Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“But the ad said-” Jungkook tried to keep his voice down as he sat curled up as small as he could manage in the corner of the worn leather couch in the break room, his left leg stretched out carefully across it and his right pulled up close to his chest. He missed being able to curl himself up into a ball, how cozy it had felt, being able to tuck his whole body into his enormously oversized hoodies. But, well.

Things changed, and you made do with what you had.

Right now he was trying to make do with nasty, bitter, slightly chalky Maxim Gold in a paper cup, because as much as he thought coffee was vile, it was only just past 4pm and he had seven and a half more hours of his shift to look forward to, so the fact that he’d been woken up no fewer than five times an hour — him! — for the four hours he’d managed to last at his newly rented goshiwon before he’d given up and come in to take a misery nap under the desk in the dispatcher’s office meant that coffee was a necessity. At least it was sweet.

It smelled good in the dispatch room, though. Even to his shitty, helpless beta nose. It was a smell that reminded him of his Eomma, but not in any literal sort of way. He guessed that there was just something about omega pheromones that made it seem familiar, even though his Eomma smelled slightly of injeolmi and Yoongi just smelled kind of… Warm. Vaguely fruity? But in a weird non-specific way that Jungkook felt like he’d have to spend a lot of time huffing directly at his skin, rather than laying under his desk in a dark room, to figure out.

Not that he’d ever thought about hiding his face in the crook of Yoongi’s neck.

Definitely not.

Min Yoongi, night dispatcher for the office, sometime producer, and formerly one of the piercers at Nana in Apgujeong (which is where Jungkook had gotten his helix pierced, just before his knee and his entire life had gone sideways, already dreaming of when he’d be able to come back after his debut and leave a signed card on the wall with all the others) was very, very definitely out of Jungkook’s league. The tall, incredibly slender omega seemed to work as a dispatcher at least in part because it got him out of the house and gave him people to yell at in his shockingly low, resonant voice, but he was very, very good at his job.

His weird Daegu-Soul-Brothers relationship with Taehyung was why Jungkook had even known that this driver gig was available in the first place. Six months before, when he’d finally finished his two years of mandatory social service and gotten out of his parents’ house in Busan as fast as he possibly could, Taehyung had been willing to let him crash on his floor, which Jungkook appreciated intensely. But his pretty, fashionably styled loft apartment was small, and he obviously had had to rearrange his schedule around having Jungkook there, and Jungkook had felt awful.

Taehyung hadn’t ever managed to debut either, but rather than a knee injury that it had taken some dead dude’s tendons and over a year of intense physical therapy to recover from, it had just been… Bad luck, mostly. They’d been trainees together for the better part of two years, back when Taehyung was a rail-thin high school student and Jungkook had still been in middle school. But when the group their tiny label had been forming around him, the kid who could sing, dance, and rap, suddenly didn’t have a center any more things had gone poorly for just about everyone.

The label had disappeared into obscurity and instead of skidding through high school in Busan in the bottom quartile of students like Jungkook himself, Taehyung had gone to a smaller college in Seoul for photography and was, as far as Jungkook could tell, now a model/photographer/professional sugar baby. This didn’t exactly surprise Jungkook, since he had eyes, but it had made sharing an apartment with him intensely awkward.

So Taehyung had told him about this gig, and Jungkook had been, in retrospect, probably a little embarrassingly grateful. It wasn’t the best job ever, because the hours were long and weird, but it had let him pay his part of the tiny two-room he’d shared with another of their former almost-bandmates for the last six months. Right up until said ex-trainee, ex-roommate, and now ex-friend had announced on Monday that he’d gotten a gig in the troupe for a world tour and was leaving and that Jungkook had to be out by Wednesday so that the realtor could show the apartment.

Now it was Thursday and Jungkook was tired, sore, and extremely annoyed. He took a deep breath and tried again, aware that he sounded pissed off and increasingly sure that he didn’t care. “It’s a one room, ma’am. The ad said five million in key money and a million a month in rent, why won’t-”

“Mr. Jeon, we’d really prefer ten million. That advertisement was for foreign teachers with stable jobs. In your situation-”

Jungkook hung up and resisted the urge to throw his phone across the room, instead allowing it to fall into his lap as he banged his head back against the wall with a humiliated, frustrated groan. “Fuck, this is such bullshit.”

Yoongi was currently futzing around the break room, doctoring his own coffee, from his hidden stash, and watching Jungkook with a raised eyebrow. The kid had been working there for maybe six months, and had been practically homeless for at least half of it. Or close enough. Today wasn’t the first time he’d come in for his shift and found him curled up under his desk napping, one leg kicked out almost straight and his jeans riding high around his ankle. When he kicked him awake it had been gentle, or as gentle as possible since he hadn’t budged at the first three light taps, instead burrowing further into his hoodie until Yoongi had kicked hard enough at his hip that he’d been worried he’d bruise him.

He walked around the chipped formica table and looked down at Jungkook, his nose scrunched up and his brow wrinkled. “Everything okay, kid?”

Jungkook brought his hand up to drag over his face, his big eyes looking especially wide for a second as he stared at the ceiling and tried to convince them that they weren’t itching like he might cry. If he did that, he was just going to throw himself off a bridge. It would be better than listening to Yoongi tease him about it forever, and it wasn’t like he could quit. “Fine. I just wish that it weren’t fucking impossible to find an apartment in Seoul with less than ten million fucking won in key money. Ugh. This is so stupid.”

Yoongi reached out and ruffled Jungkook’s hair, his only outward concession to the part of him that wanted to wrap the poor kid up in cotton. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to send a text and eyed Jungkook again when he was done. “Seoul is stupid in that way, and people are assholes. We’re rollin’ into dinner deliveries, though, so if you hustle, you can make some extra cash. Not another five million, but something anyway.”

Jungkook groaned and carefully stretched out his right leg to match his left, bending down to touch his toes with a low groan. “Ugh. Okay. Here’s hoping that I don’t have to deal with any drunk Americans tonight. I still can’t believe that guy in Itaewon tried to steal my bike while his friend was paying me last month. Such bullshit.”

Yoongi hummed his agreement as he sipped at his coffee, and patted Jungkook’s shoulder. “Everything is bullshit, kid. The sooner you learn that, the better. C’mon.” He didn’t actually wait for a response, instead wandering out to sit at his desk and wait for the deliveries to start scrolling in on his iPad. This was certainly not the most glamorous job he’d ever held, but he liked it. It was straightforward and the work itself was a little mindless, but it was neat, orderly, except for the human element, which was always messy, anyway, and he very rarely had to deal with the actual customers. That’s what customer service and help lines were for, and Yoongi didn’t have the patience for it. It was easy to sit at the desk and bark out instructions and watch the drivers scurry around in his stead.

When Yoongi moved away Jungkook slowly pulled himself off the couch, moving with that careful, very nearly fearful hesitance for a moment as he got his feet on the floor and pushed himself to standing. Then he started doing a few more stretches, obviously very familiar with them, as he waited for his first assignment. He was almost eager for his first assignment, no matter how tired he was, if it meant not avoiding Yoongi’s sharp, dark, triangular eyes and remembering to look okay.

He didn’t feel okay, just then, and he’d never been much of an actor. That was Tae’s thing, not his. He was sad, for a fleeting moment, that he wasn’t better at it. That’s why he’d laughed in Tae’s face when he’d suggested that maybe Jungkook should look for a sugar daddy or two. As if that had any chance in hell of working. But if he’d taken his best friend up on it, he’d definitely have had key money for a new apartment.

Fuck.

Yoongi skimmed the orders as they popped up, checking instructions and delivery distances. “Here, kid. Easy money.” He assigned a short delivery to Jungkook, knowing the alert and instructions would pop up on his phone. It was an easy delivery, both the pick up and drop off close by. He’d have to be careful though. If anyone realized he was doing the kid favors, he’d never hear the end of it.

Jungkook’s back pocket buzzed, playing a cute KakaoFriends ringtone, and he pulled it out and unlocked the screen in one smooth, practiced motion. When he saw what restaurant the order was for his face lit up as he paced towards the short staircase that led up to the first full floor and the row of bikes. “Sweet, there’s a real cute omega who handles the deliveries there on weeknights, hopefully he’ll humor me and flirt back, today.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow as Jungkook wandered off, mostly amused, and honestly a little curious. He wouldn’t have pegged Jungkook for the type, but you never knew. “Whatever helps you get through the shift. Godspeed, kid.”

The cute omega at the WhatsPide was on deliveries that night, and did flirt, which Jungkook very much enjoyed, even though he knew it wasn’t ever going to go anywhere. One of the best things about working even ancillarily in food service was that in a kitchen no one paid any attention at all to role, because no one outside of their heats smelled strongly enough of anything to overcome the intense tangle of odors of a kitchen in full swing.

But if they met at a bar or cafe, or, God help him, in the street, it would only take seconds for that warm, dimpled smile to become tense lips and polite excuses. It had happened too many times before for Jungkook to expect anything else. But even the little thrill carried him through the better part of a shockingly tolerable shift, most of his runs except for a massive order of sushi short and sweet, for once. That order took forever to make and was going to a rooftop party in a building that had an elevator… That was out of commission and being worked on literally as he swept in with both his hands full.

Even the very generous tip that the small time CEO whose party it was had slipped him in apology wasn’t quite enough to make up for how it made his knee burn. When Jungkook got back to dispatch he thumbed in his break code and hauled himself up the stairs, trying not to visibly limp as he beelined for the collection of NSAIDs in his bag, his jaw set and his lips pressed to a thin, unintentionally miserable line. He’d be fine, but fucking Christ, it hurt.

Yoongi watched as Jungkook tried and failed — miserably — to not limp across the floor of dispatch with a slight, small frown. He’d seen him in a similar state before, after too many long shifts, but never with quite the same white lines of stress and pain around his eyes or his mouth in such a firm line. He made an incredibly grumpy sound and took a deep breath. “Jimin!”

“If nothing is on fire I’m gonna-” Jimin came leaping up the steps, full of liquid grace and coiled power, the tank top he always wore under his leather motorcycle jacket slightly sweaty. When his eyes sought out Yoongi first — they always sought out Yoongi first — he took in Yoongi’s slightly slouched but relaxed posture, then he realized that he was standing in the break room with slightly over half an hour left on the shift, instead of hunched over his iPad like normal, and his eyebrows rose. He glanced around, obviously looking for a threat, and that’s when he noticed Jungkook.

“Shit. Gukkie, what happened?”

Jungkook’s broad, muscular shoulders went tense as he finally made it to the table where his bag was, his hands fumbling slightly at the zipper as he stood with all of his weight on his right leg, which made his hips tilt at an angle that emphasized how dramatic the swoop down from his shoulders to his trim, narrow waist was. Then he ducked his head and muttered, the obvious pain he was in cutting his usually cheerful temperament to the bone. “I’m fine. I just- I just need to get some meds into me. And maybe some ice when I get ho- Shit. Okay. I can stop on my way home to get ice, it’ll be fine. It’ll be quieter now, everything will be fine.”

Yoongi crossed his arms over his chest with a small hrmphing sound that he knew Jungkook would probably be able to hear, and he knew Jimin would be able to decipher. “You’re no use to me if you’re an invalid, Jeon Jungkook,” Yoongi said, and though his voice was gruff, it was gentle. When Jimin glanced over at him his eyes were wide and a little worried, the soft curve of his mouth downturned.

