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Jimin had learned to wake up before the sun did. Not because he liked mornings—he hated them, actually—but because his life didn’t belong to him anymore: it belonged to routines, schedules, little rituals that kept the world from falling apart.
The alarm rang at six.
Jimin rolled over, silenced it, and lay still for a moment, listening.
No crying. No banging. No frantic footsteps.
Good.
He sat up slowly, pink hair sticking out in every direction, and reached for the hair tie on his bedside table, the same one he always used, the one his daughter liked to fiddle with if he wasn’t careful. He pulled his hair up, tight and neat, because loose strands were a problem when you worked all day with scissors and dye.
Then he padded down the hallway.
Her door was half open, like always. She never fully closed it and Jimin didn’t either.
Inside, she sat on the floor with her knees tucked in, staring at the wheels of a toy car like it held the secrets of the universe, she rolled it forward an inch, stopped, rolled it back, stopped. Her fingers fluttered briefly, a soft stimming motion, and she hummed under her breath.
Jimin’s chest loosened.
“Good morning, baby,” he said softly.
She didn’t look up, didn’t answer. But her humming shifted, like she’d acknowledged him in her own language.
Jimin smiled anyway.
He crouched beside her and brushed a kiss into her hair, she smelled like shampoo and slept.
“School day,” he murmured. “We gotta go, okay?”
She blinked slowly, still focused on the toy.
Jimin stood and moved through the practiced motions of the morning: clothes laid out the night before, socks that didn’t itch, the lunchbox already packed with the exact foods she would tolerate today, he checked the spare shirt, the little noise-canceling headphones.
Everything in place. Because if one thing went wrong, the whole day could unravel.
When they finally stepped outside, the air was cold enough to sting. Jimin zipped her jacket up to her chin, tugged his own coat tighter around himself, and took her hand.
Her grip was light. Not holding so much as allowing.
They walked. Their street was quiet, the world still yawning awake. Jimin’s mind was already racing ahead—appointments at the salon, the client who always complained about her bangs, the rent that was due too soon, the groceries he needed to buy.
And then, like every morning, they reached the corner.
The fire station. It was impossible to miss: one big building, big doors, big everything. Even the smell was different here—oil, metal, smoke that clung to the air like a memory.
And the truck: bright red, massive, shiny enough to catch the morning light.
His daughter stopped dead.
Jimin sighed, already feeling heat crawl up his neck. “Sweetheart… come on. We’re gonna be late.”
She didn’t move. Her eyes were wide, fixed on the truck like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.
Jimin swallowed and tried again, gentler. “We can look for a minute, okay? Just… a minute.”
Her fingers fluttered at her side.
Jimin stood beside her, pretending he didn’t care about the way the world seemed to pause around them. Pretending he didn’t feel watched.
But he did.
The station doors were open. Inside, men moved around in heavy boots, laughing, talking, voices deep and loud. Alphas. Jimin could tell even without the scent—there was something about the way they filled the space.
And then one of them stepped closer to the doorway. He was shorter than the others, lean, hair slightly messy like he’d run his hands through it too many times. His face was calm, unreadable.
But his eyes—
His eyes landed on Jimin’s daughter.
And softened.
Jimin’s breath caught, instinctively tense.
The alpha didn’t come out, didn’t approach, didn’t try to talk to the child like she was a puppy at a park.
He just stood there, quiet as the morning.
Jimin’s daughter didn’t flinch, didn’t hide behind Jimin’s legs like she did with strangers, she just stared at the truck.
And then the alpha spoke, voice low enough not to startle.
“She likes it.”
Jimin blinked, startled at the simple observation.
His cheeks burned, he bowed his head slightly, polite the way omegas learned to be polite just to survive. “I’m sorry. She always… stops here.”
The alpha’s gaze shifted to him briefly, not sharp, not possessive.
Just curious.
“It’s fine,” he said.
Jimin swallowed, fingers tightening around his daughter’s hand. “We’re in a hurry, I just—”
“It’s okay,” the alpha repeated, like he meant it.
Jimin hesitated, he wasn’t used to that tone from alphas, he wasn’t used to being given space without it feeling like a trap.
His daughter made a small sound then, something between a hum and a breath.
And Jimin realized she wasn’t staring at the truck anymore.
She was staring at him. At the alpha in the doorway.
Her head tilted slightly, her gaze steady and intense in that way she had when something captured her completely.
Jimin followed her line of sight.
The alpha met the child’s eyes and, slowly, carefully, crouched down where he was, not coming closer—just lowering himself so he didn’t tower.
His voice was softer now.
“Hi.”
Jimin’s daughter didn’t respond, but she didn’t look away either.
For a moment, the world held its breath.
Then she lifted her free hand. Not a wave. Not quite.
Just a small motion of her fingers, like she was reaching toward something invisible.
The alpha’s lips curved, barely.
And something warm and strange twisted in Jimin’s chest, because his daughter didn’t do that, not with strangers, not with anyone. Jimin’s throat tightened, panic and hope tangled together in a way that made him feel sick.
He forced a smile he didn’t quite feel and tugged gently at her hand. “Okay, sweetheart. We have to go.”
She hesitated. Then, slowly, she turned her head back toward the truck, like she was saying goodbye to it.
But as Jimin guided her forward, she looked back one more time.
Not at the truck.
At the alpha.
And the alpha was still watching them, like he was already memorizing the shape of their mornings.
Jimin didn’t know why the thought made his heart beat faster. He just knew it did.
And as they walked away, his daughter’s humming started again—soft and pleased, like the world had just given her something she hadn’t known she needed.
Behind them, the fire station doors remained open.
And Min Yoongi stayed in the doorway long after they were gone.
Jimin tried not to think about the firefighter. He really did.
But the next morning, while he stood in front of the bathroom mirror brushing his teeth with one hand and fixing his hair with the other, the memory came back anyway—quiet eyes, calm voice, the way his daughter had looked at him like she’d known him.
Like she’d picked him.
Jimin spit into the sink and groaned under his breath.
Ridiculous.
It was just a stranger. A firefighter. An alpha. The exact kind of person Jimin had trained himself not to get tangled up with.
Still… his daughter had hummed all the way to school yesterday.
That alone was enough to make Jimin’s chest ache.
The salon smelled like bleach and floral shampoo, warm blow-dryer air and perfume. It was already busy when Jimin arrived, coat half-off, bag slung over his shoulder.
“Jimin!” Hoseok called immediately from his nail station, waving a hand covered in glitter polish. His blond hair was tied back with a scarf and he looked like sunshine wrapped in judgment. “You’re late!”
“I’m not late,” Jimin argued, slipping behind his chair and pulling his apron on. “I’m on time.”
Hoseok narrowed his eyes. “On time means ten minutes early. You know that.”
Taehyung, who was sweeping up hair near the sinks, snorted softly without looking up.
Jimin rolled his eyes. “You two are unbearable.”
“And you’re secretive,” Hoseok shot back, leaning forward dramatically. “Which means you did something interesting.”
Jimin froze for half a second.
He shouldn’t have said anything. He knew he shouldn’t.
But his mouth betrayed him, like always.
“There’s a fire station on the way to her school,” he said, casually, like it meant nothing. Like his pulse hadn’t jumped. “She likes the truck.”
Taehyung’s broom slowed.
Hoseok’s eyebrows shot up. “A fire station?”
Jimin shrugged, pretending to focus on setting his tools up. “Yeah. She stops to stare at it every morning.”
“And you let her?” Hoseok asked, horrified.
“She won’t move,” Jimin muttered. “I can’t exactly drag her.”
Hoseok pointed a nail file at him like a weapon. “Jimin. Please tell me you are not letting your kid get attached to a bunch of alphas in uniform.”
Jimin sighed. “They’re firefighters, not wolves.”
Hoseok gasped. “Firefighters are exactly wolves. They’re pack alphas with hero complexes!”
Taehyung finally looked up, dark eyes calm and unreadable. He didn’t say anything, just gave Jimin a slow once-over, like he was measuring the situation.
Then he asked quietly, “Did they talk to her?”
Jimin hesitated.
Hoseok immediately caught it. “Oh my god. They did.”
“It was just one of them,” Jimin said quickly. “He was standing there. He didn’t come close.”
“An alpha didn’t come close,” Hoseok repeated flatly. “That’s like saying a cat didn’t chase a laser pointer.”
Taehyung’s gaze sharpened. “Which one?”
Jimin frowned. “I don’t know his name. Quiet. He just… watched her.”
Taehyung hummed. “Quiet ones are the worst.”
Hoseok slapped his palm on the table. “Quiet ones are the ones who make you feel safe and then ruin your entire life.”
Jimin stared at him. “Why are you like this?”
“Because I love you,” Hoseok said dramatically. “And because I remember what happened last time you trusted an alpha.”
The words hit harder than they should have. Jimin’s fingers tightened around his comb. Taehyung’s expression softened just a fraction, but he didn’t press, he just went back to sweeping.
Hoseok sighed and leaned his chin on his hand. “I’m serious. Be careful.”
Jimin forced a laugh. “It’s nothing. She just likes the truck.”
Hoseok gave him a look that said I don’t believe you for a second.
And Taehyung, quietly, said, “Kids don’t just like trucks. They like what trucks mean.”
Jimin didn’t answer.
Because he didn’t want to admit that maybe his daughter didn’t just like the truck, maybe she liked the calm, the safety, the man who didn’t talk too loud.
The alpha who had crouched down without being asked.
The next morning, Jimin was prepared.
Prepared for her to stop. Prepared for the embarrassment. Prepared for the uncomfortable stare of strangers.
Prepared for everything.
Except the fact that the alpha was already there.
He stood outside the station doors like he’d been waiting, a paper cup of coffee in his hand, shoulders relaxed, face neutral.
As soon as Jimin’s daughter spotted the building, she slowed. Not dragged, not forced—just naturally adjusting her pace like her body already knew.
Like her routine had been rewritten overnight.
Jimin’s stomach twisted.
“Of course,” he muttered.
His daughter stopped at the same spot as yesterday.
She stared at the truck, then she turned her head, and looked straight at the alpha.
Yoongi’s eyes softened instantly, like he’d been expecting it.
He just lifted two fingers in a small greeting.
“Morning,” he said, voice low.
Jimin swallowed. “Good morning.”
His daughter made a little sound—soft, pleased—and shifted closer to Jimin’s side, like she was bracing herself.
Yoongi crouched down again, slow and careful, the same way as yesterday. Jimin hated how much he noticed the consistency.
Yoongi’s gaze flicked to the child’s hand still tucked in Jimin’s, then back to her face.
“She came back,” he said.
Jimin let out a quiet laugh. “We walk this way every day.”
Yoongi nodded, like that made sense. Then, after a beat, he asked gently, “Does she want to see it closer?”
Jimin stiffened.
His instincts screamed no.
But his daughter stepped forward. Not far—just one small step, like she was testing the ground, her fingers fluttered at her side.
Jimin’s breath caught. “Sweetheart…”
She didn’t look at him. She looked at Yoongi.
Yoongi didn’t move toward her. He simply held out his hand, palm up, like an offering.
Jimin felt his heart pound. He should say no, he should pull her back, he should keep walking and pretend none of this was happening.
But his daughter took another step. And Jimin realized she wasn’t afraid, she wanted this, she wanted him.
Yoongi’s voice was quiet when he said, “It’s okay. I won’t touch her unless she wants me to.”
Jimin’s throat went tight.
It was such a simple sentence but no one had ever said it like that before.
Jimin swallowed hard and loosened his grip on her hand.
“Okay,” he whispered.
His daughter walked forward. And Yoongi stayed right where he was, waiting like he had all the patience in the world, like he had nowhere else to be, like he could already picture them in his mornings.
Jimin hated the thought. Hated the warmth that spread in his chest anyway. Because for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like the world was something he had to fight alone.
It felt like… maybe someone was willing to stand still long enough to meet them where they were.
Jimin should’ve stopped it. He should’ve said no the second his daughter stepped toward the fire station, the second she loosened her hand from his like she’d already decided where she wanted to be.
But Yoongi didn’t move, he didn’t lunge forward like most alphas did when they saw something small and cute, he didn’t try to scoop her up or speak too loudly or smile too hard.
He just stayed crouched, patient, like he understood that rushing would break something delicate. Jimin’s daughter walked until she was standing just a few steps away from him, she stared at Yoongi’s hand, palm-up, like she was studying it.
Then she reached out, her fingers hovered above his skin for a long moment.
Jimin held his breath.
Finally, she tapped his palm once—light as a feather—then pulled her hand back quickly, as if startled by her own bravery.
Yoongi didn’t react like it was strange.
He only blinked slowly, almost reverent, and his voice dropped even lower.
“Hi,” he murmured again. “You wanna see the truck?”
The little girl didn’t answer but she took one more step, that was all the answer anyone needed. Yoongi stood, but not too fast, and angled his body toward the truck like he was giving her room to decide, then he glanced at Jimin. Asking permission without saying the words.
Jimin’s heart pounded. He nodded anyway.
“Just for a minute,” Jimin said, voice quiet. “We really have to go soon.”
Yoongi nodded. “Yeah.”
And then, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, he walked them toward the truck. Jimin followed close behind his daughter, ready to snatch her back if she panicked.
But she didn’t. If anything, she looked calmer the closer they got.
The truck was even bigger up close. The tires were taller than Jimin’s waist, the body gleaming red, polished to the point that it reflected the pale morning sky.
Yoongi crouched again beside the wheel.
“This one,” he said softly, pointing. “This is the front.”
Jimin’s daughter stared at the tire, then she reached out. Her small hand pressed against the thick rubber, fingers splayed as if she needed to feel how real it was, she patted it once, twice.
Then she moved to the metal rim. Cold. She flinched at the temperature but didn’t pull away, she just blinked, processing, and then touched it again.
Jimin watched, stunned. She never touched new things like this, not without weeks of warming up.
Yoongi kept his hands to himself. He only spoke in small, simple phrases.
“That’s the wheel.”
“That’s the ladder.”
“That’s the hose.”
He pointed to the coiled hose mounted neatly on the side, the girl stared at it like it was a sleeping snake. Yoongi opened a small compartment door, careful and slow, and the sound of metal clicking made Jimin tense, but his daughter didn’t startle, she leaned forward instead, fascinated.
Inside was equipment—heavy gloves, a helmet, tools Jimin didn’t know the names of.
Yoongi reached in and pulled out a helmet. He didn’t hand it to her, just held it in front of her, letting her look.
“This is mine,” he said softly. “It has my initials on it—M.Y. Min Yoongi.”
Jimin’s daughter stared at the helmet for a long time. Then, very slowly, she reached out and touched the edge, her fingers traced the curve.
And then—she made a sound.
A laugh.
It was bright and sudden, like a spark in the cold air. Not loud, but clear enough that it echoed in Jimin’s chest.
Jimin froze.
His throat tightened instantly. Because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard that sound outside their apartment.
A laugh. Pure. Happy.
Yoongi froze too. For a second, he looked like he’d been punched straight in the heart, his eyes widened, mouth parting slightly, as if he couldn’t believe he was hearing it, then his expression softened so much it almost hurt to look at.
Jimin swallowed hard, blinking fast.
His daughter laughed again—shorter this time—and her hands fluttered in excitement, fingers shaking like she couldn’t contain the feeling in her body.
Yoongi’s voice came out quiet, almost awed.
“There you go,” he murmured. “That’s it.”
