Archive of Our Own

The disbandment came slow. It started with Taehyung’s schedule, gradually filling with television roles and brief film appearances. Then came Seokjin’s odd jobs on variety shows, and finally his big break in the movie industry. Jungkook dedicated more time to filmmaking, editing, and producing. Hoseok opened a studio with some choreographer friends. Namjoon accepted an executive position at BigHit, ensuring his future spot as Bang’s successor. Yoongi had always wanted more time for producing.

Their concerts dwindled in numbers, band records taking a backseat to personal releases. The boys were spotted less together; more solo outings. Their dorm turned into a headquarters rather than a full-time home.

It was gradual, but they sat down for a real vote, conclusions already years in the making.

The public announcement wasn’t much of a surprise. They organized a farewell album and tour, that final year passing in a blink of Jimin’s eye. With the mandatory military service abolished, fans were concerned some members would be left floundering at first. But each member had their own strings backstage to pull, their own shift in course toward their individual future.

The day Jimin’s contract ended, he stopped taking suppressants.

A week after the official disbandment, Jimin and Yoongi were spotted together with mating marks. Although there was no real announcement, assumptions were made, especially when media caught wind that even though everyone else had moved into their own homes, Yoongi and Jimin had taken up residence in the same high-scale apartment.

While most of the band remained in the spotlight—attending award shows, publishing interviews, booking performances, and even engaging on their own social media accounts—Yoongi and Jimin became relatively reclusive.

Yoongi worked with quite a few artists, producing for a multitude of genres and making sporadic featured appearances in others’ tracks. Most of his personal work ended up in Jimin’s hands, however; they were gifts inspired by and for his mate. Yoongi’s songs on the radio now were presented almost entirely through Jimin’s voice. Jimin’s voice had always been his taste.

It took Jimin a long while to adjust to his suddenly calm schedule. The couple could live on Yoongi’s royalties alone, so Jimin only performed when he was feeling a particular itch to get back on stage. He was received by old audiences with a warm welcome every time, only a small twinge in Jimin’s chest when he was the sole performer in the spotlight. He felt a bit better when Yoongi accompanied him.

Although Jimin’s life wasn’t nearly as hectic after the disbandment, he kept in shape. There was a nice gym in their apartment building, and Jimin worked out almost every day. He also spent one day a week with a personal trainer, and some occasional visits with a choreographer to keep himself on track.

Jimin still found himself alone in their large and bright apartment too often. To make the space cozier, Jimin spent weeks furnishing and decorating it. Yoongi jokingly called it nesting, even though Jimin didn’t think he was too far from the truth. To punctuate the silence, Jimin wore Yoongi down until he agreed to adopt a cat. One month later, and their furry daughter already had a sister.

Their new life was quiet, but it was warm.

Jimin was curled onto the sofa on the afternoon of the one of the band’s rare reunion dinners, to be hosted at Seokjin’s house this time around. Yoongi had to stop by the BigHit studio at noon, and he still hadn’t returned despite how low on time they were running to get ready for the evening’s event.

Jimin’s heart had been in his throat for hours, limbs jittery with nerves. He hadn’t seen some of the boys in close to a year, and they hadn’t exactly split up on great terms. There was a bit of animosity toward the end of their run, if Jimin was being honest. The omega was fed up with the company and his own band’s complacency toward the suffocating rules.

There was no reason to fight anymore, Jimin reminded himself. He was no longer under the thumb of company superiors, and his own actions wouldn’t affect the livelihood or reputations of his brothers.

Jimin worried his lower lip and stared at the front door, feet tucked under a yellow blanket and phone settled in his white-knuckled grasp. Yoongi texted five minutes ago, claiming he’d be home soon. Maybe Jimin could convince him to stay home. They could say Jimin was sick, or Yoongi had double-booked himself and…and Jimin couldn’t drive. Yeah, that would work.

A mewl by Jimin’s ear startled him out of his reverie. Paws padded over his shoulder, the orange tabby landing softly on Jimin’s belly. Ducky shifted around, the tip of her fluffy tail brushing Jimin’s nose, and settled on top of Jimin. She tilted her head, watching him expectantly.

“Papa will feed you soon,” Jimin mumbled, blinking the haze from his vision. He reached out his hand, and Ducky nuzzled into his palm. Jimin released a shuddering exhale, soothed by the contact.

Jimin felt a paw pressing on his thigh just two seconds later, a louder and more insistent meow echoing throughout the room. Jimin craned his neck to get a look at the calico on the floor, arching a challenging brow at her.

“You gonna jump up?” He asked.

Pepper meowed again, pawing at his thigh harder.

“Of course not. Lazy child,” Jimin sighed. “You gotta stop laying on Appa. You’re only soaking up his energy.”

Pepper narrowed her eyes as if in understanding, seemingly offended by the notion.

Ducky prodded Jimin’s nose then, and he huffed. “Excuse me.” Jimin was quickly realizing that the only way he’d please them was through food. Cats showed such conditional love, Jimin thought with a roll of his eyes, grunting as he struggled to sit up.

Jimin plucked Ducky off his stomach and cradled her to his chest, swinging his legs off the couch to head toward the kitchen. Ducky wriggled in his grasp, head craned toward the empty set of food bowls on the floor.

Pepper eagerly padded after Jimin, and when Jimin set Ducky down, Pepper bodily shoved her aside to get a better view of the cupboard Jimin was opening. Jimin clicked his tongue, shaking his head at her bratty behavior. Despite Yoongi’s initial reluctance to have her around, he was the one who spoiled her most; she was far from this selfish, lazy, and bold when they first adopted her.

Jimin filled Pepper’s bowl first, knowing she’d eat out of Ducky’s otherwise. Ducky had learned to chew and swallow quick, ever the runt of their family.

As the cats delved in to their dinner, Jimin retreated to the sofa. He stretched his arms over his head, loose sweater hiking from the top of his bare thighs to his hips. He had developed a bad habit of forgoing pants while living solely with Yoongi, although Taehyung would probably argue that Jimin had dressed himself just as haphazardly when they were all still packed into the dorm.

Jimin halted in his course when he heard the telltale beeping of the apartment code being typed in. His heart stuttered and leapt, and he idled between the kitchen and living room, well within view of the entryway. Jimin curled his fingers into the hem of his sweater, and the front door clicked open.

Yoongi muffled a yawn as he stepped inside, toeing off his shoes. He tossed his car keys onto the kitchen counter before fully glancing up, expression alight when he finally spotted Jimin. “Jimin-ah,” he said slowly. “You’re not dressed.”

“I just gotta put on pants,” Jimin refuted. “I did some makeup and hair stuff earlier, not that it’ll ever be as good as the stylists’.”

