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“Kookie, at least pretend you’re happy to be here.”
His mother’s voice reached him before he’d even taken off his coat.
The hugs and polite greetings had already been exchanged at the door. Jungkook managed a faint smile, hunching his shoulders as if to make himself smaller—used to being little more than a shadow in the background. “I am, eomma.”
“Of course you are.” She tugged at a crease in his shirt, smoothing it as though she could straighten out his life along with the fabric, her touch gentle. “Try not to act like a prizefighter tonight. Your shoulders are all knotted up,” she said, worried.
“I’ll be a flower,” he murmured—sarcastic, but affectionate.
A sharp flutter of anxiety seized him. Across the entryway, Seojin was talking with a few relatives. The perfect alpha: rigid posture, measured smile, hands clasped behind his back. And beside him—
No.
Not yet.
Jungkook turned abruptly toward the laden table, as though he could escape the scent that had just brushed the edges of his mind.
“Jungkook-ah!” One of his little cousins, Minho, launched himself into his arms. “Hyung! You came!”
Jungkook ruffled his hair and lifted him up, flashing a wide, toothy grin. “Of course I came. Where else would I go?”
“To the ring!” another kid piped up, laughing. “Uncle says you fight everyone!”
His father’s words, obviously.
“Uncle says too many things,” Jungkook muttered—but he was smiling.
The room buzzed with motion: clinking dishes, overlapping chatter, children darting around, the rich smell of dinner. It was the house he’d grown up in—and the place where, year after year, he felt more and more like a stranger.
“Taehyung-ah, come here for a second?” Seojin called out, his voice calm, practiced—the voice of a future pack leader.
The name struck Jungkook like a blow to the chest. Before he could stop himself, his gaze snapped up.
And there he was. The moment of eye contact
Taehyung walked toward Seojin with an easy step, his expression relaxed… until he felt Jungkook’s eyes on him.
The faintest stiffening of his shoulders.
A shortened breath. His tongue flicking nervously over the corner of his mouth.
Jungkook felt as though he’d been dragged back to that night—helplessly, defenseless. Taehyung’s face buried against his neck, licking and biting, his legs locked around Jungkook’s hips, the way he’d scented him and claimed him. Taehyung’s body opening beneath his, trembling, pleading. Nails digging into his back. The knot—his knot—felt like the collapse of a universe, as though something he’d wanted for years had finally detonated in his veins.
Jungkook gripped the edge of the chair hard enough he nearly broke it.
“…Kook?” Minho looked up at him, eyes wide. “You made that weird face.”
“What weird face?” Jungkook asked, swallowing.
The child laughed. “The one you make when you lose!”
Lose. Yes. That was exactly how it felt. Taehyung was close to Seojin—but not with him. Not really. His gaze was fixed on the floor, as if afraid that meeting Jungkook’s eyes might spark a fire. His ears faintly red—not from the heat. His hands clasped tightly in his lap. Jungkook remembered those same hands clutching at the back of his neck, desperate as his moans, as though he’d been waiting for that night his entire life.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
The dialogue that breaks the silence
“Jungkook!” Seojin called, without even looking at him. “Come say hello to Taehyung. He’s being shy.”
The world stopped.
Taehyung felt him before Jungkook even moved. His pupils wavered, his lips pressed into a taut line. One hand brushed the nape of his neck—an almost imperceptible gesture, as if trying to cover his scent.
Jungkook took a single step forward. Just one—and it was enough to feel him everywhere, as though the omega had seeped into his lungs. “Hi, hyung,” he murmured, softer than he meant to.
Taehyung lifted his gaze.
A second.
A flash.
A memory.
Jungkook felt it again—the heat of Taehyung’s legs locked around him, the omega’s broken breaths against his neck as he begged him not to stop, the sensation of the knot binding them together as if the world had narrowed to that bed alone.
Taehyung flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. Again. But he masked his scent, passing it off as shyness as he tightened his grip on his fiancé’s arm.
“Hi, Jungkookie…” he managed to whisper.
Seojin smiled, unaware. “See? That’s better already. You’re friends again, right?”
Friends.
The word lingered on him like a bruise. And without meaning to, without being able to stop himself, his mind slipped back—to when it had all truly begun, more than a year ago.
The fraternity music was blasting so loudly it felt like it was making even the bottles on the buffet vibrate. Flashing lights, mingled scents, bodies everywhere. Jungkook—a first-semester freshman—felt out of place in the middle of all that chaos. Broad shoulders, sure, but a heart a little too gentle for a jungle like this. He’d learned early on that the appearance of a nineteen-year-old alpha didn’t always match what lived inside him.
Still, Namjoon and Yoongi were there with him.
And that was enough.
It hadn’t always been this way. Years earlier, when he was still a kid—too skinny, too angry, with far too much restless energy trapped under his skin—Jungkook had set foot in a boxing gym for the first time. The truth was, he hadn’t found it on his own. He’d run there. Literally fled. Because at home, silence wasn’t a choice—it was an order. And his father’s voice wasn’t just a voice; it was a verdict.
Mr. Jeon didn’t lash out blindly like impulsive men did. No—he was worse. He used his hands deliberately. He knew exactly where to strike, how hard to hit, how to hurt without leaving marks anyone else could see. Pain without evidence. Fear without witnesses.
It was in that place, thick with sweat and foam padding, that Jungkook met Namjoon.
Namjoon was already a big teenager then—three years older, solid—but with the quiet gentleness of someone who never raised his voice unless there was a reason. He’d smiled at little Jungkook the way you smile at a stray dog that edges closer, ready to bolt at any second: without startling him, without asking for anything in return.
He was the first to tell him, “If you want to stay… stay. No one’s going to kick you out.”
Yoongi showed up a few months later. Head down, hands wrapped, a glare sharp enough to cut. He never smiled. Spoke even less. But one day he watched Jungkook tear into a punching bag with too much rage and zero technique, and smacked him on the back of the head.
“You’ll shatter your wrists like that.” Then he showed him how to make a proper fist.
Without meaning to, those two had become family. They never asked him to be “strong” in the way his father had demanded. They accepted him. That was it. And that was why, years later, they still dragged him to parties—even though they knew Jungkook hated feeling trapped among so many people. Better to get him drunk than leave him alone with his thoughts, Yoongi always said.
Jungkook had just leaned his back against the fridge when Yoongi jabbed him in the side with an elbow.
“Are you really looking for your brother at this party?” he asked, pouring himself some punch like it was poison. “Jungkook, accept the pain: your brother’s an asshole. He’s not worth finding.”
Namjoon nodded with the solemn air of a drunk philosopher. “A refined asshole, though. I’ll give him that. He looks like the type who folds his shirts using a ruler.”
“Yah!” Jungkook protested, even as he laughed. Deep down, he’d already given up.
In the end, he was in college. In the end, he was still home—in that house. In the end, he pretended it didn’t weigh on him. “He’s still my brother.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Yoongi scoffed. “You’re a puppy. Doesn’t count.”
Jungkook opened his mouth to reply—but something—no, someone—cut the words off in his throat.
There, in the center of the room, beneath swirling violet and blue lights, an omega was dancing. Not just any omega. Not like the ones he’d seen in high school. No. This omega looked like he was made of fire and silk. Brown hair falling into his eyes, a semi-sheer shirt clinging to sweat-slick skin, hips moving to a rhythm that couldn’t be taught. He was laughing, while a pink-haired friend—clearly far drunker—spun around him, laughing even louder. Everything about him looked alive.
Something jolted Jungkook’s chest.
Then his stomach.
Then the wolf.
A sensation like a blade—hot and sweet at the same time. I want him.
So strong it nearly bent him forward.
Yoongi followed his gaze and blinked. “Oh… oh wow. Okay. Who is that?”
Namjoon rubbed the back of his neck. “No idea. But I know the one next to him,” he said, pointing at the pink-haired omega flailing like he was in the middle of an exorcism. “That’s Jimin. Which means two things: one, they’re friends. Two, do not hit on Jimin unless you want to die.”
“I don’t want to hit on Jimin!” Jungkook said, scandalized. Then his eyes lit up again. “It’s the other one. The other one is…” He couldn’t find the words. “…wow.”
Yoongi burst out laughing. “Looks like the puppy just saw a beautiful omega for the first time. I think his name’s Taehyung, by the way.”
“Shut up,” Jungkook muttered—but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
Taehyung ran his tongue over his lower lip as he danced. An unconscious gesture—or at least it looked that way. But to the young alpha, it felt like a straight punch to the sternum.
“I want to talk to him,” Jungkook admitted in a whisper he hadn’t even expected himself to say.
“Oooh, here we go,” Yoongi murmured. “The puppy’s in love.”
“I’m not—!” Then he stopped. Looked at the omega again and admitted, almost desperately, “Okay. Maybe a little.”
Namjoon placed a hand on his shoulder, deadly serious. “Alright. Rule number one: don’t walk over there and go completely silent like you always do. Rule number two: don’t accidentally growl near his neck. Omegas don’t like being assaulted at first contact.”
“I don’t assault anyone!” Jungkook protested.
“You assault the air when you’re nervous,” Yoongi shot back. “Now go. Before the pink-haired one decides to drag him onto a table to dance.”
As if summoned by the comment, Jimin grabbed Taehyung by the wrist and pulled him closer, laughing—Taehyung following with a clear, beautiful, infectious laugh.
Jungkook felt his heart speed up.
Then climb higher.
Then skip a beat.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m going... Maybe. If I don’t die.”
“Die after you talk to him,” Yoongi encouraged. “At least then you’ll have a decent story.”
Namjoon gave him a gentle push between the shoulder blades. “Go, Kook. Life’s short.”
Jungkook took a step. Then another. The wolf roared in his chest. His heart betrayed him, racing ahead. Taehyung was only a few meters away—bright, magnetic, too much for him and yet absolutely perfect. And as Jungkook tried to figure out how the hell you break the ice with a walking miracle…
The omega smiled at him. Straightforward. Natural. Like he’d noticed him all along. And in that exact moment, Jungkook realized his life was never going to be the same again.
Taehyung was the most spectacular human being he had ever seen. Jungkook cleared his throat. Immediately regretted clearing his throat. Then wondered if spontaneous combustion might be an option—just to spare himself the humiliation he felt barreling toward him.
He took another step toward Taehyung.
Saw him turn. Smile. That smile that seemed to say I saw you coming a mile away, little alpha.
And Jungkook—panicking completely—did the only thing his body decided on its own to do: he danced.
A tiny… dance nod.
Half a shoulder.
The smallest wiggle of his hips.
Awkward. Shy. Endearingly uncoordinated.
An attempt.
Goddess.
Some kind of dance-greeting that made no sense whatsoever, but which, in his head, was supposed to be a cute invitation. Something light. Casual.
Except Jungkook couldn’t dance. And that movement—that stiff sway of his torso and half-step—came out so clumsy that instead of looking spontaneous or sexy, he looked like he was stretching before bolting for the exit.
Taehyung saw him.
Taehyung saw him perfectly and he smiled. He didn’t laugh. Didn’t mock him. Didn’t roll his eyes. He smiled—warm, open—like that awkward little gesture was the cutest thing he’d seen all night.
And that smile was too much.
Jungkook felt his face go up in flames, his scent spike, the wolf howling Stop! I can’t do this!
He turned.
He turned and ran.
Clean. Straight. Without thinking. He burst out of the fraternity house like the air itself had caught fire, ran all the way to the campus gym, pounding the punching bag until his knuckles split open. The wolf wouldn’t calm down. Didn’t want to calm down. It wanted that omega with soft legs and eyes that looked like they understood everything and nothing at the same time.
It was his brother who showed up at the gym—swaggering in like he’d just made a scientific breakthrough, not yet another idiotic discovery courtesy of the pack of overexcited alpha males he surrounded himself with.
“Kook-ah!” he called, pushing the door open with his shoulder. “Big day. We found one from the top ten list.”
Jungkook pulled off his boxing gloves, still breathing hard. “What list?”
One of the guys snickered. “The ass list, idiot.”
“Watch your mouth in front of my brother,” Seojin muttered—though he was laughing.
Then he nodded, proud. “It’s him. The new omega from the arts department. Kim Taehyung.”
The name cut through Jungkook’s chest like an electric shock.
“He’s… interesting.” Seojin ran a hand through his hair, elegant, casually practiced. “A little spaced-out, but gorgeous. Smelled like peaches, too. Anyway—” a smile that didn’t reach his eyes “—I’ve decided I want to get to know him better.”
Get to know him better. In bored alpha language, the translation was always the same.
“You don’t need to get to know him better,” another chimed in. “Omegas like that are easy. Give them a little attention and you’ll fuck him.”
Jungkook turned sharply toward the lockers before a growl could slip out.
Seojin didn’t notice. No one ever noticed when Jungkook was about to explode. He’d learned to hide it well.
“He’s just an omega,” his brother concluded lightly. “Wouldn’t surprise me if he’s already seeing someone. That’s how they are.”
Something in Jungkook’s stomach clenched. He didn’t want to know—and definitely didn’t want to imagine. But his brother kept going, too proud to hear the weight of his own words.
“I saw him talking to Jimin. And you know what that little slut’s like—affectionate with everyone. He was explaining how the university works, orientations, blah blah… someone like that wants a guide. It’s obvious.”
Jungkook didn’t answer. He couldn’t. And that was how—so stupidly, so casually—Jungkook learned that Taehyung was drifting closer to his brother.
Not because Taehyung truly wanted to.
But because Taehyung was Taehyung: Curious. Open. Able to see the good in the wrong people. Able to believe in kindness that wasn’t really there. To get attached far too quickly.
A heart that ran ahead of the mind. It happened days later, in a way that was almost ridiculous.
Jungkook had left class earlier than expected. He had his headphones on, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his head crowded with thoughts he’d been trying to crush for days. Then, all at once, the brightest voice on campus.
“Seojin-ah! Wait!”
Taehyung was running—or rather, swaying—toward his brother, who was standing right beside Jungkook. He wore a scarf far too long for him, cheeks flushed red from the cold, hair tousled, a smile that seemed to light up everything it touched. Seojin laughed, pleased, aware of the eyes on them.
“Careful,” he scolded gently. “You’re always falling.”
Taehyung reached him slightly out of breath, wearing a grin far too big for a cafeteria lunch.
“I brought cookies!” he announced, as if it were sensational news. “Jimin made them, but I said I wanted to share them with you. And… um… your brother…?”
Only then did he see him. Jungkook.
He stopped. The smile softened into something smaller, but no less beautiful. His eyes—those vivid, restless eyes, full of entire worlds—widened.
“Oh… you’re… Jungkook, right?”
Jungkook’s heart skipped.
He remembered.
He remembered his face. That night.
That smile under violet lights.
And Jungkook… suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands. He just dipped his head, stiff, as if one wrong movement might give everything away.
Taehyung held out a cookie, just like that, without thinking. A spontaneous gesture. Kind. The most disarming thing in the world—and Jungkook’s wolf rolled onto its back for him.
“Here, take one. Jimin says they make you feel better.”
Jungkook took it. His fingers trembled.