Jimin didn’t know why his eyes started burning. Maybe because he’d spent so long thinking the world wasn’t built for her. He’d gotten used to seeing people look uncomfortable, impatient, awkward and Yoongi was looking at her like she was the most precious thing he’d ever seen.
Yoongi turned his head slightly and spoke without thinking.
“Good girl, princess.”
The words slipped out so naturally it didn’t even sound bad.
It sounded like… affection.
Jimin’s breath caught. Yoongi seemed to realize what he’d said a second too late, his ears reddened faintly, but he didn’t take it back, didn’t apologize for it like it was something shameful.
He just cleared his throat and shifted the helmet a little closer.
“Wanna hold it?”
The girl hesitated, then reached out with both hands. It was heavy. Her arms trembled slightly. Yoongi steadied it—not touching her, only supporting the helmet from underneath so it wouldn’t fall.
And she laughed again.
Jimin felt his heart crack open. He pressed his lips together, trying to keep himself together, trying not to cry in front of a stranger.
But his chest felt too full.
Yoongi looked up at him then, gaze carefully.
“She’s sweet,” he said simply.
Jimin’s voice came out rough. “She doesn’t… she doesn’t do this often.”
Yoongi nodded slowly, like he understood exactly what that meant.
“She trusts you,” Yoongi said.
Jimin stared.
Yoongi continued, voice low. “And… I think she trusts me a little.”
Jimin didn’t know what to say to that because it felt impossible, it felt like something that could be taken away.
He forced himself to breathe and glanced down at his watch.
“We really have to go,” he said, regret bitter on his tongue.
Yoongi didn’t argue. He gently placed the helmet back in its compartment, closed the door softly, then stepped aside like he was clearing a path.
“Okay,” he said. “See you tomorrow?”
The words were casual. But they hit Jimin like a promise.
Jimin’s daughter didn’t want to leave. She stared at the truck, then at Yoongi, then back again. Yoongi crouched and lifted two fingers in that same small greeting.
“Bye, princess.”
She didn’t wave, but she leaned forward and tapped his knee once.
Yoongi went still, like that touch meant everything. Jimin grabbed her hand before she could do it again and started walking.
His daughter glanced back over her shoulder the whole way down the street.
Jimin did too. And he hated himself for it.
At the salon later, Hoseok was filing a client’s nails into perfect almond shapes while humming under his breath. Taehyung was mopping the floor near the front, expression bored as always.
Jimin walked in like a ghost.
Hoseok immediately looked up. “Okay. Something happened.”
Jimin dropped his bag behind the counter and exhaled shakily. “She… she laughed.”
Taehyung paused mid-mop.
Hoseok blinked. “What?”
Jimin’s hands trembled slightly as he tied his apron on. “He showed her the truck, he let her touch it, he had his helmet and—” Jimin swallowed, voice cracking. “She laughed, Hobi. Like really laughing.”
For a moment, Hoseok’s expression softened. Then it hardened again just as fast.
“That’s sweet,” Hoseok admitted, then narrowed his eyes. “But also suspicious.”
Taehyung’s voice came quiet, almost too calm.
“That’s not a normal stranger's reaction.”
Jimin looked at him. Taehyung leaned on the mop handle, gaze distant like he was replaying the story in his head.
“People don’t look at kids like that unless they mean it,” Taehyung said.
Hoseok scoffed immediately. “Alphas fake kindness all the time.”
Taehyung’s eyes slid toward him. “Not that kind.”
Hoseok clicked his tongue. “You’re both delusional.”
Jimin tried to laugh, but it came out weak. Because deep down, beneath the fear and the caution and the years of being disappointed… a part of him had felt it too.
That alpha hadn’t looked at his daughter like she was a burden. He’d looked at her like she was—something worth protecting. And that was the most terrifying thing of all.
By the fourth morning, it wasn’t a coincidence anymore. Jimin could pretend it was—could keep telling himself it was just a fire station on the way to school, just a big red truck, just a harmless little routine his daughter had latched onto—but his body didn’t believe him.
Not when his daughter started tugging him faster down the sidewalk, when she began humming before they even turned the corner, when Jimin caught himself checking the time as if he was meeting someone.
He hated it. He hated that his heart had started anticipating the sight of Yoongi in the doorway. And worst of all, he hated that his daughter seemed to expect him too.
When they reached the corner, she stopped like always, but this time she didn’t only stare at the truck, she scanned. Her eyes flicked over the building, the doors, the street.
Jimin’s stomach tightened.
And then Yoongi appeared. He stepped outside with the same calm presence as the past few days, coffee in hand, hair slightly messy, jacket zipped up against the cold.
His gaze found her immediately.
Something in his face softened.
“Morning,” he greeted, quiet.
Jimin’s daughter made a pleased sound, almost like a chirp.
Jimin tried not to let it affect him. “Good morning,” he replied, too quickly.
Yoongi crouched down, hands resting on his knees. He didn’t say anything else at first, like he was letting her decide how close she wanted to be.
And she did.
She stepped forward and pressed her fingers briefly to his sleeve, a small, familiar touch.
Yoongi’s mouth twitched, almost smiling.
Jimin’s chest clenched.
That touch was becoming a habit. A bond. A thread. And Jimin didn’t know what to do with it.
Yoongi glanced up at Jimin. “She’s doing good today.”
Jimin nodded, voice quiet. “She’s been… excited.”
Yoongi’s eyes flicked to the truck, then back to the little girl.
“Want to see the lights again?” he asked her.
The girl didn’t answer, of course. But her fingers fluttered, and she leaned forward slightly. Yoongi stood, turning toward the truck.
And that’s when the station doors opened wider.
Three other men stepped out. All alphas.
Jimin’s instincts screamed.
One of them—tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp features and a perfect smile—immediately spotted them.
“Oh,” he said brightly. “It’s the tiny fan club!”
Jimin stiffened. His daughter froze too, her body going still. Yoongi’s posture changed instantly. Not aggressive, but alert.
The tall alpha leaned forward, eyes lighting up. “Hi! You come here every day?”
Jimin swallowed, unsure whether to answer, his daughter’s gaze dropped, her shoulders tightening.
Then the alpha waved—big, enthusiastic, too much.
“Good morning!” he said, voice booming.
The girl flinched, her hand jerked up to her chest, fingers fluttering faster.
Jimin’s heart dropped. “Hey—”
But Yoongi moved before Jimin could, he stepped between them smoothly, blocking the loud alpha’s energy like a wall.
His voice came out low, controlled.
“Jungkook,” he said.
The name was quiet, but it carried weight.
Jungkook blinked, surprised.
Yoongi didn’t glare. He didn’t snap.
He just lowered his voice and said evenly, “Too loud.”
Jungkook’s whole expression shifted instantly, guilt washing over his face. “Oh—shit. Sorry. Sorry, little one.”
The girl still didn’t look up. Yoongi crouched again, closer to her level, voice softer.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “He’s just excited.”
The girl’s breathing steadied a little, Jimin stared at Yoongi like he’d just witnessed magic. No one ever noticed the small things that fast or ever adjusted that naturally.
Yoongi didn’t even need Jimin to explain, he already understood.
Jimin’s throat tightened.
The tall alpha—Jungkook—rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, stepping back.
Another alpha, older-looking with a wide smile and expensive-looking features, leaned against the doorframe with interest.
“Well,” he said smoothly, eyes twinkling, “now I see why Yoongi keeps sneaking outside every morning.”
Jimin flushed.
Yoongi’s ears went pink. “Seokjin,” he muttered warningly.
Seokjin only grinned wider. “What? I’m just saying.”
Beside him stood a third alpha—tall, calm, with dimples and an intelligent gaze that felt steady instead of sharp.
Namjoon.
He didn’t speak at first. He only watched Jimin’s daughter with a quiet kind of respect, like he was observing without intruding.
Then he nodded politely at Jimin. “Good morning.”
Jimin returned the nod automatically. “Good morning.”
Seokjin’s gaze flicked between Jimin and the girl, then back to Yoongi.
“She’s adorable,” Seokjin said.
Jimin bristled at the word, expecting the usual tone that came with it, the pity, the patronizing sweetness.
But Seokjin didn’t sound pitying. He sounded charmed.
Namjoon crouched down a little, keeping distance. “She likes the truck?” he asked, voice gentle.
The girl didn’t respond. But she stared at him for a second, then shifted closer to Yoongi again, like her body had already decided who her safe person was.
Yoongi’s hand hovered near her back, not touching.
Jungkook, quieter now, asked, “Can she come inside one day?”
Jimin’s heart slammed against his ribs. Inside? Absolutely not.
But before he could speak, Yoongi answered calmly, “Not today.”
It wasn’t harsh. It was a boundary.
And Jimin’s breath caught, because Yoongi hadn’t even looked at him before saying it. Like he was protecting them both, like he already knew Jimin’s limits.
Jimin’s daughter reached out and touched Yoongi’s jacket zipper, fascinated by the small metal pull. Yoongi let her. He didn’t even flinch.
Seokjin watched the interaction, eyes softening. Namjoon’s expression turned thoughtful. Jungkook looked like he wanted to explode with affection but was restraining himself.
Jimin felt dizzy. It was too much attention, too many alphas, too much scent in the air, warm and heavy and masculine.
He took a step back instinctively.
Yoongi noticed immediately. His eyes lifted to Jimin, and his voice lowered further.
“You okay?” he asked.
Jimin forced a smile. “Yeah. I just… we have to go.”
Yoongi nodded. “Right.”
He turned back to the little girl.
“Bye, princess,” he murmured.
She didn’t wave, but she leaned forward and pressed her forehead briefly against his knee.
Yoongi went still, like his soul had left his body.
Jimin’s breath caught.
The girl pulled away quickly, like she hadn’t meant to do it, then she reached for Jimin’s hand again.
Jimin took it, stunned, and guided her away.
He didn’t look back, but he could feel Yoongi’s gaze on their backs the entire time.
And he hated how safe it made him feel.
That evening, the salon lights flickered as Taehyung mopped the floor and Hoseok wiped down his nail station.
Jimin was tired. Not the normal tired. The kind that sat in his bones.
Hoseok came up behind him and bumped his shoulder lightly.
“You’re thinking again,” Hoseok said.
Jimin didn’t deny it. He only sighed, pulling off his apron.
“They noticed us today,” Jimin admitted quietly.
Hoseok froze. “They who?”
Jimin hesitated. “The other firefighters. There were three more.”
Hoseok’s eyes widened. “Oh hell no.”
Taehyung, still mopping, spoke without looking up “Pack.”
Hoseok pointed at Jimin like he was personally offended. “I told you! I told you it was going to turn into pack interest!”
Jimin rubbed his temples. “It wasn’t like that.”
Hoseok scoffed. “It’s always like that.”
Taehyung finally glanced up, dark eyes sharp. “Did they overwhelm her?”
Jimin shook his head slowly. “One of them did. A little. He waved too loud.”
Hoseok hissed. “See?”
“But Yoongi stepped in,” Jimin added before Hoseok could spiral. “He stopped him immediately. Quieted him down. He… he knew.”
Taehyung’s mop paused.
Hoseok’s expression tightened, like he hated that detail.
Jimin swallowed. “He understands her. Without me even explaining.”
Hoseok stared at him for a long moment, then he exhaled and softened, stepping closer.
“Listen,” Hoseok said, voice quieter now. “I know you’re lonely. And I know she deserves people who see her.”
Jimin’s throat tightened.
Hoseok’s gaze was serious, protective.
“But you have a kid,” Hoseok continued. “You can’t afford to trust the wrong alpha.”
Jimin nodded, because he knew that.
He knew it more than anyone.
“I know,” he whispered.
Taehyung’s voice was calm from across the room “But it doesn’t sound like he’s the wrong one.”
Hoseok shot him a look. “Don’t encourage him.”
Taehyung only shrugged.
Jimin didn’t speak, because he agreed with Hoseok. He did. He couldn’t afford mistakes or heartbreak. But when he walked home that night, holding his daughter’s hand, his mind kept drifting back to the fire station.
To the way his daughter’s face had lit up when she saw him.
And Jimin hated himself for it, but—he found himself wondering what it would feel like to stop being afraid every morning.
The morning started wrong. Jimin could feel it the moment his daughter hesitated at the apartment door, her fingers fluttering faster than usual, her gaze fixed on nothing and everything at once.
He crouched down in front of her, smoothing her jacket.
“Hey,” he murmured. “It’s okay. School day.”
She didn’t respond. But she let him zip her coat. That was enough.
Jimin held her hand tighter than usual as they walked, eyes scanning the sidewalk, already tense. The air was colder today, sharper, and the world felt too loud even before they reached the fire station.
Still, as soon as the building came into view, his daughter’s pace quickened.
Her hum started—soft and rhythmic.
Jimin’s chest loosened a little.
Okay, he thought. Maybe today will be fine.
They reached their usual spot. The big red truck was parked inside the open doors like always, shining like a toy in the morning light.
Yoongi was there too. He stood just outside, hands in his jacket pockets, watching them approach.
When his daughter saw him, her hum shifted higher, almost excited.
She stopped and stared.
Yoongi’s gaze softened immediately.
“Morning,” he said quietly.
Jimin nodded. “Morning.”
Yoongi crouched down like he always did, slow and careful, letting her decide.
She took one step forward. Then another. Her fingers reached out, touching his sleeve in a familiar tap.
Yoongi exhaled, almost like relief.
“You’re here,” he murmured, like it mattered.
Jimin tried not to let that sentence sink too deep into his skin. He tried not to let his heart react. Tried.
Yoongi glanced at the truck and tilted his head.
“Wanna see the hose today?” he asked softly.
His daughter blinked, gaze shifting toward the truck, she didn’t answer, but she didn’t step back either.
Jimin swallowed. “Just a minute,” he warned gently.
Yoongi nodded. “Yeah. Just a minute.”
He started to stand—and then everything exploded.
A siren blared. Right there, screaming into the morning like the world had cracked open, the station erupted into movement. Heavy boots pounded the concrete, voices shouted, metal clanged, doors slammed.
Jimin’s entire body went cold. His daughter froze completely, her eyes went wide, her breath catching, shoulders pulling up like she was trying to disappear inside herself.
“No, no—” Jimin whispered, instinctively pulling her closer. “Sweetheart, it’s okay, it’s okay—”
The siren continued.
His daughter’s hands flew up to her ears, fingers trembling violently, her body began to shake, knees bending like she might collapse.
Jimin panicked.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted, looking around helplessly as firefighters rushed past. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know—”
He tried to tug her away from the noise, but she wouldn’t move, she couldn’t. Her breathing turned uneven, shallow, almost silent, her face went blank in that terrifying way that meant she wasn’t here anymore, not really.
Shutdown. Or worse.
“Baby, please,” Jimin pleaded, voice cracking. “Come on, we have to go—”
Her knees buckled. Jimin caught her, arms wrapping around her small body. She made a broken sound, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, and then she started to cry, just desperate, overwhelmed sobs that tore through Jimin’s chest like knives.
Jimin’s hands shook. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry—”
He didn’t know who he was apologizing to.
The world. The noise. The air. Her. Himself.
Then a shadow moved in front of them, blocking the noise as much as a body could.
Yoongi.
He had moved fast, faster than Jimin had ever seen him move, but his face was calm—too calm, like he was forcing the world to slow down for her.
“Hey,” he said gently, crouching down right in front of her. “It’s okay.”
