Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Something must've gone wrong in my brain
Got your chemicals all in my veins
Feeling all the highs, feeling all the pain
Let go on the wheel, it’s the bullet lane
Now I'm seeing red, not thinking straight
Blurring all the lines, you intoxicate me
Just like nicotine, heroin, morphine
Suddenly, I'm a fiend and you're all I need
All I need, yeah, you're all I need”

Never be the Same by Camila Cabello

“Some of you guys are omegas, right?” the interviewer asks and Yoongi’s English is good enough to understand as much. “Doesn’t it get awkward dealing with your heats when you all live together?”

Yoongi tries not to bristle, concentrates instead on Namjoon’s hand that comes to rest on the small of his back, both a warning and a reassurance.

“Ah,” Namjoon says, smiling winningly. “We never had any problems with that.”

The interviewer laughs, tosses her copper hair back over her pale shoulder.

“Do you guys ever, you know,” she winks, makes a small suggestive gesture with her manicured hand. “Sort it out among yourselves?”

“We’re- we’re actually just really busy with work,” Namjoon replies and Yoongi can clearly hear the tension in his voice. Maybe the interviewer can, too, because she fortunately moves on to the next question, something about fashion and their Gucci craze that Yoongi half tunes out.

He knows things are different in the US and that people have been more liberated since the 70s. He knows people bluntly talk about sex, in this casual yet titillating sort of way, digging for questions about celebrities’ private lives that is so much less innocent that the constant ‘What qualities do you like in a mate?’ that they get in Japan and Korea.

Taehyung is showing off his dress shoes now, making the interviewer ooh and aah in exaggeration, and Yoongi uses the opportunity to take a step back an half-hide behind Namjoon.

He can tell that Namjoon notices and that he does not exactly approve - after all they are here for promo - but he also does not object. Namjoon is a considerate leader that way, attentive to when one of them needs a short break from the cameras and parade of interviewers.

It’s especially bad now when the rest of them cannot properly articulate themselves, when they sound like five-years olds trying to put sentences together and have people talk to them accordingly.

Namjoon himself seems unbothered by it. He rarely takes the centerstage in such a manner, but he bears the burden well, does not complain about the added pressure.

When they move farther down the red carpet and the next stupid question comes, Yoongi hooks his finger in the belt loop of Namjoon’s slacks in silent camaraderie.

“But who-” the show host asks into the general commotion of Seokjin throwing hands with Jungkook under the guise of ‘putting the maknae in his place’. “Who of you is the least aligned with his status?”

Immediately, every eye in the audience seems to turn toward Yoongi. He’s used to it and cannot really fault them for their assumptions, so he doesn’t let it bother him and just keeps his face neutral.

“Rapmonnie-hyung!” Jimin jumps in at once. “He’s the least alpha-like alpha I’ve ever met!”

There are agreeing nods from everyone, Namjoon ducking his head and smiling shyly.

“But he’s your leader!” the host points out, looking genuinely surprised.

“Only when it comes to work,” Jungkook replies and, as the only other alpha in their group, it might seem like he were undermining Namjoon’s position. But it’s just the truth.

“I don’t like strict hierarchies,” Namjoon explains with that careful tone of his, the one that makes it obvious how he is deliberately choosing his words. “I think, as a group, we work so well because we are all equal. I cannot think of myself as superior in any way.”

The members smile, the audience claps and, for now, that topic is settled.

Jimin is the perfect omega in a lot of ways. The stereotype, if one were to think of it less favorably.

He is cute and pretty and enticing but, on stage, he reeks of seduction. He aims to please and asks for praise, but he also overcompensates, never quite at ease with his status.

“Do you ever think what it’d be like,” Jimin had asked once, in the confidence of a midnight conversation. “Being an alpha, I mean?”

“Nah,” Yoongi had said and shaken his head. Because he didn’t. Or rather, he only thought about it in an abstract way, like wondering what it would have been like to grow up as an only child or if he had ended up going to a different school.

Min Yoongi does not bother with could-have-beens in the reality of things that cannot be changed. And his status is one of them.

He doesn’t like being an omega but he doesn’t mind it either. He just is.

Many people don’t understand that. They think that a rapper like him ought to try for some alpha posturing, ought to sharpen his softer edges.

But unlike Jimin who fits into the ideal of the romcom omega, the one who is sensitive and outspoken and so charming that no one can resist, Yoongi would have been a good omega two hundred years ago.

He is standoffish, prude almost, yet fiercely protective of his friends. He’s content to sit back and let someone else be in charge, as long as he agrees with their work ethic. He always has an eye on the kids, both to keep them in check and to make sure that they are alright.

Maybe that’s his omega instincts. Maybe it’s just the way he loves.

Yoongi knocks on the door of the studio and waits for a reply. When he doesn’t get one, he knocks again, more forcefully. Then he rolls his eyes.

“Joon, I’m gonna open the fucking door, so you better not be jerking off in there,” Yoongi warns loudly, counts to ten in his head and then pushes down the door handle. He listens closely for any incriminating sounds and then shoulders inside.

Namjoon is sitting at his desk, his face too close to the computer screen. There is no porn on, fortunately, just their standard editing program. He’s got his headphones on, which was probably why he hadn’t heard Yoongi, but when the light of the hallway falls into the room he looks up.

“Oh,” he says, a little too loudly. “Hyung.”

Yoongi clicks his tongue and steps closer, pinching his fingers in the back of Namjoon’s collar and pulling him away from the harsh glare of the screen.

“You’ll ruin your eyes, idiot,” he warns but Namjoon only slips off his earphones and rubs his hands over his face.

“Already ruined anyway,” he mutters, quickly saving his progress and then swiveling in his chair to face Yoongi. His eyes fall to the plastic bag in Yoongi’s hand and he takes a whiff. “Did you bring me food?”

“No, I came here to give you a foot rub,” Yoongi gripes, setting the bag down on the coffee table, before throwing himself on the sofa.

“Oh, that’s so kind of you,” Namjoon says in clear exaggeration and makes to take off his shoes, but Yoongi only laughs and throws a napkin at him. It doesn’t go very far, just sadly sails to the floor in the distance between them, and Namjoon bends over instead to pick it up.

“How’s it going then?” Yoongi asks, opening the takeout boxes and spreading them out on the table.

“Could be better,” Namjoon shrugs, getting up to join him on the sofa. “Could be worse. I’m kinda nitpicky with this one.”

“You’re nitpicky with every single one,” Yoongi points out and Namjoon doesn’t disagree.

“Maybe it’s just because my guide is so shitty. I should either re-record it for myself or settle on a finalized track.”

“You should ask Tae,” Yoongi tells him with his mouth full. Namjoon had already showed him a sample last week and Yoongi had immediately thought that a deep voice would be a nice contrast. Taehyung took lovey-dovey pop songs and turned them woeful with a breath.

“Hmm,” Namjoon hums in consideration. “That could work. Good idea, hyung.”

“I only have good ideas,” Yoongi reminds him and Namjoon snorts.

“Patently untrue,” he says and his chopsticks snatch up some lamb right from underneath Yoongi’s nose.

“Fuck,” Yoongi curses, panting for breath as he heavily leans against the inside wall of the elevator. His palms are clammy and his knees jittery. “They are like rabid fucking dogs.”

Normally, he doesn’t allow himself to complain about fans, especially not so openly, but normally they don’t chase him down the street for two blocks.

He had just been out to get some coffee and pastries from that café Hoseok liked so much when a bunch of high school girls had recognized him. They had immediately started snapping pictures, asking for autographs, not taking no for an answer when he politely told them that he was in a hurry.

Somehow, it had turned into a full-blown hunt, during which Yoongi had not only been forced to toss the tray with the coffee cups but also lost his snapback. He had managed to keep a hold of the plastic bag with the pastries, but they are probably a little banged up.

The girls had been scarily persistent and it had only been when he made it through the guarded doors at the studio that they finally relented. Now, Yoongi’s clothes are soaked through with sweat and he can pretty much smell his own panic.

He wipes a wrist under his nose, straightens his back and waits for the elevator doors to open when it reaches their floor.

“Oh, you’re back,” Namjoon says, distractedly glancing at him when Yoongi steps into the studio. “I seriously need that coffee.”

“No coffee,” Yoongi rasps out and quickly clears his throat. He hadn’t expected to sound so hoarse and he blames it on the physical exertion rather than on the sting in his eyes. In any case, it is enough to make Namjoon properly look over, taking in his disheveled appearance.

His face falls.

“What happened?” he asks, immediately pushing out of his chair and stepping closer. He carefully plucks the paper bag from Yoongi’s fingers and sets it aside before pulling Yoongi over to the sofa.

“Sasaengs,” Yoongi only says, simply slumping down on the cushion, his eyes falling shut in relief, at the sudden sense of being safe again. After the rush of adrenaline, his body feels terribly weak. At least one of them had been an alpha, too, kicking his instincts to flee up by about ten more notches.

“Fuck,” Namjoon says, hovering nervously. “Do you- can I-?”

Yoongi cracks an eye open. Namjoon has his hands lifted toward him, but is not actually touching, and it takes Yoongi a moment to understand what he means.

“I’m all sweaty and gross,” he points out and the corners of Namjoon’s mouth quirk upward.

“You also smell like you just escaped from some madman with a chainsaw,” he notes, scooting a little closer. “And you are shivering like crazy.”

Yoongi is. He hadn’t noticed before or maybe it’s only just now setting in, but his hands are trembling in his lap and his shoulders shake around the tension in his spine. He purses his lips.

“This really fucking sucked,” he says and then dips himself into Namjoon’s arms.

Namjoon doesn’t waste any time, just tugs down the collar of Yoongi’s plaid shirt and presses his face against his neck.

Yoongi can feel the sweat from his skin being wiped away by Namjoon’s cheeks and it’s gross but also much appreciated.

Namjoon has always had a soothing, unobtrusive scent for an alpha, not like Jungkook who fucking reeked while he was still going through puberty. So Yoongi just lets himself relax into it, into the smell and the embrace, rubbing his own face along Namjoon’s scent glands.

After a minute, however, the door opens and Hoseok steps in, halting on the threshold, before quickly squeezing in and shutting the door behind himself, for privacy’s sake.

“Whoa,” he says. He probably had gone to the toilet before Yoongi came back and is now caught off guard by the unexpected scene. “Did I miss something?”

Yoongi is about to pull back, to give an explanation and an excuse, because Hoseok was stressed about his mixtape and the coffee and pastries had been meant as a treat for him. But then he can’t because Namjoon is still holding him tight.

“Just give us a minute,” Namjoon tells Hoseok, his voice right in Yoongi’s ear.

And, normally, Yoongi would complain about having too many witnesses to his moment of weakness but, right now, he can only focus on Namjoon’s strength.

Yoongi wakes with a headache.

“Ugh,” he says, contemplating whether he should try to go back to sleep, but then he drags himself out of bed, pulls on whatever t-shirt lies close by, and shuffles out of his room.

In the kitchen, Namjoon is already sitting at the table, nursing a cup of tea. It’s unusually early for him and his eyes are pinched shut, furrowing his brow in an almost cartoonish way.

He mutters something that might, generously, be considered a greeting and Yoongi cocks an eyebrow.

“Long night?” he asks because it is not all that rare for Namjoon to not bother with going to bed when the sun is already touching the horizon anyway.

“Nah,” Namjoon says. “Just woke with this pounding in my head.”

“Ugh, me too,” Yoongi groans, pouring himself a cup of whatever herbal concoction sits in the pot.

For the next half hour, they quietly sit together, waiting for the others to file in, and the headache slowly fades.

“Doesn’t it get annoying to live together?” the host asks. “Surely, you’ll want to get your own places eventually?”

“But we’re a family!” Taehyung insists. “Being on our own would be awful.”

“We’re pretty well balanced, all things considered,” Seokjin agrees. It’s unusual for a group of unmated men their age to live together so peacefully and it hadn’t been easy, in the very beginning. But they are a clockwork now, well-oiled and with each cog having its specific function. There’s nothing to fix, if nothing is broken.

“But,” the host smiles. “You’ll want mates one day, right?”

“One day,” they all chorus dutifully. “But not now.”

Because they are too busy, because they cannot split their attention, because they have no time to get to know anyone so intimately, because their contracts don’t allow it, because they have to be a fantasy, readily available for any fan who wants them.

They’d have mates, someday, surely. But Yoongi is in no particular hurry.

“Can we turn that off?” Yoongi complains. The tv is on and there is the tenth media outlet philosophising about some alpha starlet’s surprising announcement that she recently found a mate.

Some say they consider it a bold move to go against her contract, some believe it is sure to end her career. No one even knows who her mate is or why they made the decision so suddenly. Yoongi just thinks people ought to mind their own business.

Taehyung huffs but does at least switch the channel.

“You’ve been touchy lately, hyung,” he notes, vaguely accusatory but also implying a willingness to listen in case Yoongi has anything he needs to talk about. Yoongi doesn’t.

“Just feeling a bit under the weather,” he mutters and rubs his temple, closing his eyes so he won’t have to see Taehyung look at him in concern.

Yoongi wouldn’t call himself sick, exactly, as his little ailments had not yet interfered with their group schedule. But his joints ache sometimes, in a way that has nothing to do with dance practice, his sleep pattern is even more erratic than usual and, when he’s alone at the studio, he barely gets any work done because of this recurring headache.

He’s been popping vitamins like candy and trying to keep to a more regular sleeping schedule but, so far, none of it had helped.

Whatever. It’ll have to fade eventually.

“Alright, that’s it,” Seokjin decides a few days later, hands on his hips. “You are both going to see a doctor. Today.”

“But, hyung,” Namjoon tries to object at once. He can be strangely childish about things like this, even when it comes to regular checkups. But both he and Yoongi had slept badly once more and it was starting to affect their work. The other day, Yoongi had almost fallen asleep during an interview and fans were asking worried questions, thinking that the company was overworking them.

“Nope,” Seokjin shakes his head. “Both of you have caught the same thing or are suffering from exhaustion or whatever, and dragging it out will not make it better. Just have a doctor look at

you. You don’t want to this to become a problem for the group, do you?”

Ah, the patented blackmail approach. None of them ever wanted to disappoint Bangtan or BigHit or ARMY.  

“Fine,” Yoongi bites out, none too happy about this. He understands Seokjin’s concern, though, especially since both he and Namjoon are affected by this, their moods dragged down by the constant dizziness and discomfort. “We’ll go to the damn doctor.”

“Good.” Seokjin nods in satisfaction. “I already made appointments. The car is waiting downstairs.”

Ironically, the headache fades to a dull throb during their ride to the private practice and then disappears completely once they are sitting side by side in the waiting room.

“You go first,” Namjoon tells him, leafing through a paper cover he isn’t really reading anyway. Yoongi cannot tell whether he is being respectful of his elder or just doesn’t want to get poked and prodded yet, so he just snorts and stands up and follows the receptionist to the examination room.

The doctor, fortunately, is a patient one, not simply blaming Yoongi’s busy schedule and writing his symptoms off as fatigue.

“And it might be catching,” Yoongi remembers to point out when he has described everything he could think of. “One of my friends is going through the same. Some sort of virus, maybe?”

“Oh?” Doctor Im says, perking up. “You are in the same group?”

“Yes.” Yoongi nods. “We actually came here together; he’s still waiting outside.”
“Interesting,” Doctor Im muses and then leans close to the phone on his desk, pushing a button.

“Please bring me the patient who arrived with Min Yoongi,” he tells his receptionist and half a minute later Namjoon comes shuffling in, bowing to the doctor and then taking the seat next to Yoongi.

Yoongi relaxes slightly, blowing out a held breath.

“So,” Doctor Im addresses them. “You two exhibit the same symptoms and they started appearing at the same time?”

“Hard to tell,” Yoongi admits. “We didn’t exactly keep track of it in the beginning.”

“Uh-huh,” the doctor says. He’s got their files open on his computer screen, scrolling through them. “You are both unmated?”

“Yes.”

“Hm. Would you say you are particularly close? With each other, I mean?”

At that, Namjoon and Yoongi exchange a look and then shrug.

“We’re best friends,” Namjoon says easily.

“Hm,” the doctor hums again, glancing over and then back at the screen. “You two live together? For how long now?”

“Uuuh, eight years?” Yoongi hazards. “Going on nine.”

“Interesting.” Doctor Im props his elbows up on his desk and steeples his fingers in a caricature of deep thought. “Do you scent each other a lot? Share food? Clothes maybe?”

“I- I guess?” Namjoon says, looking way out of his depth at the random string of questions. “How is that-”

“It says here you are both on suppressants,” the doctor continues blithely and Yoongi really is starting to wonder where this is heading. “Have you ever engaged in sexual activities with each other?”

Immediately, Namjoon splutters but Yoongi just sinks lower in his chair. As an omega, he is probably more used to getting such invasive questions.

“No,” he says, very aware of how choked his voice sounds. “We haven’t.”

Doctor Im leans back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling.

“Interesting,” he says again and Yoongi really doesn’t like getting that word in lieu of an actual diagnosis.

“It’s certainly unusual,” the doctor muses aloud. “Not unheard of, of course, just unlikely. But not impossible.”

“Doctor,” Namjoon says insistently. “What is going on with us and how is it related?”

Fortunately, the man snaps their attention back to them.

“You see,” he says, watching them closely. “This is just a hypothesis so far, but it’s the best idea I have right now.”

He takes a deep breath.

“I think that, due to the close proximity and constant exposure to each other,” he says carefully, as though they were a little slow on the uptake, “You may have developed an accidental bond.”

Yoongi stares.

“What,” he says flatly. “Like a mating bond?”

“Almost,” Doctor Im agrees, fiddling with his glasses. “As I said, it is very unusual, so much so that a lot of people don’t even know about it. But, in some rare occasions, a sort of preliminary mating bond can develop between an alpha and an omega, no bite needed, no overt courting, none of that whole ordeal.”

“But,” Namjoon says, helplessly waving his hands around and nearly smacking Yoongi in the face. “We’re- we’re not planning to mate. We’re just friends.”

“But your biology doesn’t know that,” Doctor Im points out. “Your bodies don’t. They think they have the perfect mate at their fingertips, so they go for it. These headaches and dizzy spells you’ve been getting? I reckon they never showed up when you were close together. Because, when you are not, your instincts are screaming at you to get back to your mate - or rather, to properly make that person your mate.”

Namjoon is gaping, in a very unattractive manner. It’s ridiculous that he was just described as Yoongi’s ‘perfect mate’.

“Can we- reverse it?”

To their relief, Doctor Im nods.

“Oh yes, that should be possible. It’s hard to determine how developed your bond is, at this point, since everything happens so creepingly. It could have started months or even years ago. The best approach would be complete separation or, considering your work, as little interaction as possible. No scenting, no nothing - that would only strengthen the bond.”

“But,” Namjoon says, faintly. “How long are we supposed to keep that up? We see each other daily. We can’t avoid each other forever.”

“Yes, that will be a problem.” Doctor Im purses his lips. “The thing is that, even once reversed, you have still imprinted on each other and will be susceptible to developing another bond. It might even cause trouble once you are planning to mate with someone else.”

Yoongi, however, is much less concerned about any hypothetical future mate than the possibility that his and Namjoon’s friendship might forever be stripped of its fundamentals.

“Careful,” Doctor Im says in that moment, pointing a long finger at where Yoongi’s hand has involuntarily come up to grip Namjoon’s shirt sleeve. “Even small gestures such as these will make it harder in the long run.”

Yoongi lets go as if burned.

