Work Text:
Jungkook toes off his shoes as he steps inside, stumbling a little, startled by his own reflection in the cabinet mirror when the lights flick on.
His eyes always fall to his neck. He forces them elsewhere as he shrugs off his jacket. His skin looks too pale, gray circles deepening into violet under his eyes, blond hair matted on his forehead. He shakes his head, opens the cabinet, and slips into his slippers. He hadn’t realized just how tired he looked. The black and white roses on his skin still feel brand new.
It’s cruel, he thinks, how even when love fades, its marks remain.
Once, Jungkook had what his parents told him an omega should aspire to: an honest, hard-working alpha, a nice big house meant just for the two of them, and anything he might have needed, but nothing he had ever wished for. Not love, not respect.
It had been a hard choice to make, and even harder to follow through, but the faint idea of happiness, of a different ending for himself and his heart, of not being hopelessly trapped in a loveless, affectionless union, made him braver, stronger.
A voice in his mind, hard and insistent, calls him a fool and an ingrate for letting his union disintegrate as easily as he did. But that voice is old, born of ignorance and tradition, and he has long stopped listening to it.
Jungkook left it all behind, ashes and dust from all the butterflies that disintegrated with his delusion and past hopes. When he walked away, he found another part of himself, as if he had been born again. He was no longer what society wanted him to be, torn and incomplete. He had his whole self to rediscover: the things he once loved, the spaces to reclaim, the freedoms to rejoice in.
Renting an apartment with his own money was his very first personal victory.
It’s small. Sometimes he wonders if there is even enough space for his body to fit. Still, it’s all he could afford in Seoul on his own.
He lived with his best friends for more than a month, but he couldn’t let them sacrifice their first moments as a mated couple, living together, just for him, for so long.
His kitchen and the laundry room are in the same space. He spends most of his time in his tiny living room, where there’s a table big enough to eat, work, and sketch.
There’s even an enclosed shower in his bathroom. His queen bed barely fit in his loft space. His belongings live tucked away in countless nooks and crannies, and sometimes he can’t even remember where half of them are, but it has been a long time since he last felt at home. The room is always luminous when the sun shows up, and every detail is his, entirely his own.
He sees his friends more than he did last year. After he mated, they seemed far away and unreachable, a reality he was no longer part of, a different pack he did not belong to anymore, because he was someone else’s. Now they always call. They are almost overbearing, showering him with affection and care. Yoongi cooks meals for him sometimes. Jungkook keeps his fridge stuffed with things to reheat when he is too lazy to cook, like a college student far from home.
He works for a publishing company as an illustrator. His portfolio was strong enough to land him the job, but his minimal experience and his status kept him from earning a higher wage. He does not care. He will have time to do better. At least now he has the freedom to do what he wants.
His omega needed time to recover, to find a place for itself, no longer owned, lost, and lonely.
It took time for his scent to return, but he never wavered. At first, it smelled like rotten flowers, the sickly scent of yellowed petals and decay, suffocating and meant to be hidden. After a year, it’s fresh, like roses blooming in May, red and sweet and rich.
A scarred neck was the only price of his wrong choice. It had seemed fair enough to pay. Now he is no longer so sure.
His enchanting scent still isn’t enough to make people forget he’s damaged goods.
Everyone sees him as a flower already picked, left in a dusty glass vase no one owns, a forgotten beauty fading with every ray of sun, sad and alone.
Despite his happiness, roots of shame and regret still settled slowly, insistent and aching deep inside him. They grew with every stare, every denial and refusal, intertwining with his good intentions and convictions, smothering them into something that was not his.
The black mark at the side of his neck always stings as sharply as thorns, hidden beneath the beautiful roses blooming from his shoulders and straying across his skin to reach his nape. The sight of them scrapes at his eyes. All the pretty petals can’t shield him from himself.
Jungkook does not need another alpha who would use his love and affection to tame him and keep him for himself, like something to possess, only to spite someone else.
He is not prey, nor a pretty thing to own, yet it was his wolf’s desire to be wanted, to be needed and cared for.
It was an aching thought, an epiphany he wished had never struck him.