“Okay,” Yoongi said simply, a nervous tick in his jaw. “I’ll go get changed, then.”

Pepper suddenly coughed and hacked up a piece of kibble, Ducky startling a step away. Jimin swiveled around, wide-eyed, and ensured the poor cat wasn’t choking.

“Fuckin’ gremlin,” Jimin muttered, observing how Pepper merely licked her jowls and continued eating. Jimin cleared his throat, returning his attention to Yoongi. “I’ve got a better idea,” he prompted.

Yoongi arched a brow, watching Jimin approach. Jimin grabbed Yoongi’s sleeve and tugged him into their open living space, dappled sunlight dancing across Yoongi’s hair as Jimin carefully walked them backwards. Jimin stopped beside the couch, then lightly pushed Yoongi onto the cushion, climbing on and straddling his lap.

“We could just,” Jimin began, pitching his voice lower, breathier, “not go.”

Yoongi slid his palms under Jimin’s sweater, settling on his waist. “I’m tempted to agree, but this is probably the last time in a long while that our schedules will sync up. Everyone’s busy, and it’d be inconsiderate to skip the plan on a whim.”

Jimin tilted his head. “They can’t be mad if we say I’m really, really sick.”

“That would be a lie.”

Jimin nodded. “I never claimed to not be a liar,” Jimin said innocently, pouting his lips in thought. “I could have the flu. I’m too dizzy to get out of bed, too nauseous to eat anything more than rice crackers.”

“Now, that wouldn’t be much of a lie a few months ago,” Yoongi snorted.

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Entertain me.”

“Some other time,” Yoongi sighed. “We said we’d do this tonight. We’ve already committed to it.”

“Commitment is stupid,” Jimin grumbled, averting his gaze.

Yoongi exhaled, paused, then tapped Jimin’s mating mark. “Really?”

Jimin pushed Yoongi’s hand away and covered up his mark. “That’s different.”

“Sure, Min.”

Jimin could hear the goddamn smirk in his voice, and sure enough, it was painted on the elder’s lips when Jimin glanced down. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Teasing me.”

Yoongi moved a hand up to the nape of Jimin’s neck and curled his fingers into his hair. “I like when you’re flustered. Your cheeks get pink,” he mumbled.

“They do that when I’m smiling, too,” Jimin hinted.

Yoongi hummed, low enough in his throat to resemble a rumble. He tugged Jimin down, hooded gaze on the omega’s lips. Jimin instinctively sucked in a breath and shut his eyes, falling into the familiar warmth of Yoongi’s kiss, this contact gentle and unhurried, almost tentative.

Jimin returned the kiss with languid emotion, no stranger to the harmony of their mutual touch. Today, Yoongi’s lips tasted like black coffee and a hint of sugar. Jimin guessed his own tongue tasted of the muffin he’d picked at for lunch, stomach tied in knots over thoughts of the inevitable evening.

“If you really don’t want to go,” Yoongi whispered, lips ghosting over Jimin’s, “we don’t have to.”

Jimin made a small noise of protest. “It’s just nerves.”

“You’ll feel better once you’re actually there. You always do,” Yoongi reassured, pulling away fully to meet Jimin’s eyes. “You get yourself worked up too easily.”

“So do you,” Jimin muttered.

“But not over this,” Yoongi replied. “I still see Joon and Hobi at least once a week.” He paused. “Taehyung’s never scary to you. If you get overwhelmed or uncomfortable, you can cling to him.”

“I can just cling to you,” Jimin quietly protested.

“Seokjin says I shelter you.”

“Like his opinion matters,” Jimin scoffed.

“Jimin,” Yoongi coaxed. “He’s going to nag, whether or not we’re actually listening.”

“Then maybe he should stop,” Jimin said with a wrinkled nose and a grimace. “Every time I see him, he says we should move out of the city, or that I should try international concerts again, or… or I should just branch out. But I’m fine like this. I did the world traveler thing. I’d rather plant roots now.”

“I know,” Yoongi quelled. “We can nod along, though. We only see him twice a year, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Jimin mumbled. He reached out and cupped Yoongi’s cheek. “I want a break soon. Hokkaido, maybe. We haven’t been there in a long time.”

Yoongi nodded. “Otaru would be nice in the spring.”

“Next year?” Jimin suggested.

“Eager to remake memories?” Yoongi replied with a cheeky smile.

It took Jimin a moment to recall what he was referencing, flushing red to his ears when he caught on. Jimin lightly smacked Yoongi’s chest in embarrassment. Otaru was where they’d had sex for the first time, during a small break toward the beginning of their farewell tour.

“N-no,” Jimin huffed. “The old memories are fine just as they are.”

Yoongi’s mirthful expression eased, smile softening. “It was more than what happened in the hotel. Do you remember what you told me?”

“Of course,” Jimin murmured. “I told you I wanted to mate when this was all done with.”

“I think my heart stopped beating for an entire minute,” Yoongi added.

“You’re too dramatic.”

“I swear that’s how I remember it,” Yoongi chuckled. “It took me way too long to say yes.”

“I know. I started to get nervous.”

“We went through with it, though, right?” Yoongi prompted. “Because that’s what counts.”

Jimin nodded, quieted. The day after their contract was up, they took a train to Busan and mated in a hotel room by the ocean, roaring waves filling Jimin’s ears during the afterglow.

“Hey,” Yoongi said, patting Jimin’s hip to pull him back into reality. “We gotta go soon.”

Jimin took a deep breath and reluctantly shifted himself off Yoongi’s lap.

Jimin’s eyelids felt too heavy, vision blurring as he focused it out the windshield. His legs were crossed beneath him, body sunken into the cushion behind him. He fiddled with his fingers, hands folded in his lap.

Yoongi flicked the blinker, switching lanes as they changed route off the highway. “Suburbs are too far away,” Yoongi muttered, glancing at the clock; they were already running late.

Jimin dug his thumb nail into his palm, jaw clenched as he stared at the pink skyline. Headlights darted past his vision, the rumble of traffic dull in his ears. He felt warm fingers along his palm, pulling open the fist he had gradually been forming. Yoongi grasped Jimin’s hand and pulled it toward the center console, twining their fingers and resting their hands between them.

“Yeah,” Jimin belatedly agreed. “Too far. Where are you supposed to shop?”

“I assume there are grocery stores nearby,” Yoongi replied. He squeezed Jimin’s palm. “You doing okay?”

“The suburbs are good for raising kids, huh?” Jimin absently asked.

“Jimin.”

“Is he still filing adoption papers?”

Yoongi fell quiet, gaze drifting from the road for a moment too long.