“I advise you to start the weaning process as soon as possible,” the doctor continues, turning back to his computer and quickly typing something in. “You’ll essentially experience withdrawal, so I’ll prescribe you some painkillers against any discomfort. There’s not much else I can do, I’m afraid, but feel free to check in with me at any point, especially if the dependence between you seems to become worse.”

The printer beneath the desk whirrs to life and then spits out two pink slips of paper that the doctor signs with a little flourish before handing them over. He wishes them a good day and tells his receptionist to call in the next patient.

“So,” Namjoon says, once they are standing inside the downstairs lobby. “What now?”

Yoongi shrugs. They had taken the elevator but stood as far as possible from each other as the small space would allow. “Back to the dorm?”

“Yeah.” Namjoon bops his head. “You should… go ahead and take the car. I’ll just… wait here.”

“Oh,” Yoongi says. It makes sense. If they were supposed to not be close to each other, half an hour in the back of a car would not be a good idea. Oh God, this would be a nightmare with their work schedule.

“You’ll be okay here?” he asks. “You could just call a cab.”

“Nah.” Namjoon smiles. “I wanted to finish my book anyway.”

He lifts the paperback again and, this time, Yoongi actually reads the title. Catch-22 . How ironic.

“Well, then,” he says and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “See you in a bit.”

“Oh,” Seokjin says when Yoongi gets back to the dorm. He had been hoping to stroll in unnoticed. “You’re back without Joonie?”

Yoongi turns his face away to cough into his shoulder.

“He, uh, he kinda had to stay behind,” he hedges.

Seokjin’s eyes widen. “Oh my God, he’s got polio, doesn’t he?”

“He- what?”

“He caught polio while we were in the States,” Seokjin says. “And now he’s going to become lame or die, and pd-nim is going to have my ass.”

“We are all vaccinated,” Yoongi says, unable to stop himself from grinning. “I doubt they would have let us into the country otherwise.”

“Well, then why do you look like you are already planning his funeral?” Seokjin wants to know and Yoongi’s shoulder sag in surrender.

“Yeah, about that,” he says. “I think you should call everyone into the living-room.”

“That’s crazy,” is Hoseok’s verdict, once Yoongi finishes telling them everything Doctor Im said. “That’s so crazy.”

“Can that happen to anyone?” Jungkook asks, sounding slightly panicked. On the couch, Jimin and Taehyung - who had previously been sitting half on top of each other - quickly scoot apart.

“He didn’t say,” Yoongi replies. “Just… that it’s rare. And reversible.”

“Well, that’s good, at least,” Seokjin sighs. “Wouldn’t do for us to end up with a mating scandal to follow us around.”

Yoongi swallows hard.

“And you really didn’t notice?” Jimin wants to know, looking both intrigued and freaked out. He probably thinks that, as an omega, he might be at risk of having the same thing happen to him.

“I dunno,” Yoongi mutters. “I just… in hindsight… I never felt bad when he was around? That’s why I let it slide so long, because I never had to call in sick.”

“So what, we have to keep you apart now, even if your instincts are screaming at you to scent each other and shit?” Hoseok is frowning heavily. “Are we supposed to hose you down like dogs or something?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“It’s not gonna be that bad,” he says. “I think we can handle a little migraine now and then. The doctor already gave us some nice pills to go with it.”

The others still look unconvinced. Worried. But that is better than them flipping their shit at Yoongi and Namjoon apparently being so underfucked that they accidentally bonded with each other.

In that moment, the front door opens.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Yoongi says and flees to his room.

The headache starts just before Yoongi goes to bed. He pops a painkiller and pulls his blanket over his head.

Namjoon spends the next day at the studio and Yoongi resists the urge to text him and ask whether he is feeling just as shitty. Doctor Im had only really mentioned physical proximity as an aggravator of the bond, but emotional dependence probably plays into it as well.

Yoongi pushes the heels of his thumbs into his eyes to stave off some of the pressure, ignoring the way Jungkook is anxiously watching from across the room.

He’s not supposed to take more painkillers for another two hours, unless he wants to euthanize his liver.

Hoseok had informed him that he and Namjoon had talked to Bang-pd about everything. Their mentor had taken the news well, fortunately, and didn’t blame them for things out of their control. Morbidly, Yoongi wonders how he would have reacted if two members had consciously decided to mate.

In any case, if the news got out, it would cause a shitstorm for sure. Some people would freak out about the medical anomaly, some over their bias being taken, and some over the idea that the kpop industry promoted such unhealthy living conditions that idols even ended up being bonded against their will.

What an absolute nightmare.

When Yoongi  goes to bed that evening, it is still light outside and he has to draw the curtains shut, hoping the darkness will offer some relief. It doesn’t.

He is still awake when Namjoon returns a few hours later and he thinks he can hear him pause outside Yoongi’s bedroom, maybe putting a hand to the door, but never actually knocking. Eventually, he moves on and the lights turn off again.

Yoongi only makes it through the night by sheer force of will.

The next day is even worse, especially with the knowledge that that their normal schedule will soon pick up again. Yoongi stays in bed, feeling miserable, even when Jimin eventually comes to keep him company, gently running his fingers through Yoongi’s hair.

Jimin is that kind of omega, the one that seeks to soothe and sweeten and support. And Yoongi doesn’t just let anyone do this with him, but he is often glad to have another omega in the group, someone who understands some things just a little bit better.

“Kookie has been really weird since you told us everything,” Jimin sighs, his chin propped up on his free hand. “I think he’s afraid he might accidentally bond with me, if he gets too close.”

“The doctor said it’s super rare,” Yoongi says into his pillow. “Just my luck.”

“You are lucky,” Jimin tells him. “Imagine getting stuck with Jinnie-hyung and having to listen to his jokes the whole time.”

Yoongi cannot quite bring himself to smile.

“I’m not stuck with Joon, though,” he points out. “The opposite, actually.”

“Hm,” Jimin hums and is silent for a long moment. Then he muses, “I guess I’m not really surprised that, out of all of us, this happened to the two of you.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything but, if he were being truthful, he’d think the same.

That night, Namjoon is standing outside Yoongi’s room again.

Yoongi knows he’s there before he hears his footsteps, before he sees him block the light in the gap underneath the door.

They haven’t even talked in almost three days. It is not the longest they have ever been apart, but it certainly feels like it when they are not allowed to see each other, when every fibre of Yoongi’s being is screaming at him to go and let Namjoon in.

In the end, though, it is not his own weakness that betrays him.

Instead, there is a heavy sigh, followed by a light knock.

Yoongi holds his breath. If he says anything, he knows it will turn against him.

“Hyung,” Namjoon’s voice says, a desperate whisper. “Please, can I come in?”

“Yes,” the word trips out of Yoongi’s mouth. “Yes, you- yes, come in.”

The door opens. For a moment, Yoongi sees nothing but the outline of Namjoon’s shoulders, drawn by a golden halo. Then the door shuts again and Namjoon is leaning against it in the darkness.

“Hyung, I’m sorry,” Namjoon says, sounding truly terribly defeated. “I’m just so tired. I can’t sleep, I haven’t properly slept for days, this headache is killing me and the fucking aspirin isn’t doing anything, I just- I just need- half an hour. Fifteen minutes. And then I- I promise I’ll leave again.”

Yoongi flips his blanket back so quickly he almost dislocates his arm.

Namjoon inhales sharply and, belatedly, Yoongi realizes that he must have just billowed a cloud of his fresh scent through the room.

“It’s- it’s okay,” Yoongi tells him roughly. Swallowing is kind of difficult right now. “Just- just ten minutes won’t do any harm.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon agrees, crossing the room with large steps. “Just five minutes.”

They both know it’s a lie and, when Namjoon does climb into the bed, they know it even more.

The relief is not quite instantaneous but the pressure does fade noticeably. Skin-on-skin contact would probably speed things up, but for now the scent is enough, the sight, the knowledge.

“I thought I was gonna die,” Namjoon groans, turning to bury his face in Yoongi’s pillow. “This is- so much better.”

Yes. Yes, it really is.

Yoongi is asleep before he has even decided to close his eyes.

In the morning, Namjoon is gone.

They avoid each other, which isn’t difficult to do in a dorm such as theirs, but it’s a little unnerving to have to take their meals separately, to have the other members loudly warn them  when the other is already in kitchen, to stand at opposite ends of the hallway and quickly having to swerve off into whatever room is closest.

Yoongi doesn’t know how long Namjoon had stayed that night. But he knows that he was back that evening and that they fell asleep together.

It’s probably not a good idea to go against doctor’s orders, but it is difficult to rein themselves in when a few hours of just sleeping next to each other promises a day with only very few withdrawal symptoms.

But they don’t tell anyone about their cheating the system, just keep up the facade, and it is the most irresponsible thing they have ever done.

When their regular schedule picks up again, they drive everywhere in separate cars, claiming that their van is in repair. During fan signs, they sit at the far ends of the tables. When they film a new Run episode, they rig the choosing of the teams so the two of them won’t be put together.

Due to the delay between filming and publishing some of their material, it will probably take their fans a while to pick up on their strange behavior, on the fact that Namjoon and Yoongi have barely interacted on screen.

But by then, the reasoning goes, the bond surely will have dissolved and things would slowly go back to normal. Or maybe they could, if Yoongi and Namjoon weren’t secretly spending six out of seven nights in the same bed.

“So,” Hoseok asks, two weeks after they first got diagnosed. “How’s that bond thing doing? Finally conquered your carnal urges?”

Yoongi almost spits out his coffee, just barely manages to swallow it instead.

They had almost gotten found out that morning, when Taehyung was shuffling into the direction of the bathroom, just as Namjoon was about to sneak back to his own bed. Luckily, Taehyung had been so sleepy still that he hadn’t realized that Namjoon was not supposed to be coming out of Yoongi’s room at 5 am.

“‘s good,” Yoongi claims now, careful to keep his eyes on the tabletop. “Or, y’know, bad. For the bond, I mean.”

“Your headaches haven’t been as severe, right,” Hoseok nods along. “That probably means you’re out of the woods. Good to know this’ll resolve itself more quickly than expected.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees faintly. “Totally.”

It gets worse, though.

Instead of alleviating the pain throughout the day, their instinct to be together just gets stronger.

Perhaps it’s the lack of scenting, the fact that, every damn morning, they rush to take a shower to make sure that the others cannot smell their secrets.

Sometimes, they wake up close together, entangled even, with their noses pressed to each others necks, and then they have to awkwardly pull apart, bodies hot and cocks half-hard.

There is no sexual tone to it, not really, just their biology being confused while their minds can still tell things apart.

If Yoongi sometimes stares across the room, eyeing Namjoon almost hungrily at the thought of properly bathing in his scent, then that’s for him to ignore and for their fans to speculate over.

After weeks of this, of being hyperaware of where exactly Namjoon is standing as they give an interview, of focusing on the undulation of his voice more than on the words themselves, of going to bed and dreading the morning because they will have to separate again, just sleeping together is no longer enough.

It happens backstage at an award show. Yoongi had run for the toilet after their performance but he’s barely washed his hands when Namjoon is walking in. They are both glistening with sweat and need to get back too the stylists to get their hair and makeup fixed, because the award ceremony is up next and they ought to look their best.

“Hey,” Yoongi rasps, still out of breath. He tugs at the collar of his shirt, makes it lie flat. When he looks up, Namjoon is standing right in front of him.

“Give me your hand,” Namjoon says, holding out his own as if he were going in for a handshake. But Yoongi knows there’s more to it.

Without hesitation, he closes his fingers around Namjoon’s, their hot palms presses against each other. Namjoon inhales sharply and shuts his eyes.

“That bad?” Yoongi asks. He’s been feeling the tug but it’s been bearable. Namjoon only gives a little shake of his head.

“My concentration keeps slipping,” he says. “I almost fumbled my steps.”

It takes Yoongi a moment to understand that Namjoon was distracted by Yoongi’s presence during their performance. Something about that makes his heart race, but perhaps it’s just the aftereffects of the exertion.

“That- Sorry,” he says because he doesn’t know what else is appropriate, but Namjoon only shakes his head again.

“Not your fault,” he says. There’s a tiny furrow between his brows, as though he were trying to glean as much as possible from that small point of contact between them.

“We could touch,” Yoongi offers without thinking about it. “If we win an award, we can do a group hug. The others can’t scold us then.”

Namjoon cracks a grin, though his eyes still remain closed. “We better win something then.”

“Fingers crossed,” Yoongi says.

They end up winning three awards and he has never been more grateful for their fortune.

And that is how it goes. The others, believing the bond has mostly died down again, grow more lenient in keeping the two apart. Namjoon and Yoongi, in turn, grow more bold.

It’s like a game, in a way, of them playing footsie underneath the table without ever making eye contact, of linking their pinkies behind their backs where no one can see.

It is, for the most part, the same level of skinship they’ve always had. Just that it no longer feels casual and carefree. There’s a sick kind of thrill to it and Yoongi cannot quite tell whether it’s the bond humming its approval or just the risk of being caught. They are like lovers sneaking around and meeting for secret little rendezvous, though he tries not to think of it that way.

They maintain plausible deniability until a little bump in their schedule comes up. Jimin and Yoongi have a thing for a campaign in the name of omega rights, and it will take them out of town for a couple of days.

Originally, Yoongi had been looking forward to it, but that had been before he needed Namjoon to even be able to sleep through the night.

The morning of their departure, Yoongi is still in his room and listlessly packing his bag when Namjoon sneaks in. He’s looking harried and, in his hands, he is carrying a plastic bag with something bundled up inside.

“Here,” he says simply, pushing the unorthodox gift into Yoongi’s hands. “I wore this yesterday. If you sleep in it, it should recreate some of the effects.”

Yoongi glances inside, spotting one of Namjoon’s favorite sweaters.

“What about you?” he asks because it’s not like this is a one-way street.

Namjoon just shrugs.

“I’ll just… stay here,” he says, terribly reminiscent of that time he had remained behind after their appointment. “I guess I’ll still sleep in your bed, if that is alright?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, and the inside of his mouth feels like wool. “Yeah, you can do that.”

What Yoongi doesn’t count on is Jimin being bored when the other maknae aren’t there to keep him entertained.

He’s just gotten settled into his hotel room, setting up his equipment to revise some of his older but unused tracks to see whether he can recycle them when he hears someone loudly slump again the door from the outside.

“Hyuuung,” Jimin whines. “Hyung, let me in.”

Yoongi sighs and stares up at the ceiling in exasperation. “I thought you wanted to binge watch that new series.”

“I watched the first episode and it’s so bad,” Jimin complains. “They said they were going to defy stereotypes but it turns out that it just means the girl is the alpha and the guy the omega. It’s still the same stupid clichés.”

Yoongi still doesn’t want to let him in, but then Jimin starts making pitiful little noises, similar to what Yeontan does whenever he wants to be picked up, and finally Yoongi caves.

He stands from his chair, crosses the room and opens the door, at once greeted by Jimin’s shit-eating grin.

“Thank you!” he chirps, throwing his arms around Yoongi’s shoulders - only to quickly pull away again. “Why are you wearing Joonie’s sweater?”

Oh shit. Yoongi had put it on even before bedtime to prevent the migraine from disrupting him during his work, but no one was supposed to know about it. Casually, he kicks the door shut behind them.

“Must have gotten mixed up in the wash,” Yoongi lies, deadpan.

Jimin, unfortunately, sees right through him. “Then why does it smell like him so much?”

“Must have gotten mixed up before the wash.”

At that, Jimin’s smile turns so bitingly sweet it should rather be called acid.

“Are you messing with the bond, hyung?” he wants to know, immediately putting Yoongi on the defensive.

“It just- it helps with the worst of the pain, okay?” he hisses, catching the look of chagrin in Jimin’s eyes.

“I thought it was getting better,” Jimin says, sounding more sympathetic now.

“It is,” Yoongi claims. “This is just… to tide me over.”

“Tide you over till what?”

“Till I can take another painkiller.”

“Aren’t just dragging it out, though?” Jimin wonders. “This is scenting by proxy - your body will think you’re still bonded to him.”

“Oh fine,” Yoongi says, spitefully, grabbing the hem of the sweater and dragging it over his head, mussing up his hair. He tosses the sweater onto the bed, just calculated enough that it lands on top of the pillow. “Happy now?”

Jimin’s lips are pinched.

“Technically, I should make you shower,” he points out, only for his tone to turn a little softer. “But I also know that all of this is probably not easy for you.”

“Understatement of the century,” Yoongi mutters. When he walks back to his desk and sits down at his computer, he ignores the mild pull behind his eyeballs; it’s probably only psychosomatic anyway.

It’s an awful two days, all around. Despite the sweater and the painkillers and Jimin’s best attempts at distraction, Yoongi’s only silver lining is the knowledge that he will get to see Namjoon at the end of it.

He tries to not think of it this way, of Namjoon as a reward for the struggle, of himself as someone whose existence is centered around another person.

It’s just that it’s hard.

Finally, on the car ride back to Seoul, he scrolls through the messages Namjoon sent since all of this has begun, all of them work related and with Yoongi only giving curt replies, either monosyllabic or in form of stickers and emoticons. Some, he hasn’t answered at all.

It sucks. He really fucking misses just hanging out with Namjoon at the studio, walking home late at night to grab some impromptu dinner, sending him demos and stupid internet videos, just standing next to him during photo shoots.

Their friendship had always been such a calm, understated thing, not the baseline of Bangtan, not the overture, just the steady tick of the meter that stood at the beginning of it all. Without it, Yoongi seems to lose his rhythm.

With a shuddering exhale, he rests his temple against the cool glass of the car window and wills time to go a little faster.

“Careful,” Seokjin says the moment Jimin and Yoongi step into the dorm. “Namjoon is skulking around here somewhere.”

Yoong snorts, kicking off his shoes and setting them aside, slightly unbalanced by the heavy bag still over his shoulder. “You make it sound like he’s gonna jump me if I’m not careful.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Seokjin mutters, and Jimin perks up.

“Has Joonie-hyung gotten worse again?”

“I don’t know about worse,” Seokjin says. “But he’s certainly been tetchy. I’m starting to think that this is the kind of distance we should have put between the two of you from the beginning. In here, your scents are mixed and you are still around each other when we work. Cold turkey probably would have been better.”

Yoongi coughs quietly.

“I’ll make sure to keep avoiding him,” he says, clenching a hand around the shoulder strap of his bag. “I’ll… drop off my shit in my room now.”

He leaves without making it seem like he is in a hurry, still hearing how Jimin asks Seokjin about dinner, but his steps quicken slightly the closer he gets to Namjoon’s room. He doesn’t knock on the door, doesn’t even stop in front of it, but he hopes that Namjoon heard them arrive and will come to see him soon.

He sets his bag down in his own room and shrugs off his jacket, tossing it over the back of his desk chair, before making his way to the bathroom down the hallway. He’s barely made it inside, though, then the door slams shut behind him and he is forcefully pushed against it.

It happens so quickly, Yoongi doesn’t even know what’s happening, just that instead of panic he is suddenly filled with a sense of relief.

Oh, he thinks, blinking slowly, when a warm forehead is pressed against his. Oh.

Because Namjoon is standing in front of him, arms braced on either side to still keep a little bit of distance between them. He is breathing through his nose, but harshly, as though he were forcing to control himself.

“Joon,” Yoongi says, slurs almost with how thick his tongue feels in his mouth. “What-”

“Shh,” Namjoon only shushes him. He’s got his eyes closed and his shoulders are trembling. “Shh.”

So Yoongi stays still, letting this tiny bit of warmth seep into him, inhaling Namjoon’s scent. They cannot touch beyond this, not without the others smelling it on them but, after the drought of the past days, this stolen moment feels like a deluge.