Jungkook shook out a handful of what were clearly a mixture of a few different over the counter pain medications in the same bottle, carefully kicking a select few back in before he threw the whole assemblage into his mouth and washed it down with a slightly moist paper cup full of lukewarm instant coffee, still sitting on the table from his last break. Once he’d swallowed he turned, still obviously favoring his left leg, and leaned his hip against the table so he could raise an eyebrow and smirk, the expression on his face too full of pain and poorly managed emotions to be anything other than slightly harrowing. “I dunno, hyung. You’ve gotten plenty of use out of me in the last six months, haven’t you? I just… I couldn’t find my good knee brace today. Uh. With- With all my stuff in boxes. So I wasn’t exactly prepared to go up and down six flights of stairs for that hoe order.”

“You know what I meant, kid,” Yoongi huffed, his face returning to grumpy concern the moment Jungkook turned around. “Your living situation isn’t doing you or your leg any favors. You’re gonna ice it here for the rest of the shift before you go anywhere.”

Jungkook’s face scrunched up in his ridiculous, endearing, ever so slightly catlike grimace of distaste, which made his dimples extra obvious. But it was a sign of how much pain he was in that he didn’t argue, that he didn’t try to claim that he was fine, that he could take one more order, that he didn’t want to let the team down.

He’d never wanted to do that. And he had. It was always going to be the thing, the one moment, that the entire rest of his life revolved (and spun out) around.

Instead he just nodded and began to very carefully walk towards the beat-up fridge in the corner, which was mostly used for storing energy drinks, after-shift beers, and unloved or abandoned orders that they were definitely supposed to throw away but always ended up eating. He’d made it a few steps before Jimin hissed between his teeth and walked up to the tall beta with uncharacteristic ease for an alpha approaching someone taller than him.

“Fuck, Gukkie. You’ve got a pair of joggers in your bag, right? How about you change into those before your leg swells so much you’ve gotta cut your jeans off and I’ll get you some ice. How the fuck did it get this bad? You didn’t, like. Fall and decide that you were gonna be macho and not tell us, did you?” While Jimin was talking, his voice soft and sharp with the cadence of their shared home and ever so slightly lisping, he guided Jungkook back onto the couch and got him sat down.

Jimin began rifling through Jungkook’s bag with the unthinking assurance that he had the right and said, his voice polite but obviously meant to be obeyed, “Take your jeans off and we’ll get you into something that’ll make treatment easier. I have no idea how you even drive a bike in those jeans. How do you not have a pair of motocross pants yet?”

“If, uh. If you don’t need any help, I’m just gonna-” Yoongi pointed back to the doorway to dispatch, his eyebrows raised. Were Jungkook and Jimin’s positions reversed, Yoongi would be perching on the table and swinging his feet and generally being an opportunistic nuisance. He had no problem ogling Jimin at any chance he got, but Jungkook was an employee.

Jimin didn’t look away from Jungkook’s bag as he dug the clean, slightly threadbare joggers out of Jungkook’s ever so slightly tatty messenger bag. They looked like they were in danger of giving out at the seams in the inner thighs, but they were still presentable, and as Jimin shook them out he said, his voice distracted in the way it could get sometimes when he was focused on solving a problem, “Yoongi-hyung, stop being an idiot. Go get a delivery bag, make sure it doesn’t have any holes in it, dump some ice in it, and then pour a bottle of water into it. We need to get that swelling down. I swear to fuck, if I didn’t know you don’t lie, Gukkie, I’d think you’d sprained the fuck out of it and were just trying to put a brave face on.”

Jungkook grimaced again at that description, but wiggled around on the couch until he could undo the fly of his jeans and push his hips up using his right leg for leverage. He skimmed them down the heavy muscles of his hips and thighs with the ease of long practice, as if getting undressed laying down weren’t at all unfamiliar. His black boxer-briefs were also immaculately clean but starting to fade to a very dark grey, though he seemed too distracted by the amount of effort it took to carefully peel the tight denim down over his quads and the red, scarred, swollen mess that was currently his left knee to be embarrassed.

The pain pinched up his face again with the effort it took not to make more noise than his quiet rush of breath as he realized that he was still wearing his perfectly maintained tan Timberlands, and began to try and pull his leg up so that he could reach the laces to untie them. “It- Ugh. Fuck. If- If the fucking elevator hadn’t been broken I would have been fine, hyungs. Ugh. This is so stupid.”

Yoongi huffed a breath, stepping over to the couch and swatting at Jungkook’s hands. “Stop it. Lean the fuck back,” he said, his head ducking as he dropped to a squat to undo Jungkook’s shoe laces. He wasn’t prone to blushing, certainly not over boys. Not when he spent every spare moment with Jimin and his near-perfect dancer’s body, but Yoongi was trying to give him some semblance of privacy.

When Yoongi had finished tugging the boots off his eyes came up, skating over the muscles of Jungkook’s calves and landing on the angry swell of his knee. “Shit, kid. Don’t fuckin’ move. I’ll be back with some ice. Minnie, see if we’ve got some lidocaine patches in the first aid.”

Jungkook subsided when Jimin dropped his joggers onto his lap and made a noise before heading in the direction of the dispatch where the first aid kit was. Once Yoongi had removed his shoes his jeans came off easily, and from the way Jungkook moved he was familiar with getting his joggers on with one leg all but immobile. He carefully pulled the noticeably stretched left leg of them up to about ten centimeters above the top of his knee cap, where the long, pale scar that perfectly bisected his knee stretched slightly longer than his hand down to the top of his shin.

Having pants on obviously made him feel a little better, a little more at ease, but when Jimin came back holding a few minty green flat packets, his words made him tense right back up again. “There weren’t any lidocaine patches, but we’ve got some Salonpas- Fucking Christ, kid. What did they do, rip it out and give you a new one?”

“Just about everything but, actually.” Jungkook said, his voice muted and his eyes pinned to his toes. He hunched his shoulders and rubbed nervously at his upper arm with his palm, like he wanted to hug himself but didn’t want to be too obvious. “They had to replace the vein that goes through the back of my knee, take out a chunk of cartilage the size of your thumbnail, sew together my ACL and MCL, and replace my PCL entirely. They say that as long as I’m careful, and I don’t develop any more arthritis in it than I’ve already got, they can probably hold out on replacing it until I’m in my thirties.”

“It’s basically the same thing, Minnie.” Yoongi frowned as he stood, his eyes on the angry red puffiness of Jungkook’s knee. “Jesus, kid. I’d have had them just take everything from mid thigh down. Minnie, get that on him. I’m gonna grab the ice.”

While Yoongi was re-breaking the ice in the freezer and worrying about getting it into a bag, Jimin very carefully unwrapped and laid the white, menthol-scented bandages across Jungkook’s knee expertly, arranging them so that they wouldn’t come unstuck when he started moving it again. As he did, he asked, obviously both curious and a little excited, “How- Wait. You were a trainee, right? When you were in like middle school? Does that mean you’re that kid? The one whose leg folded in half sideways and backwards and then tried to claim that he’d be fine to keep practicing after he’d had a minute to rest? You’re a legend.”

Yoongi groaned, throwing the now empty bottle of water in the vague direction of Jimin’s head. “Stop being an asshole, Jimin.” He brought the makeshift ice pack over to Jungkook and handed it to him, not wanting to cause the kid any more pain by placing it incorrectly. “Ignore him. Dancers are morbid as fuck, sometimes.”

Jungkook’s mouth turned up at the corners, but given the rest of his pinched, miserable expression it couldn’t quite be called a smile. His voice was impressively even, save for the soft hiss of discomfort as he carefully lowered the sloshy, cold bag of ice onto his knee, careful to keep it bent enough that it wasn’t in danger of hyperextending, “I know, hyung. I used to be one.”

That sobered Jimin up far more effectively than Yoongi’s threats, which had long ago ceased to have any real meaning. He bit his lip and rocked up to standing, then hissed a small curse and dashed into the dispatch room. “Hey, hyung, there’s an order on the board. I’m just gonna take it and pull Gukkie off the rotation and set the auto-sort, okay? See if you can’t get some food into him, I saw how many pills he took, if he doesn’t eat something his stomach’s gonna try and turn itself inside out.”

“Thanks, Minnie. I’ll keep an eye on the kid.” Yoongi moved back to the fridge, squatting down to rummage in it. “Sorry about that. As I’m sure you’re aware, Jimin sometimes doesn’t actually have any tact. So what are ya feelin’ kid? It looks like there’s half a pizza, some mandu, and what looks like it started life as tteokbokki.”

“If pizza is an option, the answer is always pizza,” Jungkook said easily, carefully rearranging himself on the sofa and folding and rolling his jeans to use as a block for the back of his knee so that he could focus on something other than trying to keep it in exactly the correct position. Once he was as comfortable as he was likely to get until he had food in his stomach and the cocktail of acetaminophen, ibuprofen, and naproxen sodium had had a chance to work its magic on the almost grotesque swelling of his knee Jungkook glanced over at where Yoongi was hunched in front of the fridge, his cheeks flushing red as he ducked his head and rubbed his fingers together, obviously feeling shy now that the crisis was over. “I, uh. Th- Thanks, hyung. For, um. For helping. I know that it’s not really your job to, you know. Do emergency first aid on fuckin’ idiots who got their boxes mixed up and couldn’t find their good brace before work.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, shoving the pizza into the microwave so it would at least be warm, before he turned back around. “This is like the least emergency emergency first aid I’ve ever had to do. Hoseok has racked up some very impressive road rash and a few stitches. You’re fine. It’s really no big deal,” Yoongi told Jungkook with half a grin. Jungkook was fidgeting. It was unreasonably adorable and Yoongi had to clear his throat before he could speak again, snagging the pizza from the microwave and sitting on the edge of the couch, careful of Jungkook’s legs, to hold it out. “Eat up so you don’t puke up your painkillers. Because I’m not cleaning it up.”

Jungkook happily shoved half a slice into his mouth with a blissful little sigh, his cheeks rounding with happiness as he chewed with his eyes closed. Not being able to see Yoongi’s face, all intense dark eyes and gentle (gentle? Until today he hadn’t known that was a setting that Yoongi possessed) concern, made it easier for him to talk as he fussily re-ordered the folds of his pushed-up pant leg with his free hand and tried to explain.

“I’ve got, like. One of those hardcore metal-reinforced braces that I usually wear to work, and, like. It works. I’ve never been more than a little bit sore after a shift, before. But, uh. It was hard to tell which box was which, and I thought it would be okay. Whoops. Now I know. It won’t happen again, hyung. So please- I mean. I know you’re supposed to tell the boss if we have problems, but, like. I promise it’s not gonna happen again.”

Yoongi flapped a hand in the air, waving dismissively, though he mostly avoided looking directly at Jungkook. “Don’t worry about it. Your shift was legitimately almost over, kid. You’re rarely late, you never call off, your times are good, and you’re good with the customers. And it’s not like this is really a work related injury. It’s not like you fell down six flights of stairs, right?”

Jungkook snorted around his current bite of pizza, the final bit of crust still in his fingers. He was hungry. He’d stuffed as much free rice and kimchi into his face as he could before he’d left to nap under the desk, studiously ignoring the cheerful, loud college students who’d been studying in the kitchen, but that had been a little over twelve hours ago. It felt good to get food into his stomach, even if it was slightly spongy microwaved pizza.

When Jungkook had finally finished the slice he hesitated before taking another one, his big, dark eyes seeking out Yoongi’s as he wetted his lips and said, his voice soft and fragile, “I- I really appreciate it, hyung. I need this job. All- Everything that my service references would get me is, like. Twelve-hour shifts taking care of old people, and that won’t leave me with enough time, at the right time, to go to auditions. I know I’m never gonna be an idol, but, like. Everyone needs session singers and backup vocals, yeah? I just… I’ve just gotta get my foot back in the door. It’s just… Hard.”