Taehyung noticed—and misunderstood. “You okay? You’re really shy, aren’t you? I’ve never seen an alpha like that.” He managed to say the most innocent and most devastating thing possible.
Jungkook blushed all the way to his ears.
“He’s just… tired. Jungkookie likes to destroy himself at the gym with all that… boxing,” Seojin cut in, resting a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder. Too close. Too natural.
“Really??” Taehyung exclaimed. Genuine surprise flashing across his face—then excitement. “Boxing is—oh! It’s so fascinating. All those fast hand movements, the focus, and… and the footwork…”
His hands gestured as he spoke, mimicking a very bad hook, laughing. “It’s one of those things that looks simple but never is. Like… wow.”
Jungkook just stood there, stupidly, his heart folding in on itself. No one in his family—not even his brother—had ever said wow about boxing. They’d always judged it. Taehyung smiled again, and that smile alone was enough to make something give way in Jungkook’s chest. Only, in reality, he still hadn’t said a single word.
“My brother isn’t very talkative—sorry about that, Taehyung,” Seojin said.
The omega seemed embarrassed, his gaze drifting away. “Then… see you later?” he asked Seojin, uncertain but bright. “For coffee?”
“Of course,” his brother replied, nodding proudly.
Taehyung nodded back, pulled his scarf up around his neck, and walked off with a light, almost bouncing step, as if everything were an adventure waiting to happen.
And Jungkook… stayed there. A cookie in his hand. His heart in pieces and one single, brutal truth settling in: he had no right to feel this way. They were nothing. They didn’t know each other. Taehyung owed him nothing.
But the wolf did. The wolf had chosen him at first sight. And now Jungkook had to stand there and watch his brother take what he wanted—with a force that terrified him.
He had started wearing a mask around him, just to survive. Jungkook had always known that something about Taehyung lodged itself under his skin. It wasn’t just his beauty—everyone could see that. It was… the way he existed. As if the entire world were a stage, and he moved through it carrying his own light.
And maybe that was why, for all that time, Jungkook had only ever watched him from a distance.
He saw him around campus, sitting beneath the trees with his knees pulled to his chest, a notebook open on his lap, sketching clothes in impossible colors. Sometimes he wore his own creations: jeans stitched together with red threads that trailed like comet tails, oversized shirts that looked like wings when he moved.
Other times, he spotted him with an old camera slung around his neck, capturing tiny details—the reflection in a puddle, a leaf pierced by rain, the curve of a winter sky.
He was… strange. And captivating. In the cafeteria he was always surrounded by friends, especially the pink-haired omega and another hipster-looking beta. Sometimes people from the theater club joined them too, and they laughed and joked together.
And that, precisely, was why Seojin—his brother—had wanted to claim all those colors for himself. He had a perfectly reasonable excuse to be there: as part of his economics degree, he was enrolled in an elective on creative industries and cultural markets, a course shared with the art and design department. At first, it was nothing more than light attention. He sat beside Taehyung during lectures, passed him markers before Taehyung even had to ask, held doors open with the polished, effortless smile of a perfect alpha. Small gestures—insignificant on the surface, but to Taehyung, they meant everything. He never made a direct move.
Never said anything explicit.
Never openly tried to seduce him.
But Taehyung… Taehyung had already felt chosen.
And Seojin? Seojin had finally sensed the right crack—the one where, if he played it well enough, he could someday make Taehyung fall straight into his bed.
Jungkook remembered it as if it were yesterday: the night Seojin burst into the kitchen, slamming the door, hair still tousled, wearing the satisfied grin of a predator.
“Guess who finally decided to bare his neck?” he’d said, dragging the sentence out as if savoring every syllable.
Jungkook had looked up from his dull economics book, his stomach already tightening. “Who?”
Seojin laughed. “Taehyung.”
Silence fell like a blade.
“Yes, that Taehyung.” He ran his tongue over a canine, as if replaying the moment. “Oh, it wasn’t easy. That little peacock guards his neck like a vault. Took me weeks. But in the end…”
He leaned against the table, pleased, miming the gesture of pulling someone by the nape.
“In the end, he opened his legs for me.”
Jungkook felt a sick heat rise in his stomach—a mix of anger and something else he hadn’t been willing to name back then.
Seojin didn’t stop. He never did. For days he kept bragging, spilling details Jungkook hadn’t asked for and didn’t want to know: how difficult Taehyung was, how uninhibited he became in bed, how his skin smelled like flowers and rain.
Jungkook listened in silence, every word another sting. Over time, he stopped asking himself why it bothered him. It was just irritation. Just nerves. Just the fact that Seojin ruined everything he touched—or at least, that was what Jungkook kept telling himself.
But the truth was, Seojin hadn’t let go. Not at all.
After that night, he paraded him around campus like a trophy. He liked kissing him in public without warning—pinning Taehyung against lockers, catching his chin. He slipped a hand under his sweater, just above the hip bone, as if to say this is mine.
Always too close. Always too dominant.
All of it wrapped in the brazen confidence of someone who knew the entire campus was watching.
Once, Seojoon—the theater club alpha who was always laughing with Taehyung—had commented, “Your new boyfriend really looks like an alpha from another era.” A pointed remark. “The kind who guards his omega like a relic.”
Taehyung had laughed, head slightly tilted, his hand still gripping Seojin’s jacket. “He really is.”
Jungkook felt something fracture somewhere inside his chest. A thin sound. Slow. Invisible to everyone else.
As exams approached, he found himself unable to bear the weight of it all: his father’s alpha voice still hammering inside his head, that damned, constant sense of inadequacy stealing his breath. He wanted to quit everything. Drop out of university. Disappear. Stop feeling crushed beneath expectations, comparisons, and a fragility he no longer knew how to manage.
He was breaking apart. And watching Taehyung laugh like that—while someone else claimed to own him—became the final needle in a heart already riddled with cracks.
Jungkook came home late. He’d skipped dinner—the thought of sitting at the table with his father, with that heavy, grating alpha scent, had shut his stomach tight. He’d locked himself in his room for a couple of hours, but he couldn’t think of anything except Taehyung’s laugh echoing through the university atrium, Seojin’s hand slipping under his sweater as if it meant nothing at all.
In the end, he gave in.
Barefoot, he stepped into the hallway, the house wrapped in the quiet of nine-thirty. He knocked on his brother’s door without waiting for an answer and pushed it open just enough.
Seojin was sitting at his desk, headphones resting around his neck, that smug, satisfied smile fixed on his face as always. The unpleasant scent hit him immediately.
“What do you want?”
“Nothing.” Jungkook leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “I just… hadn’t seen you in a while. I wanted to know where things stand with that Taehyung.”
Casual. Detached. As if he didn’t care.
Seojin glanced at him sideways, wearing that amused, mock-surprised look he always used when he caught Jungkook taking an interest in something.
“Oh?” he said. “Since when do you care about my business?”
Jungkook shrugged. “I just… see him around campus a lot. He seemed into you.” He hadn’t expected that last sentence to come out so bitter.
Seojin laughed—a sharp flick of a sound that was infuriating just to hear.
“Into me? Tae would fall in love with a shadow if it smiled at him for half an hour. That’s just how he is. All heart, no brakes.”
Jungkook breathed in slowly. “So nothing serious.”
“Oh, Goddess, Kook.” Seojin rolled his eyes. “Have you seen Taehyung? He goes dancing three nights a week, says things he doesn’t even understand himself, has half a pack of alpha friends—and clothes that look like they came straight out of a Seoul night market.” He grimaced, not cruelly, just honestly annoyed. “He’s too much. Too everything. Fun to fuck, sure—hell, he’s beautiful as the moon. But me, in a relationship with someone like that?” He shook his head. “Let’s not make fools of ourselves.”
Jungkook dropped his gaze, pretending to study his own fingers.
“And he knows that?”
“I told him I’m not promising anything.” Seojin shrugged. “But for him it’s enough if I smile and say ‘good job, Tae’ in this voice of mine—and poof.” He snapped his fingers. “Happy as a puppy.”
Jungkook felt the blood throb in his temples. “Oh.” A short, colorless sound. “Right.”
“Why are you asking, anyway?” Seojin tilted his head, eyes narrowing as if trying to read something beneath the surface. “You’ve never given a shit about my omegas.”
Jungkook pushed himself off the doorframe.
“Exactly. Just curiosity.” A pause. “Good night.”
He turned to leave, shoulders stiff, chest too tight.
“Kook?” Seojin called after him, just before he disappeared down the hall. “Taehyung’s just a distraction. He’s one of those who breaks, then fixes himself. He’ll get over it. You don’t need to worry about him.”
Jungkook didn’t answer. He closed the door with a soft, almost invisible click. But inside him, the sound was an explosion.
It was after spring that Taehyung started showing up at their house on weekends.
The first time, Jungkook froze in the doorway of the kitchen. It wasn’t Taehyung’s presence in itself that stunned him—though seeing him there, in their private space, was already more than enough. It was the fact that Seojin had brought him home.
Seojin. The alpha who had never—never—brought an omega under that roof. Not even the ones he’d been seeing for months. Not even the ones he claimed to “actually like.” Not a single one.
And now… Taehyung. Sitting at the breakfast table. Elbows resting on the wood, fingers smudged with blue paint, a steaming mug in front of him, that enchanted-creature air about him—as if he didn’t belong to any house at all, least of all theirs.
The scene made no sense, like a crooked painting on the wall. His mother was the first to fall for him.
Not romantically—just… Taehyung walked into a room and made it more beautiful.
That was his natural power.
“What a sweet boy,” she said while making lunch, watching him fold napkins into strange shapes—a swan, a flower, something nameless but still undeniably adorable. “He’s creative. He has such a… good energy.”
With his father, it was worse. All it took was one assessing look, aimed at the omega chatting at the table as if he’d known them all his life. A look that made nausea rise in Jungkook’s throat.
What are you looking for in him, old man?
In the days that followed, it became routine.
Sometimes Jungkook would find him on the couch, legs tucked under himself, showing Seojin sketches he’d just drawn: jackets with strange cuts, coats that looked like constellations, skirts embroidered to mimic moving water. Other times he’d see him there again, laughing at something Seojin said, head tilted to the side, soft hair falling like a curtain. It was one of the most irritating things imaginable—Taehyung laughing at his brother’s bullshit, and his laugh being adorable.
He was adorable.
And that was the worst part: the omega was never unkind to him. Not once. Every time he came over, he brought something—a dessert, a strange herbal tea he claimed calmed the nerves, a printed photograph that “kind of reminded him of Jungkookie, he didn’t know why.” A box of overly sugary cereal Jungkook had loved since he was a kid. “Your mom told me they’re your favorite,” he’d sung one day, handing him the box like a precious gift.
During that time, Jungkook barely even thanked him, doing everything he could to limit their contact. Every time he walked into a room, he felt his ribs tighten. It wasn’t jealousy—not yet. It was something more visceral, inexplicable, like watching a deer wander too close to the edge of a cliff.
One evening, he came back earlier than usual. He was supposed to stay over at Yoongi’s. It was already late, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and yet something had begun to tug at the skin at the back of his neck—a mute, growing discomfort. The need for the nest of his bedroom was calling him. Or maybe it was the rut creeping closer, roughening the world, sharpening smells, making overstimulated spaces almost unbearable.
So he went home.
The door was ajar—Seojin never closed it properly—and Jungkook slipped inside on quiet feet, backpack still on his shoulders, his mind filled with an uneasy kind of silence. Then he heard it: soft laughter, shallow breaths. The wet, unmistakable sound of a kiss he should never have had to hear.
“No, Seojin… not here.” The voice was low, tense. Taehyung’s.
“Why not? Come on. Let yourself go.”
Jungkook froze in the hallway. His heart slowed, then sped up, then seemed to drop straight into his stomach.
“We’re not fucking on your parents’ couch.”
Taehyung was laughing, but there was a nervous edge to it, almost embarrassed.
“They’re not coming back tonight. And besides… you know you’re irresistible.”
The living room was lit only by a lamp in the corner. On the couch, Taehyung was straddling Seojin’s lap, one hand resting on his chest, the other cupping his jaw in a slow, affectionate gesture—almost reverent. Their mouths moved together, soft, sure. Seojin held him by the waist, pulling him closer. Taehyung smiled between kisses, a happy crease forming on his lower lip.
They looked like… a couple. A real one.
Something inside Jungkook cracked. A sharp, physical pain, like a blow to the gut without warning.
He wanted to run. To make noise. To break them apart. To hurt himself.
Instead, he stayed perfectly still, breathless.
Taehyung noticed him first. He slowly pulled away from Seojin’s mouth—a glossy thread of saliva still connecting them—and turned. When he saw Jungkook, he smiled, cheeks flushing, but did nothing else, as if there were nothing strange about it. Nothing wrong. As if Jungkook weren’t coming apart right there in front of him.
“Hey, Jungkook-ah… you’re back early.” His voice was light. Warm. Careful.
His eyes still shone from the kiss, and his scent was almost gone, drowned beneath Seojin’s. Jungkook heard a rushing in his ears, like distant thunder. A tremor rippled through his stomach.
“Do you want…?” Taehyung shifted slightly, reaching toward the coffee table. “I got those star-shaped cereals for you—did you see them? I know you never feel like cooking after training, and your mom’s out with your dad… so I brought these.”
As if he were offering him a piece of himself.
As if he truly cared.
Jungkook managed only a stiff, wordless nod—and Taehyung seemed to worry.
“Are you okay? You look…” He studied him, head tilting. “I don’t know… tired?”
Seojin absently stroked Taehyung’s thigh, slipping his hand beneath the hem of his shorts, as if reminding him where his attention should be. ““It’s the exams, right, Guk? Or are you still thinking about that stupid fight?”
Taehyung flushed lightly, glancing away for a moment before meeting Jungkook’s eyes again. “What fight?”
“Nothing,” Jungkook cut in coldly. “Forget it.”
Masks are dangerous things—it’s hard to peel them off. Too many years spent pretending, too many years pushing his emotions outside himself, as if they didn’t belong to him.
The omega pressed his lips together, but not his heart. “If you ever need to talk… I’m here, okay?”
The words cut two ways: because Taehyung meant them. And because Jungkook would never be able to have him—not like this.
Jungkook swallowed, his throat dry. “I’m fine,” he lied. “I… need to study. Exams. And then I just want to sleep.” The lie lodged itself between his ribs.
“Okay,” Taehyung murmured, still subdued. “Then… goodnight.”
He turned back to Seojin with a shyer smile—and Seojin pulled him in, claiming him with a quick kiss. Jungkook turned away before he could see more. He walked to his room with a heart that no longer felt like his own. He closed the door softly, and only then let the breath leave his lungs.
Later, he heard Seojin shut himself in his room with Taehyung. He didn’t cry… But he came very close.
The gym was a huge concrete box, white lights humming overhead, the constant buzz of movement filling the air. Jungkook tied the last knot on his wraps and leaned forward, taking slow breaths to calm the thudding of his heart. He needed to focus. He wanted to do it right—if only for his own pride.
“Don’t tense your shoulders too much,” Namjoon murmured, leaning close. His hyungs had always come to watch him fight, even though they hadn’t stepped into the ring for years.
