Archive of Our Own

there’s a list of behavioral insights in the article on his screen, and yoongi skims through them, bored. the office is quiet. he sighs, holding out for his mug, but it’s empty. “ah,” he starts, barely a mumble. jimin raises his head from his own work, a desk away. he sort of goes hustling about as soon as he can, awkwardly bowing on the way out, i’ll get some more for you, sunbae . he’s supposed to, yoongi is a senior. it’s awkward every time nonetheless. yoongi sighs.

( 

have you seen min yoongi, from financial markets? yeah, why? he never smiles, does he? 

)

(that was three years ago, but the muttering still follows.)

“here, sunbae,” jimin settles the coffee in front of him, a polite smile on his face. yoongi nods, not really smiling, because he doesn't feel like smiling. thank you . his head hurts — his head hurts a lot, all the time. “ah, and — seokjin-sunbae sent you the files on those hsbc transactions.”

even the word transactions is enough to make him want to shrink on his chair until he's gone. “— thank you.” the papers are heavy, like his eyelids, his bones, his soul , maybe. still, yoongi looks through them briefly, annotating where necessary, headache ramming against his front lobe. when the clock turns six, yoongi lets out a tired, relieved exhale, standing up from his desk, tugging at his collar. jimin — who always seems to try , no matter how exhausted yoongi looks — smiles at him. “we're off to a bar, sunbae. don't you want to come with us this time?”

“no,” yoongi doesn't put much thought into it. it all comes out too straightforward, and jimin's smile falters. yoongi feels bad almost immediately. “i mean — i have a headache, and i still have to work on that risk management project, so — maybe tomorrow.”

“ah,” jimin sounds disappointed, because he probably is. yoongi's not a very good liar, either. he doesn't go mostly because he doesn't want to . no one cares, anyway. “that's alright. have a nice night, sunbae.”

“yeah, you too.”

(

— he never goes out to drink with us. his life must be pretty miserable. 

)

(that was three years ago, but the voices still whisper as he crosses the corridors, a few minutes later.)

it's raining, a mild thing of a rain, a sheet of small water droplets, cold in the ugly october evening. his suit isn't enough to keep him warm, so yoongi walks as fast as he can as soon as he gets out of the station, wondering if he should get himself a car. no , a small, more logical portion of his brain warns him as he walks up his block, cars demand too much attention and their market value decreases monthly — 

—and then he stops in front of his apartment entrance, lifting his umbrella enough to look at the person sitting next to the door, back against the wall. it’s a man, for all he knows, from the way his clothes fall about him, all curled into himself as if cold, and he smells like water and grime and cat food. it isn’t pleasant. his knuckles are bruised, and he looks roughed up. yoongi stares at him for a moment, expecting him to raise his head, but he doesn’t, and yoongi’s own head pounds, a reminder he needs to go to bed already. he sighs, taking the steps to get to the door, hands already looking for his keys inside the chaotic mess of his briefcase. something touches yoongi’s ankle, then, fingers, wrapping around him, and yoongi startles enough to drop his keys. “ yah— ,” yoongi mumbles, jerking his leg away. the man, boy is looking up, eyes round with surprise, knees pressed close to his chest, clothes obviously wet from the rain, a blunt cut on the side of his face. “ yah , you—” a mumbled apology follows, a bit hoarse. yoongi sighs, annoyed at himself and at the way his heart is beating, looking around to the empty alley street. the boy is none of his business. it’s none of his business, and yet — it’s a person, a young one, obviously cold, and maybe hungry. yoongi closes his eyes, for a second, breathing in deeply. “is everything okay?”

“i guess,” and he seems to shrug. “i didn’t mean to scare you, i— i’m just waiting for the rain to stop.”

“— do you need help?” yoongi finds his eyes, uncomfortable with the way they stare at him from behind a curtain of unruly hair. another shrug follows. use your words, yoongi wants to tell him, but he forces himself to take the keys the boy hands him, and forces himself through the door without saying anything else but a dry alright, then , and he’s only a step or two up the stairs when he stops. somehow the air smells faintly like something familiar. he turns, looking back at the door. yoongi inhales deeply, then curses himself as he walks towards it again, opening. the boy raises his head this time, blinking. “come on, you can wait upstairs. it’s— too cold out.”

he offers a hand, and the other takes it with some delay. yoongi thinks his hand is too soft from someone who looks like that. the boy stands long enough for yoongi to swing an arm around his waist, because he knees seem weak, and his waist is smaller than it should be under his clothes, and he feels the boy grab onto his clothes, too. i’m sorry , the boy apologises, putting some distance between them. yoongi’s shorter, so they look like a rather odd duo as they climb the stairs to the apartment, one body clinging to another, the unwelcomed intimacy leaving yoongi slightly flustered. the boy still smells of rain and cat food and something faintly habitual, the fabric of his clothes cold and wet to the touch. 

when he's properly settled on the couch, a warm blanket around his shoulders (“are you cold?”, yoongi asks. the other shakes his head. “no,” it’s his answer, but he’s shivering. yoongi huffs before leaving to grab a blanket), yoongi looks at the young man’s face — the cut on the side of his face looks dirty, there's smudged eyeliner under his purple eye, his dark brown hair is tousled and damp, longer than it should be, maybe, sticking to his forehead and hiding his eyes. the way he curls his body on the couch makes him look like a puppy gone astray. he stares, and the boy looks down, cheeks slightly flushed.

“— are you hungry?”

big, round eyes gawk at him immediately. “ yes, yes, yes —”

“figured,” yoongi sighs. “come, i'll fix you something.”

three omelets later — he slices bell peppers in neat shapes, and stirs the eggs into a pretty foam, all the while feeling the boy observe him from the table, waiting, the back of his neck hot from it — and then yoongi finds himself carefully patching up the young man’s face, feeling the skin of his cheek warm against his fingers. they don't talk. yoongi hasn't even asked him his name. it doesn't seem important to know, for some reason. names are personal things. he’ll leave soon.

“you got into a fight?”

“something like that,” a smile, toothy, cute . yoongi frowns, movement stopping for a second, taken aback. “i had an issue with my— landlord, i guess.”

i had an issue with my landlord, which probably means i haven't paid rent in awhile , which probably means i'm unemployed and i currently have no place to stay . yoongi’s aware of unemployment rate amongst younger people. it isn’t uncommon these days, it’s rather high. the boy winces when yoongi presses the square plaster onto his skin, maybe harsher than he should have. “and how did you end up in front of my apartment building?”

“i walked too long in the rain,” a small shrug follows. “it looked dry enough.”

yoongi inhales deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “— how old are you anyway?”

“twenty-two.”

“ah.” twenty-two is young, younger, but still older than he looks. they stare at each other. yoongi doesn’t mean to do that so openly, and it flusters him the way the boy doesn’t seem embarrassed in the slightest. he sniffs, then sighs, sitting upright on the coffee table, giving their bodies proper distance. yoongi has a weakness for things that need fixing. there’s some sort of bridle in his tone, maybe to hide how easy it was to make the decision. “you can stay here tonight, i guess, then.” it gets him another smile, wrinkles on the corner of chocolate brown eyes, all teeth and flushed cheeks. yoongi swallows, blinking, looking away. he adds, then, with some bite. “—but tomorrow you're out.”

“thank you, ahjussi .” he ignores the sweetness in that voice, walking away, telling him not to touch anything. “i’m house trained—!” the boy calls out to him, anyway, sounding just mildly offended. yoongi takes a bottle of water from the kitchen, disappearing into the bathroom a moment later. his head still hurts, albeit the nasty thud in his skull was nicely ignored as he tended to the young man on his couch. he sighs, staring at his reflection on the mirror, finally getting rid of his clothes, stepping into a bath. yoongi goes back to the living room some forty minutes later, mouth open and ready to give some excuse as to why he’s there again, but the bundle on his couch snores lightly, completely gone into slumber. yoongi huffs, then moves to turn off the lamp, and collect the first aid kit still lying about. he fixes the pillows, fingers fumbling with the blanket, muttering complaints as he pulls it over the sleeping figure, not looking at the way his face looks rather serene and pleasant. he leaves a crack in his bedroom door, listening in the foreign patterns of his breathing sounds. yoongi swallows two pills, and forces his eyes closed. 

“what — you took a kid in?” namjoon raises his eyebrows, yoongi shakes his head negatively, too tired for all the explanation (the conversation went something like “how’s your day going” “i found someone outside the apartment and took them in.”). "i’m pretty sure that’s against the law, hyung.”

“he's not a little kid , he’s — over twenty,” yoongi picks on namjoon’s food to steal a slice of meat, rolling his eyes. “i think he doesn't have anywhere to go.”

namjoon goes on about how dangerous something like that can be, how the man — still nameless, regrettably — could be robbing his house right now. somehow yoongi thinks it is highly unlikely. when he left that morning, he was still asleep on the couch, looking so pleased and comfortable that a warm sort of a blush crept onto yoongi's cheeks. he had sniffed, and the living room had the same earthly smell of rain as outside. his heart beated oddly all the way to the office. he blamed the lack of coffee. “i think you're overreacting,” yoongi says, and then adds, because he doesn't want to talk about it anymore: “eat your food, or i'll be late.”

the bank is still the unpleasant white walls alongside cubicles and uncomfortable fluorescent lights and the floral scent of neutralisers in the refurbished air, and jimin is already there when yoongi arrives. they never have lunch together, despite having been coworkers for the past years, ever since jimin started as an intern coming from foreign accounts. jimin greets him brightly, handing him papers yoongi isn't really interested in going through. yoongi tries his best to be civil, to maybe even smile, but a headache is already curling itself around his brain, hungry and loud. 

yoongi is good at his job, he made himself good enough to be hired — and the job pays his bills, and namjoon's, most times, no matter how stressful, demanding, boring and uninteresting. still,  he feels a strange sort of nostalgia for namjoon's small, cramped studio two blocks away from the building he works at. for the small restaurant right under it, where they’d sit for hours picking on dumplings and listening to american hip-hop. or, maybe, he feels a sense of nostalgia for anything that doesn’t give him a headache. you're too old for playing trainee , he sometimes tells namjoon, out of envy, while namjoon barely shrugs, you're too young to be that unhappy, hyung .  

“you need to sign this for compliance, sunbae,” jimin says, a couple of hours later, holding a phone to his ear. “we're being sued again.”

“ah, great,” yoongi inhales deeply.

“and i bought you this,” jimin's voice is careful, as if he's scared of a possible reaction. he slides a chocolate bar on the table until it touches yoongi's fingers lightly. “i heard chocolate is good for headaches.”

jimin smiles, and his smiles are always bright and cheery and nice. yoongi doesn't like chocolate — but he keeps it anyway. “thank you.” for the sake of politeness, he munches on a couple of squares of it throughout the rest of the afternoon, and at least it gives him enough energy to finish writing reports; derivatives, foreign exchange, bonds, balance, equities, the words unwelcomed, stirring his ever-present exhaustion.

the clock hits a sharp six, and yoongi leaves. jimin isn't around to coach him into going out to drink this time, the happy hour already having started at the foreign affairs cubicles as it does every end of the week. yoongi desperately wants his couch, some coffee, maybe a cigarette, if he remembers to buy some. it's friday, he should be heading out with people, drinking, and namjoon calls once or twice, a couple of messages  pop up on the screen of his phone, but yoongi ignores them. he's too restless, and it's eating him up from inside out. the train is packed. yoongi pulls the mask over his nose, and tries not to breathe too deeply. he just wants to sleep through the weekend, and—

“ah — ahjussi !” 

yoongi halts, startled, by the door of his apartment, and it closes behind him with a thud. it smells vastly different inside from what it normally does. the boy sits up on the couch, wearing the same clothes from the night before, a pretty smile on his face. yoongi shuffles, uncomfortable, and his words come out sharp: “why exactly are you still here?”

“i— i’ve got no money,” he shrugs. “i was hoping you could— hm, maybe—”

“i'll call you a cab.”

“but — i've got nowhere to go, not— not like a house, or anything,” the boy stands, walking around yoongi, staring with wide, pleading eyes. yoongi tries to step away, stumbling on the shoes he takes off, only to be followed again. his voice gets higher and more whiny as he speaks, convoluted sentences and slight lisp: “i'm pretty sure they'll throw me out again if i go back there, and i was just sleeping, what they would do if—”

“that's not my problem,” yoongi puts his briefcase down, pushing a finger through his tie, untangling the knot. “go to your family.”

“ they're in busan .”

“friends—”

“i don’t have real friends here, just—”

sighs. “look,” yoongi knows it’s harsh, but there’s very little he can do. he removes his tie completely, tired. “i can get you something to eat, but you can’t stay.” i need to rest . “i’m not going to be here this weekend, anyway.” it’s a lie, but it seems more caring to lie than to bluntly say he doesn’t want the boy there at all. some silence follows, then a resigned sigh.

“— okay.” he lowers his head a bit, looking positively forlorn. it does pull on yoongi’s heartstrings, but he stays resolute.

“i can make you some ramen,” the offer is said in kinder hues. their eyes meet, and the boy nods, small smile on this face. “while i’m cooking, you should take a shower, before— before you have to go.” another nod follows. yoongi exhales, hot air coming out. “look— i’m sorry , but—“

“it’s okay,” the boys smiles more openly, but it still very much coloured blue. “i’ll take a shower now, then.”

“there are— there are towels folded in the cabinet under the sink.”

the boy moves past him, and yoongi tries not to look at his pained expression so much. he breathes out heavily once he hears water run, eyes closed. he wants to help, but— yoongi likes his solitude, the quietness of his apartment, how scentless it is, his long sleeps. he can’t just have a stranger staying, weaving into his routine, leaving a trace of scent on the fabric of his things. he moves finally, into the kitchen, to prepare their food.

they eat mostly in silence, only the sounds of slurping and the occasional bump of cutlery against the porcelain. yoongi ever so often raises his eyes to the boy in front of him, wet hair still dripping down his back, leaving a damp crown around his collar. cleaner, he looks— pretty, prettier , the tones of his skin, slightly toasted caramel, full of freckles and moles, and his eyes, despite the purpleness about them, look clear. yoongi almost reaches out to push his hair away from them, but stops himself, flushing vividly. ever so often, their eyes meet, and he will openly stare, chewing slowly, until yoongi ultimately looks away. it is the most unnerving dinner he’s ever had. 

“thank you for the food,” the boy says when he’s finished, bowing more deeply. he’s polite, yoongi notices, but it’s a fleeting thought. “and for letting me stay the night. i appreciate it.”

yoongi clears his throat, pushing his own empty bowl away. “i hope you can find somewhere to go.”

“yeah,” a sniff, and the reddening of cheeks. “me too.”

the boy stands abruptly, grabbing their bowls and rinsing them quickly before sticking them into the dishwasher. then he turns, drying hands against his pants, and yoongi thinks he’s not wearing enough clothing. he also doesn’t have a bag with him. “i’ll just— grab something for you,” yoongi says, heading to his room, hoping the boy won’t leave while he’s away. he doesn’t, although he’s waiting by the door when yoongi returns. “take this jacket with you, nights are getting colder,” the bright red, heavy windbreaker is maybe too hot for october, but at least he will be protected from the rain. the boy is halfway dressed when yoongi offers the small business card. “this is my— this is my phone number.”

a huff follows, and the boy gets red on his cheeks, smiling, reading. “ min yoongi, financial markets executive director . can i text you?” 

“no,” yoongi’s quick to answer, throat dry. “it’s for you to return my jacket.”

“ah, yes.” he bows twice. “sorry, thank you.”

yoongi just nods, and a minute of awkward standing drags. finally the boy mutters a small goodbye , turning on his heels to leave. the door is closed with a soft thud , no glances exchanged. yoongi notes he’s still holding his breath. his shoulders drop a bit. “there’s nothing you can do,” he tells himself out loud, as if words would make a difference. still, he walks towards the window, opening the blinds to see the street below. the boy is still there, sitting on the curb now, the light on his phone bright enough to contour his face. yoongi’s lips open, wanting to let words out, but he doesn’t, ultimately backing away until he’s locked in the bathroom, naked, under the shallow water of his bathtub. he’ll go away soon.  

the bath relaxes him enough he doesn’t think much about the boy downstairs, at some point he actually forgets, but not completely, because that’s mostly impossible (his scent, the earthy undertones, they’re still there), but as the night slowly grows into darker shades of blue, his mind gets occupied by other things, until tiredness is heavy and he drifts on the couch, his laptop full of futile graphs the only light in the room. 

— it’s almost three in the morning when he startles in his sleep. for a minute, yoongi thinks he can smell cat food and rain, and for a minute he forgets the boy isn’t there. he blinks, confused, eyelids heavy. i should go to bed . his legs hurt, and he groans like an old person, stretching arms, yawning. his eyes find the windows. he won’t be there anymore. it’s too late, he probably found his way somewhere , yoongi thinks, feet taking him closer to the window. he cracks the blinds open, just slightly, muttering how stupid the whole thing is. his heart races, though, as he immediately sees the figure, hugging his knees, sitting against one of the street lamps, possibly asleep. “ shit ,” he closes his eyes, guilt spreading. he has nowhere to go, his brain reminds him, weakly, whilst another part of it screams at him to just go to bed and let it be.

it’s startling, somehow, how it aches, the sight outside. so he sighs, cursing himself all the way down, and he shivers as soon as he steps out onto the sidewalk. it’s cold, real cold . the boy is shivering, too. yoongi takes a deep breath before touching his shoulder gently. “ yah , wake up,” he says, low enough his voice doesn’t ascend to the apartments around them. “you can’t sleep on the sidewalk, the police will take you.” there’s some mumbling, some groaning, before the boy finally looks up, wide eyed and messy haired. he mutters a small hyung? under his breath, blinking, abashed. yoongi doesn’t remember giving in so easily into the intimacy of honorifics, but he shrugs it off quickly, cold settling in his bones. “yeah, come on, let’s go upstairs.”

the faint light of his laptop is the only light in the room, and jungkook stumbles as he takes his shoes off, grabbing onto yoongi’s wrist feebly for support. yoongi waits, heart beating in inconsistent ways. “thank you,” he says, voice a bit hoarse. “i’m —,” a yawn follows. “i was a bit cold.”

“yeah, well, the sidewalk is still wet, so,” yoongi reasons, starting to adjust the sofa carefully. “i’ll lend you clean clothes.” awkward silence follows, then yoongi sighs. “— what’s your name?”

“jeon jungkook.” jeon jungkook is a nice sounding name, yoongi thinks, examining the boy’s sleepy demeanor. it does match his soft angles. “i’ll help you with this, if you want.”

“— okay,” yoongi nods, as jungkook approaches him carefully, but when their arms touch, yoongi steps back, nervous. “i’ll get you some blankets and clothes.”

his room is cold, but yoongi is an economist, so he knows turning on heaters before winter is even there is a huge waste of money and resources, so he doesn’t. the blankets he had given jungkook the other night are bundled next to his dirty clothes pile. his bed is carefully wrapped in three different layers of heavy blankets, and yoongi looks up to the ceiling, sighing, as if hoping some some of deity will descend from heavens and help him deal with the lost person in his living room. the room remains dark and cold, though. yoongi caves in, grabbing one of his own blankets hastily. jungkook is already asleep by the time yoongi returns, wearing his dirty clothes and yoongi’s windbreaker, curled into himself on the couch. he sleeps so easily , yoongi thinks, absentmindedly. “jungkook,” he calls, shaking jungkook’s shoulder slightly. “change off of your wet clothes, at least.”

jungkook mumbles things that don’t truly make sense, too sleepy to really provide consistent wording. yoongi has the sense to look away immediately as he unabashedly removes his clothes, leaving them to fall on the floor, and the moment he has the big sweatshirt and pants on him is the moment he’s already back to sleep, looking like the youth he is. yoongi decides not to wake him up once again, instead just carefully wrapping the blanket around him, tucking it behind his back. he pulls away when he realises his hands will smell like jungkook. jungkook looks pleased, though. “night, hyung,” he mutters, adjusting himself.

“— yeah,” yoongi swallows. “good night.”

(he doesn't sleep well, not entirely, too busy looking at the gap between his door and threshold, listening to the soft snoring coming from the living room. jungkook has a name now. it's personal when things are named. he turns on his bed, feeling awkward.) 

(he doesn’t sleep until the sky starts changing colours.)

the smell of radish kimchi fills the air of his room in the late morning, and it’s hunger that gets yoongi up before he’s properly awake. he stirs, confused at first, raising his head from the pillow, sniffing the air. coleslaw, maybe vegetable omelet. there’s another set of smell, one he can’t pinpoint, one alluring enough to his senses— jeon jungkook, he thinks, then, groaning, letting his head fall into the pillows again. he only fell asleep towards the early hours of dawn, mostly because jungkook’s breathing patterns imprinted on him like a song on repeat. now the boy’s in his kitchen, probably messy haired like a stray puppy, and yoongi needs to face him again. “shit,” he mumbles to himself, sighing, arms pushing him up and out of bed, feet stumbling as he tries to find his slippers. 

jungkook is indeed in the kitchen, wearing yoongi’s clothes as if they just resurfaced from a one night stand, singing a little tune as he chops something in a dangerously easy-going way, fingers close to the sharp edge. he doesn’t really notice yoongi’s presence until yoongi’s grabbing the knife from his hand carefully, fingers wrapping around fingers. “don’t get hurt,” he mumbles, voice still heavy with drowsiness. jungkook steps away, hands grabbing onto the fabric of his (yoongi’s) clothes, bowing a couple of times.

“i’m — sorry, i didn’t mean to—”

“what are you making?” yoongi asks more softly, glancing sideways. a puppy, indeed, hair unkempt and sticking out in every direction possible. he finishes chopping all the parsley in a few quick moves. “kimchi stew?”

“and vegetable omelet,” jungkook replies, after a moment. “i’m — not really good, you’re —,” he gestures at yoongi’s quick movements, voice getting smaller. “obviously more skilled.”

“it takes learning, like everything,” they move around each other as yoongi stirs pots and tastes the soup briefly. a bit sweet, but nothing too awful. he adds from the salt left besides the stove, feeling jungkook’s stare on him. “— thank you. you didn’t have to cook.” 

“i wanted to do something— for you.”

it makes heat curl into itself in the hollows of yoongi’s cheeks, and he huffs, looking away, hiding his face inside the fridge he doesn’t truly need to open. just to have something to do with his hands, he grabs the milk. “want some?”

“yeah,” jungkook’s answer is filled with childish excitement and it makes yoongi want to smile, albeit he’s quick to hide it, too, pretending to cough. “i didn’t know if i could take anything,” yoongi nods, muttering a small, you can — could , watching him gulp down a glass of cold milk, a white moustache adorning his upper lip once he’s done. at this, yoongi can’t help but smile a little. “—what?”

“there,” he reaches out a hand, only to stop himself halfway, blushing. yoongi clears his throat, reaching for the napkins instead. “you have— milk—” his disjointed sentence makes jungkook smile, too. yoongi turns away too quickly, stirring the pot again before he turns off the stove. “i think everything’s good enough.should we eat?”

they quickly set the small table to fit all their dishes, a quiet dance of plates and cutlery, oddly well rehearsed. yoongi doesn’t like sharing his space, but jungkook doesn’t look blaringly wrong there, looking through his drawers, opening his fridge. he observes him, for a moment. the kitchen smells too much of food, of things familiar. it’s — okay . they sit down, in the same spots as the other night, and he raises his eyes to jungkook, just to meet the boy’s dark ones, expectant and wide. yoongi coughs again, looking away, quickly stuffing his mouth with food. as soon as the food touches his tongue, he notices it. everything’s terribly sweet. he chews with some hardship, look over his shoulder to what he thought was salt. “is it any good?”

he swallows, feeling the food become a lump down his throat. yoongi’s eyes water a little bit in sheer disgust, and he reaches for the glass of milk jungkook had drank from, filling it up to the brim with it, gulping half of it down just like jungkook did minutes ago. “— i guess,” he comments, still a bit choked up.

jungkook raises his eyebrows, a frown in place, before picking up some of the food himself. he chews quietly, expression unchanging, for a few seconds. then he reaches for the glass yoongi is still holding, drinking the remains of the milk left. when he settles the glass down, they stare at each other. jungkook’s slowly sinking expression is too funny. yoongi, surprisingly, is the first one to burst into weak, held-back laughter, followed by jungkook, who folds into himself with it, holding his body. his eyes and nose crinkle in a youthful way, and his teeth are all out, and he’s awfully good looking. “this is terrible,” he says, after a moment, apologetic but still giggling a bit, his endings all colourful with it. “i’m so sorry—”

“it’s okay, i’ll,” yoongi slowly stops grinning, eyes still watery. he sniffs, containing his smile the slightest. “i’ll just make something else.”

while quickly tossing a few eggs together, yoongi realises it’s been a long time since he had laughed like that. months, actually, ever since he agreed to go out with namjoon just to get really wasted and fall asleep at a noraebang place. he looks behind his shoulder, to the glass they shared, then to jungkook, whose eyes are focused on his phone, a small grin still on his lips. he had tried to tame his hair, the half-ponytail already falling apart, to no avail. the sleeves hiding his hands make him look even more like a stray — boy, puppy, both apply. 

they only have eggs left, so eggs are all they eat, tucked between bread and spam and the unsweetened remains of coleslaw. yoongi brews them coffee. jungkook mumbles apologies as he eats. “it’s okay,” yoongi says, after the sixth whispered i’m sorry . “so,” he fakes a cough again, pushing his plate away. “— what are you doing now?”

jungkook sighs. “i don’t know,” he shrugs. “i’ll busker for some money, i suppose. that’s what— that’s what i do.”

“do you have a place to go?”

jungkook stands, quickly collecting their plates and chopsticks, putting them gently into the sink, spraying them with water. when he looks back to yoongi, hands wet, pushing hair out of his face with the back of them, yoongi thinks he can see dog ears peeking out from the mess on his head. yoongi’s eyes avert to the fridge, where photos of his old dog are attached with magnets, the resemblance uncanny. jungkook follows his stare, and smiles. “you have a cute dog,” he comments.

“i don’t have a dog anymore,” yoongi replies briefly. “ so — place to stay?”

“i don’t — have one, i sleep where i can sleep,” jungkook sighs, sitting down in front of yoongi again, worried eyes wide. “but hyung —”

“no.” it’s a sharp reply, and yoongi sees how it makes jungkook coil. “— i told you, you can’t stay.” he stands up, walking towards the living room, feeling ashamed for sounding so dry. however, jungkook can’t stay . despite his familiarity, he’s still a stranger, someone yoongi picked up from the outside world, someone without a proper way of living, someone loose. jungkook follows him, walking at a short distance, close enough to touch. yoongi halts, and their bodies collide awkwardly. “—why are you following me around?”

“what if,” and jungkook looks around, trying to find something to cling to, the small step he took back not really giving room for personal space. yoongi sits on the couch then, maybe to allow some breathing room. jungkook stops suddenly, as if startled, and he runs back to the kitchen. yoongi stares, raising eyebrows, mild confusion on his face. when jungkook dashes back, he promptly kneels by yoongi, eyes big and expectant. “—i can be your dog.”

yoongi glares, blushing vividly, looking from holly’s picture to jungkook’s face, both doe-eyed, both made of messy brows. jungkook bites his lower lip, waiting, and he has a mole under it, and yoongi shouldn’t have noticed that. he exhales, before raising his foot and using it to push jungkook away. “what kind of— no ,” he says firmly. 

“but hyung ,” jungkook rolls on the floor, until he’s on his back, hands against his face, hair falling backwards, exposing his forehead. a single dash of sunlight hits his face, and yoongi finds himself utterly flustered, stammering excuses, this is my house, you’re a person, not a pet, i don’t know you . “i’ll be your pet if you let me stay, i’ll be good,” jungkook’s pitch gets cuter . yoongi struggles with his own breathing. “ hyung .”

“i think you should leave,” yoongi finds the will to say it finally, looking the other way, ignoring jungkook’s heartbroken expression. however just then, just then , his doorbell rings cheerfully. they both freeze, staring at the door. yoongi clears his throat. “— yeah?”

somehow, jimin’s softer tones reach them. “sunbae! your neighbour let me in,  i came to— deliver something, i guess you weren’t feeling well this week, and we—” his words are scattered. “it’s some food and— i mean, i don’t want to bother— if you’re busy.”

yoongi looks back at jungkook, to his raised eyebrows, his suddenly mischievous grin. “yeah, i’m coming, just give me—“

and then, and then, and then— jungkook woofs . loud, cheery. yoongi jumps on him quickly, clasping a hand over his mouth somehow abruptly. jimin clears his throat. “i didn’t know you had a dog,” he says, obviously taken aback. yoongi presses his whole body against jungkook’s, feeling him giggle under him, eyes crinkling, still barking against his hand. “is it— is it big?” a nervous laughter follows. “i’m a bit scared of dogs.” 

yoongi tries to keep his hold on jungkook, but the boy is far stronger, and the both of them struggle on the floor, and suddenly there’s the smell, the smell that wasn’t there before. it smells like— his shampoo, and cherry blossoms, and sunlit trees, and good, good all over. yoongi finds himself standing up forcefully, hearing jungkook huff as he shoves him backwards. “no, i—,” he tries, but jungkook starts howling. yoongi feels himself shudder, and then he sighs, defeated, shoulders slouching. “yeah, it’s— it’s kind of a big one.” 

“ah,” jimin seems to say. “well, then, i’ll— if you don’t mind i’ll just leave your food here, and i’ll— see you at the office on monday. we all hope you feel better.”

they hear the sound of plastic bags, then the faint echo of footsteps walking away. yoongi inhales deeply, closing his eyes, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. he counts, from zero to ten, three times. jungkook’s presence is somehow tangible now, with the way he so bluntly smells like things that make yoongi’s mouth water and reminisce and feel. he’s still on the carpet when yoongi finally turns to look at him, shoulders tense. his voice is calm when he says it: “i can’t keep you as a pet, and i suggest you to leave.” jungkook’s expression falters. 

he turns, walking towards the door, grabbing the plastic bags filled with containers of food. they smell nice, too, probably from some fancy restaurant. a yellow post-it is attached to it. hope you feel better soon, sunbae! foreign affairs & financial markets teams . yoongi huffs, sitting down on the kitchen stool, staring vaguely into nothing in particular. no one likes him in foreign affairs or financial markets, it’s pointless to think they would have cared. it’s just jimin being nice. “you must be a good boss,” jungkook comments, standing against the threshold. “for them to bring you food on a weekend like that.”

it is said earnestly, without a hint of sarcasm. jungkook’s face shows nothing of the sorts either, when yoongi looks over his shoulder at him. “—you don’t know me.”

jungkook steps closer, hand hovering over yoongi’s shoulder, as if wanting to touch. their eyes meet. “i think you’re a nice person. you took me in, after all,” he says, shrugging, moving away again, towards the door. “i don’t have to really know you to know that much.” yoongi looks away, a long sigh escaping his lungs, and his eyes find the pictures of holly on the door of fridge, plucked in place with norway magnets. there’s a spot missing from the picture jungkook took the to living room. he misses holly. “well, i’ll get going, then.”

it feels — embarrassing , to let jungkook go. it feels like it’s wrong. yoongi hears the steps, the picking up of small objects, a phone, a set of keys that are purposeless but are kept in a pocket. more steps, and then the beeping of the front door, loud and clear, as it opens. yoongi swallows. “wait, jungkook —,” he calls, loud and  clear, too. the door doesn’t close, not for some time. there’s still silence when it finally does, until footsteps approach him. “sit down.”

as jungkook does so, yoongi stands and goes into his office, finding blank sheets and a black pen. back at the table, where jungkook stills waits, he scribbles words he knows. a contract of their own making, to abide to purposes he doesn’t really understand. jungkook watches him carefully, curious. finally, yoongi signs at the bottom and turns the contract towards jungkook. “— what’s this?”

