesn’t like acting like one.
He’s an alpha, but being dominant and scary and commanding—that just isn’t him.
He can do it for work. He feels comfortable in that persona when he’s on stage, when he keeps his members in check.
He doesn’t want to be doing it off stage, and he doesn’t want to be doing it at home.
Admitting to it feels like a personal failure.
He doesn’t know how to voice any of this without the crushing weight of feeling like he’s admitting not just to not being enough for them, but like he’s confessing that he’s out of love.
If he loved them enough, surely he could find a way to make it work.
Surely—
“Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin says. And when Namjoon is still spiralling, sinking deeper into a sea of self-blame and regrets, Seokjin says, “Alpha.”
Namjoon looks up.
“You’re just one person. Why are you apologising for ripping yourself to shreds to keep us whole?”
Because I can’t, Namjoon wants to say. Because I’m not enough, even if I tear myself to pieces.
“If you think it’s your failure if any of us are unhappy, then the way you feel right now is all on us.”
“That’s not—”
“You’re beating yourself up because you can’t please five omegas 100% all of the time—what do you think how I feel, hearing this? There’s five of us, and we’re not enough to make you happy?”
Namjoon is snarling before he realises it.
Seokjin smiles sweetly. “Exactly. It goes both ways. Let’s find happiness for all of us, together.”
It sounds so easy when Seokjin says it like that.
And even though Namjoon knows it isn’t, and it won’t be, and it can’t be—he feels like an idiot for not confiding in him sooner.
He’s quickly reminded of his reasons when he has to explain to the rest of the pack.
Ripping the band-aid off doesn’t mean the scar is healed. Namjoon still has to have all of those feelings, and seeing the omegas hang their heads and sheepishly apologise isn’t helping.
The last thing he wants is for them to feel like a burden, or like their needs are an inconvenience. He doesn’t know how to tell them he wants it anyway. Even if the weight of it crushes him—he wants it.
Luckily, Seokjin does most of the talking.
“…so that’s why we’ll look for some arrangement that takes some of that weight off his shoulders.”
“What kind of arrangement?” Yoongi asks.
The younger omegas have gone quiet.
“Like, an omega sitter,” Seokjin says.
“Hyung,” Taehyung deadpans. “We’re adults.”
“Could have fooled me,” Seokjin hums.
“That’s just what the job title is called,” Yoongi says. “Basically it’s a person to help satisfy everyone’s needs, right?”
“Correct,” Seokjin confirms.
“But not another alpha, right?” Jungkook asks suspiciously.
Namjoon’s mouth opens.
“Of course not,” Seokjin says. “That would be silly.” He looks at Namjoon. “…would it be silly?”
The alpha puts on his most diplomatic smile. “The important thing is to find someone you will all accept.”
“So not an alpha,” Jimin says, and Jungkook and Taehyung nod along.
And well… Namjoon guesses it makes sense. A lot of omega sitters are betas, specifically not to disrupt any given dynamics in a pack. It’s just that he kind of thought…
He shakes it off. Subgender doesn’t matter much, but that person needs to be dominant enough to keep them all in check.
It’s his own preconceived notion to jump to the assumption it would have to be another alpha. They are probably right to prefer a beta, even if Namjoon doesn’t quite see a world in which they’d listen to another alpha over him.
The problem is precisely how they never listen to anyone else.
So Namjoon talks to management, and the first applications come in and … well.
Namjoon appreciates his omegas for trying. He truly does.
But the majority of contenders doesn’t make it past the scent sample stage.
Among the first fifteen, Jungkook doesn’t like a single one of them, and Seokjin doesn’t even bother smelling them once the youngest shakes his head.
Jimin still gives it a try, Taehyung sniffing delicately over his shoulder, but they lose interest after a few samples.
Yoongi, aside from Jungkook, is the only one smelling all of them, with his highest compliment being: “This one doesn’t smell too horrible.”
Needless to say, Namjoon loses hope as quickly as he found it.
