Chapter Text
The letter came sealed in a thick, white envelope, sealed with red wax emblazoned with a family crest. In Jeongguk’s hands, it smelled of patchouli oil and a warm, burning hearth. A scent that would make any other omega go weak in the knees, but for Jeongguk, only stirs an ever present dread residing deep within his stomach.
The letter reads as follows:
To my love,
It is but only a few short nights in which we are to meet, but my heart aches at how it feels like a century till at last, my omega is in my arms. Your letters have been the only thing to stave the pain of a gaping wound in my chest, has filled me and made my body feel whole, but I know it is but your touch against my skin that would--
And that is as far as Jeongguk will allow himself to read, before he turns the letter down into his lap and says to his mother, “I can’t marry this man.”
His mother turns away from her mirror so fast, that the lipstick brush she had up to her mouth smears the crimson all the way across to the hard cut of her chin. “What?”
“I can’t marry this man,” Jeongguk repeats again. “I don’t want to marry him.”
The fire in his mother’s eyes snuffs itself out. Her shoulders relax and she says “Oh” -- a perfect ‘o’ shape of her rouge lips -- and goes back to applying her makeup. Lately, that’s what her reaction has been to whatever qualms Jeongguk has brought up in regards to his engagement. Oh, that’s nice. Oh, you’re overexaggerating. Oh, you’ll get used to it.
“He’s a fine lord, and his clan is prosperous in land and wealth. I don’t understand this unnecessary struggle. Most omegas your age would be quite pleased with the arrangement,” she drawls. The blush she applies to her round cheeks is a staunch coral pink. She looks at Jeongguk’s reflection and then at her brush before she then beckons him close. “Let me touch your face up. You should look nice for the party.”
“It’s only family visiting. This all seems pretty unnecessary.”
She gives him a pointed look that speaks more than words ever could. Jeongguk sighs and quietly goes to sit at her knee.
“An engagement doesn’t happen every day,” she says, blotting his cheeks with a warmer shade of pink than the one adorning her face. “Even though it is just among the family, it is still something to celebrate.”
“You weren’t like this when Seokjin got engaged,” Jeongguk points out. He thinks Seokjin will be coming home to partake in the ‘festivities’ as well, towing along his mate and their litter of pups so the once quiet Jeon household will be filled with the sounds of children and tiny bare feet racing across the dark wooden floors.
“There wasn’t any worry with Seokjin acquiring Yoongi’s hand.”
Jeongguk resists the urge to suck his bottom lip in between his teeth. But there was worry about me acquiring an alpha’s hand, wasn’t there?
She brushes a lock of hair from his forehead, tucking it behind his ear. “You’ll have to cut your hair soon before he arrives,” she mumbles more to herself than to him, and she takes his hands into hers to scrutinize his fingers. “Aigoo, and I thought I told you to stop biting your nails--”
Jeongguk hastily pulls his hands out of her hold, wriggling them under his knees to sit on them, thinking he’s being defiant. But, his mother ignores the gesture with a sigh, straightens the collar of his shirt, and then goes back to prettying up her face.
“I don’t want to marry him,” Jeongguk tells her one more time. Sometimes, he thinks if he protests loudly and often enough, his words will get through. Maybe.
“Mmm,” she hums, and the conversation is already over with.
The party is just as Jeongguk thought it would be: awful.
He only feels comfortable being at the center of attention for a good hour or so, before he starts to want to keep to himself and only observe. However, he can’t disappear long before someone comes looking for him. He’s already tried to hide away in the parlor and then the bathroom and even tucked himself into the corner pantry of the kitchen. The noise of the party fades away, if only for a few seconds, long enough for Jeongguk to close his eyes and gather his bearings and let the anxiety slowly eat away at his frontal lobe.
A drunk uncle or one of his young nephews would be the ones to stumble upon Jeongguk, and then other family members with their glasses of wine and soju practically spilling over their clumsy hands would slowly trickle into Jeongguk’s hiding place one by one until he is swallowed back into the alcohol-induced merriment. They’d thrust a glass into his hands and goad him to drink and he’d manage a few sips, but the alcohol would only make the anxious feeling worse, and his skin would buzz with heat and itchy nerves that made him want to run and hide all over again.
“This is such a lucky thing, you know?” an aunt laughs after Jeongguk is trapped in the living room, sitting on his knees at the small table decorated with plates half-full of food and cups overflowing with drink. “Especially after all that silly worrying over the gwageo results.”
A flash of heat sears Jeongguk’s ears, almost as though his aunt’s tongue was a lit furnace. Out the corner of his eye, he sees his father’s face flatten of all amusement. His aunt, whose face is still in her glass, doesn’t notice and blindly continues, “The Kim clan has an abundance of scholars, many of them involved in public office. You won’t have to ever bother yourself with work again!”
“More time to raise children,” his halmeoni decides with a nod and a grunt. “Seokjin can’t be the only one.”
Jeongguk’s eyes find Seokjin in the crowd. His elder brother sits back against the wall with one of his children perched on his knee. Though he announced last month he was expecting another child, his face nor his stomach are swollen from it. But, the air around him is sweeter, a wafting scent that is a mixture of his and Yoongi’s, a sign of a healthy baby growing from within.
The conversation turns to Seokjin then. How is he doing and how is Yoongi’s prospects in Gyeongju and Cheongha and how ever will Seokjin return back to his glamorous life of theater work and touring around the southern provinces now that he is expecting a child? As if the last two children weren’t a threat to it before.
When Jeongguk is certain that everyone’s attention is on Seokjin (he’s always been better at keeping people’s attention on him, a spotlight while Jeongguk fades in the shadows), Jeongguk quietly gets up and tiptoes out of the room, disappearing into his father’s study in the hopes that this time, he’ll be left alone at last.
The fireplace is lit, and the room is imbued with warmth, an orange light cast on the tall dark shelves packed to the brim of all his father’s books on legal counseling and court affairs. It smells like him, all in the walls and in each book, in the large leather chair that sits behind an intimidatingly large desk, but that’s to be expected. His father is either locked in here reviewing his papers or out in the courts debating laws and logic with other barristers and scholars. His father lives and breathes his work, and there is little time to give to anything else.
Jeongguk was supposed to do the same. He didn’t really want to do the same, but he wasn’t Seokjin -- with his perfect charisma and face and acting talents to take him wherever he wanted with the person he loved -- and according to his father, art wasn’t profitable and wasn’t a ‘prosperous’ career venue. Omegas were rising to political office at a steadfast rate, competing with alphas for certificates and job positions, ushering in a new era of modernity in the social hierarchy between the common class and the upper echelons of the bourgeoisie. Since they’ve already had one omega go astray down an unconventional (but profitable) path, all that was left was Jeongguk to follow in his father’s footsteps.
And just like with everything that Jeongguk does, it all had to go to shit.
The door creaks open as Jeongguk settles himself down in front of the burning fireplace, but since he doesn’t hear raucous noise and chatter follow, he doesn’t become immediately alarmed.
Footsteps approach him in the dark, until his father appears in his peripherals, slowly coming down to sit beside him with a cup of tea and a small plate of dasik. Jeongguk’s stomach growls at the sight of it; he hasn’t eaten since the party started.
His father hands both of them to Jeongguk, who takes it with murmured ‘thanks’. The dasik crumbles in Jeongguk's mouth and melts over his tongue, finishing three in two bites.