“a pet adoption contract,” yoongi’s heart rattles anxiously inside his ribcage. jungkook blinks, eyes widening. “it states all the clauses both parties need to follow in order for this arrangement to work.”

a thing of a snort comes out of jungkook’s lips. “you sound like someone who went to kaist, hyung.”

“— well, i did.” yoongi clears his throat, reddening slightly. he waits for jungkook to point out he’s an omega, and omegas don’t attend kaist. he doesn’t, though. there’s nothing. “that’s not the point. read, and if you agree on the terms, add your signature next to mine.” 

“the master must provide housing and food for the pet,” jungkook reads in yoongi’s stoic intonation, mimicking his slight accent. “unless there’s misbehaviour—,” he scowls. “i won’t misbehave, and i’m— i can’t have a master.”

“you did just before,” yoongi points out, crossing his arms against his chest. “and you’re not the alpha of this household.” he feels less nervous, when contracts and clauses are a thing he can use. he waits for jungkook to complain, to walk out of his house in disdain, or disgust, to growl at him, the strong smell of his skin now less hindering. maybe that’s what he intended, even. it’d be easier to tell jungkook to go, then, if he’s angry and rebellious against being tamed down. except— except jungkook grabs the pen, and signs. yoongi blinks, confused, staring as their signatures meet on paper. 

“done,” jungkook grins, cheeks red. “from now on, i’m your pet.”

ah . yoongi looks from the paper to jungkook, finding eyes that seem to smile. he didn’t plan for this part of it at all, he should have planned it, there’s always a percentage things will go awry, he knows that, he’s learned that, it’s in percentages behaviour, after all. and things without proper plans go down like this, burning. “— well,” he swallows. “we,” some stuttering, nervous. “as it says on clause fifteen—“

“ boundaries are to be respected at all times ,” jungkook reads. “i can do that.” he stands up again, approaching the fridge, using a saipan magnet to put the contract in place. he’s still grinning cheerfully when he turns. yoongi doesn’t expect him to take the step that separates them, or the arms that wrap around him, or jungkook’s breathing against his neck, or his smell, his smell, his smell . yoongi’s body goes immediately rigid in self-defense and nerves. “i’ll be a good pet, hyung.”

“ boundaries ,” yoongi snaps, pushing jungkook away, feeling himself grow hotter by the minute. jungkook doesn’t seem too affected by the sudden splurge of intimacy. “hugging is out of boundaries.” but, hyung— “come on, let’s just— find you a place to sleep from now on, then.”

jungkook’s bed is an inflatable mattress yoongi had from one camp trip he canceled last minute, still hiding under his bed, and he makes jungkook puff air into it, cheeks getting red from effort. “you should do it, too,” jungkook whines, sounding tired. yoongi snorts, an ironic you have younger lungs falling off his mouth. “am i sleeping in your bedroom?”

at this, yoongi stumbles on the mattress, holding himself up quickly, feeling out of place. his heart beats in disarray. “of course not,” he replies shortly. “we’re taking that to my office.”

the mattress fits in the office just fine, leaving space for yoongi to work if he wants to. as jungkook doesn’t truly own anything, a bed is all he needs, and maybe some borrowed clothes. yoongi walks around the house with him, pointing and explaining the basics, you can’t touch that , this isn’t for you to play with, this door is locked, even though jungkook touches everything and all things his slender fingers can hold until yoongi pulls them away. “you have a big apartment,” he notes, when yoongi finally allows himself to sit down, legs curled under him on the couch, mentally exhausted. jungkook is sitting on the floor just in front of him, the proximity rather blunt, staring up at him with inquiring eyes. 

“yeah, i guess,” yoongi nods. he doesn’t really formulate on it. it’s a good building, despite its age and lack of elevators, with sunlit apartments that have good market value on resale , he thinks to himself. and space — space is good. there’s space for each and every side of yoongi’s persona, even though some of them are kept locked up. “it’s big enough.” 

yoongi grabs the remote, only to have something to do with his hands, turning the television on, quickly going through netflix titles, feeling jungkook’s eyes still on him. he stares openly, unabashed. it’s unnerving, in a sense. finally, he stirs in motion, and yoongi keeps his eyes focused on the screen, throat dry. but then— but then jungkook truly moves, sitting sideways, resting his head against yoongi’s legs, sighing. “seems lonely to live here on your own,” he comments, softly. 

“it isn’t— it isn’t lonely,” yoongi says, fingers fumbling with the remote. “it’s how adults live.”

“how old are you?” there’s curiosity in jungkook’s timbre. “fifty-five?”

“ yah— !” yoongi pats the remote softly on top of jungkook’s head, making him giggle. “i’m twenty-six.” he finally selects something, not paying enough attention to synopsis. eerie music fills up the spaces. “— why didn’t you tell me you were an alpha before? you probably know i’m a—”

“it never matters,” jungkook ponders. “you don’t smell like an omega.” 

that might be true. yoongi has worked hard on hiding his status on regular briefing meetings with the higher management and board members— not because they don’t know, but because, and he knows, it bothers them . an omega shouldn’t get that far into the hierarchy. they all pretend they don’t know as long as yoongi doesn’t smell like one. “you didn’t smell like anything either. are you on meds?”

a short nod, then jungkook asks, casually, soft : “— i do now?”

“yeah,” yoongi nods, absentmindedly. “it’ll go away if you shower properly.” he hears jungkook huff in disdain. “it’s on clause three that you should take them every day.” i don’t need a clause for that— “if you’re not happy with it, you can leave.”

“— i don’t have anywhere to go,” jungkook says after a moment, looking up at him. “not for now.”

“you can leave as soon as you find somewhere to go, then,” yoongi offers, eyes on the television. “i won’t hold you back.”

“okay.”

they watch television for a while, the dreary tv shows yoongi likes making jungkook squirm and complain, why would you watch something like this in the morning— , he mumbles, half-covering his eyes. yoongi gets up to make some more coffee at some point, taking another mug for jungkook. they go on to eat jimin’s food when the afternoon starts becoming an evening, jungkook riveting on how good it tastes, yoongi telling him it’s probably store bought, nothing much. “— why are you in seoul?” he asks, as he dries the dishes jungkook is washing. “if you don’t have anyone.”

“to— debut,” jungkook glances at him, possibly waiting for some sort of judgement. yoongi doesn’t offer any. it’s none of his business how young people sort of ruin their lives. “i was scouted last year, but i haven’t had a lot of luck, and it’s a small company, they can’t afford much.”

“are you any good?”

“probably not,” he huffs with disdain. “otherwise something would have happened by now.”

“that’s not entirely true. whilst talent is obviously key, the idol market is one currently saturated, and sales haven’t been good anyway, it’s probably—,” he notices jungkook’s raised eyebrows. “you’d be surprised how the idol market affects the sales of south korean equities—“ jungkook starts grinning, and yoongi blinks, words messing up, and he has a sense of stepping away, shoving containers into cabinets above the sink. “it’s true.”

“you’re blushing,” jungkook points out, spraying yoongi with water. yoongi winces, yah, yah! “it’s really cute.” 

“ boundaries ,” he says, just mildly bothered. he’s never been called cute before. it’s odd, but not— not nice . “finish that, idol boy, i’m going to take a shower.”

pets aren’t supposed to clean everything , jungkook’s still complaining when yoongi closes the door to his room, breathing in the emptiness inside. he hasn’t been this social for a long time. it’s overwhelming— jungkook’s presence. it spreads to all the corners in every opened room, loud and bright, sunshine coloured. yoongi’s gloomy bedroom is the only space untouched, the only space without a smell. he sighs. 

by the time he’s back in the living room, laptop in hand, the apartment is darkened and quiet. the television is on, shedding lights on jungkook’s asleep face. yoongi doesn’t mean to watch him, back resting against the wall— but he does, for a few minutes. he’s a strange sort of alpha, yoongi thinks. soft in all of his edges, youthful. there’s not a lot of the arrogance most alphas carry on their shoulders, there’s barely any of it. he’s— good-looking, too. yoongi sniffs, looking away. he crosses through the living room quietly, ignoring the sleeping figure. 

he’s on his fifth page of transaction analysis when jungkook walks in. his hair is tousled, and one side of his face is wrinkled from the pillows. he blinks in the harsh lighting. it’s probably near eleven now, quite late. “you ate,” he mumbles, pointing to the empty bowl of instant ramen next to the laptop. yoongi shrugs. got hungry . “can i make myself some?”

“yeah,” he nods, eyes following jungkook as he moves around the kitchen. the strong scent of pheromones hits yoongi, and he shifts, awkward, trying to breathe through his mouth. “you’re smelly.” he swallows, bothered. “i’ll make you food, just— go shower,” and he’s standing, trying to take the package from jungkook’s hand. there’s a moment there where their proximity is bad— a moment in which jungkook’s eyes become darker than they are, wider , maybe, but it’s only a moment. he blinks again, shaking his head, quickly taking a step back, looking flustered. “go shower,” yoongi tells him again. his mouth is watering. 

it’s better when he walks back from it, hair wet pushed back from his face, a towel around his neck. there’s no lingering sweetness. the noodles are already growing cold. jungkook starts eating anyway, walking around the small table to sit besides yoongi. “— you’re still working,” he huffs, chewing. “aren’t you off?”

“yeah,” yoongi doesn’t stop typing. “the economy isn’t.”

somehow, that makes jungkook chuckle. “you’re so serious.”

“i’m an adult,” and yoongi almost smiles. he needs to keep it in check, lips trembling the slightest. he glances sideways at jungkook. “you should heat that up.”

“it’s good like this,” jungkook slurps on a string childishly. they’re quiet for a few minutes, and it’s only the sounds of yoongi’s fingers against the keyboard, and jungkook’s loud chewing. he pats his belly when he’s done, pleased. yoongi can’t help but smile at that. he hides it by coughing. jungkook stands, then, grabbing the dirty cutlery. “— your job looks boring.”

“it is,” yoongi’s sincere about it. “but it pays well.”

“i can tell,” the water stops running. yoongi expects jungkook to sit down, or to leave, drifting off in his restlessness, maybe to watch late night television. he doesn’t expect the fingers that touch his shoulders, pressing, cold and still damp. he startles, nervous. 

“ boundaries ,” yoongi says, but his voice isn’t very imposing. jungkook pulls back nonetheless.

“i just wanted to help somehow,” he says, small. 

“i don’t need help, i just need to finish these,” and yoongi knows he’s sounding terribly like the min yoongi persona he wears at work. he doesn’t want to, it’s just— easier . jungkook’s too new for anything else. it won’t last anyway. yoongi doesn’t really expect him to stay past a week. strings aren’t good. alright , jungkook mumbles, walking away towards the door. yoongi sighs. “jungkook.” he stops, turning, eyes inquisitive. yoongi doesn’t have anything to say. he wants to apologise, somehow. what comes out, though, it’s: “paw.” and he offers his hand. jungkook blinks, confused for only a moment. then he huffs, smiling big, hand grabbing onto yoongi’s. it’s still cold from washing the dishes. yoongi shakes it softly before letting it go. “good boy.”

“pet my belly next time, hyung,” jungkook says, rather cheeky. it leaves yoongi flustered. “work hard,” he chants lyrically, leaving. yoongi watches the space where he stood for a few minutes, up until there’s a rise in the television’s volume, and soft laughter when jungkook finds something funny. they’re not that bad, those noises. they’re— homely, somehow. yoongi goes back to working, shoulders less tense. pet my belly next time , he thinks, huffing, amused. the hollows of his cheeks fill up with warmth.

“i don’t need clothes, yours are fine,” jungkook says, looking down at the sweatpants he’s borrowed, the kind that other sides of min yoongi used to wear. it’s weekse later, and yoongi’s not used to the way he’ll often whine. they haven’t shared long conversations, most of them being commands from yoongi, go shower, clean that up, come eat . jungkook complies and complains in equal measures, and then sits with him in the quietness. it isn’t that bad, all things considered.

“you can’t wear my clothes all the time,” yoongi points out, and he doesn’t entirely mind if that’s the arrangement, it’s just— daily laundry, an increase in the electricity bill, higher waste of water. if jungkook has his own clothes, then at least they can keep on washing them only once a week. plus, and that’s a big plus, the smell that lingers in the collars of the shirts jungkook has worn is hindering. it doesn't come off when washed. yoongi’s just being practical. “i don’t mind.”

“i can’t pay you back, i don’t have any—“

“you don’t have to pay me back,” while that would be ideal, yoongi knows jungkook’s reality. he practices a few times a week, and buskers, but the money he brings in barely buys his train passes. jungkook looks embarrassed, standing next to him in the train, tugging on the strings of his hoodie. yoongi glances sideways at him. he’s red at the ears. “think of it as a secured loan.” i don’t know what that is , the mumbled words are smallish. “it’s—,” but he sighs, looking away. “you can pay me back once you’re famous.”

that seems to appease jungkook’s restlessness, if only momentarily. itaewon is full of boutiques and lowkey trendy stores owned by foreigners. jungkook complains everything is too expensive, refusing to let yoongi pay for anything. he ends up dragging yoongi to myeongdong, buying cheap clothing from street vendors selling fake branded merch, backpack filling with free face mask samples, tugging on yoongi’s sleeve to show him interesting stores. yoongi hates myeongdong. he hates the smell of fried food, and the way people push in against each other, and the noise, and the brightness of led screens. his head hurts after an hour of being there. jungkook seems to notice his distress, and the way he stands in corners to avoid people. “— you don’t come out a lot,” he comments, nudging yoongi’s side. 

“i’m too busy,” yoongi shrugs, inhaling. “it’s crowded here.”

“— can i take you somewhere?”

their eyes meet. yoongi feels stranded— jungkook’s eyes are pretty and round and waiting. it isn’t easy to deny them of things, he finds out rather abruptly. “is it quiet?” he asks. jungkook smiles, nodding. “— alright.”

they manage their way through the mass of people, jungkook’s fingers tightly curled around yoongi’s wrist, so we don’t get lost , he says. they enter a building through an alleyway entrance. the elevator is small, and it plays a pop tune. jungkook presses for the fifth floor. “i think you’ll enjoy it, hyung,” jungkook comments. the place is quiet, after all, if not for the light indie rock song playing faintly through speakers and the faint conversation. the hazy kind of lighting is yellow, and seoul’s colours drip through the big industrial windows. “i used to busk here, when i was still auditioning.”

“ah,” yoongi replies, nodding. jungkook greets the girl behind the counter with a smile. yoongi looks away, finding his way into one of the tables, fingers touching the plastic corners of the menu. jungkook joins him a moment later. “— your girlfriend?”

“no, she’s with the company, too,” jungkook’s reply isn’t shy or taken aback— just matter-of-factly. “what do you want to drink?”

“i don’t drink often.”

“drink a beer with me, then.”

there’s a pause. yoongi sighs, then, nodding. two tall pints of beer are put in between them, and a bowl of fried chicken after a while. jungkook starts eating right away, thank you for the food . the beer tastes sweet, and it’s cold enough. yoongi watches the people outside cramming into the nooks of the alleyway. “why didn’t you busk outside?” he asks, after a moment. 

“too shy before,” jungkook shrugs. he drinks his beer the same way he drinks milk. holding the glass with both hands, eyes big behind them. yoongi looks at the small stage, the guitar against the wall, the amplifiers. it reminds him of namjoon’s studio, of how small it is, of how good yoongi feels there, of his likeness for music when he was young. “they would let me play in exchange for food when i first came,” a small thing of a shrug follows. “i’m not from a wealthy family.”

“i’m not either,” yoongi pushes the bowl of chicken closer to jungkook, urging him to eat. 

“where are you from?”

“daegu,” he sips on his beer again, licking the corner of his lips. 

“you’re from the mountains,” jungkook smiles at him. “it’s fitting.” no , yoongi wants to say, i’m from the city, from a neighbourhood full of crisscrossed electricity wires and small houses . 

“— you should sing something,” he says instead, nodding towards the small makeshift stage. jungkook looks that way, too, eyebrows raising. should i? “go sing a song, i’ll tell you if you’re good.”

there’s excitement in the way jungkook stands, downing the rest of his pint, and there’s excitement in the way he talks to the girl behind the counter, and in the way he takes the stage, quickly adjusting the strap of the guitar over his shoulder. the amplifiers are turned on with the tip of his foot. jungkook clears his throat against the microphone. the other people around the bar look his way, conversation settling down. “ baby, baby, you’re a caramel macchiato, your scent is still sweet on my lips ,” he starts, fingers playing the strings. yoongi blinks. jungkook’s voice is— breathy and pretty and elegant in its finishes. “ to me, you, who is so warm and smells so beautiful ,” he carries on, eyes closed, the riffs soft. yoongi looks away, tugging on the skin around his nails, strangely nervous. “ baby, baby, tonight— “

the song finishes as easily as it began. jungkook smiles shyly when people clap, bowing his head, hair falling over his eyes. he’s smiling when he joins yoongi again, expectant. “good,” yoongi nods, reaching out to pat jungkook’s hair. the gesture somehow makes jungkook’s smile get wider, cheeks rosier. “you did well.”

“did i?”

“yeah,” and yoongi sniffs, pulling back his hand, self-conscious. “i’m sure you’ll soon be on a billboard somewhere in a preppy boyband.”

“i’ll pay you back, then,” jungkook offers, reaching for the food again. 

“— yeah.”

they talk a bit more. not a lot. yoongi likes quietness, jungkook doesn’t seem to mind it, either. the small talk they share isn’t all boring— jungkook misses the sea, and he thinks the weather in seoul is sometimes overwhelming, which yoongi agrees to, and that he doesn’t have a preference for drinks, as long as they have alcohol in it, and that he has an older brother, but they haven’t kept in touch. those are small fragments of a life yoongi is partially curious about. “— do you have a partner?” jungkook asks at some point, on their third round of beer, after a long silence. yoongi finishes his glass, shaking his head negatively. “why not?”

“i’m an omega who went to kaist to get a master degree in finance engineering,” yoongi replies with blunt honesty. “people don’t like that.” 

“that just means you’re smart,” jungkook sounds mildly upset. “your status doesn’t mean anything.”

“it does in the corporate world, i’m afraid.”

“they’re blind, then, because you’re—,” and they stare at each other, and jungkook’s nose grows redder. yoongi wants to hear what comes next, but his cheeks are getting hotter, too. they both look away. “hyung is a good person,” jungkook finishes his sentence in small, timid words. “it doesn’t matter what you are.”

“you’re the only one to think like that,” and yoongi huffs, standing up. “i’ll go pay, it’s getting late.”

sunday is already coming to an end when they arrive back home. the ride is silent, as they take a taxi back, too tired to ride the late night packed trains. jungkook’s scent is stronger in the confined vehicle, though, after a long day. or maybe it’s just yoongi not being used to having an alpha so close all the time. the people at work are kept at safe distant, the air-conditioner running the same refurbished neutralisers through the air. it avoids awkwardness. maybe it’s just all the alcohol in his system. jungkook sways a bit to take off his shoes at the entrance, stumbling. “i’m sorry,” he mumbles, yawning. “i’m going to bed—“

“shower first,” yoongi tells him, dropping the shopping bags on the couch. jungkook makes a disgruntled noise. “it’s in the contract.”

“but i’m tired,” and yoongi’s about to turn, about to demand that he cleans himself, but jungkook’s close, towering behind him to sniff his neck. “you smell, too, hyung.” the words are felt against skin, breathy. the ghost of fingertips seem to touch his hips. yoongi’s entire body stills for moment, before he’s forcing his way out of the situation. jungkook lowers his head, waiting for a reprimand. yoongi doesn’t think the arrangement will work, he thinks of demanding jungkook to leave, locking the door behind him. he thinks all of that, but they’re all see-through thoughts. he exhales, shaky.

instead, he searches inside the bags, tossing clothes his way. “shower, jungkook.”

“yeah, i’m— sorry.” and he quickly disappears from the living room. yoongi stands there for too long, the sensation still lingering. he stirs himself into motion only when he hears the water stop running. then yoongi closes himself in his scentless room. 

morning comes too easily. yoongi falls back into routine automatically, nothing truly changes, not a single thing (— he stops by his office, looking through the door left ajar. jungkook’s all curled into himself, feet out from under the duvet, everything else covered, snoring lightly. he doesn’t wake up when yoongi steps in quietly, pulling on his blankets to cover his bare feet.) (a container with breakfast is left in the fridge, and yoongi has cooked for two.) (he folds the new clothes he’s bought for jungkook before leaving home, the spare key he finally had it made left on the coffee table besides the pile, with a note. keep it safe .) the walk to the station is quiet, the classical piece on his airpods just faintly numbing the white noise of traffic and passerbys. it’s a murky kind of monday. foggy and strange.

he greets his coworkers with short nods upon arriving, getting small wishes of good day along the way, none sounding very honest. jimin’s just settling in when yoongi walks into their shared office. he quickly turns, smiling, offering a bow. “sunbae, good morning,” he says cheerfully. “i’ve been meaning to ask how’s your dog—“

“it’s okay,” he tries and dismisses the topic quickly, like all the other times it come up. “it’s— he — he’s fine, he’s at home.” lying won’t do him any good, yoongi reckons, but he’s trying to be polite. his computer is barely on when jimin approaches his table. yoongi notices the package on his hands right away.

“i don’t do well with dogs, but this is for—“ he starts, sentence unfinished, waiting. yoongi blinks, confused. “for your dog, i mean, i was hoping to get its name, you never told me.“

jeon jungkook . the words almost leave yoongi’s mouth. he clears his throat, blushing, looking down at the files left on his table for assessment. “ kook ,” he says, then, after a moment. “he’s— that’s his name.” well, this is for kook, then, jimin smiles, leaving the package on yoongi’s table before bowing once again, hurrying to an early briefing. yoongi watches him leave, puzzled. it’s a collar, it turns out, once he opens the package, thin and black and with a heart-shaped dog tag hanging from it, yoongi’s full name and phone number engraved on it. he holds it for a few minutes, feeling the leather against his hands— but then his phone buzzes against the desk, and yoongi feels himself jolt, heart speeding up. it’s a dog collar. he doesn’t own a dog anymore . 

the message on his screen comes from a number he doesn’t know: i ate well . it takes just a second for a picture to follow, of jungkook’s youthful face full of lingering sleep in his puffy eyes, empty dishes in the background. yoongi huffs, breaking into a smile. good boy , he starts writing, but it seems too easy, after the awkwardness of the night before. yoongi touches his neck, fingers pressing under his shirt collar. wash your dishes, he writes instead, saving jungkook’s phone a moment later. he never replies.

the day goes by as it usually does— with a headache brewing inside his head as yoongi goes from meeting to meeting, coffee filling up his system, eyes fluttering as he tries not to nod off working, jimin’s soft small talk that goes nowhere. he’s a good person, park jimin. better than min yoongi, yoongi thinks. nicer, if anything. “jimin-ssi,” he calls, and jimin looks away from his work, surprised. yoongi isn’t one to initiate conversation. “thank you for the food, that day,” and yoongi knows he’s a bit blushed. “i didn’t say it before.”

“that’s alright, sunbae,” jimin smiles kindly. “you’ve been busy with the acquisitions.”

“i’ll,” and he sighs, forcing the words out. “i’ll go get coffee. do you want some?”

jimin blinks, eyes wide. “ah— yeah, yes,” he stands, bowing. “thank you, sunbae.” 

the fumes from the coffee machine smell good, and yoongi looks through the capsules, sniffing them to choose one for himself in the small coffee room adjacent to their office. the bank is muffled outside, the quietness rather inviting. yoongi thinks he ought to get coffee more often. his phone buzzes again, and keeps on buzzing. jeon jungkook , it says on the screen. yoongi stares at it for a moment, before picking up. “— hello?” ah, hyung, i’m sorry i’m calling you at work , jungkook does sound apologetic, and there’s the sound of ongoing traffic around him. yoongi waits for him to carry on, mumbling a that’s okay . loud honking follows, and jungkook curses out loud. do you think i— do you think i can meet you and we go home together? the easiness that the words come out throws yoongi off a bit. we go home together , he says, as if home belongs to both of them after only a few weeks. “why?” jungkook breathes loudly. i don’t have the cash to take the train , he confesses, and yoongi can hear how embarrassed he is. “were you planning to walk home from myeongdong?” ah, he uses the word home, too, as if it really belongs to both of them. yoongi sighs, closing his eyes. jungkook’s in the middle of saying something. “just send me your bank account, i’ll transfer you some money,” he offers, resigned. “but we—,” the coffee machine beeps. yoongi removes his cup, lowering his gaze to the golden crema. “we can go home together.” okay , jungkook replies. text me the address and i’ll find you, hyung . “yeah, i will.” 

the coffee is mild cold when yoongi returns to the office, but jimin doesn’t say anything. he drinks it all, yoongi notices it, swallowing with obvious difficulty. “i’m sorry it’s bad,” he offers, clearing his throat. jimin nods, and then he huffs, starting to chuckle. he laughs weakly, too. it isn’t that bad, wearing some other person’s suit. he wonders if it’s all the practice with jungkook. “— do you have the data on the compliance agreement?” he asks, then, as if to go back into the pace they’ve always been. jimin nods, but he’s still smiling.

it’s near six when some other intern comes in, greeting jimin with a boxy smile. come out with us, hyung , jimin says then, and the other boy nods vehemently, and for some reason he thinks of the bar jungkook took him and how that wasn’t as bad. he could try again. “— yeah, i guess i can go.” so it’s past seven, then, and yoongi’s listening to someone from compliance talk about the bank plans for foreign advances at a nearby restaurant. kim seokjin is loud about it, saying they’ll lose their jobs to americans. yoongi isn’t worried. the chances of that happening are small, americans wouldn’t care to learn their language in order to set proper deals in asian markets. others agree with him, even though they’re mostly confused when doing so. he sniffs, the smell of grease and meat and alpha bothering his senses. the boy with the boxy smile, kim taehyung, has an arm around jimin’s shoulders, and sometimes he’ll lean in, touching his nose to jimin’s jawline. yoongi swallows, looking away. it’s almost nine when yoongi leaves, the alcohol in his system making his feet wobbly. they bought all his drinks— our directornim min yoongi finally came out! , and everyone laughed. yoongi laughed, too, albeit weakly. “do you want to split a taxi?” someone asks him, and it’s three past nine when yoongi remembers— we can walk home together .

“no, i— no,” he mumbles, turning, putting one foot after another with some difficulty. he shouldn’t have drank. the corporate building isn’t that far. just a few blocks. yoongi sees jungkook right away, sitting at the bus stop. he looks tired, scratching his eyes. yoongi feels— strangely warm, and strangely broken. jungkook sees him walking closer. he doesn’t say anything as yoongi sits besides him. he probably can smell the soju on him, the grease, everything else. “— you should’ve just gone home, i wired you enough money.”

“yeah,” jungkook replies, huffing. “i should have.”

“why didn’t you?”

“because you said we could go home together and i’m your pet, so i waited, as it’s in the contract,” that makes yoongi blush, looking away. jungkook sniffs. “— you smell, hyung.”

“i was out,” it’s not a proper answer. “let’s go home, then.” but jungkook holds onto his sleeve, softly. yoongi forces himself to look at him. his hair is messy. he’s strikingly pretty. yoongi breathes out. “— what?”

“we can take the bus,” he shrugs. “it’s coming anytime now.”

“i prefer the train,” yoongi mumbles.

“you’re too smelly for the train, you’ll drive everyone crazy.”

“ yah ,” and jungkook chuckles, flinching when yoongi raises a hand to slap the back of his head. he doesn’t, though. it’s barely a pat. “i don’t do this,” he ends up saying. “i don’t go out with coworkers. never did before.”

“isn’t that bad, though?” jungkook looks down the street. “you’re supposed to.” yoongi’s very aware of social norms. he just never cared enough. he doesn’t care a lot now, either. “— did you have fun at least?”

“no,” and yoongi replies earnestly. fun isn’t the word, not entirely. “it was noisy.” the bus takes a turn, approaching them. they sit at the back, yoongi touching his head against the cold glass of the window, the breeze making his hair flutter. it’s good, the cool wind. it sobers him up. jungkook seems restless, leg constantly moving, up and down, up and down. yoongi knows what it is. “it’ll go away,” the scent , he says, then, almost apologetic. almost. there’s no reason he should be explaining himself for the boy who walked in his life just weeks ago.

“i know,” and jungkook moves to open the window, leaning over yoongi. he smells of rain, and the cold breeze, and yoongi finds himself inhaling more deeply than he should. jungkook notices it, because his ears start reddening. “do you think,” he starts, after some time. they’re almost home. yoongi’s eyes are fixed on the blurred out lights from outside. “i can eat something when we get— to your house?”

yoongi stirs, looking back at jungkook’s profile. your house . “yeah. i’ll make you something,” it’s awkward between them now, when they’re both blunty aware of each other’s presence. “i’m sorry, i forgot you— i forgot you could be hungry.” he’s embarrassed. yoongi sniffs, looking away again. 

they’re quiet all the way home, and all the way up to yoongi’s apartment, and into the next hour, after proper showers are taken, after some stew cools down in a pan, jungkook’s bowl empty. they’re still quiet, then, sitting in front of the each other, yoongi pretending to work, jungkook pretending not to know he’s pretending. “maybe i should really go,” he says, then, abruptly. yoongi lifts his eyes from the graphs he isn’t paying attention to. jungkook’s still red on the cheeks, probably from the heat of the soup. “it’s awkward.”

it’s late . yoongi thinks he (they) should go to bed. “can we talk tomorrow?”

“— do you want me to go?”

wide eyes wait for an answer. yoongi shakes his head negatively. “i don’t mind if you stay, as long as,” as long as you shower, as long as you don’t touch my things, as long as you do what it is told . he can’t find the will to say those things, mostly because they’re not true at all. “as long as you want to stay.”

“i want to stay,” jungkook replies, softly. “i’m— grateful.” and he bows when he stands, politely. he only smells of shampoo now. lavender, a hint of chamomile, yoongi’s shampoo. it isn’t bad. “i want to stay.”