No one else was going to fall in love with him.
Jungkook buried the revelation under heavy layers of denial and bitterness, yet he still knew the truth beneath. It wasn’t something he could unlearn.
After a long shower, drying his hair with a towel, he steps out onto his tiny balcony. There is barely enough space for his feet, and the floor always seems dirty, no matter how many times he cleans it. Still, he loves the sight of the faint blue sky behind the tall buildings and the freezing air on his fresh skin, even when the clouds never seem to leave him and the street feels sad and empty.
He longs for sunshine, for warmth and light on his face. He is already waiting for his spring. Winter makes him tired and restless, his eyes heavy and too dry, the tip of his nose always cold.
His eyes are always drawn to the flowers growing on his neighbor’s balcony when he looks around. He wonders how heavy their scent is and how long their bloom will last. They’re a vivid pink, dark and strong, their hard petals open to show their centers. It is freezing outside, yet they stand beautiful and strong, and somehow, Jungkook envies them.
He sees his hands then, hidden under green gloves and already covered in mud. His voice murmurs sweet nothings as he waters the plants with care, his gestures so delicate he seems to caress them as he hums softly. Jungkook should stop staring, admit to himself that this is what he was hoping for, dry his hair before a headache comes as revenge, go back inside and avoid spending more time with him. He doesn’t.
"Good evening.” Jimin is always gentle with him, taking off his gloves, his forearms leaning on the railing, his eyes kind and luminous as he gives Jungkook his full attention. Jungkook sighs, his smile blooming on his lips before he’s aware of it. Jimin’s eyebrows furrow, and Jungkook does not get a chance to respond, “You’ll catch a cold”.
Jungkook touches his head awkwardly, blushing at the alpha’s soft scolding. His mouth gapes, searching for words. He cannot look away from the fullness of Jimin’s pink lips, the happy lines around his mouth, his squared jaw, his hair long enough to fall behind his ears, the city lights, and the moon playing with the shadows on his beautiful face.“It’s okay, I’m not a delicate flower.” He smirks awkwardly, mirroring the gesture, the iron cold against his clothed arms.
They’re standing closer than he’d have thought possible, the space between their balconies so small. A licorice-like scent reaches his nose, his shoulders sagging with relief and serenity. He knows it’s star anise, and he has grown so easily dependent on its nuances.
Sometimes he wishes he did not feel his instincts anymore, that his omega did not always want so intensely. He does not know how to deal with all the different impulses.
Jimin smiles at him, unguarded and wonderful, shaking his head at his words. Jungkook shyly drags his towel over his head again, hiding his reaction. The cold is showing on his skin, but he hides it for a few moments more with him.
“This golden rose color really suits you.” Pathetically, Jungkook blushes again, “Actually, I’m pretty sure every color does, but you know…”
His ex-mate always reminded him how unattractive dyed hair was whenever Jungkook mentioned changing his looks. He’d mutter about damaged hair and absurdly unpleasant colors, and somehow, Jungkook let him condition him into feeling insecure about it.
The first time he bleached his hair, Jungkook did it out of spite, on his own, in the bathroom of his new apartment. He read the instructions as he went and almost risked ruining his hair, but he did not care. He loved the result.
Since then, he has dyed it a few colors, red, violet, and pink, but the shade is fading now, and he is growing it out. So he’s truly a mess, but somehow Jimin never misses an opportunity to compliment him.
“Thank you,” He murmurs, his nose scrunching. He sneezes, and Jimin raises one of his eyebrows, his lips quirking as if he had just made a point. “I should probably cut it.”
“And dry it, too. You’d better get in and keep yourself warm,” The alpha says, voice low and playful. Jungkook wants to disappear, skin getting redder under his amused stare. He lowers his head shyly, clasping his own hands.
“Yeah, I just wanted to ask you about your day, Jimin hyung.”
Jimin’s answering smile could light up the whole night sky if he let it, and Jungkook hears stupid melodic romantic songs playing in some corner of his mind. He feels so helpless at the sight of him. He shouldn’t yearn for his light.
“Oh, I have an idea. Just get inside and wait for me. I'll ring you soon.”