Yoongi groans, only vaguely embarrassed at how he is reduced to speechlessness. Namjoon had had an entire room full of his scent, while Yoongi had only had one measly sweater that he couldn’t very well wear all the time without raising eyebrows. He thinks he’s allowed to feel a little desperate.

“I am- so glad you are back,” Namjoon says, none of his usual eloquence, just this halting admission in the space between their faces, and Yoongi can feel the humidity of his breath against his lips.

“Tonight,” he manages to say, fighting to keep his hands to himself. “Come to my room?”

Namjoon grins and there is something not quite sober about it. Yoongi tries to not think about it too much; he fails.

They take their meals separately, of course. Namjoon eats in his room to give Jimin and Yoongi the chance to catch up with everyone else.

Yoongi, however, let’s Jimin do most of the talking, only chiming in with the occasional addition.

“You seem distracted,” Hoseok tells him at some point, his eyes flicking along Yoongi’s face. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” Yoongi says and fakes a suppressed yawn. “Just tired. I think I’ll head to bed early tonight.”

“You do that,” Hoseok agrees. “Next week is gonna be busy.”

When Yoongi wakes up in the middle of the night, it’s because he feels overheated. He’s kind of gotten used to that by now, because Kim Namjoon is apparently almost as much of a limpet as Taehyung, so it takes him a moment understand that something is different.

He feels groggy, feverish, as though he’d surely stumble if he tried to get up now. There’s a tight feeling in his abdomen, unlike nausea, though, just a strange kind of roiling pressure.

There’s a need in him, but it is so unspecific, so vague that he doesn’t know what to do with it. The smell of slick, however, is unmistakable.

Suddenly alert, Yoongi’s eyes snap open. Namjoon is half draped over him, half-awake and nosing at the soft spot behind Yoongi’s ear where he must smell of unclaimed omega.

“Joon,” Yoongi whispers helplessly because, even through the haze, he remembers that he is on suppressants and that this is not supposed to happen. “I think I’m in heat.”

“I know,” Namjoon says roughly and then he is kissing along Yoongi’s neck. “I know.”

Yoongi can feel even more slick gush out of him at that sound, that sensation.

Yet this is not how he remembers his heat being. Granted, the last one had been during his trainee days, but he clearly recalls the agitation of it, the restlessness. The ache in him had been sharper, making him want to go and find someone to take the edge off. Preferably, some alpha.

Now, there is an alpha pressed up to him, their legs entwined, and they smell so fucking good together.

“Joon,” Yoongi says again, his hands scrambling along Namjoon’s bare shoulders, though he doesn’t know whether he wants to push him off or pull him closer. Namjoon’s knee hitches up in response, nudging Yoongi’s thighs apart and, involuntarily, Yoongi’s hips kick up a little.

Namjoon trails his mouth from Yoongi’s neck along his jawline to his chin. Then he stops.

“May I kiss you?” he asks because of course he has to be a stupid fucking gentleman in this, too.

Yoongi shuts him up by sealing his mouth over Namjoon’s lips that are warm and soft and yielding.

And Yoongi has been with alphas in the past, but most of them had been impatiently fumbling teenagers, just figuring out their strength and the pace of things. Namjoon, in comparison, isn’t necessarily more experienced but more temperate, almost polite in the way he lets Yoongi lead.

Distantly, Yoongi thinks that Namjoon ought to be more caught up in the literal heat of the moment, that there should be a greater urgency. But, perhaps, Namjoon is surrounded by that same fog Yoongi finds himself in, the one that makes everything move slower, blurred around the edges.

For a small eternity, they just kiss, their bodies molding themselves against each other, barely any space between them. Back when their arrangement had started, they had always worn full-length pajamas, until they discovered how much easier everything was with direct skin contact. Because then Namjoon took off his shirt and Yoongi followed suit and, by now, they are used to only wearing boxers.

Finally, even that last bit of fabric seems like too much.

Yoongi can tell that the seat of his underwear is soaked through, that the scent of his slick hangs in the air, begging for attention and, when one of Namjoon’s hand slowly moves south, he is not surprised.

This time, Namjoon doesn’t ask for permission, doesn’t have to because Yoongi just spreads his legs wider, allowing him better access.

When Namjoon touches him, Yoongi jerks slightly, already hypersensitive. In the dark of the room, he can only concentrate on the feeling of Namjoon lightly running his fingertips over damp fabric, spreading the slick around. Some alphas got rough with this, just rubbing senselessly, but Namjoon gently presses against where the labiae are parting in anticipation. Then he draws his hand up again, dragging his palm over Yoongi’s cock, before tightly gripping it through the shorts.

Yoongi moans.

He needs more and quickly. It’s the heat talking, he knows, and the bond, but he’s never been more desperate to get fucked.

So, without letting himself think about it, he bucks his hips and shimmies out of his underwear, carelessly tossing it aside.
“Yoongi,” Namjoon breathes. He doesn’t say it like a warning, nor like a plea, just as though he had wanted to say Yoongi’s name. His hand is large on Yoongi’s cheek as he tilts him into another kiss.

Yoongi doesn’t care for kissing. Because even Namjoon’s mouth cannot distract him from the throbbing between his legs, this not-quite-ache of his body begging for relief.

“Touch me,” Yoongi says against Namjoon’s lips and, for the first time, lets his own hand sneak between them, below the waistband of Namjoon’s shorts, blindly grabbing his cock, fully hard and damp at the tip. “I need-”

Yes, he needs. But, what’s more, he wants . He wants Namjoon close, between his legs, inside him.

Namjoon curses, something barely intelligible, and then kicks the blankets back, scrambling out of his own boxershorts. Yoongi shivers violently in the sudden cold, makes a relieved little sound when Namjoon’s hot body covers him again.

That’s the only thing that makes sense, so far. When an omega goes into heat, a mild rut is triggered in their bonded alpha. Bonded, not mated. Unconsciously, Yoongi tilts his head back to expose his neck.

Between them, Namjoon is grasping his cock now, aligning it with where Yoongi is already splayed wide, no further preparation needed. He can feel the blunt head of Namjoon’s cock press against him, sliding through the slick. Yoongi stifles a whimper.

“Okay?” Namjoon asks and Yoongi closes his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

Namjoon enters him in one long push, slow and certain, and Yoongi easily opens up around him, not even a twinge in his muscles, just a surge of arousal, a tingle at the base of his spine.

Yoongi forces himself to keep breathing but, above him, Namjoon has stilled, perhaps to give Yoongi another moment to adjust, perhaps to rein himself in.

With dry lips, Yoongi leans up and kisses Namjoon’s sternum, the heartbeat somewhere beneath it.

“Move,” he says and Namjoon does.

He fucks Yoongi with one forearm braced against the mattress, keeping his weight from crushing Yoongi, while his other hand is underneath Yoongi’s ass, moving him into each thrust, the skin between them growing damp with sweat and slick and saliva, aimless kisses peppered wherever they can reach.

Yoongi has never had heat sex before. He never had bonding sex before. He wonders whether missionary feels this good for everyone. Like an exposed nerve, a live wire, every touch is multiplied, every sense heightened. Yoongi can only keen, and clench around Namjoon, and try to keep himself from cumming too quickly.

Namjoon is breathing shallowly above him, letting out occasional grunts. It should be an unattractive angle, but his hair is falling into his face and he is biting his lower lip, a small frown etched onto his forehead, and his neck is so close and so inviting.

Just the bond, Yoongi reminds himself. The bond and the sex and his damned primitive instincts.

“F-fuck,” he stutters out when Namjoon changes the angle and his cock drags along Yoongi’s walls just so, making Yoongi tense and twist his head to the side, just as Namjoon begins to mouth along his jugular.  

“Don’t bite me,” Yoongi pleads frantically, with his last scraps of clarity, even as he feels his pleasure building and building. “Just don’t bite me.”

“I won’t,” Namjoon promises, though his lips still rest against Yoongi’s racing pulse. “I won’t.”

Yoongi digs his heels into the mattress, his fingers into Namjoon’s biceps, and comes.

Chapter Text

Afterward, they avoid each other, which is made easier by how they are expected to do that anyway, and harder by how Yoongi hates every second of it.

In the morning, his heat had been over, unusually quickly, leaving him slightly sore and deeply satisfied. The feeling of contentment, however, soured once he changed his bedding and took a shower, essentially purging Namjoon’s scent from his life once more.

A bonded omega who hasn’t been mated yet is one thing; an omega who got fucked but then abandoned by the alpha is quite another. He feels vulnerable, exposed. His own room doesn’t even feel like home anymore. His bed only smells of himself and he constantly has to resist the urge to steal some of Namjoon’s dirty laundry.

And that is not even touching on how he is still trying to come to terms with the fact that he had sex with his best friend.

He should, perhaps, be more freaked out by this basic truth, of it being him and Namjoon, of their friendship being put at risk, tainted by one night outside of their control.

But the thing that makes Yoongi ache, that makes it feel like there is a gaping chasm sitting in the middle of his chest is that, without the dumb bond, none of this would have happened. If they had both been a little stronger, a little more resilient, they never would have ended up sharing a bed in the first place. They could have stopped it at it roots but, instead, they let it grow.

Yoongi makes it through four entire days of not touching Namjoon even once, of barely even looking at him, telling himself that it’s for the best. It is hard, but necessary, and Namjoon seems to be favoring the same approach. Ignore that anything is amiss. Keep your head up. Carry on.

On the fifth day, they have a fan meet. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, just doing aegyo and waving at the fans, posing for pictures and throwing hearts. Yoongi does his best to not look as testy as he is feeling, just smiles and puts on flower crowns as he signs albums and photocards.

He’s trying not to look over to where Namjoon is sitting at the other end of the table, high-fiving fans and showing off his dimples. There’s nothing overt about it, nothing aggravating, and still Yoongi can feel himself grow angrier by the moment.

It doesn’t help that he is sitting at the beginning of the line so that he can evaluate each fan before they even get to Namjoon. There’s a beta fanboy with a shy smile who mostly makes pretty eyes at Jungkook, an alpha who lingers a little too long to joke around with Seokjin and Taehyung. There’s an omega who had started giggling the moment she put her album in front of Yoongi and she is still giggling when she gets all the way over to Hoseok. It is only when she is standing in front of Namjoon that she goes quiet and timid and bites her lip in a coquettish manner.

In that moment, Jimin leans into Yoongi’s space to whisper into his ear.

“Stop glaring,” he chides gently. “People will notice.”

Quickly, Yoongi snaps his gaze up front again.

He’s not the jealous type. Granted, he’s never had much of anyone to be jealous over, but he still finds himself shocked by his own behavior. After all, he has neither right nor reason to be annoyed by the thought of Namjoon getting a little too friendly with their fans. Apart from the bond, that is, but so far he had never felt his actual feelings influenced by it.

Maybe it’s harder now that he knows what it’s like to be with Namjoon.

It also doesn’t help that Namjoon is everything Yoongi would say he likes in a man. In an alpha.

He’s never let himself think of it like that, for various reasons. When they had first been introduced to each other, Bang pd had already decided that Namjoon was the leader of their soon-to-be group. So Yoongi had seen it as his duty to let this Kim Namjoon guy know that he was not some easily cowed omega and would not unquestioningly respect someone’s authority over him. Namjoon, of course, had taken it in stride – and spent the next few years proving just how worthy he was as a leader, an alpha, and a friend.

If he was a little tall and a little bookish, and if Yoongi has previously known himself to kind of be into that, then that is strictly coincidence and in no way related to how good he may have felt during his heat.

That night, Yoongi finally caves.

He waits until he is sure everyone is is their rooms and then he silently slips out of his bed, tiptoes down the hallway and lets himself into Namjoon’s room. He doesn’t knock, doesn’t turn on the light, doesn’t even say anything.

In the darkness, he can hear Namjoon breathe.

He picks his way through the room from memory, his hands held out in front of him, so he doesn’t knock into any misplaced desk chairs, until he reaches the bed.

“Hyung,” Namjoon says. There’s no sharp inhale, no sign that he was startled awake. He must have been waiting already.

Then why didn’t you come for me, Yoongi wonders, though perhaps he is only miffed that he had to take the first step this time.

Namjoon makes it easy, though, just scoots over to make some space. When Yoongi lies down, the spot on the mattress is warm.

They don’t say anything else. They don’t acknowledge how, only half a week ago, Namjoon had Yoongi on his back and shoved his cock inside him till Yoongi had to stifle his moans in his palm for fear of waking the others.

Now, they just lie facing each other, almost half a meter between them, but still closer than Yoongi had thought possible. Perhaps not all is lost yet.

“Can I come back tonight?” he asks just before sunrise, because he has to make sure that he is not taking where nothing is meant to be given.

Namjoon’s early smile is crinkled around the edges, like it hasn’t been ironed out for the cameras yet, and his hair sticks up on the side of his head.

“You don’t have to ask, hyung,” he says, as though it were obvious. Maybe it is. Yoongi tries not to look too closely.

So this is how their new routine continues.

They don’t kiss. They don’t fuck. They keep their hands to themselves and get a few hours of peaceful sleep.

But, slowly, they begin to talk again.

They have to whisper, muffle their laughter in the pillows. It’s a miracle that they haven’t been caught yet, though Yoongi thinks Jimin might suspect because Jimin understands omega instincts and because he is so attuned to all of them.

But almost half a year has passed since their initial diagnosis, half a year and the others think the bond is gone, make casual remarks about how things can surely go back to normal.

Yet normal would still be limited contact. Normal would be the others still watching their interactions with eagle eyes. Normal would not change things for the better.

So Yoongi will take what he can get, even if only in secrecy.

One night, when he is not yet very tired, he lies in bed beside Namjoon, looking at things on his phone, though the glare stings his eyes. His mother has sent him a video of Holly chasing a housefly, and he laughs to himself.

Namjoon, who had been dozing off, startles awake.

“Hyung?” he asks, shaking his head slightly. “What is it?”

“Oh,” Yoongi says. “Sorry, just- cute video of Holly.”

Namjoon just hums, his eyes barely even open. “Show me?”

Yoongi is surprised Namjoon would want to see, considering he was pretty much asleep before, but he just nods and scoots closer. Namjoon lifts his arm, putting it around Yoongi, drawing him in.

For a moment, Yoongi stills, his cheek cuddled up against Namjoon’s bare chest. Then he angles the phone so Namjoon can see better, and presses play.

Yoongi snickers again as he watches Holly, but Namjoon doesn’t, just snuffles quietly.

“Cute,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to the crown of Yoongi’s head.

A moment later, he seems fast asleep, his arm a comforting weight around Yoongi’s shoulder.

Yoongi sets his phone aside, waits for the screen to darken. Then he pulls the blanket a little higher and doesn’t move away.

“You seem more relaxed,” Seokjin notes before a photoshoot. He and Yoongi have already gotten their hair and makeup done and are now just waiting for everyone else to be ready. “Both of you.”

Yoongi fiddles with his phone, trying to postpone having to answer. If it were anyone else, he would just ignore the comment, but he does usually respect Seokjin being older.

“Yeah,” he says, coughs a little. “Guess we kinda got used to it by now.”

For a long moment, Seokjin is silent. Yoongi cannot see it clearly from the corner of his eye, but he is probably wearing some sympathetic expression.

“I’m really sorry your friendship is being put to the test like this,” Seokjin says finally. “But most of the effects have worn off, right? Maybe you should go see the doctor again and ask him whether you can try to acclimate to each other.”

“Yeah, I’ll- I’ll try to go when our schedule clears up a little,” Yoongi says, knowing full well that that won’t be for another two weeks and that Seokjin won’t be able to urge him.

If they go back to the practice, Doctor Im would realize that they never properly attempted to cut their bond. And then he would ask whether they still even wanted to do it. And, by this point, Yoongi is no longer sure what his answer would be.

It’s distracting. The headaches had been annoying and left him too dizzy to work, some days, but Yoongi hadn’t been aware of their meaning then. Now, he cannot help but overthink his every action.

They are sitting backstage for the After School Special, passing some time before filming can start. Yoongi had been trying to write lyrics but got distracted by Namjoon and Jungkook joking around, laughing to themselves.

There’s not much to it, nothing that hasn’t happened a hundred times before. Jungkook wants to learn English and Namjoon is patiently teaching him some phrases, correcting his pronunciation, explaining the vocabulary, and something about that strikes a chord with Yoongi.

Jungkook hadn’t even presented yet when he joined the group and, despite the fact that he actually ended up being an alpha, he was still their maknae. A head taller than Yoongi and uppity and cheeky most of the time, but they still instinctively sought to care and nurture him.

For all his occasional shyness, Jungkook could sometimes use getting put in place by an alpha, but Namjoon is not someone who favors that kind of approach. He’s the teacher, the counselor, the one who sits down with you in Socratic dialogue and makes you realize your own mistake.

It’s a rare quality, especially among rappers who often seek to establish their superiority. But this calm sort of confidence is more inspiring than any overt displays of dominance.

In that moment, Namjoon looks over and Yoongi tenses as their gazes get caught on each other, too long for it to be casual. Then Yoongi’s mind snaps out of it.

With a little growl, he throws himself out of his chair and leaves the room.

Dance practice a few days later is finally when the others catch on to the fact that maybe their bond is not as severed as they had been led to believe.

Since this whole mess started, Namjoon and Yoongi had been skipping the parts of their choreographies where they would have to touch, only performing them during concerts. As far as the rest of the group knows, these are among the few exceptions. Split seconds, just that and nothing more.

They have a new choreography, specifically tailored so that the two barely even stand next to each other for more than a few moments, and Yoongi hates it, hates that even their art is being influenced by all of this now, that there is not even a point to it because he had woken up in Namjoon’s arms just a few hours ago.

To distract himself from his anger, Yoongi dances, puts his all into it. He concentrates on the way his body moves and does not let his eyes search for Namjoon in the mirror.

They’ve been at it for two hours already and, by now, sweat is clinging to his chest, running down his back in rivulets, making his thin t-shirt stick to him. Hoseok and their choreographer had already praised him for his motivation, and Yoongi had to force himself to not make a glib remark.

They are nearing the end of their dance, everyone finally on point, and Yoongi does the drop he has to do, comes up again, twirls forward, arms outstretched, chasing that ephemeral feeling they are singing about.

He flinches in violent surprise when the door suddenly slams shut, cutting through the music, making him whirl, wide-eyed.

The others are all staring toward the door as well. Everyone except Namjoon, because he seems to be the one who just stormed out of the room without warning.

“What the hell just happened?” Hoseok says, wiping his sleeve across his brow and summing up exactly what Yoongi is thinking. Because the only explanation for Namjoon just fleeing like that would be a sudden case of explosive diarrhea.

“Um, I think it got a little bit much for him,” Jungkook offers timidly and, automatically, everyone turns to look at Yoongi.

He blinks, not understanding what it has to do with him. “What did?”

“The- the smell,” Jungkook says with a vague gesture, looking rather uncomfortable. “You’ve been… smelling really good, hyung.”

Immediately, Yoongi’s hackles raise, and he feels a blush rise in his cheeks.

“I- I haven’t,” he manages to say. That Namjoon would be enticed by his smell is a given but hearing the same from Jungkook is just plain embarrassing.

“It’s true, hyung,” Taehyung jumps to Jungkook’s defense. “You smell really sweet and just, you know, good .”

“Well, that isn’t my fault,” Yoongi claims, crossing his arms in front of his chest and wishing they would just drop the topic.

“Have you eaten anything in particular?” Seokjin asks. “Like fruit or curry or something?”

“Curry doesn’t make you smell that good,” Hoseok objects, pulling a grimace. “Usually takes me three days to sweat it out.”

“Can we not talk about this?” Yoongi demands. “If anything, Namjoon should be told off for not being able to control himself.”