Jimin looked up at him, desperate. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know they were doing a drill—”
Yoongi didn’t even glance at him, his eyes stayed on the little girl, because she was the one who mattered right now.
Yoongi took off his glove and he just held it out, palm open, offering it like a bridge.
The siren still screamed, boots still thundered. But Yoongi’s voice stayed quiet, like he was building a small safe room out of sound.
“It’s okay,” he repeated. “You’re safe. You’re safe.”
Jimin’s daughter’s eyes flicked to the glove. Her hands were still clamped over her ears, but her gaze locked onto it like a lifeline.
Yoongi didn’t move. And then, slowly—so slowly it made Jimin’s heart ache—she lowered one hand.
Her fingers trembled as she reached and grabbed the glove. The moment she touched it, her shoulders loosened just a fraction, like the world had given her something solid again.
Her sobs quieted, her breathing slowed.
Yoongi’s eyes softened even more, and he leaned closer, still not touching her.
“Good,” he murmured. “That’s good. You’re doing so good.”
Jimin’s throat tightened painfully.
Because nobody ever praised her like that, not for surviving, for enduring, for simply existing in a world that hurt. Yoongi shifted slightly, angling his body more to block her from the view of rushing men, blocking her from the loudness as best he could.
The siren finally died down. The drill ended as quickly as it had begun, leaving only the echo behind.
Jimin realized he was holding his breath. His daughter was still trembling, clutching Yoongi’s glove to her chest like it was the only thing keeping her together.
Yoongi didn’t take it back. He didn’t ask for it. He just stayed there, patient and quiet, until her breathing became normal again.
When Jimin finally managed to stand, his legs felt like they didn’t belong to him. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely adjust his daughter’s coat.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, voice raw. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
Yoongi’s gaze snapped to him then. The kind of firm that made Jimin stop talking without meaning to.
“Stop apologizing,” Yoongi said.
Jimin blinked, stunned.
Yoongi’s voice stayed calm, but his eyes were intense.
“She didn’t do anything wrong.”
Jimin’s breath hitched.
Yoongi continued, quieter now, like he was speaking directly into Jimin’s chest.
“And neither did you.”
Jimin’s lips trembled.
He looked down at his daughter, who was still holding the glove, then he looked back at Yoongi.
“I just…” Jimin swallowed hard. “I don’t want people to think she’s—”
Yoongi cut him off immediately, voice low.
“I don’t care what people think.”
Jimin’s eyes burned.
He nodded quickly, unable to speak.
Yoongi glanced at the glove still in the child’s hands.
“She can keep it,” he said.
Jimin’s eyes widened. “What? No, I can’t—”
Yoongi shook his head. “It’s fine. I have another pair.”
Jimin opened his mouth to argue, but the girl pressed the glove tighter against herself, like she’d sensed the possibility of losing it.
Yoongi’s gaze softened.
“She likes it,” he said, almost amused.
Jimin let out a shaky breath that sounded too close to a sob.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Yoongi nodded once. “See you tomorrow.”
Jimin didn’t trust his voice, so he only nodded back, he took his daughter’s hand and guided her away. Halfway down the street, he glanced back. Yoongi was still there, watching them.
Like he always did. Like he couldn’t stop himself. And Jimin hated how much he needed it.
At the salon later, Hoseok knew something was wrong the second Jimin walked in.
Jimin’s hair was messier than usual, his eyes red, his hands trembling as he set his bag down.
Hoseok stood up from his nail station immediately. “Jimin?”
Taehyung, who was wiping down mirrors nearby, paused too.
Jimin swallowed hard.
“It was bad today,” he said quietly.
Hoseok’s expression shifted instantly.
“What happened?”
Jimin tried to explain, but his voice cracked halfway through.
“They had a drill,” he managed. “Sirens, boots, shouting… she—she shut down. She started crying and I couldn’t get her to move. I didn’t know what to do, I thought—”
His breath hitched.
Taehyung’s eyes narrowed, attentive.
Hoseok’s face had gone pale.
Jimin forced himself to continue.
“Yoongi came,” he said. “He blocked her, crouched down, gave her his glove and she just… she calmed down. Like he knew, like he’d done it before.”
Hoseok didn’t speak for a moment. His eyes were shiny. Then, slowly, his shoulders dropped.
And for the first time since Jimin had started mentioning the fire station, Hoseok didn’t look angry.
He looked… moved.
“Yeah?” Hoseok whispered, voice softer than Jimin had ever heard it. “He did that?”
Jimin nodded, eyes stinging.
Taehyung spoke quietly from behind them “I told you. That’s not normal.”
Hoseok didn’t argue this time. He walked around the counter and pulled Jimin into a hug so suddenly Jimin barely had time to react.
Jimin froze for half a second, then his hands clutched Hoseok’s shirt like he was drowning.
Hoseok held him tight and murmured into his hair, “Okay. Okay… maybe he’s not the wrong one.”
And that was the first time Jimin let himself think it too.
The next morning, Jimin almost didn’t stop. He told himself it was because he’d been late yesterday. Because the meltdown had thrown everything off, his daughter still clutched that firefighter glove like it was a part of her body now, and he didn’t want to deal with questions or stares.
But the truth was—Jimin didn’t stop because he didn’t want to see Yoongi.
He didn’t stop because he did. And that felt dangerous.
Still, his daughter slowed down automatically the moment the fire station came into view, like her body knew the route better than her mind did.
Jimin sighed softly, letting her lead him. The big doors were open, the truck was there. And Yoongi was already outside, as if he’d been waiting.
He wasn’t in full uniform today—just dark pants and a fitted shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. In his hand was a small paper cup, another one sat beside it.
Jimin’s stomach tightened. Yoongi’s eyes flicked to him, calm and unreadable.
Then he crouched down in front of the little girl, voice gentle.
“Morning, princess.”
His daughter didn’t respond, she didn’t have to. She took a step forward, stared at him, then held up his glove with both hands like it was an offering.
Yoongi’s mouth twitched.
“You kept it,” he murmured.
Her fingers fluttered.
Yoongi’s gaze softened, and he slowly held his hand out, palm open.
She didn’t put the glove in it, she just pressed it against her chest again.
Yoongi let out a quiet breath, amused, and didn’t push.
“Okay,” he said, as if accepting her decision like it was law.
Jimin swallowed, trying not to smile.
Yoongi stood up and, without stepping too close, held out the second cup toward Jimin.
“Coffee,” he said simply.
Jimin blinked, startled.
“I—”
“It’s not a big deal,” Yoongi added, voice neutral. Not teasing. Not flirtatious. Just… offering.
Jimin hesitated. His instincts screamed don’t accept. Because accepting meant owing. And owing meant being vulnerable. But his hands were cold, and he hadn’t slept properly in days, and his daughter was calm for the first time all week.
So Jimin slowly reached out and took it.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
Yoongi nodded once, as if that was the end of it.
Jimin stared down at the cup. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” Yoongi replied.
The words were simple.
But they landed heavy.
Jimin took a sip, and warmth spread through his chest.
Yoongi glanced at the little girl.
“She’s okay today,” he said.
Jimin’s throat tightened. “Yeah. She’s… better. The glove helped.”
Yoongi hummed. “Good.”
There was a pause, like Yoongi wasn’t afraid of silence. Jimin wished he could be like that.
“She goes to the school down the street,” Jimin said after a moment, nodding toward the direction they usually continued walking.
Yoongi’s eyes followed the motion.
“She like it?”
Jimin exhaled. “It’s… okay. Some days are harder than others, but the teacher is patient, they have routines.”
Yoongi nodded slowly, as if filing that information away.
“Routine matters,” he said.
Jimin glanced at him.
Yoongi’s face didn’t change. Like it was just a fact of life he’d always known.
Jimin’s grip tightened on the coffee cup.
“She wakes up early,” Jimin admitted quietly. “Sometimes she doesn’t sleep at all. Sometimes she… doesn’t eat unless I make the same thing, same plate, same spoon.”
Yoongi’s eyes softened.
“That’s rough,” he said.
Jimin shrugged quickly, like he didn’t want sympathy.
“It’s fine. I make it work.”
Yoongi studied him for a second.
Then he asked, voice still casual: “You go to work after you drop her off?”
Jimin nodded. “Yeah. I work at a salon. I’m a hairstylist.”
Yoongi’s brows lifted slightly.
“You cut hair?”
Jimin let out a short laugh. “And dye it. And fix it when people mess it up at home.”
Yoongi’s mouth twitched, almost a smile.
“That explains your hands,” he murmured.
Jimin blinked. “My hands?”
Yoongi nodded, looking down at them.
“They’re always a little stained,” he said.
Jimin looked down too. Sure enough, there was faint dye on his fingers, like there always was no matter how much he scrubbed.
Heat crawled up his neck. He hadn’t realized Yoongi was paying attention to details like that.
Yoongi’s gaze lifted back to him.
“If you ever need help,” he said, voice low and steady, “you can ask.”
The words hit like a slap, not because they were wrong but because they were kind.
Jimin’s shoulders stiffened instinctively, help meant pity, meant being looked down on, being reminded that he was struggling.
Jimin forced a small smile.
“I’m okay,” he said quickly. “Really.”
Yoongi didn’t argue.
He just nodded once, like he understood that boundary too.
“Okay,” he said. “But the offer stays.”
Jimin didn’t know what to say to that. His daughter tugged gently on his sleeve, impatient now, ready to continue.
Jimin nodded toward Yoongi.
“We should go.”
Yoongi crouched again, looking at the little girl.
“You coming tomorrow?” he asked softly.
She stared at him for a long moment then she reached out and poked his cheek with one finger.
Yoongi froze. Like his heart stopped.
Then his eyes crinkled faintly.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmured.
Jimin’s breath caught, because his daughter didn’t touch people. Not like that.
Yoongi stood back up.
“Have a good day,” he said.
Jimin hesitated, then nodded.
“You too.”
As they walked away, Jimin could feel Yoongi’s gaze on their backs like a warmth that refused to fade. And he hated how much he wanted to turn around.
At the salon, the morning rush was already starting. The smell of shampoo and hairspray filled the air, blow dryers roared, music played softly from the speakers.
Jimin tied his apron on, washed his hands, and tried to focus on the schedule.
But his mind kept drifting: the coffee, the way Yoongi had said I wanted to, the way he had said the offer stays.
Jimin stared at his comb for too long.
“Jimin.”
He blinked. Hoseok was standing beside him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
“What?” Jimin asked too quickly.
Hoseok leaned closer, voice dropping.
“You’re spacing out.”
Jimin frowned. “No I’m not.”
Hoseok’s expression didn’t change.
“You are.”
Jimin scoffed and turned toward the sink. “I’m just tired.”
Hoseok’s eyes flicked to the coffee cup sitting on Jimin’s station.
A cup that Jimin had forgotten to throw away.
Hoseok’s gaze sharpened.
“Is that from him?”
Jimin froze.
“No,” he lied immediately.
Hoseok raised one eyebrow.
Jimin sighed, defeated. “Okay. Yes. He gave it to me. It was just coffee.”
Hoseok stared at him like Jimin had admitted to committing a crime.
Then Hoseok’s lips parted.
“You like him.”
Jimin choked. “What? No!”
Hoseok stepped closer, pointing dramatically.
“You’re doing the thing.”
Jimin blinked. “What thing?”
“The thing where your eyes go soft and you stop making sense,” Hoseok said.
Jimin’s face burned.
“I don’t like him,” he insisted. “He’s just… being nice.”
Hoseok scoffed. “Alphas are always ‘nice’ when they want something.”
Taehyung, who was sweeping hair nearby, let out a quiet laugh without looking up.
Hoseok turned. “What are you laughing at?”
Taehyung shrugged lazily, still sweeping.
“Nothing,” he said.
Then he lifted his eyes to Jimin, a smirk tugging at his mouth.
“Your kid likes him,” Taehyung said.
Jimin stiffened.
Taehyung’s smirk widened.
“That 's worse.”
Hoseok’s eyes widened, like he’d just realized something terrifying.
“Oh my god,” Hoseok whispered.
Jimin groaned, rubbing his forehead. “Stop.”
Taehyung leaned on the broom like it was a staff.
“Your daughter chose him,” Taehyung said calmly. “You can deny your feelings all you want, but she doesn’t care about your denial.”
Jimin shot him a glare.
Taehyung’s voice stayed even.
“She doesn’t like people,” he continued. “She doesn’t touch people, but she touches him.”
Hoseok’s expression softened, almost against his will.
Jimin’s chest tightened, because he knew Taehyung was right.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” he whispered.
Hoseok stepped closer, gentler now.
“It could,” Hoseok said quietly.
Jimin 's eyes stung.
Taehyung shrugged again, sweeping up the last bit of hair.
“Either way,” he said, voice amused, “I want to see a firefighter get his feelings hurt. It’ll be entertaining.”
“Honey,” Hoseok snapped immediately, scandalized.
Taehyung grinned. Jimin tried to laugh, but it came out shaky. Because deep down, he wasn’t scared of Yoongi hurting him, he was scared of Yoongi not.
The next morning felt wrong from the start. Jimin didn’t know how else to explain it—nothing had changed, not really, the sky was the same dull gray, the streets smelled like wet concrete, his daughter’s little backpack was still hanging off one shoulder, her lunchbox tucked under Jimin’s arm like always.
But her steps were faster, more determined, like she was hurrying toward something she didn’t want to miss. Jimin followed quietly, adjusting his grip on her hand, watching her fingers flutter in that familiar rhythm.
The fire station came into view, doors open, the truck but no Yoongi.
The sidewalk in front of it was empty.
Jimin slowed without meaning to, his daughter stopped completely, her head tilted slightly, eyes scanning the entrance as if her brain refused to accept what it was seeing.
Jimin’s stomach tightened. Maybe Yoongi was inside, he was busy, he’d just been late.
“It’s okay,” Jimin murmured, mostly to himself. “He’s probably—”
His daughter stepped forward. One step. Then another. Her gaze locked on the doorway, waiting.
Jimin held his breath. Seconds passed.
A firefighter walked out carrying equipment, barely sparing them a glance, then another. None of them were Yoongi.
His daughter’s shoulders slowly rose, her breathing changed. Jimin saw it instantly—the small shift in her posture that meant her world was starting to slip.
Her routine was breaking and she didn’t understand why. Jimin crouched down beside her, voice soft.
“Baby, he’s not here today. That’s okay. We can still—”
She didn’t look at him, her eyes stayed fixed on the station like she could force Yoongi to appear if she stared hard enough, her hands started to tremble, the glove was still in her hands, she clutched it tighter, then she made a small sound, a broken, frustrated sound as her face crumpled.
Tears spilled down her cheeks, silent at first, then faster, her body tensing as if she didn’t know where to put the feeling.
Jimin’s heart dropped.
“No, no…” he whispered, panic rising instantly. “Sweetheart, it’s okay, it’s okay—”
He tried to pull her gently toward the sidewalk, away from the station. She resisted, her feet planted like roots. Her crying turned louder—sharp and breathless, a sound that made people turn their heads.
Jimin’s hands shook. He hated this part. Hated the stares. Hated how helpless he felt.
“Please,” he begged softly, rubbing her arms. “Please, baby, we have to go to school.”
She started to rock in place, clutching the glove like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
Jimin tried everything, offered her the snack he kept in his pocket and offered her favorite little toy. He whispered her routine to her, the way her teacher had told him to.