Before Jungkook can object, Jimin winks at him. He can’t ever do it perfectly, so his other eye barely stays open, and his nose scrunches up as he grins. Jungkook huffs when the alpha points to his sliding door, disappearing inside. He does the same, closing the door behind him and plastering his back against it, surely leaving two hand-sized stains on the cool surface. With his face on fire, he tries to tidy his place, and then he dries his hair quickly, the dryer loud enough to hide the sound of his doorbell. He wonders how an alpha can be so cute.
There’s a mop of blonde and peach hair on his head as he rushes to the door. He should have known he was in too deep to let him in, but he can never resist the temptation of his presence.
“Hot choco,” Jimin says as a greeting, his hands holding two big white mugs, the delicious smell of cocoa and sugar drifting in the air together with his spicy scent. Jungkook smiles, thanking him profusely, handing him clean slippers to wear and holding the mugs for him as he enters.
His couch is not big, but it’s the only place where they can sit to chat. Jungkook trembles with agitation and nerves, but the warmth in his belly keeps him grounded. Jimin has always made him live through oxymorons.
Their knees almost touch. Jungkook keeps his hands anchored around his warm cup, keeps them from touching the other man, so close and too unreachable for him.
“I hope you aren’t too tired,” Jimin mumbles, sipping contentedly, a bit of cream still on his lips. Jungkook shakes his head, always too short on words. Jimin hums, eyes examining his face, eyebrows quirking like he disagrees.“So, how was your day, Jungkookie?”
It’s natural for Jungkook to talk to him. Jimin doesn’t care if he loses his train of thought or if he takes long pauses as he searches for the words he’s trying to say. He nods and smiles and asks questions whenever Jungkook has the instinct to stop, afraid he’s being annoying or wasting his time explaining something Jimin won’t care about. Jimin listens to him as he whines about a commission he can’t seem to draw the way he visualized, laughs as he tells him about his misadventures with the vending machine, and asks about his friends when Jungkook mentions that Seokjin had to stop Yoongi from coming over with more fresh food today.
When his mug is empty, his mouth sweet from the chocolate and his chest lighter after all his talking, Jungkook realizes Jimin hasn’t said a single word about himself, content to sit and listen with a muted smile on his soft pink lips.
"And what about you, hyung?” Jungkook asks him then, his neck red with embarrassment. He can’t look him in the eyes.
"The roses I used for a composition today reminded me of you. They were white and so pretty, just like the one you tattooed on your neck.” He murmurs, distracted, and Jungkook feels the weight of his stare on his skin, kind and curious. “A cat followed me on the way home for some food, and he let me pet him. And now I’m spending a bit of time with you, so I guess… it was a really nice day."
The redness goes beyond his neck, spreading across his cheeks and chest, and Jungkook is burning with each sweet word. His smile wobbles as he nervously tucks his hair behind his ears, hoping to regain control and make sense of himself.
“That’s… nice,” Jungkook tells him, limbs awkward and stiff as he gets up and takes the two empty mugs. His back faces Jimin as he washes them thoroughly, the sleeves of his shirt getting wet because his mind is elsewhere. He dries them slowly, eyes never leaving the white ceramic. He hears the moment Jimin stands up, too, sighing softly.
"Thank you, hyung,” Jungkook mumbles, handing him the perfectly cleaned mugs, his eyes fighting not to meet Jimin’s as they stand close. Jimin’s hands delicately cradle them, silver rings and short, pretty fingers. He sighs again, and Jungkook raises his head enough to glimpse his beautiful brown eyes, concerned and hesitant.
If he had met Jimin years before him, Jungkook would have never let him leave him. He would have kissed his pink and warm mouth and batted his eyelashes at him, shamelessly asking him to stay the night. But used and torn as he is, Jungkook doesn’t have any right to. He would be pathetic if he tried.
Jimin must know, too, that his words have no end. He probably doesn’t expect him to be affected. He might think it’s just a cute thing to do, to fill his heart with sweetness and care, but Jungkook doesn’t know how much longer he can sustain it. Jimin’s alpha would never truly accept him, and his human side wouldn’t either.