“Good point,” Seokjin nods. “Though it’s not like we can tune down his senses. Have you been suffering new side effects from the bond as well?”

Mutely, Yoongi shakes his head. It’s not a complete lie; after all, the symptoms aren’t exactly new but have been creeping up on him for a while now.

“Guess we can stop practicing for now,” Hoseok sighs. “And hyung,” he adds teasingly, his gaze cutting over to Yoongi. “Maybe take a shower.”

“Fuck you,” Yoongi shrieks and kicks him. It lightens the mood, but it doesn’t solve the problem.

That night, Namjoon goes out to meet with some friends, perhaps to escape the possibility of Hoseok and Seokjin confronting him about how he is obviously not as over the bond as he had been claiming.

Yoongi, in the meanwhile, tries to fall asleep in his own bed, for the first time in days. It doesn’t work.

He’s been feeling rather fatigued lately, more so than is usual for him, and he hates no longer being able to fall asleep on the spot. It’s his bedding, he knows, with no trace of alpha left in it. Perhaps they ought to switch whose bed they sleep in every couple of days, so separation wouldn’t be unbearable.

Finally, tired and cranky and miserable in ways Yoongi doesn’t like admitting, he abandons his bed and tiptoes into Namjoon’s room, carefully closing the door behind himself. The duvet is folded, the pillows fluffed up. Yoongi dives under the covers and inhales deeply.

He doesn’t know how long he sleeps. At some point, he blinks awake to the sound of the door opening and a sliver of light falling into the room, but he is too tired to really react to it.

With bleary eyes, he watches as Namjoon takes off his clothes, throwing them over the desk chair, not bothering to put on pajamas. He sets his glasses onto the bedside table, runs a hand through his hair and perches on the edge of the mattress.

“Sleep well?” he asks, keeping his voice low.

Yoongi snuffles, rubbing his cheek against the pillow.

“’ve had better,” he admits, though he does not say just under which circumstances. Namjoon seems to understand him anyway.

He lifts a hand and sets it down on Yoongi’s head, just keeping it there for a moment. Then he leans down and kisses him.

Yoongi makes a small noise, still half asleep and more than half surprised, too groggy to really move into it, so he just lets his eyes slide shut again, feeling the warmth, the light pressure.

There’s movement and then Namjoon is slipping into bed with him, tugging what little of the blanket Yoongi will relinquish over his body, but Yoongi dozes off before he can even question anything.

Yoongi wakes up first, immediately rolling over and out of bed, his bare feet hitting the floor. It’s later than usual and he suspects that, if he doesn’t hurry, he might risk running into one of the others.

He also has a vague memory of what Namjoon did when he came home last night, but he needs caffeine before he can contemplate any of that. For now, he just needs to get away.

So he crosses the room and very carefully presses down the door handle, hoping not to alert Namjoon, and then squeezes himself through the gap, before closing the door again and slowly letting the handle ease up.

When the door is shut, he lets out a relieved breath and turns around.

Jungkook is standing right in front of him, toothbrush dangling from his mouth.

Simultaneously, their eyes widen.

“Kookie,” Yoongi says in warning, but then Jungkook is already booking it, almost choking on the foam in his mouth as he inhales, and Yoongi knows what’s coming.

“Hyung!” Jungkook calls at full volume which is great because that is sure to wake up the whole house. “Jin-hyung!”

What a fucking snitch, Yoongi thinks. He knows it’s futile, but he still runs after Jungkook, hoping to at least do some damage control and plead his case.

Jungkook has run up the stairs to where the other bedrooms are located, physically throwing himself against Jin’s door and tumbling inside. Yoongi is hot on his heels but then stops on the threshold because Seokjin has pretty much jumped out of bed, his hair a mess and his hands lifted, ready to come to their maknae’s aid.

“Oh my God, where is the fire, are you hurt, what’s happening?” he asks in a rush, looking Jungkook upside down for any clues before his gaze is drawn over to Yoongi.

“I saw Yoongi-hyung come out of Namjoon-hyung’s bedroom,” Jungkook cries, ducking underneath Seokjin’s arm and hiding behind him, probably to escape Yoongi’s wrath.

There is no further explanation needed. Yoongi can see the exact moment Seokjin puts the pieces together.

“You’ve been touching,” he says, his jaw slack. “Your symptoms are getting worse again because you’ve been touching.”
Touching is such a strange word. It’s obvious that Seokjin means their normal amount of skinship, but all Yoongi can think about is Namjoon’s naked body pressed against his. So he just lowers his head and stares at his feet.

“Jungkookie,” Jin says slowly, pushing him forward again. “Everyone should be awake by now, so please go get Namjoonie. And Hoseokie, while you’re at it. I’m not dealing with this alone. Yoongi-yah, let’s go and make some coffee for everyone. I think we all need it.”

And that is how, ten minutes later finds Yoongi and Namjoon sitting on the sofa in the living room, side by side because now the cat is out of the bag anyway, with Seokjin and Hoseok in front of them like disappointed parents.

The maknae are there as well, of course, piled onto the armchair and holding their breath, reminiscent of little children unsure whether to be delighted or uncomfortable by someone else getting a scolding.

“How often have you been doing this?” Hoseok asks. His hair is a mess and it should be difficult to take him serious, but the pinched expression on his face is enough to remind everyone that this is not a laughing matter.

“Just- just sometimes,” Yoongi lies, though it sounds feeble even in his own ears. Seokjin seems to think the same.

“The truth, please,” he says simply.

Yoongi sighs. “Since the beginning.”

Hoseok curses under his breath, shaking his head. “So what have you been doing? Sharing a bed?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon croaks, a little too quickly. “It- it kept the withdrawal symptoms down throughout the days.”

“That’s how addiction works, Joon-ah,” Seokjin points out, exasperated. “You keep needing more and more until you cannot live without your drug anymore.”

“That’s not-” Namjoon objects, only to be shut down.

“You’ve been doing the exact opposite of what your doctor told you to do,” Seokjin reminds him. “You were supposed to not touch as all, but instead you go and end up touching even more than before. Do you want this bond to get stronger?”

“No,” Namjoon hurries to say, waving his hands in a nervous manner, and Yoongi purses his lips.

Part of him is tempted to tell them just how far they had taken things. How out of control everything already was. But he doesn’t care to see the judgment on their faces. So far, the bond had been an accident, something no one could blame them for; now, the view has been shifted and Yoongi doesn’t want to incriminate himself further. Anything he says now could just be used against him.

“You should go to the doctor again,” Hoseok says, his tone brokering no argument. He’s been unusually serious about this whole matter, since the very beginning. Perhaps it is because, under most circumstances, it is Namjoon who solves their problems, while he is now a part of it.

Namjoon must know this, too.

“Yeah,” he acquiesces at once. “Yeah, we should probably get an appointment.”

“Good,” Seokjin says, standing up. “I’m going to call the practice and ask them whether you can come by today. We’ve waited long enough as it is.”

They don’t talk in the car, not wanting their driver to overhear. They don’t talk in the lobby or in the elevator either. It is only in the hallway outside the practice that Namjoon finds his voice again.

“Hyung,” he says, sounding anxious. “How are we gonna deal with this?”

For a moment, Yoongi is silent.

“You already said it yourself, didn’t you,” he says finally, reaching out to ring the doorbell. “We’re gonna ask for a way to sever the bond for good.”

“Oh,” Namjoon says. “Yeah, I- I guess.”

Yoongi doesn’t look at him. The door opens as they are buzzed in and then there is no more privacy, sitting in the waiting room with other people around them. Yoongi rifles through the outdated magazines on automobiles and child rearing and the stock market and only looks at the glossy pictures with a bland expression.

Fortunately, they do not have to wait for long before the friendly receptionist calls on them to move ahead into examination room 2, so Yoongi sets his magazine aside again and shuffles ahead, Namjoon following somewhere behind him.

They take a seat in front of the large desk, just like they had the last time they were here, with Yoongi making an ordeal of getting comfortable on his plastic chair, only to get up again and bow politely once Doctor Im joins them.

“So,” he says, lightly clapping his hands on his knees when he sits down. “When you didn’t check in with me again, I thought you managed to terminate the bond. Is it acting up again?”

“Uh,” Namjoon says, carefully glancing over at Yoongi. “The truth is… we never even got close to breaking it. We… barely made it through the first three days after our appointment, actually.”

“Oh dear.” Doctor Im nods. “I was worried about that. Considering you share living quarters and work together, it would have been a great challenge to keep you separate. Did you just carry on as before you found out or…?”

He trails off, looking at them expectantly, and Yoongi worries at his lower lip.

“We started sharing a bed,” he admits because there is no point in hiding this any longer. Namjoon would probably just spill the beans anyway.

“Ah,” Doctor Im says, thankfully without any judgment in his voice. “On a regular basis?”

“Pretty… pretty much every night.”

“And I assume that was enough to quieten the symptoms of separation throughout the day.”

“In the beginning, yes. But then…”

“Then?” Doctor Im prompts.

“Then we had to touch a little in between,” Yoongi replies, though it does make him feel like an addict looking for his next fix, just Seokjin had said.

“What would you say was the most severe expression of your bond, so far?” Doctor Im wants to know and, at that, Yoongi bites his tongue.

“Hyung went into heat,” Namjoon says without preamble. Yoongi resists the urge to kick him underneath the table.

Doctor Im, however, immediately perks up.

“You did?” he says, as though he were not quite as surprised as they had been. “Can you, perhaps, roughly describe how it felt. Any oddities you noted?”

“Um,” Yoongi says, wringing his hands in his lap. “It was weird, actually. I’m… I’ve been on suppressants for years so I guess this was just a fluke. It was over the next morning but it felt really off. Sort of… muted and… muddy.”

“Muddy,” Namjoon mutters to himself as though it were a personal insult to his performance.

The doctor just looks between the two of them, easily reading the tension.

“I assume this means you had sexual intercourse,” he clarifies.

They nod, shame-faced.

“But you did not mate.”

They shake their heads.

Doctor Im leans back in his chair and rubs a hand over his mouth.

“I admit that I am not quite surprised. After your last appointment, I did some more research on this,” he explains. “The reason why this type of bond is so rare is because, in the olden days, many joinings were arranged by the family. And, as is more common now, a couple will get to know each other romantically and relatively quickly move on to sex and, potentially, mating. We know that couples develop preliminary bonds, too, but because they want to and encourage it. In your case, the forceful separation was meant as a sort of breakup of the relationship and your biology leveling down again. But since you couldn’t handle the symptoms of withdrawal, you continued encouraging the bond. Which then triggered your heat, as a plea to initiate a proper mating.”

He glances at Namjoon. “You were tempted to bite?”

Namjoon gives a meek nod, and Yoongi feels hot and cold all over again.

“Luckily, that did not happen,” Doctor Im says. “But you still strengthened the bond by a considerable degree.” He sighs, shakes his head. “I admit that I must take some of the blame in this. I definitely underestimated your case and the dependency already established between you.”

“Can we- can we still do anything about it?” Namjoon asks tentatively, as though fearing that they have already trespassed too many boundaries, that they are past the turning point.

“Yes. Yes, I think so.” Doctor Im assures them, before pulling something up on his computer and reading intently. “Though it will be much tougher than before. I recommend actual physical separation this time. One of you will have to find a different place to live. Both of you, preferably, considering your bond is centered around your shared apartment. There’s scent, memories, all these things playing into it. The withdrawal will also be much harsher than before, so I would like to prescribe you some mild sedatives. Then there is actually a new drug on the market, designed for, ah, trauma and abuse survivors, to help them recover from a forced or unwilling mating. Are you on any sort of hormonal contraception?”

The words whizz through Yoongi’s ear so quickly that he almost misses the question, only blinks when Doctor Im is waiting for his answer with a politely blank face.

“Uh, sorry, what?” Yoongi says, giving himself a shake.

“Are you on contraception?” Doctor Im repeats, looking from him to Namjoon. “You did use contraception, right?”

They were all on suppressants, had been since their debut. Jungkook had never even experienced a proper rut before. The whole point of this was to keep them from unexpectedly going into heat. Yoongi had no reason to keep condoms in his room. And, when he had woken up that night, with his thoughts foggy and his body aroused, he hadn’t even considered the potential consequences.

Next to him, Namjoon must be realizing the same, but at least he is better at deflecting unwanted questions.

“Condoms,” he says, forcibly clearing his throat. “We used a condom.”

Doctor Im gives them another long look, probably not quite sure whether he should buy into that.

“How about this,” he says. “You go and take some time to discuss all the particulars of your separation - I assume you will have to talk to your managers and such - and when you come to a decision, we’ll see whether medication is the right choice for you. How does that sound?”

Yoongi leaves the practice on autopilot. Everything seems very far away, like viewed through distorted glass, but he can still feel Namjoon hovering behind him, too close for comfort and yet not close enough.

With numb fingers, Yoongi pushes the button of the elevator and the doors slide apart. Inside, one wall is covered in mirror glass. Yoongi sees his pale unmoving face and wants to weep.

“Hyung,” Namjoon says. He probably doesn’t look much better but Yoongi doesn’t dare to look, just presses the button for the first floor.

The elevator begins to slide downward and the momentum makes Yoongi’s stomach lurge slightly.

“Hyung,” Namjoon repeats, this time more anxiously. “Just ignoring everything doesn’t help the situation.”

What situation, Yoongi thinks. His reflection in the mirror blinks, slightly delayed.

There’s a beat. Then-

“Are you going into shock?” Namjoon asks and Yoongi begins to laugh, helpless.

“Preferable to going into labor,” he quips and laughs some more.

Namjoon eyes him nervously. He opens his mouth to say something, but then the elevator dings and the doors open again.

Quickly, they both pull up their mouth masks and then step out. The lobby is all polished stone floors and nicely situated flower ornaments and, suddenly Yoongi is reminded of how, the last time they had been here together, they had just been given the news that they had developed an accidental bond.

That was months ago now and apparently fate thought it fit to throw another mishap their way.

“We- we can’t be sure yet whether anything actually happened,” Namjoon reminds him. “It’s fifty-fifty.”

They both know that it’s not. Even if Yoongi’s weird withdrawal-induced heat had been something irregular, the likelihood was probably still considerably raised.

“I need to take a test,” Yoongi says and they both glance back toward the elevator. The prospect of going up to the clinic once more doesn’t sound too appealing.

“There was a drugstore down the road, I think,” Namjoon says. “Maybe we could just… do it at home?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi makes himself say. “Sounds like a plan.”

They decide that Namjoon should go into the store alone, pulling his basecap low, with his hood on top, keeping his head down so no one will bother looking at him too closely. Yoongi hides himself in the shadows of a side alley, biting at his cuticles until he tastes blood.

He hopes Namjoon actually knows where the shelves with the tests will be and that he doesn’t have to ask a shop assistant. Or that he doesn’t have a nervous breakdown waiting in line at the register.

Finally, though, Namjoon comes back, a small nondescript plastic bag in hand.

“Did anyone recognize you?” Yoongi asks immediately.

Namjoon shrugs. “Don’t think so.”

“‘Don’t think so’ isn’t gonna help much.”

“Well, no one pointed their finger at me and started yelling about how BTS’ RM is buying a pregnancy test in broad daylight, so it’ll have to do,” Namjoon says tersely, but then takes a breath and visibly reins himself in.

“We should head back to the dorm,” he continues instead. “The driver is still waiting for us.”

They sneak back inside the dorm. They are not supposed to be together and the others will probably demand to know what the doctor said. So they don’t even take their shoes off, just make for the most secluded bathroom.

“Gimme that,” Yoongi says, tearing the plastic bag out of Namjoon’s jacket pocket. The contents of it are ridiculously light, incongruent with how heavy the situation feels.

He slips into the bathroom, but stops when he notices Namjoon following after him.

“The fuck,” he snarls. “Stay outside.”

“Hyung, I’ve seen you piss hundreds of times,” Namjoon whispers insistently.

“Not helping,” Yoongi snaps and punches him in the ribs, just barely resisting the urge to slam the door in his face.

He shrugs off his jacket, carelessly dropping it on the floor, and then reaches inside the plastic bag. There’s a pack of TicTacs, rattling quietly - and a brandname pregnancy test.

Yoongi swallows. Suddenly, everything feels much more real than before. He kind of wishes he’d let Namjoon come in after all, just to have some moral support.

But he just wrestles the packaging open and reads the instructions. He’s never had to take a test like this before, but everything sounds pretty standard. So he pulls down his pants, sits on the toilet and pisses on the stupid stick.

Then he waits.

Five minutes pass, and then ten, and he cannot bring himself to look at it, just sits on the lid of the toilet, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Hyung,” Namjoon says through the door, but nothing more. He probably thinks that the silence is answer enough.

It takes a herculean amount of strength for Yoongi to stand up and walk over to open the door. Namjoon pretty much falls inside, before he catches himself, and his eyes on Yoongi are searching.

“I haven’t… I haven’t looked at it yet,” Yoongi admits, heavily leaning against the doorframe. “I… Can you…?”

He doesn’t have to finish, just watches as Namjoon steps over to where the test is sitting on the side of the sink.

Yoongi feels faint. Fifty-fifty, he thinks. More like thirty-seventy, and not in their favor.

Namjoon, braced over the sink, his neck gracefully bent, sucks in a breath.

“It’s positive,” he says.

Yoongi’s knees give out under him. He manages to take a few unsteady steps but then just sinks down in the middle of the room with a thump.

“Shit,” he curses weakly, slamming his palm against the naked tiles. “Shit, shit, goddammit.”

“Hey,” Namjoon says, sinking to his knees in front of Yoongi. “Hey, it’s okay, hyung.”

“How is this okay?” Yoongi grits out, his voice breaking under the weight of it. “I’m pregnant .”

He’s pregnant and Namjoon is the father, and they are not even a couple, they are idols and they have contracts and fans and obligations.

All of a sudden, he remembers how, in the small hours of this very morning, Namjoon had come home and kissed him hello or goodnight or something else entirely, and that had been the height of their unspoken dilemma. Now it is little more than half a day later and everything got turned on its head.

There is a wretched sound and it takes Yoongi a moment to understand that it came from him, a loud sob torn right out of his lungs, but then Namjoon is pulling him in and muffling Yoongi’s voice against his own chest, arms tightly locked around him.

“Yoongi,” Namjoon says, desperately, but even he has no other reassurances. “Just- just breathe, okay? Just try to breathe.”

It’s stupid fucking advice; Yoongi is not even hyperventilating. But he still tries to concentrate on the little things, on the sound of Namjoon’s voice, the nervous rhythm of his heart, the warmth seeping through his shirt. And his scent, his damned scent, so trusted and familiar and immediately calming.

Finally, he feels like he can speak again.

“How far along is that now?” he manages to ask, though of course he hasn’t forgotten his heat. But, maybe, if he focuses on the facts, his feelings will be easier to suppress.

“Two months.”

Yoongi swallows, painful, around the lump in his throat.

That long, really. He hadn’t noticed any of it. He hadn’t even considered the very real possibility. After his impromptu heat, he had done his damnedest not to think about that night, but now he cannot help but feel like a careless teenager.

He is too overwhelmed to really cry, but he still buries his face against Namjoon’s chest, inhaling deeply.

At least a lot of things make sense now. Why their withdrawal symptoms got worse again, why Yoongi has been smelling so good to everyone - and why Namjoon smells so good to him. But explaining the past won’t solve the future.

“We’ll figure this out, hyung,” Namjoon says. He sounds choked up as well, but he still tightens his hold around Yoongi, a pillar of strength. “We always do.”

Yoongi doesn’t know where he takes that confidence from. So far, their challenges revolved around comeback concepts and injuries and overzealous fans. Not pregnancy. Not fatherhood.