“okay,” and he nods. jungkook smiles, despite the gloomy air about him. “this week i’ll come home to make dinner.” it’s the design of a promise, one yoongi likes to think he’ll keep. it’s mostly for his own good— go home, your pet needs food. there’s no point in going out with coworkers that do not like you . jungkook stares, unabashed. yoongi stands, too, picking up his laptop. “we can— talk, i guess.”

“what are we going to talk about?”

the sort of curious endings in jungkook’s syllables are filled with anxiety. yoongi glances at him, then away. “i’ll tell you about my life and you will listen, like dogs do,” he starts, proud of his nonchalant tone of voice. jungkook huffs. “now you should go to bed.”

“— are you going to bed?”

yoongi finds jungkook’s eyes. they’re dark, pupils dilated. they’ve been like that since yoongi sat beside him on the bus stop. “take your meds,” it isn’t the answer that jungkook wants, and yoongi moves past him, glad not to be touched in any way, not even on the fabric of his clothes. “and go to sleep.”

“do you do this with everyone?” the question is softly posed, careful. jungkook is still staring, yoongi can feel it at the back of his head.  “not answering.”

yes , he almost says right away, but yoongi manages to catch himself in honesty. “i don’t need to answer to most people.” he shrugs, not looking back, stepping away. “good-night, jungkook.”

on the first day, yoongi talks about inadequate deficits in housing accounts. jungkook looks positively bored, yawning, head against the arms folded over the table. he talks until jungkook properly falls asleep, mumbling his ah, yes, i see, yeah . yoongi talks a bit more, voice lowering as he watches him, words getting lost in sentences that don’t make sense as his eyes wander about jungkook’s contours. the second day, yoongi comments on the news regarding the drop on american exportation taxes, and this time jungkook groans, from the floor where lays in the middle of the living room. yoongi pokes him with his feet, getting more groans in return. on the third day, yoongi takes work home, and he reads out loud all the words on his market report to a begrudgingly annoyed jungkook. 

on the fifth and last day of their routine— and yoongi gets home earlier, even, the trains oddly empty, and he’s hoping to talk about the forthcoming bank acquisitions, and he’s even smiling when he opens the door, however— however, jungkook isn’t there. there’s only silence when he calls, no greetings, no messy hair from late afternoon naps. yoongi stands by the foyer, strangely uncomfortable, almost out of place. he swallows, then, stirring into motion after a few minutes, leaving his briefcase in the office where jungkook’s bed is made. the kitchen is fairly clean. he’s eaten, yoongi notices, from the bowls left to dry. there’s a faint smell of— something, of sweetness, and of instant ramen, remains of jungkook’s presence. he sighs. 

yoongi likes to be alone, he’s always liked it. he isn’t lonely. it isn’t lonely to be alone. those sentences repeat themselves as he goes through with his night routine, his shower, turning on the television to the evening news, prepping dinner. it doesn’t matter that jungkook won’t be there to eat with him. he wasn’t there all those nights before. yoongi shrugs to nothing in particular, starting to chop off vegetables. he hears the door almost two hours or so later, legs folded underneath him on the couch, some horror movie playing, his dirty dishes still on the coffee table. yoongi doesn’t turn his head, even though jungkook always greets him when he is the one arriving late. he isn’t the pet. yoongi inhales, bothered for no reason, and he can smell the alpha and the sweat about jungkook. it isn’t good. it tingles down his neck. he feels jungkook move, hears him taking off his shoes, and hears as he drags his slippers closer, until he stops. “go shower,” yoongi says almost right away, finally turning, taking a glimpse of jungkook. there’s a blush on his cheeks, and his hair is sticky. yoongi faintly recognises that kind of frown he’s wearing. it’s one from pain, when someone’s scent is too good . “— go now.”

“i didn’t want to come home,” jungkook’s voice is soft. yoongi wants to stop listening to it. “not—today, i didn’t want to bother you.” his body is shaking slightly as if cold. “i’m sorry.” 

“it’s fine,” yoongi offers, standing, not wanting to shift the air, not wanting to make it more difficult. jungkook sighs. “you’ll feel better once you’ve had a cold shower,” he walks into the kitchen. “i’ll make you some tea.”

even on meds, heats and ruts always come. mild and harmless, but come anyway, with the odd changes of the moons, more frequently when younger. it feels like an itch you constantly need to scratch. yoongi hasn’t had his in a while. last time he spent five days inside, scratching . but their bodies are different, yoongi knows. jungkook doesn’t want to scratch anything. it makes him feel more at ease when he hears the doors closing, locks turning. jungkook takes so long that by the time he comes into the kitchen, the tea is cold. yoongi puts it in the microwave. jungkook sits down. “i feel better,” he nods, but his words are still small, as if he’s holding them back precariously. “it’s just a bit cold now.”

“— here,” and yoongi puts the once again hot tea in front of him. it’s a herbal mixture that smells like grass, but it appeases a body in heat. “drink it up.” jungkook does, gulping the drink down without caring for its temperature. yoongi stands further away, by the counters. “do you want a blanket?”

jungkook shakes his head negatively, swallowing, putting the mug down, empty. “the cold is good for,” he glances up at yoongi, flushing before looking away. “it’s better.”

“i know,” yoongi crosses the distance, sitting down in front of him, his arms against his chest, feeling himself blush as well. “you’ll be fine in a couple of days.” jungkook nods. “stay inside.”

“— doesn’t it bother you?”

“a bit,” because it does, albeit faintly. jungkook looks apologetic. “it’s part of who we are,” he offers, kindly. “there’s no shame in it.”

“are you sure?”

“yeah, i’m sure.” they sit there quietly, the hum of the refrigerator suddenly very loud. jungkook sniffs, and his nose scrunch. yoongi knows why. “is it your first time?” it shouldn’t be, jungkook’s too old for firsts, already. presenting is some kind of another tragedy, if yoongi remembers correctly, but a first heat is always bothering. he shakes his head. no, it isn’t . “so it’ll end soon.” 

“you smell so good,” yoongi knows right away those aren’t the words jungkook wanted to say, because he sucks the air in, hand covering his mouth, eyes wide and round. “i didn’t mean—,” he starts, muffled voice, ears red. yoongi swallows, stammering things that barely make sense, it’s fine, don’t, yes, i mean . jungkook stands up abruptly, his stool pushed back, hands curled into fists. “i should just go to bed.” he bows too deeply. yoongi can’t help it, then. he reaches out, before jungkook can stand up straight, and touches his hair. jungkook stills. he scratches the nape of his neck carefully, where the itch is stronger, and jungkook’s knuckles turn white. “ hyung— ”

“yeah,” he nods absentmindedly, taking his hand away. “yeah, i just— don’t feel bad.” their eyes meet when jungkook looks up again, all flushed, lips redder. yoongi doesn’t look at them for more than a lot of seconds. “when you’re alright, we can—,” he doesn’t know what he wants to say, so he doesn’t finish his sentence. jungkook nods, as if he had. “lock your door.” i will . another nod. yoongi inhales. it’s a mistake. “good-night, then.”

“— good-night.”

he waits until jungkook’s gone, waits until he can hear the door lock, and then he releases the air inside his lungs, letting his head fall against the table, body tense with nerves. the surface of the wood is cold. it’s alleviating, at least. he’s never shared space with an alpha going through a rut. he’s shared a bed, a few times, but not space . not his space . it’s— vexing, somehow. he breathes deeply again, groaning. maybe sleep would do him good as well. 

the stifled noise of panting follows him into his bedroom, lingering as he lays down, seeping through thin walls. there’s a vague keenness in the way jungkook seems to breathe on the other side of the wall. yoongi doesn’t move, eyes open, listening. he doesn’t mean to. he just can’t help it. sleep , he thinks, it’ll go away if you sleep . jungkook doesn’t. an hour goes by. the noises he makes get lower, and yoongi hears when jungkook sobs. he sits up then, troubled. why— he shouldn’t, but he walks towards the office door, naked feet against cold floor. why are you crying? yoongi raises his hand, holding it still for too long. jungkook sobs again. he knocks. “— jungkook?” the noises stop. no other sound answer his call. he tries again: “are you alright?”

“yeah,” he hears a sniff, and the sound of fabric. “it’s nothing.”

“it doesn’t sound like nothing.” it’s different for everyone, the moods of the heats. yoongi gets hopeless. he makes and remakes his bed, always finding it too empty. maybe jungkook feels hopeless, too. when it’s too aggravating, find yourself someone to hold , people say. share your bed with a friend and you’ll be fine. the scent will calm you down. it doesn’t mean anything, it isn’t supposed to mean anything . yoongi swallows. he imagines letting jungkook into his scentless bedroom, letting him into his bed. it doesn’t feel right. “— can you open the door?”

“i don’t think that’s a good idea,” jungkook says faintly. “i’m fine—“

“i’ll sleep on the couch, then,” yoongi forces the words out. he’s blushing at the door still closed. “if you need— someone to hold.”

silence follows. yoongi stares for a moment longer, before going back into his bedroom to grab blankets and a pillow. his dirty dishes are still on the coffee table. he can’t ignore them, so he takes them to the sink before going back to the couch, laying down, hiding his body under covers. jungkook doesn’t come. not for a long time. not until yoongi’s almost falling asleep. then he feels the heat of a burning body approaching, and he allows jungkook to adjust himself in between his legs, lazily bringing a hand to scratch his scalp. it’s uncomfortable. jungkook’s face is sticky with the remains of tears. yoongi feels him breathing against his neck, and it’s so hot he sweats. “thank you,” jungkook mumbles, inhaling.

“don’t get used to it, you’re just the pet,” yoongi says softly, staring up at ceiling. “— you were crying.”

“ah,” and jungkook sniffs again, and when he does his whole body moves against yoongi’s. “i’m not crying anymore.” arms wrap about him, and jungkook presses closer. they don’t fit very well on the couch, or on top of each other. jungkook’s taller, his feet sticking out. yoongi yawns. “i’ll pay you back,” jungkook offers. “for this, too.”

“take the trash out everyday,” yoongi demands, but he smiles when jungkook starts to whine he’s a pet and not a working dog. “that’s the payment i request, take it or i’ll be going back to bed,” he’s still smiling, though, eyes closed, fingers deeply enthralled in the mane on jungkook’s head. it doesn’t feel so uncomfortable now. he’s warm, at least, too warm even. jungkook pushes the air out of his nose, exasperated, but mumbles a weak stay . “ everyday .” 

“alright,” jungkook sighs. he snuggles, then, closer as if it’s any possible. yoongi tentatively wraps his free arm around him. after that, is quick descent into sleep. jungkook starts snoring lightly after a while. yoongi listens to him, already used to the sounds he makes after dark. his body is heavy, his eyelids are, too. he falls asleep. 

his whole body hurts. it hurts from being in the same position overnight, it hurts from being under a much heavier body, for— a few nights, now, not only one, but four. jungkook stays in, yoongi gets home, makes them dinner, tries not to breathe. at some point he drags his duvet to the couch. jungkook joins him not much later, gladly breathing against him, his feverish body getting cooler as nights go by. the scent isn’t strong anymore, barely there after a shower. yoongi’s eyes flutter open. maybe he’ll be able to have a good night of sleep soon enough. “jungkook,” he pats jungkook’s back. he’s difficult to wake, yoongi has learned from experience. he sleeps deeply, wrapped around yoongi as if he’d fall otherwise. it saves on the energy bill , yoongi tells himself. no need for heaters . “jungkook,” he calls again. nothing. he sighs. the living room is changing colours faintly. the sun is also difficult to wake during winter. “wake up,” he pats his back again, fingers tickling his sides. jungkook groans, moving. yoongi inhales sharply. the things with bodies in heat is that they’re unabashed. they need things, sometimes. jungkook seems to realise what moving does, because he stops right away. “— i’ll make breakfast,” yoongi offers rather weakly, as if to make the situation less daunting. “just— maybe—“

“yeah, i’ll— i’ll—“

“— sure, just—“

their convoluted conversation happens as they rapidly untangle from each other. jungkook wraps himself on the duvet, mumbling something about a shower, stumbling on the coffee table backwards, almost missing his balance. yoongi nods, continuously, trying not to look at jungkook’s flushed cheekbones. yeah, yeah, go, he mumbles in return. it’s bad dialogue. when jungkook is gone, he huffs, and a weird chuckle comes out, his lips curling the slightest. then he shakes it off, clearing his throat, walking into the kitchen. the coffee is just finishing brewing when jungkook comes back, a towel over his shoulders, still wide-eyed and embarrassed. he accepts the bowl of fried rice quietly. “how are you feeling?” yoongi asks, after a moment. 

“better,” jungkook chews loudly. “i think it’s over.”

“good, i can sleep on my bed again,” and in order not to smile at the face jungkook makes, he stuffs his mouth with food, looking away. 

“— was it that bad?” and yoongi thinks about it for less than a moment. it wasn’t that bad, but it was getting to the office smelling like an alpha going through heat, having jimin frown at him weirdly, having the interns comment on it as he passes by the coffee room. not bad, just— strange . “i didn’t think it was that bad.” 

that makes yoongi self-conscious, the tips of his ears getting hot. “no,” he replies, glancing at jungkook for a moment. “i just enjoy sleeping comfortably.”

“we could have slept on your bed,” jungkook shrugs, but his cheeks are still blushed and he coils, smiling, when yoongi goes pets shouldn’t sleep on beds . “maybe next time, owner-nim .” a wink follows as jungkook stands, empty bowl in hands. he’s back at being awfully cheeky, which means he’s back at being himself. it doesn’t bother yoongi as much. “i need to go to the company today.”

“are you sure—?” 

“yeah, it’s fine,” and jungkook glances over his shoulder as he washes his dishes. “and i— i’ll busker, later, if you want to come after work,” he swallows, meeting yoongi’s eyes. “i mean, if you’re not busy.” it sounds like being asked out. yoongi stuffs his mouth again, hand in front of his face as if to hide, finding something else to stare at. jungkook turns back to the sink, so yoongi settles for the way his hair curls at the back as it dries. saying yes would mean a promise and yoongi isn’t good with those. saying no would just bluntly hurt. so yoongi hums, as if his mouth is still too full, stalling. jungkook finishes, drying his hands on the towel around his neck, turning fully. 

“i’ll check my schedule,” the answer is robotic, the kind he gives to people when asked out or asked out . jungkook nods, but he looks disappointed. yoongi doesn’t like the way it makes him feel. “— i’ll send you money for the trains.”

the transfer is done as jungkook reaches for yoongi’s bowl, because yoongi is determined to ignore the quiet hurt in jungkook’s demeanor. he’s easy on the emotions, it seems like. everything always so very overwhelming. yoongi is the opposite. he puts everything in boxes and stores them neatly in the locked rooms of his big apartment. they leave together, an hour or so later, walking seemingly side by side, the noise of the faraway transit approaching as they get closer to the station. jungkook is on the phone with someone yoongi doesn’t know. he keeps calling that person hyung , too. he’s still on the phone when they have to split, and so he briefly waves a hand at yoongi, following into line to reach the escalators towards his side of the platform. yoongi stands awkwardly for a good second, feeling— messy, maybe. he adjusts his tie, unsure of what the strangeness is about. he can see jungkook across the platforms, even through the glass doors. he’s smiling at his phone. yoongi sighs. the train arrives, and jungkook’s shape melts within the blur a second later. 

there’s a sad pile of papers on his desk as soon as he arrives at the office. jimin greets him, a cheery good morning, sunbaenim! like the ones before. yoongi replies with a weak good morning . a coffee mug is put on his desk a few minutes after, by intern kim taehyung. “sunbae, we’re all curious,” he comments, just as jimin glares at him as if saying don’t you dare . “are you—“ he makes a vague gesture. yoongi stares, slightly pale. 

“— aware that we’re being sued by the chinese again,” jimin steps in, another stock of papers in hand, scrambling from behind his table. he puts the files on yoongi’s desk, and they don’t have anything to do with the lawsuit, which might not be a thing at all, either. “it’s getting out of hand, really, all these lawsuits—“

“yes,” yoongi replies, then. he looks from jimin to taehyung, holding his stare. “yes.” the question taehyung had wanted to ask was simple: are you mated? and whilst the answer isn’t simple in the slightest (mate, from soulmate, from bondmate, from a person that completes another so seamlessly that it is as if they’re not two, but one) (nowadays, it’s a choice more than a bond itself, though, and it hardly ever lasts that long, and yoongi finds that rather unappealing), yoongi thinks a makeshift one gives him a better chance to be left alone . taehyung’s smile gets wider, and he leans back, rather amused. “but i think you should go back to work.”

they both spring into movement, bowing with mumbled apologies. he’s still a senior in the scale of things, a director, not an intern, despite both of them ranking above him by birth. jimin glares at taehyung as he leaves. yoongi knows taehyung doesn’t mean to pry. he knows what the majority of people say about him, anyway. it doesn’t matter. jimin clears his throat, still looking embarrassed. “i’ll scold him later,” he says, as if it’s important yoongi knows. “but i’m—,” and here jimin stops, for a moment. “i’m happy for you, sunbae.” he’s a good person, park jimin. yoongi nods, offering him a smile. “how’s kook?”

that makes yoongi choke on spit, momentarily out of air. he knows he’s gotten red by the time he’s able to answer. “fine, he’s,” he shakes his head, eyes focusing on the flat screen in front of him. “he’s alright.”

“what breed is he?”

blood runs out of yoongi’s face. “miniature poodle,” he stammers.

jimin makes a noise that sounds too much like a breathy, inquisitive huh . yoongi remains nervously silent. “— i thought you said it was a big dog,” but jimin waves his hands, apologetic. “i might have misheard it.” ah, yeah , yoongi mutters, not wanting to talk about it any longer. “taehyung has a dog, as well,” jimin continues. yoongi feels sickly. “yeontannie. the only dog i’m not afraid of,” a pause. yoongi presses the keys on the keyboard too strongly. it sounds loud. “maybe they can play together some day.”

“— ah,” and yoongi forces a smile, shrugging as if apologetic. “my— kook doesn’t do well with other dogs.” he’s grateful for his phone that starts ringing a minute later, and he’s grateful it is one of the ladies from human resources, the one that is rather chatty ( i’m calling about you mate, would you like to include their name in your health insurance— ). he entertains her for as long as he can without answering any of her questions, and by the time he hangs up, jimin is already engrossed in his work and doesn’t care to bring up the subject of dogs once again. 

i’ll busker later, if you want to come after work , the words replay on his head when yoongi sits down to have lunch, a few hours later. namjoon joins him at some point, looking as if he hadn’t slept much. he sniffs, raising his head a bit. “you smell different.” yoongi feels his face flush almost immediately. namjoon’s eyes widen, then, startled all of a sudden. “— have you mated ?”

“ no ,” yoongi is quick to say, hoarsely. “jungkook was— you know,” namjoon makes a sound. “i just helped,” he gestures vaguely, embarrassed. “it just imprinted a bit, he’s young.”

“i thought you said it wouldn’t last,” namjoon comments softly, bringing back yoongi’s own words to haunt him. i bet he’ll stay for a week and then be gone, it won’t last . yoongi chews his food forcefully. “— how did it feel?”

they share looks. “warm,” yoongi offers. “nothing i haven’t done before with you.” 

“i didn’t imprint on you,” and it’s true. they’ve cuddle together, because they’re the same and because they’ve known each other’s core too deeply, but nothing remained the day after. “you’re turning soft,” namjoon pokes his forehead with a dirty chopstick. yoongi mumbles incoherent words, but it’s a fact. he’s soft. softer. jungkook’s strange presence isn’t that hindering, after all. “soft for a puppy.”

“i’m not soft for a puppy ,” his satoori comes out when he slurs the nervous words out, pushing namjoon’s chopsticks away with his own, face feeling rather hot. “i’m not soft for anyone, i’m just— being a decent person.”

“i think you’re past decent,” namjoon grins at him, evading being poked himself. “maybe you’ll keep him for good.”

“don’t be ridiculous,” but namjoon snorts. yoongi sighs. “he’ll leave when he finds something better.”

“hyung,” they chew quietly for a second or two. yoongi feels the food go down in a big lump, hurting his throat. “what if he decides there’s nothing better than you?”

the entire sentence makes yoongi uncomfortable for the rest of the day. his mind keeps pulling it back from hidden corners in his head where he tries shoving them. it’s a difficult predicament. how long is okay for them to play each other like that? there’s no such thing as having a human pet. there’s no such thing at housing a person and letting them hold onto you at night. those things aren’t supposed to happen between strangers— but if they do, for how long should they take that kind of fraud? jimin says something about a bar at some point, yoongi joins almost absent-mindedly. he doesn’t pay attention to the few drinks poured to him, or to the way his coworkers treat him slightly different now that he belongs to someone. a tamed omega is easier to understand than one that keeps on breaking patterns. when he stands and leaves, he doesn’t explain why nor he says goodbye.

myeondeong is packed, of course. yoongi takes some time to make his way through crowded streets. he’s forgotten where the alleyway the hidden bar is. the store on the corner looked like every other store around. he hears music, then, the sweet, sweet lingering syllables of jungkook’s singing voice. there’s a small crowd around him, mostly tourists. the guitar case in front of him has some money in it. he looks tired, his hair unkempt. yoongi wonders how long he’s been there. jungkook smiles when he sings, though, eyes closed, the strings of the guitar being touched delicately. he sings of heartbreak, and yoongi sighs, standing with the crowd. when the song ends, his smile grows wider. he’s still bowing when his eyes find yoongi’s. the smile falters the slightest. yoongi took too long to get there, he knows, he’s awfully late, so late he missed most of it, if not all. he approaches jungkook slowly as he starts packing his things up. “i guess you’re going out with your coworkers more,” jungkook offers, and he touches his nose, bothered. “that’s good, hyung.”

“i wanted to come earlier, i just—,” forgot , was afraid, am embarrassed . “couldn’t clear my schedule.”

“that’s fine,” jungkook has his back at him, and yoongi can’t see his expression. his voice is steady, emotionless, even. the guitar case is slung over a shoulder and jungkook smiles when he turns, offering the money towards yoongi. “to start paying my debt.” he wants to say no, but yoongi only briefly nods, taking the crinkled bills and loose coins, pocketing everything. “— are you going home?”

“yeah, it’s late,” yoongi replies. 

“do you mind if i stay? i have my keys.”

he raises his eyes to look at jungkook again. somehow, he minds . still, yoongi shakes his head, shrugging. “you can do whatever you want.” 

there’s clear disappointment in jungkook’s face, but it’s only there for a moment or two. he smiles brightly again. “i’ll see you, then, hyung.” then he’s turning, finding his way through the swarm of people, one hand carrying the heavy amplifier. yoongi stands there for too long before realising he’s being bluntly silly. it’s the imprinted smell on him, clouding his thoughts. he needs a bath.

a bath goes by, some television show he barely pays attention to, until the lights of the screen are the only thing colouring the walls, and yoongi hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch. he doesn't feel like eating. there’s an annoying throb at the back of his throat. the couch smells too much like jungkook. maybe he needs another bath. maybe he needs to get his couch dry cleaned. when jungkook arrives back, it’s way into the night. yoongi’s still awake, a book unread against his chest, his room the only place clean of jungkook’s scent. he can hear when jungkook walks around the office, probably picking up clothes, and he hears when he stumbles into the bathroom, cursing under his breath. yoongi exhales, turning off the lamp finally. he’s too tired, tired enough to fall asleep before jungkook leaves the bathroom. at least he’s home.

the awkwardness eventually washes off, as it often does between them and their way of living. it takes them a few strange weeks of quiet exchanges and the house a good spring clean. jungkook complains he’s getting poor treatment, but smiles as he raises the couch for yoongi to clean underneath. yoongi sprays the rooms with floral scented perfume jungkook bought as an apology. it isn’t a bad arrangement, after all. they weren’t thinking straight because of the rut, and it’s gone now. “— a concert?” yoongi asks, a few mornings later, back against the counter as he drinks his coffee. it’s bitter, as jungkook forgot to buy sugar. yoongi drinks it anyway. “i thought you haven’t debuted yet.”

“i haven’t,” jungkook swallows, licking the side of his chopsticks. “it’s the company’s family concert, even trainees participate in it.” he looks over his bowl at yoongi. “it’d be nice if hyung was there.”

“you know i can’t promise anything,” yoongi finds better telling him, so the disappointment is not as great if yoongi can’t keep up with his word. it cushions the blow. “i’m too old for concerts.”

“you act like you’re old,” jungkook reasons. “you’re not even thirty, hyung.” yoongi starts saying something about work, but jungkook stops him. “can i take you out someday?”

they stare at each other, yoongi’s mouth closes abruptly, and he swallows, nervous. the question was posed rather carelessly— as if it isn’t any sort of big deal. jungkook waits for his reply, teeth sinking into lips, ears just slightly red. maybe he, too, feels the weight on it. “— where would we go?” yoongi asks softly. he looks away, putting his mug down into the sink, tugging on his tie.

“i don’t know yet,” jungkook seems to shrug. “but i want to take you somewhere.” yoongi touches objects that don’t need touching, adjusting their position on the counters, slightly jittery. “as friends, i— i think we could go out as friends.”

as friends . yoongi exhales. “are we friends?”

he startles the slightest when jungkook approaches him to put his bowl on the sink, too. “yeah,” jungkook breathes out, and yoongi glances his way. he’s all flushed. “i’m your pet after all.” yoongi huffs, and he’s about to say something else, but jungkook gets closer, adjusting the collar of yoongi’s shirt. it’s the kind of mindless touch that scares yoongi the most. jungkook seems to notice the way yoongi’s eyes widen. “ boundaries ,” he mutters, imitating yoongi’s stoic timbre, a small smile dancing on his lips. “right.”

“it’s fine,” yoongi offers, not understanding if the heat he feels under his skin is the effect of the warm coffee. jungkook’s smile gets slightly bigger. yoongi clears his throat, flustered. “i need to go— work.”

“can we take the train together?”

“— are you going to gwanhwamun?”

“i have a job interview,” jungkook nods. yoongi raises his head, eyebrows arching. “yeah, i— thought i could try— something else, too, part-time.”

they move alongside each other, bags being grabbed, keys, and yoongi sighs as they take on the stairs. “don’t give up so easily,” he says quietly. jungkook glances at him. “debuting.” outside, the air is crisp. it wakes yoongi a bit better than the coffee. “you’re good enough.”

the small compliment makes jungkook irrevocably giddy, and he touches his own hair, tugging on loose strands. he’s pulled half of it up into a resemblance of a ponytail again. yoongi doesn’t think it looks that bad. nothing looks bad on jungkook, he reckons, briefly, before realising the sentence makes his ears burn, too. the station is packed, and they get into line together, arms touching. yoongi sniffs. his cheeks are cold. the ache at the back of his throat is still there. “here,” jungkook mumbles, and yoongi is confused for a moment before having a scarf wrapped around his neck. “your nose is red, hyung.” then he huffs. “your cheeks, too.”

“it’s cold, that’s all,” yoongi is quick to say, looking down at their feet. “— thank you.” jungkook smiles, touching his fingers to yoongi’s nose just briefly, before pushing his hands into the pockets of his puffy windbreaker. 

“you’re cute,” he seems to say, giddily. 

yoongi forgets to walk when the line moves, embarrassed. someone behind him calls him out. that makes jungkook giggle. yoongi’s all flustered, so much so he can barely stutter an apology. the panic that settles in his gut makes his heart race. the train ride is quiet. jungkook scrolls the screen of his phone. yoongi stares at his reflection on the glass, even when he doesn’t want to. it’s not an easy task to look away. yoongi’s— strangely bewildered— with the one strand of hair that keeps falling over jungkook’s eyes. they’re walking out of the train when yoongi finally stops jungkook, holding his wrist rather loosely. jungkook’s eyes fill up with gleam when yoongi pushes the strand behind his ear. yoongi lets him go. “it was bothering me,” he says, matter-of-factly. 

as jungkook fully turns towards him, he seems to be wanting to say something, eyes big and round, but they both hear when someone calls: “yoongi sunbae!” jungkook’s mouth closes, and he looks over yoongi’s shoulder. yoongi does, too. jimin looks flushed from walking, or from the cold. his smile is the same one he wears at the bank. “i’m running a bit late today,” he explains, waving. “it’s nice seeing you.”

“ah, yes,” yoongi mumbles, not knowing what to say. jimin looks at jungkook, then, smile staying. the silence drags, awkwardly. “ah, this is my—“

“partner,” jimin completes, nodding. jungkook seems to choke, coughing.

“ no ,” yoongi comes in, gesturing vaguely with his hands. “no, this is my— he’s family, he’s—“ jimin’s eyebrows rise the slightest, smile finally faltering. “younger— cousin.” the sentence is said just as jungkook mumbles, embarrassed: no, i’m just a friend . they glance at each other, before looking away. jungkook seems bothered to be deemed as family. yoongi sighs. “he— takes care of my dog.”

he can only hope jimin doesn’t think they’re both slightly deranged. “ah, how’s kook?” yoongi stills, feeling a bad taste on his mouth. jungkook huffs next to him. 

“still big,” he replies, dryly.

jimin seems to laugh. “as big as a miniature poodle can be, i suppose,” he says, and yoongi shrinks into himself. it’s like watching a sand castle crumbling. too many lies piled onto each other. he steals a glance at jungkook’s face. he looks— sharp. 

“you don’t want to miss your interview,” yoongi tells him, nudging his side as gently as he can. jungkook nods after a moment, their eyes meeting briefly as he mutters see you later, hyung , bowing to the both of them. yoongi breathes easier once he’s away. jimin urges them to the escalators, quickly changing subjects to work related topics, ones yoongi has little interest on. he looks behind his back, a glimpse of jungkook’s ponytail disappearing into the crowd as they go up. there’s something about equities on his table by the time they reach office. yoongi wants to toss it out of the window, but windows that high don’t really crack open. so he sighs, sitting down.

it’s some time after lunch when seokjin knocks at their door. “ah, yoongi-ssi, jimin-ssi,” he greets. “our first meeting got cancelled, but i thought we could go downstairs for some coffee.” yoongi knows right away he can’t say no. kim seokjin is a senior executive, and despite yoongi’s detached work personality when it comes to after hours drinks, there’s little escape for those kinds of requests when he’s still on the clock— so he nods, rather sourly, wrapping jungkook’s scarf around his neck. there’s a coffee shop attached to the foyer, the colourful red logo bringing in younger executives on more relaxed meetings. seokjin and jimin discuss internal affairs and the two court room sessions they’ll have to attend because of the lawsuits. yoongi isn’t paying attention, but nods as if he is. the coffee shop smells of sweet bread. 

it isn’t boring, at least. seokjin soon changes topics to the current drama with one of the ceo’s secretary, the story about her partner cheating on her with another alpha running wild between the cubicles of the fifteenth floor. yoongi huffs, shaking his head, and jimin pitches in that there’s nothing wrong with alphas dating, but there’s everything wrong with cheating . “how did you meet your mate, sunbae?” he asks, suddenly, taking a slice of the cake he ordered. yoongi feels his hands sweat around his mug. 

“we crossed— paths,” he shrugs, flushing. chugging his entire mug of coffee doesn’t seem like a realistic reaction, so he doesn’t. “i rather not talk about my personal life.”