“You don’t even eat properly,” his father sighs with a click of his tongue. It’s not a disdainful tone, but Jeongguk has heard it many times enough to feel shame curling up in his stomach at the sound of it. Jeongguk swallows the dasik in his mouth and cradles the cup of tea in his hands, turning his gaze to the fire and not to his father currently rubbing the exhaustion from his wrinkled face.
They both sit there on the floor in silence, watching the way the flames dance to their own symphony of crackling wood. Jeongguk eats another piece of dasik, slowly this time around with smaller bites, the way that he was taught by Lady Jowon before his mind started wandering elsewhere during the lessons and he was deemed a ‘hopeless cause’.
As he sips his tea, his father’s hand comes to rest atop his head. The touch is warm and heavy with a burden. Jeongguk’s shoulders rise up to his ears.
“Lord Kim will be good for you,” he says, but Jeongguk hates the tone on his father’s tongue. It is only the two of them in the room, yet he sounds like he is trying to convince more than Jeongguk’s ears. “He’s intelligent and resourceful and has a well-earned career. He will take care of you, and you will be good to him in return.”
“...I don’t want to marry him.”
“Jeongguk-ah--”
“Please,” Jeongguk quietly begs. “I can take the exam again and I can pass. I can become a barrister as you wanted. I don’t have to marry him. Please, appa--”
“That is enough,” his father sharply cuts off, the timbre in his voice scaring Jeongguk’s words back into his throat. The color of the fireplace brings out the shadows in his father’s cheeks, makes his eyes sparkle something dark and angry. Jeongguk doesn’t smell anything coming off him, not pheromones for Jeongguk to submit to his command, nor distress from Jeongguk’s adamant refusal. It is just his look alone that makes Jeongguk want to curl in on himself. Hasn’t he learned his lesson? Haven’t they already had this conversation one too many times?
His father rises to his feet, looming over Jeongguk with his hands drawn into careful tight fists. “It isn’t the fact that you have failed your exams. It isn’t even that you have failed your exams multiple times...but it is the fact that after all that time when we trusted you under the care of Master Taesik--”
“We did nothing--”
“He was a mated alpha and you had no business being under him like...like some whore.”
Jeongguk’s ears sting red. He thumbs around the rim of his tea glass, staring into it at his reflection. But I wanted to be there, he thinks aloud in his head. But I wanted him back.
His father rubs at his face again, wipes the venom from his thin, dry lips along with the scowl. His gaze settles on the fire again, and he stares into it as though all the answers lie in the flicker of cinders rising in the air. “To preserve your dignity, this is our best option. I have known the Kim clan for quite some time, and have known Lord Kim’s father since we were in our youths.”
“...But you’ve never met Lord Kim personally, have you?”
“I’m certain the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
Jeongguk huffs in frustration at that, but his father ignores the noise. He looks down and settles his hand back onto Jeongguk’s head, but this time, the touch is more forgiving. “I’ll let them know you’ve decided to retire for the evening. Tell them all the excitement has made you weary,” he murmurs in a voice that rasps at the back of his throat, a tad bit playful if Jeongguk’s ears are allowed to fool his brain.
“Thank you,” Jeongguk mumbles. He leans into his father’s touch and feels him give his head two gentle pats.
“...Please understand that this isn’t to punish you,” his father says quietly. “This is for the best. You may not understand it now, but I’m certain when you meet Lord Kim, you will.”
Jeongguk tucks his face into the crook of his arm. He is done arguing for the night, and his father accepts his silence with a disheartened sigh and one more well-meaning pat to Jeongguk’s head.
He leaves Jeongguk there in the dark study, surrounded by books of knowledge with a roaring hearth to keep him company until Jeongguk eventually decides to put it out and retire for bed. By the time he tiptoes out of the study, the party has dwindled down to a few bodies quietly chittering away in one of the parlor rooms. He avoids the glow from the burning lanterns and keeps to the shadows, his bare feet not alerting anyone of his presence as he makes his way to his bedroom. In some spare rooms that he passes by, he can hear snoring, Seokjin’s snoring in particular. He, Yoongi, and the pups must be staying for the evening. It makes sense; Seokjin will need to be in King’s Cross by the end of the week, and the journey overseas will be an arduous one. He needs all the sleep he can get.
Jeongguk slips inside his room without a sound and sets the wick of a lantern alight. Crowded into one corner of his room are gifts, some engagement presents from his family, and some parcels shipped from friends Jeongguk thinks more of as acquaintances. Someone has laid out fine garments of silk and satin over his bed, hanbok so soft to his touch that he almost thinks it will rip if he stood against a warm, summer breeze. He puts them all to the side for the time being, ignoring the letters and cards attached to each gift, and strips down naked to crawl under the covers.
Improper even in the way you sleep. What a mess for your family, Jeon Jeongguk.
What a mess for Lord Kim to have as his spouse.
Jeongguk curls up in a ball. He doesn’t think he’d like to know how it will feel when Lord Kim meets him -- and all of Jeongguk’s flaws and his looped way of thinking and behaving far from what any omega of high society should -- and says, ‘What have I gotten myself into?’. Jeongguk knows how it feels to disappoint his father, his mother. He has disappointed teachers and also past suitors looking for entry into the Jeon household, alpha men and women looking for a chance to step up into a higher social class, only to turn away when Jeongguk became more trouble than the Jeon name was worth.
What is he doing? Why should he bother subjugating himself to that same awful feeling of disappointment? He doesn’t want to marry Lord Kim, and he’s certain Lord Kim won’t want him either, so why are they still keeping this charade?
He stretches out, a lean body under the warm flicker of a burning lantern, and he stares at the ceiling. What would be the best would be for Jeongguk to prove he does not need to marry Lord Kim to make his father happy. He knows he can pass the exams again if he were given some more time to properly study. He can make something of himself like Seokjin has. He doesn’t need to drag another person down with him.
He needs to leave. That’s what he’ll do.
The skies are pitch black and the house is cold and empty when Jeongguk comes creeping out of his bedroom once more, this time with two valises stuffed with clothing and the envelopes of engagement money tucked away into his breast pocket. His father’s snoring joins Seokjin’s in the stale air, and Jeongguk makes sure to keep his footsteps light as he passes his parent’s bedroom door.
Jeongguk stops momentarily to grab some food from the pantry. Not much that his father will notice something is amiss as he has his morning coffee while the cook prepares breakfast, but just enough that he won’t starve until he finds lodging elsewhere. He needs as much time and energy as possible from now until someone stumbles upon Jeongguk’s empty bedroom and the farewell letter resting on his pillow to find his way to the nearest cabby city, perhaps Jeonju. The thought of it makes his lips pull into a pained grimace. He stuffs a tin of dasik and yakgwa underneath his clothes as a treat for himself.
Wrapping himself up in a coat, Jeongguk hastily laces on his boots and quietly takes leave out the front door. The grounds of the Jeon estate are small, so it does not take him long to get out and over the large stone wall forming a perimeter around the house, but Jeongguk still doesn’t feel like he’s truly left home until he has wandered down the road, not sure what direction he is going in or where exactly he is going. All around him is nothing but darkness, the moon sitting heavy in the sky with the stars.
Jeongguk pauses to gaze at them. He hasn’t looked at the stars for quite some time. He hasn’t done much sitting or standing and just being there, in that one moment and letting his body settle in his shoes. Jeongguk lets himself indulge in this quiet reprise before a gust of a chill rakes up his spine and he breathes out a shaky exhale. His grip on the valises turns his knuckles white. He sets his eyes on the road that stretches out before him in a direction he’s yet to travel.