They must have been kneeling on the floor for quite some time now and Yoongi can feel the stiffness creeping into his bones, so he shuffles around a little, trying to get more comfortable. Namjoon, however, gently pushes him backward and gets back to his feet, joints popping.

“Can you stand up?” he asks, holding both of Yoongi’s hands in his.

Yoongi just shakes his head. All his strength is focused on not falling apart.

So he doesn’t resist when Namjoon closes his arms around him and hoists him up with a groan. He doesn’t protest as he is carried out of the bathroom and into the hallway, half bridal style.

Namjoon passes by Yoongi’s bedroom and moves on to his own instead, leaving the door ajar and walking over to the bed, carefully setting Yoongi down. Immediately, Yoongi curls up on himself and Namjoon watches him for a moment, the look in his eyes indecipherable.

“I’ll go clean up the bathroom,” he says finally. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

When he turns away, however, someone is standing in the doorway, fingers loosely curled around the handle.

“Oh, I didn’t hear you come back,” Seokjin says mildly. His gaze flickers over to Yoongi.

“I was going to ask whose pregnancy test that is in the bathroom,” he says and looks back to Namjoon, his voice hardening. “But I guess this explains it.”

“How reliable are these tests?” Taehyung asks when they are all gathered in the living-room again. Crazy to think that the last meeting had only happened this morning.

“Really pretty reliable,” Jimin replies. He’s got an arm around Yoongi’s shoulder, soothing and familiar. Jimin understands this fear in a way the others cannot. Jimin religiously takes his suppressants, every morning without fail, not like Jungkook who sometimes just forgets for a week straight. Jimin knows that a moment of carelessness can change your life forever.

And still Yoongi wishes he were sitting next to Namjoon instead.

It’s more than just the bond, he understands now. It’s his instincts telling him to be under the protection of his alpha. Of the father.

In fact, the hormonal fluctuations an unmated omega experiences during pregnancy are thought to negatively influence the baby’s health, even its brain development. Or perhaps that’s just an old wives’ tale. Yoongi wouldn’t know; he’s never much concerned himself with prenatal medicine.

He only knows that abortions are practically illegal, but that it’s not impossible to get one.

“What are we going to do now?” Jungkook asks timidly because this is what it is.

Not a choice Yoongi has to make. Not a mistake of him and Namjoon. This is something that concerns all of them, seven people who are a family and who have to deal with the consequences of two of them acting like dumb kids.

Still, no one has an answer.

“I just cannot believe that you kept this secret from us this whole time,” Hoseok says. He’s got his arms crossed in front of his chest, obviously uncomfortable. Disappointed. “You lied to us. For months.”

“Hobi,” Namjoon says, his face buried in his hands. He hasn’t looked up in a while; Yoongi tries not to wonder what that means. “We- we didn’t do it with bad intent. It was just- so hard.”

“They were suffering, Hoseokie-hyung,” Jimin supplements. “Bonds can be crazy strong. I think that, when they got diagnosed, they were already way past the preliminary stage.”

The others, as betas, wouldn’t be able to truly understand that. Even Yoongi had not believed in the tales of how strong the connection between alpha and omega could be, until he had experienced it himself.

“How did this even happen?” Seokjin wants to know. “You’re on suppressants. Aren’t male omegas supposed to be practically infertile outside of heat?”

“I went into heat,” Yoongi manages to croak out. “Unexpectedly.”

Seokjin’s face softens. He knows better than to heap more guilt on them.

“I’m not blaming you,” he says. “Neither of you. I just- I honestly don’t know what to think right now.”

“Join the club,” Yoongi jokes darkly. He hasn’t really been able to think clearly since Doctor Im asked about what kind of contraception he used; since then, everything had mostly been a blur, interrupted my moments of panic, the after-effects of the adrenaline only making him more sluggish.

Now he’s just tired, of everything. He wants to go to sleep and wake up last week. Two months ago. Whenever the bond had first begun to grow.

“Let’s look at this rationally,” Hoseok says. “What are the options?”

“Abortion,” Jimin says at once and shrugs when several eyes stare at him. “Just saying.”

“Adoption,” Jungkook says, which at least garners a few agreeable nods.

“Acceptance,” Taehyung says and Yoongi’s hands clench around his knees.

Abortion is the obvious choice, the one that would be cause the least problems. They’d act like nothing ever happened, Namjoon and Yoongi would take the medication Doctor Im had mentioned, they sever the bond, perhaps live apart for a few months, and otherwise continue business as usual.

However, if it got out that two of them had very much unsafe sex and then ended up terminating the pregnancy that came with it, it would kill their career. But so would having a kid, unmated, unmarried, and with no plans for having one in the first place.

Adoption might be a good alternative, easy on their conscience at least. But Yoongi would still have to sit out for months and that would raise questions. Maybe he ought to fake an injury. But then it might be seen as an attempt to get out of his military service. Fuck, he hadn’t even considered his military service yet.

Omegas and alphas both had to serve, if in separate units, though there were exceptions for pregnant omegas and those raising children under the age of twelve. There were allegedly quite a few omegas who only had kids in order to avoid their service, and Yoongi wonders whether he would be counted among them, if the rumor spread.

So that left acceptance. Issue some public announcement, make up some half-bullshitted explanation, have the kid. Have the kid. And then what? Raise the kid? Lug the kid around to concerts and interviews? Split his attention between his career and a baby that was needy and helpless and not at all suited to fit into the life of an idol?

It had taken months of careful contemplation for them to agree on whether it would be okay for Taehyung to get a dog. And Yeontan was a delight, to all of them, but he is still the first thing Taehyung thinks of before can make a decision. There are no more spontaneous trips or long nights out when you have a puppy at home.

In comparison, a baby would be… A baby would change everything . Forever.

It’s easy to get stuck on the immediate questions of the pregnancy and even the birth, but everything that followed would be the true challenge. Because a baby would turn into a toddler and then a school kid and then an adolescent, and to be honest, some days Yoongi doesn’t even feel like an adult yet.

And then there is still the fact that he’d have to consider Namjoon’s role in all of this.

There is no way Yoongi can take any of the drugs Doctor Im had mentioned as they would doubtlessly be harmful to the fetus, either directly or by severing the bond with Namjoon.

Unbonded omegas are prone to suffer from miscarriages. On the one hand this is because no bond means no protection; on the other, a new alpha might be unwilling to mate with an already pregnant omega.

With a start Yoongi realizes that, while he had been contemplating these different scenarios, an uncomfortable silence has settled over the rest of the group, as though they are waiting for him to say something. As though he could just make a decision on the spot. As though more than half an hour has passed since he even found out.

Abruptly, he shrugs Jimin’s arm off and stands up.

“I’m going to my room,” he says without further explanation and no one tries to stop him.

What he does not count on is someone following after him, but he doesn’t have to look over his shoulder to recognize the steps.

“Not now, Joon,” he says, halfway into his bedroom.

“Yes, now,” Namjoon objects. He sounds tired but also like he won’t take no for an answer.

Yoongi closes his eyes. “Why?”

“Why? ” Namjoon echoes with disbelief. He’s got one hand braced against the doorframe but is not actually stepping in, so Yoongi just stays rooted to the spot.

“Because we haven’t fucking talked about it,” Namjoon says and now there is desperation creeping into his voice, raw and real. “We let the bond continue and let the symptoms get worse. And we kept playing into it, even though we knew we shouldn’t, and then we fucked, and acted like nothing happened, despite knowing your heat was an anomaly.” He takes a shuddering breath.  “And now we are having a kid and we still haven’t talked about any of it.”

“We’re not having a kid,” Yoongi says, automatically, and Namjoon purses his lips, his eyes shuttering.

“You want an abortion, then,” he surmises, suddenly all sober again, and Yoongi swallows.

“I want for none of this to have happened,” he says. “I want things to go back to how they were before.”

Their friendship used to be such an easy thing. Complex but not complicated. He cannot believe he’s been taking all that for granted.

“But they won’t,” Namjoon tells him. “They can’t. This is what we have now and… we need to find a solution.”

“What do you want me to do?” Yoongi asks, not spiteful but genuinely. He doesn’t have the energy for anything else. And, if there is one person whose opinion he can trust, it’s Namjoon.

For a moment, Namjoon remains silent, the expression on his face one of intense concentration, as though he were carefully picking the right words.

“I want you to know that, however you decide, we’ll be here to support you,” he says finally. “The guys and the staff and- and me, of course.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says quietly. “I know.”

That still doesn’t make it any easier.

For the rest of the evening, Yoongi keeps to his room. The mood in the dorm is subdued and it doesn’t surprise him. It’s difficult to go about your day and distract yourself. So all is quiet, painfully so, as Yoongi lies in his bed and tries to think of nothing at all.

The bond is tugging at him again, urging him to go and see Namjoon, but he resists, knowing that the truce between them is still too tentative. And none of that will change until Yoongi makes a decision.

At some point, there is a knock on the door. It barely even registers to Yoongi at first and then he doesn’t bother reacting to it. Whoever it is, he doesn’t want to talk. But not everyone respects his boundaries.

“Hyung,” Jimin says, pushing the door open and sticking his head in. “I brought food.”

“Don’t want any,” Yoongi claims.

“Yes, you do,” Jimin counters easily, letting himself in and closing the door again. There’s a plastic bag dangling from his wrist, weighed down by styrofoam boxes. “Tae and Kookie got takeout.”

“Great,” Yoongi says flatly, not even bothering to sit up.

“C’mon,” Jimin tuts. “You need to eat.”

Someone else may have made a comment about him eating for two, but Jimin just sits on the floor and begins to spread out their meal. As soon as the smell of fried rice and chicken wafts up, Yoongi’s stomach growls in response.

“See,” Jimin tells him smugly, breaking apart his chopsticks, and Yoongi finally relents. He had coffee instead of breakfast and then just a snack for lunch; now, the day’s hunger is catching up with him.

With a small groan, he slips out of bed and right onto the floor, folding his legs underneath him, before reaching for the other set of chopsticks, plucking at the paper wrapping.

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?” he asks when Jimin just begins to eat, chewing daintily.

“Aren’t you just going to kick me out if I try that?” Jimin counters and Yoongi pulls a face.

“I- That depends on what you’ll tell me.”

“Then I’ll rather play it safe and just keep you company,” Jimin says, unscrewing the bottle of coke her brought along and taking a swig.

Yoongi knows the game he is playing. Because everyone knows Yoongi hates being pressured into talking but that, if you let him stew long enough, he’ll come out all on his own.

He tries to resist as long as possible, concentrating on the food in front of him, but minute after minute the silence grows more aggravating. Finally, he has enough.

“What would you do?” he cannot stop himself from asking. “If you were me?”
“I’m not you,” Jimin says promptly, as though he had expected exactly that question. “So I guess it can’t really be compared, but…”

He trails off, seems to deliberate with himself for a moment. Then he gives himself a push.

“I almost had an abortion once,” he reveals, voice light in a way that’s so effortless it makes it sound fake again, and Yoongi stills, lifts his head, eyes wide, because-

“Oh, no.” Jimin waves a hand. “Sorry, that wording was off. I had a pregnancy scare and knew I would get an abortion.”

“But- how ?” Yoongi croaks. “How did you just know?”

“It was while I was still in the academy,” Jimin explains. The look in his eyes is slightly wistful, slightly pained. “Having a kid would have… ruined everything. My body, my reputation, my career. I couldn’t risk that.”

It’s a pragmatic response, almost clinical, but Yoongi appreciates the honesty. And he understands these reasons, too; after all, it’s what he had first thought of as well.

“So, I made up my mind, tried to figure out where I should get it done. And then it turned out that I overreacted and wasn’t actually pregnant.” Jimin laughs a little, at the expense of his own foolish self. “Ironically, that’s when the panic came. Retroactively, I guess, at what could have been.”

To that Yoongi can relate as well. The initial shock had made him function, had made him feel eerily calm. Now, he cannot stop his thoughts from spinning.

Perhaps he lets the silence drag on too long because now it is Jimin who gets antsy and starts shuffling on the spot.

“But!” he says, a little too loudly. “I’m not trying to say that that is the best option for you. I was in a totally different place. For one, I didn’t even have a baby daddy.”

Yoongi snorts, shaking his head lightly. “I don’t have one either.”

Jimin just gives him a dry look. “Yeah, but mine was a one night stand.”

“So was mine.”

“Yes,” Jimin agrees, drawing the word out. “But yours is Joonie. Makes a bit of a difference, doesn’t it?”

At that, Yoongi lowers his gaze; he doesn’t have to reply.

“Has he said anything to you?” Jimin asks. “What he thinks about this?”

“I think he’s trying very hard not to influence my decision,” Yoongi admits. He hadn’t really given Namjoon the chance to speak his mind, but that much was obvious. “Too damn noble for his own good.”

Jimin giggles, probably sensing that Yoongi is finally relaxing a little.

“You know, my grandmother used to warn me that there are only two types of alpha,” he says. “The kind who want to prove their virility by knocking you up as soon as possible, and those who leave you high and dry when you’ve got a bun in the oven.”

“Yeah, so?”

“What category does Joonie-hyung fit in, do you think?” Jimin asks and Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“He’s not some punchline to a joke, Jiminie,” he says. “I know he’d have my back.”

“That’s a damn sight more than most people have in your situation,” Jimin points out.

“In my situation?” Yoongi echoes. “Let’s have a look at my situation. I am unmated and unmarried, but pregnant, because the accidental bond I developed with my best friend triggered some freak heat response in me. We are part of the most influential idol group there probably ever was, and we are contractually forbidden from dating at all, much less each other. Our job is both physically and mentally demanding, not to mention that this kinda scandal would put all of us at risk.”

That’s the truth of it. The bottom line.

“Seems like you already have your answer.” Jimin shrugs. “None of us will judge you for getting an abortion.”

Yoongi’s fingers clench around his chopsticks. Suddenly, he feels sick to his stomach and quickly sets his food aside. Jimin watches him closely.

“Your cons list is pretty long,” he notes, nudging him with his foot. “Anything to put down for the pros?”

“I… I dunno,” Yoongi says, wrapping his arms around himself. “I- There’s so much to consider.”

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Jimin reminds him. “I know that everything seems super urgent and crazy but you can take time to think about it some more. And… maybe talk it out with Joonie.”

Yoongi purses his lips, forcing himself to see the truth in Jimin’s words. He has to go about this reasonably, instead of making a choice fueled by fear and desperation. After all, he wouldn’t be able to change his mind later.

They finish their meal in amicable if not exactly easy silence while Yoongi allows his mind to wander.

It’s past midnight by the time Yoongi manages to psych himself up enough to leave his room.

The dorm is dark and quiet, like the calm after the storm. Or before. He’d find that out later.

He doesn’t let himself stall in front of Namjoon’s door, doesn’t give himself the chance to back out again, just raps his knuckles against the wood and prays.

“Yeah?” Namjoon’s voice calls from the inside. “Hobi, is that-”

“No,” Yoongi says, pushing the handle down and stepping inside. He leans his weight against the door, makes it fall shut behind him.

There is a safe distance between him and Namjoon, who is looking like a deer in the headlights, seated at his desk, loose papers spread out in front of him.

“Oh,” Namjoon says. “I… I wasn’t expecting to still see you tonight.”

Yoongi blows out a breath, forcefully slow.

“Yeah,” he says. “I didn’t wanna drag it out until morning.”

At those words, Namjoon straightens up a little. His fingers clench around the pencil stub in his hand.

“Are you busy?” Yoongi asks. “If I’m interrupting-”

Namjoon lets out a startled chuckle, no real humor in it, just a nervous response.

“I think whatever you wanna talk about has priority,” he says. “I was just… trying to write some lyrics.”

“Anything good?” Yoongi asks, hoping to imitate some semblance of normalcy as he steps closer.

“Nah,” Namjoon replies, pushing the papers aside as though he doesn’t want Yoongi to see, which probably means it is something deeply personal. Usually, he lets Yoongi see those, too. But, usually, Yoongi is not the catalyst of Namjoon needing to write his feelings away.

“Can we, uh, can we sit down?” he asks, jerking a little when Namjoon immediately jumps up.

Namjoon flounders around for a moment, probably realizing that he only has his desk chair and bean bags instead of a proper sofa and that those are probably rather unfit for having a conversation of such importance.

“It’s fine,” Yoongi assures him. “We can… we can sit on the bed.”

Some of the tension seeps from Namjoon’s shoulders and from the corners of his mouth. He nods quickly and steps over to perch on the edge of the mattress, making an aborted gesture as though stopping himself from invitingly patting the spot right next to him.
Yoongi follows anyway, taking a moment to sort himself out and sit down cross-legged.

“So,” he says, folding his hands in his lap and looking down at them. “I’m pregnant.”

“I. Yeah, I think we’ve established that,” Namjoon says. It doesn’t come out cheeky, though, just a little faint. Yoongi’s fingers tighten around each other.

“I’ve thought about it,” he forces himself to say. “About abortion, I mean.”

His gaze darts up, trying to gauge a reaction, but Namjoon’s face is neutral, almost stony.

“The- the overwhelming amount of arguments says that… that getting rid of it would really be for the best, for- for everyone,” Yoongi explains. With shaking fingers he reaches inside his pocket and pulls out the sheet of paper, fumbling to unfold it. His own messy handwriting stares back at him.

“I made a list,” he says, gesturing with it. He is acutely aware of how unsteady his voice sounds. “I have, like, a dozen of reasons of why I should terminate it.”

“Hyung,” Namjoon says. “I- You don’t have to justify-”

“But,” Yoongi plows on because, if he stops now, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to continue. “I only have one good argument for keeping it.”

He still pauses for a moment, just blankly staring down at the right column of the list, the one that has pro written at the top and just one single bullet point below.

“What’re- what’s the reason?” Namjoon asks.

“It’s my kid,” Yoongi says and then the tears are coming, angry and helpless, spilling down his red-hot cheeks. “And I know none of this was meant to happen and- and I’m fucking up the group, but it’s my kid and I can’t just- just give it up for adoption or have an abortion. I’d hate myself forever if I did that.”

He rubs the sleeve of his hoodie across his face, wiping away some of the tears and the snot, but he still cannot stop himself from crying. It’s like all of the pent-up emotions from the past weeks are finally spilling of him like a fountain spring. Or maybe it’s just hormones.

But he’s thought about this. He’s considered alternatives and the unpredictable. He knows that, logically, the decision should have been easy.

And yet there is no logic about this. Not when he knows that there is a life growing inside of him. Not when everything else pales in comparison.

It’s a little bit of spite, maybe. He’s gotten so used to the voices telling him that he cannot do something that, by now, it is second nature for him to just refute it, to go and trust his gut feeling and just dare it anyway. They are the voices of haters and of his family and of his own malign subconscious, a constant choir in the back of his mind, telling him to back down.

But. Min Yoongi got where he is despite their disapproval and their illustrations of his shortcomings.

When he had first told his parents that he wanted to go to Seoul and make music, they had scolded him, had pointed to all the reasons of why his silly little dream could never come to fruition. He has long since understood that they did it hoping to protect him from heartbreak and failure, but a last bit of resentment has always stayed with him, wedged away for him to mull over when the night was late and lonely.

They did not support him when he needed them the most, even though that is what a parent is supposed to do. Thinking of his career first just makes him feel like a hypocrite.

By now, he is more hiccuping than outright sobbing and his face feels swollen with salt. When he finally dares to look again, his sight bleary, Namjoon is sitting very still.

Yoongi swallows, painfully difficult with the lump in his throat.

“Anything to say?” he croaks. He hasn’t counted on outright rejection but he is not going to let anyone talk him out of this. Not even Namjoon.