His voice was calm, a steady weight in the chaos. “If you stiffen, the hit to your ribs is going to land full force.”
Jungkook nodded, clicking his tongue. “I know. I’m just… nervous.”
“Normal,” Yoongi said, perched on the edge of the bench, arms crossed, his gaze calm yet sharp as a scalpel. “But remember what I told you: light feet, breathe through your nose, wait for him to make the first move.”
Namjoon patted his back—gentle, reassuring. “And don’t be an idiot. If something feels off, pull back. Yoongi and I have got your back, alright?”
Jungkook offered a nervous half-smile. “Alright.”
Up until that moment, his world had been contained: Namjoon checking his wraps, Yoongi giving technical advice with a deadpan expression, calm even when the tension was as thick as a steel cable.
Then Yoongi froze. Namjoon stopped talking. Both lifted their heads toward the entrance.
At first, Jungkook didn’t understand—but then he smelled it. No, three scents. He snapped upright.
“Oh, shit…” he whispered. It wasn’t meant for anyone, really.
Impossible to mistake. Even amidst the chaos of sweat, adrenaline, and metallic blood, it was clear. Taehyung, Seojin, and Jimin were walking in through the side entrance reserved for important guests, an usher guiding them… straight to the front row.
Why were they here? Seojin had never come. Never. Not even as kids. Not even when Jungkook had trained himself to exhaustion, hoping, stupidly, that his brother would at least once… watch him.
Jungkook moved closer to the ropes, disbelief written all over him.
Seojin noticed him first. He smiled, calm and confident—the kind of smile Jungkook could never mimic. A true alpha smile, someone who knew exactly how to behave in any situation.
“Tae wanted to see you fight,” he said as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “He said it’d be ridiculous not to support you. So, we’re all here.”
Taehyung lifted a hand in a half-wave. “Fighting, Jungkookie.”
For a moment, the world stopped.
That voice. That smile. No condescension, no fakeness. Warm. Genuine. A smile Jungkook never expected to be directed at him. For an instant, he even forgot the noise of the crowd—the upturned curve of Taehyung’s lips, his thin fingers trembling slightly in the wave, the scent of flowers and something electric, mixed with Seojin’s closer presence.
Jimin was the first to look away. He shouldn’t have been there, nor should Taehyung. Omegas weren’t supposed to be this close to the ring where alphas fought. Yet Jimin sat stiff between Seojin and Tae as if forced to stay, hands folded neatly in his lap.
“It’s dangerous for you two,” Jungkook muttered, more to Jimin than anyone else.
Jimin shot him a tight-lipped glance. “Not like I had much choice, given the alpha crowd here.”
Seojin chuckled. “Stop being so dramatic.”
The growl of his wolf bubbled up in Jungkook’s throat. He hated the way Seojin spoke to omegas.
Taehyung, however, intervened calmly, like he owned the space despite the sweat and pheromones suffocating the arena. “I wanted… we wanted to be here. We don’t like it when you don’t have anyone cheering for you.”
Jungkook froze… part of him intimidated, another part ignited with a feeling he couldn’t name.
And, of course, Seojin ruined it all. “Anyway, be careful,” he said, slapping Jungkook’s shoulder a little too hard, too possessive. “You’ve got two omegas watching you. Don’t get too carried away with the adrenaline. We know how you are.”
“Seojin,” Jimin said, sharp.
“What?”
“Seriously?”
Jimin sighed, exasperated, giving him a look that said you’re unbearable, but he bit his tongue for the sake of his best friend. His eyes scanned the gym, as if searching for someone. Jungkook thought it must be his imagination.
Taehyung watched silently, but the tension in his shoulders, that shadow Jungkook had never noticed before, was unmistakable.
Then the announcer’s voice boomed through the hall:“Jungkook Jeon in the ring! Prepare yourselves!”
Jungkook swallowed. He tried to look forward, but his eyes went back to them—the three in the front row, the radiant omega who shouldn’t have been there, and his brother acting like he was suddenly a trophy on display.
“Jungkookie,” Taehyung called softly. “Go. We’ve got you.”
The words stole the air from his lungs. For a second, he thought he couldn’t climb the ring steps… never been this nervous. Never felt so seen. When the match started, he fought like a caged animal: fast, fierce, precise. He brought his opponent down in less than three minutes. The crowd erupted.
And as he stood there, sweaty and gasping, knuckles throbbing, he lifted his gaze. Taehyung was standing, shouting, clapping, bouncing in excitement. Seojin gave a thumbs-up. Jimin looked at him, unsure whether to be proud or scared.
And Jungkook… had no idea what was happening inside him, but he hadn’t felt this alive after a victory in a long, long time.
He only knew that his friends weren’t blind. They had seen the way he still looked at Taehyung. Even though he’d wasted his chance months ago. Namjoon watched him longer than necessary. Yoongi’s pats on his shoulder were silent reassurances. Pathetic, really. He should’ve been happy for his brother, not daydreaming about his boyfriend.
That same evening, while they were out for a drink, Namjoon had paused after the first beer, studying Jungkook like he was a puzzle.
“You okay?” he asked, wiping his glasses fogged from the cold. “You don’t look like someone who just won.”
“I’m fine.” A short, sharp answer that didn’t even convince him.
The alpha offered a small, tense smile, but his eyes betrayed concern. “I know your brother and Taehyung seem…” He searched for the words. “Like they get along.”
Jungkook stiffened. He didn’t want to hear that. Not from him.
“They seem happy,” Namjoon added cautiously.
The words hit his chest like a closed fist.
Yoongi, trailing behind them with his hands in his pockets, snorted. “They don’t really seem happy to me. They look… performative.”
Jungkook looked away, voice trembling. “So it’s not just me overthinking? Fuck.”
Namjoon sighed deeply.
“No. It’s not just you. It’s just that Taehyung… he’s hard to read, doesn’t open up easily, but you should move forward.” There was a pause, then he added something Jungkook hadn’t expected: “And you’re not the only one Seojin annoys.” A half-smile, ironic. “Even Jimin can’t stand him.”
Jungkook frowned.
“Jimin? Taehyung’s friend? From the dance department?”
Namjoon cleared his throat, suddenly stiff. “Because… I talk to him.”
Jungkook blinked. “You… talk?”
“Yes,” Namjoon admitted, already regretting it.
“Since when?”
“For a while.”
Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “A while? Like… ‘since you’ve got a custom ringtone for his messages’ kind of while?”
Namjoon shot him a look that could cut steel. “I—” But his phone buzzed. Sweet, unmistakable melody.
“That’s Jimin, isn’t it?” Jungkook’s eyes went wide.
Namjoon silenced the ringtone in a flash, as if a bomb had gone off on the table.
“It’s not important.”
“It is,” Yoongi interjected, chuckling. “You do night shifts just to reply to him.”
Namjoon ignored him, taking a swig of beer. “Anyway… yeah. I talk to Jimin.”
Jungkook’s suspicion sharpened. Clearly, there was more. “And he told you Seojin annoys him?”
“In a way,” Namjoon said, a guilty half-smile. “Let’s just say you don’t need to be psychic to figure it out. Jimin’s… expressions are very telling.”
Yoongi nodded. “Like when his eyes dart to the exit whenever Seojin walks in.”
Namjoon sighed. “Or when he makes that face like he’s biting his tongue to avoid saying something nasty.”
Jungkook squinted. “But… why?”
He asked with sudden, almost visceral urgency. He needed to know. Namjoon shrugged, that ambiguous gesture that could mean everything or nothing… or that he was protecting someone without admitting it.
“I don’t know. But it just… gets on his nerves seeing him.”
The tone was casual. Not too casual. There was a nuance, an aftertaste, as if his words carried something else. Something Jungkook couldn’t see… but the others could. And the feeling stayed with him, a shiver running through him, like whoever stood next to Taehyung already sensed the threads and tensions Jungkook couldn’t yet grasp.
He was still wondering why he was even doing this. Talking to Park Jimin was like asking a shark not to eat you. That small pink-haired omega had a forked tongue and sharp teeth… but he remembered how his brother had called him months ago, “little slut.” Something must have happened between them.
The dance department was alive with the sound of steps on the polished floor and the distorted beat of music blasting from a speaker. Jungkook had never really stepped inside: too bright, too disciplined, too… elegant for someone like him who threw punches. He pushed the door of the main studio open slowly. Jimin was there, center of the room, breathing heavily, body taut in a stretch. Next to him, a beta—probably Hoseok—was adjusting the music system. The two spoke in low tones, in sync like only people who’d worked together for years could be.
The floor creaked beneath Jungkook’s shoes. Jimin turned. His eyes immediately went cold, his scent sharpening until it stung.
“Ah.” A sharp smile. “Little brother. Don’t drag me into another stupid fight.”
“It was boxing…”
“…Except to see your brother get beaten.”
Jungkook swallowed. “Hey, Jimin-ssi. I—I wanted to talk to you.”
“About what?” Jimin raised an eyebrow, voice dripping with disdain. “About how amazing Seojin is today?”
Hoseok went quiet, looking down. The air thickened with tension.
“I don’t know what you have against him,” Jungkook said, trying to keep his voice steady. “But Taehyung and Seojin… they’re… good together.”
Jimin laughed in his face. Not a joking laugh. It was incredulous, bitter.
“Sure. Of course.”
He glanced at Hoseok. “You heard that, Hobi hyung? They’re fine.”
Hoseok forced a tight smile, like he wanted to vanish. “I… I’m gonna grab some water. Don’t eat the kid.”
He left. Jungkook was left alone with Jimin.
Jimin approached slowly, like a predator deciding whether to strike or ignore.
“You know what your problem is, Jeon Jungkook?” His voice was low, controlled. “You live in fairy tales.”
“What?” Jungkook frowned. “I don’t—”
“You see what you want to see.” Jimin stopped in front of him. “And because your brother smiles well in public, you think everything’s perfect.”
Something inside Jungkook burned. He clutched his backpack tighter. “You have no idea what you’re saying.”
“No?” Jimin tilted his head slightly. “And you? How many times have you seen them when no one was looking?”
Jungkook opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Jimin struck first—not with anger, but with a truth as sharp as a thin blade.
“Taehyung isn’t happy.”
Silence.
A silence that scraped.
Jungkook took a step back, as if the floor had shifted beneath him. “W-what… what are you saying?”
Jimin exhaled, exasperated. “God, are you really that blind?” Then he bit the inside of his cheek. He’d pushed too far. He didn’t want to say it. But the dam had broken. “I see it every night.” His voice cracked slightly—not weakness, but frustration. “When he gets back to the dorm. He thinks no one notices. But…” He clenched his fists at his hips. “He locks himself in the bathroom. And cries. Silently. Until he thinks he can breathe again.”
Jungkook went pale.
The world seemed to tilt, as if those words had shifted its axis.
“Seojin doesn’t—” he tried to say, but the sentence died in his throat.
“He doesn’t hurt him?!” Jimin snapped, stepping closer, eyes ablaze. “He doesn’t talk down to him just because he’s an... an omega? He doesn’t humiliate him?! He doesn’t make him feel small whenever he can?”
Each question landed like a slap.
“I… I’ve never seen it,” Jungkook whispered, more to himself than to him.
“Of course you haven’t,” Jimin spat. “Because Taehyung would do anything to hide from you that he’s hurting.”
Jungkook brought a hand to his mouth, as if to stop himself from retching.
Jimin finally slowed. The anger drained, leaving a quiet bitterness.
“I’m not here to hate you, Jungkook.”
A pause. “But I’m not going to lie to you either. That relationship is shit. Taehyung has always believed that if someone touches him like that… it means they see him, they want him. But with your brother… it’s just sex. Just possession. And if you don’t open your eyes… your brother will drag you down with him.” He stepped back toward the bars of the studio. “Now go.” His voice trembled slightly. “Before I say something that’ll get me suspended.”
Jungkook froze for a moment, unable to speak. Then he left, carrying the first, devastating crack in everything he thought he knew.
He stepped out of the studio as if he’d been thrown. The hallway air was cool, but it felt thick, heavy, impossible to breathe.
The wolf beneath his skin writhed nervously, scratching at his ribs. He had never reacted like this. Not to Taehyung. Not like this.
He doesn’t hurt him?
He doesn’t talk down to him just because he’s an omega?
He doesn’t humiliate him?
Jimin’s words echoed in his head in relentless waves, like a scream stuck in his ears. He leaned against the wall, knees suddenly weak. It was as if someone had ripped a sheet of glass from his eyes—a sheet he hadn’t even known was there.
He had always watched Taehyung from a distance. For a whole year. Always keeping his distance—not enough to really see him. Taehyung was… brilliant. Radiant. With that easy smile and gentle aura that put everyone at ease, the bright clothes, the self-made jewelry, the head in the clouds. And if he was with Seojin, well… Jungkook saw them together like their parents did: a solid, harmonious, perfect couple.
Perfect because Taehyung made it seem perfect.
In the days that followed, it was impossible to shake the suspicion.
He didn’t sleep well. His wolf was in turmoil—an anxious presence that made it hard to focus, that woke him in the middle of the night with the absurd urge to go looking for him, without even knowing why.
And the more he tried to ignore those feelings, the more the details began to surface, one after another.
The scent—that strained, carefully restrained scent, stripped of the calm he remembered.
Still, nothing prepared him for the dinner they shared one Sunday in October. The Jeon house was filled with warm lights and polite laughter. Jungkook’s mother adored Taehyung, as she always had; she thought him beautiful and loved his clothes. She called him a blessing, a gift, the only one capable of keeping Seojin in line.
Taehyung smiled. He smiled with grace, as if everything truly were perfect.
“Tae, tell me how the project went today,” his mother said, resting a hand on his shoulder.
Taehyung opened his mouth to speak, but Seojin laughed first. A short, sharp laugh.
“Oh, let’s not start.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You know how he is. Every stupid bit of criticism feels like a personal attack to him.”
Jungkook’s fork slipped from his hand.
The omega dropped his gaze to his plate immediately, as if by reflex. As if answering wasn’t worth it. As if he were used to this. And that—that—was unsettling.
Something inside Jungkook went rigid. His wolf began to growl softly, a sound he couldn’t tell whether it came from his throat or his mind. His mother smiled, embarrassed.
“Oh, Seojin! Don’t say that. Taehyung is very sensitive.”
“Exactly.” Seojin took a sip of wine, not looking at anyone. “Too sensitive. But what can you do? It’s his nature.”
Taehyung smiled—small, tight, a smile that never reached his eyes.
Jungkook felt a burning sensation climb from his chest to his throat, like someone pressing a fist into his sternum. For a moment he thought he’d stood up too fast, because the room tilted slightly.
Then he understood.
It was anger.
Pure, blazing anger. The wolf clawed at his insides, biting at the walls as if it wanted to tear its way out.
Doesn’t he humiliate him?
Doesn’t he make him feel small?
Taehyung barely spoke for the rest of the dinner. Every time he tried to add something, Seojin cut him off. Or placed a hand on his knee beneath the table—a gesture everyone else mistook for affection. Jungkook didn’t. Jungkook saw the tension in Taehyung’s thigh. Saw the way he swallowed. Saw that shadow of discomfort he had always missed.
