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It was a normal Monday morning in the Min-Kim household. Well, as normal as it could get with one grumpy alpha who was already running late for his meeting and one criminally cheerful omega fluttering around the kitchen.
“If you won’t eat now, at least take some of the sandwiches with you,” Jin said, not bothering to wait for agreement. He was already stuffing them into a lunch box with the speed and precision of someone who had done this dance many times before.
“And get up right now, Yoongi.” He scolded gently, pushing a thermos into his partner’s sluggish hands. “Or you’ll really be late, and you know your boss won’t take kindly to that happening again.”
Yoongi, still half-asleep and fully grumpy, only mumbled something unintelligible in response. But after one long-suffering sigh and a kiss to his temple from Jin, he groggily shuffled to his feet, slung his bag over one shoulder, and trudged out the door.
The door flew back open a second later, just in time for Jin to holler after him, “And for all that is holy, please take the bus! I would like you to come back in one piece!”
Yoongi waved a hand in acknowledgment without turning around. Not because he didn’t hear, but because he knew better than to ignore Jin when he was in full omega-on-a-mission mode. And because — fine — Jin had a point. The last time Yoongi tried to bike to work half-asleep, he almost got flattened by a garbage truck.
So, to avoid any more near-death experiences — and possibly because he was already imagining Jin’s disappointed pout — Yoongi made his way to the bus stop like a responsible adult. What happened next… was not his fault.
Later, he would swear he had no memory of actually boarding the bus. One moment he was blinking blearily at the schedule, and the next he was being jolted awake by a sharp turn and the rumble of the bus hitting a pothole. His head was resting against something warm and solid — not a window, as he expected, but a very real, very unfamiliar shoulder.
Yoongi froze.
He blinked down at the leather jacket under his cheek and stiffened when he realized he could hear someone humming softly under their breath. His nose twitched as a scent filled the air — salt and sunlight, like a summer vacation and also undoubtedly alpha.
And then… a hand. A hand was stroking his hair.
A complete stranger was petting him like some stray cat!
Yoongi shot upright with a sharp inhale. “Oh my god—! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to— I made a pillow out of you!”
The stranger blinked at him, startled by the sudden motion but not particularly alarmed. “You okay?”
“I—yeah. I promise I’m awake now,” Yoongi muttered, mortified.
Only after blurting that out did he muster the courage to fully look the alpha in the face — and promptly forgot how to breathe.
The guy was gorgeous. Unfairly so.
Dark, slightly curled hair tumbled over a smooth forehead, brushing gently against soft brows. Big, warm eyes studied him with open curiosity, the kind that didn’t seem judgmental, just… interested. His features still had traces of baby fat, especially in his cheeks, but the curve of his jaw already hinted at a future heartbreaker. He looked young. Too young to be legal, maybe. Too young to be casually accepting strangers drooling on him at seven-thirty in the morning.
Yoongi swallowed, ears burning.
“I really didn’t mean to— I’ve just been… up late and Jin said I shouldn’t bike and I guess the bus was warm and then you were…” He trailed off, realizing that absolutely none of that made any sense.
To his horror, the alpha just smiled.
“It’s fine. You looked tired.” His voice was soft and reassuring, like the rest of him. “Better to sleep on me than be exhausted the entire day, right?”
Yoongi opened his mouth to argue, but—okay, that was… unreasonably nice of him. And kind of funny. And…
He was doomed.
The bus lurched again, slowing for the next stop, and Yoongi took the opportunity to scramble to his feet, clutching his bag like a lifeline. “Right. Yes. I’ll just… be over there.”
“Sure.” The alpha gave a small wave and leaned back in his seat, perfectly relaxed, like this kind of thing happened to him all the time.
Yoongi practically tripped down the aisle and threw himself into an empty seat, burying his face in his hands.
“Jin’s never going to let me live this down,” he muttered into his palms, even though Jin wasn’t there. Yet somehow, he could already hear the teasing.
He peeked back once — just once — and caught the alpha glancing his way with a soft smile.
Yep. Doomed.
Yoongi wasn’t sure how he made it through the rest of the day.
He was behind on paperwork. He forgot his lunch in the break room. He might have snapped at one intern, apologized, and then awkwardly patted their head like Jin sometimes did to the cats.
His mind kept drifting — back to the warm weight of someone’s arm brushing against his, the soft hum barely audible over the rattle of the bus engine, the hand in his hair. How his body hadn’t even tensed. How his inner alpha had leaned in.
By the time he finally got home, he was wound so tightly that even the sound of keys jangling in his hand irritated him. He didn’t know what to do with his limbs. Or his thoughts. Or the leftover buzz in his chest.
He opened the door and stood there, not moving, until Jin looked up from the kitchen counter.