But his packmates are more attuned to his internal struggles now, for better or worse, and, after two whole weeks of only rejections, they still end up refusing almost all candidates, but they invest more time in doing so, passing the samples back and forth and trying to find something positive to say.
In the end, they schedule interviews with two betas whose scents, while not particularly complimentary, had at least been agreed to be inoffensive.
Namjoon tries to be carefully optimistic about it.
Even scent is something you might grow to like over time. Maybe their personality will be able to win his spoilt babies over.
Or so he tries to tell himself.
The first beta gets way too far ahead of herself and is quickly shut down with a decisive, “Don’t speak unless you’re Namjoon.”
The second one is more agreeable, but entirely too timid. Namjoon immediately feels like the beta could maybe provide some companionship and cuddles, but they wouldn’t be of much help otherwise. And while no one had real complaints—in fact, they were trying quite hard to find nice things to say—when Namjoon quietly tells their manager to kindly reject that one as well, there is a collective sigh of relief.
“Do we really need someone else just to have someone else…” It’s later that night, and Yoongi’s voice is gravelly with sleep as he addresses the bite marks he left in Namjoon’s biceps. Namjoon is wrapped around him, knot still nestled deeply inside Yoongi’s warm body. Neither of them particularly like sleeping like this usually. It’s too hot.
But Yoongi needs the comfort, or maybe Namjoon needs the comfort that is knowing Yoongi to be safe and sound and fucked into blissful oblivion.
“Just take the time you’d spend with me and divide it between them.”
“No.”
Yoongi pouts, like Namjoon is the one being difficult and unreasonable.
And maybe he is.
Because other alphas can do it, so why can’t he? Why does he have to be weighed down by something so silly?
His boundaries wrap tightly around him like an iron-spiked corset, sinking deeper into his flesh with every day he spends ignoring his need for space. Like a plant that has long outgrown its pot, slowly dying from its narrow confinement.
It’s a hurt that bursts him open like fireworks, like flowers cracking through pavement, a pain tinged something divine when he manages to make his boyfriends laugh. When he holds Seokjin’s waist, his pretty princess never doing any of the work, not even when he’s on top. When Jimin sights sweetly against his shoulder, how magical his hands are on Namjoon’s sore muscles. Jungkook’s wide starry eyes when he shyly asks to ride his thigh. Taehyung’s pout until he gets to deepthroat him backstage. The endless conversations he has with Yoongi, and the long stretches of silence, and his soft, quiet reassurance when everything else is too loud.
All that love shared and multiplied between them, the quiet and the loud ways, the soft hues and the bolder strokes of colour.
Even if all he was was blue and grey, Namjoon would still use his indigos to paint a lovely night for them; and if his monos were dried up as well, he’d sacrifice his blood, sweat, tears without a doubt to make them his temple, his mural, his sky.
“It was just a suggestion,” Yoongi mutters.
“I suggest you sleep unless you want another round.”
“Don’t even joke,” Yoongi whines. Just that little wiggling makes him whimper, raw where they are joined together. “We got dance practice tomorrow. Hoseok-ssi is gonna kill me.”
“You wish,” Namjoon snorts.
As the mattress dips, he makes a mental note to double check everyone’s scent blockers before practice. For all their big talk about how scared they are of Jung Hoseok, Namjoon is well aware how excited his attention gets them, positive or otherwise.
Usually otherwise.
“And you?”
“Cuddle?” Namjoon can hear Jungkook’s pout with his eyes closed. “Jimin and Taehyung are hogging Seokjinnie hyung.”
“Last time I checked all of them were your hyungs, you brat,” Yoongi says.
“Yoongi would love to cuddle with you,” Namjoon offers generously.
Jungkook’s excited high-pitched squeal drowns out Yoongi’s complaint entirely. Granted, he is a bit of an easy target, being locked in place by Namjoon’s knot at all, but Jungkook is stronger regardless, and Yoongi (not so) secretly enjoys being manhandled into submission by his fellow omegas.