When the evening came to an end, Taehyung offered to help clear the table. Of course he did. As always. Jungkook’s mother tried to protest, saying she could handle it herself, but his father waved it off, telling her to let him if he wanted to.
“After all, he’s an omega.”
Jungkook followed him into the kitchen while Seojin animatedly talked with their parents in the living room.
“Hyungie…”
The word came out hoarse. He never called him that. He had always kept his distance—for everyone’s sake.
Taehyung froze for just a second. Then he smiled.
“Hey, Jungkookie.”
That smile hurt—especially now that he could see it. Really see it.
Jungkook stepped a little closer, careful not to make the gesture feel invasive. Up close, he noticed it properly: the plain beige sweater, the simple jeans. None of his usual wild inventions. No colorful threads, no creative stitching, no sparkling accessories.
“It’s… strange not seeing you in one of your creations,” Jungkook murmured without thinking, his eyes bright. “You’re always beautiful when you wear them. You make them… come alive.”
Taehyung flushed instantly. A pink bloom spread from his cheeks all the way to his ears. For a moment he looked startled—afraid of being noticed. Then he answered softly, with a calm that felt learned rather than natural.
“Your brother doesn’t want me wearing them to dinners with your family. He says they’re… not appropriate.”
The smile wavered. Appropriate. Another word that scraped Jungkook raw from the inside.
For a moment, he wanted to tell him it was ridiculous. Cruel. That Taehyung had been born to shine, not to shrink. But he saw Taehyung’s hands trembling slightly as he washed a plate, and he understood that touching that wound would only make it bleed.
So he did the most instinctive thing he could think of: he changed the subject, to give him air.
“Hyung… do you play Stardew Valley?” The question slipped out, completely illogical.
Taehyung blinked, confused—and then a small, real smile escaped him. Tiny. Almost imperceptible. But real. "Yes. When I can. Why?”
The steam from the hot water brushed against his already flushed cheeks, making him look even more… soft.
“Because…” Jungkook shrugged, watching him set another plate aside, “you seem like the kind of player who’d build a beautiful farm. Full of strange colors. Like your clothes—which I personally love.”
That tiny smile grew just a little wider.
It was fragile, but not fake. “Oh,” he murmured, dropping his gaze for a moment—rare for him—“so you do like me at least a little.”
Jungkook wanted to say more than a little, but his heart lodged itself in his throat and the words got stuck somewhere between his tongue and his breath. “Don’t get a big head, hyung,” he laughed, the sound cracking—far too fond to pass as teasing. “But… if you want… we could play together. Sometimes.”
And in that second, he noticed it.
Taehyung stopped breathing for a full heartbeat. His fingers slipped on the wet plate, as if the world had suddenly changed texture.
“Yes,” he whispered at last. “Yes, I’d like that.”
Something inside Jungkook melted. A part of him—the one that roared and trembled whenever Taehyung was near—felt seen. And the wolf inside him wagged its tail.
Then Taehyung turned his head slightly, and everything fractured. Jungkook noticed the way his shoulders stiffened as he reached for the next plate.
“Hey… are you okay?” he asked, his voice trembling despite himself.
Taehyung took a breath, washed another dish, set it on the rack. His movements were sharper now, more rigid. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Jungkook opened his mouth, then closed it. For a moment, he wanted to tell him everything—that he wasn’t blind, that Jimin had been right, that he wanted to help. But Taehyung turned to him with an expression so gentle, so exhausted, so utterly broken, that Jungkook froze. Like a flower crushed beneath the weight of too much snow.
“Really, Jungkookie. I’m fine.”
It wasn’t true. The wolf inside him knew it. Felt it the way you feel a wound beneath the skin. And it was in that instant—only in that instant—that Jungkook understood something devastating: Taehyung had been hurting for a long time, and he had seen nothing.
Or worse—
He had chosen not to see.
And this went on for the rest of the year, all the way to Seojin’s graduation—when he moved in with Taehyung, who left the dorms behind. The thought of the two of them sharing the same nest was nauseating. Jungkook tried not to dwell on it, tried to focus on his own problems—on the looming withdrawal from university, on that gnawing sense of failure that had been biting into his back for weeks. But Taehyung filled every corner of his mind.
His photos became fewer. His drawings, too. Sometimes, listening to his friends talk about their worries, Jungkook heard that Taehyung would lose focus during group projects, drift away mid-discussion. Jungkook had never wanted to think about it too deeply, but every time he closed his eyes—especially at night, when the world felt more honest—his thoughts always returned there: to how much Taehyung had suffered.
And to how much he had seen that suffering, powerless to stop it.
Over time, talking with Jimin made him understand that Taehyung didn’t speak about his problems with Seojin—not openly. Instead, they leaked out of him like scent, like silences, like smiles that lasted a second too little.
Taehyung wanted to teach art. He wanted to sew. His eyes lit up when he talked about color, shape, movement—about how creating was the only way he could truly breathe.
He wanted pups. Always had. Jungkook knew it from the smallest gestures: from the way Taehyung watched other parents, from the way he brushed a hand over a child’s messy hair, as if his fingers held an unspoken, compressed tenderness.
And he wanted a bond. A real one. Deep. All-encompassing. Not half-claimed. Not postponed. Not built out of deadlines and “somedays.”
But his brother postponed everything.
Tomorrow. Later. Eventually. When the time is right. And Taehyung bent, adapted, convinced himself it was enough—while slowly burning out from the inside. Jungkook had watched him fade, piece by piece, and he had hated it. Worse than that, he had changed—no longer cold, no longer distant. He had moved closer, trying to protect him, claiming for himself the right to be the one who would never make him cry. Taehyung, who called him “Jungkookie” at every family gathering, played video games with him, never judged his life choices, always had a kind word for him or a joke to soften the edges. When he spoke, his voice was deep and sweet like honey, full lips curling around every word—so devastatingly alluring, as if they were silently begging Jungkook to overcome his insecurities and kiss him.
But a month ago, Jungkook had had to leave. Leave for real. Because his father—was slowly destroying him, fragment by fragment. There was no love possible in that house. No room to breathe without fear. Leaving hadn’t been an impulsive choice; it had been a primal necessity.
Namjoon, Yoongi, and Taehyung had helped him move, carrying boxes as if they wanted to lighten his heart as well. Even Jimin and Hoseok had come, and the way Jimin looked at him—not with hatred anymore, but with a fragile neutrality—had felt like an unexpected gift.
And then there was the most surprising thing of all: Seojin.
“I’m happy for you, you know,” he had said, handing him an HDMI cable as if it were a peace offering. “And I’m glad Taehyung wasn’t just a quick fuck. I did right not letting him slip away, Jungkook. That omega is… smart. Beautiful. And he has that kind of love inside him—the kind that doesn’t burn out. You’ll understand one day, when you have a partner of your own.” He had said it in that older-brother tone, the one that always knew better. The one that had always driven Jungkook insane.
He had hated the alpha who claimed to love him and then put him on hold, as if Taehyung were a side project.
He had hated himself for being unable to do anything.
And most of all, he had hated the wolf inside him—for choosing Taehyung from the very first look. From the very first breath. From the very first scent.
Then came the night everything collapsed.
Jungkook remembered it like an open wound.
There had been a knock on the door of his tiny apartment—messy, cramped, with Taehyung’s drawings still taped to the fridge like relics of a private shrine. He had rushed to open it, thinking it was Namjoon, coming to talk about how to improve for the next fight.
Instead, it was Taehyung.
Alone.
His eyes were glassy, his hands trembling, and his scent told the truth before his mouth ever could: pain, jealousy, rejection. They had fought.
“Can I come in?” Taehyung whispered, already halfway past the threshold, as if a refusal might shatter him. Jungkook nodded, his throat completely closed.
“What happened…?”
The omega collapsed onto the couch without even looking around, arms wrapped tightly around himself as if to keep from falling apart. A tremor ran through his shoulders.
“We… we fought,” he said. His voice came out raw, nearly broken. Taehyung shook his head faintly, fingers clenched around the sleeves of his hoodie as if letting go would mean losing his last anchor.
“I don’t even know if he actually cheated,” he murmured, stumbling over the words. “I just… I smelled another omega on his clothes.”
Jungkook went rigid. No matter how self-centered Seojin could be—how obsessed with his own success—he would never have cheated on Taehyung. The wolf inside him snapped fully awake, ready to claw, to bite.
Taehyung swallowed, his voice thin as wet paper. “I asked him to explain. But he…” He inhaled, a shiver catching in his throat. “He got so angry. Said I was paranoid. That I had no right to question him. That I was ruining his evening.”
Jungkook saw it then—a flash of real, deep fear pass through the omega’s eyes. Pride raging, colliding with his heart.
“He started breaking things,” Taehyung whispered, as if the scene were crashing back into him physically. “The vase your father gave him. Plates. He—he tipped over a chair and left. He’s never scared me like that before.”
Jungkook felt his blood turn to ice—and then boil. “Did he… did he hurt you?” Seojin had never been violent, not like their father, not that Jungkook could imagine—but the fear was there all the same.
Taehyung wrapped his arms tighter around his torso, protective. “No. But… I ran.” A dim, self-mocking, painful smile. “I don’t even know if I did the right thing. I don’t know if it was betrayal or just… me. Me asking for too much.”
In that moment, he looked more vulnerable and defenseless than ever: his breath barely making it in and out of his lips, lungs contracting with effort, heart pounding painfully against his ribcage, as if it thought it might escape his chest.
"You’re not asking for too much,” Jungkook growled, unable to stop himself. The sound came out low, rough, animal.
Taehyung closed his eyes, as if those words were almost too much relief to bear.
“I didn’t want to come here,” he went on in a whisper. “But Jimin’s staying with Namjoon, Hobi hyung was helping them move, and… I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want him to come back and find me there.”
Jungkook’s throat tightened. The word him cast a shadow over the room.
“You did the right thing,” he said gently, the tenderness burning in his chest. “You really did, Tae.”
Taehyung drew a slightly deeper breath, but the shaking didn’t stop.
“Seojin says I’m too emotional,” he murmured. “That I need to calm down. That I ruin things. He says that… if I keep being like this, he’ll never be able to think about bonding with me.”
Jungkook nearly lost control—his vision flickered red. The wolf clawed and kicked and screamed.
But he moved closer. Slowly. Carefully, so as not to frighten him.
“Tae,” he said, his voice trembling in a way it never had for anyone. “You don’t ruin anything. He’s the one who—”
The words died in his throat.
Because Taehyung looked up at him.
Eyes shining.
Shattered.
Broken.
“Then why do I always feel like I’m wrong?”
Jungkook took his hand. He couldn’t stop himself.
And Taehyung—collapsed. Folded forward, resting his forehead against Jungkook’s shoulder, a stifled sob rippling through his entire body. Jungkook gathered him in, held him the way he’d always wanted to—without thinking, without restraint, without filters.
“You’re not wrong,” he murmured into his hair. “You never have been. It’s him. It’s only him.”
Taehyung shook so hard his fingers clawed into Jungkook’s hoodie, like he was falling and that was the only thing keeping him from disappearing—and then he started to cry.
The wolf finally stopped clawing. For the first time in a year, at the sight of the omega, it knelt—submissive—before Taehyung’s pain. And in the quiet of the room, Jungkook understood with merciless clarity: Taehyung wasn’t just sad. Fuck—he wasn’t just hurt. He was devastated. And Jungkook wanted—desperately, inevitably—to be the one who put him back together.
He released his pheromones, faint and soothing, without daring to go further.
“Jungkookie… can I ask you something?” Taehyung breathed against his shoulder.
That nickname hit him like a punch and a caress all at once.
“Of course.”
Taehyung lifted his head just a little, face streaked with tears. “Do you think… it’s wrong to want to be chosen? To want someone to look at me like I’m the only one?”
Jungkook closed his eyes for a second. The answer burned in his throat.
“No,” he whispered. “It isn’t wrong. You deserve someone who chooses you every day. Every hour.”
Taehyung inhaled shakily. He dragged a hand over his face, as if trying to wipe something away. Then, quietly: “Then why doesn’t he choose me? Why… am I not enough?”
It was a question he should never have asked him. A question no omega in love with his alpha should ever have spoken aloud.
And something broke inside Jungkook.
A final fiber. A last barrier.
“You are enough,” he said, voice low and rough. “You are—”
He didn’t finish. He couldn’t. Because the omega was staring at him—too long—with those wide eyes.
And that was when the betrayal truly began.
Not with a kiss. Not with a touch. But with Taehyung leaning in and resting his forehead against Jungkook’s.
An innocent gesture. A devastating one.
Jungkook froze, every muscle screaming. “Tae…”
“Just… let me stay like this for a moment,” Taehyung whispered, his voice knotted. “Just a moment. Please.”
And Jungkook didn’t push him away. He couldn’t. He rested a hand against Taehyung’s back—light. Trembling.
The wolf clawed at his ribs, growling a name it had known since the very first glance.
Taehyung.
Taehyung breathed against his face, warm and desperate. “And… why do I feel seen with you?” he asked, almost without meaning to.
Jungkook closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”
But he did. He knew far too well.
Taehyung cupped his face in both hands, eyes shining, pupils blown wide, an expression utterly broken—nothing seductive about it.
And yet.
He was there.
He was everything.
“Jungkook…” he said softly, like a question. Like a warning.
It was in that moment—in that infinitesimal gap between one breath and the next—that everything wavered. The wolf inside Jungkook roared. He barely had time to inhale—to catch that trembling, fractured scent that begged make me feel something—and then Taehyung leaned in to kiss him.
A desperate plea. Jungkook grabbed his wrists on instinct, as if to stop him… but he didn’t. He felt a powerful surge rise from somewhere deep inside him, from a depth he hadn’t even known he possessed. An urge like sudden thirst in the desert, one that made him tremble, go weak. A thought larger than his own mind, its voice clear, asking—pleading: Hold me.
They collided like two bodies that had spent years orbiting each other without ever truly touching. Taehyung’s mouth searched for his without precision, without grace. It was pure hunger, and Jungkook answered in kind, with the same urgency. He had been dreaming of this for more than a year, pretending it no longer mattered.
The first kiss was a blow. The second, a fire.
Taehyung moaned against his lips—a sound thick with pain and desire—and Jungkook lost all control. He lifted him by the waist with an ease he didn’t know he had, pinned him against the wall, and Taehyung clung to his neck.
A flicker of guilt washed through him at the thought of Seojin, somewhere far away.
“Tae—” Jungkook tried to say, but the omega took his face in both hands and silenced him with a fierce, almost angry kiss.
“Don’t talk.” His voice trembled. “Just—just hold me.”
That was all it took.
They nearly fell into the kitchen table, slammed into it hard enough to shove it aside. A cup tipped over and rolled across the floor, but neither of them truly heard it. Jungkook’s hands no longer knew where to land—Taehyung’s waist, his back, his neck. Every place was too warm. The omega’s skin was smooth, hot, luminous, as if every inch of it sent out a call Jungkook had never stopped hearing.