“Hey,” Jin said, casual as anything, flipping a pancake. “You look like someone just told you your favourite coffee shop closed down.”
“I…” Yoongi hesitated, toeing his shoes off slowly. “I think I might be broken.”
That earned him a blink. “Okay. That’s dramatic even for you.”
“I’m serious.”
“Alright.” Jin set the spatula down, wiped his hands on a towel, and came closer. “Tell me what happened.”
Yoongi didn’t even make it to the couch. He leaned against the counter instead, pressing his palms into the edge until it hurt just a little. Just enough to ground him.
“I fell asleep,” he began slowly, staring at the floor, “on the bus.”
Jin hummed. “You do that sometimes.”
“Yeah. But this time… I woke up leaning on someone. An alpha.” His throat felt dry. “And he was… touching my hair.”
Jin didn’t say anything, just waited. That made it both easier and harder.
“I didn’t panic,” Yoongi said, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t shove him off. I let him. I felt safe. And warm. And it took me way too long to remember that I shouldn’t be feeling that way.”
Still, Jin didn’t interrupt. He just leaned a little against the counter, giving Yoongi space to keep going.
“I have you,” Yoongi said, finally looking up. “You’re mine. My omega. I shouldn’t—couldn’t—feel that way about someone else. It’s wrong.”
Jin's gaze softened. “Why?”
That stopped Yoongi in his tracks. “What?”
“Why is it wrong?”
Yoongi blinked at him, the question throwing him completely off balance. “Because I’m already with you.”
“And?”
“And… and I shouldn’t be catching feelings for someone else!”
Jin tilted his head. “Did you?”
Yoongi opened his mouth. Closed it again. “I don’t know. I didn’t mean to.”
“Yoongi.” Jin’s voice was gentle, but firm. “No one’s accusing you of anything. You didn’t plan this. You didn’t flirt. You didn’t even ask for a name. Your body reacted to something — to someone — and instead of fighting it, you felt safe. That’s not betrayal. That’s instinct.”
“But it still feels like I did something wrong.”
Jin reached out and cupped Yoongi’s face, guiding it down until their foreheads touched.
“I love you,” he said quietly. “You’ve always had this idea that love has to be either-or. Like choosing one person means cutting out every other feeling you might ever have. But that’s not how it works for everyone. Some people love more than once. Some people share. And it’s not less special because of that. It’s still real.”
Yoongi closed his eyes. “But what if I don’t want to share you?”
Jin smiled. “You don’t have to. I’m not asking you to open up our bond. I’m asking you not to beat yourself up over one quiet moment on a morning bus ride. And maybe… if you want to see him again, I’ll support you.”
Yoongi pulled back slightly, eyes widening. “You’d be okay with that?”
“I trust you.” Jin’s thumb brushed over his cheek. “And if you do like him — really like him — then I want you to be happy. Even if that means adjusting the idea of what ‘us’ looks like.”
There was a long pause.
“I’m still kind of freaking out,” Yoongi admitted, voice shaky.
“That’s okay.” Jin kissed his cheek. “We’ve got time. You don’t have to figure it all out today.”
Yoongi nodded, slowly. His heart still felt like it was trying to crawl up his throat, but Jin’s calm was grounding him — like always.
“…Would it be terrible if I started taking the bus more often?” he asked, not quite meeting Jin’s eyes.
Jin smiled. “Only if you forget your sandwiches again. ”
The next morning, Yoongi stood at the bus stop ten minutes earlier than usual.
It was still dark out, the kind of grey-blue light that made the world feel hushed, like everything was holding its breath. He clutched his thermos and a paper bag Jin had stuffed into his hands — “You’re not skipping breakfast again, I swear to god, Yoongi”— and tried not to feel ridiculous.
He wasn’t even sure what he was hoping for.
Maybe it was closure. Maybe it was proof that it had all just been a fluke — a sleepy moment in a crowded space, nothing more. Maybe he just wanted to stop thinking about it.
The bus hissed to a stop. He stepped on, scanned the rows. His seat — their seat — was empty.
No familiar dark curls. No scent of the sea.
Yoongi sat down anyway.
The ride was uneventful.
So was the next one.
And the one after that.
He kept telling himself he was being stupid. That he had a perfectly good apartment, a loving omega waiting at home, a warm bed he could be using for extra sleep instead of dragging himself out at sunrise to chase after a stranger.
He didn’t even know the guy’s name.
But every morning, his feet moved on their own. Bus stop. Same seat. Thermos clutched in one hand, eyes flicking up every time someone new stepped on.
Just in case.
It became part of his routine — a quiet, self-inflicted kind of penance. He never mentioned it to Jin, though he suspected Jin knew. Jin always did. The sandwiches in the bag got a little fancier. There was a chocolate chip cookie one day. A note on another: Don’t frown so much. You’ll get wrinkles.