He takes the first step forward, and then the second and third to follow. He doesn’t look back.
In the far off distance, there is a light. Jeongguk at first thinks it a trick of his imagination, one that has come from the exhaustion of walking for miles on very little sleep and a stomach full of only bread and water and pieces of yakgwa that are still stuck at the back of his teeth.
He has to rub a fist into the corners of his eyes to be sure that the light is there in front of him, and then he does it once more when he approaches the light and sees a building take shape around it.
The building sits at a slant, like the roof is too heavy for its wooden walls and is in threat of caving in on itself. The windows are covered with thick grime that makes it hard for the yellow light to escape out of, and as Jeongguk comes closer, he smells a stench from inside. It’s putrid and rancid and makes his throat go raw and scratchy when he chokes on an inhale of it, but it rouses his stomach with hunger. He thinks it might be boiled cabbage and onions and plump sausages. It isn’t a feast worthy for the upper class, but it will do for tonight.
Jeongguk catches a quick glimpse of a wooden sign hanging crooked by a black nail. The first part of the sign reads ‘KWON’S’ in big heavy lettering, and the second half is obscured by some more grime smeared all over the surface that has caused the wood to rot to its core. Something in Jeongguk’s stomach that seems like his sanity begs for him to turn around, but he soldiers inside and welcomes the warmth and smell of food that embraces him.
It looks to be a bar. At least, Jeongguk assumes it’s one. There are tables spread throughout the interior with men scattered at each one playing cards or drinking, the surfaces dirty just as the exterior of the building is, and there is a bar counter with a man cleaning glasses with a dubious looking rag. Jeongguk can’t tell where the smell of food is coming from; this place looks far too small and cramped for there to be a kitchen hidden somewhere in the shadows. But, when he draws himself closer to the bar and to a man seated on a wooden stool, he sees on the man’s plate a glob of offal and stewed cabbage with sundae on the side. Jeongguk’s stomach growls again, announcing his presence.
“U-Um,” Jeongguk starts, hoping his voice comes back before he says his next words, “Do you know the nearest cabby rental around here? Or maybe a place to stay for the night?”
“A cabby? In the country?” The bartender makes a guffawing noise, loud and obnoxious and drawing the attention of some men at a nearby table. Jeongguk hunches his shoulders to his ears, heated embarrassment searing the bottom of his stomach.
“Fine, a horse. Or a carriage. Or lodging. I don’t care which, I just need to know how far I am from either one,” Jeongguk says with a little bit of bite. The bartender stops laughing and goes a little bit more rigid. Under the stench of sundae and cabbage, Jeongguk smells his agitation, a sharp twang cutting in the air and making the heavy furrow of the bartender’s eyebrows pull even further down. Jeongguk tries to correct himself, tamper down his irritancy, and relaxes his spine. “Please,” he adds, just to try and smooth the conversation over better.
The bartender discards his rag and glass (that frankly looks more dirty than clean), leaning in towards Jeongguk with a curl of a sneer on his lips. “Depends. How much money do you have?” he asks.
Jeongguk carefully withdraws the envelope from the inner part of his coat, opening it up to re-count. He thinks it's around five hundred thousand won, give or take a few bills. He doesn’t know how much a cabbie rental costs, or even how much it is to stay in a hotel for the evening. He’s well-bred, but not very well-traveled.
The bartender reaches out with thick, grubby fingers and snatches the envelope out of Jeongguk’s hands before he is finished, and Jeongguk has to dig his heels into the wooden stool’s rickety legs to keep himself from lunging over the counter to snatch it back. The bartender thumbs through the colorful bills, making a low rumbling noise in his throat. “Figures,” he says, looking at Jeongguk with disinterest, “could smell the money on you the second you wandered in here.”
Jeongguk’s body goes rigid as the bartender slips the envelope into the waistband of his pants, and he looks Jeongguk up and down this time, almost as though he is just seeing him for the first time. “What’s an omega like you wandering around a place like this so late?” he asks, and Jeongguk grits his teeth and digs his nails into the surface of the grimey counter.
“Give back my money.”
“Consider it payment,” the bartender drawls, leaning in closer, his breath hot on Jeongguk’s face. “I have a place you can stay for the night. Right up under me.”
Jeongguk sees his reflection in the man’s eyes, smells the stench of an alpha’s posturing assaulting his nose. Next to him, the man seems very adamant at trying to pretend this conversation isn’t happening right next to him. His face is practically stuffed into whatever scraps of food is left on his tarnished plate.
“Well?” says the bartender, and he brings a hand up to hold Jeongguk by his chin. “You’re not going to find another hospitable person like me around these parts. I’d say I’m offering you quite an opportunity,” he says, and he inhales Jeongguk’s anxious scent, sighing heavily. “You smell like you’re a virg--”
The bartender doesn’t finish his words. Jeongguk’s hands move faster than the man’s mouth, and they snatch the half-empty plate of food beside him to smash it upside the bartender’s head. The blow isn’t enough to take the alpha down, but it is enough that it stuns him, makes his eyes go wide as saucers as a dumbfounded noise comes from his mouth, sounding like it was punched from his stomach.
Jeongguk takes these few seconds to reach over and snatch the envelope of money out from the bartender’s pants. He jumps backward, grabs his bags that he dropped on the floor, and bolts out the entrance of the tavern, leaving behind a stunned crowd and the bartender screaming for someone to stop ‘that little tramp’. He runs and runs and keeps on running. He doesn’t stop even when his thighs begin to ache and his chest begins to wheeze and his arms begin to scream from swinging back and forth carrying two heavy bags. Sweat beads over his brow and down his uncollared neck. Still, he continues to run.
The time that Jeongguk stops running is when he is back in the darkness with no light around to guide him, and it is when a rock appears in the middle of the road for his foot to catch on and send him tumbling into a mud puddle that also seems to have magically appeared from nowhere. The valises land in the puddle with him, and it takes Jeongguk a moment to struggle to his feet again. Mud is caked over his pants and his coat, all over the valises that his mother spent a considerable amount of money on and would surely have a heart attack over if she were to see them in this sorry state.
Jeongguk wipes the mud off as best as he can, checks his hair, and finds clumps of wetness there as well before he shambles down the road, exhaustion beginning to circulate in his blood.
It is now that Jeongguk thinks of returning home, but the thought is banished from his mind as soon as it reappears. He’s too far gone now, not even certain he knows the way back. Not to mention that even if he found his way home, if his parents see him like this...if they read Jeongguk’s letter...Jeongguk wouldn’t know how to live with himself with all the embarrassment he’d bring to them. Couldn’t even run away properly. Stupid, stupid boy.
Jeongguk bites his bottom lip. It feels dry, and he tastes a little bit of mud and blood from a cut. He feels so cold. His limbs feel so numb. The frost gets inside of him, turns his lungs to brittle ice so that it becomes harder and harder for him to take another tired breath. The second time Jeongguk goes down to his knees, it takes him even longer to get back up again.
In his struggle to right himself again, under his labored breaths, he hears something from behind him. The noise starts out small, a growl of some kind that makes the fine hairs on the back of Jeongguk’s neck raise, but then the growl turns into a rumble and a clunk of an old motor, and Jeongguk’s body relaxes. He turns to face the oncoming headlights of a cabby rolling down the dark road, the insides of it dark save for the light illuminating the driver’s face.