“Why can’t you do that with Jimin?!”
“He is on top of Seokjin, and Taehyung is on top of him.”
“Lie across Taehyung’s back then.”
“You always say we need more ergonomic equipment.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Holding you while I sleep is more ergonomic, hyung.”
Namjoon doesn’t even try not to giggle into the back of Yoongi’s head.
“Did you just call me ergonomic equipment?”
“You’re like a stuffed teddy bear, hyung.”
“Emphasis on stuffed,” Namjoon hums.
“It’s too hot,” Yoongi complains, but pretending to ignore them both doesn’t work very well when his cunt twitches eagerly around Namjoon’s cock and he shivers at the rasp of his deep voice.
“My bad,” Namjoon says.
“Are you controlling the weather?”
“He does make it rain,” Jungkook says. “Down here.”
“Don’t touch me,” Yoongi whines. He lacks any conviction, but Jungkook’s hand obediently wanders off, trailing over Yoongi’s skin before settling on Namjoon’s thigh.
“If you wanna stay up late you need to bother your other hyungs,” Namjoon says.
As enticing as joining himself to Jungkook once his knot has subsided sounds—Namjoon is tired. Not looking for more rain that night.
“I’ll sleep,” Jungkook says.
But of course he keeps twitching and tossing and turning, and while Yoongi dozes off between them, Namjoon is too light of a sleeper—too sensitive to his omegas’ needs.
It’s quick with Jungkook. It always is. It doesn’t take much, unless Namjoon tells him not to come until he allows it. Sometimes Jungkook needs that, the focus, the slow build-up.
But this is just his hyper-active brain requiring some settling, a few quick orgasms, a knot filling him up nice and tight so he can finally drift off.
Only the sweetest dreams for his omegas.
And Namjoon?
Namjoon can only hope that sleep will claim him, eventually.
Any time now.
🌇🌇🌇
Namjoon loves dance practice.
Not for the actual dancing—fuck no.
Namjoon is hopeless when it comes to dancing. He has made his peace with that. When Jung Hoseok’s glare targets him, he hits the fellow alpha with finger guns until he starts laughing.
Jung Hoseok is—
How to explain Jung Hoseok to someone who hasn’t seen the man?
For starters, he has a body.
No, hear Namjoon out. It’s not as crazy as it sounds. If you’ve seen him—
Namjoon is a poet, but what even are words other than a device to torture himself trying to make them mean something?
Jung Hoseok is the sun.
You need it to survive, but it might kill you.
The beauty of clear skies. The way it almost hurts to look directly.
The brightness of Jung Hoseok—
The way he shines. The way he moves—
Namjoon doesn’t think he has bones, no matter how solid the man’s waist feels in a hug.
The juxtaposition of Jung Hoseok—the light and dark, the laughter and the resting bitch face, the delicate features versus the presence the alpha has, his aura.
When they first started working together, and Namjoon realised the subgender, he thought it wouldn’t end well. The maknaes especially didn’t do well with alphas, and Yoongi and Seokjin didn’t do well with people the maknaes didn’t like.
But what turned out to be the bigger issue? Namjoon himself.
Namjoon making a complete idiot of himself instead of reigning in his over-eager pack, the omegas busy pointing out all the alpha’s body parts they found impressive, which turned out to be all of them (accompanied by a mumbled “our pack alpha’s thighs are still the best” from Jungkook).
Hoseok seemed easy-going and good-natured. That was, until the music started playing, and he turned into some sort of ridiculously hot sleep paralysis demon (Just Dance edition).
And that first time Namjoon was a beat late, and the other alpha’s head snapped towards him with a piercing look—Namjoon’s head dropped back like it was second nature. The music stopped. Everything stopped.
Challenging an alpha in front of their pack is more than just a societal faux pas. In a lot of cases, it’s a criminal offence.
But for an alpha to willingly submit to another alpha, an outsider, in front of their pack?