“That process is so long,” Jimin whispered, meeting Yoongi’s eyes. When he saw the scrunch of Yoongi’s brow and the concern in his expression, Jimin pressed his lips together and paused. He cleared his throat. “We’re late, aren’t we?”

“No one’s gonna mind,” Yoongi murmured.

“Hobi-hyung and Joon-hyung might. They keep such strict schedules.”

Yoongi hummed in affirmation. “They can make exceptions, though. You haven’t seen Namjoon in…”

“Eight months,” Jimin said softly. “He’s busy.”

Yoongi pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. “You don’t go out much.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I know. They’re just…” He exhaled through his nose. “They’re gonna bring it up.”

“It’s not their place anymore,” Jimin said, sinking lower in his seat. “They’re the ones who made me sc—” He stopped, inhaled, tried again. “Who made me cautious of the world.”

Yoongi turned on to a side street, white-knuckled against the steering wheel. They were moving farther out of the city limits now, the buzz of Seoul dying out behind them. “Do you think about living out here?”

“No,” Jimin mumbled. “The city’s home. I can’t imagine leaving after so much time. It wouldn’t feel right.” He hesitated, grasped Yoongi’s thumb. “What about you?”

“Home’s wherever you are,” Yoongi simply stated.

They veered into rows of pretty houses, streets shrinking in width and occupation. As they ventured on through the unfamiliar area, the houses became bigger, wealth evolving into extravagance. When Yoongi slowed to a stop in front of a house at the tail of a dead-end street, Jimin was not expecting it to be the least flashy in the neighborhood.

“You know, I’m surprised the walls aren’t bright pink,” Jimin confessed, squinting out the passenger window.

There were already two cars in the wide driveway, another parked on the street in front of the house. Jimin counted it up in his head, remembering that Hoseok and Namjoon probably drove in from work together, as the only two to regularly occupy the BigHit office. Jimin and Yoongi really were the last to arrive.

Jimin bit his thumb nail, wiggling around in his seat as the nerves in his belly swelled again. It was fine. He was going to be fine.

“Are you ready?” Yoongi asked softly.

“Yeah,” Jimin stated, nodding curtly as he roused himself back to life. “Yeah, I’m good. Can we—can we leave early, maybe? We can say we don’t want the cats to get lonely.”

“That’s why we bought the second, Minie; so Pepper wouldn’t be lonely,” Yoongi replied with a hint of mirth.

“Not that anyone needs to know that,” Jimin huffed. “And we both know that’s not actually why I wanted another.”

Yoongi snorted. “Of course. That was only the excuse you gave me.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“It did,” Yoongi admitted, smiling at Jimin with all fondness. Jimin managed to muster a smile in return, weight in his chest just the slightest lighter.

Jimin bit his cheek and untwined their hands, belatedly realizing the car was in park. “Let’s go.”

Yoongi was out and rounding the car to the passenger’s side before Jimin even got the door open, helping him down the single step and onto the ground, unnecessarily doting. Jimin stayed a step behind Yoongi as they continued up the driveway to the front door, clutching the back of Yoongi’s jacket as he reverted to his old submissive role.

After presenting, Jimin was more prone to ducking his head and following along. When Yoongi wasn’t allowed to be anywhere near him, Jimin clung desperately to Namjoon. Matters had shifted onto their natural course since then—at least, in Jimin’s opinion—and stressful situations brought out the meekest side of him.

Yoongi rung the bell, and the door was yanked open a few thundering footsteps later, Taehyung’s wide smile facing down on them. Taehyung promptly side-stepped around Yoongi and tugged a wide-eyed Jimin into a crushing hug.

Jimin’s arms were awkwardly caged between their chests, so he stood idly and stared at Yoongi with mild panic. Yoongi waited a few seconds before loudly clearing his throat, effectively saving Jimin from the lung-collapsing embrace.

When Taehyung pulled away, he cupped Jimin’s cheeks and simply grinned at him. Jimin smiled in return, although his was admittedly shy. “It’s been too long. How are you doing?” Taehyung inquired, voice an echoing boom of excitement.

“Still swimming,” Jimin stated.

Something in Taehyung’s expression wavered, but it disappeared in another instant, the beta ever the actor. “Well, you can tell everyone what you’ve been up to inside. I think dinner’s just about done.”

Jimin nodded and reached out his hand, planning to grab onto Yoongi for support. Taehyung tugged Jimin to his side, however, arm linked with the omega’s. He walked them into the entryway, tossing a cheery, “hey, hyung,” over his shoulder.

The clean and sparsely decorated house smelt of artificial floral fragrances, completely overpowering Seokjin’s natural beta scent, and was barely hindered by the stale scent of alpha lingering in the air.

Seokjin’s mate was supposedly out of the country currently, a busy actor just like Seokjin. Jimin was honestly surprised at how long it took Seokjin to settle down, and with a non-beta as well. He supposed the eldest had ended up with the most domestic of their lives so far, Jimin and Yoongi aside.

From what Jimin heard of Namjoon, he gave little thought to relationships. Yoongi claimed Namjoon hadn’t been on a single date in years. Too preoccupied, Jimin supposed—Namjoon could settle down when he was old.

Hoseok, on the other hand, seemed to entertain a litany of partners. He was flamboyant in his dating life, passing between celebrities like Jungkook consumed ramen. Jimin supposed Hoseok grew bored easily, or perhaps he was just eager to explore what the world had to offer. He looked happy enough with his lifestyle, so Jimin had no place to argue.

And then there was Taehyung. Sweet, sensitive Taehyung found distractions within his companions. He didn’t keep partners for long; Jimin should probably call them what they were—flings. They ate up Taehyung’s free time, allowing him reprieve from the feelings he had been struggling to suppress for years. Taehyung had harbored affections for Jungkook for much too long, not that he would ever act on them. Because, of course, Jungkook was simply busy busy busy. Taehyung was reluctant to be a nuisance.

Jimin could still see how the two lit up around each other, though, Taehyung impossibly brighter as they met Jungkook in the living room. Jimin wondered if Taehyung was even aware of how absolutely enamored he appeared.

“Kookie,” Taehyung sang. “Look who made it.”

“Hey,” Jungkook drawled, walking over to take Jimin away from Taehyung. “I think you’ve gotten shorter.”

Jimin slapped the younger’s chest before he allowed himself to be engulfed in yet another embrace. Meanwhile, Yoongi drifted off to greet the others, the occasional wary glance sent in Jimin’s direction, searching for signs of distress.

When the youngest was done with him, Jimin was passed over to Namjoon and Hoseok, the latter two hanging around the set dining table, who offered hugs more tentative than the youngest pair’s. Jimin was just readjusting his sweater and ruffled hair when Seokjin stepped out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

“Nice of you to let the bird out of his cage,” Seokjin stated, tense words clearly directed at Yoongi.