Jeongguk hurries to get himself to his feet and grab his valises, shuffling off to the side of the road to make room for the cabby, but as he lumbers along, out of his peripherals, he sees the cabby slowing to a stop behind him.
“Are you lost?” the driver asks, his head sticking out the window. Jeongguk looks at him and does not miss the way the man grimaces at his sorry appearance. Shame itches Jeongguk’s cheeks, but he tries to smile.
“No! I’m fine!” he lies. He tightens his grip on his valises and continues walking. A few moments later, to his small chagrin, he hears the crunch of gravel beneath the cabby’s rolling wheels following alongside him.
“My friend wants to offer you a ride,” the driver says. Now that they are side by side, Jeongguk thinks he can see someone else in the front passenger seat. A large torso, but it is too dark to see the face or the features or if this ‘friend’ is the kind of ‘friendly’ Jeongguk had already had to deal with earlier tonight.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Jeongguk says, turning his attention back to the road, attempting to walk a little bit faster. It’s a futile effort; the cabby keeps with his pace with little to no effort.
“He insists that you allow him to take you to a shelter.”
“Really, I’m fine. Thank you.”
The driver mumbles to the passenger.
“Where are you heading?” the driver then asks Jeongguk.
“That’s my business and I don’t intend to share,” Jeongguk responds curtly. He bites his tongue, then more politely and properly, “Please, I am fine. You may continue on your way.”
“My friend is concerned that you will be ambushed by wolves or worse.”
“Is it really your friend that is concerned? Or are you incessant in bothering me when I tell you that I am fine?”
Jeongguk sees the torso in the passenger seat suddenly lean over, squishing the driver as they try to stick their head out the window and look right into Jeongguk’s dirty and disgruntled face.
And, well. That’s certainly a handsome imaginary friend if Jeongguk has ever seen one.
“Hi, yes,” the man -- the friend -- says with an awkward wave. “Uh, I’m sorry. I just don’t feel right leaving you on the side of the road looking like you were dragged through the mud for ten kilometers. At least let me buy you something to eat. Or offer you a phone? What happened to you? You’re not hurt, right?”
“I can’t see the road, Joon-ah,” the driver bemoans. The man doesn’t return back to his seat. His eyes are on Jeongguk, waiting for at least an answer to one of his questions.
Jeongguk, meanwhile, is having difficulty trying to ignore the man altogether while also stare at the man and take in every inch of his face in the dark without tripping into another mud puddle. He looks older, but not by much, and his smell is more pronounced than the driver’s beta smell. An alpha, but not an overbearing one, or at least not one that Jeongguk feels threatened by at the moment.
His eyes are so captivating, almond-shaped and sparkling. The furrow of his eyebrows is cute too, and so is the moue he wears on his small mouth. And when those lips promise food, Jeongguk’s body betrays his petulance and his stomach lets out an unforgivingly loud rumble. He would hold his midsection in, but his arms literally feel like they will drop off his body if he moves them in any way.
The man smiles kindly at Jeongguk. “Please? Ease my conscience a little.”
Jeongguk finally stops walking and stares at the man head-on. He can’t figure out the smile, not fully. But the eyes...he trusts the eyes.
“...Just a small bite,” he mumbles, dropping the hardened veneer, and approaches the cabby with a small hesitance. The man reaches to push open the back door and Jeongguk inspects the leather interior before he slides onto the bench. Inside, the cabby is warm and the cushioning feels like heaven. Jeongguk’s head tilts back as his body relaxes against his wishes. He can’t stretch his legs out, however. Spread out along the floor of the cabby are bags and boxes of something that stinks of metal and oil. He can’t see just what it is, not with the minimum light in the backseat and the only other source of light coming from the small radio embedded into the dashboard.
The man in the passenger seat smiles a bit apologetically. “Sorry, we did some shopping,” he explains without being asked. Jeongguk doesn’t inquire about it. He just hugs his valises to him and keeps his eyes on the back of the man’s head as the cabby begins to accelerate down the dark road ahead.
The man is named Namjoon. That’s the name that gets shouted at the man as Jeongguk watches him and the driver lug crate after crate through the threshold of a small countryside estate.
“Namjoon-hyung!” the yelling voice, a smaller man hastily tying his robe closed but not trying to smooth down his unruly hair or wipe the dried spit from the corner of his mouth. “Hyung, I told you don’t bring this stuff into the house! It ruins the artful balance that I have spent months cultivating! And it stinks!” At that point, the man notices Jeongguk’s figure awkwardly hiding off to the side in the shadows, valises at his feet and shuddering from the cold reintroducing itself to his body.
The man points a finger at him. “Who is this?”
Namjoon instead hands the man a crate. “Put this in my study, Jimin-ah.”
“It’s my study. This is my house.” But Jimin still lugs the crate inside anyway, grumbling to himself all the while as the driver stacks the bags and boxes into a pyramid situated by a tall grandfather clock. Namjoon gestures to Jeongguk’s feet and then to a small cupboard. Jeongguk nods and peels off his filthy boots. The only thing clean about him is his feet, pale from the cold. He looks at Namjoon, and underneath the glow of the chandelier and buzzing electricity in several lamps embedded into the wall, Jeongguk realizes how handsome the man is and how pitiful he must look.
“May I ask your name?” Namjoon inquires. Jeongguk thinks to lie, but under Namjoon’s soft gaze, he can’t bring himself to rationalize why that would do him any good. So, with a mumble, he says, “Jeongguk.”
“Jeongguk,” Namjoon says, testing the name in his mouth and smiling when it seems he rather likes how it feels on his tongue. He gestures to himself. “My name is Namjoon,” he introduces, then gestures to Jimin, who is currently making a disgusted face at the grime from the crates painting his palms black and green, “and this is my brother-in-law, Jimin.”
Jimin waves at Jeongguk with his blackened hand. Jeongguk waves back, then resumes awkwardly holding himself.
“Let me show you to a room you can wash up,” Namjoon offers, stooping down to take Jeongguk’s valises for him. He then guides Jeongguk through the foyer and up a small flight of stairs. Despite it apparently being Jimin’s house, Namjoon navigates it well. He moves around the bend and curve of the hallways, not at all becoming disoriented like the way Jeongguk slowly becomes.
The walls are loud with ugly wallpaper and very...eclectic pieces of art hanging in bright clusters. The windows on this floor are colorful with stained glass and the lighting fixtures are large and dangle on bulky golden chains. On their way to whatever room Namjoon is taking Jeongguk, they pass by three naked statues of men holding each other in a passionate embrace. One statue resting on a small lacquered end table outright depicts intercourse, and Jeongguk stares at it for one minute too long before hastily trying to keep up with Namjoon’s long strides.
“Here,” Namjoon says, stopping at last in front of a door at the very end of the hall, opening it to allow Jeongguk inside first. The room is small but cozy. An open door to the left of the room reveals an attached bathroom, while the large window beside the bed overlooks a quaint little vegetable garden. The bed looks comfortable. It’s bigger than Jeongguk’s bed at home, with fluffier looking sheets and pillows stacked against the mahogany headboard. Everything about the room is quite inviting, from the pale green walls to the clean and bright wooden flooring. Yet, Jeongguk hugs the doorframe, hesitant to let his guard down fully.
“I won’t be staying for long,” Jeongguk tells him. “It seems unnecessary to give me a room.”