“Goodnight, Koo,” Jimin whispers, almost outside his apartment. He’s closer than before, his scent confused and messed up as Jungkook leans on his door, about to close it.
He’s unprepared for Jimin’s soft lips on his forehead, quick and warm. He’s taller than Jimin, but his shoulders are hunched from the weight of his tiredness and thoughts. He snaps his head up too fast, almost head-butting him, and Jimin laughs softly. ‘Sorry,’ the alpha says, as if any of it is his fault.
[x]
“He'd better be good; it has to be perfect.” Yoongi, his dearest alpha friend, is not prone to stressing over things unless it is about Seokjin. There’s a pretty shop in front of them, a big window displaying silk flowers and evergreen plants, pictures hanging on the wall showing delicate compositions and bouquets. Yoongi is staring inside, white skin warming up, hands hiding in his pockets, eyes critical. Jungkook is afraid to step in, aware of who’s waiting inside.
“Seokjin hyung will be too focused on teasing you to notice the flowers.” Jungkook always tries to reassure him, standing next to him, hiding his amused smile behind his scarf. It’s actually true. Seokjin would be so surprised by Yoongi doing something so cliché and consumerist, like buying him flowers that won’t even stay alive (his words, not Jungkook’s), just to please him and surprise him for their anniversary, that Jungkook thinks the omega wouldn’t even notice if they were daisies or just a bunch of cute leaves.
Love makes him hopeless, but Yoongi and Seokjin shine a light on his bitterness. They found each other years ago, learning to respect and love one another every day.
They were already together when Jungkook had the luck of meeting them and having them in his life. He can’t picture a reality in which they don’t tease each other every day, loving and full of care. After all these years, you’d think Yoongi wouldn’t get so nervous over a bunch of flowers.
Their friends hadn’t rushed; they hadn’t been stupid and insecure as he was. They had waited for their bite. The reminder spirals him deeper into self-deprecation, but he’s too happy for them to dwell on it under the light of the sun. He’ll torment himself again during the silent hours of the night, when nothing can divert his mind from himself.
“C’mon,” Jungkook whispers, bumping his shoulder against Yoongi’s and shoving him inside the shop. “Your flower designer is waiting for you, hyung.”
Jimin’s figure is always so delicate, almost small, with a dark shirt tight around his defined arms and a cute apron covering his chest. As he lowers his head to pay attention to every detail of his work, his brown hair gets in the way, and Jungkook is reminded that it’s been days since the last time they spoke face to face. The heat of Jimin’s lips on his forehead still makes him burn.
The alpha raises his head when Yoongi walks into the shop, smiling politely, and Jungkook is struck by how different his eyes are when they’re not looking at him. They’re determined and self-assured, not as soft and shining as he’s used to.
Jungkook stays rooted to the entrance, thorns heavy around his throat. Jimin’s pink mouth purses at the sight of him, his eyebrows raising in surprise but quickly hiding it, speaking words Jungkook can’t focus enough to understand, professional and gentle.
Yoongi doesn’t notice. Jungkook holds his breath during the whole conversation, dreading and silently wishing for the moment Jimin will pay attention to him again, wolf instincts whining at him to do something, to somehow be more captivating. He hopes his scent doesn’t give him away.
When Yoongi looks his way, expectant and hopeful, Jimin lays his pretty eyes on him too. His expression is so unreadable. Words won’t leave his mouth; he’s too out of his depth. “Please?” Yoongi asks, like he seldom does. Jungkook nods, noticing the vibrating phone in his hands, too ashamed to ask what they were saying. Too soon, his hyung is leaving him there alone, clasping a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder and thanking him profusely.
“I didn’t expect you here. Thank you for recommending me.” Jimin breaks the silence, voice so tender and reassuring that Jungkook feels his whole body drop from the tension. “I’ll be professional, no matter how gorgeous you look. I just need your help in deciding a few things.” It’s hard to ignore his compliment, but Jungkook tries not to show him how much a few simple words can affect him, and he slowly walks to the counter. “What do you think? Would he like pink? … Maybe peonies?” he asks, scribbling down notes in perfect calligraphy, biting on his full lips as he concentrates. Jungkook hums and nods, awkwardly scratching at his head.