Yoongi grunted a soft sound of agreement. He was well aware of how the industry functioned, living on the fringes of it himself. Sure, he worked dispatch here, just under full time, but songwriting and production freelancing is what actually paid the bills. “At least you’re realistic about it. Not everyone is. Your job here is safe, though.”

Jungkook snorted again around another large mouthful of pizza, a quarter of the pizza now safely in his belly and only one slice still remaining on the grease-stained cardboard on Yoongi’s knees. Once he’d swallowed Jungkook said, his voice somewhat droll, “It’s hard not to be realistic about it when you spent the better part of four years as a trainee, hyung.

“There are people who I lived in the dorm with who are on TV every day. And another few who don’t even try, any more. Woo Jonghyun was just as good as anybody and I think he’s, like. A cell-phone salesman in Cheongju now. I just- I miss it.

“Getting to sing for real. Knowing that someone somewhere was gonna hear what you did and feel something. I- I know I’m not ever gonna be famous, but, like. I’d like to feel like I made someone’s life better, you know? Even if it is just ‘cause the vocal fill behind whatever flavor of the week is singing the chorus of that song is good.”

“I get it, a little bit. That part at least. I mean, I emphatically don’t sing. Not in years. But I understand wanting to have that impact and be heard. It’s tough. And the daily grind to get by while trying to be heard is worse,” Yoongi told Jungkook, his fingers itching just a little bit to reach out and soothe him. He didn’t, though, just lifted the box with the last slice and offered it to him. “Y’want the last slice? ‘cause if not, I’m gonna toss it.”

Jungkook’s eyebrows shot up as he hummed around his current mouth full of pizza, his free hand shooting out to snatch the last piece with impressive speed. Once he’d swallowed, he lifted the slice to his face and bit the pointy end off, murmuring to the rest of the slice as he chewed, “Don’t worry, pizza. I’ll give you a good home in my belly. Just because mean old Yoongi-hyung doesn’t appreciate you doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

Yoongi snorted as he stood to toss the box. “I like pizza just fine. I’m not a complete monster, you know. I just also don’t like it reheated. How’re you getting home, kid?” Yoongi cocked a hip against the break room table, strongly suspecting the answer was either the bus or walking, and that wouldn’t do.

Jungkook waited until the last of the pizza had disappeared into his now much happier stomach before he carefully shifted so that he could bend his knee a few more degrees, just to make sure that it wasn’t locking up. That had happened before and it was no fun. Even the small amount of movement made him grimace and hiss in a breath through his gritted teeth, his voice gone all soft and distracted as he wiggled his toes and tried to think soothing, anti-inflammatory thoughts. “Uh, subway? Like a normal human? It’s, like. A five minute walk to the station from here, and then I get the green line to-” Jungkook’s expression darkened for a moment, his eyebrows rising dramatically, and then he pressed his lips together and took a deep breath as he closed his eyes for a long moment.

“I mean, I take the 4 one stop, then the 3 another one, to the Dongguk University station. At least the goshi’s a lot closer to the station than my old place was. It took almost fifteen minutes to walk, if I wasn’t feeling especially nimble. I think I’ll be home in less than half an hour. It used to take me almost twice that, to get here on time.” Jungkook smiled his best Putting On A Brave Face smile, the corners of his mouth turning up but his eyes remaining dark and sad as he reached up and ran an obviously nervous hand through his hair. “I’m gonna sleep like the dead, though. I always do, when I get hurt. It’s like my body just turns itself off until it feels like working again.”

Yoongi shook his head. Jungkook was probably going to argue the point, but Yoongi wasn’t having it. “Yeah, see, that doesn’t work for me. Walking more than absolutely necessary is only going to make that worse. We’ll get you a cab. Are you on the schedule for tomorrow?”

Jungkook boggled at Yoongi, his eyebrows lifting and his eyes going incredibly wide for a moment. His lower lip tucked in worriedly and his entire expression would have been hilarious if he hadn’t been so obviously alarmed. “What! No! That’s, like. Four thousand won, hyung. You don’t have to. I’ll be fine. It- It’ll give me a chance to stretch it out. I’m gonna have to do all my stupid PT exercises when I get home anyway, if I can find room to do them. So it’ll give me a chance to warm up. And… I think so? I’ve been on Wednesday to Sunday since, like. November.”

“It’s fine, Jungkook. It’s not the first time I’ve paid for a coworker to get home, it certainly won’t be the last. It’s really no trouble. If you’re still in pain tomorrow, take the day off and spread the missing hours over the next few days. I’ll deal with the boss if he notices.” The wheels were turning in Yoongi’s head as he spoke. He was going to have to talk to Jimin. Not that once they got home Jimin wouldn’t be peppering him with questions and giving him shit, but that was normal.

It was a sign of how tired, sore, and generally miserable Jungkook was that he didn’t argue. He simply sighed and squinted at the clock on the wall before carefully easing the sweat-beaded bag of ice water off his knee, which was now a sort of purplish blue thanks to the cold. He set it on the floor so he could spin in place and carefully begin stretching his leg out enough that he’d be able to stand without worrying that it was just going to spontaneously cease to function when he tried to use it.

It’d happened before and it was utterly humiliating. The memory, combined with the generalized mortifying embarrassment over the entire situation, made Jungkook’s cheeks pink up as he curled his fingers around the edge of the couch and tried not to look like he wanted to scream. Though it did make his voice more than slightly rough as he said, looking pointedly at the floor, “Th- Thanks, hyung. I appreciate it. I- I should probably just plan on not coming in tomorrow, if it’s still this gross. I probably strained one of the ligaments without even feeling it. I, uh. There’s a little bit of nerve damage, still. Usually it isn’t a problem, but it can make it hard to tell how bad something is until shit gets out of hand.”

It took an immense amount of effort for Yoongi not to broadcast how affected he was by the low, weary tone of Jungkook’s voice as he began stretching. Even then, he could feel the heat spreading over his cheeks as he turned away, futzing with the coffee maker to cover it. “I’d rather have you working and not hurting than being in pain while you’re here, anyway. It’ll just slow you down and affect your pay. Just text me and let me know for sure so I can shuffle people around to make sure your spot is covered.”

By the time Jungkook had worked enough of the cold and stiffness out of his knee that he could stand, putting as much of his weight on his arms and right leg as he could, there was sweat beading his upper lip and he looked a little like he might be reconsidering his stance on vomit. But after a few steps he was confident that it was at least going to hold him, which had been a not inconsiderable concern. Jungkook balanced his right hip against the edge of the table so that he could carefully bend his knee and get his pant leg pulled down again, then said as he shuffled slowly and with painstaking care towards his messenger bag, “Uh, hyung, I- I definitely think you should start looking? If it’s this bad now, it’s probably gonna take me at least an hour to get it where I can stand up, tomorrow, and I wouldn’t trust it on a bike. Not, um. Not in the weather we’ve been having. Cold makes it a lot worse, ‘cause everything gets stiffer. But- But I should definitely be okay by Saturday?”

Jungkook snorted and shook his head ruefully, his voice ha-ha-very-funny as he rolled his eyes over at Yoongi and said with a mock-cheerful tone, “If it isn’t, I can always just chuck myself into the Han and then it wouldn’t ever be your problem again. Although you’d have to hire someone else who’s pathologically neat to clean up the break room after Typhoon Jimin blows through it.”

Yoongi turned with a fresh cup of coffee in hand and raised an eyebrow at Jungkook. “That’s- That’s not funny. Besides, literally no one on Earth wants to clean up after Jimin. I pay the cleaning guy extra for having to deal with his mess so I don’t have to.”

Yoongi eyed Jungkook, noting how the effort it took to keep moving deepened the creases around his eyes when he grimaced. “Seriously though, throwing yourself in the Han or anything else of that nature isn’t an answer. And if you ever feel like it is, jokes aside, you know you’ve got people to talk to, right?”

“I am aware. I spent almost as much time in therapy as I did in PT, the year after it happened. I’m not suicidal, hyung. I’m just tired.” Jungkook meant for it to be reassuring, but the tone of his voice as he said it was so vulnerable that it didn’t exactly come across as reassuringly as he’d probably meant it to.

But by then the shift change had well and truly arrived and Jimin and Donghyuk, the other regular driver for this station’s second shift, arrived more or less simultaneously. Their (and Jungkook and Yoongi’s) replacements weren’t far behind. Jungkook did his best to seem normal and mostly succeeded, though by the time the new dispatcher, a short, slightly chubby beta, had gotten all the new drivers their first assignments and Donghyuk had disappeared to wherever it was that he went when he wasn’t working, Jimin looked very concerned. The corners of Jungkook’s mouth had gone white with the effort of slouching casually against the edge of the table with his left leg kicked out and his bag and coat on.

Jungkook guiltily hoped that Yoongi had been serious, because while he knew that he could make it home on his own, it would seriously suck. Especially since he always felt guilty when people stared at him waiting to use the elevator and he didn’t like to do it unless he absolutely had to, but two of the interchanges on his new route home didn’t have escalators and the thought of more than one flight of stairs made him want to die, just then.

By the time Jimin had returned and managed to collect his things Yoongi had already passed the reins over to his relief. He’d also managed to get himself bundled up into his coat and hat and scarf and was pulling up KakaoTaxi on his phone so he could get Jungkook’s cab. At this point in the night Yoongi just wanted to go home, but he wanted to make sure Jungkook was taken care of first. “Cab should be here in like five minutes. You gonna be good to get up to your room once you’re there?”

Jungkook nodded easily, although in truth he wasn’t entirely certain that he’d be able to manage the three staircases between ground level and his new lodgings without a few breaks. But he didn’t really see what other choice he had, and he didn’t want to make anyone worry. “Yeah, hyung. I’ll be fine. I’ll take one of my good painkillers and drink a bunch of water and sleep until I wake up. I promise.”

Jimin watched the interplay between the two with his eyebrows slightly raised, his leather jacket open over his tank top and the windbreaker joggers he’d been wearing under his motocross pants looking exceedingly casual and not in any way adequate for the barely above freezing stillness of the cold late-winter air outside. Alphas.

Instead of asking Jungkook if he was okay, which Jungkook very, very clearly did not want to be asked, Jimin licked his lips and leaned in to press a kiss to the height of Yoongi’s cheekbone, one muscular arm slipping around the back of the omega’s surprisingly sturdy ribcage to hold him close as he asked quietly, “You ready to go home, babe?”

Yoongi leaned into Jimin’s weight and the warmth radiating from him for just a moment, breathing in the beach-and-forest scent of him and letting it relax the tense line of his shoulders. “Yeah. Let’s go. It’s fuckin’ cold outside. The sooner I can crawl into bed, the better. Let me know if you need another day, after tomorrow Jungkook. I’ll figure it out?”

Jungkook couldn’t help his soft, dismissive snort as he followed the two of them out of the small dispatch shop and into the chilly Seoul air outside, his hands both out of his pockets solely so that they could catch him if he started to fall. Otherwise he’d have had them shoved firmly into the pockets of his big parka. “As if I could afford to take two days off work, hyung. Don’t worry, by then the swelling will have gone down enough that I can get my brace on and everything will be fine.”

They waited until they’d seen Jungkook into the taxi and on his way, Jimin’s arm curled affectionately and possessively around Yoongi’s shoulders. Jimin knew that he wasn’t very many people’s idea of what an alpha should look like, so especially in public he always tried to put on a good show. It certainly lowered the number of strange alphas who Yoongi threatened to graphically murder, at least. And it felt good.