It’s a little archaic, maybe, but it’s still seen as valid reason for an omega to reject their pack and choose to live independently—or with the outranking alpha.
“Again from the top,” Jung Hoseok said.
The music started again, and they scrambled to take their positions.
Namjoon’s body had never been less cooperative, but Hoseok didn’t call him out again (at least not that day. Namjoon would miss plenty more beats, but he quickly adapted new strategies to lessen the burn of Hoseok’s glare, such as the aforementioned finger guns. And no, he didn’t say he found ways to embarrass himself less, but at least there have been no further… incidents).
And Namjoon expected something big to happen. Of course he and his omegas were tied together both by work and personal pack contracts but still, for something this incomprehensibly significant, as small as Namjoon had felt in the moment, there had to be consequences.
Maybe for Jungkook to completely reject their new choreographer. Or for Hoseok to take Namjoon aside and talk things out, alpha-to-alpha (whatever the hell that even meant). Maybe challenge him to a (dance) battle, challenge him in any way, really.
And while Namjoon couldn’t see a world in which his pack outright rejected him, there were many ways in which omegas might act out if they felt their alpha were no longer worthy, and there could even be severe mental and physical illnesses resulting from an alpha’s incompetence.
Namjoon expected for Jimin and Taehyung to listen to him even less. At the very least he thought he’d have to deal with endless teasing from all his omegas, subtle and less subtle challenges in the bedroom.
None of it.
Nothing out of the ordinary happened at all.
Maybe they hadn’t noticed? Though Hoseok definitely had. Not noticing something was not part of Jung Hoseok’s skill set. It was far more likely that he was trying to spare Namjoon further embarrassment by pretending that never happened.
Some nights when the memory came back to cling to him with ghost-like mockery, Namjoon started wondering if it had happened at all.
Had he made up the whole thing in his own head?
And what did that say about him? About his inner alpha?
The music stops, and so do Namjoon’s thoughts.
Has he even been dancing?
But Hoseok is focused on Seokjin, who is currently in the centre. “You can’t do this, Seokjin-ssi? It’s pretty easy. Aren’t you an idol?”
His tone is too matter-of-fact to call it mean, because Hoseok is very casual about inflicting critical damage when he’s rating your performance and you don’t measure up.
It can be frustrating, sure, but you can’t be upset when Hoseok is just right. Working with Hoseok means aiming for the best and delivering, and Namjoon and his pack quite like being on top. When Hoseok is available, he is the only option to Namjoon.
Seokjin’s voice is steady, but his ears are bright red when he says: “I was cast for my face.”
Namjoon knows the others will have a field day quoting Hoseok later and laughing their asses off about Seokjin’s reaction, but right now? They are standing perfectly still, staring at their own feet, their fingernails, anything to not make themselves the next target.
“And when was that?” Hoseok inquires.
“It feels like it was yesterday.”
“And how long have I been a choreographer for you?”
“Ah, Hoseok-ssi, not nearly long enough compared with my entire life before that, do you even know how many years I’ve lived like that, moving through the world j-hopelessly?” Seokjin holds their dance teacher’s hands. Both of them. “You were gone so long, too. No one can teach me how to dance like you, Hoseok-ssi.”
“Yeah,” Yoongi chimes in, “you’ve been in Europe for two whole months, and look how our skills have declined. Aren’t you going to take responsibility?”
“That’s right, Hoseok-ssi,” Seokjin agrees. “You should take responsibility. A student is only as good as his master.”
A muscle in Hoseok’s jaw twitches, and Namjoon wonders if that movement is inspired by the way Seokjin’s full lips curl around the word master or if that’s just him being down bad for his omega (and, admittedly, a pervert).
“Very well. You two stay behind after this for some one-on-one lessons.” Hoseok’s gaze finds Namjoon’s, and Namjoon almost loses his balance even though he wasn’t moving—he just can’t shake that feeling sometimes that Jung Hoseok can look right through him, straight into his brain, and he can only pray that a man like him who likes things clean and orderly will never discover the dirty mess he keeps there. “If that is alright with you, Namjoon-ssi.”