And Taehyung was no less desperate. He tugged Jungkook’s shirt off in one quick, urgent motion, his fingers exploring every inch of his skin as if he wanted to memorize it, carve it into memory. His hands roamed over Jungkook’s chest, his ribs, his broad, sculpted shoulders—trembling, yet demanding, hungry and gentle all at once. Taehyung bit at his mouth like he wanted to keep him there forever. Jungkook dragged his fingers up his back and felt the omega arch completely into him.
His erection throbbed painfully against his jeans, too much, too intense. The omega felt it, gasped, and caught Jungkook by the wrist.
“Bedroom,” he whispered, though it came out more like a sob than a word.
Jungkook didn’t even let the sentence finish. He followed him, grabbed his hips halfway there. Taehyung laughed softly against his neck—a broken, almost disbelieving sound that made the young alpha’s knees tremble.
They stumbled into the room, bumping into the door, which fell half-shut behind their bodies.
And there, finally alone—finally without any other scent, any other voice, any other shadow—the need exploded. They tore at each other’s clothes—a button popping free, a belt sliding to the floor with the underwear, a strangled breath as hands roamed everywhere, never finding enough skin to touch.
Taehyung fell back onto the bed, into the alpha’s nest, dragging Jungkook down with him, gripping his hips as if he had spent years imagining this moment. Jungkook followed with a hunger that frightened him, a hunger he recognized as his own since the very first night he’d seen Taehyung dance as if he were born to be watched. Bodies pressed together, breaths overlapping, hands that wouldn’t stop. Taehyung’s caramel skin under his fingers, his peach-sweet scent, his exposed neck—Jungkook buried his face there, nipped and kissed. Thighs spread, damp and aching.
Jungkook had had sex before—not with many omegas, and in the past year only during his rut. He had never been with anyone he felt this intensely in love with.
“Tae… I want you so much…” His hand slid down Taehyung’s leg, then along the inside of his thigh, where the skin was softer, warmer—where Taehyung trembled the most. He brushed over the swollen, slick entrance, his finger barely slipping in, stealing Taehyung’s breath. He wanted to take his time: savor the curve of his hip, trace every line with his mouth, every dip, every spot that made him moan softly; he wanted to move slowly, to worship him the way he deserved.
But Taehyung’s breathing, his scent blooming around them in the nest, the way he gripped Jungkook’s waist and pulled him closer and closer… made all control impossible.
“Take me. Move,” Taehyung murmured, voice broken, nails raking down his back.
And Jungkook did—without preamble.
He pushed into him in one slow thrust, paying attention to every single reaction, his heart pounding wildly for him, his body feeling impossibly tight around him, the urge to move immediately overwhelming—but staying still was the most important thing. Because he would give this omega anything.
“Are... are you okay?”
“Go… faster. Please…”
Taehyung moaned against his tongue, his teeth. He heard the low, strangled growl Jungkook answered with, then choked on a cry when Jungkook thrust so hard and so fast it hurt—and at the same time sent an uncontrollable shiver through his legs and deep into his belly. And from that point on, he didn’t slow down. He wanted him so badly that he scented him as if he already belonged to him. Kiss. Thrust. Kiss. He bit and licked at his collarbone. Mine. Taehyung let out a small, broken sob, standing at the edge of a precipice where every trace of modesty and reason was being swallowed whole.
Every thrust lifted him slightly, stole his breath, shattered his voice. The heat built too fast, impossible to contain. His stomach tightened, his hands dug into the alpha’s back as if holding on to him were the only thing keeping him from coming apart.
“Jungkook… wait—” But it wasn’t a plea to stop. It was a tear. A surrender.
He came between their bodies, the orgasm exploding through him like sudden lightning, arching his back, clutching the alpha so tightly it left marks.
Jungkook was completely at his mercy. It felt as if the world would end with the end of that moment.
And that was when Jungkook felt it.
The knot.
A deep, primal pressure that seized his lower back and dragged him forward. An animal push, more instinct than thought. He didn’t just want to finish inside him. He wanted to fill him, mark him, hold him there, leave himself imprinted in him.
And in the most remote, feral corner of his wolf—where no words could ever reach—there surfaced a thought that was not reason, not choice, but pure reproductive instinct: Make him yours. Fill your omega. Give him pups.
It wasn’t possible. Neither of them was in heat. And yet the urge was so natural, so profound, it stole his breath. As if loving him, wanting him, and protecting him were all the same thing.
Then the knot swelled. It locked them together with devastating gentleness—slow, inevitable—and Jungkook wrapped his arms around Taehyung as if he might break, as if he were afraid of hurting him by giving him all of that fierce love.
His first knot. It held none of the brutal instinct he’d always been warned about. It was deep. Complete. Almost… reverent.
As if it had always been meant for him. Only him.
Taehyung didn’t pull away. If anything, he spread his thighs wider, clawed at Jungkook’s hips, and moaned against his mouth, surrendering to a part of Jungkook he had never seen before—and yet recognized as his own. And Jungkook, trembling as he was held warm and full inside him, realized there was nothing in the world he had ever wanted more than that omega.
Than Taehyung.
He spilled inside him, locking in place as his wolf instinctively tried to claim, to breed. Taehyung was still shaking beneath him, small, uneven spasms rippling through his open thighs.
He was beautiful like that. Wrecked. Sheened with sweat. His chest rising as if every breath cost him effort. Lips parted, flushed from kisses. Throat exposed.
Jungkook felt him tighten around him and groaned, bending down to kiss him again.
“Alpha…”
“You’re mine…”
He lowered his face to Taehyung’s neck, to the damp, bared skin, and licked it as if that alone could carve him into himself. His neck was warm, pulsing, inviting—and the urge to bite his gland nearly drove him mad. Taehyung moaned, trembling under Jungkook’s hands, opening for him, his breathing turning fast and unsteady. The knot still bound them, tying their bodies together in an irresistible, animal pull.
Jungkook stilled for a moment, his face still close to his, breath heavy.
“Does it hurt?” he murmured between kisses, heart tight. “Is it… good?”
Taehyung cupped his face, looked at him through half-lidded eyes, cheeks flushed with want, his body still trembling in Jungkook’s hold. “Yes…” he gasped. “I’ve never felt anything like this…”
His voice was a hoarse, urgent moan—full of trust, full of need.
The knot tightened a little more, a deep, involuntary shudder passing through them. Taehyung let out a small sound, cut off in his throat. Jungkook closed his eyes, fighting the wave—then yielded slowly, with a deep tremor that made them both moan. He stayed over him, breathless, face pressed to his neck, heart pounding like a wild drum. Taehyung still shook beneath him, thighs open, skin burning, low sounds melting out of his throat.
For a long moment, they stayed like that—motionless—as if neither of them dared disturb what had been created in that closeness too intimate to be only desire.
“Tae…” Jungkook murmured, not even sure what he was asking.
Taehyung shook his head slightly, as if a single word might shatter them. “Not now…” he whispered. “Please.”
He moved slowly. Almost trance-like.
His hands slid along Jungkook’s back, gently rolling him onto his side, then onto his back, without a word. It was a vulnerable position for him. As a child, his father used to pin him down when he beat him. When he learned to fight, Jungkook had sworn no one would ever put him in a vulnerable position again.
And yet his body followed the movement as if it knew better than his mind—like he couldn’t refuse, even if he wanted to.
Taehyung straddled him. His breathing was still uneven, his thighs trembling slightly as he settled over him—but his eyes… his eyes were wide open, dark, deep, almost shining. An omega looking at his alpha as if truly recognizing him for the first time.
With near-reverent slowness, he took Jungkook’s hand—large, strong, warm fingers—and guided it to his stomach, just below the navel. Right there. Where he could still feel him inside. Where the alpha’s heat pulsed slow and deep, in the echo of the knot that had just released.
Jungkook held his breath. Taehyung laced their fingers together and, with a small moan that seemed to come straight from his most primal instinct, whispered against his lips, “Do you feel it…?” His eyes trembled. “I’m full of you.” The tone wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t even just desire.
It was wonder.
Acceptance.
An intimacy Taehyung had never given anyone before. Jungkook felt his wolf rumble softly—not with possession, but with something older, gentler, almost grateful. Taehyung bent to kiss him, slow and languid, his still-warm body sliding over his. Jungkook’s cock began to harden again under the omega’s touch. Their fingers remained entwined on Taehyung’s stomach, pressing lightly, as if to remind him—second by second—of what they had just shared.
Then Taehyung lifted his hips slightly… and sank down again with a choked moan.
“Again…” he murmured, without shame, without hesitation. “I want to feel you again.”
And Jungkook grabbed him by the hips, eyes wide because it was happening again so fast—almost as if he couldn’t believe that this omega, this one, was asking him to start again. His body was on fire, so close it felt like rut.
“Wait. I want to… see you. Let me see you,” he swallowed hard as he sat up, fighting the urge to thrust and fuck Taehyung while he was already buried inside him.
For the first time, he had the chance to really look at the omega he was in love with—and he wasn’t going to waste it.
Taehyung had long legs, a broad chest with the prettiest nipples, soft, elegant collarbones. He was lean and strong, all smooth lines and quiet power. His cock, glossy and heavy where it rested against his stomach, made it painfully clear just how much he wanted him. So well-endowed for an omega. Jungkook brushed his thumb over the wet, sensitive tip, already deciding he wanted to take him into his mouth later.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, licking his lips. He stroked Taehyung’s stomach, feeling the outline of his own erection still inside him, tracing its shape from within. Taehyung jolted, startled by that kind of worship, a moan slipping from his throat before he could stop it. Jungkook smiled faintly at the reaction, tightening his hold on his hips, letting out a soft, lovestruck groan.
“You’re so warm…”
Taehyung smiled at him—shy, wicked.
“I burn for you…”
He’d keep our pups warm, the wolf thought suddenly, tender and unbidden.
But Taehyung’s thoughts were anything but gentle as he felt Jungkook hard and deep inside him.
“Jungkook… I want to ride you.”
The alpha surged up and kissed him breathless at those words. He inhaled sharply. “I’d rather be on top.”
“Let me,” Taehyung whispered. Then, softly—almost innocent: “I promise that after… you can knot me again.”
Jungkook’s world stopped.
By the time he realized what was happening, he was already stretched out on the nest, Taehyung’s hands on his chest as he slid off and—then swallowed him again, slow and deliberate. Jungkook bucked up instinctively, animal need driving him to sink back into the scorching embrace of Taehyung’s body, tight and perfect around him. The wolf went utterly still—not tamed, but in agreement.
Taehyung held him down in the most beautiful way, and Jungkook touched him however he wanted, stroking him with every thrust until they came together. From that position, he could touch every inch of him.
His hands roamed freely—over Taehyung’s thighs, warm and slick, up the tense lines of his hips, across his stomach, his chest, his shoulders. Every place he touched reacted, shivered, opened for him. Jungkook learned him by feel: the way Taehyung arched when his fingers slid higher, the soft gasp when his thumb pressed just right, the way his body seemed to invite more. Taehyung collapsed onto him, still tied by the knot, his hands tangled in Jungkook’s hair, pressed flush against him, face buried against his shoulder as he gasped for breath. His thighs were spread over Jungkook’s, and Jungkook’s hands moved gently along his back, while his mouth had worried the omega’s gland enough to leave a dark mark behind.
Taehyung’s voice against his skin hit him next—then his wide, glassy eyes.
“Jungkookie… can I scent you too…?”
Jungkook smiled, surprised by the question.
“You can do anything you want to me.”
Taehyung dove for his neck and kissed him. Every time they tried to stop, one kiss became another, one touch turned into another thrust. The night swallowed them whole—two boys too hurt, too lonely, too starved for each other.
A mistake.
A revelation.
A point of no return.
The worst of it came the next morning. He woke slowly, as if surfacing from a dream too deep to leave behind all at once. The first thing he noticed was the silence. Not the ordinary quiet of early morning, but something stranger—suspended, taut, as though the room itself were holding its breath.
The second thing was the scent.
The nest was still saturated with the two of them, peach and alpha tangled together in the air. It was so sweet, so intimate, that for a moment Jungkook let himself sink back into the pillow and smile—slowly, disbelievingly—as his heart filled, as if someone were pouring liquid light straight into his chest.
Then he turned his head.
Taehyung’s side of the bed was empty. Only cold sheets remained, and a pillow without the weight of his head. There was a faint crease, barely visible, as though he’d left only moments ago, on tiptoe.
The smile died on Jungkook’s lips. He sat up abruptly, his heart slamming against his ribs, a sudden chill climbing his spine.
“Tae?” he called, his voice rough, thick with sleep.
Silence. He swung his legs off the bed—an instinctive, half-formed movement, the same one he would’ve made to chase after someone slipping away—and that was when he saw it.
A note.
Set beside the pillow, folded with a care that had nothing to do with the way Taehyung had left. Jungkook stared at it for a long second without touching it. Then he reached out, slowly. His fingers were still trembling, though he didn’t know whether it was from the night before… or from fear.
He unfolded it. Taehyung’s handwriting was the same as always—beautiful, slightly slanted, too fast. But one line wavered.
I’m sorry. I know what you would have tried to tell me, and I didn’t want to force you to say it. I can’t allow myself that… not after last night.
Please don’t look for me today.
—T.
Jungkook didn’t move.
It was as if something had struck him clean through.
First came the emptiness—a hollow that swallowed his breath, then the pain. Not a large pain. A thin one, sharp and precise, slipping neatly between his ribs as if it had always belonged there.
Then panic.
A hot spike surged up his throat, tightening it. He couldn’t even straighten up; he stayed hunched forward, the paper trembling between his fingers.
And now here they were—two weeks later—at the family’s Christmas dinner. Jungkook had avoided his father, and the feeling was mutual. His scent had grown even more unbearable since Jungkook left home.
Too sharp.
Too authoritarian.
Too… old world.
For a second, Jungkook couldn’t breathe.
The dining room was full of warmth, soft lights, overlapping voices—but beneath the veneer of normalcy lingered something ancient, tribal, inevitable.
Cape families were always like this. Especially during the holidays.
Across the table, his uncles were deep in conversation. Not about ordinary work—no. About the pack.
“…if this year’s harvest holds, we could reinforce the agreement with the Choi from the hill district,” said the eldest uncle, a massive alpha who smelled of pine and whiskey.
“The harvest isn’t the problem,” another uncle—a beta—countered, tilting his head pragmatically. “It’s the borders. Saho’s pack is pushing farther north. We need stronger patrols.”
“I’ll bring it up with the Council,” his aunt cut in, elegant in a white suit. “Seojin is in an excellent position to represent us now.”
The omega was busy carving the turkey for the younger cousins, speaking gently to the children who adored him. His voice was soft, his smile kind.
No sign of the scratches Jungkook remembered on his back. No tremor in his voice. No hesitation. He looked perfect as if the last two weeks had never happened.
Jungkook watched him for too long. He couldn’t even cling to the meager comfort of blaming someone else—it had been his fault. Entirely. Only his. His mother noticed—mothers always did—but chose not to say anything. “Taehyung, try this,” she said warmly, ladling broth into his bowl. “It’s my mother’s recipe. I hardly ever make it.”