Once the yellow call taxi had turned the corner he kissed Yoongi’s cheek again then turned and started walking towards the subway and home, his voice soft as he asked, trying not to sound worried and failing pretty miserably, “So, what’s wrong with the Maknae, love?”

Yoongi gave an inelegant snort but leaned in anyway, one arm wrapping tight around Jimin’s waist, partly from affection, and partly to leech his body heat. “Y’mean besides his janky knee? He’s having problems finding an actual apartment he can afford the key money for,” he said with a shrug, easily falling into step with Jimin.

Jimin hummed thoughtfully, sticking his hand into Yoongi’s back pocket less because his hand was cold and more because the faint give of Yoongi’s ass against his palm was familiar and pleasant. They’d been bonded for a little over two years and completely independent of the physiological sense of well being that the presence of his mate inspired in him, Jimin just liked Yoongi. Loved his rough, growling, jagged edges and his soft, incredibly caring, gentle core. Jimin even loved his laziness, for all that he couldn’t even begin to understand it.

That thought made Jimin’s voice softer than it already was as they stopped to wait for a light, both roads scattered with traffic that mostly seemed to be taxis. “I’ve actually seen it. What happened. His dance instructor is one of the hyungs from my university. He keeps it on his phone, so he can win any and all ‘worst thing that’s ever happened while you were at work’ competitions. It didn’t even look real. Like, your brain can’t comprehend that that’s a real person’s body and not, like. CGI from a horror movie. It’s every dancer’s worst nightmare. The Career Ending Injury. I feel kind of bad that I never thought about what happened to that kid, after. It must have happened, fuck. What, almost seven years ago? He was so young.”

Yoongi waited until they’d crossed before he blinked at Jimin. “He’s still young. I just… I can’t imagine having all that hard work, all your dreams, crushed at such a young age. And worse? Not being able to move past it without the literal, physical, painful reminder of it every day.” Yoongi told him, his voice soft as he pressed his cheek to Jimin’s shoulder.

Jimin shuddered a little, squeezing Yoongi tighter in against his side. Then they were going down the stairs and tapping their phone cases against the turnstiles and joining the line of people waiting for the second-to-last train of the day. Thankfully they didn’t have any transfers, so there was no danger of missing a connection and having to take a taxi home. The 2 was always, always crowded and not actually the shortest way to get anywhere, but it was reliable and Dongdaemun to Sinchon wasn’t the worst commute ever.

Once they’d found a corner of a car to tuck themselves into, Yoongi leaning against the wall and Jimin subconsciously placing himself between his fragile-seeming body and the rest of the world, Jimin stared at his mate and grimaced. “I honestly don’t know if I could deal with it, ‘gi. I think I’d die. Although, like. From what I remember about the story, that wasn’t actually outside of the realm of possibility. Like, that crack you made about taking off your leg? If the vein graft hadn’t worked, like. That was a non-zero chance. Usually it takes a pretty bad car accident to do what happened to him. He just had, like. Literally the worst luck. Ugh. It gives me shivers just thinking about it.”

“Jesus. Poor kid. He’s kind of remarkably well adjusted, to be honest. All things considered. But he’s been in that goshi one night and he was curled up under my desk when I came in tonight.” Yoongi hooked his hands in the lapels of Jimin’s jacket to try and get as close as propriety allowed.

Jimin shuddered perhaps the slightest bit melodramatically as he crowded into Yoongi’s space, nuzzling his nose into the soft bleach-rough fluff of Yoongi’s hair. He lowered his voice still further, not so much trying to keep their conversation private as simply because he knew that Yoongi would be able to hear him clearly from this close. “Mmm. He can’t even stay in one of the alpha goshis with the big beds, so he’s probably all cramped. He’s so tall for a beta. Did you know I actually thought he was an alpha the first time we met? Only then he dropped his eyes and went all shy on me. I was so surprised. Even most betas make me chest up to them at least once before they’re willing to submit.”

Yoongi let his eyes fall closed and his hands slip around Jimin’s waist to settle on his back, under the leather jacket. “Mmhm. He’s tall, but, like. In a pleasant way? Definitely too big for any goshi that would have him, though. And there’s no way he’s going to be comfortable there for long. But paying the rent is going to cut into his ability to save up key money.”

“I hope he figures something out soon,” Jimin said, his face pulling into the woebegone pout that was one of a number of his facial expressions that had gotten him into so many fights in middle school. Jimin had presented early, but since he wasn’t especially tall — he wasn’t short, either, but he was solidly below average for an alpha, which made him the perfect match for his very much taller than average omega bondmate — and had such big features and had long since chosen cuteness as his method of getting everything he wanted from people around him it had Caused Strife.

But it wasn’t the black belt in two martial arts talking, just then. It was Jimin, the guy who drunkenly lured cats out from under cars and had to be reminded that he was allergic to them when he tried to take them home with him. “I worry, y’know? He’s a good kid. And Taetae adores him. D’you think they ever…? ‘cause Tae’s one short step away from being one of the tallest omegas in Korea, and Gukkie’s so, y’know.”

“Oh. I hadn’t considered that. They’d both be idiots to not have? Tae’s so pretty. And Jungkook is so… Well, you’ve seen him.” Yoongi pushed his face into the curve of Jimin’s neck so that he could take a deep, calming breath. Try as he might, there was no pushing that mental image out of his head now that Jimin had put it there.

Jimin hummed softly, breathing in the soft, comfortable scent of Yoongi’s hair. A stop came and went and he checked the board. They were two stops from home, but it was always a good idea to check. Then he asked, both because he was curious and because he enjoyed torturing his bondmate, “Have you ever, with Taetae? Or is yours a pure and platonic bond between an omega and a beta with equally incomprehensible accents? Because, like. Even though my body knew I wasn’t with an omega, like. He’s kind of got this funny little dent, where his LV would be if he had one? And when you push at it with your tongue he makes this noise-”

The sound Yoongi made, muffled against the smooth line of Jimin’s throat, was low and more than a little strangled. “Ugh. You’re terrible. No. We made out once, but that hardly counts. Also, you said you liked my accent, nevermind that yours is worse. Or at least a different flavor of incomprehensible.”

“Just because I like it doesn’t mean you don’t sound like you’re mumbling half the time. And everyone likes alphas who speak in Busan saturi. It’s a trope for a reason.” Jimin beamed at Yoongi, then leaned in to rumble in his ear, deliberately letting his voice go low and resonant the way it usually only did when Yoongi was in heat and Jimin couldn’t help it, “I bet you’d like it if Gukkie spoke to you in saturi, babe. I’ve seen you staring. I can’t even blame you. There’s a lot worth staring at, there.”

Yoongi’s hands clenched against Jimin’s back and he let out a soft sigh. “I would plead ignorance but you’d know I was lying. He just… Sometimes I kind of want to climb him like a tree. He’s gorgeous, Minnie. I won’t say I haven’t thought about it. Also, you’re an asshole.”

Jimin cackled softly into Yoongi’s hair then rearranged his arms so he could trace little circles against Yoongi’s back over the soft, thin fabric of the omega’s t-shirt under his coat and sweater. It was a little more touchy-feely than bonded pairs usually got in public, but they were young and attractive so who was going to complain?

When they reached the Sinchon stop they were already next to the door, and thus the first out of the train. Jimin laced his fingers through Yoongi’s to drag him towards the escalator since he knew better than to try getting Yoongi to take the stairs. Once they were safely ensconced on the Lazy Asshole side he leaned up and murmured in the general direction of Yoongi’s shoulder blade, “What’re we gonna do if he can’t find an apartment, babe? We can’t let him just, like, die. One, it would be super sad, and two, Taehyung would kill us.”

“I wanted to talk to you about that, actually? I mean. Obviously we won’t let him end up on the street. Worst comes to worst, he can afford the goshi, but-” Yoongi paused, chewing on his lip in thought long enough that he stepped off the escalator and tangled his hand with Jimin’s again before he spoke as they made a beeline for home. “But… If after some time he hasn’t found anything, I figured maybe he could crash with us? We’ve got the space, and it would help him get together the key money for a decent place?”

“How long is ‘some time?’, babe? Because when I got in from that last order you looked a little bit like you wanted to wrap him up in blankets. Or sit in his lap. Maybe both.” Jimin still didn’t sound upset about it, but he also couldn’t prevent himself from mentioning it, which was a little perplexing even for him. Jimin knew he would have to figure out what it was about the way that Yoongi’s interactions with the tall (incredibly attractive) beta made him feel that was getting him all stuck.

Jimin didn’t feel threatened. There was literally nothing threatening about Jungkook, biologically or emotionally. If he’d been another alpha, Jimin was self-aware enough to recognize that he’d want to tear his throat out with his teeth because Yoongi was his. But he wasn’t. Nothing about Jungkook could possibly challenge their bond, or make Jimin a less integral part of the function of Yoongi’s life. Plus, he was one of the most self-effacing, non-confrontational people that Jimin had ever met.

Which honestly made a lot more sense now than it had before. Busan was, after all, not exactly famous for producing wallflowers. As they took the final escalator up to street level, so that they could stop by the fish bread cart and avail themselves of the improved selection available — Yoongi loved sweets and Jimin loved food and at least one person always tipped the driver in cash, so it was easy to come up with an excuse to grab a few on their way home — on their way back to their nice, if compact, two bedroom apartment. The second bedroom had carton foam carefully covering the walls and ceiling and was home to all of Yoongi’s production equipment and the living room/kitchen was big enough for a sofa, breakfast table, and sufficient space for one compact alpha to do his daily stretches and Pilates routine.

So, by Hongdae standards, it was basically a palace. Jimin loved it and would never in a million years have been able to afford living somewhere like it without at least three roommates if it weren’t for Yoongi and his feast-or-famine intermittent song sales and talent for actually saving money instead of allowing it all to vaporize the moment he had more than a hundred thousand won left over after expenses.

Yoongi shrugged as they waited in the short line that had formed in front of them. “I dunno. A few days? If he hasn’t found something by the end of the weekend, he probably won’t. And, like. It’s not like he’ll end up on the street, but still. It’s just… I know he’s probably more than capable of taking care of himself, but like. If we can help, why not?”

By the start of their shift on Saturday, usually the busiest day of the week for delivery, Yoongi’s claim that Jungkook could take care of himself seemed a little dubious at best. Since they both knew now, he’d worn one of his extremely comfortable, perfectly broken in pairs of once-black, now charcoal grey, skinny jeans, the glossy black of his knee brace incredibly obvious where it wrapped around his left knee like some kind of spider.

Jungkook was moving like he felt better, but he also had some truly magnificent under eye circles and was hitting the instant coffee before they even went on-shift at all, squinting into the tiny paper cup as he swirled a little hot water round and round to get the instant coffee crystals to dissolve before he added any more liquid. Coffee was nasty and horrible to begin with, so he didn’t want the experience to be any more awful than it had to be.

Jimin came careening off the staircase, hauling his jacket off to prepare for the switch to his leathers, and came up short, staring. “Hey hyung! Does the maknae actually drink coffee? Because I think I’m hallucinating.”

Yoongi, three steps behind Jimin and grumbling about the lack of elevator, stared down at Jimin’s back. “He does not. Water, usually. Sometimes banana milk. Occasionally Hot6,” Yoongi said, practically yelling down the steps as he trudged down.