Yoongi arched a brow, curious if Seokjin was seriously challenging him. “Excuse me?”

Seokjin shrugged, maintaining an expression of innocence. “I haven’t seen Jimin in probably a year. You keep him locked in, Yoon?”

Hoseok plucked up a wine glass from the table behind him and took a long drink.

“I like being at home,” Jimin spoke up, carefully eyeing Yoongi’s bristly demeanor. “I feel safe there, and I go out when I want to. None of it’s up to Yoongi.”

“Sure,” Seokjin curtly replied.

“Does your alpha control you?” Jimin asked, craning his head, eyes sharp.

Seokjin hesitated, lips parting. “It’s a different power dynamic.”

Jimin blinked owlishly, near incredulity. “Oh, so you think I’m weak and vulnerable to an alpha’s command, huh?”

“That’s not—” Seokjin cut himself off, taking a short breath. “I know how much you seek comfort, and what you’ll do to get it. That’s all.”

Hoseok almost violently placed his half-full glass on the table, facing them with a forced smile. “Food smells good. Maybe we should settle in before we get too chattery.”

“I’ll help you carry everything out, hyung,” Namjoon suggested, rushing to Seokjin’s side to usher him into the kitchen and out of Jimin’s narrowed sight.

Yoongi closed in behind Jimin and murmured, “Settle in,” guiding them toward the far end of the table. Jimin sat down, and Yoongi tugged his chair closer to Jimin’s, the pair of them absently observing the others as they filtered in around them.

Taehyung harshly shoved Jungkook aside so he could sit next to Jimin, Jungkook grumbling under his breath as he rounded past Taehyung.

Hoseok reached out to pluck up the bottle of wine at the center of the display, uncorking it as he looked about. “You guys want any drinks?”

“We’re fine with water,” Jimin said curtly.

Hoseok blinked, and Namjoon reentered the dining room with a handful of dishes and a snort of disbelief. “Park Jimin, denying alcohol? You must be a new man.”

Hoseok squinted and pointed between Jimin and Yoongi. “Weren’t you guys, like, serious drinking buddies?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi stated. “But we made a change about half a year back.”

“Longer than that,” Jimin quietly corrected.

Hoseok’s eyebrows raised, the beta obviously even more curious now.

Jimin met Yoongi’s questioning gaze. The omega sighed. “I went through a… a stint. We finally decided it’d be best if I stopped drinking altogether, at least during this chapter of our life, until certain things change. Hyung’s stopped drinking, too, to support me.”

“Oh,” Hoseok uttered.

“Well,” Seokjin interrupted, sliding the final dish onto the center of the table, hovering behind Jimin before he found his own spot amongst them. “I’m glad you made the healthy choice.”

Jimin craned his neck, expression neutral as he faced Seokjin. There was a tension between Seokjin’s brows, as if he was trying to hide an internal battle from view.

Seokjin cleared his throat. “Everyone, dig in.” He reached out, tentative, and brushed his fingers through Jimin’s fringe, feather-light. “I made your favorites,” he said quietly. Jimin parted his lips to respond, taken aback by the sudden wave of comfort and nostalgia deep in his chest, but Seokjin pulled away just as quickly.

The first few minutes were admittedly awkward, most of them unsure of how to piece together the threads of their frayed friendships. They had always had chemistry, but grudges could be stronger, and Jimin didn’t let down his guard no matter the kind gestures he was offered.

“Is that your unnecessarily large Jeep taking up over half the driveway, Hobi-hyung?” Jimin asked, searching for any low-stress subject to get some sort of conversation going.

“Yup,” Hoseok chirped. “It’s fun with the windows and sunroof open. I’ll take you for a ride when the weather’s warm, huh?”

Yoongi squinted. “How safe of a driver are you?”

“That thing must be a gas-guzzler,” Jungkook commented. “Bad for the environment, hyung.”

“Since when are you any sort of activist?” Hoseok snorted.

“I’m not,” Jungkook stated. “But I worked on a documentary about the greenhouse effect last year. It’s harrowing stuff. Makes you rethink our wasteful and irresponsible lifestyles.”

Taehyung huffed out a laugh. “Aww, our little Jungkookie’s growing up,” he cooed, pinching Jungkook’s cheek. The younger wrinkled his nose and swatted Taehyung away.

Namjoon chuckled into his wine glass, then leaned over to whisper something to Hoseok. Those two had always been close, but they gravitated around each other like magnets now. Jimin wondered if the band’s separation had forced them even closer together.

“Staying busy, Yoongi?” Seokjin prompted amidst the clatter of utensils.

“Hyung stays in the studio just as long as he used to,” Namjoon spoke up. “Jimin calls him before he can attempt any overnights, though.”

“A consistent sleep schedule is good for his health,” Jimin muttered in defense.

“Like you’re one to talk,” Hoseok joked. “You never slept before two a.m.”

“Well, I’ve adjusted,” Jimin shrugged. “I’m a real, functioning adult now.”

Yoongi scoffed. “You won’t even go grocery shopping alone.”

Jimin kicked him under the table. “It’s safer to go out in pairs. People always recognize this beautiful, eye-catching face.”

“Mask, hat, oversized coat,” Yoongi gestured. “And you’re good.”

Jimin shook his head. “You don’t understand. You’ve never had to live as an omega.”

While Yoongi’s expression softened, the rest of the gathering fell quiet. Jungkook tried to swallow and ended up coughing, the noise echoing off the walls.

“I don’t think… being an omega attracts any more attention. At least, not from betas,” Hoseok ventured.

“Maybe now that he’s off suppressants—” Namjoon added.

“I’ve been off suppressants for years, and it’s been no worse than when I was still on them,” Jimin cut in, voice sharp enough to shatter the airy façade they had worked so hard to craft for their perfect reunion meal. “People just… they know. I flinch at loud noises, I’ve got a much stronger flight instinct. They see it, and they know, and they take advantage of it, because everyone likes playing with a submissive.” Jimin inhaled a shaky breathing, absently noting Yoongi’s hand on his thigh. “It’s only a fun little game, right? No one wants to actually mate an omega—we’re too much trouble, an inconvenience. But they like to tease us, touch us, prod at us until we—” Jimin shrugged, biting his cheek, “Cry, I guess.”

“Jimin,” Namjoon sighed, “We didn’t know.”

“But that’s the thing—you did,” Jimin countered. “Alphas and betas would corner me, touch me, say disgusting things. In the practice room, backstage during shows, tour. Sometimes staff, a lot of strangers. Over and over again, it happened, and you looked away.” Jimin licked his lips, roving his gaze over his entire audience. “All of you.”