“School first… then appa works… then we go home…”
Nothing reached her. The crying turned into something else—her breathing hitching, her face turning blank again, her body stiffening like she was shutting down from the inside.
Jimin’s throat tightened painfully, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to fix a broken routine when his daughter couldn’t understand the reason.
And he hated—hated—how much he wanted Yoongi to appear, because wanting him meant depending on him. And Jimin didn’t depend on anyone, he couldn’t afford to.
“Come on,” Jimin whispered, voice cracking. “Please… please… just come with me.”
He tried to lift her, her body went rigid, dead weight. Her eyes stared past him. Jimin’s hands trembled as he held her, breathing hard. He could feel people looking, could feel shame crawling up his spine, hot and suffocating.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered automatically, the words falling out like a reflex. “I’m sorry, she just—”
“Jimin.”
The voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through everything.
Jimin turned his head so fast it made him dizzy. Yoongi was standing there. Hair damp with sweat, uniform messy, jacket half unzipped. His face looked tired—more tired than Jimin had ever seen him but the moment his eyes landed on the little girl, something softened.
He crossed the sidewalk in two long strides and crouched down in front of her, blocking the world again like he was built for it.
“Hey,” he murmured. “I’m here.”
Jimin’s daughter’s eyes snapped to him instantly, like she’d been waiting for that exact sentence, her blank expression cracked, her breath hitched. And then she made a sound—small, desperate, almost angry.
She lunged forward, urgently. Her tiny hands grabbed Yoongi’s shirt, fisting the fabric like she was afraid he would disappear again.
Yoongi froze for half a second.
Then his arms wrapped around her carefully, not too tight, not overwhelming.
Just enough.
“Yeah,” he whispered, voice thick. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”
Her crying quieted almost immediately. She buried her face into his chest, breathing shakily, clutching him like an anchor.
Jimin stood there, stunned. Watching. And the feeling that hit him was so sharp it almost made him sick.
Relief.
Pure, terrifying relief.
Because his daughter was calm again, Yoongi was here, the world was back in order.
Yoongi lifted his eyes to Jimin, his gaze was apologetic but it wasn’t the kind of apology that was smooth or charming.
It looked… clumsy. Like he didn’t know how to explain himself, like he didn’t know how to say I didn’t want to leave.
Jimin’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Yoongi looked down at the girl still clinging to him.
Then he said quietly, almost hesitant:
“My brother called.”
Jimin blinked.
Yoongi’s jaw tightened.
“His kid… she’s autistic too,” Yoongi said.
Jimin’s breath caught.
Yoongi’s voice dropped even lower.
“She had a rough morning, and he needed me.”
For a moment, Jimin couldn’t speak.
The words settled into his chest like warm water.
Yoongi wasn’t gone because he didn’t care.
He was gone because he was… needed.
Because he cared somewhere else too.
Yoongi glanced back up at Jimin.
“I should’ve told you,” he said quietly.
Jimin swallowed hard, forcing his voice to work.
“You don’t owe me that,” he murmured.
Yoongi’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Maybe I do,” he said.
The words were quiet but they sounded like a promise.
Jimin’s heart stumbled in his chest as his daughter finally loosened her grip, but she didn’t let go completely. She stayed pressed against Yoongi’s side like she belonged there. Yoongi brushed his fingers gently over her hair, careful and slow.
“She missed me,” he murmured.
Jimin’s throat tightened.
“She doesn’t…” Jimin started, then stopped.
He didn’t even know what he was trying to say: she doesn’t attach easily, she doesn’t trust people. She doesn’t—
But she did. She trusted Yoongi.
And Jimin didn’t know what to do with that.
Yoongi shifted slightly and looked at the little girl.
“Can you walk now?” he asked softly.
She didn’t answer, but she straightened up, still holding his sleeve, and took a small step.
Yoongi smiled faintly.
“Good.”
Jimin’s hands clenched at his sides, he didn’t like how natural Yoongi looked with her, like he’d always been meant to be there.
When Jimin finally cleared his throat, his voice was rough.
“We should go. We’re late.”
Yoongi nodded, standing slowly but the girl didn’t let go, she held onto his hand this time.
Yoongi glanced at Jimin, as if asking permission.
Jimin’s chest hurt, but he nodded. And Yoongi walked them halfway down the street before gently letting go, crouching again so he was eye level with her.
“I’ll be here tomorrow,” he promised softly.
The girl stared at him for a long moment, then she patted his cheek again.
Yoongi went still, then he smiled.
Jimin couldn’t breathe.
Yoongi looked up at Jimin, expression unreadable.
“Have a good day,” he said quietly.
Jimin nodded, forcing himself to move.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “You too.”
As they walked away, Jimin didn’t look back, because if he did, he was afraid he wouldn’t stop himself from turning around.
At the salon later, Hoseok noticed immediately.
Jimin was quieter.
Distracted.
Like he was carrying something heavy in his chest.
Hoseok waited until their lunch break, then cornered him near the storage room with a juice box in one hand and his most serious expression on his face.
“What happened?” Hoseok asked.
Jimin hesitated, then exhaled slowly.
“He wasn’t there today,” Jimin admitted. “And she… she couldn’t handle it. She broke down.”
Hoseok’s eyes widened.
Taehyung, sitting on a stool nearby,r looked up immediately.
Jimin continued, voice low.
“But then he came back. And the second she saw him… she calmed down. She clung to him like—like he was… hers.”
Hoseok went silent.
His lips parted slightly, as if he didn’t know what to say.
Taehyung’s gaze narrowed, thoughtful.
Jimin swallowed, fingers twisting together.
“He said his nephew is autistic too,” Jimin murmured. “He left because his brother needed him.”
Hoseok’s face softened, slow and reluctant, then he sat down beside Jimin. Quietly.
“He understands,” Hoseok said.
Jimin didn’t answer.
Hoseok’s voice dropped, gentler.
“She trusts him.”
Jimin’s eyes stung.
He stared at the floor, throat tight.
“I know,” he whispered.
Taehyung spoke from across the room, tone calm but sharp.
“And that scares you more than anything.”
Jimin didn’t deny it, because it was true. It terrified him.
Because if his daughter trusted Yoongi—
Then Jimin didn’t know how to keep pretending he didn’t want to trust him too.
The salon was loud. Not loud in the way sirens were loud—this was the constant hum of human life. Blow dryers roaring, music playing softly through the speakers, scissors snipping, people laughing, gossip spilling across the room like perfume.
It was busy enough that Jimin barely had time to breathe, he was midway through a client’s layers when the bell above the door rang.
The sound made him glance up automatically, and then his hands froze.
Four men walked in. Tall. Broad. All wearing black uniforms with the fire department logo stitched on the chest.
The entire salon shifted, not because they were famous, but because they were alphas.
Jimin felt it in the air first—the subtle pressure, the scent of pack and smoke and clean detergent. The clients noticed too: heads turned, eyes widened, a few omegas straightened up instinctively.
Jimin’s throat went dry. No. No way.
Hoseok, working at the nail station, looked up and immediately narrowed his eyes like he was about to start a war. Taehyung, who had been sweeping hair near the mirrors, stopped mid-motion.
His gaze sharpened. And then he smiled.
The firefighters walked further inside.
The first one—broad shoulders, pretty face, lips already curved into a confident grin—looked around like he owned the place.
“Wow,” he said loudly. “It smells amazing here.”
Jungkook.
Jimin recognized him instantly.
The second one was taller, posture straight, hands shoved into his pockets like he didn’t want to disturb anyone, his eyes were warm and careful.
Namjoon.
The third—
Seokjin.
He looked like he belonged on a magazine cover, hair perfectly styled even before the haircut, lips curved like he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on a room. He scanned the salon and smiled brightly.
“Hello,” he said, voice smooth. “We’re here to see Jimin.”
Jimin’s client looked delighted.
“Oh my god,” she whispered. “Are those firefighters?”
Jimin forced his hands to keep moving, scissors trembling slightly. Why are they here?
And then—Yoongi stepped in last. Hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, face neutral, but his eyes found Jimin immediately.
Jimin’s chest tightened. Yoongi didn’t smile, didn’t wave. He just looked at him, and somehow that was worse.
Hoseok stood up so fast his chair scraped the floor.
“Excuse me,” Hoseok said sharply, walking toward them.
Taehyung followed behind him, a broom abandoned on the ground like a weapon he didn’t need.
Seokjin smile widened.
“Oh,” he said, amused. “You must be the famous coworker.”
Jungkook leaned forward dramatically, eyes sparkling.
“Are you Hoseok?!” he asked. “Jimin talks about you!”
Hoseok blinked, caught off guard for half a second—then his eyes narrowed again.
“Does he,” Hoseok replied, voice sweet in the most threatening way possible.
Namjoon bowed slightly, politely.
“Sorry to intrude,” he said. “We’re on break. Jin hyung wanted a haircut.”
Seokjin clasped his hands together like he was praying.
“I’m begging. My hair is suffering.”
Taehyung’s gaze drifted over all of them.
“And you all came together?” Taehyung asked softly.
Jungkook nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah!”
Taehyung hummed.
“Interesting,” he murmured.
Yoongi didn’t speak, he just stood there.
Jimin’s client leaned back in her chair, whispering, “Jimin… are they friends of yours?”
Jimin’s face burned.
He forced a smile. “Something like that.”
Hoseok stepped closer, arms crossed, his eyes landed on Yoongi, then he tilted his head.
“So you’re the firefighter my nephew is obsessed with,” Hoseok said.
The salon went slightly quieter, not silent, but attentive.
Jimin’s heart stopped.
Hoseok—
Yoongi met Hoseok’s gaze without flinching.
“Yes,” Yoongi said.
Hoseok’s eyebrows lifted.
“And?” Hoseok pressed.
Taehyung’s lips twitched, like he was enjoying this far too much.
Yoongi’s gaze flicked briefly toward Jimin, then back to Hoseok.
“I like her too,” Yoongi said simply.
Something in Hoseok’s face shifted, his mouth parted slightly, as if he hadn’t expected that answer.
Taehyung stepped closer, eyes sharp but voice gentle.
“And you’re what?” Taehyung asked. “A friend?”
Yoongi blinked once. Then he answered carefully, like he respected the question.
“I’m… someone she feels safe with,” Yoongi said.
Taehyung stared at him for a long moment, then smiled, a small, satisfied smile.
“Good answer,” Taehyung murmured.
Hoseok still looked suspicious but his shoulders had lowered just a little.
Seokjin clapped his hands suddenly, breaking the tension like a knife cutting through air.
“Anyway!” he announced brightly. “Jimin, darling, can you save my hair? I’m trusting you with my life.”
Jimin almost laughed out of sheer relief.
“Sit,” Jimin said, voice tight. “Before I change my mind.”
Seokjin gasped dramatically and dropped into the chair like a prince.
Jungkook bounced on his heels, eyes wide.
“Can I get something too?” Jungkook asked. “Maybe a perm? Or… blue highlights? Or—”
Namjoon grabbed him by the collar. “Sit down.”
Jungkook pouted. “Hyung!”
Yoongi stayed standing near the entrance, quiet, hands still in his pockets.
Jimin tried not to look at him. He failed.
Yoongi’s eyes were already on him, like he was watching Jimin work like it was something precious.
Jimin’s face heated. He turned away quickly, focusing on Seokjin’s hair.
Taehyung leaned against the counter nearby, arms folded, watching Yoongi like a cat watching a mouse. Hoseok stayed close too, as if he expected Yoongi to lunge at Jimin any second.
Jimin snipped the first lock of hair.
Seokjin sighed dramatically.
“Ah,” he said. “This is what peace feels like.”
Jimin rolled his eyes. “Stop moving.”
Seokjin smiled through the mirror.
“So,” he said, eyes glittering. “You’re Jimin.”
Jimin paused. “Yes.”
Seokjin tilted his head.
“You’re prettier than Yoongi described.”
The scissors nearly slipped out of Jimin’s fingers.
“What—” Jimin choked.
Hoseok made a noise that sounded like a warning. Taehyung laughed softly, Yoongi’s eyes narrowed, Seokjin grinned wider.
“Oh,” he said. “So he didn’t tell you he talks about you.”
Jimin’s heart slammed against his ribs. He shot Yoongi a look through the mirror, Yoongi’s ears were slightly red, his expression remained calm, but his jaw was tight.
“Jin,” Yoongi said flatly.
Seokjin laughed.
“What?” he said innocently. “I’m just saying. It’s cute.”
Jimin felt like he might combust.
Hoseok leaned closer to Jimin’s ear and whispered:
“If he breaks your heart, I will bury him under nail polish.”
Jimin swallowed a laugh.
Taehyung whispered from the other side:
“I’ll help.”
Namjoon, overhearing, sighed deeply like a man exhausted by everyone.
Jungkook grinned.
“I’ll bring the shovel.”
“Stop,” Namjoon snapped immediately.
Jimin tried to keep his hands steady, but his cheeks were burning the entire time. And then the bell above the door rang again, Jimin glanced up. His daughter walked in, holding her teacher’s hand. She had been dropped off early, as usual, because Jimin’s schedule didn’t match the school’s.
The moment she stepped inside, her gaze swept the salon, she ignored Hoseok, ignored Taehyung, the clients, blow dryers and locked directly onto Yoongi.
Her entire body changed, her shoulders loosened, her steps quickened.
Jimin’s breath caught.
“No,” he whispered under his breath.
Because he already knew. His daughter broke free of the teacher’s hand and walked straight toward Yoongi with the confidence of someone who belonged there.
Yoongi crouched immediately, as if he’d been waiting for her.
“Hey,” he murmured softly.
She climbed into his lap, just crawled right onto him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The salon went silent, even the blow dryers seemed to fade.
Hoseok froze with his mouth open. Taehyung’s eyebrows lifted. Jungkook made a sound like he’d been stabbed in the heart.
Seokjin whispered dramatically,
“Oh my god.”
Namjoon’s eyes widened.
And Jimin—
Jimin’s soul left his body.
“Sweetheart,” Jimin said quickly, voice high and mortified. “Baby, you can’t—”
Yoongi didn’t even blink. He just adjusted his grip and held her properly, one arm supporting her back, the other hand resting gently on her knee. His daughter curled against Yoongi’s chest and let out a small hum—soft, content.
The kind of sound she only made when she was safe.
Yoongi looked up at Jimin, expression calm.
“She’s okay,” he said quietly.
Jimin could not handle it. “I’m sorry—she just—she doesn’t—”
Yoongi’s gaze softened.
“She likes me,” he said simply.
Then, after a pause, he added in a quieter voice: “I like her.”
The words made Jimin’s stomach twist painfully, because it wasn’t flirtation, it wasn’t charm. It was something deeper, something that didn’t go away.
Hoseok slowly walked forward, eyes locked on the child in Yoongi’s arms.
His voice was careful now.
“She doesn’t do that,” Hoseok said.
Jimin’s throat tightened.
“I know,” he whispered.
Taehyung crossed his arms, staring at Yoongi with sharp eyes.
Then he nodded once, almost approving.
“You’re done,” Taehyung said softly to Yoongi.
Yoongi blinked. “What?”
Taehyung smiled faintly.
“You’re done,” he repeated. “She claimed you.”
Jungkook gasped like it was a crime.
“She claimed him?!” Jungkook whispered loudly. “Like… like in soulmate stuff?”
Namjoon covered his face with one hand.