“no need to,” seokjin grins. “everyone else at the office does it for you.” 

they say something else, and laughter follows. yoongi has stopped listening. across the floor, he sees jungkook coming out of a door after a girl, wrapping a black apron around his waist. she points at things behind the bar, and he nods. yoongi almost smiles at how big his eyes are, how nervous he seems. but then seokjin and jimin stand up, and they start to leave, and jungkook doesn’t really notice how yoongi stares, obviously preoccupied with learning new tasks. they’re in the elevator when jimin comments: “didn’t you have a scarf, sunbae?”

“ah,” and yoongi nods, hand coming to touch his collar. “yeah, i did.” he knows jimin will offer to go back for it, so he adds: “i’ll pass by before leaving, i’m sure they’ll keep it.”

“good, because we’re being called to that antitrust meeting,” seokjin sighs, staring at the screen of his phone. “acquiring woori group is going to be more annoying than we all think.” jimin agrees, making a sound. yoongi feels his head starting to pound, and wants to say he doesn’t care. 

the meeting is a long one, with lawyers from the state and executives of both groups. yoongi knows he should be paying attention to it— but his throat aches and he feels himself shiver. the cheated on secretary pours him more tea when he coughs a bit too loud. jungkook looked nice in that apron. he looked— yoongi inhales, standing to bow when one of the higher executives arrives. he thinks of having jungkook come to work with him every day. his morning mess of a hair. their shared, quiet breakfast. he breathes out. more tea is poured. his tablet shows him the time. it’s past six already. outside the big stained windows, the sun has already set, leaving the sky all bitter indigos and orange flakes. graphs are presented, and yoongi sniffs. the refurbished air is stained the slightest. too many alphas in one room. aside from the secretary, yoongi’s the only other omega. he shrinks a bit more on his chair. his phone lights up suddenly. i’m going to be late today, hyung , it says the text. yoongi smiles. why? , he asks, before looking up again, feigning interest in the number of acquisitions of citigroup in 2019. i’m trying out for this job, i’ll tell you about it later . an emoji follows, then a picture of jungkook’s face, big smile on, probably hidden at a storage room of sorts. yoongi blushes. okay , he replies. 

it’s almost nine by the time yoongi leaves the bank. no one is in the mood for drinks as the meeting was long and tiring and not very productive. jimin doesn’t notice when yoongi quickly slips away. the coffee shop downstairs is still open, of course. yoongi sees jungkook behind the barista station, polishing a myriad of glasses by himself. he looks mildly bored, mouthing the lyrics of the song that’s playing inside. he takes his phone out. i just left work . jungkook seems to have received the message, yoongi can see how he quickly moves to reply. his phone stirs a moment later. do you want to take the train together? i’m close enough i think . yoongi huffs, smiling. sure, i’ll wait at the station .

he does wait at the station, because it feels like it is far less strange than watching jungkook from afar. yoongi feels oddly awake. his headache still looms, and his body is still shivery, but he pushes those feelings away. jungkook finds him some twenty minutes later. he holds the scarf yoongi left at the café. “ah, you found it, i left it somewhere,” yoongi pretends surprise, but his voice gets softer as jungkook promptly wraps him in it again. it smells like coffee beans now. “— how was your try out?”

“they’ll call me tomorrow,” he shrugs, finding money in his pocket and offering to yoongi. “they paid me for today.”

“you can,” yoongi doesn’t know why he says it, but the words come out anyway, slightly anxious: “you can buy me a beer with that.”

jungkook’s eyes get slightly rounder, and then he flushes with redness, a grin coming to adorn his features. it graces them rather prettily. yoongi presses his lips together, feeling confused. “tonight?”

“as friends,” he tries to sound detached. jungkook celebrates their friendship nonetheless, happily hopping, an arm coming to grab around yoongi’s shoulder, taking him towards the coming train. “yah, pet ,” yoongi snaps, only slightly annoyed. his heart is beating too fast. the noise of train conceals it, at least. “limits.”

“i’m sorry, owner-nim,” jungkook says it robotically, but he’s still smiling. yoongi sits down at the only available seat. jungkook sways in front of him, arm raised above his head. yoongi stares up at him, at his smug kind of grin, his tousled hair. then he looks away, swallowing.

“where are we going?”

“you like itaewon,” jungkook comments. “we can find somewhere to go.”

“— okay.” it’s not that yoongi likes itaewon. it’s just that itaewon is somewhat quieter and the bars are a bit darker and there aren’t as many flashy lights and conversation. the pub they go to is like that. something rather slow and jazzy plays on the speakers. the beer is overpriced. yoongi pays for it, insisting jungkook needs to save money to pay him later. jungkook whines about it, for good ten minutes, until yoongi pockets the money, annoyed. they drink quietly, then. it’s a different kind of relationship, the one they have. it isn’t a friendship entirely, as it lacks certain aspects of it. it isn’t a bond, as it lacks the romantic aspects of it. when he looks over his drink at jungkook, though, he knows it’s something . it makes him feel something— like when you’re winded after a long run, perhaps. “i’m not paying for the drinks to make you feel bad,” he offers, as gently as he can. jungkook raises his eyes to meet his. he still looks slightly bothered. “you can pay from now on if you want.”

“i will ,” jungkook nods, then he bites down his lip. the rest of his sentence is low and hushed: “as soon as i get paid.” he sighs. “i just feel like i’m— taking advantage of you.”

“you’re not,” yoongi chuckles. “we both signed that contract.”

the quietness follows. jungkook huffs, then, and he smiles a bit. “you named me kook ,” he says, sounding amused, before sipping his beer. yoongi knows his ears are red, but the lights are low enough jungkook probably can’t see it. “my dog is gureum ,” he continues, still smiling. “he’s cute.”

“yeah?” and yoongi can’t help but smile at him, too. you’re cute , the words form in his head, and he has to shake it, clearing his throat. “what breed is he?”

“maltese,” jungkook pours some more beer in yoongi’s glass. “he’s in busan.”

“are you planning on going back?” the question is careful. yoongi doesn’t want to sound like he’s saying jungkook should. 

“not now,” there’s some sort of gloominess in jungkook’s speech. he sounds like someone who’s homesick for something that isn’t his home, maybe. “i want to try it first,” jungkook pushes the plate of grilled pork belly towards yoongi. “make it, i mean, make music. sing.”

“you know— i have a friend,” yoongi picks up a few slices, even though he’s full. jungkook stares at him as he chews. “he produces music,” he swallows. “he’s not that big, but maybe i can introduce you.” he pushes the plate back towards jungkook, adding a few slices to his bowl. 

“i can’t work with producers outside the company,” jungkook eats well, it isn’t bad watching. it makes yoongi weirdly full himself. 

“he’s my best friend,” yoongi shrugs. “maybe someday we’ll be at the same coffee shop.” that makes jungkook grin, chewing, nodding vehemently. alright, then . “you’re good.”

“— are you going to come to the concert, then?”

“i’ll try.”

jungkook looks pleased enough. yoongi doesn’t know why he does it, but he reaches out over the table, touching jungkook’s hair. “you really look like holly,” he huffs, smiling at the memory of his dog. their eyes meet, and yoongi pulls his hand back quickly, embarrassed, adding, quickly: “maybe you should get a haircut.”

“— maybe you can give me one later, owner-nim,” jungkook’s flirty undertones leave yoongi quite breathless. he coughs, reddish down his neck. “hyung,” and yoongi only hums in return, finding special interest in the wrinkles of his pants. “how come you don’t have a mate?”

ah . he swallows dryly, eyes wildly searching for something to do to avoid replying. the plate is basically empty. his beer is nearly finished. he downs the remains of it, then, feeling it too warm and lackluster. “you already asked me that. i don’t know,” he puts the glass down over the same wet circle it left. “i just don’t.” yoongi is careful not to sound too bothered when he asks: “why?”

a waiter comes to collect their empty dishes. yoongi orders them soju, voice low. it makes jungkook’s eyebrows raise the slightest. a few quiet minutes go by. “i don’t know,” and jungkook doesn’t sound completely sure. the soju is delivered. jungkook pours for them both. when they drink, he makes a face, a long ah—! following. yoongi drinks another shot, just in case. “you’re— good at things, you’re— you’re so easy to like.”

that’s unexpected. yoongi stirs just the slightest. “— do you?” jungkook drinks another shot. “like me?” they stare at each other. 

“yeah,” yoongi doesn’t understand right away what the arrhythmia in his chest means, but maybe it’s from the alcohol. jungkook offers him a toothy smile. “you’re owner-nim.” ah . disappointment tastes as bitter as soju and it goes down his throat burning all the same, but yoongi doesn’t know why he’s disappointed in the first place. their relationship is what it is: a beneficial agreement on both parts. yoongi gets to fill some sort of void inside his scentless apartment, jungkook gets to eat and sleep somewhere warm.

“i’m not truly your owner,” yoongi says gingerly. he wants to know how they would feel about each other if circumstances were different. if they had sat on that same bus stop near the bank. yoongi thinks he maybe wouldn’t have looked jungkook’s way— but then his eyes wander about jungkook, to the nice colour of his skin to the set of moles that adorn his face and yoongi thinks anyone would be crazy not to look. “jungkook.” he’s already pouring the both of them another round of drinks, smiling. yoongi watches him for a second longer. “i told them you are my bondmate.”

the soju bottle nearly escapes jungkook’s fingers and he knocks yoongi’s glass, the liquid quickly dripping. they both move to grab napkins, obviously nervous. yoongi regrets telling him right away. jungkook holds onto yoongi’s fingers, then, the touch flimsy and careful. “— did you?”

“they could smell you on me,” yoongi swallows, words low and unsteady. he pulls his hand away. “it was easier than to deny.” a short sigh escapes through his lips. 

“i don’t mind,” jungkook says it quickly. the waiter changes their glasses for clean ones, a fresh bottle of soju being left behind, too. yoongi feels the ache at the back of his throat more harshly. “— do you want to go home?” yoongi raises his eyes at him. “you look uncomfortable, hyung.”

he’s younger, the four years that exist between them shifting slightly their dynamics, but— jungkook isn’t a kid. he can tell yoongi’s personal struggle. “no,” yoongi shakes his head. he takes his glass, downing it quickly. “we can stay a bit longer.”

“hyung,” he bows his head low enough his hair touches the table. “thank you for taking care of me.”

the gesture flusters yoongi irrevocably. he sniffs, trying to act unaffected, the hollows of his cheeks burning wildly. it makes him itch, scratching at the back of his neck, senses expanding to the point he can almost smell jungkook. “you don’t have to do that,” he manages to say. “i— it’s fine.”

somehow, the table separating them seems rather bothersome. yoongi breathes slowly through his nose. he doesn’t like feeling this nervous, nor the way gooseflesh spreads over his skin, nor the fact the confusion in his guts is turning into something dangerous and unwanted. jungkook lifts his head again, beaming. he changes the subject, but yoongi can barely pay attention. he’s glad for the air refreshers, keeping their oxygen clean of unwanted scents. he’s glad jungkook doesn’t seem to realise how yoongi’s insides feel like lacy ribbons and they burn, burn, burn . finally, after a third bottle of soju, jungkook mentions he’s tired, yawning rather childishly, scratching his eyes. yoongi pays for their drinks and food. jungkook keeps the receipt, saying he’ll keep tab on his own expenses. 

it’s not too late for the buses, so they wait together at the nearest stop. it takes about half a minute for jungkook to glance his way, a bit rosy on the nose. “you look cold,” he mumbles. his words are just softly slurred, his accent coming out unhinged. yoongi shakes his head negatively. “your cheeks are red.”

“yours are, too,” yoongi comments, looking his way. jungkook’s eyes are glassy. “we had this conversation before.”

“you’re pretty,” jungkook offers, then, inching closer. yoongi scoffs, stomach fluttering, but can’t look away. “i’m lucky.” there’s some sort of drunkenness staining jungkook’s speech, the kind that makes words sound dreamy. “to be your pet.” for a string of breathless seconds, yoongi doesn’t know what to do. he only exhales when jungkook makes a happy kind of noise, tossing arms around yoongi’s frame, chin against his shoulder. “you’re the best owner-nim.” 

it makes yoongi huff, heart scattering still, but amused. “you’re drunk.”

“i’m not,” jungkook speaks against the fabric of his own scarf. “yes, i am a little.”

“the bus is coming,” the soft pats on his back make jungkook sigh, nodding. “come on, jungkook.” he sleeps on the way home, nodding off, head resting against yoongi’s shoulder. yoongi has to nudge him awake near their stop, and jungkook blinks, confused, allowing yoongi to lead him out by the wrist. there are two blocks until the apartment. the streets are rather empty, the air colder at that hour. jungkook doesn’t seem too alarmed when yoongi slides his hand until it touches jungkook’s, holding onto his fingers instead. it’s late enough. it’s foggy enough. “if you’re still hungry, i can make you something,” he offers, softly, as they climb up the stairs.

“no,” jungkook yawns. “just tired.” a short pause. yoongi unlocks the door. “can i sleep on your bed?” no , yoongi is quick to reply. jungkook makes a low whiny sound. “that’s mean.” 

he’s still taking off his shoes when yoongi feels jungkook’s arms wrap around his waist, bringing him in for a rather tight backhug. jungkook breathes in close to his neck, chin on his shoulder. yoongi feels himself get lightheaded at once. “jungkook,” he says, and it’s toned like a warning.

“yoongi,” jungkook chuckles next to his ear. 

“ yah— ”

“ boundaries ,” they both say at once, and jungkook laughs, and yoongi snorts, and his lips curl, and he tries to tame them to no avail. “are you going to give me a haircut?”

somehow, he’s forgotten about that. “it’s late,” but jungkook lets him go, a stream of please, owner-nim, please . “i like your hair as it is.” jungkook takes off the scarf around yoongi’s neck, kindly, turning yoongi to him, then, and the scarf falls in between them. they stare at each other. yoongi breathes kind of wrong, as if air is thin and too hot. 

“do you?”

“yes,” it’s no use denying it. yoongi tastes soju on his tongue still. jungkook smiles, all teeth and shyness all of a sudden. “when you tied it this morning,” he continues, words just stumbling out with no sense of direction. “it looked nice.” 

“ you look nice,” jungkook steps forward, forcing yoongi to step back. his back touches the wall. the entrance way is too small, anyway. jungkook pushes a finger through the knot of the tie yoongi is still wearing, and the knot comes undone as he tugs. yoongi can’t find it in himself to move away. jungkook pulls the tie down, and it snakes around yoongi’s collar before it’s off completely. yoongi stares up at jungkook, chest rising and falling in strange patterns. “ hyung ,” and yoongi sees when jungkook looks about him, inching forward, eyes travelling to places they shouldn’t. but then jungkook blushes, blinking rapidly, looking away, and the moment dissipates into awkward closeness. they finally leave the entrance behind, a safe distance between their bodies. “you should shower first,” jungkook offers, weakly.

“yeah, i’ll go.”

it’s only when yoongi’s already in bed that he allows himself to think . allows himself to understand the whys and the hows. jungkook’s likeable enough. jungkook’s— pretty. he smells familiar at this point. that’s all there is to it, yoongi tells himself. it’s just a confusion of familiarity and alcohol and some level of attraction. wanting to be kissed doesn’t mean the feeling is any heavier than just a whim. he might not want it tomorrow. he won’t. yoongi turns on bed, bothered. his room is scentless. he breathes in. jungkook’s moving on the other room. it feels like the first night all over again. 

yoongi only sleeps when the sun is coming up.

“— are you leaving early today, sunbae?”

the question has a tone of surprise, and it’s asked as yoongi stands up from his seat at about four in the afternoon, in a particularly slow friday. jimin waits for his answer, a curious kind of look about him. min yoongi, from financial markets, does not really leave the job early. yoongi presses his palms to the side of his pants. “yeah,” he nods. “i have a— thing, some other thing.”

jimin looks earnestly happy for him as he smiles. “that’s good,” he says. “taehyung and i are going out tonight, if you want to join us with your— your partner,” yoongi finishes collecting all his things. he feels uncomfortable. “or your friends.”

“yeah, i’ll let you know,” he lies, forcing a smile he doesn’t really feel like showing. “i’m a bit busy.”

it seems like jimin wants to say something else, but yoongi doesn’t let him. he’s already slightly late. the corridors are empty. people don’t really try and start conversations with him, thankfully. by the time yoongi gets to incheon, almost an hour later, the field where the concert is being held is rather full. most people are younger than he is, most are not wearing suits. he makes his way through the crowd towards the stage. there are people performing already on the small stage, but jungkook isn’t there yet. yoongi feels entirely like he doesn’t belong. he unknots his tie, swallowing. there’s a brisk cold in the open field, and his cheeks hurt. he buys a heat pack and he’s waiting in line to get something warm to drink when jungkook’s familiar voice reaches him through the speakers. he turns, eyes glancing up at the screens beside the stage area. jungkook doesn’t look like himself, not like he looks at home, not soft . 

there’s make up on his face, dark around his eyes, a glittering jacket over a black fitted shirt. maybe yoongi never thought about jungkook as an idol, but as jungkook dances alongside a group of other young men, he finds it really fitting. it leaves him flustered, completely. “anything else?” the girl behind the stall counter calls, and yoongi notices it isn’t the first time she does it. he shakes his head, pressing his phone to the reader, taking the cup of hot chocolate away. approaching the stage is hard, so yoongi stands back, eyes being unable to look away from jungkook’s figure, the seamless way he moves on stage, how precise he is while dancing. his voice is breathy with effort, but it still sounds good. yoongi tugs on his collar some more, unbuttoning his shirt. he feels entirely ablaze. jungkook is— rather stunning, his hair a bit sweaty against his forehead, the way his eyes look. 

confusion hits him right away. confusion and embarrassment. yoongi finally looks away, turning his back entirely to the stage, breathing impaired. it shouldn’t be like this. nothing should be like this. his drink is cold by the time he tries it, some fifteen minutes later, the performance all finished for a while. he’s found his way to the seating area, gladly welcoming the warm blanket offered. yoongi stares at nothing, the pixels on the big screen virtually becoming a bare smudge of paint. “i thought i had seen you,” the voice doesn’t seem real. yoongi blinks lazily, turning his head towards it. a hand is shaken in front if his eyes, and then they focus on the face behind it, jungkook’s face, eyes wrinkled as he smiles. he’s crouching, one hand holding onto yoongi’s leg for balance. “i was looking for you everywhere, owner-nim.”

yoongi feels short of breath. his throat aches. “— you should put on a warmer jacket,” he says, voice coming out rough and affected. it takes him a moment to move, the blanket being wrapped hastily around jungkook’s shoulders. “it’s cold out here.”

no one seems to pay attention to them. jungkook isn’t famous, and he looks vastly different now than on stage. the make up is gone if not for the hint of brown at the corner of his eyes. foundation has been wiped away, showing the redness of jungkook’s nose, his hair is pulled back into another small ponytail. that’s familiar jungkook. “— can i watch the other performances with you?”

on stage, a group of young girls bounce to the beat of a radio hit that probably isn’t theirs. yoongi glances up at them, then at jungkook again. “i thought you would prefer to be up there.”

“i’m all done, we don’t get a lot of time, only about five minutes,” and jungkook stands, then, looking around to find an empty chair, dragging it to sit next to him. the blanket is quietly wrapped around yoongi, too. jungkook pulls on the loose fabric of his sweatpants, looking just slightly nervous. yoongi notices he’s nervous, too, because he keeps on peeling the skin around his fingernails. jungkook nudges him softly on the ribs, leaning closer to say: “i’m glad you came, hyung.”

“you were,” yoongi thinks. “outstanding.”

“ outstanding ,” jungkook copies his monotone compliment, giggling. “— i messed up the steps twice and almost couldn’t hit the notes of my verses.” he touches his ear. “i’m not good enough.” 

“jungkook,” and jungkook turns to look at him, and yoongi forgets where they are, or what was he supposed to say. he catches himself before saying anything stupid, pointing to the stage, clearing his throat. “— they’re—,” but the girls are already leaving the stage, the mc waving them off. jungkook waits, eyes round and inquisitive. yoongi offers him his cold cup. “hot chocolate?”

he drinks it without questioning why is it cold. it gets better, then, the sudden awkwardness. they comment on the remaining performances, jungkook talking about the people he knows, and they comment on the cold, sitting somewhat closer, and jungkook makes yoongi laugh when he copies the particularly sexy choreography of another girl group. when night falls, the field looks a bit more empty, but a lot of people are still around them, enjoying the event. jungkook offers to buy them both lamb skewers. yoongi wires him spare money when they’re standing in line. “there will be fireworks soon,” jungkook says, and steam leaves his mouth. yoongi chews, fingers feeling frostbitten by the cold. “it’s the last performance.”

“ah,” and jungkook possibly notices he doesn’t look that excited, but doesn’t comment on it. fireworks are beautiful but highly noisy. yoongi isn’t that fond of them. “thank you for the food,” he says, poking the side of jungkook’s body with his skewer. jungkook coils, giggling. “thank you for,” yoongi swallows, breathing out. “inviting me to come.”

“ owner-nim ,” jungkook clutches his heart rather dramatically, grinning. “you’re making my heart flutter,” he jokes, and yoongi finds himself laughing again, and jungkook’s acting falters into a slightly puzzled look, brows raising into a frown, disappearing behind long hair. yoongi stops laughing. they stare at each other. 

“what’s wrong?” yoongi asks, unsure, cheeks a bit warm. 

“you’re— making my heart flutter,” but when jungkook says it again, low and hushed and with a bit of nervous lisp, eyes wide in soft surprise, it isn’t acting. it sounds too much like a confused confession of sorts, of a stray kind of— love, no, like, no, care . yoongi stills, uncomfortable, and he shifts on his weight, and he looks away, neck burning. “ hyung .” the words he says, if any, are immediately muffled by the loud sound of fireworks shooting off, and yoongi flinches right away, pressing his eyes closed. he doesn’t expect jungkook’s hands to coop his ears, turning the noise into kinder echoes, and yoongi opens his eyes, finding rattled ones. his heart is bewildered, floored by the way it goes off tracks at such gesture. jungkook says something else, but yoongi blinks, shaking his head a little, mouthing words himself, i can’t hear you . everything is white noise. the fireworks last five minutes, or maybe a lifetime, yoongi doesn’t know. they shade jungkook’s hair, and their hues stain his pupils different colours when he looks up. yoongi does so, too. the sky is lit up by yellow glitter. he feels inexplicably infatuated with its indigos and golds. “it’s over,” jungkook mutters, and yoongi nods, and they take wary steps back from each other. people around them start moving towards the exist. white lights are turned on, illuminating the way. they don’t move. 

“we should go,” yoongi says, gently.

“i have to go get my things,” jungkook motions towards the stage. “— and say goodbye, i’ll—“ he’s stuttering. “actually, everyone’s going out together, and i—“

yoongi understands right away. “you should go, then,” he nods, offering a posed smile, similar to the ones he uses at the bank. “i’ll go home, it’s— anyway, go.” jungkook looks pained. “don’t keep them waiting.”

“hyung, i—“

“you have your keys, right,” yoongi cuts in, cheeks flashing reds, mouth dry. he starts walking backwards and away, waving. jungkook nods after a moment. “i’ll see you later at home.”

it’s fairly difficult to turn his back to jungkook this time. yoongi isn’t sure what shifted in their relationship, but it’s much like walking underwater— his legs feel heavy and every step makes it harder to breathe. jungkook doesn’t follow him. yoongi doesn’t look back, either, scared of what he’ll see. he’s left jungkook behind before. he’s chosen other things over him. it shouldn’t hurt when jungkook is the one choosing. the train is packed. yoongi tries not to breathe too heavily. most people have masks on. he sways, careful not to touch anyone, head resting against the arm raised above his head. you’re making my heart flutter. it’s a childish, silly thing to say— the kind teenagers will write on love letters to their first love. hearts don’t flutter. they hurt and they rage, but they don’t flutter. 

the apartment is cold, and there’s frost on the windows. yoongi sighs, standing in the dark of the foyer, resting his back against the closed door. he smells like sweat, and so the remains of jungkook’s scent are faint, just a lingering sweetness that is mildly appealing. his throat aches when he swallows. finally, yoongi forces himself to move, removing his shoes rather lazily, turning on the lights. he allows himself to turn on the heating system, the air too frigid scaring him off. the shower he takes leaves an unnatural soreness about his skin. he scratches his neck, towel still around it, comfortable clothes on his body. the apartment is still empty. yoongi— doesn’t like it. he coughs. it doesn’t make any sense to wait. still, he brings a blanket to the living room. the couch smells more of jungkook than it should. yoongi lays down. it still doesn’t feel warm. the television is off, but yoongi stares at it nonetheless. he stares at it until his eyes grow heavy, until he nods off and— he wakes up, blinking, and there’s white light shading the walls. the apartment feels stuffy, but yoongi shivers. it’s around five in the morning. he stands, steps somewhat draggy against the wooden boards. the office is empty. there are no messages on his phone. 

in the middle of his empty apartment, yoongi has to remind himself that jungkook doesn’t need to come back— their contract is made up, their relationship built on a lie and mutual agreement to keep it. belonging isn’t a part of that agreement. yoongi touches the fabric of his blanket, quietly folding. the relentless empty feeling in his guts is rather bothersome. he’s finishing brewing coffee, some hour later, when the door finally makes a noise. yoongi sucks in his breath, heart picking up speed. something heavy is knocked down a moment later, and yoongi thinks it is the lamp next to the couch. a crashing sound follows, then a low curse. “i’m putting that on your payment tab,” yoongi offers, and the apartment is quiet enough that his voice is heard. jungkook comes into the kitchen a moment later, looking tousled and drunk. yoongi can smell him right away, and it flares up all of his senses at once. “you should look where you step,” he says, roughness on his syllables. jungkook’s eyes are glassy, his head resting against the table as soon as he sits down. 

“did you sleep?” jungkook’s voice is different, too, dragged out and slurred. there’s alcohol about him, and sweet perfume, and his own scent. yoongi breathes through his mouth. 

“yeah,” yoongi tossed and turned on a couch too uncomfortable, but those things he might as well keep to himself. “have you eaten?”

“— not yet,” jungkook looks up at him. his skin looks flushed, and his lips redder than they are normally, as if he’s been— kissing. yoongi looks away. it’s none of his business. “i just wanted to get home.”

for a moment, yoongi stares at nothing in particular, feeling like his parts have all been shifted and he doesn’t know how to act anymore. finally, he stirs into movement, turning towards the fridge. “i’ll make you bean sprout soup.” a happy hum follows. “go shower, jungkook, you stink.”

“ah,” and jungkook sniffs, and yoongi hears him standing up. “i forget that you find it bad.” no, that’s not it , he starts, embarrassed, but jungkook’s already leaving the kitchen. “i’ll scrub well, owner-nim.”

the bite in his words isn’t missed. yoongi occupies his thoughts by chopping green onions in thin slices, carefully washing the sprouts, mincing garlic. the smell of the dashi soon clears the heavy scented air about him, and yoongi breathes through less carefully. he’s serving the soup into a bowl by the time jungkook joins him again. he looks a bit more awake. rice is served, too, and a small portion of kimchi. “here,” and yoongi dunks the rice into jungkook’s bowl before pushing it closer to him. “eat well.”

“you’re so good at this,” jungkook huffs, nose red. yoongi spills soup on the table as he pours himself some, too. “— thank you.”

“it’s the easiest soup to make,” yoongi tells him matter-of-factly, clearing his throat. “you don’t need to thank me.”

“they,” jungkook pauses, as if formulating the next few words. “there’s a possibility for a debut.” yoongi frowns at his soup, and it feels tasteless. “they want us to move into a dorm. me and three others.”

“ah, that,” he smiles, pretending his chest isn’t aching. there’s no reason to, it shouldn't. a dorm solves their issue— solves their strange dynamic by cutting the roots short before they grow more than they have already. “that settles it, i suppose—“

“i told them i couldn’t move just yet,” yoongi finds jungkook’s eyes, eyebrows arching. “that— i had—,” he shrugs, embarrassed. “a mate.”

the lie has been used before— and now it doubles, piling up over the other carefully placed lies from before. the sandcastle they live in quickly filling up with water. yoongi drinks his soup, stalling. jungkook doesn’t move. “that’s not what we are,” he finally says, quietly. 

“i know.”

their silence isn’t a good one this time. they don’t talk, not until they’re finished, until jungkook picks up the dishes, until he wipes the spills with a napkin before moving on to wash their bowls. yoongi sits there, unable to move. “it’s best if you go,” the words feel heavy. “it’s the opportunity you were hoping to get.”

“i know,” jungkook repeats himself, and yoongi hears him move, hears him getting closer, wiping his hands on the side of his pants. it’s reminiscent of their early days. “— can i touch you?” yoongi presses his lips into a line. he nods only briefly. jungkook’s fingers touch the nape of his neck a moment later, soft, leery. they move slowly, under his clothes, massaging his shoulders. yoongi exhales. “article seven, third clause,” jungkook mumbles. “the pet must make his master happy.”

“i didn’t write that,” yoongi huffs. 

“i did,” jungkook’s thumbs press onto tense muscles, and yoongi coils the slightest. “a dog wouldn’t leave.”

“you’re not a dog, jungkook,” and he strangely thinks of the collar jimin gave him, at the way jungkook’s curly brown hair often resembles holly’s. “i’m not— i don’t own you.”

“can i stay a little bit longer? a few more days, just for the holidays.” there’s some sort of hope in jungkook’s tone. yoongi stares blankly at a wall, the warm sensation of being touched spreading, untangling the knots under his skin. jungkook’s careful not to be so intrusive, careful not to touch where yoongi itches. 

it takes yoongi a moment to reply. “yeah, you can.” he sighs, moving to stand up, jungkook’s hand running down his back before being pulled away. yoongi’s skin in taken over by gooseflesh. “you should go to bed,” he says, then. “there’s more soup later, for when you wake up.”

“aren’t you sleeping?”

“no,” yoongi’s already moving away, towards his forgotten briefcase on the entryway. jungkook follows only halfway. he stops by the couch, touching the leather of the fabric details. “i need to get some work done.”

“— do you need the office?”

yoongi shakes his head, dismissively. “i can work here, the office smells—“ he stops, swallowing the words. he wanted to say like you , but the way jungkook looks at him, it becomes clear that he interprets his pause as something else. “that’s not what i meant.”