Jungkook gaped and looked between his hyungs, awaiting someone else to speak up and explain, a child all over again. “W-we had to,” he finally protested for himself. “We couldn’t draw attention to the fact that you’re an omega. The managers said if we made it obvious and the public found out, it’d be bad for us and the company. I-I didn’t want you to ever get hurt or upset, but they made us look away and stay quiet.”

“Jimin, we—we did what we could,” Taehyung murmured, tone somber. He reached out and rested his hand atop Jimin’s. “We pulled you out of some situations and told the managers who to fire.”

“Oh yeah, and that really worked,” Jimin snarked, yanking his hand away. “It definitely helped, too, that you kept the only person who would’ve risked his ass to defend me far away.”

“What do you want us to do, grovel and apologize?” Seokjin snapped. “We were all busy trying to defend ourselves from losing our goddamn jobs. We were all being selfish, yeah, but I wasn’t about to risk my career for trivial things.”

Jimin released a dry laugh. “Trivial? My distress and trauma were just trivial to you?”

“Trauma’s a little bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“In what way was Jimin being selfish?” Yoongi coldly interrupted. “By being an omega? He sure had no choice in that. Or by wanting to live without a constant eye over his shoulder? A little peace of mind doesn’t sound like too much to ask for.”

Seokjin shook his head, brows pinched. “That’s not what I’m saying. He just… he didn’t have to be so stubborn about everything. He could’ve been more considerate of the rest of us and took his damn suppressants, kept his head down, and let us go back to normal.”

“Things were never going to be ‘normal’ again. You knew that,” Yoongi snapped.

Jimin took a deep breath, staring down at the smooth wood as he gathered his nerves, half-eaten meal now forgotten. “I knew how much the suppressants were fucking with my reproductive system.”

“Was that really more important than our careers?” Seokjin questioned, a strain to his voice.

Hoseok leaned back uneasily, and Jungkook curled into himself. Five expressions were painted in guilt, whether subtle or explicit.

“I guess it depends on who you’re asking,” Jimin replied, volume softening. “But all I remember is Namjoon convincing me to go to that first doctor’s appointment, and you and Taehyung making me take the pills every morning. Every morning, I felt like I was being forced to do something I couldn’t reverse. And I know that may not sound like a big deal to you, but your career was your future as much as my children were mine.”

Orange sunlight spilled through the window in the backdrop, a warm glow spreading around them, casting wavering hues atop their hair and along the slopes of their faces. Hazy sunlight caught in Seokjin’s lashes, ethereal and unsteady, and he gripped the edge of the dining table as he processed Jimin’s proclamation.

“I understand and acknowledge that that must have been painful for you to cope with,” Seokjin said slowly. “I wish there had been another way for this to work. I wish the higher-ups hadn’t been so strict with us—”

“And I wish we had gotten our heads out of our asses,” Taehyung added, expression grim. “I was selfish, too. I admit that. And I can’t imagine what I would’ve done if I was in your place, Jimin.”

“But not being able to carry your kids isn’t the end of the world,” Seokjin continued, tentative. “I mean, there’s always adoption, and the last I heard, you guys were looking into that?”

Jimin nodded. “We did awhile ago. How’s your process going?”

“It’s slow,” Seokjin said, “But we’re getting there. We’re hoping we’ll get approved by the end of the year.”

Hoseok perked up. “Has the agency found a kid for you yet?”

“They’re finalizing the decision, so we think so. We’ll get more info, and maybe even pictures, soon,” Seokjin said, a new kind of fondness tinging his tone. He paused and glanced back at Jimin. “Are you still going through with it? I haven’t heard any updates.”

“Because we gave up just under a year ago,” Yoongi said curtly.

“Why?” Seokjin pressed. “Was it taking too long?”

Jimin exhaled and visibly deflated. “No. Things happened. Do you know why we even looked into it in the first place?”

“Because…” Jungkook meekly began, “You’re infertile?”

“No,” Jimin evenly replied. “I mean, we thought so for a little while. After the suppressants, I wasn’t on any sort of birth control. Nothing happened within the first year.” He pressed his lips together, breath stuttering in his lungs. Jimin glanced toward Yoongi, contemplating if he should tell the whole, vulnerable story.

“You don’t have to tell them,” Yoongi whispered, twining their fingers under the table.

Taehyung sank lower in his seat, no longer able to meet Jimin’s eyes or even look in the omega’s direction. Out of all of them, Taehyung was the only one who knew. He’d cried alongside Jimin throughout the entire journey.

Jimin decided it ought to not be a secret any longer, no matter the heartache it stirred up. “It’s fine,” Jimin murmured, squeezing Yoongi’s hand before redirecting his attention.

“I think it was fourteen months ago when I started feeling some random pains in my stomach,” Jimin began. “I’d been working out, but it wasn’t as rigorous before, so I wasn’t that concerned. I told hyung when he got back from work, and we made a doctor’s appointment for the day after, in case the pain didn’t go away. It just got worse, though, and I had to take some painkillers to get to sleep.”

Jimin’s throat suddenly felt very dry. He opened his mouth to continue, but found his words cut short by his own lack of breath. He gripped Yoongi harder.

“We woke up in the middle of the night because the sheets were wet,” Yoongi resumed in Jimin’s place. “He was bleeding.”

“I thought I was dying,” Jimin whispered, chuckling hoarsely over his misplaced panic. He’d had no clue what was actually going on.

“We decided to just head to the hospital,” Yoongi stated. “I was freaking out more than Jimin. He was… pale and quiet, but that was about it. I was kinda scared he’d pass out from blood loss. Thankfully, we got helped by a doctor pretty soon after we got there. She checked Jimin out, assured us over and over again that he wasn’t dying. Then she had to deliver the news about the—the miscarriage.”

Jimin remembered the bright lights, the sterile bed they’d sat him on. He heard the results, but couldn’t quite process them. His insides still ached, stained sleep pants discarded not far off. He absently felt Yoongi’s hand on his shoulder, the alpha possibly anchoring himself as he digested the doctor’s words. Jimin simply stared at his lap and wrapped his arms around himself.

“I didn’t think I could get pregnant,” Jimin quietly admitted. “It hadn’t even crossed my mind that a miscarriage was happening. It was strange, though, knowing I had something and… watching it get ripped away in that same moment.”

“God,” Namjoon muttered in the wake of the rests’ silence. “I’m so sorry.”

Jimin shrugged, heartbeat in his ears. “I was upset for probably a week after, blaming myself and throwing a pity party. But it happens. That’s what the doctor said—it’s common. But I wondered if there was still something wrong with my body.”

