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The meeting had been undeniably heavy, every member unable to look up from their wringing hands as their managers asked them question after question about their impending decision—what had led them to that point, is there any way they could help, are they sure, how long had they felt this way…
In the end, they’d given the group a few weeks to finalize their decision, and had given them some time off to truly consider it. It was a hard decision with outcomes that would be even harder either way, and Namjoon knew he would have to wait another day or so before anyone was ready to talk it out again. And so, when they were released from the difficult meeting and sent home, he mentioned nothing of what was discussed, and neither did anyone else. The van ride was entirely silent—Hoseok and Yoongi looked ready for bed, Jungkook’s eyes were wide with overwhelmed emotion, Jimin wouldn’t let go of a silently weeping Taehyung, and Seokjin didn’t even try to lighten the mood with jokes. Everyone’s scents were pungent and stale, and Namjoon’s heart cracked, his alpha feeling helpless to make it all better.
It wasn’t until they had entered the warm, comforting haven of home when any words were spoken, and it was from Jungkook. “Would it bother anyone if I made some jjigae?”
An innocent question, one not even out of the realm of something Jungkook would ask—his sporadic bouts of hunger could sometimes find him clattering in the kitchen at inconvenient hours, and he had been trying to get better about it. But Namjoon could see the pain in his eyes, the pleading for some level of normalcy, like he was trying to prompt some comforting words out of his members. Namjoon smiled, eager to bring the mood up, even just a little. “Not at all. Could you make me some, too?”
“Okay.” The edge around his eyes softened, which made Namjoon feel better.
“Me too,” Hoseok piped in. He probably wasn’t hungry either, and simply wanted to lift the pup’s spirits.
This started a chain reaction as everyone seemed to latch onto it as an opportunity for something to do together. Seokjin followed him into the kitchen, and Jimin asked to tell them when it was ready before taking Taehyung away to his room—he was no longer crying, but looked like he needed a lie-down.
Yoongi retreated to his room, but when the stew was ready and Seokjin went to ask if he wanted some, they both returned to the kitchen. One by one each member filed in and sat around the table, and as the warm meal relaxed them, they were able to find more lighthearted things to talk about. Some laughs were even exchanged, which relaxed Namjoon. Though they weren’t a pack, he found himself fretting over them like he was their alpha. He knew it was something he would miss if they did end up falling out in the end, so he absorbed as much as he could while they all sat there.
Yoongi was the first to stand, emptying his half-finished bowl into the sink and grabbing a beer from the fridge before moving out to the patio. The others pretended not to notice, but the sting of worry permeated the room as the others slowly shuffled out one by one. Namjoon hoped he wasn’t the only one leaking a distressed scent.
After the kitchen slowly emptied, Namjoon remained at the table, staring out towards the patio door. He couldn’t see the outside chairs from the current angle, but something urged him toward the door, like he just knew there was something he had to tend to.
“Are you done, hyung?”
Namjoon looked up into Jungkook’s eyes, still wide as they filled with nerves yet again. “Yes, thank you.”
After Jungkook took his bowl away, he gazed at the sliver of murky dark sky out the window awhile longer, before he pushed himself up and toward the door. He didn’t want to startle Yoongi, so he eased it open with the grace of knowledge of what movements would stop the door from squeaking. And when he shut the door behind him, he saw Yoongi sat there, staring up at the sky. His beer sat untouched and sweating on a small side table, water dripping from it the same way it dripped down Yoongi’s cheeks, leaving shiny tracks in its wake.
Oh no.
Namjoon seized up, steeling against his inner alpha as it urged Namjoon to lunge at the ailing omega. No, Yoongi didn’t work like that, was wired differently from any omega he’d ever encountered. Nothing made him more upset than a fretting alpha. Namjoon had to keep himself contained, to draw on the gentle approach he’d perfected over the last half-decade.
Yoongi didn’t take his gaze off the sky, but Namjoon knew he was aware of him from the way he seemed to swallow a sob. He joined Yoongi on the cushioned bench, and followed his eyes to the starless cosmos.
In his peripheral, he noticed Yoongi glance at him. His voice was wet and unstable when he spoke. “Did you come out here to feed me some bullshit about how everything will be fine?”
“No.” And Namjoon meant it, because he truly didn’t know what would happen, either. “I guess…I’m just curious. If the worst comes to pass, what’s your plan?”
