Chapter Text
Third POV
The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of the Sunshine Haven Adoption Center, casting geometric patterns across the polished linoleum floors. In the common room, two young men sat cross-legged on a foam play mat, surrounded by building blocks and stuffed animals. To any outsider, the scene might have looked absurd - seventeen-year-olds playing like toddlers - but within these walls, it was simply Tuesday.
“Jiminie, look! I made a castle!” Tae beamed behind his neon green pacifier, as he held up a wobbly tower of colorful blocks, his eyes bright with genuine pride.
Jimin clapped his hands together, the sound muffled by the soft fabric of his pastel blue onesie. “It’s so pretty, Tae Tae!” His voice carried that particular lilt that came so naturally now, the higher pitch of a child half his physical age.
“Boys,” Jin’s warm voice drifted from the doorway, “it’s time for breakfast. Come wash your hands.”
Tae immediately scrambled to his feet, but Jimin remained seated, lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout. “But I’m not hungry yet, Daddy.”
Jin crossed the room with practiced ease, crouching down to Jimin’s eye level. His expression remained gentle but firm. “We eat when it’s mealtime, sweetheart. You know the rules that we have here. Up you go.”
“Don’t wanna,”Jimin whined dramatically, pulling out his teether out of his mouth, and crossed his arms grumpily.
Before Jin could respond, Tae had circled back, tugging at Jimin’s onesie sleeve. “Come on, Minnie. If we eat all our breakfast, maybe daddy Hobi will let us paint later!” He leaned in conspiratorially, though his whisper was loud enough for Jin to hear. “And you know Daddy Joonie gets grumpy if we’re late.”
That did it. Jimin’s eyes widened slightly - Namjoon’s “grumpy” meant consequences neither of them wanted - and he allowed Tae to pull him to his feet. Jin hid his smile as he watched Tae take Jimin’s hand, leading him towards the bathroom like a miniature guardian.
The dining area was bright and cheerful, walls painted in soft yellows and greens. Four place settings waited at the table, with plastic plates decorated with cartoon characters and sippy cups already filled with juice. Namjoon stood by the table, arms crossed, his tall frame and serious expression a stark contrast to the childish decor.
“Two minutes late,” he observed, though his tone wasn’t harsh. “What’s our rule about mealtimes?”
“We come when we’re told to,” Tae recited dutifully, sliding into his seat, hands intertwined with Jimin’s chubby baby hand. “Sorry, Daddy Joonie.”
Jimin ungripped Tae’s hand and climbed into his chair with less grace, still pouting. “TaeTae had to help me.”
“Jiminie was being fussy,” Tae added, even the protector even when it meant tattling.
Namjoon’s expression softened fractionally. “I see. Well, you’re here now. Eat up. The chefs made you guys pancakes for breakfast today.”
A lady in her mid thirties approached their table with a tray of stacked pancakes. “Good morning Jiminie! TaeTae!” She warmly greeted as she placed 2 pancakes on their plates, “Who wants strawberries as well?”
“Me! Me!” Both littles choruses, the earlier resistance forgotten in the face of Noona’s infectious smile and warmth.
As Noona distributed the food, Yoongi and Hoseok appeared in the doorway, silently observing the scene with endearing admiration and love. Yoongi caught Namjoon’s eye and gave a subtle nod toward the hallway. Namjoon excused himself, following Yoongi out of the dining room. Hoseok walked towards the table where Jimin and Tae were eating happily.
“The new intake arrives in twenty minutes,” Yoongi said quietly, leaning against the wall. “Jeon Jungkook. Seventeen. Little classification since birth, but according to his file, he’s never accepted it. Multiple foster placements, all failed. Behavioral issues, aggression, non-compliance.”
Namjoon’s jaw tightened and he ran his hand through his hair with much stress evident on his face. “Another resistant one.”
“The most resistant we’ve had in two years,” Yongi confirmed. “The social worker warned me he might try to run. He’s convinced he’s not a little, that the classification system is - “ he checked his notes, “- some bullshit designed to control people.”
“Wonderful.” Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose. “How do you want to handle the introduction?”
“Carefully. Jin should take point - he’s the least threatening. But we’ll all need to be present. Show unified authority.” Yoongi glanced towards the rows of tables in the cafeteria. “Little” boys and girls eating their breakfast and chatting and giggling excitedly amongst each other. They eyed towards their designated dining table, where Hoseok’s laughter mingled with the littles’ giggles. “And we should prepare Tae and Jimin. You know how Tae gets with new people around Jimin.”
Namjoon nodded. “I’ll talk to them after breakfast.”