And this is why Namjoon loves dance practice.
He casually spreads his arms like he wasn’t about to fall over his two left feet a second ago. “Be my guest.”
“Wait—” Yoongi says.
“But don’t we have this—” Seokjin’s eyes are wide. “This thing?” He’s looking around for someone to save him, pleading eyes settling on his alpha.
“You do now,” Namjoon says, smiling, squeezing his outstretched hand.
“Anyone else who feels like they fell behind?” Hoseok asks.
Namjoon’s omegas never shut up this beautifully, not even when they have their greedy little mouths full of cock.
“Good,” Hoseok says cheerfully. “Shall we go again from this part?”
His eyes settle on Seokjin, who freezes mid-movement. “I’ll break the steps down for you. We’ll repeat them as many times as necessary.”
“As… I… see necessary?” Seokjin tries.
Hoseok laughs. “I’m sure you don’t want to piss me off, Seokjin-ssi.”
Seokjin’s mouth works for a second there, like maybe he’s going to fuck around (even more) and find out (what the sweet release of death feels like).
He swallows, his biteable throat working overtime as he suppresses the need to be the biggest brat there ever was. “Of course not, Hoseok-ssi.”
And then, because Seokjin is Seokjin and he would go up in flames if he was serious for more than two whole seconds: “Show me, and I’ll show you.”
Namjoon loves this too: The way he doesn’t even have to say anything because Hoseok has his hands on Seokjin’s waist already, forcefully returning him to his position and walking him through the choreography again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
🌇🌇🌇
Once they wrap up practice, the maknaes stay behind as well, allegedly to film TikToks. Namjoon is quite sure their real agenda is having a safe second row seat to Yoongi and Seokjin being sacrificed to the god of dance.
But he’s fine with it.
He holes himself up in his studio for a good two hours of uninterrupted alone time, just him and the music, until guilt starts creeping into the corners of his mind.
More than that, he’s surprised. No one came to interrupt?
Namjoon saves his files and stretches his sore muscles—the price of dance practice. He checks his phone. No new messages in the group chat. Huh. His little brats must be really excited to have their favourite choreographer back.
Other alphas may give Namjoon weird looks for leaving his omegas unsupervised, but Namjoon is usually more worried about whoever he left them with. As much as his pack can give him a headache—there’s no one he trusts more. They can take care of themselves. And Jungkook could take anyone, easily.
And sure enough, Namjoon arrives just in time to seeing his little brat omegas patting down Jung Hoseok’s naked abs.
“Jungkook-ah,” Namjoon says.
He never raises his voice, and he quite enjoys the way he doesn’t have to, the way they always hear him, even distracted by another alpha and with hip hop blasting from the speakers.
Three heads snap his way instantly, which is two heads less than he would usually be counting.
Jungkook gives Hoseok’s stomach another quick pat before pulling away his hand, and he seems to specifically look for Namjoon’s raised eyebrow to ensure he noticed.
Brat.
Hoseok drops his shirt back down. Namjoon guesses showing off his naked body must be just a regular Tuesday for him.
Namjoon can’t blame the man either.
It’s a good body.
“Where are Yoongi and Seokjin?”
“They escaped to the showers already,” Jimin says cheerfully.
“Escaped?” Hoseok echoes.
Taehyung wraps an arm around Jimin. “What Jiminie meant to say is...” He looks over at Jungkook for help.
“They think dancing with you is basically purgatory,” Jungkook tells him cheerfully. “Like, divine punishment.”
Hoseok raises his brows. “What makes them think they could escape me? I was the one who let them go.”
Jimin and Taehyung take a synchronised step back.
“About that,” Taehyung says.
“We finished filming,” Jimin says.
“Would you like to see?” Jungkook offers, completely ignoring the other two omegas and the complicated gestures they make behind Hoseok’s back to get him to shut his mouth.
