Chapter Text
Namjoon woke slowly, the way he always did when he slept beside Jin. Not startled or pulled sharp into consciousness, just easing back into himself piece by piece. First warmth. Then weight. Then the steady rise and fall of another chest pressed close to his back.
Jin’s arm was around his waist, loose but certain, his hand resting just below Namjoon’s ribs like it had always belonged there. Namjoon stayed still for a moment longer than necessary, letting his breathing fall into rhythm with Jin’s without thinking about it. Letting the quiet settle into his bones.
This wasn’t new. It wasn’t fragile.
They had learned each other’s rhythms over time. Learned how to share space without speaking, how to touch without needing to name it. Tonight had been soft and unhurried. Laughter that faded into murmurs. Hands that lingered. Comfort that turned into closeness without either of them stopping to question it.
Namjoon shifted slightly, turning his face toward Jin, careful not to wake him. Jin was still asleep, mouth parted, hair a mess against the pillow. He looked younger like this. Less guarded. Less like someone who had spent years learning how to be careful with himself.
Namjoon smiled and closed his eyes again.
He didn’t realize his scent had changed until Jin stirred.
It was subtle at first, just a warmth spreading through his chest, a pleasant hum under his skin. Satisfaction. Contentment. The kind that made his body relax completely into the mattress. He breathed out slowly, unaware that the shift carried with it something sharper, something richer, something that curled instinct deep in the chest of the alpha holding him.
Jin made a quiet sound behind him, low and unconscious, and pulled Namjoon closer in his sleep.
The pressure at Namjoon’s neck came without warning.
It wasn’t pain, not at first. It was sensation, sudden and overwhelming, a sharp pull that stole the breath from his lungs. His body reacted instantly. Heat flared beneath his skin, bright and electric, rolling through him in a wave that made his toes curl.
Jin froze.
The world tilted.
Namjoon gasped, heart hammering, and then the sensation deepened. Something settled. Clicked. Locked into place with terrifying certainty.
Jin pulled back immediately.
“Joon.”
His voice was tight, panicked, fully awake now.
Namjoon turned onto his back, fingers already lifting to his neck. He barely brushed the skin before his hand stilled. He didn’t need confirmation. He could feel it everywhere. A steady pull low in his chest, warm and grounding, like gravity had finally decided where it wanted him to stand.
Mated.
The realization should have terrified him.
Instead, for one suspended, breathless moment, all Namjoon felt was happiness.
It was quiet and immediate and complete. The world narrowed to Jin’s presence, to the bond humming between them, to the deep sense of rightness settling into his bones. His breathing evened out on its own. The static that lived constantly at the edge of his thoughts went silent.
Jin was staring at him like the ground had dropped out from under his feet.
“I’m sorry,” Jin said immediately, words tumbling over each other. “I didn’t mean to. Your scent, it spiked, and I was asleep, I wasn’t thinking, I would never do this to you on purpose, I swear.”
Namjoon swallowed. His pulse was loud, but his body felt strangely calm. Anchored.
“I know,” he said softly. “I know you didn’t.”
Jin’s hands hovered uselessly between them, every instinct urging him to pull Namjoon close and every ounce of restraint keeping him still. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Does it hurt?”
Namjoon checked himself, the way he always did. Heat. Pulse. The pull. Strong, but not painful. Steady. Comforting.
“No,” he said. “It doesn’t hurt.”
The happiness didn’t vanish all at once.
It thinned first, like mist burned off by sunlight, leaving behind the sharper outlines of the room. The ceiling. The pale light at the edge of the curtains. The weight of everything that existed outside this moment pressing back in.
Jin noticed it the second Namjoon’s expression changed.
“If people find out,” Jin said quietly, voice steady but careful, “they won’t see this the way we do.”
Namjoon didn’t answer right away. He pressed his fingers more firmly to the skin at his neck, grounding himself in the sensation. Proof. Not regret.
“They already don’t,” he said finally.
Jin’s jaw tightened. “They’ve been wary since you took the role.”
Namjoon nodded. “Since before that.” His mouth curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Being an omega in charge makes people nervous. They don’t say it out loud, but they watch for cracks.”
Jin swallowed. His gaze dropped to the bed, then lifted again, resolve settling into place. “They’ll assume I’m the one keeping you steady now.”
The words landed solidly between them.
“That I’m managing you,” Jin continued, not angry, just painfully clear. “That it’s natural for an alpha to take the lead. That anything you do well is because I’m there. And anything you struggle with…” He shook his head. “They’ll blame the bond.”
Namjoon exhaled slowly. “They’ll call it balance,” he said. “They’ll say it makes sense.”
Jin looked at him sharply. “It doesn’t.”
“I know,” Namjoon said, just as quickly. There was no hesitation in it. No doubt. “But it won’t matter.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy but honest.
Jin’s hands curled into the sheets. “I never wanted to put you in that position,” he said quietly. “I should’ve been more careful.”