Yoongi kept riding the bus.
Until one Thursday.
He almost didn’t notice him, at first.
Yoongi had just settled into his seat, half-lulled by the rumble of the road, when something in the air shifted.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. But his nose twitched, and suddenly the scent was there — briny and warm and sun-drenched, like stepping out of the ocean and into a towel that had been sitting in the sun.
His heart stuttered. He turned his head slowly.
And there he was.
The alpha had taken a seat two rows back. A new jacket — brown this time, with a hoodie poking out from underneath. His hair was a little messier. There was a coffee cup balanced between his knees, and his fingers tapped lightly against it in time with some rhythm Yoongi couldn’t hear.
He wasn’t looking Yoongi’s way.
Yoongi turned back around, suddenly breathless.
He didn’t know what to do.
He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do.
But he felt it again — the calm, the warmth, the strange sense of being okay just because someone else was nearby.
He’d missed that. More than he thought.
The bus rolled on, slow and steady.
Yoongi gripped his thermos and waited.
Just a few more stops. Just a few more chances.
Maybe this time, he’d say something.
Maybe.
But he didn’t have the courage to do so, watching the alpha from the corner of his eye instead, until he eventually had to get off.
Next time, I will talk to him, Yoongi promised himself.
Yoongi stared at the curls.
They were messier today, a little damp from the drizzle outside. The alpha sat with a sketchpad balanced on his knees, thumb smudged with charcoal, and headphones dangling around his neck. He hadn’t noticed Yoongi yet—too busy shading something in deliberate strokes, head tilted, brow furrowed in concentration.
Yoongi told himself to look away.
But he didn’t.
He should’ve gotten off three stops ago. He’d missed his usual transfer, made up an excuse about traffic to his assistant, and now he was three rows away from the reason he couldn’t sleep for weeks.
This was ridiculous.
He was a grown man. A respected project manager. He had a mortgage. A fiancé.
A perfect omega at home who made him tea when he worked late and kissed his jaw before bed. Jin, who had listened to Yoongi stumble through a panicked confession and held his hand and told him it was okay to feel things. That he wasn’t doing anything wrong just by feeling them.
Yoongi hadn’t believed him. Not really.
Not until now, when his hands were clammy and his pulse unreasonably loud in his ears and everything in him screamed at once—run, and go talk to him.
He stood up before he could talk himself out of it.
He won’t be a coward.
The bus swayed slightly as he moved down the aisle. He hated how conscious he was of his every step, how stiff his arms felt at his sides. The alpha didn’t look up until Yoongi was right there, hovering like a fool.
He slowly blinked up at Yoongi. Those same warm eyes. A hint of surprise, then recognition, then something that made Yoongi’s stomach twist in quiet panic—delight.
“Hey,” he said, smiling. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”
Yoongi swallowed. “Neither did I.”
He waited, hoping that would be enough. That the alpha would sense what he was really saying. That this wasn’t just small talk.
But Jungkook only patted the empty seat next to him. “You want to sit?”
God help him, Yoongi did.
He sat, stiffly, like his body had forgotten how. He kept his hands in his lap, clenched too tightly, and stared ahead for a long beat before finally turning to look at the alpha beside him.
“Sorry for the other day,” Yoongi said. “I didn’t mean to… fall asleep on you.”
“And since I already made you my pillow I think it’s only fair I learn your name. I’m Yoongi,” he extended his hand.
The alpha gave a soft chuckle. “Jungkook and I wasn’t complaining. You seemed like you needed it.”
Yoongi blinked. “How could you tell?”
“You didn’t even flinch when the driver slammed the brakes. That’s usually a sign someone’s running on empty.”
That pulled a huff of air from Yoongi. Not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh.
“I guess I was,” he admitted. “It’s been a busy month.”
“Work?”
“Yeah.” He paused. “We’re in the middle of a few major contracts right now. Deadlines are…” He trailed off. “Stressful.”
Jungkook nodded, understanding without needing further explanation. “I study art,” he said, tapping the edge of his sketchpad. “Mostly illustration. My professors call me ‘romantic’ but I think they just mean dramatic.”
Yoongi glanced at the paper. A loose portrait stared back at him—half closed eyes, parted lips, soft shading around the face. Familiar.
“That’s…”
“You,” Jungkook said, and then immediately looked flustered. “I hope that’s not weird. You were just… peaceful. I didn’t want to forget how that looked.”
Yoongi stared at it for a moment, heart thudding.
It didn’t feel invasive. It felt intimate.
And terrifying.
There was a long pause before Jungkook closed the sketchpad and offered a tentative smile. “Can I ask you something?”