“i know you don’t like the way i smell, but—”

“that’s not true,” yoongi mumbles, feeling embarrassed. “it’s just a bit— overwhelming.” 

still, the mess is made. jungkook nods vaguely. “— i’m going to bed,” he says, after a moment. when yoongi doesn’t say anything else, too ashamed to do so, he turns, disappearing into the apartment. the door to the office closes a minute later. yoongi breathes out. his throat aches, and his chest, and his heart. jungkook’s smell is enthralled with everything around him anyway. 

a few days later and yoongi feels sickly waking up, a lump down his throat as if sore, slightly feverish. he pulls the duvet closer to his face, curling into the fabric. shit , he thinks, pain behind his eyes. heats are different for everyone. yoongi gets sick, gets hopeless, then itchy. itchy everywhere, hot, as if taken by allergy. he rolls his body sideways, grabbing his phone, sending a dry email to the human resources department. this is min yoongi, financial markets executive director, i’d like to inform i’ll be taking a ten day leave due to medical conditions . it’s the same email every time. no one comments on it. no one asks if he’s gotten better when he returns. that’s company policy. the fabric against his skin feels coarse and painful. yoongi finds it in himself to stand, legs weak already, trembly. the apartment sounds empty— it’s past nine, jungkook would have left already. the thought of his smell is horrifying to yoongi’s hyperbolic senses. yoongi opens the windows, despite the cold. 

he hears footsteps before he can turn. they stop at the kitchen door. jungkook is holding a glass of milk, and he is so pale his skin resembles it. “ hyung ,” he mutters, airily. yoongi takes a step closer to the window. jungkook’s breathing speeds the slightest, some taint of red coming to his neck. “you—”

“it’s nothing, i’m just sick,” yoongi hears how his voice comes out— emotionless, thorny. jungkook doesn’t move. his eyes are wide and round and alight with sheer panic like that of a deer before slaughter. “— don’t you have work?”

“it’s a day off,” jungkook replies mildly, carefully. “i’m only going to practice later.” he watches as yoongi brings a hand to scratch at the nape of his neck. “hyung— you smell like a forest. ” it’s a compliment, yoongi understands. it makes him swallow, breathless, flustered. sweet , he’s gotten before. sweet is easy to understand. a forest— a forest is something else entirely. jungkook seems to realise the words he’s used. “i’m sorry, i— i’ll leave you—”

“no, you can,” yoongi turns his face towards the cold air. “you can stay.”

breakfast is a tense exchange of glances. every wincing has jungkook’s eyes widening, every small noise yoongi makes seems to worry him. still— his scent is comfortable, now. yoongi drinks his coffee, and it matches the woodland sort of sweetness that jungkook’s skin seems to have. he can taste it, even, in between the layers of sugar. yoongi has it worse than jungkook. omegas, overall, do. days are slow when you’re burning inside out. medication appeases only the most animal of the senses. yoongi’s eyes are heavily lidded. he gasps when something cold touches his forehead. somehow, he didn’t notice time pass, mind briefly hazed by jungkook’s scent. “you’re burning up,” jungkook is saying, the cold, wet cloth a nice release from the blazing heat. his proximity, though, is jarring. “you should go to bed, hyung,” he seems embarrassed to say: “— you should go— nest.”

“i already have a nest,” yoongi shrugs, moving his hands vaguely, as if to say, look around . one of his hands hits the side of jungkook’s hips, and his fingers involuntarily hold onto the fabric of his sweatshirt. he clutches it firmly. jungkook touches his hand gently, pressing over knuckles. it’s a good touch. it’s the kind of touch that makes it easier to breathe, that soothes the burning sensation in his veins. “if i asked you,” yoongi feels his cheeks red, and maybe he’s all red. “would you—“

“ yes ,” jungkook rubs his thumb against skin. “i would.”

it isn’t real. yoongi won’t ask, he knows, jungkook probably knows, too. he offered to hold jungkook, but asking is entirely different. still— it isn’t bad knowing it’s possible . jungkook removes the cloth from yoongi’s forehead, moving to go put it under cold water. yoongi’s fingers losen, letting him go. “i can do that,” yoongi says, then, starting to stand. jungkook makes a noise— a telling noise, a very brisk one, dismissive and imposing all at once. something pulls on yoongi’s guts from inside, and his movements halt. he clenches his jaw, ashamed and somehow angry. “don’t growl at me.”

“i’m sorry,” jungkook sighs, resting the cloth on yoongi’s forehead again, pushing his hair up. their eyes meet. yoongi’s heart is racing. “i won’t do it again,” if jungkook had dog ears, they’d be down to the sides of his head, hidden in his hair. “let me do this at least.”

“jungkook,” yoongi looks away. his neck is starting to hurt. “it’ll be worse if you stay.” jungkook adjusts the cloth on his head. “for you, not for me.”

“i’m on meds,” jungkook seems to shrug. “it’s fine.” his knuckles brush on yoongi’s cheek rather kindly, fingers lingering on his jaw. he catches himself, though, taking his hand away quickly. “we can— stay home together.” he mutters, quietly. yoongi looks up at him, again. jungkook’s ears are all red, his neck is too. his nostrils are flared, and yoongi knows his own scent might be somewhat bothering. you smell like a forest. “i’m moving out soon,” jungkook sniffs. “i want to— spend time with you.”

yoongi doesn’t reply right away. “— why would you care to do that now, anyway?” the question is posed carefully. jungkook glances at him briefly before finding interest in a loose thread from the damp cloth. yoongi sits straight again, and it falls onto his lap before either has a chance to hold. their hands meet awkwardly, fingers grasping onto fingers. a warm kind of shiver runs down yoongi’s body. jungkook doesn’t pull back. instead, he holds onto yoongi’s bony fingertips. 

“i think you’re,” jungkook starts, the mumbled sentences soft. “i just— care.”

“i need to go lay down again,” yoongi says briskly, cheeks hot. it won’t do well to stay and hold jungkook’s hand, no matter how allaying it is. he stands up, leaving the cloth on the table, but jungkook doesn’t let go, following with the steps he takes towards the living room. yoongi stops, feeling jungkook’s fingers press against his own. “jungkook.”

“i’ll just stay next to you,” jungkook offers, gently, and he finally lets go of yoongi’s hand. “i won’t touch you.”

going into his scentless room seems like a punishment to his yearning body, so yoongi nods, taking over the couch instead, bringing blankets and pillows, adjusting them to his liking, circling it absentmindedly to tug at the fabric. jungkook watches him from a distance. “choose a movie,” yoongi sighs, tossing him the remote, and jungkook flails, almost missing it. a smile is already cutting through his worried expression. yoongi lays down, groaning as his limbs curl under him. every touch of fabric feels rather cruel, like cold water against hot skin. jungkook settles himself on the floor, close enough yoongi can touch him if he wants to, close enough his smell is comforting. 

“this one,” jungkook says after some time of flickering through titles. it’s a korean one, a romance. yoongi makes a disgruntled noise. “you told me i could chose,” he sounds whiny, but he’s smiling. yoongi rolls his eyes, too comfortable to complain. jungkook looks back at him. “you’ll like this one. they’re architects.”

there are too many parts of one min yoongi. some he actively hides, like the piano in a locked room of his too-big apartment. others, like the many architecture books spread about, just scratch the surface. yoongi glances at jungkook, their eyes meeting. jungkook doesn’t look away. he does have that quiet way of observing and knowing. “yeah,” he breathes out, flushed. “i figured from the title.” jungkook huffs, seemingly amused at his demise. “— i guess i can watch it.”

the movie is highly slow paced and quite boring, yoongi thinks. the main couple yearns, but nothing much happens. yoongi is more interest in the columns of the old hanok house. after almost half of it, he huffs, wanting to comment on something he’s found funny, but jungkook’s asleep, head against where yoongi’s legs are, mouth open as he breathes. yoongi stares for a lingering moment, and his body flares with something that isn’t heat, but more of it — it’s something homely, scented like early mornings and coffee and the same smell that clings to the fabric of the couch after jungkook sleeps in it. he reaches out, touching jungkook’s hair, pushing it away from his eyes, scratching softly behind his ear. jungkook’s eyes flutter open, and he blinks, looking confused for a moment. yoongi’s fingers touch his cheeks, drawing the lines of his jaw, watching him swallow. he senses the heat under jungkook’s skin, seeing it stain red. it’s twelve o’clock of a strange kind of tuesday when yoongi sits up, air urgently being expelled out of his lungs, and jungkook holds himself still when yoongi comes closer, big eyes unblinking. “you’re touching me,” jungkook whispers, out of sheer surprise. “— hyung .” he holds yoongi’s wrists. 

“i’m sorry,” yoongi says, voice hoarse, staring into jungkook’s pupils and how they grow. he inhales, everything overwhelming, everything in such crispness that every detail of jungkook is— breathtaking, even. “i think you’re,” he sucks his teeth in. “i don’t know, i’m sorry.”

“i think you’re pretty,” jungkook voices, yoongi’s hands still hovering over his face. his touch on yoongi’s wrist loosen, and he comes closer, too, putting his face onto yoongi’s hands completely, touching the sides of yoongi’s body over the fabric of the many duvets. yoongi feels everything too much. the sound of television is immensely loud, the sunlight, albeit bleak, is blinding. “i think you’re really pretty.”

it isn’t real, it’s the heat. it’s the scent coming off yoongi’s skin like honey. yoongi knows. it has happened before. jungkook’s on meds, but he isn’t completely unaware to it. he likes it, and it’s the heat, too. “you shouldn’t think that,” but yoongi’s a liar, because if he could muster the courage, he’d say that, too. he takes his hands away from jungkook’s warm face, pulling back. jungkook looks mildly hurt, and he lets go, too, turning back to the movie. yoongi stares at his profile, and down his neck, to the patch of skin that disappears under his sweatshirt.

“i can’t help it,” jungkook says after a moment, but his eyes are trained on the screen. “i can’t help any of it.”

“— what do you mean?”

it’s with a sigh that jungkook pauses the movie, climbing onto the sofa, and yoongi pulls his knees up closer, allowing him space and providing himself a shield. jungkook offers his hand, biting on his bottom lip, and yoongi stares for a moment before taking it. it is spread over jungkook’s chest. yoongi can feel his heartbeat almost immediately, below his ribcage, how it’s paced unevenly and rapid as if jungkook has been running. “this.” he says it in the simplest of manners. 

you’re making my heart flutter

yoongi swallows, pulling his hand back. jungkook is still staring, eyes clouded by his own dark pupils. “you might have to get that checked,” his voice is automated. “especially if there’s a history of heart attack in your family.” jungkook looks— hurt, maybe, if the slight frown of his eyebrows tell yoongi anything. “it’s a serious medical condition and—” he’s still talking when jungkook leans forward and close and into yoongi’s personal space, grabbing softly against the back of yoongi’s neck to pull him into a kiss. yoongi’s eyes remain open for a moment, in utter disbelief, and his whole body goes painfully stiff. they remain open, watching the way jungkook’s eyelashes touch the skin under his eyes behind the fringe of his unruly hair. a surge of sheer panic rises to his chest. panic, and something else, something that shouldn’t be . however, he can’t help his eyes fluttering closed when jungkook parts his lips, tongue finding its way between yoongi’s teeth, and then yoongi can taste him, and that’s— 

“i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have—” jungkook says immediately as he pulls back, startled, stumbling backwards as he stands too fast, all red about his neck and his cheeks, eyes dark. he’s breathing through his mouth, yoongi can tell. he is, too. yoongi’s heart is mangled, a bloody pump inside his chest, and it doesn’t seem to work like he wants to. his throat doesn’t work, either. yoongi’s worked up, body in the worst kind of flames, burning, burning, and burning . the itch is all-consuming. his lips feel prickly and numb and wet. “i’ll go, i’ll—” and jungkook bows, and he looks absolutely ashamed, and it’s only after he’s a few meters afar that sound returns to yoongi’s ears, and that he can breathe straight. everything itches, and yoongi feels like clawing at his own skin.     

“yeah,” he manages, weakly. he can tell jungkook has stopped by the foyer. his presence is alarmingly noticeable. “no, i mean,” yoongi swallows. “just for now, yes.”

“— when do you want me to come back?”

“later,” his mouth is still watering. jungkook’s taste is overbearing, and his scent, his scent . “late.”

“are you going to be fine?”

“— yes,” yoongi nods.

it takes another wavering heartbeat until jungkook properly leaves. when yoongi moves, some twenty minutes later, his knees are weaker than before. he drags himself into his bedroom, appeased by the lack of a scent, locking his door before burying his face onto his pillow, inhaling deeply. yoongi scratches at the back of neck, groaning as the warm sensation spreads. he scratches until it draws blood and it’s painful. he breathes somewhat heavily, legs moving against the fabric of his bedsheets. if yoongi stops thinking for a second, he can feel jungkook’s tongue. panic swings his heart again. he opens his eyes, staring at the mournful colours of the wall. the afternoon crawls in, with the way the sun seems to shift, all white. his phone stirs softly. yoongi thinks of ignoring it, fingers still massaging the bruise on his neck, eyes still focused on the the cracks on the wall next to the bedside table. it stirs again. yoongi sighs, rolling to his side. 

update me? it makes him break into a smile. jungkook’s— different, really. you left twenty minutes ago , he starts typing, only to delete everything. i’m okay , he replies, then, adding an emoji for good effect. i want to go home , jungkook says, after a few minutes have passed. yoongi stares at the screen, mouth somehow dry. he doesn’t want to give adjectives to the taste in his mouth because that’d be giving adjectives to jungkook’s taste. he swallows. later . he wires jungkook some money. bring me something good to eat . it takes jungkook some time to reply again. yoongi wonders if he’s as nervous as yoongi is, if his breathing is also a bit impaired, if there’s a bothering ache in his chest. i will , he finally replies. wait for me, hyung .

“yeah,” yoongi replies out loud. the screen fades to black after a beat, and he can see his own expression reflected on the surface. “yeah.”

(the heat lasts almost a week. jungkook doesn’t come back.)

“ah, i thought you’d be out longer, sunbae,” jimin stutters nervously, as he stands from his laidback position against his desk, taehyung quickly rising from the chair next to him, too. yoongi stops by the door, some sort of heat still under his skin, but appeased now. he has a mask over his nose, nonetheless. “you— seem well.”

“flu,” yoongi lies, and they don’t comment on it. company policy . jimin clears his throat, and taehyung moves to leave. he bows on his way out, saying something yoongi can’t quite catch as he settles down on his desk. jimin follows him out. the office is— slightly messy. messier. there are papers where there shouldn’t be. the printer is blinking a red light. it’s always like that when he spends time away from it. jimin isn’t as worried as keeping things in perfect spaces as he is. jungkook’s like that, too, with his clothes scattered all over the place. yoongi sits back, pinching the bridge of his nose, pain behind his eyes. he hasn’t seen jungkook in over a week. wait for me, hyung , his last message said, then. they haven’t said anything else since. he hasn’t called, either. yoongi wires him money everyday. he doesn’t know why he does it. he shouldn’t. 

“your friend came by,” jimin says after a moment. yoongi hasn’t realised he came back inside, closing the door to the noise of the corridor. he opens his eyes again, eyebrows raising. namjoon? he asks, quietly. jimin thinks for a moment, then shake his head. “no, your dog walker.” yoongi blinks, confused for only an instant. “you were still,” jimin seems to fidget with his things. “you were still away.” company policy. 

“ah— yes,” yoongi nods, avoiding to look towards jimin, afraid to be caught in his own pile of lies, the ever growing feeling of choking in them too real. his computer fills the quietness with machine buzz, the hum of it almost inaudible, but yoongi can hear everything as if it’s on a speaker. jimin seems to have thought the topic over, because when yoongi glances his way, he’s going over a few files on his table, chewing the tip of a pen. yoongi has the same files on his desk. he shuffles them, skimming the pages briefly. they’re weekend reports of the china stock market. yoongi sighs, then raises his head. “— did he say anything?”

“who?” jimin asks, seemingly lost, meeting yoongi’s eyes. they go back to the paper a second later.

“my— the dog walker.”

“no,” yoongi touches the keyboard, but every key seems of the wrong texture all of a sudden. “no, he just wanted to know if you worked here.” jimin doesn’t say anything for a moment. “i think he’s working downstairs, at that café.”

yoongi only hums, feigning some sort of normalcy. it’s only a few minutes after eight. jungkook wouldn’t start work until after nine, at least— at least when they still shared a schedule. time is dreadful, then. it takes and it takes, every minute removing a bit of yoongi’s will to sit still. the paperwork in front of him is done automatically, his brain registering very little of the numbers and words on it. jimin leaves for some time, bringing coffee back from the coffee room. he leaves it on yoongi’s desk with a polite bow. yoongi doesn’t drink it. his throat feels unaware of its functionality, he thinks. it’s almost ten when he stands, grabbing his jacket, and jimin watches him go with eyebrows raised. yoongi fidgets with the zippers on his pockets as the elevator takes him to the lobby, and he can see the café through the glass. jungkook’s behind the coffee machine, and he seems to be talking with another boy behind the bar, and the smile he has is— yoongi stops, swallowing dry. everytime he does it, the memory of what jungkook’s taste like comes to mind. he hasn’t given it any adjectives yet. he can’t. 

the glass doors slide when he walks in, and it makes the other boy look his way, already pruning a server smile, hello, welcome . jungkook’s still smiling when he looks yoongi’s way, too. he smiles for a second longer, and then it slips out, disappearing as redness takes over his cheeks. his hair is tied up in a ponytail again. there’s a smudge of ground coffee on his chin. yoongi admits for once he’s painfully aware of all the parts of jeon jungkook. he walks over the counter, hands touching the wooden surface softly. “large americano, please,” he asks, but his voice comes out hoarse and wrong. he clears his throat. “to have here.”

it’s jungkook who makes his coffee, and he drops the handles twice and it makes a loud noise, and he overpours, so it drips down the side of the mug when he puts it in front of yoongi some fifteen minutes later. they look at each other. “can i sit?” jungkook asks, hands curling around the fabric of his apron. 

“i was,” yoongi shrugs, bringing the mug closer. “i was hoping you would.”

“— i’ll just get some coffee, then.” then there are two mugs with coffee rapidly growing cold in between them, and it’s reminiscent of their first early mornings, the awkward, quiet ones. jungkook touches the side of his mug. “i have—,” he starts, unsure. yoongi raises his eyes at him, waiting. “i did it without your permission,” jungkook’s ears grow red, too. “i don’t even know if— i got carried away, and—“

“are you going to come back?” yoongi intervenes, and he sounds anxious. jungkook finds his eyes. “home, i mean. my— home.” 

“do you want me to?”

“you left your things,” but yoongi stops, inhaling. “yes.” neither looks away. “i want you to, you’re,” he shrugs. “my pet.”

“i kissed you.” 

at this, yoongi’s own eyes widen, and he swallows, looking away, finally. saying it out loud makes it slightly more real than it felt before. before it could have been a fever dream, before it could have been just the sickness in the heat. now it’s true, and fleshy, and tissue, and taste . jungkook had tasted like— “i don’t blame you,” yoongi offers, bringing the mug against his lips, sipping the lukewarm coffee. it’s almost cold now. “i told you it was more difficult for you.”

“— yeah,” jungkook’s nodding when yoongi looks at him again. he looks as if he’s shrinking, shoulders small. “i’ll be more careful next time, owner-nim.” it’s there again, the slight disappointment in jungkook’s voice. his fingers, though, his fingers reach out, touching yoongi’s briefly, lingering only for a second before letting go. he pushes out a bright smile then. “should we go home together? we work in the same building.”

yoongi can’t help but smile, too. he huffs, lips curling. “yeah, we can go home together.” he offers his palm up across the table. “paw.” jungkook’s smile gets wider, eyes getting smaller, all those nice wrinkles around it. his hand is warm. yoongi holds it for a moment too long. “good boy.” the noise jungkook makes fills yoongi’s chest with the good kind of ache.

by the time he goes back to the office, the smile they shared is still lingering on his face, and his nose is still red, and he feels strangely giddy. jimin doesn’t comment on it, he never does, never questioning the slight odd changes in yoongi’s demeanor, when they exist. he still can’t focus on his work, though, his hand still able to feel jungkook’s warmth in it, his tongue still— he glances up, towards jimin. he’s typing something, eyebrows raised as he looks from his computer to the paper. yoongi thinks he should be working too. he texts namjoon instead, for lunch, but gets a dismiss. i have a date, sorry, hyung . he sighs. it’s ridiculous. finally, with much difficulty, he clears his throat, sitting back. “jimin-ssi,” he calls. jimin looks up. sunbae? “can i ask you— a personal question?”

for a second, he thinks jimin won’t reply. he looks stunned, eyes wide. then he stands, bowing. “sunbae, of course, i— yes, of course,” jimin’s obviously happy, and yoongi nods, uncomfortable. he doesn’t know what a personal question entails— if it means they’re suddenly beyond being coworkers, if it means he’ll feel obliged to attend the after work gatherings jimin seems fond of. yoongi isn’t sure if he wants those things. right now, he just wants someone to talk to. “what do you want to ask?”

“ah,” yoongi swallows. “it’s about,” he feels suddenly flustered. “— do you have a partner?” he touches his tie, exhaling. “or a mate.”

“i do,” jimin smiles fondly. “he’s not my mate, not—in the way the bond works.” it’s a he , then. yoongi feels less horrified of the conversation. “he’s more like a soulmate.” jimin shrugs, still smiling. “you’ve met him, sunbae, taehyungie.”

it’s not surprising per se, yoongi thinks, but it is surprising in a sense. “you’re both—“ alphas . yoongi stops himself, though. he doesn’t like bringing up the subject in the office. it reminds him of his own status and how it perpetuates the corridor conversations. 

“yeah,” jimin huffs. “those things don’t matter.” the way he says it, yoongi almost believes him. jimin is honest and kind, he’s learned over the years working alongside him. maybe it isn’t too bad to have him around. “but you have a mate.”

no , he almost says it. “yeah,” yoongi fidgets with the pens on his desk. 

“the dog walker,” jimin tries, carefully. the way yoongi flushes a deep red, it’s telling, even though his mouth pours a stream of no, no, it isn’t, no . “he smelled like you,” yoongi blinks, heart racing. his mouth gets dry, tasting like— “i don’t mean to pry, sunbae, i’m sorry if—“

“it’s okay,” yoongi says, voice a bit too soft. 

“but— what did you really want to ask?”

yoongi breathes out. he thinks for a moment before finding jimin’s eyes again. “how did you know,” he starts. “that it was it ? with taehyung-ssi?”

“it?”

“it,” he nods, cheeks hot. saying words make them real. saying that you might be falling in love makes the things hidden in the chambers of your heart suddenly too loud and fleshy.

“ah,” jimin chuckles, seemingly understanding. “i don’t know. i think you just do.” yoongi hums, chest aching. he doesn’t say anything else, and thus jimin eventually goes back to work, smiling to himself. yoongi does the same, the unavoidable pile of contracts not going anywhere. 

it’s a few minutes after six, hours later, when he sees jungkook again. there was no sorting of his own feelings, no reviewing of the names for them, no processing of information. there were just numbers and interest rate and investment shifts and uk’s gdp fall easing asian markets into flow. he waits for him outside, feeling awkward and cold and every other time he bows at coworkers who leave. jungkook comes out, then, rubbing his palms, steam coming out of his mouth. “hyung-nim,” he bows, too, but he giggles as he does so, and it makes yoongi huff. jungkook walks closer, reaching to tug on yoongi’s jacket. “you should have waited inside the café, it’s cold.”

“i didn’t want to bother you,” yoongi replies, feeling how his heart picks up speed. 

“you don’t bother me,” jungkook leans in, adjusting the straps of his backpack, and yoongi sucks in his breath, but jungkook just places his chin on yoongi’s shoulder, looking up at him. “can we take the bus?”

“i prefer the train,” yoongi says, slightly embarrassed, muttering boundaries as he starts walking towards the station. jungkook stops him by holding the hem of his jacket. “the bus takes longer, jungkook.”

“but we can sit down on the bus, the trains will be full,” jungkook whines. “i just stood up for six hours.” yoongi starts saying something about choices and prices and less time for resting , but jungkook pulls on the jacket again, and yoongi stumbles backwards until they’re close, and jungkook’s eyes are big and pleading. “please, owner-nim, i’m so tired .”

yoongi scoffs, but he starts smiling anyway, so he hides it by turning the other way. “fine,” he pretends to scowl. “but then you’re helping me cook.” it’s not really a punishment, yoongi thinks later, sitting by the window of the bus, jungkook beside him, asleep. not much regarding jungkook is punishment, maybe. he glances at him, watching as he sleeps for a second too long. their stop comes too soon. jungkook complains as he stands, groaning, and he scratches his eyes and stumbles on his own feet as they walk towards the building. “didn’t you sleep?”

“ah, not— well,” jungkook yawns. “couches, and all.”

“you didn’t go to the dorm?”

“no, i,” they come up to the building finally, and jungkook climbs the steps rather slowly, arms swinging next to him. “i was afraid they wouldn’t let me come back here.”

he stops on top of the stairs, turning. yoongi feels small, standing at the lower steps, looking up. jungkook reaches out, touching yoongi’s collar, adjusting something. “i’m glad,” yoongi confesses. “i’m glad you came back.” the intensity of jungkook’s stare is somewhat daunting, but yoongi can’t find it in himself to look away, despite the wayward beating of his heart or the way he’s blushed. “— what do you want to eat?”

“your favourite food,” jungkook smiles brightly, turning to hop the remaining steps upwards, hands going to hide in the pockets of his hoodie. “whatever it is, i’ll like it.”

“i like everything,” yoongi follows shortly, always a few steps behind. “i’m not picky.” they step softly around each other, yoongi notices, as if afraid to spook with sudden gestures of intimacy. still, yoongi allows jungkook to help him with his jacket, feeling his hands slide down his arms, touching the skin of his wrists briefly. it’s alarmingly a good feeling. by the time they’re chopping up vegetables in the kitchen, their comfortable silence has returned. it’s good, pleasant. yoongi feels good. jungkook comments on the way the ingredients already cooking in the pan smell at some point. yoongi tells him a random story about the market value of kimchi around the world. he takes a spoon of the broth, offering to jungkook. so good, so good , he chants lyrically, voice rising a few octaves. it makes yoongi huff, smiling.

then they’re sitting down, and yoongi watches as jungkook tastes everything, letting out small noises of pleasure, and long winded hmmmm ’s. he adds a few more meat slices to jungkook’s bowl, then, before starting to eat, too. “hyung,” the call is sweet, and yoongi somehow fears looking up. when he does, jungkook looks like he imagined, head cocked to the side, fond smile adorning his lips. “you’re,” words seem to fail him briefly. jungkook sighs. “really special.”

it’s a simple kind of compliment, but yoongi feels timid at once. he coughs, the food becoming a lump down his throat. “there’s nothing special about me,” he snorts, tingling in between the wrinkles of his clothes. “you’re just food drunk.”

“i could sleep for three days,” jungkook nods, agreeing, pats to his belly. he looks slightly blushed, possibly from the spicy kimchi, maybe from the glasses of wine they shared. it’s a red from somewhere cold. yoongi bought too long ago. jungkook liked it. “and i mean it,” he continues, finding yoongi’s eyes. “you are.”

“food drunk,” yoongi mumbles, stirring into movement, stretching, looking away. “you stink.”

“you always say that,” jungkook complains, making a face. he watches as yoongi stands, carrying their plates to the sink. “i’ll wash them later,” he offers, more tame. yoongi mutters a small you bet . it makes jungkook giggle again. “ owner-nim— can you wash my hair?”

one of the bowls makes a loud sound as it slips from yoongi’s hand, but he pretends it didn’t, even if his shoulders coil a bit. “you have two working hands,” he answers rather briskly, flustered. 

“yours are nicer,” the flirty undertones in jungkook’s speech are hidden by another handful of chuckles. yoongi feels his insides melt into something awful and wet and gooey. his neck itches. he touches it with damp fingers, scratching. the bruise has scabs on it already. “ please— ?”

“just this once,” yoongi swallows. “don’t get used to it.”

“promise.”

by the time yoongi steps into the bathroom, every surface is covered in dampness, and the mirror is fogged up, and the glass from the shower has drawings on it. jungkook’s hair is wet, tossed away from his face. the bathtub is full, bubbles hiding most of his body under swirly water. the bathroom smells achingly like strawberry and jungkook’s scent. yoongi stops by the door, then grabs the nearest towel, wrapping around his nose and mouth. jungkook goes yah, hyung, i’m offended—! , but yoongi kneels next to the tub, and jungkook grows quiet, his angry noises dissipating into subdued silence. the water is clearer up close. yoongi doesn’t look down jungkook’s neck, certainly not at his naked shoulders, his arms, his chest, his— “turn around,” he asks, looking away. “give me that shampoo bottle.”

jungkook does as he’s told, and his hair is soft, and yoongi soon finds out he doesn’t mind washing jungkook’s hair that much, that the feeling of his nails against soapy scalp is alluringly relaxing. jungkook hums a song, and it sometimes breaks off when yoongi scratches somewhere that has his flinching, shivering. “that feels good,” he says, at some point, at another break in his song, as yoongi rinses his hair, fingers touching the nape of his neck, pressing. “there,” he breathes out, and yoongi scratches behind his ear softly. “ah, maybe i’m really a dog—“

“holly used to make a mess when i washed him,” yoongi comments, untangling his fingers from jungkook’s hair. “he’d shake all the water off, get everything wet.” 

“—like this?” jungkook asks candidly a second before shaking his head rapidly, droplets of water getting everywhere, and yoongi groans, yah, yah, jeon jungkook, behave , but he starts laughing, the towel falling off from around his face, and jungkook’s charmingly boyish laughter follows. he turns on the tub, sprinkling even more water on yoongi, just to reach out and pick up the towel, touching it to yoongi’s cheek to dry. “i can wash your hair too, hyung.” they stare at each other. “i want to.” yoongi flushes. jungkook’s eyes wander about him. “please.”

the air that comes out of his lungs is full of splinters, yoongi thinks. “yeah, okay.” he tries to sound nonchalant. jungkook opens another bright smile, and then he’s standing up in the bathtub, and yoongi chokes on his spit, immediately looking away as jungkook casually walks out, grabbing the towel that was around yoongi’s neck a moment before. 

“i’ll run you a new bath,” he says, excitedly. “take off your clothes.”

“get out, then,” yoongi sputters, embarrassed. 

“i can help a little,” jungkook is saying, and yoongi has little strength to deny him, or his touch, or the way he looks, shirtless, towel around his waist, hands about yoongi, unknotting his tie, unbuttoning his shirt slowly. he’s on the fourth button when yoongi holds his wrists, and he’s trembling all over.

“i can do this, just wait outside,” yoongi says, heavily. 

when jungkook comes back in, yoongi’s hidden under bubbles as well. the bath bomb still fizzes, turning the water the deepest blue, as if he’s washing in deep ocean. it smells briny inside. jungkook sniffs, kneeling by the tub, resting his head on folded arms. “smells like busan in here,” he comments rather dreamily. yoongi looks at him. 

“i’ve never been,” yoongi reveals, voice low. 

“i’ve never been to daegu either,” jungkook smiles, and then he’s taking the shampoo bottle, and yoongi shifts, turning his back to him. “maybe you can take me there.” it’s casually that he says it, just as his fingers touch the back of his neck, but yoongi is sure his temperature rises, and it isn’t the still fuming water he’s dipped in. it’s something else, terribly shaped like a heart, and it tastes just like jungkook did (like—). yoongi closes his eyes, the sensation spreading down his legs. he’s still somewhat sensitive. jungkook’s nails are short but the way they feel against skin is unbecoming. everything is. 