“Hot6 are twelve hundred won apiece and the coffee sticks are free. Ergo, today I drink coffee,” Jungkook grumbled, his face suspiciously puffy, as if he’d been attempting to subsist entirely on free goshiwon rice, kimchi, eggs, and ramyeon. Which he most definitely had. His knee felt better but still far from one hundred percent, if the slightly ginger way that he balanced on one foot and lowered himself onto the couch before bending it was any indication.

Jungkook didn’t bother trying to hide the brace. Not after they’d found out. But he didn’t look especially thrilled about it, his body posture tense as he took a big swallow of the lukewarm brown liquid and grimaced. “Augh, it’s so awful. Why can’t banana milk have caffeine in it.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow as he finally reached the bottom of the stairs and began the process of at least partially de-layering. Yoongi both loved and loathed winter, in love with the long nights and overcast skies but hating the cold. He was always cold. “It’s awful because it’s instant and it’s over sweetened and you don’t like coffee to begin with. Why are you drinking coffee?”

Jungkook finished shooting the little paper cup full of weird, bafflingly chocolatey misery with another childlike grimace of distaste then crushed the cup into a ball and threw it smoothly into the trash can against the opposite wall.

“Three points!” he declared, beaming with satisfaction, then turned to grimace at Yoongi and Jimin, doing what he thought was a very good job of not being obvious about how his eyes lingered on Jimin’s thick, muscular legs as he wiggled into his padded motorcycle pants. “I’m pretty sure my goshiwon has, like. A poltergeist. Or is otherwise haunted. I refuse to believe that college students are actually that rude. Someone was blasting music at 10am today. I get that it isn’t 3am, but, like. I was trying to sleep.”

Jungkook wasn’t obvious, but Yoongi noticed anyway. At least partially because he was doing the same thing between worried glances at Jungkook. Yoongi raised an eyebrow and turned to Jimin, which then transformed into a deep frown as he turned back around to hang up his coat, scarf and hoodie. Then he shot Jungkook a look that was only a little concerned. It still left him in more layers from wrists to toes than Jimin wore ever, which amused the alpha to no end. “Don’t those places have rules about that kind of thing, usually? No noise between such and such hours or what the fuck ever?”

Jungkook collapsed back into the squashy, slightly overstuffed embrace of the couch with a heaving sigh, his hands coming up to rub at his face as he explained. “Yeah, they do. It does. No noise from 11pm to 6am. Which I almost got in trouble for, when I got home from work and was lurching up the stairs. I had to prove to the glorified hall monitor that I wasn’t drunk. But that doesn’t do me a lot of good when I wanna sleep until it’s time to come in to work. The kid who lives to the right of me is an omega who’s gotta be in pre-heat. Ask me how I know.”

Before Jimin could ask — and he would, just to be a shit, just to watch Yoongi get uncomfortable and maybe blush — Yoongi held up a hand to stop him. “I don’t want to know the answer to that because we are at work, even if we are not technically on shift yet.”

Jimin cackled, loud enough that the day dispatcher came out of the office to eye the three of them suspiciously. “Since you’re here early, Yoongi, do you want to swap? I’ve got somewhere to be, if you don’t mind signing on fifteen minutes early.”

That was enough to allow Jungkook to scuttle off to get his big branded delivery jacket, which he still had to wear because he hadn’t been able to save up enough money for his own protective gear yet. Technically they were supposed to wear rip-stop pants too, but they didn’t have any that fit him so he’d just been wearing jeans and thinking positive thoughts.

Jungkook made a fairly striking figure in his big boots and tight jeans and glossy black jacket as he picked up the loaner helmet and tugged his phone out of his pocket to set it on the table, the better to get started on his first order as soon as it arrived. “But anyway, yeah. It- It’s fine, I guess, but I really wish that the fucking real estate agent would get back to me. You can only hear ‘no’ so many times before you just wanna bite something.”

Yoongi nodded at the day dispatch, thankful for a reason to not have to stand there and listen while Jungkook talked about biting while looking like that. “I was gonna make some coffee, but if Jimin will make my drink,” Yoongi said, batting his eyelashes at his mate and trying to look cute and harmless and not like he was trying to focus on anything but Jungkook’s tight ass pants and big ass boots, “Because he is the best dongsaeng, then sure.”

“He will make your coffee because he loves you very much and also wants coffee, since you turned the alarm off before I had a chance to wake up and we didn’t have a chance to make any at home,” Jimin sing-songed as he hooked his motorcycle jacket over one of the chairs around the table and headed for the coffee maker. He knew exactly where Yoongi’s stash of locally roasted coffee was and precisely how he liked it. Once he’d reclaimed it from the back of a locker normally used for storage of unused loaner gear he sat about preparing it with perfect ease and grace in his precise motions.

While Jimin was waiting for it to brew he started humming a song and Jungkook’s head snapped up from where he was idly tapping at his phone game, surprise on his face. “Hyung, I didn’t know you knew that song! It’s one of my favorites.”

Yoongi spared one last glance for the two of them before he shook his head and turned towards dispatch and his desk. There wasn’t a whole lot to be discussed in the transfer of power for the evening besides noting any issues and mentioning what bikes were out of commission for maintenance, but it gave him something to do besides ogle his boyfriend and his co-worker. Something to focus on besides the dark circles under Jungkook’s eyes and his weary smile.

It was enough before the dinner rush that when Yoongi had logged in and clocked in on the tablet the board was still empty. Though it being the weekend, it wouldn’t last for very long. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, leaning back while he went over the notes from the previous shift, all of which had been covered verbally during the changeover, but Yoongi liked to double check.

When it was ready, Jimin brought Yoongi his coffee in his favorite ‘I like my coffee black like my soul’ mug and sat it next to the tablet, one hand falling to the back of his chair so he could lean down and press a kiss to Yoongi’s hair. All he said was “Hey, babe,” but there was a certain expectant quality to the lift of his eyebrows, like he expected Yoongi to have something to say.

From the quiet, legitimately very good singing that drifted in from the break room, Jungkook had fallen prey to the earworm and was attempting to exorcise it by singing. It was extremely pleasant, his voice soft and sweet in a way that one might not expect from his outward appearance.

Yoongi just sat and listened for a minute before reaching for the coffee and taking a small sip. It was still too hot to drink immediately, but it was otherwise perfect, and he tipped his head back to look up at Jimin properly. “He’s not sleeping, Minnie. Also, thank you, you’re wonderful. But the other thing. Momentarily more important than your absolute perfection.

“If he’s not sleeping, lord knows how it’s gonna affect his work. Or his auditions. Though at least with auditions he can’t hurt himself further, I guess. He could do serious damage to his body driving while that sort of tired every day.”

Jimin just nodded, not disagreeing, and lifted the mug to take a sip of his own before he asked, obviously trying to be neutral and fair about it and not influence Yoongi’s decision, “Are you sure you’re cool with having a roommate, though? Like, obviously, we can stick a few screens up in the living room, and our couch is plenty big enough for him. But, like. Your heat’s next week, and while I don’t think he’ll be a shithead about it or anything, like. You do get kind of… Nest-y. It might stress you out?”

Yoongi blinked up at Jimin. He was far better at remembering and keeping track of dates like that than Yoongi, who had absolutely been blindsided by his heat multiple times in the past even though Jimin swore it was reliable enough you could set your watch by it. “Won’t know until we try, I guess? It’s been a long time since I’ve lived with anyone who wasn’t you, so we’ll see. As for the heat thing, I mean. It’s entirely possible he won’t want to be around for that nonsense anyway. Also, nest-y? How are we defining this? Because I think I’m a little offended.”

“You once took all the cushions off the couch and I found you hiding in a pillow fort under your studio desk practically fisting yourself, love. Not that I’m complaining, it’s fucking adorable. But it might be hard to do if someone is sleeping on the couch.

“Speaking of which, we’d need to get a cover for the couch so you don’t think about how often we fuck on it every time you look at him. That could get awkward.” From Jimin’s tone and slight smile, none of this upset him in the slightest. He rubbed Yoongi’s shoulders — which were perpetually tense and fucked up from being hunched over a computer, or keyboard, or tablet — transparently trying to soothe his mate’s obvious tension.

Jimin thought that it would be a good thing, making sure that Jungkook was alright and had a place to stay. He just didn’t want his mate to get blindsided by an obvious potential complication and go off on one of his ranting tangents about it in front of Jungkook, because he was genuinely concerned that the younger beta would just leave and find himself in a worse situation than he was in now if Yoongi did give in to his temper. “I think it’s a good idea, babe. I really do. But it’s going to mean changes for all of us, and I know you can be kind of… Particular about your habits.”

That part Yoongi couldn’t really argue with, though his cheeks were hot and red when he remembered the pillow fort incident. He cleared his throat a little bit, brushing that concern aside. “I know I like excessive structure and routine, but we both know that limiting it and, as much as I hate to say it, because it cuts me to my core, mixing up the routine is far healthier for me. Even if I hate it. But honestly, helping our friend is more important.”

Jimin’s lips were soft as he pressed them to the height of Yoongi’s cheekbone, his hand slipping down out of the messy, slightly fried fluff of the omega’s hair to span as much of the long, thin, pretty line of his neck as he could with his short, strong fingers, squeezing reassuringly. Then he took a step back and laughed, sudden and bright. “I’ll be sure to remind you of that the first time he rearranges something and you want to strangle him with your bare hands, hyung. Now let’s get this shift over with so you can figure out how you’re telling him that you’re worried about his precious, perfect ass and want to steal him away to decorate our couch. You have any bets on how much stuff he has? I bet you it’ll all fit in a taxi. With us in it.”

Yoongi leaned into the touch and the soft kiss without thinking, a soft, pleased little hum resonating in the back of his throat. When Jimin pulled away he thought for a minute, then shook his head. “That is a sucker’s bet. If he’s in a goshi he barely has room for boxes. Though we should probably swing by HomePlus and see if we can find something he can keep his stuff in while he’s decorating our couch. And also, as a preemptive strike against my quote-unquote nesting, maybe pick up some extra pillows and blankets?”

“Do you mean like a dresser? Because I bet you ten thousand won he has his boxes sorted and labeled. They might even be color coded.” Jimin’s voice was cheerful but his eyes were solemn as he ruffled Yoongi’s hair through his fingers and slowly dragged his hand away as he drifted another step closer to the door. It was almost time for his shift to start and they generally tried to at least pretend not to be all but married when they were actually on shift. It made the other drivers suspicious of Yoongi’s motives, although if anything he gave the shittier runs to Jimin because he knew that he wasn’t struggling to make rent and Yoongi was, in his heart of hearts, an enormous softie.

A foul-mouthed, short tempered softie who was prone to threatening to rip out people’s tongues and strangle them with them when someone fucked up, but a softie nonetheless.

“But anyway, babe, you’ve gotta be the one who asks. It’s your apartment and you’re the one he’s afraid of. He won’t believe me if I ask.”

The face that Yoongi pulled could only be described as highly displeased, but he knew Jimin wasn’t wrong. “Fine. I’ll bring it up at the end of shift. You think about how we can try to help if he says no.”

Jimin simply hummed in that aggravating way that he had where he looked like he knew something that you didn’t even when you knew perfectly well that he knew no such thing and swanned out into the break room to tease Jungkook about his willingness to sing Justin Bieber. Then the first few calls of the shift arrived back to back and it was, suddenly, business as usual.