Seokjin 's eyes sparkled.
“Oh,” Seokjin said. “This is going to be fun.”
Jimin wanted to melt into the floor, wanted to cry, wanted to laugh, to grab his daughter and run away. But his daughter had her face pressed into Yoongi’s chest, completely calm, completely content and Yoongi was holding her like she was something precious.
Like she was fragile in the way diamonds were fragile. Strong, but worthy of care.
Yoongi looked down at her and brushed his fingers gently through her hair.
“Did you have a good day?” he murmured.
She didn’t answer, but she shifted closer, like she was saying yes with her body. Yoongi’s eyes softened again, and when he looked up at Jimin, there was something in his gaze that made Jimin’s chest ache.
Jimin swallowed hard.
The day didn’t start with disaster, that was the cruel part. It started normal.
Jimin woke up before his alarm, like always, his body was already tense, already tired and he moved quietly through the apartment, packing lunch, checking his daughter’s bag, counting coins in the small jar by the sink.
There weren’t many, he stared at them too long, then he forced himself to look away. He made breakfast—same bowl, same spoon, same cereal, his daughter sat at the table, rocking slightly, eyes unfocused.
Jimin watched her eat and tried to ignore the heaviness in his chest, bills sat on the counter, the rent notice, the school paper asking for supplies, a reminder from the salon about missed shifts, his phone buzzed once with a notification from the bank. Low balance.
Jimin’s hands tightened around the mug he’d reheated three times and still hadn’t finished, he exhaled slowly.
Just get through today.
He got her dressed, himself dressed. He tied his hair back, forced a smile into the mirror, and told himself he could do this.
The walk to school was quiet, his daughter stopped briefly at the fire station like she always did. Yoongi was there. He crouched, greeted her softly, let her touch his sleeve, gave her that calm smile that made her shoulders loosen.
Jimin didn’t stay long. He couldn’t. Not today. He was already late.
“Bye,” he said quickly, pulling his daughter along.
Yoongi’s voice followed him, gentle.
“Have a good day.”
Jimin didn’t answer.
The salon was chaotic. Two clients complained about their appointments being late, one client demanded a refund, another argued about the color like it was a personal insult. A coworker called in sick and the manager asked Jimin to take an extra client.
Jimin said yes, because Jimin always said yes. Saying no meant losing hours, and losing hours meant losing groceries. His hands moved automatically, mixing dye, applying it, smiling when people spoke, laughing when they expected him to.
But inside, he felt like a wire pulled too tight, like one more thing would snap him in half.
Then his phone rang. The school.
Jimin’s stomach dropped.
He wiped his hands quickly, stepped into the back room, and answered.
“Hello?”
The teacher’s voice was gentle.
“Hi, Jimin. I’m sorry to call during work, but… we had a difficult day today.”
Jimin’s heart started pounding.
“What happened?” he asked, voice sharp with fear.
“She didn’t want to come inside this morning,” the teacher explained softly. “And later she got overwhelmed during group activity, she cried, and we couldn’t calm her down for a while.”
Jimin’s throat tightened.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered automatically.
The teacher paused.
“You don’t need to apologize,” she said kindly. “But… she’s been asking for you. We thought it might be better if you picked her up early.”
Jimin pressed a hand to his forehead.
The room tilted slightly.
He looked at the shelves of hair products like they could offer an answer.
“I… I can’t,” he whispered. Then, realizing how awful that sounded, he corrected himself quickly.
“I mean—yes. I can. I’ll come.”
“Thank you,” the teacher said softly.
Jimin hung up.
For a moment, he just stood there. Breathing. Trying not to fall apart.
Then he stepped out, forcing his face into something neutral.
His manager frowned. “Everything okay?”
Jimin swallowed. “School called. I need to leave early.”
The manager sighed, irritated.
“Again?”
The word again hit like a slap.
Jimin 's cheeks burned.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
The manager waved a hand dismissively.
“Fine. Go.”
Jimin nodded quickly, grabbed his jacket, and left without looking back.
The walk to the school felt endless, his legs were heavy, his chest hurt. By the time he arrived, his daughter was sitting in the office, curled up in a corner with her knees tucked to her chest, her fingers twisting in the air like she was trying to pull herself back together, her eyes were red.
Jimin’s heart shattered.
“Baby…” he whispered, crouching down.
She didn’t look at him, she didn’t move. Jimin reached for her gently, she flinched and that tiny flinch destroyed him.
He took her home, made her food and tried to soothe her. But she stayed distant, stuck inside herself, and Jimin could feel his own panic rising the longer it lasted.
He checked his phone. Missed calls. Messages. The salon asked when he’d be back. The bank notification again.
He stared at it until his vision blurred, he didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to fix first.
His daughter needed him, his job needed him and his body needed rest.
His heart needed—Jimin didn’t even know what his heart needed anymore.
He left his daughter watching her quiet cartoons in the living room, safe and contained, and stepped into the hallway, his hands were shaking so badly he could barely lock the door, he didn’t even know where he was going until he realized his feet were carrying him down the street.
Toward the fire station, toward the only place that had felt stable lately.
When he reached the station, the doors were open, the truck sat inside. Men moved around, laughing, talking.
Jimin stood at the edge of the sidewalk, breathing hard.
He felt ridiculous. What was he doing here?
He couldn’t just—
Yoongi spotted him instantly.
His smile vanished, he moved toward Jimin immediately, his steps quick and purposeful.
“Jimin?” Yoongi said, voice low. “What happened?”
Jimin tried to speak but nothing came out. His throat was tight, burning.
Yoongi didn’t ask again. He just reached out, not touching, but close enough that Jimin could feel the warmth of him.
“Come inside,” Yoongi said gently. “It’s cold.”
Jimin shook his head, breathing uneven.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he whispered.
Yoongi’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“You look like you’re going to fall,” Yoongi said. “Come inside.”
Jimin’s breath hitched.
Then his legs gave in, not completely, but enough that Yoongi caught him by the elbow, steadying him without forcing him closer than necessary.
Yoongi guided him inside like it was the most natural thing in the world, like Jimin belonged there. He led him to a small break room, away from the noise.
Yoongi sat him down on a chair, then grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and pressed it into his hands. Jimin stared at it like he didn’t know what it was.
Yoongi crouched in front of him, eyes steady.
“Drink,” he said softly.
Jimin’s fingers trembled as he opened it.
He took a sip, then another. His throat still burned, his eyes stung.
Yoongi didn’t ask questions. He just stayed there, close enough that Jimin didn’t feel alone, but not close enough to trap him.
Jimin stared at the floor.
Yoongi spoke quietly.
“Bad day?”
Jimin let out a laugh that sounded broken.
“Every day is a bad day,” he whispered.
Yoongi didn’t respond.
Jimin’s fingers tightened around the bottle.
He tried to swallow the lump in his throat.
“I’m tired,” Jimin admitted, voice trembling. “I’m so tired.”
Yoongi’s gaze softened.
“I know,” he murmured.
Jimin’s eyes filled instantly.
I know.
Not it’ll be okay. Not you’ll get through it.
Jimin’s breath hitched, and tears spilled down his cheeks before he could stop them, he wiped them quickly, embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered automatically.
Yoongi’s voice turned firm.
“Stop, you don’t have to apologize for crying,” Yoongi said.
Jimin’s shoulders shook, he tried to hold it in, he failed. The sob that escaped him was ugly and raw, like it had been trapped in his chest for months.
Yoongi didn’t touch him, he didn’t pull him into a hug. He just stayed right there, like a wall against the world, like something steady Jimin could lean on without breaking.
When Jimin finally managed to breathe again, his voice came out hoarse.
“The school called,” he whispered. “She had a bad day and my boss was angry. And I… I don’t have money, I don’t have time. I don’t have—”
He choked.
Yoongi’s jaw clenched.
Jimin’s fingers dug into the plastic bottle.
Then, before he could stop himself, the truth spilled out.
“The other father left,” Jimin whispered.
Yoongi’s gaze flickered.
Jimin stared at the floor, unable to look at him.
“He left when we found out she was autistic,” Jimin said, voice shaking. “He said… he said he didn’t sign up for this. He said she wasn’t normal. That she was… too much.”
His voice broke completely.
“He rejected her,” Jimin whispered. “He rejected his own pup.”
Yoongi’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his eyes dropped for a moment.
And when he spoke, his voice was quiet.
“Then he was weak.”
Jimin’s breath caught.
Yoongi lifted his gaze, eyes dark and steady.
“A weak alpha,” Yoongi repeated. “A weak man.”
Jimin’s tears fell harder, because nobody had ever said that, everyone had always treated it like a tragedy, like it was understandable.
But Yoongi said it like it was simple and unforgivable.
Jimin covered his mouth with his hand, trying not to sob too loudly. Yoongi stayed silent. And somehow, that was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for him.
After a long moment, Jimin whispered, voice trembling:
“I don’t want her to go through that again.”
Yoongi’s gaze softened.
“She won’t,” he said.
Jimin looked up, startled.
Yoongi’s eyes held his.
“She won’t,” Yoongi repeated quietly.
And Jimin didn’t know why, but for the first time in a long time he believed someone.
The change didn’t happen all at once, it came in pieces.
The kind that didn’t feel like help at first—just… presence.
Just people showing up, Hoseok was the first to make it obvious, he started leaving snacks in Jimin’s locker at the salon, like it was nothing. Just a neatly packed bag of sensory-friendly food: soft rice cakes, plain crackers, a small juice box, a pouch of applesauce.
Jimin found it one afternoon and froze, he stared at it like it might disappear if he blinked.
When Hoseok walked past him, humming casually, Jimin grabbed his sleeve.
“What is this?” Jimin asked quietly.
Hoseok blinked innocently.
“Snacks,” he said.
“For who?”
Hoseok looked at him like Jimin was stupid.
“For your baby,” Hoseok said, like it was obvious. “Because sometimes she can’t eat what the other kids eat.”
Jimin’s throat tightened.
“Hoseok, you didn’t have to—”
Hoseok waved his hand dismissively.
“I did,” he said simply. “So stop making that face.”
Jimin swallowed hard.
Taehyung, who was nearby sweeping hair, didn’t even look up.
“I told him to buy extra,” Taehyung said casually.
Jimin blinked. “You—”
Taehyung finally lifted his gaze, expression calm.
“I also found new sensory headphones online,” he said. “Cheap deal, they’re arriving tomorrow.”
Jimin stared at him like he’d lost his mind.
“I can’t accept that.”
Taehyung shrugged.
“You can,” he said. “You will.”
Hoseok nodded enthusiastically.
“You will,” Hoseok echoed, like it was a threat.
Jimin tried to argue. He really did, but the words got stuck in his throat. Because the truth was… he didn’t know how to refuse kindness when it wasn’t asked for. When it was just quietly placed in his hands like it belonged there, then the firefighters started doing it too.
Namjoon showed up one afternoon after Jimin mentioned—too casually—that the kitchen sink had been leaking. Jimin hadn’t even asked for help.
He’d only sighed and said, “I’ll figure it out later.”
The next day, Namjoon was standing outside his apartment door with a toolbox.
“Hi,” Namjoon said politely, like he was visiting a neighbor. “Yoongi told me your sink is broken.”
Jimin stared at him, horrified.
“He told you that?”
Namjoon nodded.
“He worries,” he said.
Jimin opened his mouth, ready to protest.
Namjoon smiled gently.
“Let me fix it,” he said. “It’s nothing.”
And Jimin—exhausted, embarrassed, overwhelmed—stepped aside.
Namjoon fixed it in fifteen minutes, then he quietly tightened the loose cabinet door too. And when Jimin tried to offer money, Namjoon looked genuinely offended.
“No,” he said firmly. “Please don’t insult me.”
Jimin didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. So he did both.
Seokjin started appearing like a ghost, always at the right time, always with food. Jimin would open his door and find a bag hanging from the knob: warm soup, steamed buns, side dishes, a little note written in perfect handwriting.
“Oops. I cooked too much again. Eat it.”
Jimin texted him once, confused.
Thank you… but why do you keep doing this?
Seokjin replied immediately.
Because if you don’t eat properly I’ll personally haunt you.
Jimin stared at his phone for a full minute, then he laughed so hard his eyes stung.
Jungkook became the loudest addition to their lives. And somehow… the one his daughter liked most after Yoongi.
Jungkook was too bright, too energetic, too much—and Jimin expected his daughter to hate him. But Jungkook didn’t force her, he didn’t touch her, didn’t talk too loud when she was close.
He crouched down and showed her little firefighter patches and tiny keychains and stickers. And he always, always asked permission first.
“Can I show you something cool?” Jungkook would whisper dramatically.
And Jimin’s daughter would blink slowly, then nod once. Jungkook would gasp like it was the biggest honor in the world. And Jimin watched it happen with disbelief.
Because Jungkook wasn’t treating her like she was fragile, he was treating her like she was important.
Jimin didn’t know what it did to his heart, exactly. He only knew it made his chest ache in a way that felt like grief and gratitude at the same time.
One afternoon, Jungkook called her his “tiny boss.”
She didn’t smile but she pressed a sticker onto his uniform with serious focus.
Jungkook looked like he might cry.
“Hyung,” he whispered to Yoongi later, voice trembling. “She gave me a sticker.”
Yoongi barely glanced up.
“She likes you,” Yoongi said simply.
Jungkook clutched his chest dramatically.
“I’m her uncle now.”
Jimin rolled his eyes but he didn’t correct him.
Yoongi became routine, not in a scary way, but in a way that felt like the world finally had something stable.
Yoongi started walking them home more often. At first it was subtle. He would just happen to be outside when Jimin left the salon. Or he would “accidentally” be on the same street when Jimin picked his daughter up.
Then it became natural, expected, like it was part of their life.
Yoongi never held Jimin 's hand, never touched him too much, he kept a respectful distance, always.
But he always walked on the side closer to the street. Always. And when cars passed too fast, Yoongi’s body shifted just slightly, shielding them without even thinking.
Jimin noticed.
Sometimes Yoongi carried his daughter when she got tired, carried her backpack. Sometimes he carried both and he never complained. Never acted like it was a burden.
Jimin would watch him, quiet and steady, and feel something deep inside him loosen, like a knot he’d forgotten he was holding.
One evening, Yoongi walked them up to the apartment door. The hallway light flickered above them, buzzing softly. Jimin’s daughter clung to Yoongi’s sleeve, refusing to let go. Yoongi crouched down, voice gentle.
“Tomorrow,” he promised.
She stared at him, then, slowly, she nodded.
Yoongi smiled faintly and stood.
Jimin swallowed.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
Yoongi shook his head.
“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” he replied.
Jimin hesitated.
“I do,” he murmured. “Because no one else—”
He stopped, because the words almost became no one else ever stayed.
Yoongi’s gaze sharpened, but not in anger. In understanding.
He stepped closer—just a little. Close enough that Jimin could smell him.
Smoke. Soap. Warm alpha scent that wasn’t sharp or overwhelming.
It was… calm. It smelled like clean clothes.
Jimin’s breath caught.
Yoongi’s voice dropped.
“I’m not leaving,” he said.
Jimin froze as his pulse thudded painfully in his ears.
Yoongi didn’t touch him, didn’t flirt, didn’t smile. He just looked at Jimin like it was a truth he’d decided long ago.
Jimin’s lips parted.
His throat tightened.
He wanted to say something. Anything. But his body reacted first—his shoulders loosening, his breath shaking out like he’d been holding it for months.