“Is that why…”

Jimin nodded. “That’s why we looked into adoption soon after. I didn’t want to go through that again; I didn’t even want to have the chance of getting my hopes up, so we decided to go down the safe route.”

“You stopped the process, though,” Hoseok carefully ventured, evidently confused.

Taehyung’s breath audibly hitched, and the beta hunched forward as he awaited Jimin’s inevitable “but.”

“Yeah,” Jimin breathed. “Because about ten months ago, we found out I was pregnant again.”

There was a very heavy pause lingering around them, solemn expressions only sinking further as they observed the solitary couple at the end of the table—clutching onto each other, childless.

“I think we got too swept up in excitement, forgot what it had felt like last time. Although, the first time wasn’t all that terrible; I didn’t have any chance to actually grow attached to the baby. I hadn’t even known it was there until I lost it.

“But this was so much more. I took the test at three weeks, and it read positive. We started looking into our schedules to block out the last trimester. We wanted to stay home, nest, and just get rid of all the stressors.”

Jimin worried his lower lip and watched the shadows shift along the wood beneath him, light dimming as the sun sank lower on the horizon. “I made it to seven weeks for this one,” Jimin said. “Enough time to make some plans and get attached, but not much else.”

Jimin fidgeted and soaked up the anxious tension buzzing about the atmosphere. “I was home alone again when the pains started. I’d just gotten back from a walk to the convenience store nearby. We were out of tea without caffeine, and I wanted a warm drink. There was a weird feeling in my belly during the walk, but I guess I just thought…” he trailed off. “Well, I don’t really remember what I thought, not that it matters now. The sharp pains were at home, and I’d felt it before, so I knew. I didn’t really have time to be scared before the blood started. I just moved myself to the bathroom where I could manage the mess, called hyung, and waited for him to get home.”

He’d sat in the blood, helpless and staring at the dirty tiles he should have cleaned a week ago. He pushed the world out—the aches, the thunder of his heart, his frozen lungs. He simply watched the life leak out of him for the twenty minutes it took Yoongi to maneuver through traffic.

“I knew what it was, but we drove to the hospital, anyway. They helped me clean up, made sure I was healthy otherwise. A nurse suggested lots of rest and time for grieving.” Jimin placed a palm over his stomach. “I think hyung did all the talking.”

Jimin’s body had felt like a wasteland, like a useless vessel that only strived to piece him apart with each new loss. He couldn’t think about birth control for the following days, but he knew he wanted nothing to do with babies and fetuses and pregnancies for a long while after.

He didn’t leave bed for three days. As much as Yoongi was mourning, he still waited on Jimin, kept him alive and functioning, held him tighter at night than he ever had before. Maybe Yoongi was afraid that Jimin would disappear, too.

Toward the end of the first week, Jimin’s restlessness was itching at him during the very early hours of the morning. He rolled out of bed amidst the darkness, grabbed his phone off the bedside table, stuffed it into his sweats pocket, and stumbled to the bathroom. He shut the door before flicking on the light to avoid waking Yoongi.

He turned on the faucet and drank from his cupped hands, mouth dry and throat hoarse. He wiped his face with cold water, spine curled and breaths shallow. Jimin brushed his tangled and matted hair off his forehead as he straightened out, shocked to stillness when he couldn’t recognize the man in his reflection.

Jimin’s skin had lost its color, golden hue dulled. His eyes were red rimmed and hair a greater mess than he had anticipated. When he parted his lips in a gasp, he realized he hadn’t spoken in days.

Jimin quickly averted his gaze, disgusted by himself and his carelessness. He felt terrible he had forced his mate to care for him in this state. Jimin’s eyes caught on a dark spot between the tile cracks. Dried blood Yoongi had missed while cleaning up.

Jimin’s fingers began to quiver, body unsteady. He staggered back a step, belly tight and aching. He felt like a machine falling apart, stomach empty and brain fogging up. His limbs were stiff, a malfunction in his joints. His veins caught fire, and all he could inhale was smoke.

Jimin sank to the cold floor, fumbling for his phone, desperate for help. He saw Taehyung’s contact first and pressed dial, trying to count in his head, or think about the “good things,” like Yoongi taught him while he waited on the phone to stop ringing.

Jimin had texted Taehyung about both of the miscarriages soon after they happened. So, at the very least, he would have context.

Jimin’s vision blurred, light flickering behind his eyelids when he finally shut them. He gripped his phone until his knuckles strained white, head swimming before Taehyung’s groggy voice reached the surface.

“Jimin? Are you okay?”

“N-no,” Jimin stuttered.

A rustle of sheets as Taehyung shot upright. “Where’s Yoongi?”

“H-h-he has a meeting t-tomorrow morning.”

“Get him, anyway,” Taehyung insisted.

Jimin shook his head. “’M gonna be sick.”

“No, you’re fine. Are you breathing? Listen to me. Breathe with me.”

“My chest hurts,” Jimin warbled. “T-there’s blood on the floor. It’s old—old, but it still hurts.”

“Jimin, please call for your mate. I’m looking for my keys. I’ll be over soon—”

“It was my baby,” Jimin whispered.

Taehyung’s end of the line fell suddenly and harshly silent.

“Why did they take it f-from me?”

“No one… no one took it from you, love,” Taehyung said carefully. “It just happened. It happens.”

“I did everything right,” Jimin whimpered. “I ate w-what I was s’posed to. I slept lots and took vitamins. It still died. I don’t know why. It’s not fair. I—I shouldn’t be like this.”

He heard Taehyung’s shuddered exhale over the line. “I’m leaving my apartment.”

“Useless body,” Jimin continued, rocking himself. “Why’d they do this to me?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Jimin.”

“T-they took me apart. I don’t—don’t know how to put myself back together. It doesn’t fit, doesn’t work. I wasn’t supposed to be an omega. I should’ve—” Jimin stopped short, running out of oxygen. He was hyperventilating, raising a hand up to his throat.

“Jimin?” Taehyung urged. “Finish that thought for me, please.”

Jimin wheezed, a sob wracking his throat, taking up the last of his air.

“Please, say something.”

Jimin startled and dropped the phone when the door opened. Yoongi hesitated for a mere beat, soaking up the scene before him, then rushed to kneel in front of his mate. Jimin’s gaze was unfocused when he tried to look for Yoongi, but he could still scent him, still feel him near.

Yoongi shushed Jimin and cupped his cheeks, wiping the tears under his lashes. “Follow after me,” Yoongi said sharply, clearly. He loudly inhaled, Jimin’s brain processing for a moment before he copied the action. It was slow, a long moment of held air, then a heaving exhale. “Good,” Yoongi stated. “Let’s do it again.”