“Or carnations. He seems to like them.” Jungkook tries to help, shyly. Jimin nods and smiles at him.
“That was Yoongi, right?” Jimin asks him distractedly. They had never met officially, but Jungkook had spoken about his friends too often for him not to guess. And, he thinks, Jimin must have seen him going out of his apartment sometimes. He nods. The alpha chuckles. “You know, at first, since he came by so much,” he continues, hesitant as he types data about his friends and arranges the order. “I thought he was courting you. That would be awkward!” He giggles, sounding almost shy.
Jungkook's mouth twists, but he stops himself from telling him that no sane alpha would willingly mate him or court him. Yoongi’s call seems finished, and he approaches them again, droopy eyes apologetic and tired. Jungkook hopes his smile is not too strained. He doesn’t speak anymore, letting Yoongi do the rest and zoning out.
“What was that?” Yoongi asks when they step out of the shop, brows furrowing as he stares at him. Jungkook just shakes his hand to look careless and drags him into a cafe nearby.
“Oh? Nothing. I told you, he’s my neighbor.” One look into his eyes and Yoongi doesn’t press, knowing well there isn’t anything he can cave out of Jungkook’s mouth if he doesn’t want to.
[x]
Jungkook is attending a meeting when he realizes the aches in his loins are more than simple soreness from sleeping in the wrong position. Suddenly, his brain can’t focus on words and people around him anymore. Colors get hazy and confusing, and he has to close his eyes and breathe in the scent on his own clothes because every other smell is making him nauseous.
Nobody seems to notice, nobody seems to react to his pheromones, and the only thing that gives him away is the sweat collecting at his hairline, the flush high on his skin. He’s excused for the day, and he calls Seokjin on the way home, barely explaining everything to him, telling him his body went into heat after thirteen whole months, leaving him on the line so Seokjin can be assured that if something strange or dangerous happens, he’ll know.
“Keep breathing, JK. You’re almost home. You can make a beautiful and comfortable nest for yourself; you’ll be fine.”
Jungkook thinks of his soft pillows, the warm blanket he always puts around his body, and how he’d arrange them on his bed. Would the cloth he covered his couch with still smell like Jimin? Tears gather in his eyes at the idea of not having a single item that has the alpha’s scent on it. He doesn’t have the right to ask for it. Seokjin’s voice tries to soothe him, and Jungkook fists his hair until the tug makes him a little more coherent.
Focusing on putting in his code is a slow and exhausting process, and Seokjin has to remind him of each cipher more than once. He praises him when the door opens, and he’s ashamed to be pleased at the words, already needy and vulnerable.
“Ggukie?” His knees buckle, anise scent fulfilling him and tormenting him at every intake of breath. He rests his forehead against his barely opened door. He hears Seokjin's voice from the speakers, reminding him he can’t stay alone with an alpha now.
“Please, no,” he murmurs, his cheek pressing against the solid surface of the door, sweaty and confused.“Don’t get too close.” He can’t allow it, not when he’s sure both of them don't know what they’re doing, and Seokjin is begging him to just enter his house.
“Your scent.” Jimin seems to choke on his own words, his nostrils flaring, his fist closing on his thigh like he has to restrain himself. And with no space for insecurities, brain high on instinct and sensation, Jungkook can tell the alpha wants him, that he’s luring him in, despite his scarred neck.
It takes everything in him to rest his whole weight on the door and let himself inside. He sits on the ground, phone forgotten on his side, and he hastily takes off his shoes. His skin feels ready to burst at the seams. He opens up his shirt and the first button on his trousers, but his limbs won’t move.
“I wish I could be there with you and help you.” Has Jimin really said the words? Standing in front of his ajar door, or is Jungkook’s body cruel enough to make him hear it, constructing each word out of thin air? He moans, desperate, his thoughts too heavy to find the right answer.
Jimin leaves. Jungkook senses each of his footsteps, his nose and ears desperate to perceive every movement of the alpha. His lust is not eating him alive, but his emotions are all over the place.