Hoseok looks to Namjoon.
He always looks to Namjoon.
As little as another alpha can distract Namjoon’s pack from paying attention to him, apparently a bunch of hot, over-eager omegas can’t distract Jung Hoseok from his presence either. But then that’s just Hoseok being the professional he is, never distracted by anything or anyone when he’s working.
“I hope my omegas aren’t keeping you,” Namjoon says, apologetic smile dimpling his cheeks.
“Oh, not at all,” Hoseok says. “I’m not kept that easily.”
There is no reason for Namjoon’s knees to feel weak as he walks over, other than how Hoseok moves like air, like water, like he was born to dance, like he invented movement, and Namjoon walks like… a duck, maybe. No, a duck would look cute, at least. Namjoon doesn’t think he even has that going for him.
Walking under Hoseok’s gaze—
Hoseok’s eyes dart away, towards the screen Jungkook is holding into his face despite Jimin and Taehyung’s combined efforts to stop him.
Namjoon exhales.
He’s an alpha, for fuck’s sake.
Whatever the hell that even means.
Currently?
It means coming close enough to put a hand on Jungkook’s waist and enjoying the way the omega leans back against him instinctively.
It means watching Hoseok’s intensely focused gaze as he watches the dance videos while Jungkook innocently asks which version he prefers.
It means being hyperaware of all three maknaes holding their breath as they wait for Hoseok’s approval.
“Both are really good,” Hoseok says.
Jimin blushes, pleased giggles slipping past the hand that covers his mouth.
Jungkook preens.
“Hoseok-ssi, why do you sound surprised?” Taehyung pouts.
“You’ve improved a lot, Taehyung-ssi.”
Taehyung looks down, cheeks pink. “Aww, Hoseok-ssi, don’t say that,” he says in a tone that heavily implies he wants him to say it more.
Namjoon’s chest swells with pride as Hoseok continues to praise his omegas. It’s around then that he realises that he, too, has been waiting for Hoseok’s approval. Namjoon has barely even watched the video.
“Alright, that’s enough. Go take a shower, collect your hyungs and then it’s time for dinner.” For a moment, Namjoon thinks Taehyung is going to protest, but Jimin pulls him along and then Jungkook picks Jimin up for some reason, and they take turns carrying and chasing each other out the door.
This is the part where Namjoon is supposed to thank Hoseok for taking such good care of his omegas, or at least do anything other than staring at him like an idiot.
“Did you get some work done?” Hoseok asks with a sympathetic smile.
“Ah, yeah.” Namjoon scratches the back of his head. “Hasn’t happened in a while. It’s good to have you back, Hoseok-ssi.”
“You don’t have to be so formal with me when it’s just us,” Hoseok laughs. “Unless you prefer it that way.”
“Hoseok-ah,” Namjoon says immediately, and his tongue is a little too quick, a little too eager, surprising both of them.
“Namjoon-ah,” Hoseok returns, his smile returning just as easily.
And that smile is shaped like love itself, and Namjoon wants to ask if Hoseok has ever read any Oscar Wilde, and he wonders what Hoseok’s thoughts on music are beyond the songs they dance to, what he’d think about the mixtape Namjoon has been working on. Whether he ever noticed that distance between the letters to get from live to love, or from i to u, or how 사람 and 사랑 are only an edge apart.
Namjoon almost tells him that his smile feels like that, too.
“It’s good to be back home,” Hoseok fills the silence.
“I’m glad you still think so. I was worried four hours with my pack might have changed your mind.”
Hoseok laughs with his whole body, and Namjoon is still thinking about saram and sarang and whether Hoseok loves like that, too.
“Your omegas are insanely talented and hardworking,” Hoseok says. “It’s an honour to work with them. And you.” He mentions Namjoon not like an afterthought but like a highlight, and Namjoon doesn’t know what to do with that or himself or his hands. “But knowing you, hearing that compliment about yourself wouldn’t mean quite as much to you,” Hoseok continues, voice slightly teasing.