And business was good. Yoongi had frequently joked about starting up a rival company just for the sake of the winter profits. No one wanted to leave their homes in the cold and it was the weekend, so they were busy enough that Yoongi’s tablet didn’t leave his side even when he stepped away from the dispatch desk to re-up on coffee. He was being extra careful with the orders that came in, making sure they worked for whatever drivers were available at the moment. He always did, it was why he was good at this job. He didn’t have a lot of information to go on with each order, but he’d paid attention enough over his time there that he knew which regular customers might cause a problem, which drivers wouldn’t deliver directly to an apartment, which buildings had frequent elevator issues or none at all. So it was almost easy to manipulate the outgoing deliveries so his staff was comfortable. But mostly, today, so that Jungkook didn’t have to walk up more than a flight of stairs at a time. Yoongi was still thankful as the end of shift encroached, though.

There was always something triumphant about the last delivery of a shift, but tonight Jungkook wasn’t entirely certain that some of that feeling of triumph wasn’t lightheadedness from exhaustion and too much caffeine. He’d had two more cups of nasty bitter coffee and used some of his cash tips to buy Hot6, which had been on 2+1, and now his hands were trembling slightly as he stuck his helmet under his arm and took the stairs as carefully as he could in his haste to get home. He was, he hoped, tired enough to fall right asleep even curled up on the uncomfortable, narrow bed of his goshiwon room, which was itself only just barely big enough for him to stand up and go through the boxes piled on the desk that lay over the foot of his bed to find clothes to wear. That would mean at least five hours of sleep before people started making noise again, assuming the omega in the room next to him could keep his hands to himself.

That thought made him grimace as he rounded the corner of the break room, distracting him enough that he almost ran into Yoongi, forcing him to rock back hard on his heels as he blinked. “Sorry, hyung! I don’t know where my head is today.”

Yoongi stepped back, though it took him conscious effort to not reach out a steadying hand as Jungkook’s weight shifted and he regained his balance. “Don’t worry about it. Actually, I wanted to talk to you before you left?” Yoongi worried at his lower lip with his teeth for a moment before he caught himself. He didn’t want to look like he was unsure about what he was offering but it was probably too late anyway. “Did you hear anything about a new place?”

Jungkook’s fussy grimace was answer enough, but after one abortive almost-drop of the very nice, very much borrowed helmet he rolled his eyes at himself and paced carefully across the floor to put it on the shelf where it belonged. He was back to walking almost normally, though he favored his left leg ever so slightly if you knew what to look for. His brace was perfectly obvious and looked more than vaguely like a medieval torture device if you looked at it closely, all straps and black metal wrapping around his calf and thigh. “Ugh, no. I almost wish I could speak English as well as I sound like I do, hyung. Apparently English teachers can get away with paying a few million won for an officetel, but no one wants to give regular people the same benefit of the doubt. It’s dumb.”

Yoongi nodded, trying to decide how to ask Jungkook what he wanted to ask without being insulting or making it overly obvious that he and Jimin (though mostly him) had been worrying about Jungkook like a couple of mother hens. Yoongi had a feeling that he was going to fail once he started talking, feeling more than a little flustered. “About that… Minnie and I were talking, and wanted to let you know. If you wanted, you didn’t have to stay in the goshi? Like, it’s obviously affecting your sleep, which is going to affect your ability to function. And paying for the goshi is probably cutting into your ability to save up the extra key money they want from you?”

Jungkook turned back around to face Yoongi after he’d finished hanging the delivery jacket on the hook beneath the shelf for the helmet, looking a little bit puzzled. He curled his left arm around his ribs as he reached up to push his messy dark hair out of his eyes, confusion furrowing his brow and making his lower lip pout out the slightest bit. “Um? I mean. Like. Sleeping in jjimjilbangs would be more expensive in the long run and kind of smacks of genteel homelessness. Plus I wouldn’t have anywhere to keep my stuff. And they don’t have free food. So, like…? Plus, I already paid for two weeks. So I’ve got that long to figure something out. Maybe I can find a different, quieter one that isn’t so full of jackasses and horny weirdos whose moans carry through the walls. That’d be nice.

“Nothing reminds you just how long it’s been like someone whining ‘alpha’ over and over again for fucking forty-five minutes. Although I have to admit, it was pretty fucking hilarious when the batteries gave out. I think he threw his vibrator across the room.”

Yoongi blinked at Jungkook as he rambled, going back over what he’d said to figure out which part he’d actually left out, like an idiot, while trying not to blush at the visual Jungkook was painting. He knew, thanks to Jimin’s ceaseless ribbing, that he was hopelessly whiny during his pre-heat, though less inclined to just pant his alpha’s name so much as curse at him for not doing what Yoongi wanted already.

Yoongi shook that thought free and held up a hand, mostly to forestall any more descriptions of Jungkook’s irritating neighbor. “No! No. You misunderstand. We talked about it and, if you’d like, so you don’t have to spend money on some shitty goshiwon, you can stay with us? It’s a quick train ride in to work and it won’t really cost you anything? We’ve just got a couch for you to sleep on, but it’s massive and probably infinitely more comfortable than the bed at the goshi?”

Jungkook’s expression of confusion, hope, dismay, embarrassment, and shame would probably have been funny if it hadn’t also been heartbreaking. He rocked onto his heels again and bit his lower lip, his teeth biting sharply into its soft pink flesh as he hummed awkwardly. “But don’t you- Like. Would- Wouldn’t that be awfully, um. In- Inconvenient? Having, like. Some awkward stranger on your couch?

“Like, I sleep at about the same time that you guys do, mostly, and I’ll be out of your hair plenty of mornings because I go to the piano room to practice, but- But, like. Hyung. That- That’s a lot of trouble to go to, for someone you hardly know.”

Yoongi just shrugged, though it was hard not to physically reach out when Jungkook was looking at him with that vulnerable, weary thread of hope in his eyes. “Maybe, but you’re not a complete stranger, and we didn’t come to the decision lightly. Honestly? I’m just following my instincts here. It seems like you need a break, kid.”

From the way that the overhead fluorescents were making Jungkook’s dark eyes sparkle like the night sky in the countryside, full of twinkling stars, it was a very near thing that he managed to avoid visibly crying. But, in a truly magnificent example of Murphy’s law of timing, that was when Yoongi’s replacement dispatcher showed up. While they were going through the ritual of handing over control of the shift Jungkook managed to get his hoodie on and his face scrubbed off and enough water into himself that by the time Yoongi was free again he could shuffle up to him, his whole body drawn in as small as he could make it, so that he could mumble, voice fragile and raw and so very sorry, “I, uh. If- ‘f y’really mean it, hyung, I- That. I. Y- Yeah. Please. I’m… I’m really fuckin’ tired. Just… Of- Of all this. I- When…?”

Yoongi just wanted to hug Jungkook when he looked like that. He managed to not, just barely, instead letting his hand settle on Jungkook’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. “I do really mean it. Tomorrow before your shift, if you want? I know you’ve paid up for two weeks, but I also don’t think you look like you’ll survive another week and a half there.” Yoongi was off Sunday, but he knew Jungkook would be working. It’d give him time to run to Homeplus for anything he’d need and to make sure the apartment was suitable for visitors since the cleaning service only came by on Mondays and he did live with Jimin.

“If you text me your address, I can come by at 2? That way I can get everything, um. Sorted out before my shift, so you don’t have a big ugly pile of boxes on your couch.” Jungkook looked like he realized that he sounded pathetically eager, but was simultaneously too tired and strung out to even try to stop. Like he was watching a trainwreck in slow motion, except the trainwreck was also his face.

When Jimin finally came careening down the stairs, his motorcycle pants and jacket already hanging off the fingers of one hand like he’d stripped them in the alley once he’d parked his bike, Jungkook muttered something that sounded suspiciously like an extremely formal thank you and then ducked his head and scuttled for his bag, spending so much effort not looking at the two of them that he might as well have stared.

Jimin took in the end of the interaction, his eyebrows lifting slightly, and sauntered over to Yoongi with a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he deliberately crowded in on Yoongi’s personal space, the wash of warm, sweaty alpha pheromones an almost palpable presence around him. “Hey, babe. Everything go okay?”

Yoongi took a deep, deep breath as Jimin moved in, his hands coming up so he could curl his fingers into Jimin’s shirt just above his waist. He could feel some of the tension in his shoulders fall away, though whether it was because Jungkook had taken their offer or because Jimin was all up in his face was up in the air. “Yeah, I think so? He’s going to bring his shit over at two, before his shift tomorrow. Which will give us time to go to HomePlus and clean a little bit.”

Jimin hummed softly and pulled Yoongi in, the older omega’s slighter form settling in against his chest with the ease of familiarity as he nuzzled his face into Yoongi’s hair. “Mmm. So what you mean is that we should get home, fuck as loudly as we possibly can, then let me set an alarm across the room so that we actually get up at 9, so that you can lay in bed and drink coffee and growl at me while I attempt to pretend that I’m not a complete and utter slob, then we’ll go to Homeplus at about noon, so we can have actual food in the fridge when he gets there at 1:45 because I have never known a more pathologically prompt human in my entire life?”

Yoongi didn’t fight Jimin pull, his chin dropping so he could press his mouth and nose in just behind Jimin’s ear. “That is exactly what I mean. Emphasis on the first part. Taxi? Or are we going to torture the general public on the way home?”

“Taxi. Definitely taxi.” Jimin slipped his hands into the back pockets of Yoongi’s jeans with a soft, satisfied sound, rubbing his face in slow, intent drags against his bondmate’s cheekbone. It was partially an attempt to comfort Yoongi, since he knew that he was feeling stressed both on Jungkook’s behalf and about the new changes that he promised to bring to their relatively settled, comfortable routine. But mostly it was just for the sheer joy of touching him, which kindled a warm, glowing feeling of satisfaction and possession in his chest that he’d long ago given up on feeling bad about.

Jimin was content to simply stand there until Yoongi built up the enthusiasm for braving the cold outside, but the sound of very large beige boots shuffling at the floor and a throat clearing almost apologetically dragged his attention away across the worn linoleum floor to stare at Jungkook, who looked incredibly embarrassed and deeply apologetic. “I- Uh. Sorry, hyungs. But, um. Can I get that address now? I just, you know. Want to figure out how long it’ll take to get there tomorrow, so I’m not late?”

Yoongi could feel his face turning red as he pulled back far enough to fumble out his phone and send Jungkook a quick text with their address in it. He could feel Jimin snickering against the skin of his throat and his own voice was little more than a warm, embarrassed rumble when he spoke. “Sorry, kid. You should have it now. Shoot me a text when you’re on your way? We can help bring your stuff up,” he said, very graciously not kicking Jimin in the shin.

Jungkook’s phone chirruped cheerily and he thumbed it open and smiled down at it, a little more of his relief showing in his face than he realized. Then he looked up at the two of them, so comfortably wrapped around each other, and shuffled his feet as if he weren’t entirely certain what he should do. Then, after the silence had become painfully awkward, he ducked his head and nodded, pulling his lower lip through his teeth, and reached up with his left hand to pull the fur-edged hood of his parka over his hoodie, his right clutching close at the strap of his messenger bag where it cut across his chest. “Okay. Um… Okay. Yeah. I’ll do that, hyung. I- I really appreciate this. I- I’ll try my hardest to make sure you don’t regret it.”

Then he fled, only slowing down when he reached the stairs so he could get his left hand on the railing.

Jimin watched him go, an odd slightly melancholy moue compressing his soft mouth in an expression that Yoongi wouldn’t have had cause to see often. Then, when they heard the door at ground level open and close, he turned back to Yoongi and said, his voice soft and sincere, “We made the right decision I think, love. He- He just looks so sad.”