Twenty-three minutes later, a van pulled up to the facility’s entrance. Through the window, Namjoon watched a young man emerge from the back seat, his body language screaming defiance. Jungkook was smaller than Namjoon had expected - lean and wiry, with dark hair falling into his eyes. He wore ripped jeans and an oversized black hoodie, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
The social worker, a tired-looking woman in her forties, spoke to him briefly. Jungkook’s response was to turn his back on her, staring at the building with undisguised hostility.
He’s here,” Namjoon called out.
Jin appeared at his side, smoothing down his shirt. “Poor thing. He looks terrified.”
“He looks angry,” Namjoon corrected.
“Same thing, sometimes.”
In the common room, no other Little was present as they were out in the backyard playing with each other, as they were supervised with their own designated caregivers. Tae had pulled Jimin close, both of them peeking around the doorframe. Yoongi sat nearby, ostensibly reading a book but clearly monitoring the Littles’ reactions. Hoseok had dimmed his usual brightness, understanding that too much enthusiasm might overwhelm an already volatile situation.
The front door opened. The social worker entered first, followed reluctantly by Jungkook. His eyes swept the space - the colorful walls, the play mats, the bins of toys - and his lip curled in disgust.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding,” he muttered under his breath, not low enough. The caregivers along with the littles were able to hear the naughty word that was used. The littles stiffened, as they eyed each other nervously.
“Language,” Namjooon said warningly.
Jungkook’s gaze snapped to him, dark eyes flashing. “I’m not staying here. I don’t care what my classification says. I’m not a goddamn baby.”
Jin stepped forward, his voice gentle. “No one said you were a baby, Jungkook. This is a safe place for Littles who need-”
“I don’t need anything from you people.” Jungkook’s hands clenched into fists. “This whole system is fucked. You can’t just decide someone’s a little and force them to-to-” He gestured widely at the room. “-play with clocks and drink from sippy cups!”
From the corner of the common room, a small gasp. Jimin on Tae’s lap, pressed himself against him, head resting on his chest. Tae’s expression had shifted from curious to protective, his arm wrapping around Jimin’s small waist.
“He’s saying too many naughty words. He is a bad boy.” Jimin whined in a lisp, behind his pink pacifier. Tae just ruffled Jimin’s fluffy pink cotton candy hair protectively, and peppered his cheeks with kisses.
Jungkook’s attention swiveled to them. “What are you looking at?” Jungkook directed the question at Tae, as Tae side eyed him angrily. Jungkook scoffed at how much of a baby Jimin was with teary eyes and a pacifier slowly bobbing in his mouth. “Stupid, pathetic baby.” He uttered in disgust.
Tae gritted through his teeth, as he held Jimin tighter, “Take that back! You no longer mean Jiminie!”
Jungkook ignored Tae and turned back to the social worker. “Mrs. Lee, please. There has to be somewhere else. ANYWHERE.” He emphasized “anywhere.” He was willing to go anywhere else, other than this hell hole of a place.
Mrs. Lee’s expression was sympathetic but firm. “Jungkook, we’ve been through this already. You’ve been through six placements in two years. This facility specializes in helping Littles who are struggling with their classification. The staff here are trained-”
“I don’t need training. I need people to accept that I’m not a Little!”
Your birth certificate says otherwise,” Namjoon interjected, his voice calm but unyielding. “You were classified at birth. The medical evaluations confirmed it. Fighting your nature has only made you miserable.”
Jungkook laughed, but there was no humor in it. “My nature? You don’t know anything about me.”
I know you’ve been in and out of emergency rooms three times this year for self harm,” Yoongi spoke up from his position near the Littles, his quiet voice somehow cutting through the tension. “Panic attacks, insomnia, depression. All symptoms of classification rejection.”
Jungkook’s face flushed. “That’s private medical information-”
Which we have access to as your new designated caregivers at this facility,” Namjoon finished. “We’re not your enemies, Jungkook. We’re here to help you.”
“I don’t want your help!” Jungkook’s voice cracked, and for a moment, something vulnerable flickered across his face before anger slammed back down like a shield. “JJust leave me alone!”
He turned toward the door, but Namjoon was swift, positioning himself like a shield in the exit path. Not touching, not threatening, but clearly blocking with a presence of unwavering authority.
“You can’t leave,” Namjoon said simply. “This is a court-mandated placement. You’re staying here for a minimum of six months, even more. Depending how you behave and if you are ever adopted by someone.
“FUCK THAT! FUCK YOU! FUCK ALL OF THIS!” Jungkook’s breathing had quickened, his chest heaving.
Behind them, Jimin, still in Tae’s lap, had started to wail. His pink pacifier fell out of his mouth, and he started to hiccup and hyperventilate out of distress. Tae immediately began shushing him, shooting Jungkook a glare that would have been intimidating if it were coming from someone currently wearing footie pajamas.
“You made Jiminie cry! Bad! You bad boy!”