Yoongi nodded.
“Is this… okay? Me talking to you? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
The question hit him harder than it should have. Maybe because it wasn’t just about this moment. Maybe because Yoongi had been trying to figure that out for himself.
He looked down at his hands.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I think I want it to be.”
Jungkook’s expression didn’t change. He just nodded, slow and patient.
“You don’t have to explain anything,” he said gently. “I’m just glad you came over.”
Yoongi looked at him then, properly. The fulness of his cheeks, the soft curl of his lashes, the warmth in his gaze. He felt something loosen in his chest. Not completely. But enough.
When the bus neared Jungkook’s stop, neither of them said anything at first. But before he stood, Jungkook reached into his bag and fished out a pen.
“I don’t know if this is too much,” he said, voice careful, “but if you ever want to talk… or just, you know, hang out—you can text me.”
He wrote his number on the back of a flyer and handed it to Yoongi like it was something fragile.
Yoongi stared at it for a long second.
Then he tucked it into his pocket and nodded.
“Thank you.”
The doors opened. Jungkook stepped off.
The rain had stopped.
But something new had started.
By the time Yoongi got home, the flyer in his pocket felt like it weighed a hundred kilos.
He kicked off his shoes at the door, muttered something about the rain, and dragged himself into the apartment like he’d been through a war. Technically, he had.
Jin was curled up on the couch with a blanket around his shoulders, two mugs of tea already waiting on the table. He looked up when Yoongi walked in, eyes narrowing like a cat sensing something out of place.
“You’re late,” Jin said, voice light. “I assumed you got hit by the garbage truck again.”
Yoongi didn’t answer. Just slumped down next to him and let out a very slow, very heavy sigh.
Jin’s expression shifted. Softer now.
“What happened?”
Yoongi stared at the ceiling. “I saw him again.”
Jin blinked. “Him?”
“The alpha. On the bus.”
A pause. Then Jin sat up straighter, adjusting the blanket like he was preparing for battle. “Did you talk to him?”
Yoongi gave a strangled little noise. “Yeah.”
“And?”
“He was… nice.”
Jin waited, and when Yoongi didn’t continue, he gently nudged him in the side. “You’re going to have to give me more than that, babe. Did he laugh in your face? Did he propose? Did he ask you to run away to the mountains?”
Yoongi groaned and buried his face in his hands. “He drew me.”
That made Jin go still. “Wait—what?”
“He was sketching on the bus. And I looked at the paper and it was me. Sleeping. Just like that day.”
Jin made a high-pitched noise of delighted scandal and clutched the blanket tighter. “You’re kidding. That’s so hot.”
“No, it’s weird,” Yoongi muttered. “And intimate. And—God, Jin, he looked so happy to see me.”
Jin tilted his head. “So what did you do? Panic? Hide? Spontaneously combust?”
“I sat with him. Talked. And then he gave me his number.”
Jin gasps.
“You have it? You physically have the number? In your pocket right now?”
Yoongi winced and pulled the flyer out, holding it like it might explode. “I didn’t know what to do with it.”
“Yoongi,” Jin looked at him as if he was a total moron and said seriously. “What you’re going to do is text him.”
“I can’t.”
“You will.”
Yoongi looked helpless. “I have you. I chose you. This—this shouldn’t be happening. It feels like cheating, even though I haven’t done anything.”
“But you want to,” Jin said softly.
That shut him up.
Yoongi stared at his hands. “It’s not that simple.”
“I know,” Jin said. “But it also doesn’t have to be that dramatic.”
Yoongi shot him a look. “Says the man with two mugs of tea and a blanket throne.”
“Sue me for being prepared,” Jin said with a shrug. “Look. You love me, right?”
“Obviously.”
“And I love you,” Jin said, eyes gentle now. “Which means I want you to be happy. Even if that happiness includes some overly attractive alpha who draws you like a sleeping prince.”
Yoongi winced. “Please don’t phrase it like that.”
“But it’s true,” Jin said with a grin. “You’re allowed to feel things. And if he makes you feel something warm and good and a little scary, then maybe that’s worth exploring.”
Yoongi was quiet for a long time. The kind of quiet that cracked slightly at the edges.
“What if I lose you?”
“You won’t.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I can,” Jin said, and took his hand. “Because I’m not going anywhere. And you’re not leaving me. We’re just maybe… making space for someone else. If it turns out he fits.”
Yoongi looked at him like he didn’t deserve him. Because he probably didn’t.
“I don’t know how to start,” he whispered.
“You already did,” Jin said, reaching for Yoongi’s phone. “Now come on. I want to supervise.”
“What?”
“You’re going to text him right now. And I want to see.”