Namjoon reached for him then, stopping Jin’s spiral before it could deepen. His fingers wrapped around Jin’s wrist, warm and steady. “This isn’t something you did to me.”
Jin met his eyes, guilt still there but softened now by trust.
“I wanted this,” Namjoon continued. “I still do. I just have to be smart about how I live with it.”
That truth settled slowly, like something both of them needed to hear.
Jin nodded once. “Okay,” he said. “Then tell me what you need.”
Namjoon didn’t answer immediately. He looked past Jin for a moment, already mapping the shape of what came next. What would have to change. What couldn’t.
“We can’t tell anyone,” he said at last.
Jin’s head snapped up. “Joon.”
“Right now,” Namjoon said quickly. “Not forever. But right now, we can’t. Not the company. Not the staff. Not the group.”
Jin looked torn, hands curling into the sheets at his sides. “You need support. You need time. You need me.”
“I have you,” Namjoon said, and reached for him before he could stop himself. His fingers wrapped around Jin’s wrist, and the relief was immediate and intense enough that his breath hitched. He held on tighter, grounding himself. “Just not where anyone can see.”
Jin covered Namjoon’s hand with his own, thumb brushing over his knuckles. The bond responded instantly, a low, steady warmth that made Namjoon’s chest ache.
“If this is what you want,” Jin said carefully.
“It’s what I need,” Namjoon replied, even as something inside him flinched at the words.
Jin nodded once. “Then I’ll follow your lead.”
The bond pulsed between them, alert and restless, like it was listening.
Namjoon leaned forward and rested his forehead briefly against Jin’s shoulder, breathing him in. He let himself have that much. Just that.
“We’ll be careful,” he said. “We can manage this.”
Jin’s arms came around him slowly, deliberately, holding him like something precious and breakable. “We’ll manage it together,” he said.
Namjoon closed his eyes.
For just a moment longer, before the weight of it all fully settled, he let himself feel happy.
Namjoon became aware of the bite mark the moment he stood in front of the mirror.
It wasn’t dramatic. No bright bruise or obvious shape, not yet. Just a faint shadow beneath the skin, darker than the rest, sitting at the junction of his neck and shoulder where collars didn’t always behave. His fingers hovered there, hesitant. When he finally touched it, the sensation shot straight through him, warm and grounding and deeply distracting.
He dropped his hand immediately.
Evidence, his mind supplied, crisp and automatic.
He adjusted his shirt collar higher, tilting his head this way and that until the mirror reflected something acceptable. Not gone. Just hidden. Manageable.
That became the pattern.
He learned which shirts sat high enough, which jackets didn’t shift when he moved. He watched stylists’ hands more closely than usual, intercepting them with practiced ease, redirecting attention with a smile and a joke. Makeup helped. Scarves helped more. He kept his hair just a little longer around his neck.
No one said anything.
Every small success fed the illusion that this was working.
The distance came next.
Namjoon didn’t announce it. Didn’t discuss it. He simply… stopped. No leaning into Jin during quiet moments. No brushing shoulders when they passed in the hallway. No instinctive reach for Jin’s hand when schedules ran long and the rooms grew too crowded.
The absence was immediate.
He felt it like a missing limb. Like walking with a subtle limp no one else could see.
The others noticed.
Hoseok’s eyes followed him more often, brows knitting together in concern he didn’t voice. Jimin lingered closer than usual, searching Namjoon’s face like he was looking for something he couldn’t quite name. Taehyung asked once, blunt and careless, if they’d had a fight.
Namjoon laughed it off easily. Too easily.
Jin was careful. So careful it hurt.
He followed Namjoon’s lead without question, without protest. He didn’t reach. Didn’t linger. Didn’t look at Namjoon any longer than necessary. If Namjoon hadn’t known better, he might have thought Jin was the one pulling away.
That knowledge sat heavy in his chest.
The nights were harder.
The bond didn’t quiet just because Namjoon told it to. If anything, it grew louder in the dark, when exhaustion stripped away his defenses and his body remembered what it was missing. The pull was strongest then, insistent and warm, curling low in his stomach and up behind his ribs.
Some nights, Namjoon resisted.
Other nights, he didn’t.
He waited until the dorm was quiet, until the familiar sounds of breathing and movement settled into sleep. Then he slipped down the hall, bare feet silent against the floor, and eased into Jin’s room like he belonged there.
Because he did.
Jin always woke.
Not startled. Not alarmed. Just aware in that deep, instinctive way that made Namjoon’s chest ache. Jin would lift the covers without a word, making space, letting Namjoon settle against him like this was the most natural thing in the world.
They didn’t talk much on those nights.
Jin’s hand would find Namjoon’s back, firm and warm, anchoring him. Namjoon would tuck himself closer, pressing his forehead to Jin’s collarbone, breathing him in until the hum under his skin softened into something manageable.
The kisses came quietly.