“maybe,” he forces the word out. it comes out jaded. 

they don’t talk for a while, the sounds of the water overlapping their affected breathing. yoongi’s grateful when jungkook rinses his hair, finally, and mutters a small i’ll wait outside when he’s all done, and yoongi holds himself together by short breaths, feeling unbelievably fervid. the heavy scent of his bath and of jungkook’s strawberry shampoo and the underlay of sharp sweetness of his skin stings his teeth. yoongi’s body reacts to it too well. it’s painful to stand, ignoring the ache down his belly, grabbing for the towels, taking the quick steps to his own, scentless room. only after a few minutes is that he feels less burdensome, the gooseflesh disappearing alongside the redness of his skin. yoongi breathes out more evenly. 

the television is on, and jungkook’s perked on the couch, eyes attached to it. the moment he sees yoongi come in, though, he moves to sit on the floor, bracing his knees. yoongi sighs when he sits down, legs touching the side of jungkook’s body. he kicks him softly with his heel. jungkook looks up. “come up,” he says, softly. “the floor isn’t comfortable.” jungkook blinks, seemingly surprised for a second. then he moves, sitting close, toothy smile on his face. “you’re not a dog.”

“but i’m your pet,” he says, glancing yoongi’s way. “it’s on the contract.”

“i’ll change it,” yoongi shrugs. jungkook’s smile gets wider, and he huffs, tucking himself in even closer, folded knees against yoongi’s. “jungkook,” yoongi starts, heart beating unsteady. “tomorrow, i—,” he stops for a moment. the tv display the news regarding new york’s stock market. jungkook had turned it on before, probably because he knows yoongi likes to watch them. “do you have to work?”

“i have practice, and then i’m on the night shift.”

“when you’re off, then.” yoongi sniffs. “i want to,” he touches his nose, feeling awfully shy. “i want to take you out.” he knows jungkook’s gawking at him. “not as a pet, just as— you, yourself.” he finally finds jungkook’s eyes, seeing how big they are. 

“yeah,” jungkook nods vehemently, touching his own hair, pushing it behind his ear. yoongi helps, reaching out to hold a few strands in place. it’s an absentminded kind of touch. yoongi’s heart backflips against his ribs, and it’s painful. “that’s— good.” the sheer happiness laced in his tone isn’t missed. “i’d like that.” then jungkook does something rather surprising— he pulls yoongi close, settling under his arm, folding himself to fit yoongi’s body, almost like they did months before, during his rut. he groans pleasurably, and yoongi feels it against his ribcage, stirring the contents of his body. his fingers tug on jungkook’s clothes, softly. it’s good, all of it. it’s warm .

“you should sleep, jungkook.” he tells him quietly, then, and yoongi yawns, tired, too. jungkook barely hums, already falling asleep. yoongi watches the screen for some time, but his eyelids are also heavy and his heart is beating loudly. sleep comes easier when jungkook’s wrapped about him. 

there are a couple of dates yoongi remembers being nervous for. the first time he’s slept with someone, a year after he presented. the one time he felt like he could be in love with the girl in his study group. his palms had gotten clammy, his stomach upset for days. it’s familiar, then, all those things, as he fidgets with the collar of his t-shirt. it’s been a while since he dressed down from suits and pressed shirts. he didn’t want to feel like min yoongi, the banker. he wanted to feel like min yoongi— someone who’s hopelessly attracted to the boy coming his way. he blinks, confused at his own thoughts, blushing. jungkook half-jogs his way, smiling. i’ll meet you at the station after practice , he’s said, in the morning, and yoongi had undeniably spent the whole day preparing . “you look different,” jungkook says at once, looking at his clothes, his eyes wandering about. “you look good.”

“you look sweaty,” yoongi blurts out, and jungkook giggles, pushing sweaty hair under a cap. i am a bit, i’m sorry. “it’s fine, i don’t— i don’t mind.” 

“where are we going?”

“hongdae,” he replies, once they start walking towards the escalators. 

“i thought you didn’t feel comfortable when there’s a lot of people,” jungkook says carefully, and he walks a bit fast to get onto the escalators first, turning to stare up at yoongi. it’s a different kind of stare, yoongi thinks. it’s a worried one, and a— fond one, maybe. “we don’t have to do something that will make hyung uncomfortable.”

“be careful,” yoongi says softly, touching jungkook’s arm, but jungkook smiles, hopping off the escalator too easily, even backwards. “it’s okay if you’re there.” the confession is small and contained, but jungkook smiles rather toothly, a nice shade of red on his ears. you’re different , he mumbles again, pressing his hands to the side of yoongi’s waist as they take the train, urging him forward through the mass of people. yoongi holds them both, arm raised over his head, jungkook holds against him. they sway as the train sways. yoongi feels jungkook’s breathing against his neck. there’s always a poignant silence in trains, and that’s why yoongi likes them best. talking is frowned upon, and even in close proximity there’s still a sense of self-preservation. the air smells strongly of air fresheners. it’s a safe space. jungkook puts his chin on yoongi’s shoulder, arms sliding around his waist to clasp in front of his stomach. yoongi swallows. a few people look their way. “—jungkook.” it’s barely a whisper. jungkook is close enough to listen.

“i’m tired,” jungkook yawns, and he touches his head to yoongi’s and yoongi can see on the reflection of the window that his eyes are closed. he’s been looking tired, with the preparations for his possible debut. sometimes he’ll get home late, hair done, make up still on his face from photoshoots for things he’ll later tell yoongi about in an excited voice. other times he’ll growl loudly, frustrated, as he gets the wrong note whilst singing in the shower. yoongi only watches from a distance, unsure of what to do, of what to offer. he makes him food, then, and pats his hair, and lets jungkook hold him as they watch the news, until they both fall asleep. 

“do you want to go home?” yoongi asks carefully, touching over jungkook’s fingers. “we don’t have to go out today.”

“no,” jungkook sighs, pressing closer, fingers clinging to yoongi’s. “i can buy some coffee.”

he does buy coffee from one of the stalls at the station, humming happily as he drinks. they stop by this album store, jungkook pointing to idols with similar concepts, we’ll dress like this, he’s a good singer, i saw her when we went to the bigger studio, she’s really pretty . yoongi listens, thinking he doesn’t quite understand the life jungkook’s about to enter. he understands, though, that it’s a life where yoongi does not fit accordingly. at some point, their contract will run up, and their small little pretend will have to end. jungkook looks a bit less exhausted once they’re out in the open, wide eyes consuming every lingering light of flashy neon signs they walk by, happily pointing to buskers he wants to watch, complimenting them under his breath. yoongi likes to watch him, how his expression gets serious as he listens to the songs, mouthing the words alongside the singer, eyes full of wonder. then yoongi looks away, flushed and embarrassed. “there’s a bar over there,” he comments, as they move through the crowded streets. “that rooftop. they have good food, too.”

“have you been there?” there’s a very faint undertone of— curiosity in jungkook’s question. not about the bar itself, but maybe about yoongi’s personal life. maybe about his other dates. yoongi sniffs, shaking his head.

“i saw it on naver,” yoongi doesn’t add he spent about an hour of his work day looking for somewhere to take jungkook, hiding the screen of his computer from prying coworkers. 

it’s a nice bar, slightly higher end but still youthful enough jungkook doesn’t feel like he can’t afford things. they sit on the deck, outside, with the glistening lights of nearby buildings and trees full of fairy-lights for christmas, windows turning on and off like a set of blinking  stars of their own. the night sky is dark, and it’s cold enough they’re grateful for the hot grill between them. they order enough food to last them a while, and soju to start. jungkook smiles too big at the variety of meat they bring out. they have small conversations about work whilst they grill it, yoongi telling jungkook there’s the possibility they’ll settle the purchase of another bank, jungkook saying they’ll get a debut party if everything goes as planned. it will go as planned , yoongi mumbles, supportive. “ah, this is so good,” jungkook chants, blush on his nose, and he takes another slice and offers it to yoongi, holding between them in his chopsticks. it takes a second for yoongi to eat it, chewing nervously. “you’re eating well,” he says, fondly.

“well, i’m hungry,” yoongi huffs, but he pushes most slices towards jungkook anyway. “we should pour some of that,” he says, gesturing towards the soju. jungkook does so quickly. yoongi is grateful for the heat of it, how it goes down his throat with a numb kind of ache. it spreads warmth all over his chest. 

“you look good,” jungkook repeats, and yoongi finds his eyes through the steam. he reaches out, touching his knuckles to yoongi’s nose as he sometimes does, pulling his hand away briskly a moment later. “you’re flushed, hyung.”

“yeah, i guess,” yoongi mumbles, heart picking up speed. “soju does that.” you do that , he wants to add. jungkook adjusts his cap, as if he doesn’t know what to do with his hands suddenly. “why don’t you take it off?”

“i didn’t wash my hair,” jungkook sighs, taking it off, running a hand through sweaty strands. they’ll dry eventually, and his hair will get puffy and big, yoongi knows. it curls at the ends, and it looks darker when wet.

“i like it,” yoongi says, rather low, eyes fleeting somewhere else. “your hair. i can,” he gestures vaguely, before poking the meat slices sizzling on the grill. “i can wash it later, if you want.”

“— ah, hyungnim ,” jungkook coos, sounding happy. it makes yoongi snort, smiling. “here,” some more soju is poured. “you should drink well, too.”

“there’s no such thing—“ he starts, but jungkook’s giggling, and yoongi drinks anyway. when the food is all gone and only the drinks remain, an assortment of wine and empty bottles of soju, they’re both heavily flushed, their conversation slower, vowels and consonants difficult to roll on tongues. jungkook has reached over the table, tugging at the zipper of yoongi’s jacket playfully. yoongi stares at him under too heavy eyelids. “i don’t do this often.”

“— drinking?”

“dating,” the word has jungkook glancing up, meeting his eyes. they’re round, pretty. “i haven’t done this in a while.”

“why?”

“i don’t know, i disappoint people,” yoongi shrugs.

“i think they’re all stupid,” jungkook says, voice low and breathy. “you’re perfect.”

it makes yoongi snort. “you’re drunk, jungkook,” he points out, looking away, stirring into movement, and his hand touches jungkook’s wrist, and then his palm, fingers following the lines on it absentmindedly, and jungkook’s fingers fold to touch yoongi’s feebly. it’s awkward hand holding, but yoongi doesn’t mind. he pretends the touch doesn’t echo in his belly, tugging at his insides. “you could play the piano,” yoongi says instead. “you have good hands.”

“ owner-nim ,” yoongi glances up. jungkook looks absolutely gorgeous, head against the railing, eyelids low, neck flushed. his hair has dried enough to look all wavy and soft. “can i take you home?”

“you’re really drunk,” yoongi chuckles, reaching out to touch his hair, heart beating awry when jungkook turns his head the slightly, pressing a kiss to his wrist. “come on, i’ll get you to bed.”

“yours?”

“no, yours ,” jungkook makes a sad little noise, but follows, stumbly, hands grabbing about yoongi’s figure. yoongi pays for their dinner. they wait for the elevator in constricted silence. it’s a panoramic elevator, the big glass walls showing the emptier streets outside. yoongi presses for the ground floor. jungkook sighs, taking yoongi’s hand a moment later. their fingers intertwine easily. 

they hold hands through the ride home, even if there’s some distance between them in the cab, even if their palms grow increasingly sweaty. yoongi climbs the stairs first, but jungkook stops halfway, forcing him to turn. “hyung, i need to tell you something,” he mutters. the street is empty. the taxi drives off, its noise disappearing in the distance. yoongi stares down at jungkook, their arms extended towards each other, hands still holding. 

“— what is it?”

“i,” jungkook seems to inhale. yoongi waits, shivering the slightest, steam coming out of his mouth. “if i have to leave, i’m going to miss you.” it’s bittersweet, the way he says it. 

“you can still see me, what are you saying,” yoongi mumbles, scoffing, but he understands. the life jungkook’s about to enter isn’t one where there’s enough space for something else, for a relationship, for another home. “you told them i’m your mate, they’ll—,” he snorts. “they’ll have to let you come around eventually.”

“yeah,” jungkook nods, but he looks hurt. 

“come on, it’s cold outside,” yoongi mutters, starting to turn. jungkook doesn’t move. “jungkook.”

“i like you,” the words are blurted out quickly, and jungkook’s fingers press onto yoongi’s. yoongi blinks, sudden warmth spreading down his limbs, tingling. “ hyung ,” jungkook swallows. “everything about you, i like it.”

“jungkook—“

“i know you don’t like me the same way, but i had to tell you,” jungkook looks down, and he’s stuttering, nervous. “i had to tell you—“

jungkook’s still mumbling when yoongi descends the few steps between them, lifting every bit of restraint he still holds, and for once they’re on eye level, and he’s still talking when yoongi touches his neck, leaning into him, and he’s still talking when they kiss, words being swallowed a moment later alongside a breathy gasp, but jungkook’s quick to grab around yoongi, kissing him back. everything about you , he mutters, short for breath, lips against yoongi’s jawline, and they stagger in place, the cold just a minor thought at the back of their heads. “let’s go upstairs,” yoongi mutters, tugging him forward, and they finally move, jungkook’s pressed against him for every step, having them stumbling up. they kiss again as soon as the door closes, jungkook pushing yoongi against it, hands the side of his jaw, and yoongi feels completely intoxicated by the way jungkook smells, even though their clothes have lingering smoke smell, even though he hasn’t showered. “jungkook,” yoongi mutters at some point, tugging on his hair the slightest. he feels absolutely smothered, all too hot, armpits starting to sweat. “come on, let’s go to bed.”

“bath first,” jungkook tells him, but the words are barely a whisper. yoongi chuckles. “it’s in the contract.”

“i’ll wash your hair,” they untangle only briefly, because jungkook’s clingy, grabbing onto yoongi’s waist, walking close. the bathroom is colder than the rest of the apartment, a window left open. they turn on the water, and the sound is overwhelming. yoongi touches the hems of jungkook’s sweatshirt. “can i?”

“yeah,” jungkook bites on his lips. they’re red and wet and fleshy. he stares as yoongi slowly undresses him, helping by raising his arms, and yoongi breathes slowly, heart awry, fingers sliding down jungkook’s waist to touch his pants, too nervous to pull them down. “i can do that,” jungkook mutters, giggling, and by the time the bathtub is half full, he’s standing in his underwear, red all over him. yoongi doesn’t say anything when jungkook touches the collar of his shirt, nor when he pulls his jacket down, raising yoongi’s arms to slide the shirt off. he doesn’t say anything when jungkook runs fingertips over his ribs, and down his stomach, but it tickles, and he sucks the air in. “those,” he says, touching yoongi’s hips, then his pants. yoongi swallows, but goes forth, taking off his own pants, tossing them on the floor a moment later. then it’s only their breathing and how it’s laced with the sound of running water. jungkook’s open stare is unabashed. yoongi feels something akin to shame. “we should go in.”

“— yeah, i guess.”

the sink drips, the sound a constant. they get inside in their underwear, already too aware of each other’s bodies to feel comfortable enough to remove them. the water is hot and smelling of soap. yoongi grabs onto the shower, turning it on to wash jungkook’s hair. it isn’t a big bathtub in the slightest. their limbs are too close, too naked. he scratches jungkook’s scalp, trying not to give too much thought at the way jungkook’s hands rub against his calves, massaging. he’s glad jungkook has his back to him, at least. he can’t see how red yoongi is, how jittery. “you smell like a forest again,” jungkook comments, softly. “like— igidae park,” he huffs. “those walkways besides the ocean.” yoongi smiles, rinsing the shampoo out. “it’s good.” a pause follows. “i want to take you there.”

“maybe one day,” he turns off the shower, leaning back against the tub, but jungkook immediately turns, pulling yoongi close, legs over legs. yoongi feels lightheaded. “it’s too soon for this,” he comments, trying to sound stern. jungkook nods, but leans in, kissing him anyway, and yoongi’s eyes close, and he sighs, and jungkook’s tongue still tastes faintly of alcohol, and it’s good. they both chuckle when jungkook tries to stifle a yawn, though. “we should put you to bed.” 

“yours?” it’s a second try.

“i told you, not today.” yoongi starts standing up, incredibly self-conscious of his own body, quickly grabbing a towel. jungkook stands up, too, slipping a little, grabbing onto yoongi for balance. “go put some clothes on,” yoongi tells him as jungkook steps out, shaking his dripping hair. “i’ll— be there in a minute.”

“i’ll wait.” and he kisses yoongi’s cheek before stepping out, steam following him through the corridor, towel hiding little of his figure. 

by the time yoongi steps into the office, though, jungkook’s already way into sleep, mouth slightly open, the old t-shirt he wears to bed raised over his stomach, hair still wet. yoongi can’t help the small huff it comes out, nor his smile that grows too big, too irrationally fond. he lays down next to jungkook, getting close enough he can wrap an arm around his middle. “goodnight, pet.” yeah , jungkook mutters, stirring gently, holding weakly onto yoongi’s fingers. 

it’s the headache that wakes him up, even though jungkook’s soft snoring is also a sound that he’s not entirely used to, not from this close. yoongi blinks, knowing fully well that it’s way past early morning, his bladder complaining, his stomach growling for food. they’re awfully tangled, though, jungkook’s body so curled around him yoongi thinks he won’t be able to move for as long as he sleeps. it takes him some shifting, some sliding, but he manages to stand up after some time. jungkook’s hair is a mess, and there’s dried drool on the corner of his mouth. yoongi snorts, but he’s blushing. his head pounds all the way to the bathroom, and then some more all the way to the kitchen, and it’s almost eleven, he sees it on the fridge clock, sighing. he drinks a whole bottle of water, thirsty. 

breakfast is fried rice and kimchi omelet and the remains of a croissant jungkook brought from work days ago that looks a bit dry already. yoongi feels oddly calm as he sits there alone, even though at any moment now jungkook will stir himself awake and they’ll have to deal with the consequences of kissing and words, all those words . he feels all too old for the fluttering in his stomach. for waking up next to a younger body, having slept better than all the other nights before, as if every other night was a wasted night. he smiles to himself. jungkook walks in just then, all tousled from sleep, eyes still puffy. he halts by the door, sucking in his breath. yoongi lifts his eyes at him. “morning,” he mutters. jungkook nods.

“morning.”

he doesn’t move, looking startled. yoongi clears his throat. “come eat,” he pushes the cutlery closer to jungkook’s side of the table. jungkook takes another moment to move, looking down at his hands. he looks as if he wants to shrink into himself badly. “did you sleep well?”

“yeah,” he replies, mouth full. he raises somehow shy eyes at yoongi, before lowering them again. “— you?” yoongi nods, humming in affirmation. he pours jungkook some coffee. “it’s good,” he says, chewing. he still looks like he’s half asleep, from the way his eyes keep closing. 

“— are you okay?”

jungkook seems to snap out of his own awkwardness, blushing entirely. “yeah, i—,” he shrugs. “just nervous.” he finds yoongi’s eyes again. “you weren’t there when i woke up, i thought—“

“ you were there when i woke up,” yoongi tells him softly. jungkook huffs, smiling. “if you want i can be there tomorrow.” 

that makes jungkook cough. he inhales. “and the day after that?”

“i’ll check my schedule,” yoongi feels all warm. jungkook giggles, and he looks slightly more cheerful as they finish eating. he washes the dishes, humming a song yoongi doesn’t know, and yoongi works on equity graphs. it’s a rather boring, regular late sunday morning. the weather is bad, frozen rain hitting the windows in steady intervals. the light is rather gloomy. jungkook dries his hands on the back of his sweatpants, and he walks closer, close enough to lean down, touching yoongi’s arms, kissing the top of his head. yoongi feels his fingers scatter over the keyboard, writing words that don’t exist but maybe that translate every possible thing he’s feeling. jungkook walks away, scratching the back of his neck, towards the living room. “are you staying in today?”

“i have practice at two,” he says, then stops, turning, looking— awfully eager. “do you want to come with me?” 

“— to your— dance practice?”

“yeah,” jungkook bites down on his bottom lip. “that— i’d like you to.”

yoongi swallows. “i can go,” he nods, after a moment. jungkook’s expression thaws into something akin to happiness. “i don’t have anything planned.”

“really?”

“really.”

jungkook seems to shift on his weight, breaking into a smile. “hyung,” he starts, carefully. yoongi’s eyes him, the way his hair looks bigger than it is normally, all pushed towards one side, horribly messy. the way the collar of his shirt is loose around his neck, a hint of a bruise at the curve, the alluring colour of his skin. yoongi inhales, and then it’s all like the tracks in gayasan national park, the sweet smell of the clean water that pours out of the mountains, and the way the hiking paths smell like flowers in the spring. it reminds him of home in a way that is scary. jungkook seems to realise the faint change in yoongi’s expression, or maybe the paleness of his cheeks. “— you okay?” he asks, taking a step forward. yoongi only nods. 

his mouth is dry, but he stands quietly, taking the few steps that exist between them. jungkook stands straighter, chest filling up with the air he holds. “i need to check on something,” he breathes out. jungkook seems to swallow, but yoongi isn’t looking anymore. he pushes himself up on the tip of his toes until they’re somehow on eye level, and they hesitate for a moment, staring at each other, yoongi’s hand touching jungkook’s neck all too softly. 

“on what?” jungkook mutters, and yoongi feels the air of his consonants. he leans in carefully, yoongi leans back, not letting him come closer. jungkook grabs yoongi’s waist weakly. “hyung.” the word comes out just slightly whiny, and yoongi huffs. “ hyung ,” and it isn’t whiny, then, but a soft, low growl, one that’s commanding in the way only alpha’s voices can be sometimes. yoongi feels it on his insides, tugging, and for a split second he’s pliant. jungkook blinks, blushing.

“ behave ,” yoongi tells him sternly, and jungkook smells so bluntly like mountain air that it is difficult not to lean in and sniff him. jungkook mutters a small i’m sorry , his tongue pink behind his teeth, his lips faint red, and yoongi can’t look away. he tugs jungkook close, feeling him sigh into the kiss, the air shared between tongues and teeth and the taste of late morning coffee. the fingers that hold onto him press harder. yoongi scratches his nails against the weak spot on the back of jungkook’s neck, hearing him make a faint sound, shiver running down his spine. it’s a good kiss, jungkook’s a good kisser. the mountain air about him is exhilarating. it’s a different scent from before. it’s too homely. 

they kiss for too long, yoongi thinks, but he barely minds. they kiss until jungkook gently pushes him backwards, pushing the benches away, until yoongi feels his back touching the table, until jungkook lifts him quickly, adjusting himself between yoongi’s legs as he sits on the table surface, until jungkook’s fingers touch skin under his shirt, and his teeth nips on the curve of yoongi’s neck. yoongi’s sigh is suttery, hand sliding down jungkook’s back, pressing on the small of it. “did you check on it?” jungkook mumbles, nose against yoongi’s ear, his breath tingling. 

“yeah,” yoongi nods loosely, breathing out. “yeah, i did,” it makes jungkook giggle, pulling back. they’re both breathing raggedly. it’s— somehow daunting, to be stared at like that. jungkook’s unabashedly pretty, lips slightly swollen, smile curling the ends of them. yoongi doesn’t know if he’s allowed to feel the things he’s feeling, even though jungkook has already spelled them out to him the night before. “i want to see you dance, and i— want to kiss you, and—,” he swallows. “i’d make a graph with my findings but i think you find them boring.”

“they’re boring, but you’re not,” and jungkook pulls yoongi closer, and yoongi wraps his legs around jungkook’s thighs. it’s highly intimate and all too new, like bathing together, and washing each other’s hair and sharing a bed. yoongi doesn’t completely mind it. he snorts when jungkook leans in again, sniffing his neck. “you smell so good, owner-nim.”

“— i want to show you something,” yoongi tells him, then.

“is it what’s under your clothes?” jungkook mutters, hooking a finger under yoongi’s collar, pulling. 

“ no ,” although yoongi’s body is burning, burning and touch-starved. “it’s a room.”

jungkook pulls back, eyebrows raising. “— a room?”

“yeah,” yoongi pushes him back so he can hop off the table, awkwardly ignoring the faint distress going on under his clothes, jungkook’s hands still all about him, touching, clinging. “you can use it.”

the room is locked, yoongi always keeps it like that. it isn’t like there’s something too precious in it, but it is some sort of deposit for all the other parts of himself, the ones he doesn’t really bother in wearing out. the lights are turned on. there’s a piano on the corner, tucked in between bookshelves full of old horror movies vhs and copies of slam dunk mangas, architecture books piling in corners with music sheets and old albums of artists that are long gone. there’s a spare bed, because that was supposed to be a guest room at some point, and a basketball, a baseball bat against the corner, gloves laying around, untouched for years. boxes complete the decoration, all taped, with scribbles only yoongi understands on the side. jungkook steps in, looking around. he approaches the piano, touching the keys that are heavily dirty. then he looks at the bed. “you made me sleep on an inflatable mattress,” he complains, snorting. yoongi can’t help but smile.

“we can clean this up, you can,” he clears his throat. “have it— if you want to stay. if they let you.”

“— what about your room?” jungkook pulls out volume seven of slam dunk, flipping through the pages briefly. when yoongi doesn’t reply right away, he looks over his shoulder at him, expectant. “i haven’t been to your room yet.” 

“i need a space that doesn’t smell like you,” he sighs, walking in, kicking the corners of the boxes for spiders. nothing comes out from behind them, just dust, floating and spiraling in the faint light like glitter. “it’s not because i don’t like it,” he adds it when jungkook’s expression falters softly. “i like it.” jungkook huffs, pulling out another volume. “you also smell like a forest— like the mountains.”

“— do i?” jungkook blows dust from the cover of the books. he’s blushing, yoongi can see. he hums in agreement. “what does it mean?”

“i don’t know,” yoongi shrugs, stopping close to jungkook, taking the books from his hands to look at them, too. “if we get it cleaned, we can sleep on this bed,” he mutters, then, and jungkook seems to swallow again, nervous. “it was my bed back at home.” the books are put down, in the wrong order. “i don’t think it’s that comfortable.” jungkook starts complaining, but yoongi kicks his sheens rather softly. “we can test it out later.”

“or now,” jungkook grins, tugging on yoongi’s pajama shirt. 

“start cleaning, then,” and yoongi turns, leaving, smile still on his face, flushed down his neck. “i have a report to finish.”

even though jungkook complains for good fifteen minutes, soon enough yoongi starts listening to the sounds of boxes being pulled, and sneezing when the dust rises. it makes him huff, smiling, as he types down words that now make sense. the sense of familiarity in those noises feels good to yoongi’s ears. feels like his apartment is a home and not space for all his scattered parts. jungkook— oddly ties them together, like a red string around his furniture. he raises his head, glancing at the fridge, to the pictures of holly, their contract hanging there, the norway magnet crooked, their signatures at the bottom. pet, owner. he stands, then, walking towards it, hesitating for only split a second before grabbing the papers, wanting to toss them into a bin. “you don’t want me as a pet anymore?” jungkook startles him, and yoongi turns quickly, embarrassed.

“— no, i don’t think so,” he shakes his head, heart beating loudly. jungkook frowns, looking mildly confused. “i think i want you as something else.”

jungkook’s whole expression soothes, his frown unraveling into something softer, fonder. yoongi shrugs, swallowing. “like what?”

“i— don’t know just yet.”

“will you tell me? when you do?”

“yeah.”

they stare at each other for a lingering moment, and then jungkook breaks into the a nice smile, walking too quickly closer, squishing yoongi’s cheeks. the papers fall to the floor, fluttering “hyung’s too cute,” he chirps as yoongi complains lightly, thrashing against his hold, but he holds still when jungkook’s hands coop his face less harshly, lifting it towards him. “can we kiss again?”

“maybe,” yoongi lifts his eyes, staring at him. jungkook’s all red on cheeks and red on the lips he licks and red on nose. yoongi’s senses feel heightened, the touch on him too enticing, all that smell of trees and wind about jungkook. he feels his neck itch. “go finish that room first.”

“no,” jungkook says it with a slight amused bite. “i don’t want to.” 

“ yah— “ 

“we should go or i’ll be late, it’s past noon, we can get food at the station,” he says instead, leaning forward to steal a kiss, a quick thing that leaves yoongi rather breathless anyway. then he’s walking away, i’m going to get dressed , come on, hyung . it takes good ten minutes for yoongi to spring into movement, lungs achy, heart beating too fast. 

the practice rooms are in the basement of this crooked looking building hiding in the further parts of myeongdong, in an alleyway rather empty, the few shops around a bit sad looking. jungkook had explained, as they swayed together in the somehow full train, that if he debuted, he’d get to practice at better places, in gangnam, maybe, if he’s lucky. bigger groups do. yoongi leaves his id at the door. he’s given a name tag. it smells very much like a gym in the old basement. the rooms aren’t soundproof, so there’s a cacophony of sounds and music and voices. yoongi feels slightly nervous, pulling the skin around his nails as they walk through small corridors. jungkook bows to people as they pass through. yoongi does so with some delay, eyes to the floor. the room they walk is cold, lights off. it’s a bigger mess inside, objects everywhere, spare furniture piling against the wall, and there’s a drawing on the mirror made with a sharpie. “needs a spring clean, too,” yoongi comments, huffing. jungkook giggles, nodding, going to turn on the heater. these are spare rooms , he explains. “where are your,” he tries to find the word. “coworkers?”

“ coworkers ,” jungkook mimics his voice, and yoongi makes a face. “we’re early.”

“do you like them?”

“yeah,” he takes off his heavier jacket, tossing it carelessly over an armchair. “do you want to help me stretch?” yoongi chokes on his spit, coughing, blinking rapidly, looking away. it isn’t supposed to be such a big deal, from the frown on jungkook’s face, but yoongi gets embarrassed anyway. 

“i don’t know what to do,” he mumbles, timidly, staring at the patterns on the padded walls. jungkook’s already spreading himself on the floor. 

“i’ll show you.” it’s sooner than later that they’re in compromising positions, and yoongi swallows, holding against jungkook’s ankle, his leg raised against him, and jungkook’s a bit red down his neck, and he groans when yoongi pushes a little. “you can bend me, now,” jungkook says softly, finding yoongi’s eyes, and yoongi finds himself startling, too flustered, losing his balance half-way to fall flat on his ass. jungkook raises himself on his elbows, eyebrows raised. “— you okay?”

“yeah, just—”

“ hyung ,” there’s a different tone to that call, a sweetness to it. yoongi tries not to look away. “did i fluster you?”