Yoongi grumbled but didn’t stop him. He unlocked the phone with a resigned sigh, and together they stared at the blank message screen.
“What do I say?”
“Something cool. Something mysterious. Something devastatingly sexy—”
“Jin.”
“Fine.” Jin cleared his throat and adopted a serious expression. “How about… Hi. This is Yoongi. Thanks for today. I enjoyed talking to you. Simple, polite, charmingly understated. Like your whole brand.”
Yoongi rolled his eyes but typed it out.
He hovered for a second.
Then hit send.
And immediately panicked. “Oh God.”
Jin was already giggling. “Too late. You’re in it now.”
Yoongi fell face-first into the couch. “I hate everything.”
“No you don’t,” Jin said, beaming. “You’re just scared. But also maybe a little excited.”
“…Shut up.”
Jin didn’t. He never did. But he squeezed Yoongi’s hand, and that was enough.
The reply came seven minutes later—not that Yoongi was counting.
Jungkook:
Hey! I’m really glad you texted. You kind of made my whole week.
Yoongi stared at the screen like it had teeth.
“Why is he like this,” he muttered.
Jin peered over his shoulder. “Like what? OMG, that’s so cute.”
“Nice.”
Jin grinned. “You mean devastatingly earnest? That’s because he likes you. Now stop stalling and text him back.”
Yoongi did, clumsily, fingers shaking just a little.
Yoongi:
You made my ride better too.
Are you always sketching strangers on public transportation?
The reply came quickly this time.
Jungkook:
Only the really interesting ones.
You’re the first I’ve actually showed it to, though.
Jin practically squealed.
Yoongi felt his stomach fold in on itself.
He didn’t answer for five minutes. Jin patted his knee once, then disappeared into the kitchen with a murmured, “If you are up for it, invite him somewhere. Trust me.”
Eventually:
Yoongi:
Would you want to get coffee sometime?
Jungkook:
Yes. Absolutely.
They met at a quiet coffee shop tucked between a bookstore and a flower shop—one of those places with soft jazz playing and mugs that were too big for human hands. Jungkook was already there when Yoongi arrived, sketchbook open, hair falling over his eyes.
He looked up when Yoongi walked in and smiled, and it was unfair.
Too bright. Too easy. Too much.
“Hey,” Jungkook said, standing just enough to make Yoongi feel both seen and shy. “You made it.”
Yoongi nodded and slid into the seat across from him. “Wasn’t sure I would.”
“I’m glad you did,” Jungkook said, then immediately looked down, embarrassed by his own sincerity.
They ordered drinks—black coffee for Yoongi, something absurdly sugary for Jungkook—and the silence that settled wasn’t uncomfortable, just heavy. Like a moment holding its breath.
“So…” Jungkook glanced at him. “Do you work nearby?”
“Yeah. Architecture, I’m actually a project manager. Basically I’m in charge and supervising everything and everyone all the time.”
“Sounds… stressful.”
“It is but I love it.”
Jungkook laughed, soft and genuine. “You look like someone who’s always thinking three steps ahead.”
Yoongi tilted his head. “Kind of have to, to be honest. And you look like someone who doesn’t plan a single thing.”
Jungkook grinned. “That’s accurate, have to enjoy the freedom while I still can.”
They talked. Nothing important. Little things. Favourite artists. Least favourite weather. The weirdest thing Jungkook had ever drawn (his neighbour’s dog, a creature so ugly he didn’t even sign the portrait in the end, so it couldn’t be traced back to him ). The conversation stumbled once or twice, but it never fell flat. And somewhere between coffee refills and stolen glances, the atmosphere shifted.
There was… a charge to it.
The way Jungkook leaned forward just a little too close. The way Yoongi’s gaze lingered on the curve of his mouth. The sudden awareness of knees almost touching under the table.
Yoongi’s heart was thudding.
He liked the way Jungkook’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. He liked his nervous laugh and the way he talked with his hands. He liked him.
Which was a problem.
“I—” Yoongi blurted, cutting off whatever Jungkook had just said. “I need to tell you something.”
Jungkook blinked, surprised. “Okay.”
“I have a mate,” he blurted.
The moment stilled.
Jungkook’s gaze didn’t drop, but the spark behind it dimmed, just a little. He leaned back, slowly, giving Yoongi space.
“Oh,” he said softly. “I didn’t know.”
Yoongi hated the hurt tucked between those words.
“I should’ve said something earlier,” he added quickly, voice low. “I wasn’t trying to hide it. I just didn’t know how to explain.”
“You don’t have to,” Jungkook said. “Really. If this was just—if you were curious, or figuring things out, I—”
“No,” Yoongi interrupted, desperate. “It’s not like that. It’s not you I’m unsure about.”
Jungkook blinked, confused. “Then…?”