A press of lips to his temple. To his hairline. Once, a soft, lingering kiss to his mouth that didn’t deepen, didn’t ask for more. Just reassurance. Just enough to remind Namjoon that this was real, that he was seen, that he was safe here.
Each kiss felt like his body exhaling.
By morning, Namjoon always left first.
He never stayed long enough for routines to begin, never let the night bleed into daylight. He slipped back into his own room before anyone could notice, before the world could intrude.
Maintenance, he told himself.
Necessary. Controlled.
The strain crept in anyway.
The company didn’t say anything outright. They didn’t have to. Schedules tightened. Meetings stretched longer. Words like consistency and stability floated through conversations that weren’t technically about him but somehow always felt like they were.
Namjoon nodded. Agreed. Took on more.
He doubled down on control. Suppressed his scent aggressively, even when it made his head ache. Filled every spare moment with work. If he stayed busy enough, focused enough, he could ignore the pull. Ignore the quiet need threading through him.
He still went to Jin’s bed on the worst nights.
Still let himself be kissed.
Still believed, stubbornly, that he could manage this.
That he could carry it quietly.
Yoongi noticed before Namjoon was ready to be noticed.
It wasn’t dramatic. It never was with Yoongi. It was the way his eyes lingered, the way his questions came sideways instead of head-on. The way he watched Namjoon’s hands hover over keys without committing, like his thoughts were slipping out of sync with his body.
They were alone in the studio when Yoongi finally spoke.
“You’re suppressing too hard,” he said, tone casual enough to pass as an observation instead of concern.
Namjoon startled, then forced himself to relax. “I’m fine.”
Yoongi hummed quietly. “You’ve been saying that a lot.”
Namjoon didn’t look up. He focused on the screen in front of him, on the familiar comfort of work. On structure. Control.
“You’ve also been avoiding Jin,” Yoongi added.
That landed sharper than Namjoon expected. His fingers curled against the desk.
Yoongi didn’t press. He waited. That somehow made it worse.
“Did Jin bite you?” Yoongi asked.
The question was calm. Measured. Not accusatory.
Namjoon’s first instinct was denial. Immediate and fierce. If Yoongi had noticed, then it meant the distance wasn’t enough. The suppression wasn’t enough. It meant someone else could notice too.
His pulse kicked up as that thought took hold.
Slowly, reluctantly, he reached for his collar. His fingers hesitated, then slipped beneath the fabric and tugged it aside just enough to expose the truth he had been carrying alone.
Cool air brushed the mark.
Yoongi looked once.
Then he looked away.
“Okay,” Yoongi said quietly. “That makes sense.”
No shock. No commentary. Just understanding.
Namjoon let his collar fall back into place, heart racing now for an entirely different reason. “We’re not telling anyone,” he said quickly. “The company. The staff. The others. No one.”
Yoongi nodded. “I figured that was your plan.”
“You won’t say anything,” Namjoon pressed.
“I won’t,” Yoongi said. “As long as you don’t pretend this isn’t affecting you.”
Namjoon nodded automatically, even as a cold realization settled in his chest.
If Yoongi could see it, then the margins were thinner than he’d thought.
Yoongi stepped closer and opened his arms in a silent question.
Namjoon hesitated, then stepped into the hug. Yoongi’s hold was solid and grounding, familiar in a way that reminded Namjoon of long nights and shared work and quiet understanding. It helped. His breathing evened out. The sharpest edge of the noise in his head dulled.
But it wasn’t enough.
And now Namjoon was acutely aware that Yoongi knew that too.
“This helps,” Yoongi said softly when they pulled apart. “But it’s not what you need.”
Namjoon didn’t respond. He couldn’t. All he could think about was how carefully he would have to hold himself together from now on.
That night, he still went to Jin.
But the awareness followed him down the hall, heavy and insistent. If Yoongi had noticed, then these moments were a risk too. Necessary, but dangerous. Something that could be taken away if he wasn’t careful.
Jin woke the moment Namjoon slipped into bed, arms coming around him without hesitation. The bond surged bright and warm, relief flooding Namjoon’s chest so fast it almost made him dizzy.
He pressed his face into Jin’s shoulder and breathed.
The kisses came softly. Jin’s lips brushed his temple, his hairline. Once, gently, his mouth lingered against Namjoon’s, a quiet reassurance that didn’t deepen.
Namjoon closed his eyes and let himself have it.
Jin’s mouth drifted lower, hovering near the bite mark without touching. The awareness made Namjoon shiver, pleasure and panic tangling together.
Jin sensed it instantly and stilled. “Too much?” he asked.
Namjoon shook his head. “No. Just… a lot.”
Jin tightened his hold, grounding him, careful and steady. “I’ve got you,” he murmured.
Namjoon let himself sink into that warmth, knowing even as he did that this was becoming something he couldn’t afford to rely on.
As sleep finally pulled him under, one thought echoed clearly in his mind.
If one person could see the truth beneath his control, then the safest thing he could do was hide it better.