Jungkook’s hand went to his hair, tugging in frustration. “I’m not bad, I’m just - I can’t - this isn’t-”
Jin moved in smoothly, his voice dropping to that particular register he used for de-escalatation. “Jungkook, I can see you’re overwhelmed. That’s okay. This is a big change. But right now, I need you to take some deep breaths with me. Can you do that?
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child!”
“I’m talking to you like someone who’s having a panic attack,” Jin corrected gently. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Come one.”
For a moment, it seemed like Jungkook might comply. His breathing is definitely too fast, his face pale beneath the anger. But his eyes landed on the play mat, the stuffed animals, the pacifier that Jimin spat out in slobber.
“No,” he said, voice shaking. “No, I’m not doing this. I’m not playing your sick game.”
Hoseok, who had been silent until not, stepped forward with a soft smile. “Hey, Jungkook-ah. Nobody’s asking you to play right now. How about we show you where you’ll be sleeping? You must be tired from the trip.”
“I’m not tired. I’m trapped.”
Mrs. Lee sighed, checking her watch. “Gentlemen, I have another appointment. Jungkook, I’ll be back next week to check on you. Please try to cooperate.” She gave him a look that was equal parts sympathy and exasperation. “You’re not making this easier on yourself.”
After she left, the silence in the entryway was thick and uncomfortable. Jungkook stood rigid, every muscle of his body screaming resistance. The four male caregivers exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them.
Finally, Namjoon spoke. “Here’s what’s going to happen. Yoongi will show you to your room. You’ll have an hour to settle in. Then we’ll have lunch together, and after that, we’ll go over the facility rules and expectations. Non-negotiable.”
“Everything about this is non-negotiable, apparently,” Jungkook spat.
“Yes,” Namjoon agreed simply. “It is.”
Yoongi gestured toward the hallway. “Come on. Your room’s this way.”
Jungkook didn’t move immediately. His eyes swept over all of them - Namjoon’s stern authority, Jin’s gentle concern, Hoseok’s dimmed but still present warmth, Yoongi’s patient waiting. Then his gaze landed on Tae and Jimin again, still huddled in the corner.
Tae had stopped glaring, but his protective stance hadn’t relaxed. Jimin peeks out from behind him, tears still wet on his cheeks.
Something complicated crossed Jungkook’s face - disgust, pity, fear, recognition. Then he looked away.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Show me the room. Not like I have a choice.”
As Yoongi led him down the hallway, Hoseok moved to comfort the two Littles, scooping Jimin up and letting Tae cling to his leg. Jin and Namjoon remained in the entryway listening to the sounds of a door closing - not quite a slam, but close.
“That went about as well as expected,” Jin murmured.
Namjoon’s expression was unreadable. “He’s going to be a challenge.”
“They all are, at first.” Jin placed a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder. “We’ve handled resistant Littles before.”
“Not like this.” Namjoon shook his head slowly. “Did you see his eyes? He’s not just resistant. He’s terrified. And that makes him dangerous - to himself and potentially to others.”
From the common room, Tae’s voice drifted out: “Daddy Hobi, is the new boy gonna stay with us?”
“Yes, baby. He’s going to be our other little daddy, along with you two.”
“But he’s mean. He made Jiminie cry.”
He’s not mean, TaeTae. He’s just scared and confused. Sometimes people act mean when they’re scared.”
A pause. Then Jimin’s small voice: We should be nice to him?”
Yes, baby. Being nice and accepting him with open arms might diminish his fear that he may have of this place. Who knows? But for not, you two shouldn’t worry too much about that. Just focus on being good boys for daddies, okay? Let us handle Jungkook for now.”
In his new room, Jungkook sat on the edge of a bed that was too soft, too childish, with its pastel sheets and guardrails. Two other beds were lined at the side. Probably Jimin’s and Tae’s bed. The walls were painted a soothing light blue. There was a dresser, a small desk, a changing table, and a toy chest that made his stomach turn.
A toy chest. Like he was five years old.
He put his hands, trying to steady his breathing. Six months. He had to survive six months in this hell hole. Six months of people trying to convince him he was something he wasn’t. Six months of -
A soft knock on the door. Yoongi’s voice: “Lunch is at noon. That’s in forty-five minutes.”
Jungkook didn’t respond. He simply pulled the blanket over him. Hoping that if he ignored the irritating voice, it would suddenly disappear. Fortunately, he heard footsteps retreating.
Alone, finally alone, he let himself feel the full weight of his situation. The anger was still there, burning hot in his chest. But underneath it, Hin had been right - there was fear. Deep, primal fear of losing himself, of becoming like those two in the common room, with pacifiers in their mouths and calling grown men “daddy.”
He’d rather die.
But as he sat there in the too-soft bed, in the too-gentle room, in the facility designed to break down every defense he’d built over his life, Jungkook realized something that made his blood run cold:
He might not have a choice.