“I don’t have one and you know it.” Yoongi growled. “You just expect me to adjust to life on my own after living with six other people for this long? You’re asking me to give everything up and start over. I’ve never done that, and there’s a reason for it.”
Namjoon swallowed hard, unsure if the sudden pain in his chest was his heart quivering with fear or breaking. “What if…that was never my assumption? What if…I pictured…just the two of us? We’d get a quaint little apartment together, just like the old days. And we’d rework ourselves. We’d be less famous, it’d be easier to manage.”
Yoongi snorted as if a small sob tried to escape with it. “Don’t play with my emotions like that.”
Namjoon sighed. “Hyung…I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. I’ve broken so many things, I’ve lost so many sunglasses and ear buds. To this day I can’t wrap my head around chopping vegetables or cooking food without burning it or myself. But…I would never degrade the way you feel about anything. The mere thought haunts me so much I’ve lost sleep over figuring out how to avoid it. You matter too much to me.”
“Mm.” Yoongi leaned forward, bracing his elbows in his lap, and wiped at the anguish that wouldn’t stop leaking.
Namjoon’s shoulders tensed. He wasn’t sure if he’d softened Yoongi enough to have this conversation, but asking of him what he truly needed to had never not been a risk. At least they had both gotten better about it. Maturity—and long-term, borderline-uncomfortable proximity—had done wonders. “You always told us you don’t need anyone else, and I respect that. I don’t doubt you can do incredible things on your own, probably better when you’re not waiting on the rest of us. I just want to make sure you know that’s not your only option. Working alone doesn’t mean being alone, you know.”
“Yeah.” Yoongi began to fidget, squirming in his seat and fisting the edge of the cushion, and Namjoon knew what was coming. He usually did this when he was on the brink of a full breakdown, losing his will to its power. When Namjoon’s nose was flooded with the sour stench of an omega so sad, so in pain that it made every joint in his body feel as if they were full of hot needles.
Why won’t omega just let alpha help?
Yoongi bolted to a stand, and Namjoon had to grip the wooden frame of the sofa to keep from chasing him. But Yoongi didn’t run away—he took a gentle step forward and leaned against the railing. He stared out along the cityscape, so small, too far away. The ground was too far away.
Someone turned off a light inside, plunging the already dim balcony into a cloudy gray-blue. Namjoon couldn’t see much of Yoongi now beyond a fuzzy silhouette, but he did notice his scent becoming more putrid, couldn’t miss the way his shoulders shook badly.
That was the final straw. He stood slowly and closed the space between them, his movements careful and calculated. He let Yoongi feel his body heat for a moment before his touch came in for a soft landing, careful not to startle him. His arms wound around his waist, his chest upon his shoulder blades.
Yoongi’s final resolve seemed to shatter, and his whole body jerked and spasmed with garbled sobs. Namjoon simply squeezed him, having been ready for such an outcome. When he couldn’t get a direct explanation for something, he often resorted to seeking patterns—after roughly six years of practice with Yoongi, he concluded that the omega preferred to let his guard down in the dark, where no one could see him look as weak as he felt.
Not that Namjoon could ever see Yoongi as weak. But he had yet to find a way to get it to stick.
“I didn’t need anyone else because I already had everyone I needed. But if we disband…”
Namjoon felt himself being ripped in half. He knew, he knew the other members meant more to Yoongi than he often let on, but the depths of it were only ever revealed in the most dire of circumstances, at the lowest of moments when it felt too late to tell them the truth.
“I’m not fucking going anywhere, hyung.” Namjoon hated how shaky his voice was, how pained it was traveling around the pain in his throat. But Yoongi had to know. He had to know how much he needed him, too.
Namjoon wasn’t sure if it got through, but when he pressed on Yoongi’s waist to turn him, he felt no resistance. He twisted him around and pressed his head to his shoulder, his shirt soaking the warm tears. Yoongi wasn’t very reciprocal, but he was pliant.
“I’ve lived with you too long to let you go like that,” Namjoon whispered, prompting a wet laugh out of Yoongi.
“Can’t live without me, huh?”
“Mm.” Namjoon stroked through Yoongi’s hair, squeezed him a little tighter because, truly, he couldn’t. But he could feel the agreement from Yoongi, the way he rested more of his weight against Namjoon, sought more of his touch and love, fitted himself nicely into the embrace even if he didn’t reach back.
Safe in alpha’s arms. Always and forever.