They went through the motions together, easing Jimin out of his frantic state. When the fog receded and Jimin could finally see his mate, Yoongi shifted a hand to pick up the phone, raising it to his ear.

“It’s okay, I’m here. I’ve got him,” Yoongi said, voice low and rough. He nodded, brows scrunched as he watched Jimin sink lower down the wall. “Mm. Stay home. We’ll see if you can come over tomorrow.”

Jimin placed his hand over Yoongi’s, tears falling free and cooling on their skin.

“Thank you,” Yoongi uttered, hanging up and dropping the phone with a clatter.

“Sorry,” Jimin whispered.

Yoongi shook his head, a pained solemnity in his eyes as leaned forward and scooped Jimin up in his embrace, cradling the shivering omega to his chest. They rocked together as Jimin’s body shook with the last of his hiccups, silence from the hall creeping in around them.

There was a clinking of glass that shook Jimin to reality. His nails had dug themselves into his thigh, gaze glassy and focused on a dark spot on the table.

“Jimin?” Taehyung said softly, reaching out to brush a soothing palm against his arm.

Jimin flinched away, heart in his ears. “No, I—” he rambled, tongue clumsy and confused. “Sorry, that was too much,” he said hoarsely, pushing out of his chair onto unsteady legs.

Jimin’s eyes met Yoongi’s briefly, and he gave the alpha a minute shake of his head, stepping away from the table alone.

“I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have… come,” Jimin muttered, turning tail and rushing out of the dining room.

He didn’t belong here. What was he thinking, assuming he could walk in, enjoy a dinner with his old friends, and make it out while avoiding any serious conflict? Jimin had scars they’d never know, scars he swore he would never let the majority of them touch. He was an idiot for thinking that story told in that setting would leave him feeling anything more than raw.

Jimin found himself trapped in the dim entryway, making a quick glance to his left to find a set of stairs to collapse on. Jimin sank onto the clean, carpeted step with a tension coiling tight in his belly, shoulders as stiff as his spine.

He pulled his sleeves over his hands, curling his fingers into the material. He wanted to shrink into himself, escape, and never return. He didn’t belong in their world anymore. He wasn’t an outgoing beta with a normal social life. He was a broken omega who hid away in his expensive apartment, seeking a family in the only souls who wouldn’t treat him like he was entirely fragile or corruptible.

Maybe Jimin still yearned for the family he used to have, if the needles in his chest were any sign to go by. They felt incompatible now, though, and Jimin wasn’t sure he could withstand any more slip-ups.

A floorboard creaked, and Jimin gasped, folding his arms over his waist as his gaze flickered up.

“Jimin-ah,” Seokjin murmured, eyes watering. He fidgeted with his fingers, unspoken regret marring his expression. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

Jimin clutched his sweater, wary. “What are you sorry for?”

“This. Us,” Seokjin replied, voice wavering. “I’m so stubborn, I know. I’ve had this guilt eating at me for years, and instead of working through it, instead of actually apologizing to you, I just put my defenses up. You gotta understand, though, that I never meant for you to be miserable. I really thought how we treated that situation was what was going to be best for you. I should have…” He sighed, wiping at his eyes, frown set deep. “I should have taken your feelings into better consideration.”

“It wasn’t entirely your fault,” Jimin ventured.

“No, but I’m your hyung. I practically raised you. I should’ve done a better job.” Seokjin worried his lower lip, gaze roving over Jimin’s small form with hesitation, like he wanted to touch Jimin, but was terrified of fracturing him further. “I feel like I’ve fucked everything up.”

“You didn’t…” Jimin whispered. “But I have been scared for a while.”

“Of us?”

“Of everything,” Jimin admitted. “I’m sure if I wasn’t an idol, presenting as an omega would’ve been fine. But being in that spotlight, being under contract, and facing consequences for every little move while I was still figuring myself out… it was too much. I can’t go out alone. I still can’t fully control myself; I flinch over everything, keep my head bowed to alphas until Yoongi-hyung pulls me up. It’s stupid, and terrible, and I want to be stronger—”

“You are strong,” Seokjin insisted. “You are. Not everyone would make it as far as you have. Instead of dropping us after presenting, you kept going, even though the conditions were fucking terrible. You did it for the fans, for us, for yourself.” Seokjin inhaled, face heating. “Don’t ever doubt your strength. I loved watching you grow into yourself when you were so young, watching you build up your confidence. I admire you so much.”

Jimin swallowed a lump in his throat, eyes watering. “You really don’t think I’m weak?”

“None of us do. Not now, not ever. We want to take care of you and dote on you and even… baby you. But that’s because you’re our baby, Jimin-ah. Omega or not, you’re so vibrant and warm.” Seokjin sniffled and shifted on his feet, fighting the quiver in his voice. “I love you so much. I’m sorry I’ve had such a hard time expressing that to you.”

Jimin pushed himself up, unsteady and hopeful, and collided with Seokjin in a hug, knocking the air right out of the elder. Seokjin wrapped his arms around Jimin and tugged him even closer, burying his nose against Jimin’s hair.

“I love you,” Jimin mumbled, closing his eyes as he rested his cheek against Seokjin’s shoulder.

Seokjin shook with a hiccup, and Jimin rubbed his back, humming soothingly.

Seokjin’s scent was subtle, but as Jimin inhaled, it was reminiscent of home.

Jimin held the beta while he shuddered, working through his sorrow and relief. When Jimin’s lashes fluttered open, his gaze drifted off behind Seokjin, spotting Yoongi lingering in the hallway.

Yoongi was quietly watching from a distance, expression soft and somber. He offered Jimin a small smile. “Okay?” He mouthed.

Jimin nodded, fisting his hands in the back of Seokjin’s shirt. Better than okay.

“Jin-hyung,” Jimin said gently. “The main reason I agreed to come tonight was because I have something to tell you—in person.”

“Oh,” Seokjin gasped, pulling away a couple inches to inspect Jimin. “Is it serious?”

“Yeah, but not bad,” Jimin assured, voice low and raspy.

“Is it…” Seokjin trailed off. “Do you want the others to hear, too?”

Jimin nodded. “I’ve been waiting to tell you all for a while.”

“Okay,” Seokjin said slowly. “Are you ready now?”

“As long as they are.”

Seokjin nodded and wiped his eyes one last time. He shifted them around and guided them to the dining room, Yoongi already absent from the hallway. The remaining members looked frantic and worried when Seokjin and Jimin returned. Taehyung rushed around the table to hug Jimin, nearly knocking the omega over.

“Are you crying?” Jimin huffed, patting the top of Taehyung’s head as his shoulders shook.

“Y-you looked so upset,” Taehyung wailed. “It m-made me upset, too!”