Namjoon blinks slowly, as though barely in touch with reality.

“You… you wanna keep it?” he asks. “You want to keep the baby?”

The baby. Not it, not the embryo, the inconvenience, the parasite. The baby.

“Yeah,” Yoongi says and presses a hand to his stomach, perfectly flat and unassuming. He hasn’t done that yet and, all of a sudden, he actually feels pregnant. Expecting and expectant. “I wanna keep the baby.”

And finally, he grins. It’s small and crooked and still a little too vague to call it joy. But he’s picked his path. He’ll stick with it, no matter the consequences.

“Oh. Oh thank God,” Namjoon bursts out, putting both hands over his face, and it takes Yoongi a very long moment to understand why.

“Are you crying?” he asks because out of all the reactions he has envisioned this has not been among them.

“You were crying, too!” Namjoon counters, the effect slightly ruined by how drenched his voice sounds. “I’m just relieved, okay?”

That, however, is even harder to comprehend. Because yes, Yoongi had felt that Namjoon did not want to influence his decision but, all this time, Yoongi had been talking of terminating the pregnancy and he hadn’t considered how that would make Namjoon feel. Hadn’t asked for his opinion.

He didn’t doubt that Namjoon would accept and support him. But he hadn’t thought that he would actively want the child.

It’s still fucked up. They’re are still friends instead of lovers. They are idols who’d have to explain this whole mess to their company and the public. But now they are also parents and that duty would have to come first.

“Congrats, Kim Namjoon,” Yoongi quips. His fingertips feel tingly with the rush of endorphins. “You’re gonna be a father.”

Finally, Namjoon lowers his hands. His eyes are glistening and he still looks a little shaky, but his smile is real.

“Yeah,” he says, searching Yoongi’s gaze and holding it for what feels like the first time in ages. “Same, I guess.”

“Fuck,” Yoongi says simply, letting himself fall back on the bed. The impact throws Namjoon’s scent into the air, intertwined with Yoongi’s.

He is so exhausted, emotionally, mentally, physically. This day has been too effing long and the night before it too short. All he wants to do is sleep.

He’s still holding the crumpled-up list in his fist, so he unclenches his fingers and lets it fall to the floor where it won’t bother him anymore. Then he lets his head loll to the side, blinking up at Namjoon who finally has some color back in his cheeks.

It’s okay, Yoongi reminds himself. If nothing else, they’d do this together, as they always have.

“Can I stay here tonight,” he asks anyway, feeling unreasonably timid. “If that’s alright?”

Namjoon lies down on his side, facing Yoongi. There is still some distance between them but it doesn’t feel as severe as before.

“I wouldn’t let you go if you tried,” he says.

Yoongi bares his teeth at that, something between he snarl and a smile. “Those protective alpha instincts kicking in?”

“You have no idea,” Namjoon jokes. “I’m black and blue already.”

“We’re gonna have to figure out how to deal with the public and everything,” Yoongi reminds him, unable to stop fully tune out the reality of things. Namjoon, as per usual, favors the more optimistic approach.

“I know,” he says. “But later.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees, letting his eyes slide shut. “Later.”

Chapter Text

These are the degrees of acceptance:

Namjoon, with tears, joyful, relieved, falling asleep exhausted after the excitement of an unexpected day, but waking the next morning eager to tell the others.

The members, sleep-rumpled and not overly surprised, just concerned, but with encouragement in their fingertips as they hug Yoongi close and tell him they’d have his back in whatever way necessary.

His parents, sighing and shaking their heads on Skype, saying they expected something like this from the moment he first left them for Seoul, him falling in with some alpha and disgracing himself.

The board of the company, with drawn faces and nervously clicked pens, exchanging pointed looks of quiet judgment, the muscles in their jaws twitching as they keep their mouths from saying what they really think.

It boils down to this:

It was an accident, but one without fault. An abortion cannot be forced, and Yoongi is nothing if not stubborn.

Five years ago, his decision would have been different. But now he is in his mid-twenties, and so is Namjoon. They aren’t thoughtless teenagers, they aren’t trainees, half-starving and working two jobs. They have money and their degrees and, more importantly, they have their friends’ support.

Bangtan is the figurehead of BigHit. A scandal like this might cost the company much. But, if the company tries to pressure Yoongi into changing his decision, Bangtan would riot. And then it would cost them everything.

So they bluff their way through the conversations, the contractual changes, with more posturing and confidence than any of them actually feels, and escape with their hides intact. For now.

Because their case in unprecedented. There have been pregnant idols before but never under such circumstances – with another member being the other parent, with an accidental bond as the background, and with the intention of continuing their career.

It’s impossible to predict the public’s reaction, but there are ways to manipulate them, and so they carefully hash out a battle plan.

These are the rules:

Subterfuge. Distract from what is happening. Continue as before. Make great music and be on your best behavior.

Secrecy. Don’t let anyone know, not now, not yet. Calculate. Consider. Count your blessings.

Surprise. When the moment is right, reveal the truth, bit by bit. Keep them hungering for more to stay in the spotlight. Publicity is publicity. Use it to your favor.

Surrender. If you fall, be graceful about it. If you don’t, accept your new responsibility.

The thought of using his pregnancy as a marketing gig does not exactly sit well with Yoongi, but he will do what is necessary. There are many times when he has to swallow his pride in exchange for being an idol. He can do it some more now that so much is at stake.

To throw people off their scent, they construct a red herring.

The announcement that an eighth member would soon be joining Bangtan Sonyeondan causes a great uproar internationally.

It’s much too late in the game for the lineup to change. People know BTS and its seven members. They work perfectly, complete unto their own. Adding an experimental ingredient to a recipe does not necessarily enhance the dish.

Then the theories start. Perhaps, Seokjin would soon start his military service and the company believes he ought to be replaced. Or else, that one of them is sick and will need to sit out for a while, which isn’t too far from the truth. Or worse, that one of them is sick of BTS and wants to leave for good, which is ridiculous.

But their facade remains strong, their lips tightly locked. In interviews and vlives, they ask for support and promise that everything will make sense soon. No, they cannot reveal the new member’s name yet, or their status, or even their role in the line-up.

But soon, they say. Just some more months.

Weeks, rather, Yoongi thinks to himself, if the way his lower belly begins to curve outward is anything to go by. Soon, he’d have to be careful with what he wears, especially during performances when his clothes are likely to slip and expose something. Though, he thinks with mild amusement, something like that would rather be Jimin’s problem.

Yoongi just embraces the first chill of fall and bundles himself up in hoodies, as he always does. He stuffs his hands into the front pouch and allows his thoughts to wander as his knuckles brush against his stomach, firmer than it’s ever been.

That’s his kind of acceptance, the one that was the starting point.

Everything else is just background noise.

It’s funny to be pregnant when some people know, but not all of them.

The noonas start telling him how radiant he has been looking lately, his skin glowy and his hair soft, while Hoseok seethes quietly as he is admonished for eating too much greasy food.

The members, fortunately, treat him as they always do, for the most part. Taehyung is more enthusiastic about being in his presence, while Jungkook seems a little more reserved, though perhaps that’s just his instincts telling him to respect a bonded omega. Then again, Yoongi has never had trouble keeping their maknae in line, so maybe he is just imagining things.

Jimin is peeved they cannot get drunk together anymore and sighs tragically before downing glasses upon glasses of red wine, but Yoongi won’t take any risks. He has already gone off his suppressants and reduced his caffeine intake, though the latter pains him much. At least the fits of fatigue he has been plagued with seem like nothing out of the ordinary for him and he just naps even more than usual.

Other than that, he can almost pretend that life at the dorm is the same as before.

“Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin says when he is walking into the kitchen, carrying several bags worth of groceries. “Could you help me with the-“

“Can’t. Pregnant,” Yoongi says, not looking up from his phone where he is sitting at the kitchen island.

“You are barely even showing,” Seokjin complains, setting the bags down on the floor and straightening up again with an exasperated huff. “So get your fat ass over here.”

Yoongi gasps theatrically, grabbing at his heart as though he had been mortally offended. “Did you just insult me for gaining wait during pregnancy?”

Seokjin, of course, just rolls his eyes.

“Oh my God, I should have known that this would make you unbearable,” he complains, waving a hand at him as he turns back toward the door. “Fine, stay seated, I’ll ask Jiminie.”

“I’m pregnant, too!” Jimin yells from somewhere down the hallway.

“Great!” Seokjin shouts back, pivoting on his heel to return to the grocery bags and just put everything away by himself. “You should make a series together. Pregnant Idol - Bangtan Edition. Our sunbaenim will love that.”

Yoongi groans but does push himself off the bar stool to round the kitchen island and give him a hand after all.

“Just so you know, as soon as I can no longer see my feet, I am not moving another finger,” he warns, making a show of groaning and holding the small of his back as he picks up one of the bags and sets it on the counter.

Seokjin cocks an eyebrow. “Don’t you need your fingers to work the MIDI board?”

Yoongi pauses, reconsiders.

“I won’t lift a finger outside of the studio,” he amends and that at least makes Seokjin snort.

“I take everything back,” he says. “Pregnancy hasn’t changed you at all.”

While Yoongi does grow a little paranoid about potential changes in his own behavior, whether it be mood swings or nausea at the smell of coffee, it takes him a while to notice that he is not the one who is most affected by his decision to keep the child.

He has been trying to keep his distance from Namjoon, unsure of how to act around him, despite their initial agreement on keeping the child. They still share a bed and even allow themselves to let each other’s scents sink into their skin but, beyond that, their dynamic is little different from how it had been in between finding out about the accidental bond and then the accidental pregnancy.

They touch and talk, sometimes a little stilted, sometimes as though nothing had changed. It grates on Yoongi’s nerves in a way he cannot quite put into words, but Namjoon himself doesn’t let on whether it bothers him.

When they run into each other in the kitchen, Namjoon will greet him, something a bit circumspect in his words, and his gaze will ghost across Yoongi’s stomach and drag itself away again, as though he wishes to ask about how Yoongi is feeling, really feeling, but does not want to draw attention to the circumstances that brought them here.

Occasionally, Yoongi takes pity on him, complains about back pains and swollen ankles, but other times he only grunts in response and then disappears back in his room with a freshly brewed cup of tea.

Someday soon they’d have to talk about their future as co-parents or whatever they would call themselves, and they’d cross that bridge once they got there - but Yoongi cannot be the only one building it. The river is still too deep for that, too dark and stormy, and he sure as hell is not going to let himself drown in it.

Life is busy. It always is, for them, but they had agreed that, for the next few weeks, they would try to get as much done as possible, so that they would be able to clear up their schedule later on. It’s difficult to reshuffle some of their appointments because they are usually booked months in advance, but Yoongi is grateful that he can still work at all. Before he found out he was pregnant, the board had been making vague plans regarding another world tour, but now it will have to wait.

Bangtan themselves has not decided yet on whether Yoongi should simply sit out for a while or whether all of them should take a break. The former would leave Yoongi potentially burdened and isolated; the latter might make the group lose their momentum and therefore their sway in this fast-paced industry.

Namjoon, however, has been advocating for a collective break, to allow everyone to catch their breath and center themselves. With the progression of the pregnancy, Yoongi would be unable to tour and dance, not to mention the incalculable stress that is headed their way once the baby is actually born.

Some downtime would allow everyone to get used to the situation and focus on their work outside of the group. Seokjin and Taehyung have already started daydreaming about taking up some acting jobs, while Hoseok and Jungkook are planning their new mixtape.

They’d stay in the spotlight, one way or the other, and not just because of the internal scandal.

For Yoongi, none of this makes much of a difference. The particulars might change, but he would still be here, baby and all, and try to be a good parent. Even pregnant, he’d still be able to write and mix and produce and, once he got a handle of how to take care of the kid once it was outside of him, he could return to his previous duties, if to a lesser extent.

If some of his lyrics have taken a decidedly different tone, if he speaks of responsibility with fondness instead of fear, if he quietly grins to himself when interviewers ask what he thinks he’ll be doing in five years then, soon enough, everyone would understand the reason.

Mid-October brings with it colder weather and last minute revisions for their imminent Japanese album.

It’s late when Yoongi gets back from the studio, way past midnight and with the wind having bitten his cheeks raw.

He sticks his head in the kitchen because the light is still on, only to find Jungkook pouring himself some cereal. Jungkook yawns and waves at Yoongi who gives a nod in return, but they don’t bother saying anything, and then Yoongi shuffles down the hallway to his room, shrugging off his coat as he goes.

His bed turns out to be empty, which is surprising because he and Namjoon had gotten into the habit of falling asleep in the other’s bed if they weren’t home yet. Namjoon had definitely not been in the studio when Yoongi had left and now a tiny spark of worry spikes through him.

Tossing his coat on the floor and setting his keys and wallet on the drawers by the door, he quickly turns around again and moves toward Namjoon’s room instead.

The lights are off, save for the artificial glow of a laptop screen, and it takes Yoongi’s eyes a moment to understand that Namjoon must have fallen asleep watching something online.

So Yoongi slips out of his jeans, by now snug around his hips, wrestles off his hoodie and the t-shirt underneath, and then steps over to the bed. He is careful as he lifts the laptop off Namjoon’s chest and pulls the headphones from his ears, doesn’t want to wake him, but when he moves to snap the laptop shut, his gaze snags on the hour-long YouTube video that is still playing.

How to help your pregnant omega (Ep. 04), the title reads, and Yoongi’s mouth falls open in utter surprise.

On the screen, a man is giving another a backrub, demonstrating how to loosen all the kinks in the muscles. The omega is maybe five months pregnant, his hands cradling his belly, his eyes blissfully closed as the alpha massages him. The couple must already be in their mid-thirties and they have the kind of familiarity and ease between them that only comes after years of being mates. It’s probably not their first child either, Yoongi reckons.

That Namjoon is watching this kind of video, that he probably has watched several already, throws Yoongi for a bit of a loop.

He should have expected as much, perhaps. Kim Namjoon has always been studious and inquisitive, seeking to become the best version of himself. When he couldn’t dance, he furiously practiced their choreographies. When he couldn’t sing, he challenged himself with vocal lines in their songs. Now, he is going to be a father and he doesn’t know how yet, but he has some months left to learn.

In all honesty, it’s ridiculously easy to imagine Namjoon raising a child, patient and open-minded as he is. He’d probably accidentally break the kid’s toys or something, but he’d be there and he’d listen and he’d play and teach, and that’s a damn sight more than some parents do.

For the first time, Yoongi allows his mind to skip to that ephemeral future that he has barely allowed himself to touch yet, the one where the baby is born and maybe a toddler already, maybe speaking two languages because Namjoon would argue how important such a skill is nowadays. And then, once Namjoon had to start his military service, Yoongi would have to print out cute pictures, all oldschool-like, to send them to the barracks and keep Namjoon updated on the progress of their kid.

It’s crazy and so specific that Yoongi scares himself a little with it. Quickly, he snaps the laptop shut, drowning the room in darkness, and then he finally climbs into the bed, tugging at the edge of the blanket to cover himself.

Namjoon snuffles in his sleep, rolls over, making some room, and Yoongi resists the urge to warm his cold feet on Namjoon’s naked calves. Instead, he tightly closes his eyes and tries not to dwell on wayward fantasies.

Then again, Yoongi’s deepest dreams had come true in the form of Billboard and Seoul Stadium and the Grammys. Maybe it will be like that again, just small and private for himself.

The next day, after dance practice, Yoongi decides to test the limits of their friendship a little.

They have another Muster in Japan coming up to promote their new album and there are three new singles on it, complete with stunning choreographies. Two of the songs are ballads, the third is a fun pop tune courtesy of Hoseok and Jungkook, and the dance moves are beautiful without being overly challenging.

For now, Yoongi’s body is not so changed that he can no longer keep pace, but he still feels the strain in his back more so than usual. It’s not too bad, really, and he knows better than too complain so much that he’ll be made to sit out during performances sooner than he wants to.

But it is still the perfect opportunity to set his plan into action.

He makes an ordeal of climbing into the van, makes an offhand comment to Jimin regarding how maybe he should get a hot water bottle once they are back at the dorms, knowing full well that Namjoon can hear him where he is sitting in the front row.

“Not now,” he says as soon as they step into the apartment and Hoseok wants to show him a track he’s been working on.

“Where are you going?” Hoseok asks, perplexed, staring at him like an alarmed pheasant.

“To my room,” Yoongi waves him off. “My back hurts.”

From the corner of his eye, he tries to gauge Namjoon’s reaction who is bent over trying to undo his shoes.

“Aww,” Hoseok says. “Should I order you one of those pregnancy pillows?”

“Bitch,” Yoongi tells him and disappears down the hallway.

He has to wait exactly six minutes for a knock at his door.

“Come in,” Yoongi calls, pursing his lips as though that would keep him from getting his hopes up.

Namjoon looks strangely small when he opens the door and lingers on the threshold, strangely hesitant. Perhaps it is the oversized hoodie, an unusual look considering his large frame, or perhaps it’s his meek expression, as though he is unsure whether he is welcome in this room during the light of day.

“I, uh, I just wanted to see how you’re doing,” Namjoon explains, randomly rapping his knuckles against the wooden door frame. “You said your back hurt so…”

He trails off, his uncertain gaze on Yoongi, who is sitting curled up on the bed, with naked feet and messy hair.

Back in the day, Yoongi had enjoyed commandeering the maknae line into rubbing his shoulders and his sore feet but, nowadays, they have a perfectly good massage chair in the living-room and extra massage therapists traveling with them wherever they go.

“Yeah, a little bit,” Yoongi says, sitting up and playing up the little wince he has in response to the strain in his lower back. To be honest, he doubts it even has much to do with the pregnancy and rather with the fact that he spent most of last night awkwardly sitting at his desk in the studio.

Namjoon, however, had fallen asleep in front of his laptop. Yoongi licks his lips.

“I saw that video you watched last night,” he says, daringly.

The look of surprise on Namjoon’s face is a delight. It doesn’t last long though, just morphs into mild embarrassment and chagrin.

“Oh,” he says, a distinct blush on his cheek. “That’s… I didn’t mean for you to see that.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“I figured,” he says but then loses some of is cockiness.

“I appreciate it, y’know,” he adds, ducking his head. “You’re… This hasn’t been the easiest of times but… knowing you have my back really helps.”

Namjoon’s mouth opens, but then he seems to stop himself, reconsiders.

“I could give you a back rub,” he tells Yoongi instead. “I- I don’t know whether I’m any good, but. I’d like to try.”

“Sounds good,” Yoongi says, gives a nod and then watches as Namjoon carefully steps closer, sits down on the edge of the mattress, mere centimeters between them. If Yoongi wriggled his naked toes, they’d touch Namjoon’s knee, but he doesn’t, just sits still and anticipatory.

“So,” Namjoon says with a small cough. “Can you turn on your belly?”

Yoongi snorts, though he does comply and lie down again, getting comfortable with his head pillowed on his folded arms. “I’m not that fat yet.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Namjoon says, mellow. For a moment, he is silent.

“I looked things up,” he says. “Other pregnancy stuff, I mean. It’s all gonna happen very quickly now.”

“Yeah…” Yoongi hasn’t spent much time on the particulars of his pregnancy yet. But as an omega he has vague ideas about the progression, about the risks and random little things along the way.

He doesn’t tense when Namjoon touches him through the fabric of his shirt but a small breath goes out of him anyway. He closes his eyes to concentrate on the feeling of Namjoon running a loose fist along his back, parallel to his spine, the heel of his thumb pressing into the groove of a shoulder blade, before smoothing down again.

Namjoon has large hands, but gentle. They ease into the small kinks in Yoongi’s muscles, curl around the bones of his hips to take the weight of the world off him.