Yoongi was still trying to get his blush under control while he called them a cab; he hadn’t realized Jungkook was still there and he wasn’t sure how much of the casually intimate scene he had witnessed. He’d have to get used to it though, since he was going to be in their home at least temporarily. “I think so, too. Though I’m not sure any of us are really prepared for such close quarters living. Cab will be here in like eight minutes.”

Jimin gave Yoongi’s ass a gentle squeeze as he pulled their bodies into even closer alignment, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of Yoongi’s delicate mouth before he said, sounding droll, “You know we could walk outside and pick up a cab in less than two minutes, but you’d rather get a call taxi so you can avoid walking an extra hundred meters to the main road. I love you dearly, Min Yoongi, but it’s a good thing that we’re not in any danger of having kids any time soon. You’ve raised laziness to an art form.”

Yoongi smiled, sharp and more than a little pleased. “You fucking love it, because it means you get an extra six minutes right here. My laziness benefits us both, Minnie-ah,” he explained in a low rumble. “Less walking, more groping.”

“Yes, but if we got a taxi faster, we could be groping in our house, where the bed is, that much sooner.” Jimin’s arch tone softened as he ducked his head and nuzzled his nose in against the delicate arch of Yoongi’s equally snubbed — if slightly less hooked — nose with a happy sigh. “But really, as long as I’m touchin’ you, babe, I’m always gonna be content.”

“Your point has been noted but disregarded in favor of groping now.” Yoongi’s chin tipped up the barest bit, his mouth warm where it brushed Jimin’s lower lip as the corners pulled up into a smirk. “You’re so sweet, baby. Y’gonna keep being sweet when we get home, too? I’m not sure I know what to do with you when you get all romantic and mushy on me.”

Jimin snorted softly, grabbing more firmly at Yoongi’s ass as he nipped sharply at the soft, delicate curve of the omega’s lower lip in retaliation. “Hmph. I was gonna see how worked up I could get you in the taxi and then fuck you over the couch, since I saw you looking all emo about that earlier. But if you’re gonna be a brat, maybe we should go to bed early, instead? We’ve got a big day tomorrow…”

Yoongi couldn’t help the edge of a whine that crept up his throat, turning his tone just a little petulant. “Don’t be such a tease, Minnie. It’s mean. Besides, you’re the one that brought up the couch. It hadn’t even occurred to me that y’ wouldn’t be able to fuck me on it, but now we should.”

Jimin’s lips were soft and warm as he ducked his head to mouth gently at the line of Yoongi’s neck, allowing a tiny bit of a growl to infuse the quiet sounds of contentment that he voiced against his lover’s skin. When the notification that their taxi had arrived and was waiting outside dinged on Yoongi’s phone he grabbed hold of Yoongi’s hand and led him towards the stairs, looking back at him totally unrepentant as he spoke. “Anything for you, hyung. After all, isn’t that what having a kept alpha is for?”

If Yoongi yelped a little as Jimin withdrew and pulled him toward the door, he’d never admit to it. If pressed, he would firmly lay the blame at Jimin’s feet for the hard shift, going from intimate and growling to teasing and moving so quickly. But Yoongi followed where Jimin led, allowing Jimin to pull him into the waiting cab behind him.

Once they’d confirmed that the call taxi ajeossi had their address right Jimin settled back against the seat, curling his left arm around Yoongi and shifting the omega’s messenger bag into his lap. This was one of his favorite games and they’d long ago established the rules. He wasn’t allowed to put his hands under Yoongi’s clothes and Yoongi had to do his best to pretend that Jimin wasn’t dragging the fingers of his right hand up the inside of his thigh, pushing his legs apart in small increments as he glanced out the window before turning to watch how the streetlights played over the beautiful, delicate features of Yoongi’s face. “Mmm. I do so hope that you’re happy with me, hyung. I wouldn’t want to be a disappointment.”

Yoongi’s eyes cut to the mirror, noting the driver’s eyes on the road and not on them. In the small enclosed space Jimin’s beach-and-forest smell was strong, at least to him, and he relaxed a little against Jimin’s shoulder. The drive shouldn’t be long enough for Jimin to push the boundaries of Yoongi’s ability to keep a level tone and straight face. If he followed the rules. Yoongi hummed a little under his breath, leaning a little more heavily into Jimin’s side as his short, strong fingers moved over Yoongi’s inseam. “Mmm? You’re never a disappointment, baby. Maybe frustrating, maybe a little distracting, but never disappointing.”

Jimin’s eyes creased up into a happy, catlike squint of satisfaction as he reached the rise of Yoongi’s jeans, where he dragged his thumb along the thick welted seam in the denim hard enough that Yoongi would be able to feel it. He hummed softly, leaning in to rub the tip of his nose along the shell of Yoongi’s ear as he said, all but purring, “I prefer ‘infuriating but magnificent’, myself.”

Yoongi just managed to swallow down his soft sound, more like a strangled groan than anything else. His gaze fell as Jimin’s breath moved over the shell of his ear, warm and humid, threatening to send a shiver down his spine. “I’m not entirely sure I could come up with anything more accurate, myself,” Yoongi told him, voice gone a half step higher than normal in his effort to maintain his calm facade. So far Jimin hadn’t managed to push farther than Yoongi was capable of dealing with but he also seemed to be in a mood, so who knew what would happen in the rest of the time it took them to get home?

Jimin seemed content to simply drag the pad of his thumb up against the tender, sensitive places of Yoongi’s body for a long moment, his nose tucked up against the back of Yoongi’s ear so that he could breathe in the warm, sweet-spicy scent of him. It was soothing but also exciting, and by the time the taxi had managed to navigate the still-crowded streets to get to the highway that would take them most of the rest of the way home he was beginning to feel a little flushed, himself.

If Yoongi had been looking for it, he’d have noticed the way that Jimin’s muscular thighs shifted as he tried to ease the growing pressure in his groin. But long experience had taught Jimin that when he was aroused perception was far from Yoongi’s strong suit. He coughed softly to help muffle any noise that Yoongi wasn’t able to keep pinned in and shifted his hand to cup the delicate bulge of his beloved’s cock, knowing perfectly well that it wouldn’t look any different than it had all day but that with his growing level of arousal the pressure would feel incredibly intense. “Mmm. So what all do we need to buy at Homeplus, love? Some screens and a cover for the couch, and maybe some pillows and blankets? Not that you don’t own a million of each, but Jungkook might appreciate having some that don’t already reek of both of us. Not that he can really smell, but, like. It’s the thought that counts. Or, like. Maybe he actually would like that. But there’s no harm in buying more anyway.”

Yoongi’s eyes went wide and his breath caught in his throat as Jimin’s hand pushed against the denim covering his dick. It wasn’t cheating but it was playing dirty. He shifted in his seat a little. “I, um. We need one of those little plastic dressers? To keep his stuff in.” Yoongi’s next deep breath was an actual shudder as he let his cheek fall to Jimin’s shoulder, unable to help the slight crack in his voice as he pressed his nose in against the base of Jimin’s neck. “I don’t think he’d mind. All of his stuff is gonna smell like us if he’s there any length of time anyway. He- Ah. He was watchin’ you, t’day. When you were changin’ for shift.”

“Mmm. I am pretty irresistible,” Jimin purred against Yoongi’s hair, giving him one last squeeze before he slid his hand back between Yoongi’s legs, this time using the bent knuckle of his thumb to grind up against his lover, his whole body going ever so slightly tense with anticipation as he waited for the first moment that he could feel his wetness seeping through his pants. Yoongi hated it and always used it to coerce him into doing the laundry, but it worked for him on a level he could not even have begun to explain. “So screens, plastic totes, and enough food that we don’t look like assholes who only eat takeout. We should buy milk. I saw him chug an entire liter once on his lunch break. I wasn’t sure if I should be impressed or vomit.”

Yoongi huffed a short breathless laugh against Jimin’s neck, trying not to shift his hips into the pressure of Jimin’s thumb and failing miserably. It wasn’t quite an unpleasantly damp situation but it would be soon. “I think you’re pretty irresistible, anyway. I have also been accused of having terrible taste. By you. Actual groceries should happen. I- I can make lunch, before he gets there?”

Jimin didn’t let up on the teasing, the only sign he recognized the first telltale rush of warmth being the soft catch in his breath before he laughed, warm and so fond. “Is it gonna be the famous Min Family Fried Rice? Because, like. I don’t think that kid has had a meal that he didn’t scavenge out of the goshi free fridge or the mistakes at work since he moved. Poor thing. He’s gotta have almost an alpha’s metabolism, with all that muscle. He’s probably starving.”

“Y’say that like you don’t like my halmeoni’s fried rice, when you eat the entire pan every time. Alphas, I swear.” Yoongi took a second to glance out the window, trying to guess how much longer he had to survive under the onslaught of Jimin’s hands and the pleasant tenor of his laugh. He hadn’t worn a liner to work today, since he was far enough out from his heat to not bother, and they rarely got more than a little flirty at work just to spare their coworkers. Today he should have, and he squirmed a little against Jimin’s fingers as he felt the slowly spreading wetness.

The tone of Jimin’s breathing shifted as the warm spice-sweet smell of Yoongi’s slick began to build in the back of the taxi, his breaths getting deeper and the slightest bit faster as his lips parted softly to let him fully appreciate the impact of his mate’s pheromones on his system. It made his pupils dilate and his skin prickle, the bare beginning of a flush warming his cheeks.

Jimin dragged his fingers up against the seam of Yoongi’s jeans in a possessive, almost proprietary way before he tugged his hand out from under the bag and pretended to bite at one of his nails so he could inhale deeply, his nostrils flaring. Then he ducked his head to peek out the front window. They were, in fact, almost to their apartment, and Jimin’s voice was pleasant but notably lower than it had been when they’d gotten into the taxi when he thanked the driver and all but dragged Yoongi out of the taxi and into the pretty, high-ceilinged entry hall. “Fuck, love. You’re so- Ugh. You better hope the elevator’s already here or I might not be able to follow the rules.”

Yoongi laughed as Jimin pulled him to the elevator door, punching the call button with his thumb and pulling Jimin in close, close enough that he could feel Jimin’s growing arousal against the back of his hip. “Technically we’re not actually in public anymore? So I feel like it’s not inappropriate to bend the rules.”

While Jimin was still trying to be good, for a graded-on-a-curve value of good, he still found himself crowding Yoongi into the elevator and slapping at the bank of buttons until he successfully hit theirs. Then as soon as the door closed he curled his fingers into the belt loops of Yoongi’s jeans and yanked his thin, angular body up against the solid muscles and masculine curves of his own so that he could drag a hot line up the side of Yoongi’s throat with the flat of his tongue, groaning as his hips jerked the slightest bit. “Fuck. I- Hn. I’m gonna- Hn. Shit, babe. The things you do to me.”

Yoongi clung to Jimin as he was pulled tightly against his body, not bothering to mute the sharp whimper that slid up his throat at the manhandling. He took a deep breath in, scenting along Jimin’s skin.

“Don’t get all soft on me, Minnie,” Yoongi told Jimin, one hand balling into the back of Jimin’s shirt and the other pulling the fingers of his right hand free of Yoongi’s belt loops so he could drag it down, push it against the rapidly darkening wet spot spreading over his jeans with a soft, whining sound. “I want it, Minnie.”