Yoongi watched him quietly.
Then he looked away, as if giving Jimin room to breathe again.
“Goodnight,” Yoongi said softly.
Jimin’s voice came out small.
“Goodnight.”
Yoongi turned to leave. Jimin watched him walk away down the hallway. And only when Yoongi disappeared around the corner did Jimin realize something terrifying.
He hadn’t felt nervous while Yoongi was close.
He hadn’t felt trapped.
He hadn’t felt the urge to run.
He’d felt…comfort.
And worse—he’d wanted Yoongi to stay longer.
Jimin shut the door behind him, leaning against it. His daughter walked past him into the living room, already humming softly, already calm. Jimin pressed a hand to his chest, his heart was beating too fast. Too loud.
And he realized, with a sudden sharpness that made his stomach twist—Yoongi’s scent was starting to feel like home and Jimin didn’t know how to survive that. Not when home was the one thing he’d never been allowed to have.
The salon was quieter than usual. It was late afternoon, the sunlight slanting through the windows in soft golden stripes, dust floating lazily in the air. Jimin had finished his last client twenty minutes ago, but he stayed anyway—cleaning, reorganizing. His daughter sat on the small couch near the waiting area, her legs tucked under her. She had her headphones on, her favorite soft toy in her lap, and her little picture binder open on the cushion beside her.
Taehyung was sweeping hair into a neat pile, expression calm.
Hoseok was at the nail table, wiping down his tools, humming quietly.
And Yoongi—was sitting on the floor.
Not on a chair, not standing awkwardly like he didn’t belong. He sat cross-legged on the floor beside the couch, close enough to be there, far enough not to crowd her. His big hands rested on his knees, his posture relaxed like he’d done this a hundred times.
Jimin’s chest tightened every time he looked at them.
Yoongi has been coming by more often lately. Always with some small gift he tried to pretend wasn’t a gift—little firefighter stickers, a tiny red toy truck, a packet of soft gummies.
And Jimin hated how much it mattered. He hated how his body had started to anticipate Yoongi’s presence like it was something he needed to breathe.
Yoongi didn’t talk much. He never pushed. But he was always there.
And Jimin didn’t know how to stop letting him. Because his daughter… she looked calmer around Yoongi than she did around anyone else. She just sat there, quietly existing, occasionally glancing at Yoongi like she was checking if he was still real.
Yoongi met her gaze every time. Jimin turned away, pretending to wipe down the counter again but his hands were shaking, he didn’t know if it was exhaustion, emotion, or something worse. Something like hope.
His daughter shifted suddenly on the couch. Jimin looked up. She was staring at Yoongi.
Yoongi wasn’t paying attention—he was looking down at the little plastic firefighter badge she’d been fiddling with, letting her explore it at her own pace.
She reached into her picture binder, her fingers moved carefully, deliberately, flipping through laminated cards with practiced precision.
Jimin’s breath caught, she didn’t do that often, not unless she wanted something specific.
Hoseok noticed too. His humming stopped.
Taehyung paused mid-sweep.
The air in the salon changed, it sharpened, like the world had leaned forward. Jimin took one step closer without realizing, his daughter pulled out a card, she held it in both hands, like it was fragile, like it was important, then she leaned forward and gently placed it in Yoongi’s lap.
Yoongi blinked, confused at first, then looked down.
The card had one simple word: PAPA.
Yoongi stared at it like his brain couldn’t process what he was seeing, like someone had just spoken a language he didn’t know—but his heart understood anyway.
For a long second, he didn’t move.
Jimin felt his whole body go cold.
His throat closed.
His first instinct was panic.
No. No, she doesn’t mean that. She can’t mean that. She’s just—she’s just copying something she saw, or—
But then his daughter looked up at Yoongi and she tapped the card again.
Once. Firm. A decision.
Yoongi’s eyes widened slightly, and something in his expression cracked, like the world had punched him straight in the chest.
Hoseok made a noise. A strangled, broken sound. Jimin whipped his head around and saw him already crying—hands pressed to his mouth, shoulders trembling.
“Oh my god,” Hoseok whispered, voice thick. “Oh my god—”
Taehyung didn’t move. He just stared at the scene with wide eyes, the broom forgotten in his hand.
Then, like the universe had proven him right, he muttered quietly:
“I told you.”
Jimin couldn’t breathe., his vision blurred.
Yoongi’s hands hovered over the card, hesitant—like he was afraid to touch it, afraid it would vanish if he did.
Finally, he picked it up, like it was sacred.
His thumb brushed over the laminated letters.
P-A-P-A.
Yoongi swallowed, he looked at the daughter again, his voice came out rough.
“Me?”
She blinked once, then nodded. A small nod, but absolute.
Yoongi’s lips parted, his eyes went glassy, he looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Jimin’s heart was beating so fast it hurt. Yoongi turned his head toward Jimin, as if he was afraid Jimin might take it away.
His gaze held Jimin’s like a question.
And Yoongi’s voice dropped into something so quiet it almost didn’t belong to him.
“Is it okay,” he asked, “if I want to be that?”
Jimin’s body trembled, his hands clenched into fists.
Jimin didn’t know what the right answer was, he only knew what his heart was doing, it was screaming.
Please. Please stay. Please don’t leave us. Please don’t leave her.
His eyes burned. Jimin shook his head once—small, helpless.
Then he nodded. A quiet nod. A door cracking open.
Yoongi’s shoulders dropped like he’d been holding his breath for years, he looked down at the daughter again, and his voice softened so much it almost broke.
“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay, princess.”
The daughter leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his shoulder, Yoongi didn’t hesitate, he wrapped his arms around her gently, like he’d been waiting for this his whole life.
Hoseok fully lost it, crying into his hands. Taehyung turned away and pretended to sweep again, but his ears were red.
Jimin stood there, frozen, because he couldn’t stop the thought that slammed into him like a wave:
She chose him. She chose him because she felt safe.
And it made Jimin’s chest ache with love and fear all at once.
Later, after Hoseok and Taehyung “gave them space” (Hoseok dramatically announcing he was leaving before he “exploded”), the salon felt too quiet.
Jimin was locking up the front door when Yoongi approached him, his daughter was sitting in Yoongi’s jacket on the couch like it was a blanket. She looked sleepy, content, like her whole body had finally settled.
Jimin’s heart clenched painfully.
Yoongi cleared his throat, he looked nervous.
Yoongi. Min Yoongi. Nervous.
Jimin didn’t know how the universe had made that possible.
Yoongi held the picture card in his hand. Still, like he couldn’t put it down.
He looked at Jimin.
“Jimin,” he said quietly.
Jimin hummed, unable to speak.
Yoongi hesitated, then asked:
“Can I take you out?”
Jimin blinked.
“What?”
Yoongi’s ears turned slightly pink.
“Like…” he said, then paused like he didn’t know how to say it without sounding too forward.
Then he tried again.
“A date,” he said, voice low. “If you want. And—”
His eyes flicked to the couch.
“And her,” Yoongi added. “If that’s okay.”
Jimin stared at him, his mouth went dry. A date. A date with an alpha. An alpha who had already become part of their mornings, their routines, their lives. An alpha his daughter had just called papa.
Jimin’s chest tightened.
His voice came out small.
“What kind of date?”
Yoongi’s lips twitched.
“A safe one,” he said.
Then, after a beat, he added softly:
“One where you don’t have to apologize the whole time.”
Jimin’s eyes stung again. He looked away quickly, swallowing.
“Okay,” he whispered.
Yoongi’s gaze softened.
He nodded once, like he was sealing a promise.
“Okay,” he repeated.
The date wasn’t fancy. And that was the best part. Yoongi took them to a small park first—quiet, not crowded, he brought a little blanket, a bag of snacks he clearly planned too much for, water bottles, wet wipes.
Jimin stared at the supplies like he couldn’t believe it.
“You packed like we’re going camping,” Jimin muttered.
Yoongi shrugged.
“I don’t like being unprepared,” he said.
Jimin almost laughed. Almost. But it got stuck in his chest, because it wasn’t about being prepared. It was about Yoongi already thinking like a family. Like this mattered. Like they mattered.
His daughter played on the swings. Yoongi pushed her gently, careful with the rhythm, watching her face like it was the most precious thing he’d ever seen.
Jimin sat on the bench, hands in his lap. And the terrifying part was… Yoongi looked good. Not just good. Beautiful. The sunlight caught the sharp lines of his face, the hair falling into his eyes, his sleeves rolled up just enough to show strong forearms.
His uniform wasn’t even on, but he still looked like a firefighter, like someone who could carry the weight of the world without complaining.
Jimin swallowed. His heat gland pulsed faintly, like his body was waking up after months of being numb. Yoongi turned suddenly, catching Jimin staring.
Jimin froze. Embarrassed. Caught.
Yoongi didn’t tease him, he just looked at him for a long moment, gaze warm and steady.
Then he asked quietly:
“Are you okay?”
Jimin blinked.
Then, without thinking, he answered honestly.
“I think so.”
Yoongi nodded once, as if that was enough.
And Jimin realized something else.
Yoongi wasn’t trying to take anything from him.
He was just… showing up.
Over and over.
Until Jimin could believe it. Until Jimin could stop being afraid.
After the park, Yoongi took them to a small diner. It wasn’t too loud. The lights weren’t too harsh, he even asked for a corner booth without making it a big deal.
Jimin’s daughter sat beside Yoongi, leaning into his side like it was natural, like she’d done it forever. Jimin sat across from them, watching his daughter eat quietly, watching Yoongi cut her food into smaller pieces without being asked.
Jimin 's chest felt full.
Hoseok texted him halfway through the meal.
Did he propose yet.
Jimin stared at the message in horror.
Then Taehyung texted:
If you break his heart I’ll kill you.
Jimin nearly choked on his drink.
Yoongi looked up immediately.
“What happened?” he asked, concerned.
Jimin shook his head quickly, cheeks burning.
“Nothing,” he muttered.
Yoongi narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“Okay.”
Jimin smiled into his cup, trying to hide it.
And then he realized—he was smiling. The kind of smile he hadn’t had in so long he’d forgotten what it felt like.
And when Yoongi smiled back, small and quiet, like it was just for Jimin…
Jimin’s heart flipped over. And suddenly the thought wasn’t scary anymore.
I could love him.
And maybe—he could love me too.
The mornings stayed the same. That was the strangest part. Even after everything changed… nothing changed. Jimin still woke up before the sun, hair messy, body aching with sleep he never got enough of, he still packed the lunchbox with careful hands, checked the schedule twice, made sure her headphones were in her backpack.
He still fixed her jacket, still tied her shoes, whispered soft reminders she didn’t always answer but always heard. And Yoongi was still waiting outside the fire station at the same time. Every morning, like he was part of the sunrise.
It had been two weeks since the park. Two weeks since the diner. Two weeks had passed since his daughter had chosen Yoongi so boldly that Jimin still felt shaken by it.
They were… dating. But it didn’t feel like the kind of dating Jimin had seen in dramas. There were no dramatic confessions, no possessive gestures, no loud flirting. Just Yoongi showing up, again and again, like he was building trust brick by brick. Yoongi walked them home sometimes, brought soup when Jimin looked tired, sat on the floor and listened while Jimin talked about therapy appointments and school meetings.
Yoongi didn’t interrupt, didn’t judge, just listened like it mattered. Like Jimin mattered. And every time Yoongi left, he never pushed for more, never asked for anything Jimin couldn’t give. That was what made Jimin’s chest ache the most because it meant Yoongi could hurt him if he wanted, but he didn’t.
That morning was colder than usual. Jimin’s daughter walked between them, holding Yoongi’s gloved hand with one side and Jimin’s sleeve with the other. Jimin watched it with a quiet kind of disbelief, like his life was becoming something softer, something he didn’t know how to hold.
When they reached the fire station, the big doors were already open.
The truck sat there like always—bright red, shining even in the grey morning light.
His daughter stopped and stared, then she turned to Yoongi and held up her picture binder.
Yoongi crouched immediately, like it was instinct now.
She flipped through the cards carefully, her fingers sure, then she picked one and held it out.
HUG.
Yoongi smiled, small and gentle, he opened his arms. She stepped into them, pressing her face into his jacket like it was her favorite place in the world.
Yoongi held her like she was something precious, like he’d been waiting his whole life to be trusted like that.
Jimin stood there, heart aching. Yoongi looked up at him over her head, his gaze was calm, but there was something new in it now. Something that made Jimin’s stomach twist.
Yoongi slowly pulled back, letting the daughter go. She immediately went to the truck, as if her routine demanded it.
Yoongi stood up. For a moment, it was just them. Outside the station.
Morning air is cold enough to sting, Jimin’s breath came out in little clouds.
Yoongi didn’t move closer. Jimin hated that it made him want to close the distance himself.
“I should go,” Jimin said quietly.
Yoongi nodded.
“Okay.”
Jimin hesitated, because it felt wrong to leave like that, like he was walking away from something he wanted.
Yoongi’s scent drifted closer—clean, warm, steady.
It wrapped around Jimin like comfort, like quiet reassurance.
Jimin swallowed, his hands clenched at his sides.
Yoongi’s eyes softened slightly.
“Are you tired?” Yoongi asked.
Jimin let out a breath that sounded like a laugh but wasn’t.
“I’m always tired,” he admitted.
Yoongi nodded like he understood that better than anyone.
Then he said, voice low:
“You’re doing good.”
Jimin’s throat tightened instantly because he didn’t hear that enough. He didn’t hear it at all. He looked down, blinking hard.
“Don’t say that,” Jimin whispered.
Yoongi frowned.
“Why?”
Jimin’s voice cracked.
“Because it makes me feel like I’m going to lose it,” he admitted, embarrassed. “Like it’s too much.”
Yoongi stared at him for a long moment. Then he stepped forward, just one step. Close enough that Jimin could smell him fully.
Yoongi lifted his hand slowly.
Jimin’s breath hitched, then he nodded once.
Yoongi’s fingertips brushed Jimin’s cheek. Barely there. Warm through the cold.
Jimin froze. His whole body went still, like it was learning the shape of gentle touch for the first time. Yoongi’s thumb brushed softly under his eye, catching a tear Jimin hadn’t realized had fallen.
“You don’t have to be scared of me,” Yoongi murmured.
Jimin’s lips trembled.
“I’m not scared of you,” he whispered.
Yoongi’s gaze flicked to Jimin’s mouth.
Then back to his eyes.
“Can I?” Yoongi asked quietly.
He didn’t finish the question. He didn’t have to, he wanted this, he wanted Yoongi.
And that truth hit him so hard it almost made him dizzy.
Jimin nodded. A tiny nod.
Yoongi leaned in slowly, so slowly, like he was afraid Jimin might change his mind.
Their lips met. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that took, it was soft. Jimin’s hands lifted without thinking, fingers curling into Yoongi’s jacket for balance. He made a quiet sound—barely more than a breath—and Yoongi immediately pulled back, eyes wide.
“Too much?” Yoongi asked, voice tight with worry.
Jimin blinked at him.
Then he shook his head quickly.
“No,” he whispered. “No… I just…”
He didn’t know how to explain, his heart was pounding like it had been waiting for this, his skin felt like it was waking up, he couldn’t believe he was allowed to have something gentle.
Yoongi stared at him.
Then he leaned in again.
Another kiss. Even smaller. Like a secret. Like something meant only for them.