Yoongi let out a breath, hands tight around his mug. “It’s him. My mate. Jin. He’s the one who told me to text you.”
The silence that followed wasn’t cold—just stunned. Yoongi dared to glance up and saw Jungkook staring at him, eyes wide.
“He what?”
“He saw how I was after I met you,” Yoongi said quietly. “He saw that I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and he… he told me to find you. To talk to you. To see what this was. He said it might be something important.”
Jungkook looked like he was trying to catch up. “Your mate told you to text me?”
Yoongi nodded.
“And you listened.”
“I didn’t want to,” Yoongi admitted. “I was scared. Still am. I didn’t think this could make sense, or be fair, or even allowed. But he… Jin’s always known me better than I know myself. And he was right. I felt something that day. And it hasn’t gone away.”
Jungkook’s hands were folded in his lap now, eyes on the table, lashes low.
“I thought I was imagining it,” he said finally. “How easy it felt. How drawn I was to you. I thought maybe I’d made it up in my head.”
Yoongi swallowed. “You didn’t.”
When Jungkook looked at him again, there was something raw in his expression. Hope, maybe. Fear. Something like wonder.
“Is this… allowed?” he asked, voice almost a whisper.
“I don’t know,” Yoongi said honestly. “But I want to find out. If you do.”
The air between them changed again—no less tense, but softer now. Like the charge was still there, but not sparking wild. Just warm.
Jungkook smiled slowly, unsure but real. “Okay,” he said. “Then let’s find out.”
Their second date was an impromptu trip to a bookstore after dinner. Jungkook lit up when he found an art book he loved, his fingers reverent on the pages. Yoongi offered to buy it without thinking, only to blush when Jungkook gave him a surprised look and then shyly accepted. They ended the night on a park bench, curled under their coats in the autumn chill, shoulders touching, warmth passing between them like a secret.
By the third date—Yoongi’s idea, a quiet gallery showing local artists—something had shifted. Jungkook seemed more reserved, his laughter still bright but less frequent, his gaze drifting more often. When they sat together on a bench in the far corner of the gallery, away from the crowd, Yoongi leaned in slightly and murmured something stupid about a painting reminding him of Jungkook. It earned a soft, disbelieving chuckle, and then, suddenly, Jungkook kissed him. Their first kiss. It was soft and lingering and hesitant, like a question neither of them was sure they should ask. Yoongi kissed back instinctively, something in his chest unwinding with the way Jungkook’s hand found his. They stayed like that a while—fingers threaded, silence between them, hearts beating too loud in their own ears.
Afterward, Yoongi couldn’t stop thinking about it. He told Jin everything when he got home—how Jungkook’s hand had felt in his, how warm his lips were, how soft he sounded when he laughed. Jin just smiled and listened, brushing Yoongi’s hair back fondly, even if his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes every time.
The fourth date was a quiet movie night at Jungkook’s place. They curled up on the couch under a shared blanket, a movie playing quietly in the background, both far more focused on each other than the screen. Jungkook let his head rest against Yoongi’s chest, and Yoongi wrapped an arm around him, holding him close.
But there was a tension in the way Jungkook melted against him, like he was trying too hard to relax. His fingers kept fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, and when Yoongi pressed a kiss to the top of his head, he smiled—but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Later, when the movie ended and the room was quiet, Yoongi gently reached for his hand. “Kook,” he said softly, “Is everything okay?”
Jungkook hesitated. “Yeah, I just…” He looked down, then up again, searching Yoongi’s face. “I really like you. I do. But I don’t know where I fit in your life.”
Yoongi blinked. “What do you mean?”
“You talk about Jin sometimes. And I don’t know—sometimes it feels like I’m just… something extra. Like a fun new chapter in your book, but not really a part of the story.” His voice was quiet, almost ashamed. “I know you love him. And I think it’s amazing that he’s okay with this. But I don’t know what that makes me. I don’t want to feel like I’m on the outside looking in.”
Yoongi felt his heart twist. “You’re not,” he said immediately, but Jungkook shook his head gently.
“I want to believe that. But you go home to someone else every night. And I go to bed wondering what I even am to you.”
Yoongi didn’t know what to say at first. He pulled Jungkook into a slow, firm hug, one hand cradling the back of his head.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I think we need to talk. All three of us.”
Jungkook’s eyes flicked up. “All three?”
“I think it’s time you meet Jin,” Yoongi said, heart pounding. “Because if we’re going to do this, really do this… you shouldn’t feel like you’re an outsider. You should feel like you’re wanted.”
Jungkook nodded slowly, leaning into Yoongi’s embrace.
“I want to,” he said quietly. “I just don’t want to get hurt.”
Yoongi held him closer. “Neither do I.”