“Thank you.” Taehyung gave her a delicate smile. “It’s an honor.”
Jungkook bit the inside of his cheek. Honor burned against his skin.
The room stilled at the head of the table when his father cleared his throat.
As always, it wasn’t accidental. It was a call. A signal.
“Jungkook.”The tone belonged to the man whose raised voice had once made the entire house stop breathing.
Jungkook lifted his gaze, stiff. “Yes.”
“You look tired.”
“I train a lot.”
“For what?”
And there it was—the judgment, sharp and unspoken, laced with poison.
What are you wasting your time on? What did you run away for? What makes you think you’re better?
Jungkook clenched his jaw. He’d spent years learning how to take a punch without flinching. But nothing ever hurt like one of his father’s sentences.
The eldest uncle chuckled under his breath. “The boy wants to be a professional boxer, doesn’t he? An… interesting career choice.”
Interesting. As in: pointless.
Jungkook felt his scent shift—darken, tighten around him like the ropes of a ring. And Taehyung, across the table, stopped smiling for just a moment. A single heartbeat.
A hairline crack. But Jungkook saw it, and that was enough to make the same knot tighten again—not the physical one, but the one inside him—clamping around his throat.
His mother brushed his wrist in a calming gesture, light as a breath. A touch so small and familiar it filled his chest with a childlike ache. “Sweetheart, have some kimchi.”
“I’m fine, eomma.”
He wasn’t, and she knew it. But, as always, she didn’t press. His father set his fork down on the plate with a sharp clink. In their house, that sound had always been the announcement of something final. “I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said, his voice calm and cutting. “I’ve accepted your decision.”
Jungkook went rigid. Taehyung looked up, tense.
“You gave up university,” the man went on. “You chose boxing. It’s not what we hoped for… but so be it.”
His mother lowered her eyes, biting her lip with quiet sadness. She never spoke against her husband, but Jungkook could feel every shade of her pain.
“I no longer expect anything from you.” His father looked at him the way one looks at a discharged soldier. “I’ve given up.”
The words landed in his gut like a straight punch. Worse still, they did so in front of the entire family.
“Fortunately, Seojin will take over the pack and the company,” the man continued. “And now that he’s found an omega, the continuity of our bloodline is secured as well.”
His mother nodded with a thin, forced smile. “Yes, of course. We’re very grateful to have Taehyung in our family.”
Jungkook saw Taehyung stiffen slightly, as if that last sentence had only half reached him.
Seojin laughed, draping an arm over the back of Taehyung’s chair. “I’m trying to hold on to him, Mom. It’s not easy.”
His mother laughed softly, though her eyes didn’t truly follow. “You look wonderful together.”
Jungkook dropped his gaze to his plate.
His hands were shaking.
His father resumed eating, satisfied. “You should be happy, Jungkook, my boy. You have no more responsibilities. You’re free.”
Free. Free from everything. Even from being considered part of the family.
Taehyung exhaled softly, as though the word had twisted something in his chest. But he said nothing.
“Oh, by the way,” Seojin added lightly, “next week we’re visiting Tae’s parents. They want to meet me.”
Jungkook’s mother brightened. “What wonderful news! Taehyung, that must be so exciting for you.”
“Very,” he replied, composed—but his voice trembled. “They care a great deal.”
Something surged violently in Jungkook’s throat. A tangle he couldn’t tell was anger, sadness, or something else entirely—something that absolutely could not spill out in front of everyone.
“Jungkook?” his mother asked gently. “Would you like to say something?”
“No.” His voice came out rough. “No, excuse me… I need some air.”
He stood. He tried to do it quietly, to slip away like a shadow, but the chair creaked as if it were betraying his every movement. And his father, of course, was the first to react—frowning, scenting the air like an alpha disturbed by an unauthorized emotion.
“I don’t understand what’s gotten into you tonight.”
A blade. Always the same one.
“I know,” Jungkook murmured without turning around. “And I’m sorry.”
His mother moved at once, as if her body reacted before her thoughts—that omega instinct she’d never lost with any of her children. “Sweetheart—”
“Eomma.” One word, weak but steady. “I’m fine. Just five minutes.”
And he left.
The balcony door shut with a sharper sound than he intended, and the icy December air crashed over him like a slap—like a blessing.
At last, he could breathe.
At last, no one was scenting him, no one weighing him, no one judging him.
He took two steps forward and pressed a hand to his mouth, teeth clenched to keep from growling. Humiliation, anger, shame—all of it packed tight in his throat. Inside, his father didn’t even bother lowering his voice. “He’s always been too emotional.”
The words lashed across Jungkook’s back like a whip. There was no need for the man’s scent to poison the balcony again—it was already there.
His mother’s voice followed, softer, more painful, like a touch trying to turn into a shield and failing. “He’s just sensitive… because he feels too much.”
Jungkook closed his eyes. He could jump off the balcony and vanish into the night, or swing onto his bike and ride away—to Namjoon, to Yoongi, even to Jimin—anywhere that smelled like safety, anywhere that didn’t make him feel wrong. He reached for the door, ready to take the exterior stairs down from the balcony, when a voice stopped him.
“Jungkook?”
No. No. No, it couldn’t be.
He turned sharply, his heart dropping into his stomach.
Taehyung was there, wrapped in a light-colored coat, doe-eyed, brown hair tousled, his breath blooming in thin clouds. No sound from the door—someone must have let him out, maybe his mother or his cousins. The omega’s scent—warm, floral, so achingly familiar it made him nauseous—hit Jungkook square in the chest like a punch.
An angel’s face on a devil’s body.
“What the fuck are you doing out here?” Jungkook snapped, too fast, too sharp. “Shouldn’t you be… inside? With him?”
Taehyung lowered his gaze for a moment, then lifted it again with unexpected steadiness. “I came out because I can’t stand the way your father talks to you.”
Jungkook blinked, stunned.
“I told him he was heartless.” Taehyung’s voice trembled just slightly, but there was no hesitation in it—only contained anger. “And then I came to look for you.”
Jungkook went rigid, jaw tight. “Don’t,” he growled. “Don’t come check on me. Don’t do… this.” He gestured vaguely, desperately, at the space between them. “It’s not your place.”
Taehyung took a step closer. Close enough to touch—yet impossibly far, separated by an unbreakable wall.
“Jungkookie… it’s cold just looking at you. Come back inside.”
“I’d rather leave.” The cold bit into his hands, but it was a relief—it hurt less than seeing him there.
Taehyung inhaled softly. “Seojin agrees with me. He’s worried… about you.”
“Don’t talk about him.” Jungkook lifted a hand instinctively, as if to keep Taehyung physically at bay. “After everything that happened, after everything I did not to get in your way, after I let you live your fucking life… don’t come out here telling me what he wants.”
Taehyung swallowed, his eyes squeezing shut at that small gesture, a dull ache soaking into his heart. He didn’t step closer—but he didn’t step back either. “I didn’t come out here for him.”
Silence.
A silence heavier than anything else.
Jungkook laughed then—a broken, incredulous sound. “Oh yeah? Then for who, hyung? For what? To patch things up?” He moved this time, two sharp, quick steps forward. “For that shitty note?”
The omega closed his eyes for a second, like he’d taken a blow straight to the chest.
“Jungkookie—”
“Don’t say my name like that.” His voice shook—pure anger mixed with something burning behind his eyes. “Don’t use it like you have the right.”
The wind slipped between them, stealing the breath from both.
“That night,” Jungkook went on, lower now, fiercer, “you made it feel like you wanted me. Like… like it wasn’t just something I made up. And then you left me a note. A note, Taehyung. Like I was nobody.”
Taehyung took a step. This time for real. “You were never nobody. Never.”
“No.” Jungkook shook his head—once, twice, three times. “I’m the alpha in love with my brother’s omega. That’s it. Simple.”
Another silence. Heavy. Alive. Taehyung opened his mouth, but the words stuck in his breath. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Forgot how to breathe, suspended for several long seconds, his body trembling so violently it seemed to steal even his ability to move.
Jungkook turned toward the stairs, on the verge of tears. He was angry. No—he was pissed. Furious, beyond any doubt.
“Go back inside. Don’t make tonight worse than it already is.”
Taehyung spoke then, quietly. “I’m not… I’m not here to make it worse.”
Jungkook froze. Just for a second. One heartbeat. Then he stepped down onto the first stair, his breath bursting out in a harsh cloud.
“I’m not here for him,” Taehyung added, his voice cracking. “I’m here for you.”
Jungkook stayed still. Didn’t turn around.
Didn’t breathe. The cold didn’t hurt anymore. It was something else now. Something far worse. Something far more real. He took another step, then another, hands gripping the frozen railing, breath breaking into uneven clouds. He didn’t want to fight anymore. Not that night. Not with him. Not even if his nerves were raw, not even if this had been one of the worst days of his life.
“Go back to him, Taehyung hyung,” he said without turning. His voice trembled just slightly, but he held it steady with his teeth. “It’s cold. And I don’t… I don’t want to have this conversation. Not today.”
He moved to take another step. A hand closed around his. Warm. Intimate. Unmistakable.
Jungkook jolted as if burned, but the grip didn’t loosen.
Taehyung held him with a strength an omega shouldn’t have—or maybe Jungkook was simply too tired to pull away.
“Jungkook… wait.”
The alpha went still, his back rigid, his breath
held. Taehyung tightened his grip just a little—a brief, uncertain, desperate gesture.
“I didn’t come out here to argue.”
“Let me go.”
Just a whisper. A thread of frozen breath.
“No.”
Jungkook closed his eyes. Such a simple word, so small—and yet it made his knees tremble.
“Hyung, please. Don’t do this to me.”
“I’m only asking for one second.”
The omega’s voice cracked—not weak, but bare.
The alpha drew in a hard, wounded breath. “Say what you need to say. Then go back inside.”
Taehyung hesitated—only for a moment—then spoke. Softly. Slowly. As if every syllable cost him something.
“That morning… I was scared.”
Jungkook stiffened, but he didn’t turn. Not yet. Taehyung went on, his hand still laced with his, like a confession spoken through skin.
“When I… when I woke up in your bed… I was scared.” His breath trembled, leaving him exposed in a way he rarely allowed. “Not of your scent. Not of you.” He paused, searching for courage. “I was afraid of how… you might look at me.”
Jungkook’s eyes flew open, fixed on the snow-dusted step in front of him.
“I was afraid you’d regret it,” Taehyung whispered. “That you’d wake up and… hate me. Or tell me to leave your house. That you… wouldn’t want to see me anymore.”
Jungkook tried to pull free. He couldn’t. The omega’s hand held him like his life depended on that touch.
“So I ran.” Another pause. Rawer. More honest. “Because if I’d stayed, Jungkook—if I’d opened my eyes and seen even a shadow of rejection on your face—I wouldn’t have survived it.”
Jungkook let his head fall forward.
A drop—snow, breath, maybe a tear—slid down his chin.
Taehyung gently tugged him closer, not to embrace him. Just to make him turn.
“I didn’t run from you,” the omega said, his voice barely above nothing. “I ran from the possibility of losing you forever.”
The alpha finally looked at him, and for one second, all the cold of the balcony ceased to matter. He stood frozen. Taehyung’s hand on his was a promise, a danger, an open wound.
“Lose me?” he repeated softly. “Tae… you already belong to someone else.”
Taehyung closed his eyes. “I know.”
That I know broke something inside Jungkook. It was as if his wolf decided for him.
First, he pulled him close. Then he pushed him away. Then he kissed him.
It was an instinctive gesture—fingers catching in his collar, bodies colliding, the omega’s breath knocked out as he was pressed against him. It wasn’t a full kiss, not something hungry or deliberate. Just lips brushing, moving. Brief. Desperate. Almost a mistake. But Taehyung made a sound—a small, broken whimper—and Jungkook let go as if he’d burned himself.
“Fuck… I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, pushing it back, not knowing whether to run, cry, or scream. Panic flooded him—total, overwhelming—washing away any trace of clarity or reason.
Taehyung took a step forward.
Just one.
It was enough to break him.
“Don’t apologize,” he murmured. “Not after everything we—”
Jungkook pushed him back, fingers shaking.
Not hard. But firm.
“Tae, stop. Please. Don’t do this to us.”
Taehyung looked at him like the ground had just vanished beneath his feet, and Jungkook—trembling—pulled him back in.
This time it was an embrace.
The kind that snaps your spine.
The kind that shouldn’t exist.
The kind that would have been everything, if the world were different. Taehyung fit against him perfectly. His forehead at Jungkook’s neck. Warm breath against his skin.
One second. Just one.
Then—something clicked. A clean, sudden shift. Taehyung stiffened, held his breath, and his scent—that honey-and-peach sweetness that drove Jungkook out of his mind—vanished instantly.
Shielded.
Hidden.
Gone.
Jungkook understood a heartbeat before he heard the voice.
“Kook?”
Seojin.
Standing in the doorway to the balcony.
Taehyung pulled away as if someone had cut his strings. He stepped back twice, spine straight, eyes lowered, hands folded neatly in front of him—like an omega… like his omega… trying not to let anything show.
Jungkook stepped in front of him without thinking. “What is it?” he asked, his tone too sharp.
Seojin looked at him as if he hadn’t expected that much hostility. Or maybe he had—and enjoyed it.
“I spoke to father,” he said calmly. “He got heated, but… I made him understand there’s no point in continuing to harass you.”
Jungkook didn’t reply.
“So,” Seojin went on, “he won’t say anything anymore. About your choices... Or about boxing.”
Jungkook stared at him. He should have felt relieved. He should have thanked him.
But behind him was Taehyung—hands still clenched, scent still muted, breath still unsteady. And a fierce, sudden, primal thought tore through him: I don’t want you as my brother. Not if he’s yours.
He cleared his throat. “Okay, hyung. I’ll come back inside.”
Seojin nodded, satisfied. “Good. Taehyung, coming? It’s cold.”
The omega lifted his chin slightly—an impeccable, polite, empty smile—and followed him inside, hand in hand. Jungkook stayed alone on the balcony for a second, stunned by what he’d just done.
That was when the cold really hit him.
What the hell was he doing…? He’d kissed Taehyung. Pulled him close. Held him.
The question exploded inside him, violent and unbidden: Did Taehyung feel something too?
And if he did… What did that mean?
The door opened again. A rush of warm air and voices curled into his stomach, tightening it. He had to go back in. He had to act normal. He had to pretend he couldn’t still feel Taehyung’s fingers tangled in his own.
Dinner resumed as if nothing had happened. His uncles were talking about shared harvests between allied packs, wolves sent out as border guards, marriages already scheduled for the coming spring. The adults’ voices carried the familiar cadence of the packs—low, solemn, weighted, as if every sentence were a political decision, a binding pact.
Jungkook took his seat again. The plate in front of him was steaming. He couldn’t smell a thing.
Two of his younger cousins tugged at his sleeve. “Hyung! Hyung, will you help us split the dessert?”
“Yeah… sure,” he murmured. He served them. Made them laugh. One of them even climbed into his lap. The wolf inside him settled slightly, recognizing the cubs as family.