When Yoongi pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against Jimin’s and for a moment, they just breathed.
Yoongi’s voice was barely audible.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he murmured.
Jimin 's eyes stung.
He nodded.
“Okay.”
Yoongi’s thumb brushed his cheek one last time, then he stepped back.
And just like that, he turned toward the station.
Like he hadn’t just rearranged Jimin’s entire life with two tiny kisses.
Jimin stood there, frozen, lips still warm. His daughter was laughing near the truck, spinning in a slow circle as Jungkook waved at her through the open doors.
Jimin touched his mouth lightly, almost disbelieving.
He felt chosen.
And for the first time, he thought—maybe he could choose someone too.
It happened on a day Jimin didn’t sleep. A day where everything went wrong in small, cruel ways, his daughter refused breakfast, her socks felt “wrong”, the bus was late, a dog barked too loud outside the building and she shut down completely, going limp in his arms.
He barely remembered walking past the fire station, he did it automatically, like breathing. And his daughter, even exhausted, still slowed down—eyes going to the truck.
Jimin stopped with her. He didn’t even expect Yoongi to be there. But then the station door opened and Yoongi stepped out. Hair slightly messy. Uniform half-buttoned. Coffee cup in one hand. His eyes found them immediately. The second Yoongi looked at him, Jimin’s body loosened. Just a fraction. Like his bones recognized safety before his brain could.
Yoongi’s gaze sharpened.
He walked over quickly, but not rushing.
He crouched beside Jimin’s daughter first.
“Morning, princess,” he murmured.
She didn’t respond, but she leaned slightly toward him.
Yoongi nodded like that was enough, then he stood and looked at Jimin.
His voice went low.
“Bad morning?”
Jimin tried to laugh, but it came out cracked.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “It’s… one of those.”
Yoongi’s eyes softened as he stepped closer. And the scent hit Jimin immediately.
Warm alpha. Smoke. Clean soap. Calm. It wrapped around him like a blanket.
Jimin’s throat tightened.
Because his body wanted it, wanted to lean in, to stop pretending he was okay.
Yoongi noticed. His gaze flicked to Jimin’s scarf—thin, pale, wrapped around his neck.
Then he said, casual, like it didn’t matter:
“Your scarf is crooked.”
Jimin blinked. “Oh—”
Before Jimin could fix it, Yoongi’s hands lifted.
Asking permission with his body. Jimin didn’t move away.
Yoongi adjusted the scarf with gentle fingers. But then— he didn’t pull back immediately, his knuckles brushed Jimin’s throat. A place too intimate, too sensitive.
Jimin’s breath caught. Yoongi’s scent deepened, just slightly.
Alpha instinct. Protective. Warm.
And Yoongi leaned down, like he was checking the scarf again—but he wasn’t.
His nose brushed the fabric, a quiet inhale, one breath. And Jimin realized with a sharp jolt that Yoongi was scenting it, claiming it in the smallest way possible.
Just… leaving himself there.
Jimin’s knees almost went weak. Yoongi pulled back slowly, expression unreadable, but his ears were faintly pink.
“There,” he murmured. “Better.”
Jimin couldn’t speak, his mouth was dry. His omega instincts were humming under his skin, soft and needy, not desperate—just aware.
Yoongi’s eyes held him for a long moment, then Yoongi looked away first, like he was giving Jimin control. Giving him space to breathe.
Jimin swallowed hard.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Yoongi nodded.
Then, very quietly, he said:
“If you need to skip work today… do it.”
Jimin blinked, startled.
“I can’t.”
Yoongi’s gaze turned sharp again, but not angry.
“You can,” he said. “If you want to.”
Jimin almost laughed, because no one ever said that. No one ever gave him permission to be human.
His eyes burned, he looked away quickly.
“I’ll be fine,” he lied.
Yoongi didn’t argue.
He just stepped closer again, enough for Jimin to feel the warmth of him.
Yoongi’s voice dropped.
“You don’t have to be fine,” he said. “Not with me.”
Jimin’s breath shook. His daughter tugged on Yoongi’s sleeve suddenly, holding up her binder. Yoongi crouched instantly, she pulled out a card.
HOME.
Yoongi froze. Jimin froze too. Because his daughter didn’t use that card lightly.
Yoongi looked up at Jimin, questioning.
Jimin’s chest hurt. He wanted to say no. He wanted to say I can’t be weak, I can’t fall apart, I can’t—
But his daughter’s eyes were on him, and Yoongi was watching him like he’d wait forever.
Jimin’s voice came out broken.
“Can you walk us home?” he asked.
Yoongi nodded immediately.
“Yes,” he said, like it wasn’t even a question. “Of course.”
And when they started walking, Yoongi stayed close, close enough that Jimin could smell his scarf the whole way. Yoongi’s scent, wrapped around his throat like a promise.
It happened without Jimin realizing, that was the worst part. It was a busy afternoon at the salon—too many clients, too many voices, too much perfume in the air. Hairdryers roaring, scissors snipping, the constant hum of conversation that never stopped.
Jimin’s head was pounding, his phone had buzzed three times already. Two missed calls from the school, one text from the landlord reminding him about the rent.
His hands were steady, because they had to be, but inside he felt like he was cracking. He finished a cut, smiled politely, thanked the customer, and turned away.
The moment he was alone behind the counter, his shoulders slumped.
Jimin reached up and grabbed his scarf, the same scarf Yoongi had fixed, the one that Yoongi had leaned into, fabric warm against his fingers.
And before he could stop himself—Jimin lifted it to his face.
Breathed in. Deep. One inhale. Then another.
His eyes fluttered shut, the scent hit him instantly.
Yoongi. Smoke, soap, something warm and calm and steady that made Jimin’s chest loosen like a knot finally giving up.
Jimin didn’t even notice the sound he made. A soft, broken exhale. Like relief. Like his body was saying thank you. Like his omega instincts were curling around that scent and purring.
Jimin pressed the scarf closer, breathing again, and for a few seconds, the whole world stopped being so loud.
“Oh.”
The voice behind him was quiet. Jimin froze so hard his soul left his body.
He turned slowly. Hoseok was standing there, holding a tray of nail polish bottles.
Staring at him. Dead silent. Mouth slightly open. Eyes wide like he’d just witnessed a crime.
Jimin’s cheeks went flaming hot and he dropped the scarf like it had burned him.
“I—”
Hoseok blinked once. Then twice. Then his face slowly transformed into something terrifying. Something delighted. Something evil.
Jimin felt dread crawl up his spine. Hoseok set the tray down carefully, like he was preparing for war, then he pointed at Jimin.
“Oh,” Hoseok whispered, voice shaking with emotion. “Oh my GOD.”
Jimin’s voice came out panicked.
“It’s not what it looks like!”
Hoseok made a sound like he was holding back a scream.
“You—” Hoseok choked. “You just INHALED him.”
Jimin’s ears burned.
“I didn’t inhale him, I inhaled my scarf!”
Hoseok grabbed his own chest dramatically.
“You inhaled the ALPHA on your scarf!”
Taehyung, who was sweeping nearby, paused. Slowly turned his head, his eyes landed on Jimin, then on the scarf.
Taehyung’s expression stayed blank.
But his voice was calm, merciless.
“You’re nesting.”
Jimin’s stomach dropped.
“I’m NOT nesting!”
Hoseok’s eyes widened further.
“Oh my god,” Hoseok whispered. “He’s right.”
Jimin’s voice cracked.
“I am not nesting! I don’t even have time to nest! I barely have time to eat!”
Taehyung tilted his head slightly.
“Yet you had time to scent-breathe your boyfriend.”
Jimin whipped around.
“He’s not my real-boyfriend! Yet!”
Hoseok gasped loudly like he’d been shot.
“Oh my GOD,” Hoseok shrieked. “HE’S NOT EVEN YOUR BOYFRIEND YET???”
Clients glanced over, Jimin wanted to evaporate.
“Hoseok,” Jimin hissed, “lower your voice!”
Hoseok leaned closer, eyes glittering.
“You are down horrendous,” Hoseok whispered. “You’re gone. You’re lost.”
Jimin covered his face with both hands.
“I hate you.”
Hoseok grabbed his hands and yanked them away dramatically.
“No,” Hoseok said, deadly serious. “Look at me.”
Jimin refused. Hoseok forced him to.
“Park date,” Hoseok counted on his fingers. “Diner date. Papa card. Tiny kisses. And now you’re sniffing him like he’s oxygen.”
Jimin’s mouth opened, no sound came out.
Hoseok leaned in closer.
“You like him,” Hoseok said softly, almost like a realization.
Jimin swallowed hard, he wanted to deny it. He really did. But his throat tightened and his eyes burned and his body betrayed him because the truth was sitting in his chest like a living thing.
Hoseok turned his head slowly toward Taehyung.
“You knew??”
Taehyung shrugged.
“He started looking less dead inside.”
Hoseok snapped his head back to Jimin.
“Oh,” Hoseok whispered, suddenly emotional again. “Oh my baby.”
Jimin 's eyes stung.
“I’m scared,” Jimin admitted, voice barely audible.
The joking dropped instantly. Hoseok’s expression softened completely. Taehyung stopped sweeping, even the salon noise seemed to fade.
Hoseok stepped closer and gently took Jimin’s hands.
“You’re allowed to be scared,” Hoseok said quietly. “But Jimin… he’s not like the other one.”
Jimin’s throat tightened.
“I know,” he whispered.
Taehyung spoke softly, almost like he didn’t want to interrupt.
“He doesn’t act like he’s doing you a favor,” Taehyung said. “He acts like you’re his.”
Jimin’s heart skipped painfully.
Hoseok nodded.
“And your baby,” Hoseok added. “Your baby chose him.”
Jimin looked down at the scarf again. He picked it up slowly, holding it between his fingers like it was fragile, like it was proof.
Hoseok watched him carefully, then he smiled a little, warm and teary.
“You deserve this,” Hoseok whispered.
Jimin blinked hard.
“I want it,” he confessed.
The words felt like jumping off a cliff. But once they left his mouth, something inside him settled.
Hoseok squeezed his hands.
“Then take it,” Hoseok said.
Taehyung resumed sweeping like nothing had happened. But as he walked away, he muttered, quiet but smug:
“Tell Yoongi to scent your jacket next time. The scarf is too obvious.”
Jimin made a strangled sound of horror.
“Hoseok,” Jimin whispered urgently, “please kill him.”
Hoseok laughed through his tears.
“No,” Hoseok said. “I’m too busy planning your wedding.”
“Hoseok!”
The salon was closing. The lights were dimmer, the mirrors wiped clean, the smell of hairspray fading into something calmer. Jimin was sweeping up the last of the hair, his body heavy with exhaustion.
His daughter was already in her little corner, sitting cross-legged with her tablet and headphones, humming softly. Hoseok was locking up the nail station. Taehyung was wiping the counters, expression blank like always. Jimin was trying not to think about the scarf. Trying not to think about the fact he’d basically inhaled Yoongi like he was air. Trying not to think about the way his body had responded.The way his omega instincts had curled up, satisfied, just from the scent.
The bell above the salon door chimed. Jimin’s head lifted automatically.
And there he was. Yoongi. Still in uniform, hair slightly messy like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. His jacket was open, the black shirt underneath clinging to his broad shoulders.
He looked tired but his eyes sharpened the second they landed on Jimin, like he’d been searching for him all day.
Jimin’s stomach flipped. Hoseok’s head snapped up like a predator sensing prey. Taehyung didn’t even look surprised—just mildly amused.
Yoongi stepped inside, shutting the door behind him gently.
“Hi,” Yoongi said.
Jimin swallowed.
“Hi,” he answered quietly.
Yoongi’s gaze flicked to the couch, his daughter looked up immediately, her eyes widened. She made a soft sound, then climbed off the couch and waddled toward him with quick little steps. Yoongi crouched instantly, arms opening, she practically fell into him.
Yoongi caught her easily, lifting her into his arms like she weighed nothing.
“Hey, princess,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head without even thinking.
Yoongi shifted her on his hip and looked back at Jimin.
“You okay?” he asked.
Jimin nodded too quickly.
“Yeah. Just tired.”
Yoongi stared at him for a long second, like he knew that wasn’t the whole truth.
Instead, Yoongi’s eyes softened.
“I can take you home,” he said.
Jimin’s heart thudded.
“You don’t have to.”
Yoongi’s response was immediate.
“I want to.”
Jimin’s throat tightened.
He nodded again, quieter.
“Okay.”
Hoseok cleared his throat loudly. Jimin turned. Hoseok had the most innocent expression on his face, which meant he was about to commit a crime.
Hoseok stepped forward and smiled brightly at Yoongi.
“Yoongi,” Hoseok said sweetly.
Yoongi blinked, polite.
“Hoseok.”
Hoseok clasped his hands together like a proud auntie.
“Did you have a good day at work?” Hoseok asked.
Yoongi nodded.
“Yes.”
Hoseok tilted his head, eyes sparkling.
“Jimin had a rough day,” Hoseok continued.
Jimin’s soul left his body.
“Hoseok—”
Yoongi’s gaze snapped back to Jimin instantly, concern flashed across his face.
“What happened?” Yoongi asked.
Jimin panicked.
“It’s nothing,” he lied quickly.
Hoseok gasped dramatically.
“It’s not nothing!” Hoseok insisted. “He was sooo stressed.”
Jimin glared at him, mortified. Taehyung spoke without looking up.
“He missed you,” Taehyung said flatly.
Jimin made a noise of pure horror.
“TAEHYUNG!”
Yoongi froze, completely, his eyes widened slightly, he looked at Jimin like he couldn’t tell if he should believe it.
Jimin’s whole body went hot. His hands tightened around the broom.
“I did not—”
Hoseok cut in immediately, voice delighted.
“He was sniffing his scarf like a love-sick omega,” Hoseok announced.
Jimin stared at Hoseok like he was going to commit murder.
Yoongi blinked once, then twice, his ears turned red.
And Jimin wanted to die. Jimin’s daughter, completely unbothered, reached up and patted Yoongi’s cheek gently, like she was comforting him.
Yoongi cleared his throat, eyes still locked on Jimin.
His voice came out rough.
“Is that true?”
Jimin’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Because he couldn’t lie fast enough.
Taehyung finally looked up, eyes calm.
“It was embarrassing,” Taehyung added helpfully.
“You two,” Jimin hissed, shaking, “I swear to god—”
Hoseok just smiled brightly.
“I’m going to the back,” Hoseok announced. “To grab my bag. Take your time.”
Then he winked at Yoongi. Actually winked. Yoongi looked like he didn’t know whether to be flattered or horrified. Taehyung walked past them with a trash bag, pausing just long enough to murmur:
“Lock the door when you’re done.”
Jimin choked.
“WHAT—”
But Taehyung was already gone, the back room door shut.
Leaving Jimin alone. With Yoongi. And his daughter in Yoongi’s arms, blinking sleepily like she’d already accepted this as her life.
Jimin’s heart was pounding so hard it hurt. Yoongi stared at him, almost… shy.
Yoongi adjusted the daughter on his hip, then stepped closer, stopping just in front of him.
Jimin’s breath caught.
Yoongi spoke quietly.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed.”
Jimin’s voice came out strained.
“I am.”
Yoongi’s lips twitched, like he wanted to smile but didn’t want to scare him.
Then he leaned in slightly.
Yoongi’s eyes searched Jimin’s face.
“You missed me?” Yoongi asked softly.