“Unnecessary to you, maybe. But it seems like good hospitality to me.”
Jeongguk averts his eyes. Quietly, he takes out his envelope and pokes through his money once again, before he takes out fifty thousand won.
“Will this be enough?”
Namjoon stares at the money blankly. “I’m not asking for you to pay me to be hospitable,” he says with a shake of his head, and steps inside the bedroom himself when it becomes clear Jeongguk is not willing to be the first. He gestures with a hand towards the bathroom. “The pipes take a while to get hot, so be careful of that. I’ll rustle around in the kitchen and dig up what I can find.”
“Why are you being nice to me?” Jeongguk asks, because he can’t hold his tongue without trying to cram his foot in his mouth all in one go. “What do you want?”
Namjoon doesn’t seem deterred by the sudden sharpness of Jeongguk’s words. “I’m being nice because you look like you need help?” Namjoon states more as a question, his head tilting inquisitively to the right.
“And not because I’m some ‘pitiful omega’ in need of rescue by a ‘strong alpha’?”
Namjoon blinks at him. “I didn’t know you were an omega.”
Jeongguk blinks right back. An uncomfortable silence befalls them both.
Subtly, Jeongguk brings his arm up and sniffs at his person. Is he that filthy that his own scent is subdued under the grime and muck?
Namjoon rubs the back of his neck. “Ah, well. Uh, I can’t smell anyone, actually. Special condition,” he says, tapping the bridge of his nose. “Doctors can’t figure it out, but I don’t think it really impairs me that much. Except for these kinds of awkward situations.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah...um, I apologize. It wasn’t my intentions to make you uncomfortable or anything--”
“No, I-I’m sorry,” Jeongguk apologizes first. He means it, can feel the discomfort stirring around his insides and making red flourish in his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I make things worse than they need to be.” His neck cranes down low, head bowed and hands folded in front of him. Hopeless cause, that one.
Namjoon waves off Jeongguk’s apology. “It’s alright,” he reassures. His hands, which were poised behind his back, now move in front and in Jeongguk’s line of sight. It’s a small gesture, but it’s one that speaks comfort and makes Jeongguk’s posture relax a little bit more. “Well, I can’t force you to stay if you don’t want to. But I can at least offer you a bath and food...if you’re willing?”
It’ll be no good to speak now, less Jeongguk fumble cordialities with his badly-picked words like always. He simply nods his head ‘yes’, and quietly trods to the bathroom with valises in tow.
The bathroom floor is cold against the soles of Jeongguk’s feet. He catches a glance of himself in the mirror and has to wince at all the mud in his hair and along his neck. He’ll have to clean up; if he wanted to find lodging elsewhere, no way would they let him inside looking like this.
“I’ll leave you be,” Namjoon says with a bow of his head, escorting himself out before Jeongguk can thank him or try to murmur out one last apology. Alone in the bathroom, Jeongguk turns his attention to the marble faucets and turns the white handles. Water pours from the spout as he strips down naked, and soon the bathroom is filled with warm steam that he breathes in deeply. He turns the faucet off, tests the temperature with his hand, and then carefully slips into the hot water.
If Jeongguk lets out a pleased squeal once he’s submerged, that’s only for himself and the pink salmon walls around him to hear.
“Can’t believe him,” Jimin says with a huff. “First he takes over my study, then he stinks up my house with his junk, and now he brings runaways.”
Jeongguk nibbles away at a piece of toasted gim that Jimin brought him, feeling worried.
“I’m sorry. I’ll leave right away. I won’t burden you any longer--”
Jimin waves down his words before Jeongguk can get any further, stretching out comfortably on the chaise against the wall. “Forget about it,” he says, checking under his manicured nails for dirt. “It’s been some time since I have entertained someone aside from hyung.” Jimin then props his cheek into his hand and smiles at Jeongguk. “Plus, you’re also the first person that could actually give me feedback on my decorating other than a ‘mm-hmm, that’s nice, Jimin-ah’.”
To that, Jeongguk winces. He’s not a good liar, especially with sleep trying to pull at the back of his mind and making him feel off-kilter.
“Namjoon...he doesn’t live here, correct?” Jeongguk asks to distract from the topic.
“No. He’s just hiding out here to play with his toys in peace,” Jimin says laxly. It’s a loaded statement, and it would perk Jeongguk’s interest if he wasn’t so damn tired. Lying in bed isn’t helping him keep his eyes open at all, not with the way these sheets and these pillows feel all around him. Jimin has to take the small porcelain plate away from him when it starts to slip from his grasp, but Jeongguk still tries to fight the fluttering of his eyelashes.
“I’m sorry, I won’t be here for long...need to...need to leave…”
Jimin quirks an eyebrow. “Where are you going?”
“...Don’t know...just away…”
To that, Jimin hums a skeptical sounding note.
Through the sleepy blur of Jeongguk’s lashes as Jimin leans over to switch off the lights, he sees that Jimin’s lithe neck has a lace collar wrapped around it, a large and swollen mating mark peeking out from the top. It’s pretty, and Jeongguk’s fingertips twitch up like he was about to reach and touch it.
Once upon a time, he dreamed of having someone tie a ribbon around his neck and kiss at his nape, taking him as their omega, loving him for everything he has to give. Master Taesik promised him such a dream to come true, and Jeongguk believed him. Even when he watched the glimmer of his teacher’s eye grow into a dark hunger every time they had their lessons, even when the older man’s grip on Jeongguk’s wrists were tight enough to bruise as he pushed him onto his back. It was okay if he bruised. It was his alpha that was doing it, and Jeongguk felt wanted in a way that was so exciting, he didn’t think twice about it.
He wonders if that is where his father will look when he finds Jeongguk’s letter.
He wonders if his father will be angry with him, or worried about him, or if he will, at last, decide to give up on him for good.
It is with those muddled thoughts and uncertainties that sleep finally pulls Jeongguk under. Just a few minutes, his mind tries to echo in the darkness. Just a few minutes…
When Jeongguk blinks himself awake, it is the sunlight of a new dawn forcing its way through the drawn curtains and the smell of something burning that greets him. But, it is the sound of something exploding outside that sends him hurtling his body out of bed and to the window to look.
Down below in the vegetable garden is a large smoldering crater, bits of metal and wood ensnared in the destroyed pumpkin patch and cabbage rows. Off to the side and lying sprawled on the ground with limbs spread appeared to be Namjoon, and the sight drove Jeongguk into a mild panic.
He hastily runs out of the bedroom and takes the steps two at a time, forgoing shoes and running barefoot out of the front door and around to the back where Namjoon is on the ground covered in black soot and inches away from a burning fire.
“Namjoon-ssi!” Jeongguk cries out. He falls beside the alpha and pulls him away from the burning wreckage, coughing on the putrid smell of smoke and burnt rubber charging the air. Namjoon’s eyes blink open, looking more startled at Jeongguk’s presence by his side rather than the burning...whatever in the vegetable garden.
“Ah, good morning,” he greets Jeongguk, standing to his feet with a bit of a wobble. “Did you have a good night’s sleep?”
Jeongguk gapes at him, mouth opening and closing in the hopes of stringing together all the buzzing thoughts in his brain into one comprehensible sentence, but unfortunately coming up with nothing. The morning air is cold and the smoke makes it taste bitter on his tongue. Jeongguk coughs once again, bringing Namjoon to reach into his back pocket and offer him a handkerchief. After a brief hesitation, Jeongguk takes it with a quiet ‘thank you’ and brings it to his nose. It smells like sandalwood with hints of a bright citrus scent, but underneath a smell of oil and sweat and burnt rubber. It is both the foulest and most heavenly scent Jeongguk has smelt on an alpha.