Namjoon wants to disagree, but Hoseok is right. It’s not that Namjoon doesn’t want to be acknowledged—he craves it; and without that drive and passion he’d never have made it this far in the industry. But his pack, his omegas, his lifelines getting the recognition they all deserve?
Nothing beats that feeling.
“Well, it wouldn’t be quite as true either, would it? At least when it comes to dancing,” Namjoon notes with light-hearted self-deprecation.
Hoseok tilts his head. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean. You gotta know how many people swoon over that body of yours. You take longer to memorise the steps, but you always put in the work, and the results…” Hoseok’s gaze very deliberately drops down Namjoon’s front and slowly drags back up again. “They are always a delight to see.”
Namjoon’s head is spinning. Hoseok said “people”, not just “omegas”.
People and love, and love and people, and jklmnopqrst suddenly fading from the alphabet.
“Do you know any betas looking for a pack?” Namjoon blurts out. It’s an incredibly personal question to ask, bordering on rude, but, considering the circumstances, it doesn’t feel like the worst thing Namjoon could have said. Hoseok’s mouth opens into a surprised o shape, and Namjoon quickly keeps talking, his mind filled with ㅁs and ㅇs. “Ah, sorry for the TMI, we’ve just had a little bit of, uh… well being the only alpha, it can be a little… I mean, I’m doing fine, and I love them, don’t get me wrong, I do, I love them more than anything, I just don’t always feel like I’m enough, and I wish I could rip myself apart or like, pull a Naruto and—“ because it’s not bad enough that Namjoon can’t fucking stop yapping, he does the pose for the kage bunshin no jutsu. “You know?”
Hoseok blinks.
Namjoon does not think he knows.
“Like, if I could duplicate myself, if I could clone myself, if I could just be more, if I could be enough—“
“Namjoon-ah,” Hoseok says, and his hand curls around Namjoon’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. Namjoon’s thoughts fly out the fucking window like a scared-up flock of birds. “I always like some more, but I don’t think the world could handle multiple of you,” Hoseok says. “You’re doing just fine. Your pack is healthy. They adore you. You’re doing everything you can.”
Namjoon should feel embarrassed, having another alpha talk him down like that. Namjoon shouldn’t wish for that hand on his shoulder to slide behind the nape of his neck.
But Hoseok’s mouth is heart-shaped. His mouth is heart-shaped, and he’s gently teasing Namjoon with that heart-shaped mouth, and there is so much compassion in every carefully hand-picked word he offers him.
“But if you’ve decided to expand your pack, I’ll keep my eyes open for you, of course. Are there any particular qualities you’re looking for? Other than being a beta.”
The flock of birds settles back down on the tree of Namjoon’s mind, and they all start screaming as one.
Someone who looks like you.
Someone they like as much as they like you.
Someone who can handle them like you.
U U U U U U U U U—
Namjoon has to take a step back before he does or says something irreversibly stupid. Hoseok’s grip tightens around his shoulder, and Namjoon stills.
Hoseok smoothly drops his hand, keeping up his smile.
Namjoon doesn’t move, the echo of the touch keeping him in place.
“Actually… we haven’t had a lot of luck finding a beta. So I’ve been thinking…”
Don’t say what you’re thinking, Namjoon admonishes himself. Say literally fucking anything but that.
“Even for alphas, it might be quite difficult, right?” Hoseok muses. “They are very territorial about you. Not many alphas would be able to deal with that and keep them in line.” He grins. “I can handle them, of course, but as Seokjin-ssi said himself, there’s no one like me, isn’t that right?”
Fuck it.
Fuck everything.
Fuck Namjoon.
“About that—” Namjoon stops himself, breathless, but hope is a flower that bursts through the cracks of the mask of nonchalance he tries to keep on his face.
Hoseok takes a half step closer, like maybe it’s sunflowers all over Namjoon’s face, and there’s no sun besides his smile. “Yes?”
🌇🌇🌇