Jungkook was nervous.
He’d been nervous before—first dates, auditions, singing for strangers—but nothing compared to the tight, anxious knot twisting in his stomach as he stood outside Yoongi and Jin’s apartment. He held a bottle of wine (a gift from a client, probably too expensive for his budget), and he was contemplating turning around and running when the door opened.
“Hi!” Jin’s voice rang out brightly, cutting through Jungkook’s thoughts like a knife through chiffon cake. “You must be Jungkook! Come in before you start growing roots!”
Yoongi appeared behind Jin with a small, reassuring smile and tugged gently at Jungkook’s sleeve. “Don’t let him scare you.”
“I heard that,” Jin chirped, spinning on his heel. “But I am terrifyingly talented. Now get in here. Dinner waits for no man—or alpha.”
Jungkook stepped inside, ducking slightly as if to not knock over anything with his nervous energy. The apartment smelled incredible—warm, spiced, and comforting. He could tell exactly which scent belonged to Yoongi. The other one—soft, floral, just slightly sweet—was unmistakably Jin’s.
“I brought wine,” he offered a little stiffly, holding the bottle out.
Jin took it with a gracious smile. “You shouldn’t have. Truly. Who am I kidding, I need a glass…probably about two hours ago. Yoongi! Come open the bottle for me.”
Jungkook blinked. “That’s… fair.”
Yoongi chuckled from behind him and gently nudged him toward the table.
Dinner was set beautifully—nothing too elaborate, but clearly thoughtful. A steaming pot of stew in the center, bowls of sticky rice, and various side dishes that looked both homemade and professional. Jin’s work, Jungkook guessed.
As they sat down, Jungkook noticed something—Jin kept looking at him. Not in a judgmental or suspicious way, but with curiosity. Like he was trying to figure him out. Or maybe—no, definitely—like he already knew.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Jin said, placing a generous portion of stew into Jungkook’s bowl. “Yoongi usually doesn’t gush about anyone.”
“I don’t gush,” Yoongi muttered, taking his seat.
“You giggled last week, my love. I thought you were possessed.” Jin looked back at Jungkook. “It was about your shoulders, by the way.”
Jungkook choked on a laugh, face blooming red. “Oh.”
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Jin said warmly, his tone unexpectedly gentle. “They’re very nice shoulders.”
There was a moment of silence, and then something strange settled in the air. Warm. Buzzing. A soft awareness that passed between the three of them like an invisible thread being pulled taut.
Jungkook’s skin prickled. Jin’s scent, delicate and floral, hit him stronger now, like a wave. His heart beat faster, and the omega across from him was staring—not just curiously, but like he was drawn to him.
Jin blinked and looked away quickly, fiddling with his chopsticks. “Sorry. It’s the wine.”
“You haven’t drank any wine yet,” Yoongi pointed out.
“Shut up.”
Dinner continued, lighter now with laughter and teasing. Jungkook relaxed bit by bit, pulled in by Jin’s natural charisma and Yoongi’s dry humour. They worked well together—too well, maybe. And oddly enough, Jungkook didn’t feel like a third wheel.
After the table was cleared, Jin excused himself to grab dessert. When he returned, he hesitated in the kitchen doorway for a moment before walking straight over to Jungkook with a folded blanket.
“You look cold,” he said quietly. “It’s probably nerves. Or you just have terrible blood circulation. Here.”
He draped the blanket over Jungkook’s shoulders, and for a second, his hand lingered there. His fingers grazed the nape of Jungkook’s neck—too long to be casual. Jin froze, pupils dilating the tiniest bit.
Jungkook inhaled sharply. The scent between them snapped.
“I’m—” Jin started, pulling back, face flushed.
Yoongi stood up from the couch slowly and walked over, placing a hand on Jin’s back.
“I think this was bound to happen,” he murmured. “I felt it too, remember?”
Jin looked at him, eyes wide.
Jungkook’s voice was barely above a whisper. “What’s happening?”
Yoongi looked between them. “You smell like ours,” he said honestly.
“And you feel like home,” Jin added, still flushed but no longer looking away.
They didn’t kiss that night. No one rushed anything. But when the three of them curled up on the couch afterward—Jin’s head on Yoongi’s lap, Jungkook’s hand brushing against Jin’s—they felt, for the first time, like something whole.
And when Jungkook went home that night, his phone vibrated with two messages.
From Yoongi: Dinner again soon?
From Jin: Bring those shoulders.
Jungkook stared at his screen for a long moment, smiled to himself, and replied, Yes. All of me, if you’ll have it.
They settled into it slowly.