“I’m really sorry, I hope I didn’t disturb you,” Namjoon apologizes with a wince. “I wasn’t intending for the machine to backfire. I thought that the ‘multiple engine’ design would help give the machine the extra power needed to keep it in the air, but I wasn’t anticipating for one of the engines to fall out the bottom of the fuselage. Then there were also problems with the rudder and steering--” he pauses, and Jeongguk startles a little from inhaling Namjoon’s scent in his handkerchief, feeling disoriented. He is about to apologize for not paying attention, but freezes when Namjoon takes his coat off and instead drapes it around Jeongguk’s shoulders.
The smell of Namjoon and burning rubber floods Jeongguk’s senses, making him feel dizzy and flushed. Namjoon awkwardly looks away.
“You’re underdressed,” he points out, and oh. Jeongguk did sleep in a nightgown, but the material is cheap and thin and leaves little to the imagination. The cold air draws out a pink coloring to his skin that goes down his neck, dipping past the first two buttons of the nightgown that are undone. His toes are pink, his bare legs and his fingertips and even the tip of his nose turns red from the chill. He looks down into his nightgown and sees the chill made his nipples stand erect against the cotton. Embarrassed, he pulls Namjoon’s coat tighter around him and turns his gaze away.
“...But you’re fine?” Jeongguk asks the ground. “You’re not hurt?”
Namjoon laughs. “This isn’t the first time I’ve crashed into something. Jimin can tell you that.”
The smoldering crater makes another loud booming noise, startling Jeongguk as a plume of smoke rises into the air.
“Are you going to stay for breakfast, Jeongguk-ssi?” Namjoon continues, completely undeterred.
Hesitant, Jeongguk bites the inside of his cheek. “I should be going,” he mutters.
“Ah...right.” Namjoon rubs the back of his neck. “Um, well where are you heading then? I’ll have Hoseok take you there.”
Another long pause follows. Jeongguk pulls Namjoon’s coat around him tighter, the warmth staving the nervous chills in his body. His father will be up by now. His father would have discovered Jeongguk’s note. He’s ran away from home, and now that the realization is truly hitting him, he finds himself actually terrified. Where is he supposed to go? This money won’t be able to afford him lodging for a long time, so he’ll have to work. But he failed the exams, so he won’t be able to get himself a decent job and--
The crater makes another rumbling boom, this time around causing small white sparks up into the air and almost setting Jeongguk on fire. He stumbles forward and accidentally into Namjoon, who steadies him with two big hands to Jeongguk’s waist. The touch makes Jeongguk’s insides heat up. The last alpha that had their hands on his waist was Master Taesik, just before the man pushed Jeongguk down and pressed his lips to Jeongguk’s unbitten neck.
“We should move elsewhere,” Namjoon says with a hum.
Shaking himself from thoughts of the past, Jeongguk asks, “What about the fire?”
“It’ll put itself out.”
“...That’s not how fire works.”
“Yah, it’ll be fine. Trust me, I’m a professional.”
Jeongguk’s lips quirk in an interesting smile. “A professional ‘firestarter’?”
“A scientist,” Namjoon corrects. He puts his hand on the small of Jeongguk’s back, and Jeongguk tries to ignore the heat flourishing in his stomach. Even with the soot and oil covering him, his hair sticking out in random directions and the terrible stench lingering on his person, Namjoon still looks handsome and the shine in his eyes is brighter than ever.
“Come now,” he says, leading Jeongguk away from the fire that is still burning, “I’ll make us some tea.”
Hoseok has to be the one to put the fire out when Jimin comes scrambling down the stairs thirty minutes later screaming for him. Jeongguk watches the two of them from the kitchen, Jimin directing Hoseok to any remaining smoldering patches to put out with a lackluster splash of water from a dingy bucket.
“Is this something that you do often? Setting yourself on fire at the crack of dawn?” Jeongguk asks Namjoon from behind the rim of his teacup. Namjoon hasn’t changed out of his filthy clothing, but he at least has the cognizance to put down a towel before he planted himself down on one of the velvet red cushions of Jimin’s dining chair.
“I didn’t set myself on fire, I set the machine on fire,” Namjoon says with quick wit. Then, “Actually, no. The machine set itself on fire. I was just trying to get it up in the air.”
Jeongguk takes a long sip of his tea, not quite sure what sentence he could follow up with.
Namjoon turns his attention back to his bowl of rice porridge, swallowing a spoonful of it with a pleased hum. “After Hoseok takes you where you need to go, I’ll work on perfecting it.”
“And what exactly is it, Namjoon-ssi? What are you building?”
Namjoon’s lips curve into an eager smile, his eyes brightening. It seems like that is the question that Namjoon has been waiting for Jeongguk to ask.
“A flying machine,” Namjoon states, and he takes a moment to read the expression on Jeongguk’s face before he can elaborate. “I’m attempting to build the first ever bi-wing flying machine.”
“...But dirigibles exist,” Jeongguk points out, flummoxed.
Namjoon shakes his head, and for some reason that Jeongguk supposes is because it makes it better to explain, Namjoon scoots his chair in closer. “No, because see, this is better than a dirigible. Dirigibles are slow, large and unsightly buzzards currently polluting our skies. Not to mention the fact that they are egregiously overpriced for doing the same thing that the average cabby could do in half the time while yet going the same distance. But! This machine will change all of that.”
Namjoon talks with passion. Jeongguk has never heard the way passion comes out of a person’s throat, and the tone of it is somewhat alien to him. He’s never tasted it on his own tongue, that’s for certain.
“How will it change things? Have you ever successfully flown it?”
“Well,” Namjoon tosses the answer around in his head, “no.”
For some reason, the honesty draws a laugh from Jeongguk’s lips. Hastily, he brings the back of his hand to his mouth to stop himself. “I apologize, that was improper--”
“It’s alright,” Namjoon reassures, leaning back in his chair. “There’s a lot of people that think I’m wasting time and money pursuing this idea. I know my parents are furious that I’m wasting time hiding here in Jimin’s love nest rather than trying to build one with my fiancé.”
“...What does your fiancé think of your endeavors?”
“Not sure. I’ve never met them. Though I believe if they are anything like the letters I’ve received, I doubt they would be the least bit impressed with the discussion of inventing and innovating. Are you sure you’re not hungry, Jeongguk-ssi?”
Jeongguk looks down at Namjoon’s bowl of rice porridge that he cooked for the both of them. He was close to starting another fire in the kitchen, and Jeongguk isn’t sure if the burnt sludge still sitting at the bottom of the bronze pot is edible. He folds his hands over on his lap and shakes his head ‘no’. Namjoon turns his attention back to his breakfast, ears looking pink at the tips.
“...This flying machine of yours...if it could fly--”
“When it flies.”
“--when it flies,” Jeongguk corrects with a little smile, “how fast do you think it will go?”
“Faster than a cabby since that’s the ideal transportation to beat. Imagine flying from here to the coasts of Italy or the mountaintops of the Swiss Alps or even the sunny sandy beaches of the Pacific Isles, all under a day compared to the weeks it takes for a dirigible to putter along.”
“...And will you be able to take passengers?”