Jungkook hears him when he stands outside again; he doesn’t know how much time has passed, his head too fuzzy as he slides in and out of a frenetic slumber, and he dreads and hopes for the doorbell to ring, for him to call his name
“Ggukie, I can feel you. I know you’re still sitting there.” Jungkook puts his hand on the door dividing them, knowing well he could let him inside, but still strong enough to resist. “I left something here for you, if you want it.” The phrase makes warmth blossom in his already burning chest, and his face aches with a contented smile he wishes the alpha could see.
“Please, just lie in bed if you can. It’s too cold for you on the floor. I don’t want my pretty flower to freeze.” Each word is soft and slow, designed to reach into his heart easily. Jungkook whines softly, gripping his arms to stop himself, biting his tongue.
Jimin is gone again. Jungkook’s enhanced senses can’t hear his heartbeat close anymore, but his spicy scent is still there, and Jungkook is needy and desperate enough to open the door to find the source. There’s a basket left there for him, energy drinks, protein bars, and his favorite sweets, but what gets Jungkook's attention is the blanket folded at the bottom, yellow and soft, imprinted with Jimin’s scent. He wraps it around himself, hiding his face against it.
Jungkook lets his imagination wander, dazed by his voice, by a vision so far and unreachable that it couldn’t hurt him. He lets his heart tell him he can get away with considering Jimin his alpha for just one week, that he’ll soon go back to ignoring his desires, and it won’t hurt more than it already does, his mind too weak to think about the consequences.
[x]
It was easier than he’d feared, spending time with Jimin, after his heat dissipated.
The alpha didn’t ask him questions that Jungkook wasn’t ready to answer yet, and he acted like he had no idea the omega was still keeping his blanket for himself.
After months and months of awkward little talks outside their balconies, Jimin actively seeks him out now, inviting him for dinner at his place, asking if he can come over to watch the drama they both enjoy, and Jungkook feels him everywhere, even when he’s not next to him.
Jimin’s touches don’t startle him anymore; he knows his hands are warm and careful and not capable of hurting. He rejoices in the alpha’s proximity, their simple intimacy: Jimin’s arm around his waist as they walk together to their place, or his head on his shoulder when they sleepily watch the screen, Jimin’s little fingers playing with his hair when his eyes fight to stay open.
He knows he shouldn’t, but once he let one defence fall, the rest of his paper walls fell in on themselves, leaving him unguarded and too weak to resist.
Jimin is enamoured with his tattoo; he realized this during these days.
He must recognize the roses on his skin; he must know Jungkook sketched them looking outside his window during the brightest spring. Jimin’s fingers always trace each flower, but tonight his kisses do too.
The alpha must have seen the old mark, even under the pretty drawing. There’s no way his plush lips haven’t felt it, dragging on Jungkook’s neck, tracing the seam of every petal with his warm tongue. There’s no way he couldn’t have noticed by now that Jungkook would never be his, but he doesn’t stop.
Jimin’s soft hands hold his hips, strong and warm, and Jungkook doesn’t know when it started, what it was that made the alpha want him, what he’s searching for on the surface of his broken skin.
Jungkook fears that this time, too, marks might be the only things left for him. But these would fade, together with the heat of their bodies pressed close, the desire in his kisses, the gentleness in his hold. He is not new to alpha, wanting to use him to placate their heart's desires, but he just didn’t expect Jimin to be so kind as he tried to.
The alpha seems fixated on him. He’s never made him feel like a sweet escape, or an easy conquest, or something to disregard. It’s cruel: the delicate praises murmured against his neck, the possessive touch of his hands, his scent imprinting on Jungkook’s skin like it has every intention of staying.
“I want to spend the night with you,” Jimin admits, his voice low and rich, his hands drifting on Jungkook’s hips. “Maybe more,” he chuckles, honest and embarrassed, almost bashful as he lowers his eyes. Jungkook tries hard to decipher his lies, to read the ill intention in his movements.
The alpha sees the hesitation on his face for what it is, before he voices it out. Blond hair falls in Jungkook’s eyes, and his breath is cut short, vines constricting his chest as he stills. He can’t say that he wants the same; he’d be lying if he did.