There was no grand declaration, no fireworks or proclamations. But within a few weeks, Jungkook’s toothbrush had quietly appeared in Yoongi and Jin’s bathroom. Jin started labelling leftovers in the fridge with “JK’s portion—touch and suffer.” Yoongi grumbled a little less than usual and his kisses grew softer, more lingering.
There were nights when Jungkook curled into Jin’s lap after a long day at school, letting the older omega card gentle fingers through his hair. There were mornings when Yoongi would wake up squashed between two clingy partners, one snoring into his chest, the other drooling faintly on his arm. And there were weekends—sweet, sleepy weekends—spent tangled on the couch with Jin reading scripts, Yoongi reading emails, and Jungkook sketching them both with messy charcoal fingers.
It felt right. Natural.
And terrifying.
Especially when they left the safety of their home.
The first time it happened, they were at a small art exhibit Jungkook had begged them to attend. He was jittery with excitement—his professor had finally agreed to showcase a few of his pieces. Jin insisted on dressing to impress (“We must outshine everyone else’s dates!”), and Yoongi just looked like sin in a blazer and black turtleneck.
They held hands, walked in together. A few curious glances here and there, but nothing too bad.
Until they stood beside one of Jungkook’s paintings—Yoongi caught in profile, soft and serious in charcoal—and a group of young omegas wandered past.
“Two alphas and an omega?” one muttered under his breath. “Messy.”
“Selfish, could leave some for us,” another added.
“See how old he is? Bet it won’t last,” the last one made sure to speak loud enough for others to hear.
Jungkook heard it all. He froze.
So did Yoongi.
Jin didn’t.
He turned, lifted his chin, and smiled sweetly.
“Hi,” he said. “You dropped this.” He bent and pretended like he is handing the nearest man an imaginary object. “Your outdated opinion.”
And then he turned back to Jungkook and Yoongi like nothing happened.
“Let’s find your professor, baby. He needs to show us that absolute masterpiece of yours.”
Yoongi took his hand silently, pride glowing in his chest.
Jungkook squeezed Jin’s fingers a little too tightly, but Jin only smiled, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Another time, it happened at a dinner.
A friend of Yoongi’s—a colleague from his firm—invited the three of them over. He was polite, enthusiastic even, and introduced them as “Yoongi and his... um, partners.” They tried to play it cool, nodding and smiling. Everything was fine—until the man's wife cornered Jin in the kitchen.
“You don’t feel like you’re... I don’t know. Settling?” she said quietly, fake concern stretched across her face. “Having to share Yoongi?”
Jin blinked. “You mean, like how you had to settle for Greg’s receding hairline and gambling addiction?”
The woman’s eyes widened.
Jin smiled wider. “Didn’t think so. Now, could you take the salad tongs before I use them to commit violence?”
They left early. None of them were upset.
Not really.
Just tired.
That night, when they all got home, Jungkook pulled Jin into his arms and whispered, “You’re not second to anyone. You know that, right?”
Jin looked at him, unusually quiet. “I know. But sometimes people just get to me, you know?.”
Yoongi pressed a kiss to his temple. “Then they’re not worth listening to.”
And later, when they all curled into bed—Yoongi’s hand tucked against Jungkook’s waist, Jin’s head on Jungkook’s chest, their limbs a warm mess of comfort—they slept better than they had in weeks.
But there were also moments that left them filled with happiness and hope.
The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting golden patches of light over the park. Jin lounged on the picnic blanket with a pastry in one hand and a smug smile on his lips. Yoongi sat beside him, knees bent, head tipped lazily against Jin’s shoulder, while Jungkook crouched nearby, sketchbook balanced on one knee as he tried to capture the exact curve of Jin’s neck.
They weren’t doing anything remarkable—just existing. Loving. Being.
A squeal broke the peace.
“Are you three all married?” A little girl in a bright yellow dress had stopped in front of them, her pigtails bouncing as she pointed an accusatory (and adorable) finger.
The adults froze. Yoongi blinked. Jungkook dropped his pencil. Jin took a dramatic bite of his pastry.
“Why?” Jin asked through crumbs. “Are you proposing?”
The girl giggled. “Nooo! But you look happy. My uncle said love is only for two people but I think that’s boring.”
Jungkook beamed. “You’re very wise.”
She nodded sagely. “My best friend has two dads. And one mom. So maybe you have two... um, boyfriends?”
Jin preened. “Close enough.”
She shrugged and grinned. “Cool.” Then she skipped away, singing to herself, leaving the three of them stunned in the best way possible.
Yoongi was the first to recover. “Well... that was unexpectedly healing and endearing.”
“She gets it,” Jin said softly.
Yoongi nodded, brushing his fingers over the back of Jin’s hand. Jungkook, still smiling, reached for his sketchbook again. Not to draw the view or even them, but a little girl in yellow dress, with a wide smile and a big heart.