But beneath that brief relief burned something constant—a tight wire pulling his heart toward a single point at the table.
Taehyung sat composed, hands folded in his lap, offering a polite smile to Jungkook’s mother as she passed him a dish. No one would have guessed, looking at him now, that half an hour earlier he had been shaking in Jungkook’s arms. No one would have imagined his scent had once filled Jungkook’s room. No one would have thought that perfect smile was only a mask.
Jungkook looked at him, it was a mistake. Because Taehyung felt it. Immediately.
Their eyes caught for a second—fragile, dangerous. Taehyung looked away at once.
And Jungkook felt his wolf slam into his diaphragm with a silent, devastating snarl.
Claim him.
Take him.
He’s ours.
He’s not his.
Never was.
Jungkook bit the inside of his cheek to keep from making a sound. His throat tightened. He was twenty years old, with an open wound right where his heart should be, and the insecurity and jealousy of someone in love—cold hands, vacant eyes veiled with sadness, lips pressed into a thin, wordless line.
He had to push him away. He had to.
Because if he didn’t—
if he didn’t put distance between them—
if this continued—
he wouldn’t be able to let him go anymore.
But Taehyung… Taehyung had been afraid that morning. He’d left a note. He’d asked not to be searched for. And now?
Now he was looking at him like he still wanted to talk. Like he wanted to explain himself, because he didn’t want to lose him. Like he wanted to stay. The chaos inside Jungkook grew so sharp his knee began to tremble beneath the table.
What the hell was he supposed to do?
Push him away?
Let him go?
Ignore him?
Or listen to the wolf—that cruel, primal, absolute voice screaming at him to forget the pack, the rules, Seojin, the entire world?
Take him.
Take him.
Take him.
Jungkook dragged a hand over his face, breathing slowly, pretending it was just exhaustion. But he knew the truth. Taehyung was there. Two chairs away.
Alive. Beautiful. False in the way a lie told for self-preservation is false. And Jungkook was starting to understand—too late—that that night had marked him. It hadn’t been a mistake. It hadn’t been just desire. It had been a confession, however forbidden, utterly real.
And Jungkook had no idea how he was supposed to survive this.
“Sweetheart, I… I’m really happy you’re here with me tonight. Thank you.” His mother took his hand, stroking his knuckles.
His heart eased at her gentleness—because his mother, submissive and always calm, truly loved him… with every fragment of soul the Goddess had given her. She used to tell him he looked like a celestial being, an angel from paradise—the beautiful kind. If only she knew what his heart was carrying.
“Thank you, eomma… for insisting I come.”
She smiled, moved. And at last, a soft, sweet scent wrapped around him.
Dinner was nearly over when Taehyung set his napkin down on the table—slowly, deliberately, with a politeness so precise it felt almost choreographed. Then he looked at Seojin with a gentle smile. Too gentle. Too controlled.
“Love,” he said in that soft voice he used whenever he wanted to avoid a confrontation, “after dinner I’d like to stop by Jimin’s. He asked for a hand with the move. You know… everything’s almost ready for him to go stay with Namjoon.”
Jungkook’s head snapped up. A chill ran straight down his spine.
Namjoon?
His brow furrowed as he thought it through. Namjoon was back at his own family home for the holidays—with his father and uncles—and Jimin was out of Seoul until Sunday. Jungkook knew that for a fact. He listened when Taehyung talked. He noticed when he grew quiet and sad after not seeing his best friend for an entire week—unlike Seojin.
That sentence was a lie.
A lie delivered with inhuman calm.
Seojin stopped drinking his wine. His brows drew together into a single hard line. “Again?” His voice was low, unfriendly. “It’s late, Tae. And I don’t like you going out alone.”
“I’ll be quick,” the omega replied, offering a disarming smile—one that would have seemed sincere to anyone who didn’t know him. “Jimin just needs help moving a couple of boxes. I’ll be right back. And anyway… our place is only a few blocks away.”
“I still don’t like it.”
The tension stretched tight, like heated wire. Jungkook found himself watching Taehyung. The omega kept his gaze lowered—but not quite enough to hide the truth.
Taehyung didn’t want to go to Jimin’s.
Taehyung wanted to get out.
Away from the table.
Away from Seojin.
Away from him?
No. No—that wasn’t it.
Jungkook, by now skilled at reading the omega’s intentions, his masks, understood it in a flash: Taehyung was looking for a safe space to breathe. And without meaning to, the omega’s eyes sought his. Just for a second. A flicker.
A look that asked for help without making a sound.
Jungkook cleared his throat. His heart slammed against his ribcage.
“I can take him.”
Silence.
Heads turned.
His mother looked at him in surprise. His father with suspicion. Seojin—Seojin stared at him as if a second face had just emerged.
Jungkook swallowed but didn’t look away. “If hyung feels more comfortable,” he added evenly, “I can go with him. It’s ten minutes, tops.”
Taehyung lifted his eyes to him—just barely, just for an instant. But Jungkook saw everything.
The gratitude.
The fear.
The cautious hope.
The exhaustion he’d been carrying for weeks.
Seojin’s jaw tightened. “There’s no need,” he said stiffly. “I’ll take him.”
“Alpha, really,” Taehyung cut in with a sweet smile—so sweet it felt almost rotten to anyone who knew how to read it. “It’s just a quick favor. And you work early tomorrow. I don’t want you staying up late.”
Seojin was losing ground, and he knew it.
Jungkook held his gaze without lowering his own. Something in the way he did it—calm, steady, grown—seemed to irritate his brother even more.
“Fine,” Seojin said at last, icy. “Go. But be back before it starts snowing.”
Taehyung dipped his head in a gesture of perfect submission—polite, elegant, flawless. Jungkook gripped his fork too tightly, the metal nearly slipping from his fingers. Because even bending could be a weapon, when Taehyung chose to wield it.
The omega cast him the briefest glance—a thread of breath, a suspended promise—then lowered his eyes to his plate as if nothing had happened. Jungkook, meanwhile, felt like he could no longer breathe.
As soon as they rose from the table, Seojin helped Taehyung into his coat. He adjusted the collar with practiced care, then leaned in to kiss his throat—right where an omega’s scent was most vulnerable. He did it naturally, like a well-mannered alpha of the Jeon Pack would: a soft, elegant, measured scent—yet marked enough to say he’s under my protection.
Jungkook clenched his fists. He felt the veins in his neck pull tight.
“So,” Seojin said, straightening. “Say hi to Jimin for me. And tell him not to call you this late ever again. And you—” he nodded toward Jungkook, “be careful with that motorcycle, okay? I don’t want to have to explain anything to Mom and Dad if you get hurt.”
The tone was light. The warning was not.
The Jeon Pack didn’t want trouble. Not with the other packs occupying Seoul’s central districts.
“Of course,” Jungkook murmured, rigid as a post.
He couldn’t look at Seojin—not while Taehyung, still standing close to his older brother, looked like a flower bound too tightly by a silk ribbon.
They stepped out together onto the apartment complex’s external balcony. The Seoul air was sharp, electric—thick with overlapping scents from different packs, traffic, and snow threatening in the air. The moment the door shut behind them, Jungkook turned to Taehyung. “Hey.” He took the helmet and gently settled it over the omega’s head, fastening the strap beneath his chin. His fingers trembled. He hated that they trembled.
“Now you tell me what the hell is going on,” he whispered, unable to stop himself.
Taehyung looked at him for a single beat. “I told you. Jimin—”
“That’s a lie. You said he was out of town, and I know Namjoon hyung is too. So cut the bullshit.”
The omega faltered at being caught. His gaze darkened—just enough to leave something heavy behind—then he looked away.
“Not now,” he said quietly. Taut. “Just… drop me somewhere. Somewhere with people.”
Jungkook stayed still for a second. He studied him the way one studies a riddle, searching for a hidden meaning beneath a gesture that might otherwise seem simple.
Why do you want people?
“Okay.” He drew in a deep breath. “Get on.”
Taehyung stepped closer and climbed on behind him. His hands found Jungkook’s jacket and closed there gently—light as breath. Too light. That wasn’t like him. Jungkook started the bike, and the engine filled the courtyard with a vibrating roar. He twisted the throttle and they shot forward, the wind slicing clean through the tension they’d left behind.
For a while they rode along the main avenues of the Gwangjin district. The lights of high-rise buildings, the bridges over the Han River, and the neon signs of commercial packs streamed past them like a river of color. Jungkook barely slowed—he wanted air, space, something other than the sensation of Taehyung’s breath at his ear.
Only when Taehyung tightened his hold—just a little, almost nothing—did Jungkook realize he was going too fast.
He slowed down.
And as they approached the pedestrian bridge leading toward Seongsu Park, he spotted the warm glow of Christmas market stalls cutting into the deep blue of the night sky. Music, the smell of fried sweets, families, mingled packs. Life. Noise. Shelter.
People. What Taehyung wanted.
“Let’s go there,” Jungkook said, veering toward the side parking area. “Let’s walk around.”
“Jungkook, you don’t have to if you don’t want to—”
“I want to be with you.”
He turned off the engine and stayed still for a moment. Because his heart was pounding harder than he’d ever care to admit. Because with Taehyung, even silence made noise.
The stalls were an oasis of warm light against the cold of the evening. Children from different packs ran past with scarves far too long, market omegas spoke in soft, sugary voices that smelled of cotton candy and cinnamon, betas worked sizzling skewers. The atmosphere was so alive it felt protective—enclosing, sheltering, hiding.
Perfect for muddling any scent.
Perfect for concealing a heart beating too fast.
Jungkook slowed his pace, letting Taehyung take everything in at his own speed. He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t touch him. Didn’t try to drag the truth out of him. He bought him a small, steaming hotteok without saying a word, handed it over with a shy, almost awkward gesture, and Taehyung took it. Their fingers brushed—just barely. A spark. A tight hit to the throat.
For a while they walked like that, from stall to stall. It was enough for Jungkook that Taehyung could breathe again. Then, suddenly—without preface, without warning—Taehyung stopped.
“What you said earlier… was it true?”
Jungkook turned sharply. “What?”
Taehyung was looking at him with eyes bright from the wind and from thoughts held in for too long. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, but his gaze—his gaze was too direct.
“You said you were in love with me.” A whisper. “Was it true?”
Jungkook swallowed, his breath breaking halfway. He searched his memory. Had those words really slipped out? Had his Wolf really growled that confession into the open?
Yes. It was true. Too true. A bleeding heart, beating for the wrong person.
“Hyung… I— yes. It’s true.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
Taehyung stepped forward, not aggressive but shaking. “Why? For months you were cold with me. Distant. Sometimes almost… hostile. I didn’t understand.”
His voice trembled. “I didn’t understand what I’d done wrong.”
Jungkook inhaled sharply. If they hadn’t been surrounded by people, his scent would have broken loose like a storm.
“Is that why?” Taehyung pressed, his voice lower now, more fragile. “Is that why you kept pushing me away? Because you felt… something for me?”
Jungkook stared at him.
It was unbelievable how Taehyung could completely disarm him without even touching him.
“Hyung…” he murmured, taking a step closer. “I couldn’t— I couldn’t tell you. Not after you got together with my brother.” The truth lodged in his throat like a knot. “And I couldn’t tell you because…” He lowered his gaze, helpless. “Because I didn’t want to ruin your life.”
Taehyung looked at him as if he were listening to an earthquake. Then, very softly: “My life is already falling apart, Jungkook.”
It wasn’t a question. It was an old pain that had been walking for hours without finding a place to rest—one Jungkook had been carrying inside himself, dying from it day after day.
The alpha ran a hand through his hair, desperate. “Is it because… because of your suspicions? Did Seojin cheat on you?”
The omega’s answer was a whisper that hit him straight in the chest. “No. He didn’t, actually… at least, I don’t think so. I don’t really care anymore. Or maybe I never really did.” Taehyung breathed in slowly, as if picking something up off the ground—something heavy. Something dangerous.
“Jungkook… there’s something I need to tell you.”
The crowd flowed past them—lights, scents, laughter—but between the two of them, a silence fell like a wall.
Taehyung clenched his hands inside his coat, eyes fixed on his own fingers. “It’s been months that I’ve…” He stopped. Swallowed. Started again. “It’s been months since I wanted to leave Seojin.”
Jungkook felt the world echo. “What?”
“He…” Taehyung searched for air, his chest trembling. “You don’t know how hard I tried. I really did. I tried to find a way to make it work. To make everything less suffocating. I started sewing more, taking photos, going to Jimin’s to sleep over like we used to when we were younger… I tried to carve out spaces of my own, to remember who I was.” Jungkook couldn’t move. “Jiminie told me,” Taehyung went on, his voice cracking. “He told me to do it. To talk to him. To be honest.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes bright—not with tears, but with frustration.
“And when I finally found the courage to do it…” He smiled without smiling. “That same week, he introduced me to his parents.”
A stab. A decision already made.
Jungkook knew it well: among important packs, presenting an omega was a declaration. Jimin’s words were still there in his memory—sharp and true, exactly as he remembered them.
“He started scenting me more often.”
His voice grew small. “Not cruelly. Never. But… constantly. Quietly. Like he wanted to remind me every single day who I belonged to. And you know—I wanted a mate so badly…” Taehyung wrapped his arms around himself for a moment, instinctive and desperate. “Then his graduation came, and he bought the new house. And… and everything kept getting pushed further ahead, and at the same time… it turned into nothing. One step at a time. Without me even realizing it.”
He lifted his gaze then. The expression hit Jungkook like a knife: clear even as it was breaking. “It’s like he took control of my life without me noticing.” One breath. Just one. Then, very softly, very honestly: “And meanwhile…” Taehyung’s eyes settled on Jungkook as if he were seeing him for the first time. “You changed. With me.”
Jungkook flinched. “What do you mean…? I was never—”
“Strange? You were. Yes,” Taehyung whispered. “I didn’t know why. I didn’t understand why your scent got so… tense. Why you looked at me like you were about to say something and then ran away. Like you were holding your breath every time we were in the same room.” He closed his eyes. One second. Only one. “And I… I felt it. And the worst part was that my wolf wanted to please you at all costs.” His voice trembled. “So I started taking photos I thought you’d like. I bought the cereal I knew you loved. I came to your boxing matches… And I could see that it worked. You warmed up to me. And every single time we played together, every time you liked one of my photos, or even when you just asked how I was doing… I felt everything.”
Jungkook took a step toward him. Then another. Taehyung didn’t move back—not even a centimeter—either brave now, or utterly worn down by it all. Jungkook wanted more time. More breath. More space to understand what to do with everything Taehyung had just laid bare. But he didn’t get it.
“Let’s take another walk,” he said, forcing his voice to stay steady. “Let’s get something warm. We can talk about this later.” It was a gentle offer. It was an attempt to flee—his last fragile barrier. Because the wolf inside him was already clawing at the walls: take him, keep him, take him away.
And Jungkook was forcing himself to stay still.
But Taehyung shook his head.
“No.” He said it softly, with stubborn fragility. “I need to talk now.”
The golden lights of the Christmas stalls washed over his skin like a delicate glaze, making his eyes shine even brighter. He looked like he was standing upright out of habit rather than strength.