“My poor soulmate,” Jimin crooned, brushing his fingers through Taehyung’s hair. “I’m alright now. I just needed to process some things.”

“Jimin,” Namjoon softly addressed, awkward and hesitant as he lingered on the other side of the room. “I—”

“Save the apologies,” Jimin said, easing his curt tone with a smile. “There’s been enough tears tonight. Write me a letter. Or,” Jimin paused, contemplating, “A song.”

Namjoon’s eyes widened a fraction; he caught on to Jimin’s teasing a moment later. “Alright,” he replied, heaving an exhale. “I’ll write you a song.”

“You too, Hobi-hyung,” Jimin continued. “I know you love me, but serenade me anyway.”

“I think that’s your mate’s job,” Jungkook commented, leaning against the top of his chair.

“He’s written me plenty of songs, and I think he’s reached his quota for this year,” Jimin shrugged.

“I guess,” Jungkook replied, doubtful. “But what’s my apology homework?”

“Whatever you want, Kookie,” Jimin said, demeanor softening. He licked his lips and looked around the room, taking in all these people he loved so dearly. “I know you guys never meant me any harm. And if you want to try to make this better, I’ll put in the effort, too.”

“Of course,” Namjoon hurried to affirm, a litany of nods following after.

Yoongi cleared his throat, leaning casually against the wall. Jimin blinked at him a couple times before processing the prompt.

“Oh, right,” Jimin said. He grabbed Taehyung’s shoulders and detached the younger from himself, Taehyung wiping at his nose and eyes while he stepped away. “I’ve got—we’ve got something to tell you.”

Hoseok’s expression fell. “Are you moving?”

Yoongi squinted. “No. Why was that your first guess?”

“I mean, you’ve been getting a lot of job opportunities in Japan and America,” Hoseok shrugged. “I just figured.”

“No, we’re not moving,” Jimin sighed. “That would be way too much work and stress at this point.”

“Are you going on tour together?” Jungkook asked.

“Will you dumbasses stop interrupting?” Yoongi snapped. He eased up on his visible bristling, nodding to Jimin once the room had fallen silent. “Let him speak.”

Jimin suddenly wasn’t too sure this was the best idea, spotlight on him front and center. Too many eyes, too many expectations. His lungs seized up, flight mode setting in. He began to search for an escape, gaze landing on Yoongi—standing calm and firm.

Oh, Jimin thought, muscles loosening as he focused in on his mate. He could do this. If the world faded out, and it was just him and Yoongi, Jimin could push through anything.

He parted his lips, watching Yoongi for support. “Hyung and I are having a baby.” Jimin paused, anticipating their flurry of questions. He placed his hand on his stomach and cut in before anyone else could. “Yes, that means I’m pregnant. No, I’m not terrified. I’m at twenty-one weeks, pretty much in the safe zone when it comes to miscarriages.”

Jungkook gaped. “What? You’re not even fat.”

Taehyung lurched over and slapped Jungkook’s arm.

“Ow! Shit. I was just stating the facts.”

Jimin rolled his eyes. “I know I’m not huge, but I’ve also been wearing oversized tops for two months.”

“I’m gonna need proof,” Jungkook replied, crossing his arms with suspicion.

“Sure, you brat,” Jimin retorted. He yanked up his sweater, revealing the very obvious swell of his stomach. “Satisfied?”

Jungkook sniffed and titled his chin up. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Oh my god,” Hoseok gasped. “I’m gonna be an uncle even sooner than I thought.” He rushed forward, probably with the intent to pick Jimin up and swing him around amidst his excitement. However, Yoongi quickly slid in front of Jimin, blocking him from Hoseok’s puppy-like assault.

“Nope,” Yoongi firmly stated. “No man-handling for four to five months.”

Jimin wrapped himself around Yoongi’s bicep and muffled his giggles on the alpha’s shoulder.

“Holy shit,” Taehyung finally exclaimed. “You’ve been pregnant for five months and haven’t told me?”

“I’ve wanted to,” Jimin defended. “We’ve just been cautious.”

“Understandably,” Seokjin muttered.

Taehyung pouted at Jimin for a long while. “Well, I’m happy for you. And even more happy for myself, because this means I get to go shopping for so many baby clothes,” he said, breaking into a grin.

“Nothing weird or crazy expensive, please,” Jimin urged.

“It will all be designer,” Taehyung insisted.

“What a waste of wealth,” Yoongi said.

“Oh, you fucking bet.”

Their goodbyes were still tinged with sadness, a lingering awareness that their schedules often didn’t overlap. Jimin knew he may not see some of his brothers until his baby was born. But they were taking their first step toward healing, and no matter how slow that process turned out to be, Jimin was grateful they had chosen it.

Jimin became very aware of his lack of energy during the car ride back. His eyelids drooped, palm muffling a multitude of yawns. Yoongi turned on the heater and radio to help Jimin relax, promising to carry the omega inside if he did end up falling asleep.

When they stepped into the comfort of their apartment, they left the lights off, curtains still open to allow the glow of the city into their living room. Yellow and blue wavered along the hardwood, a strip of flickering white cast on the tall cat structure in the corner, Ducky and Pepper curled up on the highest shelf.

Yoongi snuck his arms around Jimin’s waist and pressed his nose to Jimin’s scent gland. Jimin anchored himself to Yoongi’s neck, shutting his eyes as their breathing fell into sync.

“You were so brave,” Yoongi whispered. “I’m proud of you.”

Jimin nuzzled in to scent Yoongi, more grateful than ever that he could be this close to his mate, this delicately intimidate. This evening had stirred up more than just a few unpleasant memories, and Jimin was ready to count his blessings at the end of it.

“I’m happy they finally listened,” Jimin said. “I feel like I’ve been mute for so long.”

“I’m sor—”

Jimin shushed him, pulling away to shake his head. He cupped Yoongi’s cheek and met his warm gaze amidst the darkness. Jimin leaned in for a gentle kiss, brushing his thumb against Yoongi’s skin.

“I’m even happier that I’ve always had you,” Jimin murmured, lips ghosting against Yoongi’s.

A shiver coursed through them, scents naturally intermingling. Yoongi kissed him again, firmer, longer, a rush between their bond. He rested their foreheads against each other, basking in the stillness of their home. “I love you.”

Jimin reached for Yoongi’s hand, twining their fingers. He smiled. A gentle kiss. “I love you,” he echoed, all rasp and wonder. He inched closer, stomach pressed against Yoongi’s for a lingering moment—a reminder.

Then Jimin pulled away, tugging Yoongi along by the hand, passing under the night’s glow. He led them away from the door, away from the day, to the familiar repose of their bed where they could simply fall apart together.