Namjoon’s eyebrow quirks up. “Well...I never tested the scenario of two people flying. I never could find another body willing to ride with me.”
Jeongguk understands why. A part of him insists that whatever thoughts that are beginning to brew in his head are bad, and that he should thank Namjoon and Jimin for their hospitality before he gathers his things and leaves off to...wherever it is that he plans to go.
A needle of fear pricks the back of Jeongguk’s neck. What is he going to do? Where could he go after this?
Silence comes over them both, sitting uncomfortably in the air and weighing down Jeongguk’s shoulders. “Is there something bothering you?” Namjoon asks.
Jeongguk looks at him, then looks back down at his tea. “I thought you couldn’t smell me.”
“I don’t need to smell your distress when it is so clearly painted on your face,” Namjoon explains.
Jeongguk tightens his jaw, tries to work his face into something more neutral presenting. But, even when he tries to resume drinking his tea, Namjoon is still watching and waiting for an answer. So, with a half-hearted mumble, Jeongguk curtly responds, “It is nothing for you to worry about, Namjoon-ssi.”
“...What are you running away from?”
Jeongguk’s eyebrows turn down. “What gave you the implication that I’m running from something?”
“Not a lot of people wander down roads with bags stuffed full of clothes and pockets full of money in the middle of the night,” Namjoon points out. He leans in, and they are awfully close to each other now that Jeongguk takes himself out of his fretting to pay attention to the heat radiating from Namjoon’s body or the shine of his eyes. “Jimin had his own wild ideas about you, and I admit that there’s something about you that has me curious.”
Jeongguk discreetly puts a breadth’s more space between him and Namjoon. “I promise you it isn’t exciting.”
Namjoon gestures with his eyebrows for Jeongguk to continue, those eyes. Jeongguk has to pinch at the skin of his thigh if only to distract himself from the stupid fluttering in his chest that he can’t clear away.
“Well,” Jeongguk starts, and he hesitates long enough in the hopes that maybe Jimin or Hoseok will come inside and distract Namjoon away from Jeongguk discussing this. But, Jimin appears to have found another smoldering pile of burning cabbage for Hoseok to douse, so Jeongguk and Namjoon are left alone to a quiet intimacy that Jeongguk is having trouble processing.
He clears his throat again, hoping words will come up easier, and surprisingly they do. “I’m engaged,” he continues, “and I decided that for both parties, it is better that I spare my fiancé the embarrassment of having me and instead continue with getting an education. My father is a barrister, so I just need to find a competent enough teacher to instruct me and pass my exams so I can follow in his footsteps.”
“...You’ve decided for your fiancé that you should not marry them?”
“He won’t want me.”
“How do you know that?” Namjoon asks. “You’re very cute. He’d be a fool not to want you.”
Heat sears Jeongguk’s face. Namjoon says the words like he’s talking about the weather, like Jeongguk’s attractiveness is already a common fact. There’s not even a scent of arousal to Namjoon’s person, and for some reason the lack of it makes Jeongguk’s stomach churn more in confusion. With jittery hands, he finishes off the last bit of his tea, pushing the both of them into silence while trying to pretend he didn’t hear Namjoon say that last comment.
It is at this time that Jimin and Hoseok finally reunite with them in the small parlor. Hoseok continues on through, mumbling about a hot bath, while Jimin stops in front of Namjoon, smelling like burned vegetables and a vexed omega, sour and sharp and upsetting Jeongguk’s stomach more.
“You ruined Taehyung’s garden,” Jimin says. There’s no venom to his tone or even an inch of exhaustion. But Jimin’s face is pinched and his posture is stiff with irritation. Jeongguk wonders how many other things of ‘Taehyung’ have been destroyed in Namjoon’s quest for his flying machine.
Namjoon winces, rising up to his feet to bow his head to Jimin. “I’m sorry. I’ll buy some more seeds when I go to the market for materials,” he says. Jimin’s frown softens, but it doesn’t fully disappear. He huffs a sigh, resting a hand on his cheek.
“And I really wanted the strawberries too,” he murmurs to himself, then looks at Namjoon. “How many more times are you going to do this, hyung? I haven’t even gotten the left side of the house repaired after the last time you set yourself on fire.”
“I didn’t set myself on fire. The gas spontaneously combusted and caught the fuselage on fire,” Namjoon quickly amends with a pained wince.
“Why do you run your trials so close to the manor if there’s a threat of damage?” Jeongguk asks out of curiosity.
“I’d rather him catch fire close enough to the manor for Hoseok or me to put him out, rather than him catch fire out in the middle of nowhere,” Jimin explains with a deep-hearted sigh.
“Again, I do not set myself on fire. You both act as though this is something I take perverse joy in,” Namjoon says with an unfairly adorable pout on his lips.
“This is the twelfth time, hyung! I’m starting to think you do!” Jimin exclaims. Namjoon has no rebuttal or refusal, at least not one in words. His eyebrows turn down with the curve of his mouth, his eyes following suit as his gaze goes to the floor in shame. Jimin’s face softens at last, and the look in his eyes reminds Jeongguk of his father’s, touching something in his chest that makes him homesick and hurt.
With a gentle hand, Jimin reaches up and strokes his thumb twice over the right side of Namjoon’s neck, carefully avoiding Namjoon’s mating gland that is unmarred from a bite. “It is fine, hyung,” Jimin says, letting the exhaustion deflate his rigid stance. “I have to go shopping anyway with Hoseok when we escort Jeongguk-ssi into the city. I’ll buy the seeds then.”
Jeongguk’s spine stiffens. “Actually,” his lips hurry to say before his mind fully realizes it, and when both sets of eyes turn to him, he wishes he can take the word back onto his tongue. Finding it easier to look at the floor rather than the men’s eyes, Jeongguk continues, “I wouldn’t...I would like to...may I stay here?”
He cannot see the expressions they make, but Jeongguk doesn’t want to look up to check. “I’ll pay you whatever money I have left,” he continues to ramble, “and when that runs out, I’ll be more than willing to work as Namjoon-ssi’s assistant in exchange for further lodging, if - if he is in need of one. If not, then I will leave. O-Or if you do not want me here regardless, I’ll leave. I just - I --” His ears are stinging. This was such a stupid idea. Run away but have no plan to follow after. Stupid, stupid, stupid--
“What about your fiancé?” Namjoon asks. Jeongguk looks at him the same time Jimin does, both with eyes wide expressions.
“Fiancé?” Jimin asks, then turning to Jeongguk. “You have a fiancé you’re hiding from as well?”
“...What do you mean ‘as well’?”
“It’s irrelevant,” Namjoon interjects before Jimin can explain.
Jeongguk frowns. “Then matters concerning my fiancé are irrelevant as well,” he responds in turn. “He doesn’t know my face, he doesn’t know I’ve run off, he won’t know where to look for me and I intend to keep it that way.”
“Still,” Jimin speaks, “I’d rather not put myself in the midst of two engagements gone awry. Who is your fiancé? If Taehyung knows of them, maybe I should ask for him to come in contact with them in order to smooth things over on your behalf.”
“That really isn’t necessary, Jimin-ssi.”
“Well, this is my house you are asking to stay under,” Jimin responds with a dulcet tone. He plays with the lace collar around his neck, fingertips lightly circling around the top of it, skittering over the mating bite. “Therefore, I’d like for you to attempt to reconcile with your fiancé, lest our stately affairs are put in jeopardy for harboring the young runaway mate of a powerful lord.”