Jimin swallowed, his whole face burned.
Jimin tried to look away.
But Yoongi stepped even closer.
Jimin whispered, barely audible:
“Yes.”
Yoongi’s gaze softened so much it almost hurt.
“I missed you too.”
Jimin’s breath shook. Yoongi lifted his free hand slowly, his knuckles brushing Jimin’s cheek. A touch so gentle it felt like a question. Jimin’s eyelids fluttered, his lips parted without meaning to. Yoongi’s thumb stroked once.
Then Yoongi leaned in and kissed him. Not like the tiny morning kisses, not like a quick secret. This one was slower. Deeper. Still careful—but real.
A kiss that made Jimin’s knees go weak instantly, Jimin melted, there was no other word for it. His body went soft, shoulders dropping like he’d been carrying the weight of the world and Yoongi had just taken it from him.
Jimin’s hand lifted automatically, grabbing Yoongi’s jacket like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
Yoongi made a quiet sound into his mouth—low, satisfied, almost relieved.
Jimin’s omega instincts purred. Warmth spread through his chest, down his spine, pooling in his stomach.
Jimin’s brain went blank. All he could feel was Yoongi, the scent, the safety.
Yoongi pulled back slowly, forehead brushing Jimin’s.
Jimin’s eyes were half-lidded, dazed.
Yoongi stared at him like he was the most precious thing in the world.
His voice was barely a whisper.
“You’re so tired,” Yoongi murmured.
Jimin’s voice came out wrecked.
“Yeah.”
Yoongi kissed his cheek. Then his temple. Then—softly—his scent gland, right under his ear. Just breathing him in, claiming him in the gentlest way possible.
Jimin shuddered. A quiet whimper slipped out before he could stop it.
Yoongi froze instantly, pulling back like he thought he’d crossed a line.
“Too much?” Yoongi asked, voice tight.
Jimin shook his head quickly.
“No,” he whispered.
Yoongi exhaled slowly. Then he pressed one more kiss to Jimin’s lips. When he pulled away, Jimin’s whole body was trembling. Yoongi brushed his thumb across Jimin’s swollen lower lip.
“You can smell like me,” Yoongi murmured.
Jimin’s breath hitched.
Yoongi’s gaze held his.
“But only if you want to.”
Jimin’s throat tightened and his eyes burned.
He nodded.
A helpless nod.
Yoongi’s expression softened instantly.
He kissed Jimin’s forehead. Then he stepped back, giving him space again like always, like he refused to trap him.
Jimin stood there, dizzy, lips tingling.
His daughter made a small sound, shifting in Yoongi’s arms.
Yoongi looked at her.
Then back at Jimin.
“We should go home,” Yoongi said quietly.
Jimin nodded again, still dazed.
“Okay.”
Yoongi smiled faintly.
And Jimin realized something terrifying: He didn’t just want Yoongi. His omega wanted Yoongi. His daughter wanted Yoongi. His heart wanted Yoongi. And for the first time, Jimin didn’t feel like running. For the first time…he felt like staying.
The apartment was warm. Dim light, quiet hallway, the familiar smell of Jimin’s laundry detergent and rice from earlier in the day. It wasn’t much, but it was home.
Yoongi carried her like she belonged there, like she’d always belonged there.
Jimin unlocked the door with trembling fingers, still feeling the ghost of Yoongi’s kiss on his lips.
Still feeling too soft. His daughter didn’t fight sleep tonight. She was already half-asleep against Yoongi’s shoulder, her fingers curled into his uniform shirt.
Yoongi stepped inside without hesitation, he didn’t look around like he was judging, he didn’t act like it was small, just walked in like it mattered because it was theirs.
Jimin shut the door quietly behind them. Yoongi didn’t speak until he reached the bedroom.
He moved carefully, lowering her onto the bed like she was something precious, he took off her shoes gently, straightened her blanket.
Jimin watched from the doorway, chest tight, throat burning.
Yoongi brushed her hair back softly.
“Goodnight, princess,” he whispered.
She didn’t answer, but she turned her face toward him in her sleep, like her body recognized him.
Yoongi froze for a second, staring at her like he was seeing something too big to hold. Then he stood up and walked out quietly, closing the bedroom door halfway.
Jimin was still standing there, frozen. Yoongi’s eyes found him immediately.
And something in Yoongi’s expression changed. Less softness, more seriousness, like a decision had been made.
“Come sit,” Yoongi said quietly.
Jimin blinked.
“In the living room?”
Yoongi nodded.
Jimin’s heart began to pound.
They sat on the couch. Jimin sat stiffly at first, hands in his lap, shoulders tense.
Yoongi sat beside him, close enough for warmth but not touching.
The silence stretched.
Jimin couldn’t take it.
He whispered, “Is something wrong?”
Yoongi turned his head slowly.
“No,” he said.
Then, after a pause, he added:
“Something is right.”
Jimin’s breath caught.
Yoongi’s hands rested on his knees. Steady.
His voice was quiet, but firm.
“I don’t like doing things halfway,” Yoongi said.
Jimin’s stomach twisted.
Yoongi continued.
“I’ve been careful,” he said. “Because I know you’ve been hurt.”
Jimin’s throat tightened. Yoongi’s gaze softened, but his voice didn’t waver.
“But I’m not confused,” Yoongi said. “About you.”
Jimin blinked fast, his eyes burned. Yoongi looked down briefly, then back at him, like he was making sure every word landed exactly where it should.
“I want to be with you,” Yoongi said. “Officially.”
Jimin’s breath shook.
Yoongi’s voice dropped lower.
“I want to be your boyfriend.”
The words hit Jimin like a wave.
Jimin stared at him, mouth slightly open, and suddenly his chest felt too full, like his heart didn’t know what to do with being wanted.
His eyes filled immediately. Yoongi’s gaze flickered to his tears, concern sharpening.
But Jimin shook his head quickly.
“No,” Jimin whispered. “It’s not— it’s not bad.”
Yoongi stayed still. Waiting. Letting Jimin have control.
Jimin pressed a hand to his mouth, trying to steady his breathing.
“I…” Jimin started.
His voice cracked.
Yoongi didn’t interrupt.
Jimin swallowed hard.
“I can’t do something light,” Jimin said, shaking his head. “I can’t do something that’s just… fun.”
Yoongi’s expression didn’t change.
He just listened. Jimin’s voice trembled.
“Because it’s not just me,” he whispered. “It’s her.”
His throat closed. He wiped his cheek angrily, frustrated with himself.
“I let someone in before,” Jimin said, voice breaking. “And when he left… she was too young to understand, but she still felt it.”
Jimin’s eyes squeezed shut.
“And when she got diagnosed, he didn’t even hesitate,” Jimin whispered, shame thick in his voice. “He looked at her like she was… like she ruined his life.”
Yoongi’s jaw tightened. At the memory. At the man who had done that.
Jimin’s shoulders trembled.
“I can’t let that happen again,” Jimin said desperately. “I can’t let someone come in and make her feel safe and then—”
His voice broke completely.
“And then leave.”
Silence.
Jimin’s breathing was ragged but Yoongi didn’t move.
Yoongi didn’t pull away. Instead, he shifted closer, then his hand reached out.
He just placed his palm over Jimin’s trembling fingers.
Jimin gasped softly at the contact.
Yoongi’s voice was low. Serious.
“I’m not him,” Yoongi said.
Jimin’s eyes squeezed shut again.
Yoongi squeezed his hand gently.
“I’m not going to leave,” Yoongi repeated.
Jimin shook his head, tears falling.
“You can’t promise that,” he whispered. “People always promise.”
Yoongi’s voice sharpened—not angry, but firm.
“I can promise it,” Yoongi said.
Jimin opened his eyes, staring at him. Yoongi looked at him like the world was simple, love was simple, staying was simple.
“I don’t get attached easily,” Yoongi said quietly. “But when I do… it’s serious.”
Jimin’s breath hitched. Yoongi’s gaze flickered toward the closed bedroom door, then back to Jimin.
“I’m already attached,” Yoongi admitted.
His voice softened slightly.
“To her.”
Jimin’s chest ached.
Yoongi continued, voice careful but unwavering.
“When she gave me that card,” Yoongi said, “I didn’t feel pressured.”
Jimin blinked.
Yoongi’s eyes were warm.
“I felt honored,” he said. “And scared.”
Jimin stared. Yoongi nodded once.
“Because I know what it means,” Yoongi said. “I know what it costs you to trust someone.”
Jimin’s lips trembled. Yoongi lifted his other hand, brushing Jimin’s cheek with his thumb, wiping away tears like it was natural.
“I’m not here to play,” Yoongi murmured. “Not with you.”
Jimin let out a broken sound, his shoulders caved. He leaned forward slightly, like his body couldn’t hold itself up anymore. Yoongi immediately shifted closer, wrapping an arm around him carefully.
Jimin melted into him with a sob. Yoongi held him tight.
And Yoongi’s scent wrapped around him, warm and calming, filling the spaces inside Jimin that had been hollow for too long.
Yoongi’s voice was soft against his hair.
“I want you,” Yoongi whispered. “I want her. I want this life.”
Jimin clutched Yoongi’s shirt like he was drowning. Yoongi kissed his temple gently.
Then said the words that broke Jimin completely:
“I want to be a family with you.”
Jimin sobbed harder, he hated himself for it but he couldn’t stop. Because no one had ever said that to him like it was a choice they were happy to make.
Yoongi pulled back just enough to look at him.
His eyes were steady.
“I’m asking you,” Yoongi said quietly. “Can I be your boyfriend?”
Jimin stared at him, shaking.
His voice was barely there.
“You swear you won’t hurt her?” Jimin whispered.
Yoongi’s gaze hardened. Like an oath.
“I swear,” he said.
Jimin’s breath trembled. He nodded. Once. Then again, stronger.
“Yes,” Jimin whispered. “Yes… okay.”
Yoongi exhaled like he’d been holding his breath his whole life.
He smiled.
And then Yoongi leaned in and kissed him. A kiss that felt like a promise. Jimin whimpered softly into it, hands gripping Yoongi like he was afraid he’d disappear. Yoongi kissed him again, gentler, then rested his forehead against Jimin’s.
His voice was a whisper.
“Okay,” Yoongi murmured. “Then I’m yours.”
Jimin’s eyes fluttered.
His omega instincts purred at the words.
Mine.
Yours.
Safe.
Jimin’s voice came out broken, but honest.
“I’m yours too.”
Yoongi’s arms tightened around him. And for the first time in a long time, Jimin didn’t feel like he was waiting for the moment everything fell apart. He felt like he was finally building something that could last.
Jimin woke up like he’d been shot. Because for one sharp, terrifying second… he forgot where he was, his eyes snapped open, wide, heart slamming against his ribs.
A body pressed behind him, an arm around his waist.
The scent hit him next—deep, calm, alpha, like smoke after rain.
Yoongi.
Jimin froze completely. His whole body went stiff, instinct screaming wrong wrong wrong—
Then Yoongi shifted behind him, barely moving, still half-asleep.
His nose brushed the back of Jimin’s neck. A soft exhale.
And Yoongi’s voice came out rough with sleep.
“Morning.”
Jimin swallowed so hard it hurt.
He didn’t answer, because if he opened his mouth, he was pretty sure he’d either cry or scream. Yoongi’s hand tightened slightly at his stomach, grounding him.
Jimin stared at the ceiling, blinking fast. The couch was too small, and their legs were tangled, and Jimin’s hair was a mess, and his face was pressed into Yoongi’s hoodie—
Yoongi’s hoodie.
Yoongi had taken his uniform jacket off. Stayed. Actually stayed.
Jimin’s brain tried to panic anyway.
This is too good. This is too fast. This is—
A soft sound came from down the hallway, a tiny laugh, quiet at first, like it surprised even her, then another one. The kind of sound that barely existed in Jimin’s world.
Jimin’s breath caught, he sat up so fast Yoongi’s arm slid off him.
Yoongi blinked, confused, hair sticking up slightly.
“What—?”
Jimin didn’t answer. He was already standing, his bare feet hit the floor cold. His heart was racing as he walked to the bedroom door, almost afraid of what he’d see.
Like the laugh might disappear if he moved too fast, he pushed the door open.
And froze. His daughter was sitting up in bed, blanket pooled around her lap, hair messy and sticking out in every direction.
Her eyes were bright, cheeks flushed and in her hands…a little red toy firetruck.
Small enough for her fingers, smooth, shiny. She was rolling it over her blanket, watching the wheels spin like it was the most fascinating thing in the universe.
Then she made a soft little sound, not a word, but a happy noise and she laughed again.
Jimin’s hand flew to his mouth, his eyes burned instantly, he couldn’t breathe.
Because she didn’t laugh like that. Not often. Not like this.
Jimin stepped closer, voice trembling.
“Baby?”
She didn’t look up, she was too focused on the truck. She pushed it forward again and again, like she was replaying something in her mind.
Then she lifted it, holding it up toward him for a second. Showing him. Sharing it.
Jimin’s knees almost gave out.
He crouched by the bed, carefully, trying not to overwhelm her.
His voice came out broken.
“Where did you get that?”
She didn’t answer, of course.
But she hugged the little truck to her chest like it was treasure.
And Jimin—
Jimin turned his head slowly, blinking through tears.
Yoongi stood in the doorway.
Barefoot too. Hair a mess. And his face… his face looked soft in a way Jimin had never seen on an alpha.
Yoongi scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.
“I… uh.”
He cleared his throat.
“Saw it yesterday at the station,” Yoongi said quietly. “It was in the kid donation box, thought she might like it.”
Jimin stared at him like he couldn’t process the words.
“You brought it here?” Jimin whispered.
Yoongi nodded once.
“I didn’t want to wake her,” he said. “So I left it by her pillow.”
Jimin’s lips parted.
His voice shook.
“She’s… she’s laughing.”
Yoongi’s eyes flickered to the bed, his throat moved like he swallowed something heavy.
“I know,” he murmured.
Jimin’s chest hurt. This wasn’t an alpha trying to impress an omega.
This was…was someone learning his child’s joy, someone loving her in quiet ways. Jimin stood slowly, wiping his face with the back of his hand, embarrassed by the tears.
But Yoongi didn’t look annoyed.
He just stepped closer.
Yoongi’s voice was low.
“You okay?” he asked.
Jimin let out a shaky laugh that sounded like a sob.
“No,” Jimin whispered. “I’m not.”
Yoongi’s eyebrows pulled together.
Jimin looked up at him, eyes wet. And the truth spilled out before he could stop it.
“I keep waiting for you to disappear.”
Yoongi went still. Jimin’s voice trembled harder.
“Because people don’t stay,” he whispered. “Not when it’s hard.”
Yoongi stared at him for a long moment. Then he stepped close enough that Jimin could feel his warmth. Yoongi reached up and wiped Jimin’s tears again, thumb gentle.
“I’m still here,” Yoongi said.
Jimin’s breath hitched. Yoongi leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to Jimin’s forehead.
Jimin’s whole body melted instantly, knees weak, heart turning soft.
Yoongi’s lips lingered there.
Then he murmured against Jimin’s skin:
“I’m going to keep being here.”
Jimin closed his eyes. He didn’t even realize he was leaning into Yoongi until Yoongi’s arms wrapped around him, steady and safe.
And behind them, on the bed—his daughter rolled the little red truck across the blanket again.
And laughed.
Like the morning itself was something worth believing in.