Before long, Yoongi has too blink against impending sleep, his heartbeat slowing in his chest. He can’t doze off now. Not when he had been planning to use this opportunity and set things straight between them after everything had gone a little crooked.

“We gotta talk,” he says without preamble, like ripping off a bandaid.

“Yes,” Namjoon agrees softly.

It’s easier to admit when they are not looking at other, just the same way writing a heartfelt letter is easier than saying something in person. It doesn’t make the words less genuine; in fact, it’s probably the opposite.

“I hate how things are right now,” Yoongi says bluntly. Behind him, Namjoon’s fingers trip along his vertebrae. “I hate that the past months feel like we had a fight and never talked it out.”

Many things had changed and this one certainly not for the better.

“I… yeah,” Namjoon agrees. “I… I miss you, to be honest.”

It’s stupid. They’ve been waking up in the same bed for weeks now but there is still a certain kind of distance wedged between them, made all the more uncomfortable by how neither of them wants it to be there.

“We can be friends again, you know?” Yoongi reminds him. Things between them were so awkward, first because of the bond, then the sex, and now the pregnancy.

Another beat of silence.

“Did we stop being friends at some point?” Namjoon asks, as though that thought hadn’t even occurred to him before but now catches him off guard.

“That’s not how I meant that,” Yoongi amends. “I just wanna hang out with you more. Text and do dumb shit. You barely even look at me when we are around the others.”

“Oh, I- I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Namjoon explains and he sounds like a little boy. Yoongi frowns, though he knows Namjoon cannot see it.

“Why would I be uncomfortable?”

“Because… now the others know what happened and… you probably didn’t want them to.”

“So we fucked,” Yoongi says, trying to not make himself flinch with his own bluntness; if he did, Namjoon would feel it in his spine. “Big deal. People have inadvisable sex all the time. We just got a kid out of it as a reminder.”

“Yoongi-yah,” Namjoon says and finally his hand is on Yoongi’s shoulder to roll him over onto him back and look at him. “For me this is not an obligation but a privilege.”

Yoongi blinks. His eyes had slipped shut and now the light in them stings.

“What?” he asks.

“I want to be a good parent,” Namjoon tells him earnestly. His fingers sit splayed along Yoongi’s collarbone. “And I want to be- I want to make this as easy on you as possible. If there is anything at all I can do to make you more comfortable, you can always tell me.”
Yoongi grins. “What if I get food cravings in the middle of the night and send you out to get me something to eat? Would you do it?”

“Of course.”

“What if I can’t stand the smell of coffee anymore and demand that you quit?”

“I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“What if …” Yoongi tries to think of something. “What if I refuse to ever change a diaper?”

“Already watched videos on how to do that.”

“Damn, you’re eager,” Yoongi chuckles but he does feel lighter.

Namjoon smiles tentatively. It makes his face look round and boyish, his dimples like lunar craters.

“I just… I want to do right by you,” he explains and his gaze is pulled toward Yoongi’s belly, gently curved upward as it is. “Both of you.”

Yoongi relaxes into his pillow.

“We should go shower and brush our teeth,” he says. “I wanna go to bed early tonight.”

Namjoon’s fingertips tap again his skin.

“Together?” he asks, in a mildly teasing tone, and Yoongi snorts.

“Sleep, yes. Tooth-brushing, optional. Shower, no.”

“You go first then,” Namjoon says. “I’m gonna get a change of clothes.”

His hand lifts off Yoongi, his weight off the mattress, and the burden off their thoughts.

One plus of having a lot of money is that they can arrange a doctor’s appointment even after opening hours. It’s a practise that focuses on omega medicine in general, so that allows for plausible deniability if Yoongi ends up being spotted, but the doctor is a prenatal specialist and that would surely raise some questions.

Originally, Yoongi had planned to go alone or to maybe take Jimin in an additional attempt to throw the scent off of himself, but then Taehyung had begged like crazy and Yoongi had been too lazy to keep telling him no.

Now, he and Taehyung are seated in the examination room, waiting for the doctor to join them, and Taehyung’s eyes are huge as he inspects the pamphlets on fetal development and the artistic photographs of pregnant bellies on the lefthand wall.

“Do you want an epidural?” Taehyung asks, his voice lilting as it always does when he is deeply contemplating a matter. “Or a C-section? I’d be scared of a C-section. I think I’d want a home birth.”

Yoongi snorts. “Why would I be thinking about the birth already? I barely even found out at all.”

“How are you not thinking about it?” Taehyung asks, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. “That’s the first thing I’d consider.”

He blinks a couple of times and then blows up both his cheeks and his belly, thrusting his hips forward a little.

“I want a baby, too,” he says, almost petulant, and Yoongi chokes on his spit so hard he has to cough.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he hisses, an automatic response because there is no way a male beta can actually get pregnant, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Taehyung suddenly got it in his head to adopt a child or something.

But Taehyung just sighs, his shoulders slumping and his stomach deflating.

“I wish I were an omega,” he says plaintively. “I could just make my own and no one could stop me.”

Yoongi huffs.

“You can have this one, if you want to,” he says with a lackadaisical gesture at his own midsection. Immediately, Taehyung gasps loudly.

“Hyung!” he says as though offended on the baby’s behalf and Yoongi quickly waves him off.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He puts a palm to the bump and rubs it in exaggerated affection. “The little bugger has grown on me. Grown in me. Same difference.”

It’s not been long, he knows. But it feels real already and, this appointment today, would just be another step down that road. Because he had been to the practice already two weeks ago to properly confirm the pregnancy but, today, he would be getting the first ultrasound.

In that moment, the doctor walks in.

Yoongi has briefly met her before and immediately decided he liked her. She is an omega herself, a resolute and no-nonsense kind of person, and Yoongi knows he’ll be in good hands.

When they exchange greetings and Taehyung introduces himself, Doctor Ahn’s gaze turns a little accessing, though she doesn’t say anything.

“He’s not the father,” Yoongi tells her unnecessarily. While it’s not impossible for betas to impregnate male omegas, it’s still rather rare. Though, Yoongi thinks with some chagrin, much of this entire situation could be considered a bit of an oddity.

“Hm,” Doctor Ahn hums simply as she sits down. “I figured you might want to keep the identity of the father under wraps. Is he completely out of the picture?”

At that, Yoongi nervously fiddles with his fingers, unsure of how much to tell her.

“I have a- a preliminary bond with the father, but we… we have no plans of mating,” he explains haltingly. “But… I heard that that’s bad for the baby’s health.”

“Nonsense,” Doctor Ahn waves him off at once. “That’s just a stupid tale to keep teenagers from fooling around and to guilt young parents into mating. Don’t buy into that. If you want to keep your baby healthy, you’ll avoid all sorts of drugs and alcohol, you’ll follow a healthy diet and get regular sleep, keep stress to a minimum and come to your regular checkups. The rest is chance and genetics.”

That is actually incredibly reassuring to hear.

Yoongi doesn’t waste much thought on traditional gender roles, had always gotten slag for being such an unconventional omega and then for not measuring up to the alphas in the industry. He wouldn’t just become someone’s mate to satisfy societal expectations, but he doesn’t know how he’d feel knowing his stubbornness might harm his child.

Once Doctor Ahn has asked him some more questions and also done a pap smear and everything - during which Yoongi had Taehyung face the wall because he does have some pride left - it is time for his very first ultrasound.

He can get off the stupid chair for that and just lies down on the elevated stretcher in the corner, the paper coverings rustling underneath his head and feet.

“Careful, this might be a little bit cold,” Doctor Ahn warns him as she squeezes some bluish lubricant onto his exposed belly, but Yoongi doesn’t even blink at the sensation, just watches as she picks up the stick from the ultrasound machine and pushes the blunt end against his abdomen.

For a moment, there is nothing on the screen, just black and gray blibs that don’t make any sense. But then, as Yoongi twists his head around to better look and his eyes adjust to the strange sight, he is able to slowly distinguish some shapes.

“And there is your baby,” Doctor Ahn says with the kind of pleasure that shows how she has been doing this countless times but how it is still a special moment.

Yoongi’s heart seizes in his chest.

His baby. His little accident, his surprise, his tragedy. A small curled up creature, like a freshly hatched songbird, with its eyes too big and its limbs ungainly, so ugly it’s almost cute again.

At Doctor Ahn’s back, Taehyung makes a high-pitched noise that only dogs should be able to hear.

“Everything looks perfectly normal,” Doctor Ahn explains, her gaze flicking to Yoongi and back to the screen. “Limbs are developed. Heartbeat is regular. Organs are all in the right place.”

At those words, Yoongi swallows. He hadn’t let himself think about how he might have reacted if the baby had any severe health issues, though he could think of a number of people who would see it as punishment for him having a child out of wedlock.

“Now,” Doctor Ahn says, moving the ultrasound stick around a little and intently staring down at the screen. “Would you like to know your baby’s gender?”

“Uh,” Yoongi says, rather caught off guard by that question. He hadn’t really thought about it because he doesn’t much care and also because he hadn’t known that the gender could be determined at the beginning of the second trimester.

The decision, however, is swiftly taken out of his hands.

“The penis!” Taehyung crows loudly, reaching over to point at the screen and nearly making Doctor Ahn drop the stick. “I can see the tiny penis!”

Yoongi’s mouth falls open and he turns to stare at Doctor Ahn. She stares back.

“Surprise,” she says, a little deadpan. “It’s a boy.”

“It’s a boy!” Taehyung yells the moment they are back at the dorm.

"I fucking hate you," Yoongi mutters under his breath, hands deep in his pockets. He's more peeved than mad, but he'd hold on to this grudge for a while. Taehyung certainly deserves it.

Fortunately, barely anyone seems to be at the dorms and only Seokjin sits up on the couch in the living-room, his eyes big behind his wire-frame glasses.

“Are you kidding?” he asks, his gaze whizzing from Yoongi to Taehyung and back again.

Yoongi gives a put-upon sigh.

“No,” he replies, kicking off his sneakers and not caring where they land. Before long, he wouldn’t be able to comfortably take off his shoes anyway, so the others had better get used to it. “Tae got a little overeager but apparently he was right.”

“Can they really tell that so early on?” Seokjin asks, surprised. He’s stood up from the couch now and stepped closer. His gaze on Yoongi is a little changed, a little tentative, but Yoongi cannot really fault him. Knowing about the pregnancy is one thing but, somehow, knowing the gender makes everything more concrete.

“Kinda,” Yoongi shrugs in response to the question.

Doctor Ahn had explained that the baby was at the stage were the genital tubercule could develop either way but that, with a keen eye, a doctor could guess with relative certainty. Taehyung didn’t know any better and had just assumed that the tubercule was a penis but Doctor Ahn had confirmed that it was most likely correct.

“I will bake a cake,” Seokjin decides resolutely, immediately marching toward the kitchen.

“Why a cake?” Yoongi frowns.

“Because you can’t drink alcohol, of course,” Seokjin says, leaving him and Taehyung in the doorway.

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung says, tugging at Yoongi’s sleeve and looking cutely apologetic. “I didn’t mean to give it away.”

“You are like an over-excited Golden Retriever puppy,” Yoongi tells him flatly. “I’m surprised you haven’t managed to just reveal everything during an interview or something.”

At that, Taehyung gasps, offended.

“I would never do that, hyung!” he claims earnestly. “I can totally keep a secret when I need to.”

“Sure,” Yoongi says, distracted by the sound of jiggling keys and then the front door opening to reveal both Hoseok and Namjoon,

“Oh hey,” Hoseok greets. “How’d the appointment go?”

Yoongi takes a breath, trying to figure out what to say and how. They had thought it best to not take Namjoon along to the doctor in case they were spotted together, but he cannot help but regret that decision.

“It’s a boy!” Taehyung only cheers again and Yoongi resists the urge to strangle him only because giving birth in a prison hospital doesn’t sound like much fun.

Namjoon, however, is shocked into stillness, his mouth falling open.

“A boy?” he asks, softly.

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, stupidly shy. Unconsciously, his hand comes up to place itself on his abdomen. “I didn’t wanna know yet, but Tae couldn’t keep his gob shut.”

“A boy,” Namjoon only says again.

“I… I have the ultrasound picture, if you wanna see it,” Yoongi says, though he knows that Namjoon would never say no to that. “There’s not much yet, it’s just a blip really.”

But Namjoon’s expression is eager and so Yoongi reaches inside his jacket and pulls out the envelope, fiddling it open to slide out the picture that Doctor Ahn had printed out for him, presenting it to Namjoon without further comment.

At under ten weeks, the child is just at the state between what is considered an embryo and what would soon be a fetus. The toes and fingers would separate. The teeth buds would form. On the picture, the outline of a tiny nose can be seen.

“He takes after you,” Yoongi says because he feels like he has to say something. “Leggy little bastard.”

Namjoon doesn’t even object to the fact that Yoongi just called their child a bastard - which is, technically, true - just keeps staring at the picture in utter awe.

“We made this,” Namjoon says and Yoongi cannot help but be reminded of each time they finish an album, when Namjoon is all pride and disbelief.

“You invested like twelve minutes, okay, I am clearly the main producer,” Yoongi gripes because sarcasm is easier than something more sincere.

“It was longer than twelve minutes,” Namjoon claims and Yoongi huffs.

“Fifteen, at most.”

“Maybe you were just so out of it that you don’t remember clearly,” Namjoon points out, one eyebrow cocked.

“Stop flirting, you two,” Hoseok chides out of nowhere, cuffing Namjoon over the head, before peering down at the ultrasound as well. “Looks like a gummy bear.”

“You’re just jealous ‘cause he’s already more handsome than you,” Yoongi counters, watching as Hoseok reels back and gasps theatrically.

“Wow, you’re even more vicious than usual,” he laments, clutching at his heart.

“You just insulted my fucking kid,” Yoongi reminds him.

“That wasn’t an insult, that was a compliment!”

“‘Looks like a gummy bear’ is not a compliment.”

“But everybody loves gummy bears!”

“My kid is not edible!”

“But that’s half the reason Jinnie-hyung has been looking forward to the birth!”

“Yah!” Seokjin yells from the kitchen.

“Guys,” Namjoon says in exasperation. His shoulders are lax and he’s got his eyes lifted heavenwards as he always does when they get too unruly.

“You should be offended, too,” Yoongi mutters. “That’s your kid as well, you know?”

“To be fair,” Namjoon says slowly, as though he knew exactly that he is treading on thin ice but risking it anyway. “He does look like a gummy bear.”

“Wow,” Yoongi says simply, spinning on his heel and making to march away.

“Noo,” Namjoon groans, quickly reaching out and pulling him back by his hoodie, throwing his arms around Yoongi’s shoulders and helplessly chuckling into his ear. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m gonna sue for sole custody,” Yoongi tells him darkly, though he does allow himself to relax into the embrace. Unconsciously, his head tips to the side, Namjoon’s mouth so close to his neck he can feel his breath.

“I don’t think you can get legal custody over a gummy bear,” Namjoon jokes and Yoongi jabs an elbow into his rib, making him wince.

Namjoon takes Yoongi’s hand with the ultrasound picture and lifts it up against the light to better see the outlines. So maybe it does look a little like a gummy bear; Yoongi still only thinks mine.

“I think it’s time,” he says out of the blue and, at those words, Namjoon tenses a little because he knows exactly what they mean.

“You sure?” he asks. He lowers their hands again, but his fingers remain wrapped around Yoongi’s wrist.

“No,” Yoongi admits. “But waiting longer won’t make things easier.”

He is looking more and more pregnant with each passing day and, since he is so slim, the tiny bump is even more noticeable. He could probably hide it for a couple more weeks but, if the secret was accidentally found out, it was sure to backfire on them, especially if it happened during their upcoming Muster. Better to reveal it on his own terms and try to keep a modicum of control.

“Okay,” Namjoon says, resting his chin against the crown of Yoongi’s head. “But let’s tell the others first, alright?”

“Sure,” Yoongi says. He’d wait till Jimin and Jungkook got home from the dance studio or wherever they had spent the morning, and then they’d all eat the cake Jin was baking and celebrate a little. He’d call his mother and send her the picture and hope that the pride of seeing her grandchild for the first time would overwhelm the disappointment she had expressed at Yoongi’s decision.

And then he would drop the bomb.

That evening, after cake and dinner and many congratulations, after his mother’s tentative and tearful joy, after mentally preparing himself for what he is about to do, Yoongi pulls out his phone.

He has already informed their PR team of what he is about to do, just so they are prepared for doing damage control, and has even gotten a warmly worded message from Bang pd expressing his encouragement.

Luckily, Doctor Ahn had also sent him an electronic version of the ultrasound and he had already downloaded it to his phone, so now he only has to pull up Twitter and bite his lower lip as he contemplates what to write.

His fingers don’t shake as he types, but he still cannot throw off the knowledge of how this small moment would invariably change how he would be perceived by the public. Finally, there would be no return from this, no excuse to gracefully bow out and let the curtain fall.

Instead, Yoongi attaches the photo to the tweet and hits send.

Meet our 8th member! JHope said he looks like a gummy bear. :(

The debate develops as follows.

Yoongi had not tagged himself in the tweet, but his name shows up in the ultrasound picture itself. The other father, however, remains anonymous.

At first people think it’s a prank, like the time Jimin edited fake NamJin dating news, but then various news outlets contact BigHit’s PR department which confirms the truth of the matter, and then all hell breaks loose.

Yoongi does his best to stay offline and keeps his phone on mute, but that does little to quench his overactive imagination.

He knows they have haters and people who call themselves ARMY but would tear them apart over tiny mishaps, not to mention the outsiders, the moralizers and talk show hosts who’d love nothing better than to pick this story apart and see him bleed.

He’d be called a slut, for one, because he is still unmated. A bad influence on impressionable teenagers. An embarrassment to both hip hop and kpop, to Bangtan and BigHit.

Particularly for omega idols, the suggestion of availability to both male and female fans is generally played up. Jimin flourished in the role of the innocent seducer, but Yoongi had always struggled with it. Now, he’d quite effectively made sure that he would never be able to play the virgin temptation in photo shoots again.

And that is really just his own involvement in the story. Because, while he doubtlessly threw himself into the spotlight with his unorthodox announcement, the fact that he didn’t mention the other father is an even bigger point of contention.

But people love secrets and people love speculation. And the fans and reporters are only too happy to come up with wild theories as to who may have gotten Min Yoongi with child in such an unfortunate manner.

There’s the rumor that it’s the son of some rich businessman, that Bangtan has had a secret chaebol sponsor all along and that Yoongi was the bargaining chip, that he has now been abandoned because of the illegitimate child.

Some believe an important figure from the industry must be involved, perhaps from a rivaling company, perhaps a producer at BigHit. In some versions, it’s a grand secret love story. In others, it’s a tragic tale of blackmail and abuse.

Other names are thrown around, alphas from other groups that Yoongi is fleetingly acquainted with, perhaps a childhood friend, a staff member, a stranger at a club.

The most heated debate by far, however, is the one that has quickly gone trending in the form of #TeamRM versus #TeamJK. Because that is the obvious choice, the simplest one. Put alphas and omegas in a group and there will inadvertently be some tension.

“These theories people come up with are crazy,” Jimin comments from where he is scrolling through Twitter, apparently reading long-winded threads arguing for either case. “They’ve compiled, like, pictures from our trainee days and claim they are proof.”

Yoongi only pulls a face. Jungkook has always been like a little brother to him and, before their debut, the brat hadn’t even presented yet.   

“That’s so weird,” he complains, pulling his knees up to his chest and hugging his arms around them. “Why would they think it’s Kook-ah?”