Jeongguk clicks his tongue in disdain. He didn’t think it would be so troublesome to quietly disappear. He always faded away so easily in his younger days, but now it seems no matter how badly he wants to go ignored, something keeps pushing him forward into the light.
Jimin cocks his head to the side. “Do we have a deal? You’d have to leave by the end of September regardless, so I’d rather you be heading to a home rather than back onto the streets with nowhere to go.”
“Why at the end of September?”
Jimin smiles, touching lightly at his collar. “My darling mate,” he drawls with an almost sickening level of affection, “will be coming home after his business trip and I will be going into my quarterly season. So I’d greatly prefer our love nest to be empty of strange omegas and alphas--” he gives a pointed look at Namjoon as he says this-- “for that duration.”
Jeongguk looks at Namjoon, curious. “Where will you go then?” he asks Namjoon.
Namjoon’s eyes go distant. “Well, the machine will be finished by then,” he says, “so I’ll just fly to an island or to the mountains to relax and think in peace.”
“September is not far off,” Jeongguk points out. The coloring in Namjoon’s face seems to further drain away.
“Yes, I’m quite aware.”
“...If you had an assistant to help you,” Jeongguk continues, “that would make the completion of your machine go faster, wouldn’t it?”
Namjoon crosses his arms over his chest, regarding Jeongguk almost with a look of suspicion. “What are your qualifications?”
“I know how to use a wrench and I know how to not set myself on fire.”
Jimin gives an undignified snort, leaving them to go peruse the contents of the porridge Namjoon left on the stove. Namjoon’s jaw betrays a twitch of an almost laugh, but he tampers it down, even though Jeongguk’s own lips curve into a smile of his own.
“You may be overqualified,” Namjoon says with a forlorn sigh, and the smile manages to escape. “But very well.” He holds his hand out and Jeongguk takes it in his own, firmly shaking it. “We have ourselves an agreement.”
Namjoon’s fingertips brush against the ridges of Jeongguk’s knuckles as he pulls his hand away. Heat swims down from the tips of Jeongguk’s ears to the back of his neck. He nods and tries to think nothing more of it. Namjoon has a fiancé of his own. Jeongguk won’t make the same mistake twice.
“Well...then I suppose the first thing in order as my newly appointed assistant will be to accompany me to the market,” Namjoon deduces. It’s rather queer how Jeongguk can almost see the gears in Namjoon’s head turning as he thinks. For one cue, Namjoon’s eyebrows start wiggling and furrowing, and the expression makes it hard for Jeongguk to restrain his fond giggle. “We have parts to buy, tools to purchase, oil, wood, I’ll need to see if maybe we can scavenge an old cabby motor--” He is already walking out the kitchen as he talks. Jeongguk doesn’t know whether or not he should follow him, or if he should even be writing down what Namjoon’s ramblings are, but Jimin stops him with a gentle hand before Jeongguk can chase after.
“Your fiancé,” Jimin says, returning back to that dreadful topic. He turns his attention to the pot of porridge for a quick glance, before deciding also that whatever is left is completely indigestible and focuses his attention back on Jeongguk. “I’d like to give their name to Taehyung for you.”
“I don’t want him to find me--”
“We will take care of you until you’re ready to be found,” Jimin interrupts with a sigh. “But we should at least let him know, as well as your family, that you aren’t dead.”
Jeongguk would push further, but the thought of his father or his mother or even Seokjin worrying about him keeps his tongue mollified. He wraps his arms around himself, head down in thought while Jimin watches him in quiet patience. Hoseok wanders back into the kitchen smelling clean and looking far more refreshed. He takes a peek into the pot on the stove and attempts to scrape at the burnt sludge around the edges with a spoon.
“...Lord Kim of Ilsang is my fiancé,” Jeongguk says with a resigned huff.
Hoseok knocks the pot of burnt porridge on the ground with a loud clammer.
Jeongguk spins around at the noise, but it seems the pot on the ground and the grey sludge spilling out on Jimin’s nice clean kitchen floor is the least of anyone’s worries. Both Hoseok and Jimin are looking at Jeongguk as though Jeongguk were the one to have knocked the pot over, their eyes wide and eyebrows raised and lips shaped into expressions of absolute shock. And, as the seconds tick by, Jimin’s lips morph into something else: glee.
“Lord Kim of Ilsang,” Jimin repeats, eyes twinkling. “He’s your fiancé?”
“...Yes?”
“You’re certain?”
Jeongguk frowns. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Jimin laughs to himself, shaking his head. “I apologize. I just...hmm. That’s just a very interesting name.”
“Why is that?”
“Oh~ nothing,” Jimin sings, the smile growing bigger on his lips. “Nothing at all.”
Hoseok’s eyes flicker between Jimin and Jeongguk, a volleying that ends with his eyes settling at last on the pot of spilled porridge on the ground and his shoulders slumping with the realization that this is a mess he’ll have to clean up. He bends down to grab it, but suddenly Jimin is moving around Jeongguk and taking hold of Hoseok’s shoulders. “Hyung, please come with me for a few seconds,” he hastily says, rushing Hoseok out of the kitchen before Hoseok could protest otherwise.
Jeongguk, awkwardly, bends down to clean the spill of porridge himself. He grimaces at the gooey consistency when he takes a washcloth to try and wipe it up. The porridge webs grossly between his fingers and feels a little bit like slime and snot.
Outside the kitchen, Jeongguk hears Jimin and Hoseok furiously whispering about something. Something that makes hissing noises of Hoseok’s tongue and pleasing notes sounds from Jimin’s throat. Namjoon’s name gets brought up in one instance, but as quickly as the name appears, their voices go down even lower to the point that Jeongguk can’t even strain his ears to hear them. He sits on his knees, staring at the door frame with a pout on his lips and his eyebrows knitted together. Something strange is going on, but he can’t understand just what it could be.
The whispers stop abruptly, and soon Namjoon is coming back into the kitchen, looking relatively cleaner than when he had left it.
“What are you doing on the floor?” he asks Jeongguk as he adjusts his cufflinks. Jeongguk, suddenly worried that this isn’t something a proper omega should be doing, quickly scrambles to his feet and averts his eyes, trying to ignore how gooey and sticky the palms of his hands are.
“I...I knocked over the pot and I was trying to clean it up.”
“Mmm.” Namjoon finishes clasping his cufflinks. “Head upstairs and get dressed, Jeongguk-ah. If we get to the market before ten, I’ll be able to get good pricing on whatever pieces of scrap metal are to be sent to the junkyard.”
Jeongguk glances briefly at Namjoon. Nothing like ridicule dances in Namjoon’s eyes or over his lips. In fact, he seems a little bit troubled with doing his tie into a proper knot to ridicule Jeongguk anyway.
With a bow of his head, Jeongguk excuses himself, porridge on his hands and heat in his face. He passes Jimin and Hoseok on his way out, the both of them lingering by the doorway watching them for whatever reason, and he feels their eyes on his back even as he heads upstairs to his room.
He finds himself a bathroom and rinses his hands in the basin there, taking a moment to glance at his reflection. With wet fingers, he touches at his long hair, then moves them down to his neck, to the spot he remembers Master Taesik kissing affectionately, grazing his teeth over with what Jeongguk thought was a promise to bite, to have, to mark forever.
This neck, just like his hand, is promised to Lord Kim.
Jeongguk has only two months to ensure that doesn’t happen.