Jimin leaned in to catch Yoongi’s lower lip between his own as he slid his hand teasingly away again, only waiting for the first sharp edge of Yoongi’s whine before he pushed him up against the wall of the elevator, lifting him by the belt loops so that he could grind the clothed shape of his cock, long and heavy, up against the seam of Yoongi’s jeans. It made him grimace with discomfort, but from the way his breathing continued to deepen it wasn’t an intolerable amount of suffering. “I want you, babe. Wanna bend you over and fuck you so full y’can’t hardly move. Then I wanna do it again. You look so good with it dripping down your thighs. You look so good when you’re mine.”

“You’re disgusting,” Yoongi told Jimin once he’d managed to take a deep, gasping breath. Despite his admonition, Yoongi’s hips rolled up against the insistent grind of Jimin against him. “Fuck. You’re lucky I’m kind of into it.”

As soon as the elevator came to a stop Jimin swung into easy motion, hooking his hands under Yoongi’s thighs and hauling the omega’s thin, crooked legs around his waist, up high enough that he could still walk without wishing for death. He grinned up at Yoongi, sharp and broad, and slipped out of the doors as soon as they opened. “You have ten seconds to get the door unlocked or I’m gonna do you against it and the neighbors can just deal, love.”

Yoongi didn’t whine again, but it was a close thing. Instead, he hooked his right arm around Jimin’s neck to stabilize himself as Jimin carried him down the short hall. When they reached their door Yoongi had to jerk his coat free from where it was caught between his ass and Jimin’s arm in order to get at his phone. It cost him a precious few seconds before he could manage to knock his phone against the RFID lock on the door. “As much as I would love to indulge your exhibitionist streak Minnie, the couch is inside. Now, c’mon. I want your knot and I want it ten minutes ago.”

Jimin kicked the door open as soon as it beeped and then groaned in frustration as soon as they’d stepped into the shoe room and he’d hip checked the door closed again. His face scrunched up in an almost cartoonishly surly grimace before he carefully allowed Yoongi’s legs to ease down so that he could fold in half, only a little awkwardly, to start pulling at the laces of his big boots. “Fucking shoes- Get yours off fast, you lazy, slip-on wearing, non-motorcycle-driving jerk. Fuck, I love you. Fuck.”

Yoongi toed out of his loafers after Jimin had set him on his feet, ignoring the way his legs wobbled for just a second. Once they were kicked into the corner he turned on his heel and headed to the living room, shedding layers as he went. As he finally pulled his undershirt up over his head he glanced at Jimin over his shoulder. “Hurry up Minnie, or I’ll get myself off and you can fend for yourself.”

Yoongi hadn’t quite made it to the couch when Jimin leapt for the door of the shoe room, kicking his boot into the wall with a loud thud as he collected himself and pounced. He bore Yoongi down onto the couch with a low, eager sound, nipping sharply at the place where his bondmate’s neck met his shoulder as he slid a hand under his body to work open the omega’s fly with sure, eager fingers. “As if. You always want my knot, love. It’s sweet.”

“You- Nngh. ‘m not sweet. You’re the only person who thinks that,” Yoongi mumbled into the cushion he was suddenly pressed against as he struggled to get his arms under himself to support his weight. He groaned as Jimin worked at his pants, pushing shamelessly back against his mate where he was pressed against him. “Hurry, Minnie. Fuck.”

Jimin sucked a pink mark to the pale skin of Yoongi’s neck, the noise his mouth made against his mate’s skin wet and filthy, before he finally got Yoongi’s zipper undone and rocked up onto his knees so that he could pull Yoongi’s hips up and shuck the omega’s pants and underwear off with a few quick, forceful tugs. Then he curled his hands against the crests of his lover’s hipbones and dragged his tongue up the slight curve where his ass met his thigh, a low resonant sound reverberating through his chest. “Fuck, you smell so good, babe. I could eat you right up if I didn’t think you’d get impatient and try to kill me.”

“Next time, baby. Mmm. Maybe next time I’ll let you take your time. Get messy. Not now.” Yoongi’s voice was rough and low, the hot sweep of Jimin’s tongue making him shudder. “Now I want you to fuck me. Fill me up, Minnie. Please.”

Despite the open-mouthed panting that Jimin had been doing since they got into the taxi, his body was still working on catching up to where his mind was at. So as he hooked his thumbs into the elastic waist of his track pants and underwear his cock didn’t pop up flat against his stomach like it tended to when he was fully hard, instead arcing out in front of the flat, muscular plane of his stomach at an acute angle, all flushed and red and slick at the sharp tip.

It wouldn’t keep Jimin from pushing Yoongi open, though, and he knew that it would only take a few moments inside his bondmate for him to get where he needed to be. So instead of dragging it out any further — which would make Yoongi yell, and not in the fun way — Jimin used his hand to press Yoongi’s back down a little more until he was presented, pink and wet and perfectly glistening, so that Jimin could wrap his right hand as fully around his shaft as his fingers could manage to guide the tip of himself as he dragged it down the seam of Yoongi’s body, a disbelieving little groan catching in his throat. “Oh, fuck, love. You’re so perfect. So wet, just for me.”

“Shit, Minnie. Yeah. Yesyesyes. Yours,” Yoongi panted, shifting his weight so he could reach back, his hand just missing Jimin’s hip in an effort to pull him in. He let his shoulders drop with a disgruntled groan and buried his face against his arm. “Please, Minnie. C’mon. Don’t tease.”

Jimin wasted very little time bringing their bodies into alignment, the rounded point of his cockhead nestling easily against the slick, pliant give of Yoongi’s body. He wasn’t gaping like he would be come next week, but the slick that gleamed on the pale, dusky rose-brown of his skin reassured Jimin even more than the urgent whine of his mate’s voice that he was wanted. Once he’d settled in place he straightened his spine and grabbed Yoongi’s hips to hold him steady as his own snapped forward, pushing into the welcoming embrace of Yoongi’s body in one sharp, sudden slide. “Fuck-”

Yoongi’s breath left him with loud curse as his body took Jimin in, then he relaxed a little more under Jimin’s hands. The heavy weight of Jimin’s cock inside him felt good. It always did, but he wanted more. Yoongi knew he was greedy when it came to sex, but he also knew Jimin loved it. “Ah- Fuck. That’s- Finally, shit. Y’feel so good, baby.”

Jimin shifted his hands, fingertips curling against Yoongi’s hipbones almost bruise tight as he leaned forward, all of the compact muscles of his body generating momentum to allow his hips to slam into Yoongi’s all too willing body as he gritted out between thrusts, his voice guttural and alpha low in a way that was completely out his range at any other time, “Fame- Hn. Money. Shit. Y’won’t- Fuck. Y’won’t beg for honor, baby. But y’know you’re always gonna beg for this.”

At any other time, Yoongi would have rolled his eyes at Jimin for quoting his own lyrics back at him right then, because Jimin was a shit. Instead he just groaned, letting Jimin guide his hips as he saw fit and he struggled to breathe between the hard rolling thrusts of Jimin into his body. “You’re an- Ngh. Asshole. I hate you. Fuck. Don’t stop.”

Once Jimin felt that he’d made his point he allowed his left hand to drop from Yoongi’s hip to the couch cushion beneath them, his fingers tense against it to allow him to balance. He molded his body against Yoongi’s as his hips fell into the short, rounded, forceful rut that was so inimitably alpha. He pressed his face between Yoongi’s shoulder blades, huffing his urgent, open mouthed breaths against his mate’s ever so slightly sweaty skin.

The only thing Jimin resented about the way that the two of them fit together was that like this, he couldn’t readily reach Yoongi’s neck. His torso was just too much shorter to make it work without yanking the omega’s spine around in a manner that wasn’t even remotely comfortable without his hormones much higher than they were right now. But really, it was an almost infinitesimally small complaint. Jimin would never change anything about his beloved even if he could. Especially not how gloriously foul mouthed he was when they fucked. “Shit, babe. You’re so good-”

Yoongi could already feel the smoldering heat building under his skin and deep in his belly, though he knew this alone wouldn’t be enough. He preened a little under Jimin’s praise though, his back arching where Jimin was pressed against him. “C’mon, baby. Minnie. I love you. Give it to me. ‘s gonna feel so good.”

It didn’t take long for the telltale tingling to begin, making Jimin’s toes curl and his pelvis ache ever so slightly in the most delicious of ways. He continued thrusting for another few strokes, pulling Yoongi’s body back against the increasing friction of his rapidly swelling knot as it dragged against the tender edges of his beloved’s body. Then, just as it threatened to cease to be fun, Jimin slammed home and started to grind into Yoongi, his right hand slipping around to press firmly against the low of Yoongi’s stomach, just above the rise of his pubic bone, to help ensure that he was hitting where he needed to as his teeth started to clench and the first wet, heavy rush of come began to pump out of him. “C’mon, babe-”

It didn’t always work this way, but it was the swell of Jimin’s knot, the way it got caught at the edges of him, that finally pushed Yoongi headfirst into his orgasm, and he didn’t go quietly. The rapidly expanding fullness pulled a loud moan from Yoongi’s throat and his body clenched tightly around Jimin’s dick in rolling contractions. It was enough to catch his breath in his throat, and his free hand, the one not holding his weight, moved to cover Jimin’s hand where it was pressed to his belly, his fingers clenching around the alpha’s smaller ones as he came, cursing and babbling a low string of obscenities and praise. “Fuckfuckfuck. That’s. Ngh- Minnie. You. Mmm. You’re perfect. Shit.”

As Yoongi’s body locked in tight around his knot the tension drained out of Jimin’s upper body, leaving him laying like a compact, very warm blanket across Yoongi’s longer, every so slightly broader torso as his hips continued to flex and grind in a wholly instinctive, unconscious manner. He whimpered a soft, pleased sound and nuzzled his face into his mate’s shoulder blade. Jimin couldn’t help how soft he got when he was knotted. He was just incredibly, unspeakably glad that Yoongi found it endearing. Jimin would have the words to tell his beloved how perfect he was later. Right now he was just dumb with bliss.

For his part, Yoongi was little more than a boneless heap under Jimin, though the instinctive grind and push of Jimin’s hips, shifting his knot where it was caught in Yoongi meant he wasn’t quiet. It felt good, overwhelming in the best way, and instead of the sharp, wanting whine from earlier, the tone of his whimpers and sighs was pleased, bordering on utterly content. The only problem Yoongi had with doing this like this was that he couldn’t touch Jimin, when all he wanted was to wrap his arms around his alpha. That he couldn’t see his face as he lost himself to the euphoric feeling that left them both lax and soft.

By the time Jimin’s body fell still, still comfortably trapped inside his lover, he felt sleepy and dumb but mostly just… Happy. His life hadn’t been terrible before he’d met Yoongi, and it hadn’t been perfect after, not even after they’d bonded on his birthday, which had fallen on a Friday that year, amid an incredible number of jokes about bad luck. But it was inarguably better with Yoongi in it, overwhelming laziness and questionable temper and carefully concealed neediness and all. Finally he dragged in a deep breath and carefully shifted so that he was wedged between Yoongi’s back and the couch, so they could both relax and he could curl his arms around Yoongi’s middle in a tight embrace. “I love you, Min Yoongi. Even if you are a jerk.”

Yoongi grinned, turning his face into the overwhelming, if slightly sweaty, warmth of Jimin’s hair. His body still wasn’t cooperating fully, too fucked out for the moment to do more than lean into Jimin’s warmth with a soft sigh that he would deny if anyone ever called him on it. Yoongi knew he wasn’t the easiest person to deal with, wasn’t the ideal submissive omega everyone expected him to be, and it made him appreciate Jimin, who appreciated all of his rough edges, even more. “I know,” Yoongi murmured against Jimin’s skin. “I love you, too. Even if you’re a slob.”