“— yes,” yoongi replies in earnest, because it’s pointless to say that the redness on his face isn’t because of jungkook. “you did,” he shrugs. “you do.”

the corners of them room start smelling like the streets of his hometown, the early mornings where the mountain air drifts in, making the tops of the nearby trees sway, leaves flying about. yoongi breathes in. jungkook sniffs. maybe he can also smell it, the scent, how it’s woods and home all at once. yoongi’s scared of what it means. he’s old enough to know what a scent like that can be— but what it means for the both of them, that’s different. that’s mostly about sorting out his innards, his own collection of feelings. the room seems too small all at once. jungkook opens his mouth, but then others come in, and they stir to their feet, both of them slightly shaken, yoongi’s heart beating against his throat. he gets introduced— as a mate. the others are pretty, like jungkook. not prettier, though. yoongi forgets them fast. some music plays, some pop tune yoongi isn’t aware of, and he settles himself on the sofa, watching as the boys move in time with it, their instructor counting their steps, watching as jungkook runs hands over his body sometimes, watches as sometimes his shirt will lift, watching as his smile gets bigger whenever he sees yoongi’s staring. they had a bath together, and yet yoongi feels completely out of breath watching small patches of golden skin as glimpses of future promises; it’s ridiculous. 

they’re all talented, and friendly with each other. limbs touch, hands touch, water bottles are exchanged between them all. yoongi’s very still, the strange crippling jealousy unsustainable. those people are jungkook’s coworkers, his— band members, yoongi forces the thought, exhaling. jungkook isn’t his , not— not really. “let’s get coffee,” jungkook says, then, and yoongi realises he’s being talked to, raising his head, nodding faintly. he had barely noticed the passage of time, too enthralled in the way jungkook’s hips would hit certain beats. the coffee shop two blocks away is filled with teenagers. some of them stare at jungkook, wide-eyed. one comes closer, asking for a picture. “ah, they,” jungkook explains, obviously giddy. “there’s already a small group of fans.”

“fans,” yoongi repeats. it’s a different reality. a very, very different, far-fetched one. he’s a business worker, one whose life revolves around his house, his boring job, everything rather nine-to-five, rather dull, rather vanilla coloured. jungkook’s soon-to-be world is— wider, scarier, perhaps, to yoongi, flashier and sparkling with fake sheerness. all those people looking, all that noise, all those lights. they’re still looking, the group of girls. yoongi shifts on his feet. jungkook notices his restless manner. 

“we’ll get the coffee and go somewhere else,” he says right away. “there’s a park nearby, i think.” there’s a playground nearby, actually, and jungkook half-jogs towards the red coloured seesaw, tugging yoongi with him by the wrist. they sit at both ends once jungkook dries them out with his sleeve, balancing each other out. yoongi thinks his coffee is too bitter. it may not be true. “you didn’t like it,” jungkook offers, quietly. “coming here.”

“i liked it,” yoongi replies after a moment. “it isn’t that, i enjoyed seeing you dance.” jungkook waits. he pushes himself up, and yoongi goes down. “you’re good at all of this.”

“what is all of this?”

“being— that person you were just now,” and jungkook frowns. “a person who’s talented and has fans, and—” yoongi shrugs. “different than me.”

“i don’t understand what you’re saying,” jungkook shakes his head. the seesaw moves again, until yoongi’s feet aren’t touching the ground. 

they look at each other. yoongi sorts through the paperwork of his mind swiftly. “i’m not sure if i fit in— with you.”

“you fit in with me,” jungkook tells him right away, and his voice doesn’t waver, tone full of certainty coloured red like his cheeks. “ hyung .” the seesaw moves again, until they can climb out, and jungkook’s quick to get closer, and yoongi allows it, allows the kiss that follows, the body close, all that taste of creamy latte. “everything about you fits me,” he repeats, a similar confession from weeks before, less nervous sounding, less constricted by the fear that it’s unrequited. it isn’t in the slightest, it could never be, yoongi thinks faintly. 

“we’re outside,” yoongi reminds him softly, feeling the flesh of jungkook’s lips against his own, his breathing hot. jungkook makes a sound, like a disgruntled whine. “and i— like everything about you, too.”

“do you?”

“yes.” 

“put your coffee down,” jungkook tells him, then, grinning. yoongi frowns, but does as he’s told, his cup next to jungkook’s on the wet ground. what are you— , he starts, but then jungkook’s picking him up, and yoongi has to wrap himself around him for balance, heart gone awry inside his chest. jungkook looks up at him, smiling too big, and yoongi’s too conscious of his hands and where they hold him. “like in love 911,” he explains, and yoongi remembers the movie they watched together at some point, how jungkook talked about it for days. “now you kiss me.”

“what if i don’t want to?” yoongi says as he gets closer. jungkook snorts, squeezing his ass a little. 

“don’t lie, hyung.”

he’s giggling as they kiss, and yoongi smiles too, because he’s warm inside and out, the skin under his clothes becoming some sort of a furnace. they go back to the company building after some time, when it starts to rain again, and jungkook shows yoongi around, the recording rooms darkened with the lack of people, the small spaces and nooks he’d fall asleep at when he didn’t have a place to go. then he goes back to practice, kissing yoongi’s cheek before doing so, leaving him rather winded at the threshold. the feeling persists through the day, until they leave, into the packed late afternoon trains, jungkook’s head resting against yoongi’s shoulder when they find a place to sit down. it persists through the walk home, while he listens to jungkook talk about the songs he’ll sing, persists through the stairs, up until they’re inside the apartment, taking off their shoes, so close their arms keep touching. everything smells overwhelming inside. yoongi shivers, suddenly understanding. jungkook stills, then turns. 

“— sorry, i—,” yoongi stammers, swallowing. it never happened before, that kind of feeling. being driven into a heat because of the things he feels, and wants, it’s—  terrifying and almost painful. jungkook’s wide eyed, a gap between his teeth. he looks like he’s panicking. “it’ll go away,” yoongi assures him, already walking towards his room, head heavy. his body feels like a million degrees. it’s embarrassing. “i just need to be alone.”

“ hyung ,” jungkook calls, following, and his voice bothers the things inside yoongi’s body, and he grimaces, not looking back. fingers touch his wrist, and his knees almost buckle. “your spare room, let’s go there,” he mutters, softly. yoongi has no strength to deny him. the room is better organised, the sheet of dust gone, the bed with new, clean blankets. yoongi steps closer, fixing it nonetheless, tugging on fabric, adjusting them before climbing in, curling into himself momentarily, breathing in. jungkook waits some more. “can i—?”

“yeah,” and yoongi nods.

jungkook lets yoongi fold himself around him, body searching for contact, burning too hot, and he inhales deeply, and it’s like a thousand trees and a mountain chain under jungkook’s skin, like the palgongsan and its verdant rivers. jungkook seems to become smaller to fit into yoongi’s arms, humming happily when yoongi’s fingers touch him, pressing over fabric. “it’s different, your scent,” he comments after a moment. yoongi blinks lazily. the proximity is allaying, but not entirely. he’ll start to itch soon, he’s already wanting to, even. “it’s,” sweeter , yoongi expects. “like the whole ocean’s in this room.”

“here,” yoongi thinks he says it, tugging on jungkook’s wrist until his hand is touching the nape of yoongi’s neck, and their eyes meet, and jungkook’s all blushed. their chests are close, yoongi has a leg snaked around jungkook’s. it doesn’t seem like close enough, though. jungkook’s nails scratch the skin gently, and yoongi’s whole body react, toes curling. he sighs, stuttery. a wave of relief follows. it’s a different heat, a driven one, one that itches for only one thing. “closer,” he mutters, jungkook’s thigh between his legs feeling mitigating. i can’t be any closer , jungkook seems to say, and he sounds strained. yoongi remembers how he lost his composure that time, how he had kissed him. “you said you’d do it if i asked,” and at this jungkook sighs.

“ hyung— are you asking?”

“— i am.” so jungkook brings him even closer, turning him around so he can touch his neck with his mouth, kissing over the patch of skin that has yoongi breathing heavily. it’s good, it’s good, it’s good, the slight scrape of teeth, the wetness of jungkook’s tongue. he hooks a finger on the collar of yoongi’s shirt, pulling it down until he can kiss the skin over his spine, so tenderly it hurts in a way. yoongi feels when he starts getting damp, the sensation jarring. 

“can i take off your shirt?” 

“no, i—,” yoongi shivers. he guides jungkook’s hand again, this time further down, and he’s embarrassed and all too hot, but he just wants to get it done, he needs the itch to be scratched too bad. but then he stops, trying to untangle himself, feeling altogether too ashamed. “sorry, i’m— this isn’t—“

they both sit up, the bed uncomfortable and creaky underneath them. jungkook touches his hand, fingers tracing his nails, the bones underneath. yoongi feels his face ablaze. he can’t bring himself to look up. “i’ll go if you want me to,” jungkook says after a pause. his touch is careful, tender. yoongi sighs, shaking his head. he doesn’t want jungkook to leave, and that extends to the rest of his days, and the imprint of his scent alongside with the blaring way his feelings are pouring out of him leaves him slightly lightheaded. don’t go , he mutters, holding jungkook’s hand. jungkook’s expression is all soft when yoongi finally braves through and looks at him, all tenderness and worry, despite the blackness of his pupils. his hair is disheveled. yoongi runs a hand through it, fixing it. “i might not be good at it.” the confession seems to be blurted out, and jungkook blushes entirely. “i don’t— often, just—“

“we’re not doing anything,” yoongi pulls his hand back. “i just need to sleep it off, like last time.”

“last time i wasn’t here.”

“yeah,” they stare at each other.

“did you,” jungkook bites on his bottom lip, nibbling as if in thought. “did you call anyone?” to help, yoongi understands. someone else, someone unknown, someone who wouldn’t leave a scent behind but would help yoongi get himself off, clean and easy, until he felt better again. it’s been a while since yoongi has done that. like everything else, even sex is compartmentalised, put in the binders inside his mind for later focusing. 

“no”, he replies, earnestly. last time all he did was brood and hump his pillows. jungkook presses on his hand, and yoongi feels it between his legs. he comes closer, until he can put his forehead on yoongi’s shoulder, a low groan leaving his throat, almost like a pur. “you smell so good, it’s driving me crazy,” yoongi allows himself to confess in mumbling, slurred words. 

he seems to unravel a bit when yoongi scratches his head, behind the ear as he likes. “ don’t , please.” but yoongi doesn’t stop, fingers rubbing a patch of skin under his shirt, and jungkook arches his back just a little, sucking in his breath. “don’t tease me,” he asks again, and yoongi hears him sniff. 

“jungkook,” the room smells like the way to yoongi’s family home, through a street lined up with trees, faintly like the exhaustion fumes from the cars nearby and the way air smells like in the first few hot days of the year. it smells like the basketball courts yoongi would go to after school, and the cigarette smoke, and summer days that are too long. it’s good and homely and yoongi knows what it means. he sighs, closing his eyes. his heart is drowning in paperwork, and they all say the same thing, clauses upon clauses written in string of fate red. “i’m in love with you.”

there’s stillness, then, and jungkook’s fingers curl a bit tighter around the fabric of yoongi’s shirt, around his hand. “i’m in love with you,” he repeats, voice low, not raising his head. yoongi holds him, and their bodies are fervent. “me, too,” and he finally looks up, meeting yoongi’s eyes, wide-eyed, flushed cheeks. “ hyung , me too .”

“here,” and yoongi swallows as he pulls away the slightest, taking off his shirt. jungkook stares, eyes lingering about him. they seem to evaluate each other. jungkook has seen him bare before, when they took a bath together. it’s still different now. he reaches out, touching the lines of yoongi’s collarbones softly, tracing over bones, as if painting his skin in colours only he can see, some sort of adoration in the way he looks. his mouth follows, then, kissing, hands pressing to yoongi’s sides. he pushes yoongi onto the mattress again, settling between legs, kissing over his hipbones and ribs, and this time yoongi doesn’t say anything to stop him when he unzips his pants, pulling them down. then jungkook stops, shivering a bit, nervous. the fabric makes a sound when it slides off the bed and onto the floor. yoongi raises himself on his elbows, a bit embarrassed. 

“you’re pretty,” jungkook breathes out. his eyes are blown out with the reddish undertones alpha’s eyes get when aroused. his lips are red, too, fleshy . he touches yoongi’s thigh softly, on the inside, where it’s just slightly coated in dampness. yoongi shivers, clenching his jaw. “hyung,” jungkook calls. “show me what— what you need, i’ll— i’ll do it.”

“yeah,” yoongi nods vaguely. “okay.” so he tugs jungkook closer, until they can kiss again, hearing him hum contently. yoongi once again takes jungkook’s hand down his body. “use your fingers, it’s enough for now,” he mutters as jungkook kisses down his jaw, and yoongi’s wet enough it doesn’t hurt when jungkook tries, one finger, then two, movements sloppy, then more evenly paced, less insecure. yoongi starts breathing differently. jungkook nibbles on the skin of his neck, pushing in and out, the noises rather brash, and yoongi feels himself slowly coming undone, holding firmly onto jungkook’s wrist to keep him going. it takes him a while, it takes fumbling together, the texture of jungkook’s clothes like velour on his skin. “a bit more,” he manages to say, and jungkook hums, nodding against him, mouth finding the spot at the nape of yoongi’s neck, tongue hot. “ ah— ,” and yoongi’s breath hitches when he feels teeth against him, and jungkook’s grab gets stronger. “not yet, jungkook,” he manages to say.

“— be mine,” jungkook asks softly, and he pulls his fingers out, and yoongi sighs, turning to look at him, feeling sticky down his legs. jungkook’s eyes wander about him, and they glimmer faintly. “ hyung ,” he leans, touching his nose to yoongi’s. “be mine.”

“— it’s not as simple,” yes, it is, i want you — “a bond isn’t simple, we need to talk about it.” jungkook growls, impatient, upset, maybe, but he apologises quickly, pressing his eyes together, i’m sorry . yoongi swallows. “we can talk about it,” he continues, in less murky hues, touching jungkook’s hair. “jungkook,” brown round eyes look at him again. yoongi smiles, all warm inside out. “you’re sweaty.”

“i’m still wearing clothes,” jungkook complains, sniffing. he looks mildly embarrassed, his cheeks reddish. he also looks tired and sleepy and yoongi’s burning for all of him. “—are you okay?”

“yeah,” he brings jungkook closer by the front of his sweatshirt. “i need a shower, and water,” jungkook kisses his forehead, but his hand travels south again, between curves, pressing in, and yoongi’s back arches the slightest. “and that,” his voice feels gravelly all of a sudden. “there,” and jungkook complies too easily, and then it’s only a matter of time, yoongi’s biting down on his lips, hands curled on the fabric of jungkook’s clothes. “ ah— “ release has him breathing out heavily, chest rising and falling at speed, and it stains the both of them. jungkook lets out a little noise, a huff of sorts. 

“hyung sounds good,” he mutters, pulling out, and yoongi watches him under heavy eyelids as he brings his fingers close to his mouth, eyebrows raising. don’t , yoongi finds it in himself to say, but jungkook licks them anyway, despite the complaints that get louder, don’t do it, yah, jungkook, that’s not— jungkook grins, giggling. “maybe you’re a prude,” he says, leaning to kiss yoongi, his mouth tasting bitter and saline all at once. “see, you taste good,” the whispered sentence flusters yoongi entirely.

“don’t lie,” they stay like that for a few more minutes, sharing sloppy kisses, until yoongi tugs jungkook up, until he’s undressing him, but for a bath. jungkook washes yoongi’s hair delicately, sometimes leaning forward to kiss his neck. the water is warm and good. the sink drips timely, and they can see the sky outside shifting colours as the evening slowly makes its way in. jungkook sighs, arms wrapped around yoongi’s waist, chin on his shoulder. 

“i thought i wouldn’t meet someone like you,” he says, after a pause. yoongi waits. “you,” their fingers touch. “all of you.” 

“i’m just,” and yoongi shrugs. “financial markets director min yoongi.”

“yeah,” jungkook chuckles. “ owner-nim .”

“ pet .” 

they eventually leave the bathtub, when the water is cold and stale and jungkook complains he’s hungry. then they cook, yoongi doing his best to keep the knife from severing his fingers as jungkook clings to him, touchier than usual, grabbing at his sides and tugging at his clothes at whim, only to giggle gingerly when yoongi tells him off without much seriousness, waving sharp objects out of his way. the kitchen then smells less like a forest and more like bulgoggi and the cold breeze that comes in through the crack in the window. jungkook feeds yoongi, muttering here, eat this, this one is good, and yoongi eats even when he’s full. “was it good?” he asks, at some point, quietly, ears red. yoongi knows at once jungkook doesn’t mean the beef.

“yes,” he lowers his eyes to his empty bowl. “it was good.” it adds an extra coat of intimacy, that hour spent in yoongi’s old bed. it’s a thick one, and yoongi feels it when he swallows, chest filling up with warmth again. there are ghosts of sensations down his middle, and on the back of his neck, where jungkook almost bit him. be mine . yoongi sighs. he never wanted to be anyone’s, the shackles of the disparity between alphas and omegas always looming around his wrists. he managed to escape them in his professional life. but— and he raises his eyes, following the lines on jungkook’s face, how pretty they are, how they make him undeniably happy— being jungkook’s doesn’t seem bad or difficult. it doesn’t seem hefty, or onerous, and around his wrists it weights the same as red ribbons. he reaches out, holding jungkook’s hand. jungkook startles. “can we hold hands for a while?”

it takes a moment for jungkook to open a smile, confusion quickly fading away. “you’re cute,” he says, almost timidly now. “is it better now— the heat?” 

“appeased.”

“— and when it isn’t?” the question is dismissive in a way, soft in its endings. jungkook licks his lips. yoongi stares. “what do we do then?” his thumb rubs circles on yoongi’s skin. it’s a good feeling. 

“we’ll see,” he shrugs, somewhat flushed. they’re both old enough to know what’ll happen then. “about,” yoongi starts, carefully. “bonding.” jungkook blinks, blushing more deeper reds, layers of it staining his skin. “— do you want to be mine?” for a moment, jungkook doesn’t say anything, but then he exhales, bringing their hands close to his face to kiss over yoongi’s knuckles.

“i’m your pet,” he replies, smiling. yoongi huffs, smiling too. “i’m already yours.”

“i don’t want you as a pet.”

“did you figure it out then?”

“yes.”

jungkook swallows, their hands still together close to his face. yoongi feels oddly calm. “— yeah?”

“be mine,” yoongi asks, then, the same way jungkook had asked earlier, recklessly, maybe, fond, in love . 

“i told you,” jungkook touches his hair, looking smaller and younger than he is. when he looks up, though, his eyes are all blown and beautiful. yoongi knows there are tree branches growing inside of him, then, poking his rib, in full blossom. “i’m already yours.”

“— good,” yoongi breathes out. his insides all prickly. “we can figure the rest of it some other time. let’s go back to that bed.”

“we should wash the dishes first,” jungkook mumbles, nose red, sniffing. “and brush our teeth,” he continues, standing up, pulling yoongi with him. 

“ah,” he allows jungkook to lean in, pressing his lips to his cheek. “i trained you well.”

it’s good, all of it. washing the dishes, fingers meeting to pass on plates and bowls and utensils, and it’s good to brush their teeth side by side, chuckling as jungkook makes faces at him through the mirror, it’s good to kiss in shared toothpaste taste, minty and sweet all at once, and it’s good to tangle under the covers together. the heating system is turned off, despite the days outside running frigid. they don’t truly feel cold, not with yoongi’s body burning a constant fever. they’re both tired, though, jungkook more than yoongi, even, and they make out in somehow lazy ways, until jungkook yawns, breathing against yoongi’s neck, bringing him closer. yoongi closes his eyes, pulling the blankets over them, nesting against the crooks of jungkook’s body. it’s good, it’s good, it’s good .

morning light, in that storage bedroom, shades jungkook’s hair a frail kind of golden. yoongi blinks, hazy in the soft sunlight, sleepy, warm, all too warm, so warm he’s smothered by it. “jungkook,” he mutters, feeling him stir just the slightest. “i have to go to work.”

“you’re not going to work,” the sentence is slurred, heavy with drowsiness. “you’re staying with me.”

“we’re settling up the purchase of woori group,” yoongi sighs. “i’ll take pills, they won’t know.”

“no,” there’s a childish whine to his word, and it makes yoongi huff, amused as jungkook’s hand pull him a bit closer, leg coming to wrap around him, too. “don’t go.” his hand slides down yoongi’s side, touching the hem of his pants. “you smell good,” he says, and a low, keen growl follows. yoongi pokes his ribs.

“don’t growl,” he says, but it’s weak rebuking. “i can walk in late, but i’m going,” jungkook starts complaining. “i have to provide for the both of us, i can’t miss work.” if it bothers jungkook, that statement, he doesn’t show. he slides his hands under the fabric of yoongi’s pants, pulling them down, massaging his thigh. yoongi’s breath hitches when he touches somewhere else. 

“hyung,” jungkook rubs a bit more, until yoongi has himself pressing against him. “ sticky ,” he giggles, and yoongi’s face burns, but the touch is good, and yoongi’s body is wanting. “how late can you be?”

“not very,” their mouths meet halfway through the sentence, and jungkook growls again, the vibration on their tongues pleasing to yoongi’s senses. he doesn’t chide, too enthralled in the way jungkook’s fingers feel, one, then two, the burn barely there, a smudge of pain he quickly forgets. “take off your clothes,” yoongi demands, and jungkook moves too slowly, he thinks, and he misses the way his fingers feel the moment they leave him. still, he doesn’t let jungkook go back to it once he’s down to his underwear. “i want to touch you.”

“— okay,” and jungkook only nods, eyes too wide, lips glistening and wet. biologically, they’re slightly different, yoongi knows. it doesn’t matter. when yoongi touches him, tongue on skin, their bodies react the same. “ anhg— “ the sound is strangled, as if jungkook didn’t mean to let it out. “ ah, hyung ,” he calls, when yoongi drags the underwear down his legs, when he leans in to taste warm skin, when he dares to go a little lower. jungkook’s head falls against the pillow, squirming a bit when yoongi pushes his legs up a bit. “ ah— that’s— hyung ,” jungkook sounds whiny again. yoongi can feel him clenching his muscles. yoongi feels himself get damper. it isn’t a nice sensation, the wetness that runs down his legs, but his mind is somewhere else, busy with the small sounds leaving jungkook’s throat. “nobody ever— ah , you’re driving me crazy— ah ,” fingers come to grab on yoongi’s hair, tugging vaguely. the sense of control over jungkook’s body is alluring. “ so good ,” the sentence is broken by another moan. 

when yoongi stops, jungkook breathes heavily, eyes closed, mouth open. “nobody?” yoongi asks, touching him gently, seeing his stomach clench, body arching. he shakes his head. “i’ll do it again when we have more time.”

“please,” jungkook nods, biting his bottom lip. he opens his eyes, finally, and yoongi thinks briefly he’s never seen a sight as beautiful as that. they stare at each other, until jungkook’s sitting up again, until he’s reaching out to take yoongi’s clothes off, too, until he can kiss the crook of yoongi’s neck. he looks dazed with lust, mouth kissing every edge on yoongi’s body, leaving soft marks on skin. yoongi lets him, scratching his scalp, eyes closed. jungkook exhales, leaning closer to yoongi’s ear again, and his breath is hot. “you’re wetting the bed.” it’s embarrassing how the sentence doesn’t feel shameful at all. yoongi nods, mouth dry. he’s thirsty and itchy and when he crashes their lips together again, jungkook sighs. 

“be mine,” yoongi asks, voice rough, against jungkook’s teeth. “please.”

when jungkook turns him, yoongi complies too easily, pliant enough, the sheets already damp. when he trails kisses down his spine, yoongi’s fingers curl around fabric, waiting. when jungkook pushes in, slowly, yoongi bites the inside his cheeks, jaw clenching, breath hitching. okay? , jungkook mumbles at some point, close to his neck, their bodies very still, and yoongi barely nods. it’s been a while, enough there’s some sort of soreness at his lower back, jungkook moving with some effort, breathing hot and close. it feels good, that soreness, until it isn’t soreness at all, just— an ache, tugging at his insides, good all around, curling his toes. jungkook sounds strained, having raised yoongi’s hips to better adjust them, entire body grabbing onto yoongi’s, their skin sweaty. it sounds and feels hyperbolic. yoongi tries and hold his noises back. it grows difficult, too difficult. i like it, i like that , he slurs, feeling sweat running down his arms. jungkook moans against him every time he says it.

“i’m close,” jungkook mutters at some point, moving a bit faster, forehead against yoongi’s shoulderblades. “hyung— should i pull out—“

“no, don’t ,” yoongi replies right away, swallowing, remembering faintly the sensation of a knot, how both painful and exhilarating it is, and the soft scrape of teeth adds to the anticipation. jungkook sucks the skin, leaving a bruise, and yoongi pants, the ache getting more urgent. close , he breathes out again, letting out more vocal moans, grabbing onto yoongi more firmly, nails digging on skin. hyung, can i— “please,” yoongi nods vaguely, knowing what jungkook means, knowing what he’s worried about. “be mine, jungkook,” he asks, breathing harshly through his nose, the feeling between his legs too good. when jungkook comes, knotting him, yoongi gasps, and writhes under his hold, feeling elated, the catharsis of his feelings melting into words that make little sense. you feel so good , jungkook mutters, wrapped around him fiercely, and yoongi can’t help but let out a faint moan when he moves the slightest, and it comes out louder when jungkook touches him, stroking slowly, and when his teeth pry over the bruise at the junction of his neck and his shoulder, louder even when they go in, yoongi agonising in the kind of pain that is too good. it’s just deep enough to draw blood, deep enough it stings a little when jungkook’s tongue licks it, deep enough it has yoongi coming on his fingers, skewing at the touch. 

“i’m yours,” jungkook says, body heavy over yoongi’s, finding his hand and holding, fingers snuggling between fingers, still dirty with slick and fluids, pressing together. yoongi huffs, smiling. “i’m yours, yours,” the words become smaller, and he moves a little, pushing in the slightest, and it’s good, so good, so good . “all yours.”

“you’re smothering me,” yoongi feigns annoyance, and jungkook kisses over the bruise on his neck, and the movement is enough to make yoongi groan in slight soreness, the more sensitive parts of his body being pressed against, making it hard to breathe.

“i’m sorry,” jungkook sighs. “i don’t want to hurt you.”

“you’re not hurting me, it feels good,” their bodies are clammy, sweaty from effort. the bed sheets feel damp. their quietness is good, comfortable, and yoongi feels tired and spent and thirsty, so thirsty. he thinks of sleeping again, but he also thinks woori group’s purchase is bigger than the exhaustion that jungkook has driven him into. finally, after long lazy minutes of silent cuddling, jungkook mutters something, some i think i can pull out, and he kisses the mark he left as he does so, as if to appease the odd feeling, body rolling promptly to the side, arm still around yoongi, still holding his hand. yoongi takes a minute to move, jungkook does, too. sitting up is painful. “ah,” yoongi complains, wincing a bit, his lower back burning a bit. the itch is completely gone, though. he’s still— wanting, despite it all. he wants to feel everything again, badly. 

“stay there, i’ll run hyung a bath,” jungkook tells him, quickly standing, kissing the side of yoongi’s forehead. yoongi sighs, watching his shamelessly naked figure walk away, disappearing in the corridor. yoongi touches himself, eyes closing, biting his lips. maybe they don’t need him at the meeting. he almost misses the way a phone vibrates constantly inside a pocket of the clothes they left behind. 

“your phone is ringing,” yoongi calls a bit louder, letting go, swallowing dry, pushing himself out of bed and grabbing for the towel jungkook brings in again, slightly ashamed of the way things run down his legs. “i’ll be in the bath,” he says softly, as jungkook picks up the phone with a nice sounding, excited manager-nim .

the tub isn’t full yet, but yoongi gets in anyway, happy to get rid of the layers of sweat and body fluids on his skin, scrubbing himself clean with the toiletries jungkook had bought weeks before, everything smelling so sweet it is sickening. he can hear jungkook’s muffled conversation outside, the door ajar, but he can’t discern the words, or his tone. yoongi closes his eyes, head against the veneer, breathing in steadily. his body feels undeniably chafed. maybe he’s getting old. he touches the base of his neck, over the bite that still stings. a mating bite . his cheeks flush, and he smiles, silly. jungkook comes in, then, splashing water as he gets into the tub, too, and yoongi raises his head again, looking at him. there’s something wrong in his expression, something shifty. 

“— everything okay?”

a sniff follows, jungkook’s nose turning red, eyes wet. yoongi frowns, worried. “the company isn’t going forward with the group for now, they’re pushing it back,” he shrugs halfheartedly. yoongi sucks the air in, heart aching immediately. “they say all the media play hasn’t been getting good responses, and it wouldn’t make the budget.”

“but those girls, the fans—“

“not enough,” jungkook smiles, but it’s self-deprecating. 

it’s not a life yoongi knows how to live, the one jungkook wants, and he’s never had anything he didn’t achieve, despite being what he is. still, it’s physically difficult to see the lingering heartbreak in jungkook’s demeanor, the way his shoulders seem to have sagged, his expression forlorn. he reaches out, tugging jungkook towards him. “come here,” he mumbles, and jungkook turns, fitting into him oddly, body bigger trying to shrink itself to fit between yoongi’s arms. “you’re young, it will still happen.” the water is hot and appeasing, and they breathe in the steam, curled together. jungkook sniffs again. “maybe— come to work with me,” he tries, then. “we can have lunch together.”

“— won’t they mind?”

“i don’t care,” yoongi breathes out. going to work with jungkook means overexposing himself, means listening to an increase in the whispers as he walks by the cubicles. it still doesn’t matter as much, if it makes jungkook happier. “i can fire them if they mind.” that makes jungkook chuckle. “—so?”

“yeah, i— i can go.”

the woori group meeting is starting by the time they walk into the offices, so most of the corridors are empty— which is good, because they look like an odd pair, yoongi and his stoic suits and a bandaged patch on his neck, followed close by a younger, taller man in yoongi’s trench coat and combat boots and a cap. they’re mismatched, but they smell the same. jungkook looks around as they walk through the cubicles and into the larger offices. jimin isn’t there, probably already at the meeting. behave , yoongi says sternly, pressing against jungkook’s wrist softly. he wants to kiss him, but he can’t do that there. for a moment or two, as he steps into the meeting room, no one really looks his way— but as the door closes, shifting the air around him, people stir, blinking. it’s the first time he’s come to work in heat. he doesn’t know what jungkook’s marking means to his scent. he’s blushing by the time he sits down, bowing as he does so. he’s financial markets director min yoongi. they have to accomodate the fact that he’s that, and an omega. he swallows, keeping his shoulders from slumping. the meeting goes on, hours of it, and eventually people stop looking his way, stop frowning, stop sniffing. yoongi presents his reports with the same monotone he uses for all of his office interactions. when he sits down, he knows he’s shaking. 

jungkook’s asleep by the time the meeting ends, three hours later. people celebrate in the corridors— the purchase is going to be successful after all. yoongi’s about to get a hefty bonus, probably. he stops by the door, hand on the doorknob, looking at the sleeping figure on his chair. his heart feels weightless. “you did a good job, sunbae,” jimin’s voice startles him, and he closes the door swiftly, blinking. 