“I don’t want to keep anything inside anymore,” he went on. “Not after betraying the man who’s supposed to be my alpha with you. Not after… everything.” He wet his lips, as if the words burned. “I’ve decided that when we go to my parents’… it’ll be to leave him.”
Jungkook froze. He could see it—the weight behind Taehyung’s words, the way his shoulders tensed and his hands trembled. It wasn’t just about leaving someone else; it was about escaping the constant scrutiny, the pressure, the feeling that the whole district was watching, judging, controlling him. He wanted a place where no one knew who Seojin was. A sharp impact—like a mind that can’t yet absorb what it’s hearing.
Taehyung inhaled like someone confessing a sin or saying a prayer. “I need a place far from the pack. Somewhere no one knows who Seojin is. Somewhere I can breathe without… asking for permission.”
Jungkook wanted to touch him. Pull him close. Trap those trembling hands inside his own.
He didn’t move.
Taehyung kept going, every word slipping through his fingers like thread. He lowered his gaze, his hands shaking slightly.
“I want to open my own studio. I want a family of my own—when and if I truly want one. I want to go wherever I want with my friends, dance in the street if I feel like it, take photos all day without having to ask anyone if I’m allowed.” A broken, stifled laugh. “I just want to… live.” The words poured out like something he’d held back for too long, now spilling all at once—no filters, no excuses. “And I can’t do that with him,” he finished, his voice barely audible.
Jungkook couldn’t breathe. He felt Taehyung’s scent waver—peach, fear, courage, a heart coming apart. “Tae…” was all he managed.
"Tell me the truth,” Taehyung whispered, squeezing his tired eyes shut before opening them again, exhausted. “Before I lose my mind. What you said… had you been in love with me for months?”
Jungkook closed his eyes. Just for a second—long enough for that question to knock down the wall of memories and let everything flood through, unstoppable. Then he opened them again and looked at Taehyung like there was nothing left to hide.
“Not months,” he said quietly. “More than a year.”
The omega’s eyes widened. He just stared at him, empty and unfathomable, as if slowly combing through his soul. “Jungkook—”
“It started the first time I saw you dance at the fraternity party.” A half-smile—wounded, disbelieving—as he dropped his gaze to his shoes and shoved his hands into the pockets of his heavy black coat. “I was a freshman. And you were so grown, so beautiful…” He shook his head, dreamy and broken. “Luminous. I couldn’t look at anything else.”
Taehyung stood there, trembling.
As if the words had struck him physically.
“I tried to convince myself it was just a stupid crush,” Jungkook went on, his voice low and rough. “That you’d be Seojin’s. That it was right that way. That I—” He swallowed. “That I shouldn’t even think about it.” His wolf stirred, feral and starving. Jungkook breathed harder. “But every time I saw you… every time you smiled at me… every time you said my name—” His jaw trembled. “It never went away, Tae. Not once.”
Taehyung lifted a hand to his mouth.
A small gesture, like he was trying to contain something about to explode. His gaze dipped, a flash of sudden clarity flickering through his lashes.
“Then why…” he murmured, his voice barely there. “Why didn’t you come talk to me? Why didn’t you come closer? Before Seojin and I—” He broke off, his breath shaking in his chest. “When there was still nothing.”
Jungkook shook his head, still trying to forget that moment. “I tried,” he admitted, dragging the toe of his shoe against the ground. “It was a disaster. I tripped over my words, tried to dance near you—and you were so…” His throat worked as he searched for air. “Hyung, you were everything I wasn’t. Beautiful. Bright. Free. Special.” He tilted his head slightly, his eyes overflowing with sincerity. “And I was just… me. I didn’t stand a chance. You would never have chosen me over my brother.”
Taehyung didn’t move. As if the ground had been pulled out from under his feet.
The warm lights of the stalls reflected on his face, in his dark eyes that looked ready to spill over. “Maybe,” he murmured, “if you had come closer… I might have surprised you.” A breath, barely a tremor. “Maybe our lives would be different now. And what I’m about to do wouldn’t feel so…” He swallowed. “So unfair.”
The words fell between them like fresh snow—silent, but heavy enough to steal the breath from his lungs.
Jungkook didn’t even have time to breathe.
His wolf growled—low, restrained, impatient. And Taehyung was already there.
He kissed him like a precipice he’d been held back from for months, like that first touch was a total, irreversible surrender. His mouth was soft, open, hungry in a way that had nothing timid about it. Taehyung grabbed his jacket with both hands, yanking him closer, shattering his balance and his logic in one single motion.
Jungkook answered with a strangled sound, something too real to hide. He cupped Taehyung’s face, fingers trembling as they brushed his cold cheekbones, and kissed him harder, deeper—like he could finally breathe after months underwater. People kept walking around them, laughing, buying sweets—but for them, the world had narrowed into one tight, warm, inevitable thing. Taehyung grazed his lip with his teeth.
A breath, a muffled whimper. “Jungkook… I want you. Not Seojin.”
And Jungkook understood. He understood that the kiss wasn’t a mistake. It was the truth they had trapped for far too long—finally burning free.
They should have gone back to the motorcycle then—started the engine, headed for Taehyung’s place like two responsible people.
Instead, hand in hand, they drifted back toward the stalls. They lingered there, in the side parking lot, the icy air biting at their cheeks, their hearts pounding far too fast. Jungkook sat astride the bike, and Taehyung, without asking, settled in front of him, his thighs brushing Jungkook’s, his face only inches away.
And he kissed him again.
Slower this time. Almost desperate—like he wanted to memorize it, like he was afraid it might dissolve into the air if he didn’t. It was strange; Jungkook had never imagined he’d find himself like this on Christmas Eve, with the omega he had always wanted.
The dancer.
The artist.
The photographer.
The omega who stole moments with his camera, who weighed the world carefully yet instinctively, and still let himself be carried by that dizzying sensation—the feeling of owning time, if only for a heartbeat, with every shot.
When they finally pulled apart, Taehyung stayed there, lips flushed, breath unsteady.
“Goddness… you’re beautiful.”
The words slipped out before Jungkook could stop them—bare, unguarded, vulnerable. Taehyung froze, as if startled that someone might truly see him. Then he smiled softly, that shy smile of his, cheeks full, just barely showing his teeth, eyes narrowing into crescents.
“And?” he asked, pulling back just a breath, his expression turning sly. Almost teasing.
“Do you go out at night often? You know… alone?”
Jungkook laughed, short and disbelieving.
“Are you really trying to tell me you’re not the one sneaking into the wrong places to dance until late?”
Taehyung’s smile changed. From shy to… alive. Electric. His legs even began to swing with barely contained excitement. “I love dancing,” he admitted. It wasn’t a confession—it was a declaration, free and whole. “The night… I adore it. It lets me breathe. The lights, the music… the people. I lose myself and find myself again.” His eyes shone in a way Jungkook had never seen before.
“It was like that then too, you know. The first time you saw me.”
Jungkook’s heart skipped.
“I remember,” he said, his voice dropping. “You looked… happy. You looked like yourself.”
Instead of smiling, Taehyung stiffened for a moment. He drew in a slow breath, as if something had pressed against his chest.
“Do you think I’m… unsuitable?” he asked suddenly. “Like your brother says? Or like anyone who looks at me and doesn’t understand that… I’m not made to stay still?”
Jungkook hesitated, searching for words. Then he took Taehyung’s hand, their fingers threading together with a naturalness that frightened him.
“Hyung.” His voice was steady, deep.
“Anything that makes you happy can never be wrong. Never. You belong to whatever makes you shine.”
That was when Taehyung trembled.
A small tremor, like a string vibrating beneath a note held too long.
He leaned closer, their foreheads brushing.
“You don’t know me,” he whispered. “I’m not an easy omega.”
It wasn’t a warning. Not entirely.
It was fear.
“Then let me know you,” Jungkook replied without thinking, with a calm that didn’t feel like his own. “Show me what makes you feel good. The real thing.”
Taehyung grabbed the front of his jacket, as if he might fall if he let go. His breath grazed Jungkook’s lower lip.
“Jungkookie…”
His name on Taehyung’s lips was both a wound and a cure.
“I shouldn’t have slept with you that night.” He swallowed, eyes bright with restrained emotion. “I don’t want you to be something hidden. Or a secret. Or the wrong part of my life.”
The wrong part of himself. The words stung more than Jungkook wanted to admit.
“Hyung…” He took a deep breath before saying the truth burning inside him.
“Whatever happens… my father will stop speaking to me. My brother won’t be able to look us in the eye anymore. Maybe my mother—maybe.” He smiled, but it was the smile of someone who’s already seen the ending before the beginning.
Taehyung flinched, as if the weight of it was too much. Too real.
“But that’s not what scares me,” Jungkook went on softly. “What scares me… is you.”
Taehyung stared at him as if the world had stopped turning.
“Hyung… I don’t have anything to offer you. Not like… like Seojin hyung.”
The words came out broken. “I’m not stable. I’m not the future of my pack. I can barely make rent some months, I have a stupid job, I dropped out of university and—”
Taehyung cupped his face in both hands.
Forced him to look at him. To really see him.
His eyes were both an embrace and a storm.
“Jungkook,” he whispered. “I don’t want everything. I never have.” His thumb brushed softly along Jungkook’s cheekbone, impossibly gentle. “I want you.”
He looked like he was choosing Jungkook, but the boy could sense the weight behind it—the months of silence, of holding back, of fearing even the simplest truth. The silence that followed felt almost sacred. Taehyung trembled again, but this time it wasn’t fear. It was release.
“And every time I look at you…” he went on, his voice cracking like a note held too long, “I want to choose you. Even when I shouldn’t. Even when I can’t. You’re the only one I’ve never stopped wanting.”
Jungkook forgot how to breathe, and before he could answer, Taehyung leaned down and kissed him again. This time slowly—like a promise that trembled under its own weight. The omega brushed Jungkook’s cheeks with his thumbs, still close, still unbearably beautiful beneath the flickering lights of the market stalls.
“And besides,” he murmured, as if it were nothing at all, “I know about your apartment.”
Jungkook frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I helped carry the boxes, remember?” Taehyung reminded him with a soft wink. “Jimin brought Hoseok too. And I was… shocked.” His eyes lifted, a shadow of a smile there. “Jungkookie, I mean it. No one needs that many scented candles. No one.”
Jungkook blinked rapidly, flushing all the way to his ears before smiling on instinct.
“They’re… for the atmosphere.”
“For burning the place down, you mean.”
He scoffed, deeply offended. “They’re organized. I have a system.”
Taehyung let out a half-smile, the kind that melted bones. “Yes. A chaotic system. And completely yours.” He traced a finger along Jungkook’s chin, slow and gentle. “I also know about your job,” he continued, suddenly serious. “And if that’s what you want to do—if boxing is your life—then I’ll always support you. I don’t care if it’s not ‘prestigious.’ It’s yours.”
Jungkook felt his heart slide up into his throat, painful and sweet all at once.
“And university…” Taehyung shook his head, eyes shining with pure conviction, a mischievous expression Jungkook hadn’t seen in ages. “It’s bullshit. It’s useless if it doesn’t make you happy.”
Jungkook looked at him as if he’d never truly seen him before. As if, for the first time, he was being allowed to look into something sacred.
“Hyung,” was all he managed, because everything else was too big to fit into words.
Taehyung smiled faintly—a sad, beautiful smile—and let his arms fall back to his sides. “See? You say you have nothing to offer me? Jungkook… you have everything that matters.”
And for one suspended second, Jungkook believed he could breathe only through him.
The night smelled of cotton candy, coming snow, and decisions that changed a life.
“Come home with me,” Jungkook said, his voice lower than he meant it to be—almost a tender growl. “We’ll make up an excuse for Seojin. I’ll tell him Jimin wanted me to stay over, that you forgot something—”
Taehyung shook his head slowly. A small refusal, fragile and devastating. His fingers found Jungkook’s cheek, cold and trembling.
“Jungkook… no.” Two syllables. Soft as a caress. Sharp as a cut.
“I won’t sleep with you again,” he added, his breath breaking against his lips. “I don’t want this to start that way. I don’t want to use us. I don’t want to be… a hidden story. Or worse—a getaway.”
Jungkook’s heart folded in on itself. His wolf searched for air, for the omega’s scent, for space.
“It’s a shame…” he managed, while Taehyung stood there—beautiful and broken—warm lights painting gold across his cheekbones. “But the first time, you looked pretty satisfied,” Jungkook ventured, that instinctive, shameless teasing slipping out whenever he felt too exposed.
Taehyung’s cheeks flared. His eyes darkened—deep, vulnerable, wanting. For a moment there was only instinct, body, pure attraction. Then he closed his eyes and took a sharp breath, as if reining himself in.
“It’s not fair…” His voice trembled, cracked. “Don’t say things like that. Not like this.”
“Why not?” Jungkook whispered. “They’re true.”
Taehyung opened his eyes—and it was as if the whole world reflected in that instant of weakness.
Fear.
Hope.
Anger.
Love.
All at once. Fierce.
“Because if I give in now,” he said quietly, “I won’t be able to stop. I won’t be able to go back. You… you were incredible.”
Jungkook caught his wrists, guiding Taehyung’s hands to his chest. His heart was hammering beneath the omega’s fingers. “Then don’t go back.”
Taehyung let out a breath that sounded like a stifled sob. “No. First I have to end things with him. I have to… really leave him, and do it right. No confusion. No lies. No betrayal.” A pause. His lips trembled.
“Because if I take a step toward you…” He swallowed. “…I don’t want to do it while he still believes I’m by his side.”
Jungkook bit his lip, breath shallow, jealousy clawing at his stomach. And yet he nodded slowly, knowing Taehyung was right—even as it hurt. “Okay,” he managed. “Okay, hyung.”
Taehyung lowered his head until their foreheads touched. The motorcycle cooled beneath them. The night seemed to hold its breath.
“And then…” the omega murmured, his voice breaking Jungkook’s chest open. That conflicted smile, those moles like constellations, left him breathless. “I want to come to you free. I want to choose you without guilt. I want to kiss you without being afraid of anyone.”
Jungkook closed his eyes, as if the words had struck him straight in the chest.
“Just know this,” he added, resting his hands on Taehyung’s hips as if they were too sacred to touch. “I fell in love with you the moment I saw you. That hasn’t changed. It won’t.”
Taehyung looked at him as if someone had just opened a doorway into the future.
The kiss that followed was inevitable. Taehyung’s lips met his like surrender, like a cry, like the most forbidden thing in the world. Jungkook pulled him closer, the heat of his body setting his hands on fire. It was desperate and slow all at once—a kiss that promised a lifetime and stole it one second at a time.
They kissed like two boys in a parking lot.
Like two souls who had waited too long.
Like two hearts that couldn’t take it anymore.
When they finally parted—just barely, only to breathe—Taehyung rested his forehead against his.
“And you say you have nothing to offer me…” he murmured with a trembling smile.
“Jungkookie… you are everything.”
And in the cold of Seoul, on a motorcycle still warm, with the scent of Christmas all around them and the world feeling just a little less cruel—
Jungkook truly believed him.