He doesn’t want to be taken and then left alone; he doesn’t want to indulge in a kindness that wouldn’t be forever his.
“I’m sorry, I assumed you wanted the same,” Jimin says, words barely audible over the sound from the screen in front of them, his brows furrowed, his hands slowly leaving Jungkook’s sides.
It’s awkward, cold. Jungkook feels a misplaced guilt in his guts, acid in his stomach. He should have shut down his mind and given the alpha what, deep down, they both wanted. But it would have torn him apart if he did. He holds onto the last pieces of himself, still standing tall. He’s not strong enough to have something casual in his life. He would clutch onto it with his nails and teeth, clinging to any semblance of love that Jimin would offer him.
“I’m sorry,” Jimin repeats, his hands up and away from him, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry. You said that you wished it could always be like this, and I…”
He did. Jimin had let him rest his head on his lean chest, caressing his hair slowly, the screen the only light in the room, the rain outside soft and unstoppable, his bad day slowly dissipating with the warmth of their bodies, and Jungkook had let the words leave his mouth, shaky and frail.
“But I know it can’t,” he tells him, thorns lacerating his throat when Jimin doesn’t meet his eyes. “You don’t have to play along with whatever silly fantasy is in my mind.” He’s so pathetic, limbs shaking and eyes fighting his own tears, confused and disappointed, suffocating any hope in his chest, growing like wildflowers.
“It’s not only in your mind,” Jimin pronounces slowly, as if he’s waiting for each word to get to him, patient and more understanding than he deserves. His words have meaning, but Jungkook can’t apply them to himself, to their situation. “I wanted to kiss you, I wanted to keep staying close to you.”
His insecurities beg him to scream, beg him to convince the alpha he might be wrong, that he doesn’t know what he’s feeling, and they’re loud, restless. They know Jimin’s going to leave him, that Jungkook would somehow always make the wrong choice, even with the right alpha.
Because it’s always his fault, in the end. If he had waited, if he had been careful with his heart and desires, he could have been free from his past; he could have been the perfect and unmarred omega Jimin deserved and not the wilting flower no one wants, the one he has to take care of.
“Don’t talk about yourself like this,” Jimin murmurs, his words close to his ear, his strong arms around his torso as Jungkook hiccups against his shirt, throat sore because each of his fears has been enunciated. “You’re the strongest of flowers, you’re my winter rose, growing beautiful despite the cold. I wish you could see how amazing you are.”
Jungkook doesn’t know how to respond to his words; he hasn’t yet learned how to accept kindness, and he still doesn’t know if he deserves love. He leaves his hold, and Jimin grabs his hand.
“And what about my mark?” Jungkook asks, then, as if to challenge each of his good intentions.
Jimin traces the black unnatural mark, standing out on his neck, an ugly thorn among his roses, barely touching the stem of one of them. “I’m not scared of thorns. I know how to deal with them,” he says, with a cheeky smile, but his eyes are serious and determined, his hand closing around his firmly. “It can’t erase what I feel for you, Jungkook. I think nothing can.”
“I know nothing can erase how I feel,” Jungkook admits, his voice sounding so small, eyes never leaving their now joined hands. “No matter how hard I’ve tried.”
His last phrase seems to pain Jimin further; there’s a dense silence between them, and it’s harder for Jungkook to break it when he can’t even face the alpha in front of him.
It’s so exhausting to push happiness away, especially when it’s stubborn, gorgeous, so patient with him, giving chances and chances again, no matter how hard he denies himself.
“I want to scent you, and I want you to always remember that I want you, that I’m just waiting for you to be ready to give me whatever you want,” Jimin murmurs, his soft finger holding his chin delicately, so that Jungkook can look him in the eyes, see the red flame in his irises, the proof that each part of him means what he’s saying, even his wolf.
Jungkook bares his neck, then, his pretty petals and sharp thorns, fragile, entrusting to his mouth everything that he is. For a moment, he doesn’t want to be scared to be happy.
In the end, Jimin’s scent doesn’t make him complete; it reminds him he already is.