Chapter Text
The dorm was quiet in that rare, exhausted way it got after midnight practices. September 1, 2017. Jungkook had just turned twenty—international age—and the fact felt heavier than it should have. They’d wrapped up another brutal rehearsal for “DNA” earlier, bodies sore, voices hoarse, but the energy in the practice room had been electric. The Love Yourself: Her album was still riding high, the music video for DNA exploding everywhere, and the upcoming American Music Awards performance loomed like this massive, glittering mountain they were all climbing together.
Jungkook wiped sweat from his neck as he stepped into the dorm, the cool air hitting his overheated skin. The others were already scattered around the living room—Jin pulling containers of leftover takeout from the fridge, Hoseok sprawled on the couch scrolling through his phone with a tired but satisfied grin, Namjoon flipping through a notebook even though his eyes looked ready to close. Yoongi had claimed the big armchair, legs tucked under him, while Jimin and Taehyung argued playfully over who got the last bottle of banana milk in the fridge.
“Jungkookie! Birthday boy!” Jimin spotted him first, breaking into that bright, eye-crinkling smile that always made the room feel warmer. “Come here, we saved you the good ramyeon.”
Jungkook forced a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hyungs, you didn’t have to wait up. It’s late.”
Taehyung snorted, tossing an arm around his shoulders the second he got close enough. “As if we’d let the maknae’s birthday pass without at least something. Even if it’s just cold takeout and sore legs.”
The celebration was small and familiar—exactly what Jungkook usually loved. They sang a messy, off-key version of “Happy Birthday” while Jin dramatically presented a tiny chocolate cake he’d ordered in secret. Jungkook blew out the single candle, wishing for strength more than anything else. The kind of strength that didn’t crack under pressure.
But the envelope had arrived that morning. Private. Sealed. The secondary gender confirmation every idol had to go through eventually, especially once they hit twenty. He’d waited until he was alone in the bathroom, heart hammering against his ribs, before opening it.
Secondary Gender Designation: Submissive.
The words stared back at him even now, hours later, burned into his mind.
He’d read the rest in a daze—hormonal markers, scent profile notes, recommended care protocols. All of it felt like a bad joke. The Golden Maknae. The one who could hit high notes, nail intricate choreography, lift heavier than most of the hyungs on a good day, the one everyone looked at and saw raw power and potential. And now this?
Submissive.
Jungkook had sat on the closed toilet lid for twenty minutes, breathing through his mouth so he wouldn’t smell the way his own scent had already started shifting—sweeter, softer, almost honeyed in a way that made his stomach twist with shame. He couldn’t be that. Not now. Not when they were finally breaking into the West, when every stage mattered, when the group needed him strong and steady.
So he’d done what he had to do.
In the quiet of his room before practice, he’d scanned the document, opened a simple editing program, and changed the word. Submissive became Switch. Just one word. Clean enough that unless someone looked at the original file, no one would know. He printed the fake version, folded it carefully, and slipped it into his bag like it was evidence of a crime.
Now, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor with the members around him, he pulled the folded paper out.
“I, uh… got the results today,” he said, keeping his voice light. Casual. Like it was nothing.
The room perked up immediately.
Namjoon set his notebook aside. “Yeah? What are you, kid?”
Jungkook handed the paper to Jin first, who unfolded it with a dramatic flourish. The older man’s eyes scanned the page, then lit up with that warm, proud hyung smile that always made Jungkook feel safe.
“Switch,” Jin read aloud, eyebrows raised. “Well, well. Our Jungkookie’s full of surprises.”
“Switch?” Hoseok sat up straighter, grinning wide. “That’s perfect for you, man. You’ve got that fire on stage but you’re still our baby. Makes sense.”
Jimin and Taehyung piled on immediately, ruffling his hair and pulling him into a group hug that smelled like citrus and warmth and home. Their scents—both distinctly Dominant—wrapped around him, and for a second Jungkook had to fight the instinctive urge to lean in harder, to bare his neck just a little. He pulled back quickly, laughing it off.
Yoongi watched him from the armchair, quiet as always. His dark eyes narrowed just slightly. “Switch, huh?”
“Yeah,” Jungkook said, forcing eye contact. “Switch.”
Namjoon took the paper next, reading it more carefully than the others. His expression stayed warm, but there was a flicker—something thoughtful in the way his brow creased. “Congrats, Jungkook-ah. We’re all Dominants here, so having a Switch in the pack will balance things out nicely. You’ll tell us if you need anything, right?”
“Of course, hyung,” Jungkook replied, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt.
They ate cake and ramyeon after that, talking about the AMAs choreography, the upcoming schedules, how crazy it was that they were performing in America soon. Jungkook laughed at the right moments, stole bites from Jin’s plate when the older man pretended to scold him, let Taehyung sling a heavy arm around his shoulders. It felt normal. Almost.
But twice he caught Yoongi’s gaze lingering. And once, when Namjoon passed behind him to throw something away, the leader paused, inhaling quietly near Jungkook’s hair like he was trying to catch a scent that wasn’t quite right.
Jungkook’s stomach knotted.
Later, after everyone had finally dragged themselves to bed, Jungkook stood in the bathroom with the lights off. The only glow came from the small nightlight near the sink. He stared at his reflection—messy black hair, tired eyes, the faint sheen of sweat still on his collarbones from practice.
His scent was changing. He could smell it himself now, even through the suppression patches he’d stuck on earlier. Sweet. Needy. The kind of scent that made other Dominants want to protect, to hold down, to take care of. It made him want to crawl into someone’s lap and hide his face in their neck. The shame of that want burned hot in his chest.
He gripped the edge of the sink, shoulders shaking.
You’re not weak, he told himself fiercely. You’re Jeon Jungkook. Golden Maknae. You don’t need anyone to regulate you. You can handle this.
But the tears came anyway—hot, silent, sliding down his cheeks as he hunched over the sink. He bit his lip hard to keep any sound from escaping. The members were right down the hall. If one of them woke up and smelled this… if they realized he was lying…
He turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on his face again and again until the redness in his eyes could be blamed on exhaustion. When he finally slipped into his bed, he curled up small under the covers, pressing a pillow over his face to muffle the last few broken breaths.
Outside, the Seoul night hummed on—busy, bright, unforgiving. Inside the dorm, the seven of them were supposed to be a pack. Family. But tonight, Jungkook felt further away from them than ever.
He closed his eyes, whispering into the dark.
“I can do this. I have to.”
The Love Yourself era waited for no one. And Jeon Jungkook refused to be the one who broke it.