“ah, yes, thank you,” he nods, smiling with delay. “i— my—,” yoongi sighs. “i brought someone to work, if you don’t mind.”

people seem to look at their odd exchange in front of the closed office. “ah,” and jimin’s smile gets a little bit wider. “i won’t bother you, then, but— we’re all going to have lunch, the ceo is buying,” he winks as if it’s a secret. “you should take him with us.”

“yeah, i’ll see what— what happens.”

someone calls for them, and jimin excuses himself with a polite bow, running towards taehyung, who’s quick to splay an arm around his waist. yoongi almost wants to go, to take jungkook with him, to let other people know . when he opens the door again, jungkook stirs awake, blinking, stiffening a yawn. “i’m sorry, i slept,” he mumbles, stretching. “it’s a bit boring here.”

“we’ve bought woori group,” yoongi tells him, and jungkook breaks into a smile, albeit it’s a bit bitter on the corners. congratulations, hyung . “the ceo is buying lunch,” he adds carefully. “i’m supposed to go, but we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

jungkook seems to blink in surprise. “do you want me to go with you?”

“yes,” and yoongi shrugs. “i want you to go everywhere with me,” he likes the way the sentence makes jungkook flush deeply, his ears almost bright red. “you’re my— mine, you’re mine.”

“ah, hyung,” and jungkook giggles, his smile toothy, nose scrunched. he stands, moving closer to wrap himself around yoongi, nose against the skin of his neck, inhaling. yoongi hugs him back, patting his back.

“you’re like a big puppy,” yoongi comments, squirming when jungkook pretends to bite him. “ behave ,” and jungkook’s sweet laughter makes yoongi’s heart waver and it makes his entire body burn again. he tugs jungkook a bit closer, leaning against his ear. “if you behave, i’ll do that again later.” a choked gasp leaves jungkook’s mouth. don’t tease me , he whines, but yoongi’s already letting go, taking him by the wrist, dragging him out. 

there’s so many people that others barely notice yoongi and his worrisome, blaring scent. jungkook blends in easily, despite his lack of a suit, and as they sit amongst others in a long table to share in the bank’s newest victory, he’s immediately liked, immediately taken in. yoongi watches, quietly, happy to be an expectator in jungkook’s story tellings, in the gentle way he’ll pour drinks to those older than he is, to the charming way he smiles, chewing the food yoongi puts on his plate. when yoongi moves to hold his hand under the table, he doesn’t pull away, bringing their bodies closer instead, their arms touching. people think he’s one of the new interns by the time lunch’s over, by the time some are going back to the office. yoongi doesn’t have to, though. jimin bids them goodbye, saying he needs to finish a few of the weekend market reports, taehyung following close behind. then it’s yoongi and jungkook and an empty alleyway and a stray cat that observes them under the sinking sun. once again jungkook’s hair is shaded golden. he’s breathtaking in the orange light, kneeling down to offer his open palm to the cat. yoongi watches him. the cat sniffs it, before looking away, disinterested. jungkook stands up again, huffing. “he looks like you but he doesn’t like me like you do,” he comments with chagrin. yoongi fixes jungkook’s clothes, mostly because he wants to touch him too bad. when he looks up, though, jungkook has that slight blue look about him. 

“i’m sorry,” yoongi offers, as gently as he can. the disparity between them seems more blunt now. “i don’t want to belittle you with— with my job.”

“i don’t feel belittled,” jungkook says, stepping closer, swaying. the cat walks closer, too, purring loudly, rubbing against yoongi’s legs. “ah, see, he likes you .” but yoongi isn’t looking. he’s staring at jungkook instead, trying to pick up on any leftover bitterness in his voice, in the way he moves. “i don’t care about things like that, hyung.” 

“i know,” and yoongi reaches for his hand, hooking their pinkies. “forget i said anything,” he shakes his head. “let’s go home.”

“i,” and jungkook doesn’t move. “i need to go to the company building, they’re going to review our contracts,” he sighs. 

“— okay.”

“here,” and jungkook tugs on both of yoongi’s wrists, bringing them closer to the skin just behind his ear, rubbing the slightest. there’s salt on him, then, salt like the waves of an ocean, and undertones of something too familiar that is entirely jungkook’s. yoongi inhales. “just—,” jungkook licks his lips. “a bit of me.”

“i have a lot of you already,” yoongi breathes out, just to blush, flustered. jungkook leans in, kissing his cheek, smiling. “i’ll make dinner later.” 

“i’ll wash the dishes when i go back.” they walk in opposite ways, then, the cat following jungkook after a few seconds of indecision. yoongi looks behind his shoulder too many times, but jungkook walks fast and away. yoongi stops at the corner, and it’s immediately like something he needs is missing. the feeling of being wrong follows him home. it hovers over him for the entirety of the time jungkook’s not there. he sets the table, feeling thirsty and sickly, and he cooks, fingers trembling. the wound on his neck hurts. it only stops hurting when jungkook comes back, and then it’s almost eleven at night and the food has grown cold and neither of them is hungry. jungkook doesn’t say anything, neither does yoongi. when yoongi approaches him at the foyer and helps him out of his jacket, he still doesn’t say anything, eyes to the floor, so wet they glisten in the dim light. when yoongi grabs his wrist and takes him into the storage bedroom, they’re both quiet. they tangle together almost immediately, not naked, despite the yearning under their clothes. jungkook sighs heavily against yoongi’s chest, curled into him, almost smaller. yoongi scratches behind his ear lovingly, tenderly, muttering soft-spoken words he later doesn’t recall. the bond makes their intimacy rather blunt, and jungkook’s scent shifts with his bitter blue moods to less saline, less forest. yoongi feels the hole in his heart more vividly, as if it belongs to him, too. 

“jungkook,” he calls at some point. jungkook sniffs, then hums. “you smell like sadness.”

“i’m not sad,” and he untangles himself just enough to put his head on the pillow next to yoongi’s. “i’m—,” they stare at each other. “frustrated. i wanted to pay hyung back.”

“you can pay me back whenever,” yoongi leans closer, and their noses touch the slightest. “you don’t even have to.” jungkook starts whining, a stream of i feel bad, i don’t want you to think i’m here because— , and yoongi stops him by pressing their lips together, feeling jungkook’s sigh. they hold each other rather lazily, until jungkook buries his face against yoongi’s neck, sounding spent, feeling warm. “jungkook,” he starts, softly. “you can have everything i own.”

“hyung,” yoongi closes his eyes, humming. jungkook doesn’t say anything for a while, to the point yoongi thinks he’s fallen asleep. then, quietly: “i really am in love with you.”

they’ve already confessed their feelings before, and yet yoongi still finds himself blushing too deeply, face too hot, heart picking up steady speed. he wonders how long it’ll last, that thrill inside of him, the remarkable yearning that fills him, the softest itch on the mating bite jungkook has given him. he wonders if they’ll still feel like that in a year, or two, or three. it’s daunting. he thinks— no, he knows , he knows clearly just as he knows the sky outside is several shades of blue— he wants jungkook for as long as he lives. “i love you, too.”

“you smell like a whole entire wedding.”

it’s namjoon who says it, as they share lunch a week later, once yoongi has gotten rid of the sticky feeling of the heat, once he feels a bit more composed, less obviously owned . he coughs, choking on his food, feeling the bite prickle on his neck. it’s scabbing, soon to be a scar, a mating scar. “that’s,” he waves a hand, vaguely. “that’s ridiculous, weddings don’t smell like anything.”

“they do,” namjoon shrugs. “you do.” he’s still babbling a halfhearted, flustered answer when he sees jungkook walking in, looking around until his eyes find yoongi’s, expression immediately becoming brighter. yoongi’s expression might have changed, too, from the way namjoon raises his eyebrows, grin on his face. “i can smell chestnuts and jujubes, and—” 

he’s talking still when jungkook approaches their table, listing several dishes found in common weddings, probably entertaining himself with the way yoongi looks absolutely flustered the moment jungkook bows, a small hyung coming out of his lip as he smiles too big. yoongi isn’t all too used to having a mate just yet, it’s all very new. everytime he looks at jungkook his body heats up several degrees, and he often doesn’t know how to act, at loss. he almost misses the way the table gets awkwardly silent, waiting on his cue. he’d been lost in the wrinkles around jungkook’s eyes. “ah, this,” and he makes space, scooting so jungkook can join them on the chair next to him. yoongi breathes out, blushy. “this is jungkook,” he says, introducing them both. namjoon smiles. “namjoon is my oldest friend.”

“you look young,” namjoon teases, having yoongi immediately starting to explain, we’re not that far apart, we’re both adults , but jungkook shrugs, adjusting the small ponytail at the back of his head. i am young . “hyung told me you’re into music.”

“yeah,” jungkook nods, moving to pick up yoongi’s cutlery, stealing his food. yoongi doesn’t try and take it back, pushing the portion of rice closer to him instead. “it doesn’t seem to be into me.” he’s chewing, so the sentence comes out convoluted. it makes namjoon smile. jungkook offers a spoonful of the broth to yoongi, and yoongi takes it. “you’re quiet,” he comments, softly, eyes searching around yoongi’s expression for any kind of troubles.

“he’s embarrassed,” namjoon pitches in. “he spent a good portion of growing up saying he didn’t need a mate,” a waiter comes to collect their empty dishes, and jungkook helps. “hyung’s career driven, see.”

“i’m not embarrassed,” yoongi intervenes, blushing, but jungkook’s giggling anyway, and he leans closer, touching yoongi’s thigh under the table. he pretends the touch doesn’t light up a pyre in his lungs. “and i am career driven, it’s necessary when you’re like me.”

“i like that you are,” jungkook tells him sweetly, and yoongi looks down at his lap, feeling jungkook’s fingers as if there’s no layer of fabric between them and his skin. namjoon laughs weakly. but then jungkook turns away, and yoongi breathes a little better. “can i visit your studio?”

“it’s hardly a studio, but yes.”

“can i?” and the question is aimed at yoongi, then. yoongi blinks, confused. 

“you don’t need my permission,” he says, shaking his head. namjoon watches their exchange. i just like having it , jungkook mutters, nudging him on the ribs, and yoongi squirms a little, smiling. maybe it gets too awkwardly sweet, because namjoon soon pretends he’s not seeing the whole ordeal, piling up his plates, clearing his throat. “i’m hyung’s pet, that’s why i ask,” jungkook explains earnestly, and it makes yoongi pale, pressing the bridge of his nose.

“he does look like holly,” namjoon agrees, grinning at yoongi’s distress. “bigger than a poodle, though.” jungkook laughs. “when do you want to go? maybe we can set a play date between you and my pet,” yah, namjoon-ah , yoongi complains, but jungkook hums in agreement, seemingly happy. “it’s a real dog, though, i have to warn you.”

“i have to go back to work soon, but maybe,” and jungkook once again looks sideways to yoongi, waiting on his approval. “the weekend—?” yoongi nods, exasperated, ears red. 

“that works.” namjoon tries and leaves money on the table, but yoongi just silently push it back to him. i’ll get the bill , he mumbles. he gives his card to jungkook, leaning in to mutter the password in his ear, letting his lips brush against his skin only slightly. jungkook looks a bit winded when he gets up to pay. “ chestnuts and jujubes .”

“don’t,” he looks away from jungkook’s figure, hot on the cheeks. “he’s only twenty-two.”

“he won’t be twenty-two forever,” namjoon shrugs. yoongi tries to say something, something along the lines of weddings are just a society’s construct— , but namjoon reaches out between them, patting his arm fondly, pressing down on his shoulder. “you look happy, hyung. it’s good on you.” yoongi blinks, then smiles, embarrassed, glancing sideways to jungkook’s back, watching as the lady behind the cashier beams at him. “he doesn’t seem like he’d fit you.”

“he does,” yoongi replies, voice airy as he exhales. he’s bluntly aware of it, all of a sudden, just as he’s well aware that he’s utterly and shamelessly in love. jungkook looks over his shoulder, catching his eyes, and he smiles in the way that makes his eyes wrinkle. yoongi fills to the brim with warmth. mine, mine, mine . “he makes me happy, he’s— mine.”

“then when he’s not twenty-two anymore, you should go along and marry him.” 

he swallows, heart thumping painfully. jungkook joins them again, sliding the card back into yoongi’s jacket pocket, and he keeps his hand there, tugging. namjoon bids them goodbye, and they stay behind for a little while, and yoongi pushes his hand into his pocket, too, holding onto jungkook’s. “i like him,” jungkook finally says, after a moment.

“it is difficult not to like namjoon,” yoongi nods. “should we go get coffee?”

“i’ll make you some,” jungkook says cheerfully, standing up, bringing yoongi with him. they nod to the servers, thanking them on the way out. the brisk cold shades jungkook’s cheeks red. “i can make a fairly good americano now.”

“only fairly?”

“ ah, hyung ,” he complains, tugging yoongi closer, an arm coming to snake around his shoulders. yoongi likes the proximity, and he knows jungkook likes the way yoongi holds onto his waist. “i can deliver coffee to your office, personally.”

“i need to get work done,” and that makes jungkook giggle. “i wouldn’t if you’re there.”

he’s late to go back to the office, minutes late, almost twenty. yoongi ignores the clock, watching jungkook work behind the coffee machine, biting his lip as he does so, the apron snuggling his waist, shaping it prettily. yoongi is taken by warmth again, the type that isn’t like a heat, but like— a red string, a bond, pulling on their insides, boiling their blood. jungkook looks up, winking at him. yoongi huffs, then winks back. jungkook immediately burns himself, dropping the mug he’s holding, ears red as it shatters on the floor. yoongi hears when his coworkers go yah, jungkook at him, and can’t help but smile as he scurries to go get a mop, bowing several times in apology. “here,” he says in a small voice, minutes later. his fingers are red. 

“paw,” yoongi demands, offering his hand. jungkook complies. “don’t get hurt,” he says, kissing the tips of jungkook’s fingers softly. 

“you flustered me, that’s all,” he says, still red about himself. “you look good today,” yoongi feels self-conscious, looking down at the table, still holding onto jungkook’s hand. “it’s hard to focus.” he doesn’t know what to say in return, so yoongi just smiles, muttering thank you . “i’ll wait for you once i’m done, we can go home together.”

“i won’t leave until eight, i’m working extra hours—“

“i don’t mind, i can stay here and wait,” jungkook shrugs. yoongi finishes his coffee. 

“— okay,” he presses against jungkook’s skin. “i’d like to go home with you.” then, because he needs to say it: “every day, for a long time.” he doesn’t expect much aside from a fond smile, but jungkook lets go of his hand, leaning over the table to hold onto the collar of yoongi’s shirt, tugging him close, and yoongi sighs when jungkook kisses him, briefly allowing himself to kiss back before the reality of it all to kick in. then he holds jungkook’s wrists, pressing softly. sorry , he mutters, but he’s smiling. “we can do this later.”

“we can do this every day, for a long time,” jungkook mutters. “work hard, hyungnim.” another quick peck is stolen, then jungkook is standing up, tying the apron about him again, and yoongi feels all rattled, skin prickly, heart beating fast. he breathes out, tugging softly on his clothes, adjusting the fabric, before going back to work. he sniffs his wrists in the elevator, trying to get a glimpse of the chestnuts namjoon talked about, but he can’t scent it. he scents jungkook, all over him.

that night, and it’s a few months later, jungkook waits for him at the lobby. he has headphones on, and his hair is messy, in a bun. he looks absolutely out of place in his sweatpants and boots, but he’s wearing yoongi’s trench coat over his hoodie. the last few weeks of february were cold ones (“you have something waiting for you,” jimin had said, when yoongi passed him by in the corridor. the flowers are pretty, bright red tiger lillies, a small card attached to it: happy valentine’s day, hyung, please love me for a long time ), march had settled into just bitter mildness (“i don’t like birthdays,” yoongi told jungkook, but agreed to spend the day at lotte world, heart beating fast when jungkook held his hand, tugging him close to give him a cat tiara. “but you like me,” jungkook had giggled, and yoongi couldn’t not agree), but april is sunny albeit still cold in its endings. “how was your day?” he asks as he gets closer, reaching to hold jungkook’s extended hand. “i’m sure whatever you’re recording with namjoon-ah will play on the radio.”

“unlikely,” jungkook giggles, pressing their hands together. “namjoon hyung is really nice, he knows a lot.” they leave, and yoongi follows jungkook to the bus stop, because he knows he prefers it, and he finds he enjoys the way jungkook often nods off, head against his shoulder. they sit at a spot they know too well. the stop is empty, as it usually is, the train station too close dragging most people in. jungkook pulls yoongi close, sniffing at his neck gingerly. “ hyung ,” he says, softly. yoongi swallows, humming. “we haven’t,” a small pause. “we haven’t done anything in a while, and—” they look at each other. “you look really good today.”

the touch on his thigh comes softly, prying, and yoongi huffs. “were you thinking about that with namjoon?” 

“i can multitask,” jungkook shrugs, and he presses his mouth against the junction between yoongi’s neck and jaw, tongue grazing skin. 

“we’re outside,” yoongi warns him, as he did several other times, whenever jungkook got a little pushy, a little clingy, a little needy. he pulls back, whining, and he whines for a while, as he usually does, following yoongi into the bus, sitting beside him, muttering complaints, you can’t blame me for wanting you , he’s saying again, so yoongi sighs, letting go of his hand to slide it between his legs instead, pressing. jungkook stops talking at once, gulping saliva down, looking around them with urgency. the bus is mildly empty. “ behave ,” yoongi tells him, gently. 

he does, all the way home, red on his cheeks even after they’ve gone in, and yoongi shakes his jacket off, entertained by the idea that unbuttoning his shirt bothers jungkook, too, stirs the things under his clothes. jungkook watches him, still wide eyed, still flushed. “can i?” he asks, faintly, reaching out to hold over yoongi’s hands. yoongi huffs, nodding, dropping his hands to the sides of his body. jungkook resumes his work, slowly, fingers touching the skin underneath the fabric.

“we should go to bed,” yoongi offers, quietly.

“yours?”

it’s something jungkook always asks, even though he doesn’t expect anything other than a dismiss. he’s never been to yoongi’s room, not once, in the half a year they’ve shared a roof. everything there is scentless, whilst everything else is forests and rivers and homemade food and strawberry shampoo. yoongi swallows, looking at him, stomach fluttering. “yes,” he says, then. jungkook stills, eyes widening. the slight surprise only lasts a second, because jungkook leans in, taking him into a hug, so tight it hurts over yoongi’s ribs. yoongi snorts, touching his cheek to jungkook’s hair, eyes closing. “even though dogs aren’t allowed on the bed,” he jokes, running hands over jungkook’s back tenderly. ah, hyung— “i’ll make an exception.” 

they walk together, jungkook firmly attached to his back, nose against his neck. yoongi’s door is ajar, he always leaves it like that, as if somehow hoping or waiting to see if jungkook wouldn’t break their silent agreement. he never did. “i can tell it smells like you,” jungkook comments, as yoongi pushes the door fully open. 

“go on,” he says, nodding towards it.

it isn’t a big room, but it’s yoongi’s space, and so everything in it is intrinsically him . jungkook steps in almost carefully, looking around. his eyes find the pictures, and the figurines namjoon has given him, and the small collection of vinyls and the horror movie vintage posters on the walls. “is that your family?” he asks, smiling. yoongi hums in agreement. “they look nice.”

“you’ll meet them,” at this jungkook looks back at him, looking surprised. yoongi shrugs. “if you want.”

“yeah,” he smiles too happily. yoongi steps in, then, closing the door. jungkook’s hands touch the surfaces of the modern looking furniture, fingertips against wood, then on the fabric of yoongi’s folded sweaters. yoongi’s heart races, because he knows not all of those clothes are his, one is jungkook’s, a sweatshirt he left around and yoongi never got it washed. he doesn’t remember when he first brought it to bed with him. jungkook raises his eyebrows, looking amused and giddy and flustered. “i looked for this for days,” he says, but all his vowels sound sweet.

“i wanted to have something of you,” yoongi exhales, explaining, cheeks blushed, too. jungkook looks away and onto his bed, at the several layers of blankets neatly done. “it’s a better bed than the one in your room,” he adds, almost weakly so.

“i wouldn’t know,” jungkook teases, walking closer to yoongi to grab the fabric of his clothes, tugging him until they’re by the foot of it, staring at the each other. he untucks the shirt, slowly. yoongi feels himself shiver. “ hyung ,” jungkook resumes the opening of buttons, slowly, as if to not give him enough, knuckles only brushing against skin. “please.” he leans forward, lips barely touching yoongi’s, hovering close. they breathe out in the same affected way. 

“do i smell like chestnuts,” yoongi asks, ears warming up. jungkook blinks, seemingly confused. “and—jujubes—“ 

“you smell like,” and jungkook sniffs, moving the slightest to touch the skin of yoongi’s throat with his nose. “like me, a bit, like home, like you,” he lists, making yoongi smile. “you smell good.”

“namjoon keeps saying i smell like a wedding,” and maybe yoongi says it out loud because he wants to see jungkook’s reaction to it. jungkook raises his head a little, staring at him. yoongi swallows. “it’s— it doesn’t mean we—“

“i’ll become someone you can be proud of,” and jungkook says that eagerly, kissing his cheek. yoongi chuckles, already muttering gentle compliments, i’m proud of you regardless . “and then we can,” he lowers his voice, muttering against yoongi’s ear. “tie the knot.” yoongi stills, completely flustered. jungkook giggles, pulling back, smiling too wide at his reaction, too cheeky. “hyung’s cute.” 

“— i guess we don’t have to do this now, then,” yoongi makes a face, turning on his heels, but he barely moves far enough before jungkook is already grabbing him again, hands all over, whining, i didn’t mean it, hyung, come here, and they stumble together, knees bending to fall against the blankets, and jungkook’s quick to subdue him, holding his wrists firmly. “jungkook,” yoongi calls, but he’s too soft. the pressure on his wrists gets fainter. jungkook sits up over him, heavy on his legs, knees against hips. he moves to touch yoongi’s shirt again, dragging the fabric away, revealing his stomach, his chest. “it might not feel the same,” he finds himself saying. “i’m not in heat.”

“i don’t care,” jungkook shakes his head softly, drawing patterns on yoongi’s skin, watching as he sucks his stomach in. “you’re ticklish,” he points out, grinning. yoongi huffs, flinching involuntarily as fingers draw on his ribs. jungkook makes some sort of sound, a keen one. yoongi touches his thighs, over the strain of fabric. 

“you’re heavy,” he complains, but it’s halfhearted. “i like your thighs,” the comment is given almost as involuntarily, too. jungkook hums, looking pleased, do you? , and yoongi nods, palms spreading, pressing. “yeah.” 

“hyung,” he calls, and it comes out airily. “take off my clothes.”

“— okay.”

they move together, jungkook allowing yoongi to sit up, still straddling his legs somehow, and yoongi tugs on the hem of jungkook’s sweatshirt, raising it, revealing the gold shaded skin underneath. jungkook watches him lean forward, pressing a kiss over his heart, then down, until he coils the slightest, soft gasp escaping through gritted teeth. it makes yoongi chuckle, but he pulls away, and jungkook’s chest is flushed when he finally tugs his clothes off. their bodies are drawn differently. jungkook’s all sharp where yoongi’s all soft, but yoongi likes those lines down his stomach too much, likes the colour red his shoulders get when he gets touched, likes how thin jungkook’s waist is, how small it is under his hands. “don’t stare like that,” jungkook mumbles, arms coming to cover his chest, small shy smile on his face. yoongi presses against his waist. 

“ you’re a prude ,” yoongi mimics him, and it makes jungkook laugh, tossing his head back, smile widening. he takes this opportunity to slide a hand inside the band of pants, pressing between curves, rubbing fabric. jungkook’s laughter is cut short as he flinches. their eyes meet, and jungkook’s are blowing up. “nobody, right,” he recalls, faintly. yoongi knows he’s as blushed as jungkook, watching as he bites his bottom lip, shaking his head. nobody . he dares to hook a finger under his underwear, touching sensitive skin instead. jungkook’s muscles all seem to clench, but he raises himself a little, giving space. 

“hyung,” he whispers, pressing his eyes closed. yoongi sees the faint change in his frown, the smallest thing of both want and fear. yoongi leans forward, teeth grazing the crook of jungkook’s neck, and he shivers, skin draped in gooseflesh. yoongi feels himself grow hotter, damper . “maybe i should shower,” jungkook says. “again, i should shower again,” yoongi’s soft rubbing continues, though, and jungkook’s breathing changes the slightest. “— hyung .” and his eyes flash open, staring when yoongi makes to push a finger in, even though he wouldn’t, not like that. he pulls his hand away, and jungkook breathes in more steadily. “sorry, i—“

“it’s okay,” yoongi kisses under his jaw. “and you’re clean enough.” 

“it feels good,” the sentence is small, tamed. “different, i—,” yoongi smiles, because it isn’t easy to completely fluster jungkook, and it’s nice when he manages to do so. “i want to try it, but,” he breathes out, yoongi’s teeth nipping at his skin. “ah— don’t bite.”

“you bit me ,” yoongi reasons, looking up. jungkook huffs, and then he brings yoongi closer, hands holding onto his neck to kiss, and it’s a slow kiss, like their movements, but yoongi doesn’t miss how jungkook seems to grind against his legs. “roll over, pet, i’ll pet your belly,” yoongi tells him then, playfully, smiling against teeth as jungkook hums, nodding, too needy to whine. 

the rattle of yoongi’s heart is too noisy as he pulls jungkook’s pants down his legs, tugging them off, tossing them carelessly away. jungkook’s hands touch against the sheets, finding the spot slightly damp yoongi left. he makes a noise, between a groan and a moan, fingers curling over fabric. yoongi blushes, wanting to get rid of his own clothes. “take them off,” jungkook mutters as if he could read it on him, staring about yoongi. “come on.” yoongi complies too easily, feeling awkward between his legs. the sensation of skin against skin is rather alluring. jungkook shivers all over as yoongi mouths his inner thighs, leaving reddish marks scattered about, feeling how tense jungkook’s muscles get whenever he breathes too close where he burns. “ hyung ,” and the whiny, loud call makes yoongi huff, chuckling. their eyes meet, jungkook’s hair pushed about his face, and he breathes harshly, propped on his elbows, biting down his lip. “you’re killing me.”

“i’ll make you dinner later, if you die it’ll go to waste,” and that makes jungkook laugh, throwing his head back, eyes smiling along. yoongi’s heart picks it up, so easily rattled by the sound. “what do you want to eat?” he plants a soft kiss on jungkook’s crotch, and his laughter scatters about nervously. yoongi follows down, tongue against skin. “i was thinking bibimbap,” he continues, words low and breathy. jungkook doesn’t reply, head still thrown back, lips pressed into a thin line as yoongi explores his body slowly. “i bought wine the other day, the one you like—“

“ah, hyung ,” jungkook finally loses his composure, hips jerking as he lets himself fall against the bed, legs pressing against the sides of yoongi’s shoulders. yoongi offers him another soft lick, barely touching, hearing him whimper, then growl, impatient. yoongi feels it all the way down his middle, and he feels it down his legs. jungkook brings his hands to press against his eyes. “i can smell it in you.”

“— do you like it?”

“yes,” he’s still hiding behind his palms, so yoongi props himself up, crawling over him, touching his wrists. he’s all blushed, and yoongi is too, but he leans down, kissing over knuckles, until jungkook allows him to pull his hands completely away. they stare at each, then. jungkook swallows. “i like everything about you.” he reaches out, pressing against yoongi’s neck to bring him closer, kiss deeper than before, slower. “everything,” he’s repeating, dreamily, when he hooks legs around yoongi, pressing their bodies together. it’s easy from then onwards, it’s slow and soft, it’s maybe love making and not sex. at some point they’re breathless, tangled together, and yoongi feels the sting of sharp pain on his lower back everytime his lungs fill up with air. jungkook’s all over him, in him, heaving still, trying not to move. it’s not comfortable, but yoongi doesn’t mind. “— hyung,” he mutters, gently. yoongi plays with his hair, humming in lazy response. “i was serious before.” there’s no context, so yoongi waits. “i’ll become someone— for you,” his hand stills, strands of hair snuck between his fingers. “and then i want to marry you.”

if yoongi were to open his mouth, butterflies would come out of his innards, thousands of them, so he doesn’t. he blinks, staring at the ceiling. for a moment that stretches, he cannot speak, slightly overwhelmed. “you’re already someone for me,” he finally says it, and jungkook moves a little, raising his head to find his eyes. yoongi flinches, the movement jarring. “you’re—,” he blushes. “mine.”

“i’m yours,” jungkook sighs, easing himself out, and he kisses yoongi’s neck so the slight discomfort is only brief. “you still feel good,” he mutters, smiling against yoongi’s skin. “but i’m hungry,” the change of demeanor makes yoongi laugh, and jungkook pulls himself up, kissing yoongi’s forehead before he walks out of the bedroom, and it’s something he’s done before, and it still makes yoongi’s heart miss a beat. “i’m running us a bath.”

yoongi stays in bed for a couple of more minutes. the bed sheets are warm, and they’re smell of the both of them. there’s the water running, and jungkook’s lyrical humming sounds coming through the gap in the door. he breathes in slowly, heart settling into a calm, even pace. everything about all the things around him look perfectly in place. their clothes on the floor, the slippers jungkook forgets to wear because he prefers to be bare feet, the way he’ll always press a key or two of the old piano whenever he goes into the room they’ve cleaned up for him. all of those things, they fit . it’s like suddenly his apartment— his house, it has a purpose. it’s like all the multiple, hidden parts of him belong somewhere. hyung, come on , he hears jungkook call, hearing the splash of water that tells him he’s in the tub already. come wash my hair . “yeah,” yoongi smiles, finally getting up, stretching sore limbs. “i can do that.”

(

in september, jungkook turns twenty-three. 

“what’s that?” yoongi asks, and they’re at a quiet pub near the office. “it’s your birthday, you shouldn’t give me presents.” jungkook stares as he unties the bow. inside the box, there’s a rolled piece of paper, and a pen. yoongi’s eyes lift to jungkook, frowning, before he takes it out. it’s a contract, he reads. his expression thaws immediately, heart beating heavily, so heavily he feels short of breath. it’s a civil union contract, a marriage contract . “jungkook—”

“you don’t have to sign it already, if you don’t want to,” he’s fast to say. “i can’t afford us a ceremony at the samsung wedding hall but—” jungkook stops talking, because yoongi takes the pen, signing beside his name without a second thought. yoongi smiles when he puts it down, going to look for something in the pockets of his jacket. it’s also a box with a red string around it. jungkook blinks, blushing. “ hyung .”

“it’s your birthday,” he says, shrugging. it’s not an expensive set of rings, and they’re simple silver bands, with a very thin red line shading the inner circle. yoongi picks one up, touching jungkook’s hand. “— i really want you to be mine for a long time.” jungkook huffs, smiling brightly. “for as long as you want.”

“hyung,” jungkook nods, and the ring slides nicely on his finger. yoongi exhales, flustered and happy. “i’m yours, i’m yours, i’m yours—”

)