“Does Joon-ah being the father make more sense?” Seokjin asks dryly, not even looking up from where he is folding the laundry.

Yoongi opens his mouth, stills.

“Well,” he says. “Kinda.”

For one, Namjoon has always been an alpha, if only in subtle unassuming ways. Not to mention that Namjoon was his best friend. The freaking bond had developed between them for a reason, and his unexpected heat had been a direct consequence of it.

“Well, in any case, I think Team Jungkook is currently winning,” Jimin notes blithely, unaware of Yoongi’s internal monologue, and Yoongi splutters.

“What?” he asks. “Why??”

“Hmm, because Jungkookie is so soft around you but also deferential?” Jimin muses. “And you are pretty lenient with him, too.”

“That could be said for you and Kookie as well, though,” Seokjin frowns. “He is your dongsaeng, after all.”

Yoongi just scoffs.

“People see what they want to see, and Namjoon-ah is soft with me, too,” he points out, feeling contrary and, at that, Jimin smirks.

“Oh?” he asks deviously. “Is he now?”

Yoongi only throws a sofa cushion at him.

“Fact is,” Jimin continues, having warded off the attack with one of his feet, “That the outside signs don’t really point to Joonie-hyung. For months, the two of you were barely even seen together which doesn’t exactly hint at you becoming baby daddies, though some people argue that it’s because the company wanted to keep things under wraps. But no one knows that you have that weird bond of yours. No one knows your heat happened in spite of suppressants. I mean, I’ve seen people claim that you got pregnant on purpose to tie some alpha to you. Or, well, the other way round, really.”

At those words, the atmosphere sobers. Impregnating an omega to gain control over them and enforce a mating was one of the most heinous things an alpha could possibly do but, in the eyes of the law, it was rarely treated as a true crime because the throes of heat were all too often interpreted as an omega’s consent.

Yoongi hates that he cannot control people’s thoughts. He hates that there are those out there who think of him as vulnerable and helpless, who think he is a victim or a bitch, who think him irresponsible and careless.

Eventually, they’d get to know the full story, of him and Namjoon and their little twist of fate that was beyond anything either of them could have anticipated. Would they change their tune once they knew that all their ugly slander was the farthest from the truth?

It doesn’t matter, though. Yoongi has his friends firmly in his corner and, slowly, both the company and his family are coming around as well. By the time his kid is born, the scandal will have lost its novelty and the storm will have calmed down. For now, he just has to ride out the waves.

To say that Namjoon has been testy all day would be an understatement.

The morning has been stressful, what with them getting stuck in traffic on their way to the airport. First, Hoseok had gotten snapped at for making a joke about Namjoon probably having forgotten his passport at home, and then Namjoon told Seokjin to can it when he was worrying over the part of the choreo he was still struggling with.

Of course, Namjoon sometimes got tired and frustrated, just like the rest of them, but he rarely let the rest of them feel the results of it. Cranky Namjoon put on shades and music to fit his mood. Cranky Namjoon pursed his lips and withdrew to his room.

This Namjoon today is different, bothered by noise and laughter, annoyed by minor inconveniences.

Yoongi wants to tell him that he is being a right bitch, but he has a suspicion why their leader is so tense.

The Muster in Japan would be their first performance since the reveal, and the trip there now is their first public appearance. The initial hype regarding the scandal has not diminished in the least and Yoongi already dreads having to walk past screaming fans at Incheon and then in Tokyo. He’s always hated crowds and he has no doubt that today will be particularly awful.

“Don’t worry, hyung,” Jungkook tells him as they are getting out of the van, security already swarming around them. “We’ll protect you.”

Normally, Yoongi would gripe and make some comment about how he doesn’t need protection but, for once, he won’t.

It’s funny, actually, how the others surround him without prompting, and idly he wonders whether they planned it in advance, whether they knew he needed them to do something like this.

Jimin sticks close to his side, hooking an arm around him while Seokjin walks up front, his broad shoulders neatly blocking Yoongi from view. Taehyung, Jungkook and Hoseok swarm around him, ready to hold off anyone who might get too close, while Namjoon brings up the rear, close enough that he steps on Yoongi’s heels a couple of times and almost makes him lose his loafers before they have even made it to the throngs of ARMYs waiting in the foyer.

As soon as their entourage walks in, the screaming begins. Yoongi’s got his music on, stuffed deep into his ears, but he still hears the collective screeching like a big insect beneath the tall ceiling.

Jimin clutches his arm more tightly and Namjoon’s hand comes up to settle at the back of Yoongi’s neck, his thumb soothingly brushing over his pulse, but Yoongi keeps his gaze fixed on the point between Seokjin’s shoulder blades.

They don’t waste much time in the foyer, though, don’t properly pose for pictures, just make it to their gate, not having to wait around thanks to priority boarding.

In preparation for today, they had settled on the seating arrangement before they even booked the flights. Namjoon is sitting with Hoseok and Seokjin, while Jungkook and Taehyung are in the row behind them. Because of the rumors, Yoongi is not supposed to get overly close to either of their alphas when they are in public, which leaves in him with Jimin. There is nothing inherently bad about that, but Yoongi still fidgets in his chair, occasionally craning his head and staring down the aisle, trying to get a glimpse of Namjoon.

He doesn’t know why he is feeling so antsy, but he has a suspicion that it is because of the bond.

He’s never heard of anything like that before, though. Bonds are based on scent and physicality. Your emotions can of course be affected by separation or when you empathize with your bondmate. But you do not share feelings and sensations.

So why is he feeling like he is getting an echo of Namjoon’s restlessness?

Fortunately, the flight is not long. They repeat their procession past the waiting masses, with the others waving and smiling occasionally to keep the fansites satisfied, while Yoongi himself keeps his head down.

He hears his name being yelled here and there, even some enthusiastic congratulations among the overwhelming noise, but his Japanese is not good enough to pick out more details. On the back of his neck, Namjoon’s grip tightens and Yoongi has to suppress a shiver.

Their security team luckily gets them to their car without any incidents. They tumble inside, all elbows and hand luggage and, somehow, Yoongi finds himself falling into the seat next to Namjoon.

Yoongi wants to say something glib, just to get his attention and maybe lift his mood a little, but Namjoon has his lips pinched and is staring out of the tinted window, as though the parking lot were particularly interesting.

So Yoongi wriggles around, secures his seatbelt, notices that it is too tight across his midsection, undoes it again, fumbles to lengthen it, curses quietly when the metal piece painfully snaps against his thumbnail instead.

Suddenly, Namjoon is there, leaning over him.

“Let me,” he says quietly, hair falling into his face as he pulls the seatbelt from Yoongi’s fingers, adjusting it for him.

Unconsciously, Yoongi presses back in his seat, breathing shallowly, abruptly aware of just how good Namjoon smells. He would like nothing better than to thoroughly scent him, but that would make things pretty awkward for everyone else in the car.

“Thanks,” Yoongi mutters when he is both comfortable and secure, but Namjoon just nods distractedly and turns back to the window.

The driver informs them that they are leaving now and starts the engine. In the back row, Hoseok and Jimin are joking around, taking selfies maybe. Taehyung has stuck a finger in Jungkook’s ear and just lets it sit there as he absentmindedly scrolls through his phone. They roll off the parking lot, followed by the staff cars, and toward the highway.

For a moment, Yoongi battles with himself. Then he pulls a half-eaten Snickers bar from his jacket pocket and picks at the wrapping. He’d taken to carrying snacks wherever he went, just in case of food cravings, but he is not feeling particularly hungry right now.

Instead, he pokes Namjoon in the arm and, when he glances over, wordlessly offers him the Snickers. Namjoon frowns, confused, shakes his head. Yoongi’s face falls.
He lowers the Snickers, nervous fingers trying to properly wrap it again. He doesn’t know why he is upset by this, why this random rejection stings. He doesn’t understand why he is trying to feed Namjoon, except that chocolate usually improves anyone’s mood.

So deep in his thoughts is he that he startles when Namjoon’s fingers close around his wrist, stopping his movements.

“Wait,” Namjoon says and then he is leaning in, taking a huge bite out of the bar, so that only a tiny bit is still left over. He chews, with some effort because of the caramel, and then swallows, visibly running his tongue over his front teeth.

“You too,” he says then, lifting their joined hands with the rest of chocolate toward Yoongi’s mouth. “Eat.”

Yoongi obeys automatically, closing his eyes so the crinkling foil won’t accidentally poke him. He wraps his lips around the small chunk and takes it in his mouth, letting the sweet flavor melt on his tongue.

When he looks up again, Namjoon is watching him.

“Good,” Namjoon tells him nonsensically, leaning back in his seat. Then he places a palm over the lower half of his face and doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the drive.

At the hotel, they only have enough time to settle in and take a quick break, though Yoongi cannot really get comfortable on top of the king-sized bed. If at all possible, he’d sneak over to Namjoon’s room this night. Here, the pillows don’t even smell of alpha and the marked absence is setting him on edge. And he hates feeling so needy, hates knowing his instincts reduce him to such irrationality, but it’s better than not having that option at all.

Stupidly, he finds himself thinking of scenarios in which the other rumors were true and this were really someone else’s child. He’d always be on his own then. But he also wouldn’t have developed a bond with anyone but Namjoon. In all these weeks of uncertainty and doubt, this is still the only thing that makes any sort of sense.

He does some light yoga poses to relax himself, to open his hips and ease some of the tension off his lower back, just like Doctor Ahn had instructed him. It does little to rein in his thoughts, but he still tries to psych himself up for their performance this evening. Musters are always fun and he doesn’t know want to disappoint their fans.

The last thing Bangtan needs right now are accusations of Yoongi either underperforming or overexerting himself. So today, he has to be sweet and smiley and distract from the scandal that’s growing inside of him, bigger and bigger each time he looks in the mirror.

Once they have been driven to the venue, they do light checks and sound checks. They go over their speaking parts again and quizz each other on Japanese vocabulary. They film a Bangtan bomb as they do first wardrobe fittings and prance around on stage as everyone does their job.

With everyone so focused and at the same time scattered, it is easy forget how Namjoon’s instructions seems a little more curt, more impatient. He tells Hoseok and Jungkook off for horsing around; their maknae lowers his head in shame, but Hoseok’s eyes narrow, though he doesn’t say anything. When the cameras come closer, everyone is smiling.

It’s not until the dress rehearsal when they go through all their choreographies and settle where and how they would enter and exit the individual stages, that it becomes apparent that something is seriously off with Namjoon.

He is sweating like crazy and his movements are stiff and jerky. A few years ago, that wouldn’t have raised any eyebrows but his dancing had drastically improved over time. Now, he looks like a puppet whose strings are too lax. During one turn, he manages to whack Taehyung in the face with the back of his hand.

Taehyung yelps, flinches back, stumbles over his feet and lands on his butt. It’s not a hard fall and, when he pulls his hand away, his nose is not even bleeding, but his eyes are round and shocked as he stares up at Namjoon.

“Sorry,” Namjoon says uncomfortably, rubbing his palms over his own arms instead of helping Taehyung up.

Instead, it’s Jungkook who lends Tae a hand, brushing invisible dust from the seat of his pants.

“That could have been prevented,” Hoseok says decisively, no doubt having noticed from the very beginning that Namjoon’s moves are subpar today. “You’re totally over the place, Joonie.”

“Are you okay?” Seokjin asks worriedly, lifting a hand as though to feel Namjoon’s forehead. “You’re looking a bit feverish.”

Namjoon, however, ducks away, easily escaping Seokjin’s touch.

“Just overheated,” he mutters, wiping a sleeve over his face, for all the good that it does.

“Maybe you should take a break,” Hoseok tells him. “Better than having to sit out later.”

“I said I’m alright,” Namjoon hisses. “Stop nagging.”

At the tone of his voice, everyone stills. This is not how Namjoon talks to any of them, especially not in the context of his leadership duties. He always listens to them, always respects their opinions. This is different.

And Yoongi wants to do something, anything to get Namjoon to calm down, but he doesn’t know what or how, and the hesitation roots him to the spot, making him fiddle with his shirt hem.

It’s is Jimin who takes a cautious step closer, a frown on his face. He leans in, far into Namjoon’s personal space, and takes a whiff.

“Oh,” he says, quickly pulling back with a pinched expression. “Well, that explains it.”

“What explains what?” Jungkook asks, nervously looking from one hyung to the next.

“His smell,” Jimin says plainly. “He’s going into rut.”

Chapter Text

“He’s going into rut,” Jimin says and everyone falls silent at once.

Namjoon turns his head away abruptly, like he cannot bear to look any of them in the eye, like he had already expected as much himself but didn’t dare say it out loud.

“But,” Jungkook says, his eyes big and full of worry. “He’s on suppressants.”

“So was Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin reminds him flatly and Jungkook looks a little chagrined.

Back after Yoongi had been surprised by his heat, Doctor Im had said it was because his body was instinctively trying to trick the alpha in question into properly mating him with a bite. Now it stands to reason that Namjoon going into rut has a similar catalyst: the urge to claim the omega he has a bond with and a child.

Self-consciously, Yoongi places a hand on belly, clenching the fabric of his shirt between his fingers.

“Okay, let’s be real, the reasons why are not important right now,” Hoseok cuts in, all business-like, and Yoongi is grateful for it. “We have to consider how we’ll continue now.”

“How bad are your symptoms?” Seokjin asks, turning toward Namjoon who lowers his gaze.

“Moderate,” he says, shamefully. “I should be good for a couple more hours.”

“Good.” Hoseok nods, hands on his hips. “We’ll send staff to pick up some over-the-counter drug to keep it manageable. Do you think you can make it through the evening?”

Namjoon seems to consider it for a moment. Then he gives a tight nod.

Fortunately, responsibility always comes before pride for Kim Namjoon, so they know that they can trust his judgment.

“Good,” Hoseok says again. “That’s the most important thing right now. “I’ll inform management, but we can’t let this get out. And Joon-ah, if it gets too bad, you are going to fake a twisted ankle or a fainting spell or whatever, and then you are getting off the stage.”

“Yeah, that… that sounds reasonable,” Namjoon acknowledges, with none of the stubbornness one might expect from an alpha in rut who is having his authority questioned.

“Then let’s continue with rehearsal.” Hoseok claps his hands. “Back into position.”

Somehow, they get through dress rehearsal without any more incidents, and then they make it backstage to get ready for the Muster.

They don’t have to discuss the particulars, everyone knowing that Namjoon should be a little secluded for the time being, getting his outfit and makeup done as quickly as possible.

They have some omegas among their staff, but they are all mated and therefore less affected by the pheromones. The only ones at risk are Jimin, who diligently keeps his distance from Namjoon, and Yoongi, who tries to.

It’s difficult. It’s so goddamn difficult because Yoongi can smell Namjoon from the room next door and his instincts are telling him to go and be with the alpha, to satisfy his needs, to make sure he doesn’t go and find another omega in his desperation.

But he knows that proximity is only going to exacerbate Namjoon’s symptoms, so he stays put, literally sitting on his hands as he lets the noona fix his hair.

Jimin sticks to his side, occasionally sending him knowing looks that Yoongi tries to ignore.

But he still cannot help but think about how blind he was for not noticing that Namjoon was going into rut – and for missing his own reaction to it.

Because his instinct to comfort Namjoon all day, his attempts of feeding him and staying by his side, all that should have clued him in that something was off.

Namjoon had had a rut before, back during their trainee days when it had just been the two of them. Namjoon had locked himself in their shared room and Yoongi had gone to crash at a friend’s place for a couple of days. They didn’t talk about it in the way that teenage boys didn’t like to talk about personal things at all, and after that they silently agreed on starting to take suppressants to avoid further embarrassment.

Now, Namjoon cannot just lock himself away. Now, he is in Japan of all places, far away from anything that feels like home. And they still have a concert to get through.

Fortunately, Musters are a relaxed affair. When the time comes to go on stage, the others do most of the talking, subtly drawing attention away from Namjoon. He is a bit more serious than usual, a little more tight-lipped, but when they dance he does it well, much better than during their rehearsal. It’s almost like he is channeling all his pent-up aggression into the movements, each step on point and his body rolls lethal, a striking change from his usually more feminine and eccentric poses.

Yoongi knows all this because he is hyper-aware of Namjoon at his periphery. He tries not to let it get to him, though, just waves at the crowds, holds up finger hearts. He poses when he sees cameras pointed toward him, smiles his sweetest smiles, raps so fast time cannot keep up with him.

It wouldn’t exactly be a scandal for Namjoon to perform during the early stages of his rut - it had happened to other artists before - but it would still make the headlines. They cannot afford this sort of news about them, not so shortly after revealing Yoongi’s secret. Because it would seem like none of the members are on suppressants, and then people would start speculating why, and then they’d have even more conspiracy theories at their hands.

Somehow, blissfully, they survive. Fans cry and scream, confetti rains down, Hoseok and Jimin give an impromptu dance encore, Taehyung climbs Jungkook like a tree and lets himself be carried across stage, Yoongi picks up a polar bear plushie that someone has thrown at his feet.

They return backstage, they take off their microphones, they convene, door locked to keep everyone else out. Because they trust and love their staff, but some things are more private than others.

“What are we going to do now?” Taehyung asks nervously. “His rut could last days. He won’t be able to perform tomorrow.”

“He’ll just have to sit it out,” Hoseok answers. “We’ll say he has a fever. He already looked like it tonight so, if we’re lucky, no one will question it.”

“I don’t wanna sit out,” Namjoon says from where he is sitting in the far corner. He’s got a damp towel pressed to his face and neck and it muffles his voice, but he still sounds petulant.

They all throw him pitying looks. Having to sit out a concert is always shitty, for all of them. This is why they are on suppressants. This is why Yoongi cannot help but feel guilty as well. Because the rut must have been triggered by the bond, only that it seems more intense than Yoongi’s heat had been. The heat had come out of nowhere, in the middle of the night and with no warning signs, it had been short and shallow, over the next day. Though, looking back, Yoongi knows that it was because his biological imperative got what it wanted: an alpha’s offspring.

“Actually, I’ve thought about this,” Jimin says in that moment. He’s got his arms crossed in front of his chest and he doesn’t look very happy. “The best way to deal with a rut is to go along with it.”

“Jiminie,” Namjoon groans into his towel, probably knowing exactly where this is going and not liking it one bit.

“He’s got a point.” Seokjin shrugs. “You get it out of your system, you rest, and tomorrow evening you’ll be as good as new.”

“He can’t just go out and find someone,” Yoongi says automatically. “That’s gonna cause a scandal.”

Everybody turns to stare at him; only Namjoon keeps the towel on his face and Yoongi is stupidly grateful for it.

“Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin implores. “We weren’t saying he should find someone new.”

Oh. Yoongi’s mouth opens.

“But,” he flounders. “I- We’re not…”

He trails off, bites his lip. He can’t just sleep with Namjoon out of necessity. Not now, not when everything between them is confusing enough already.

“What, do you want me to do it?” Jimin challenges, his eyes narrow. “Because if you are too childish to-“

Something visceral inside of Yoongi rears its head in protest, not willing to accept the thought of Namjoon with another omega, even if it’s just for one night, even if it’s meaningless. He clenches his fists, trying to articulate of why exactly this plan is the worst possible idea, but-

“I can’t,” Namjoon says. He’s finally pulled the towel from his head and is holding it in his lap, kneading it with restless hands. His face is reddened, fresh sweat gathering at his temples, but he’s still got his wits about him and he cannot bring himself to look at anyone. “I’m sorry but- The bond and- and the baby, I- I can’t just pick someone else.”

Oh. Oh . The creature inside of Yoongi calms down, placated.

“So you’ll have to sit out,” Hoseok concludes, forcefully rubbing his forehead and mussing up his hair in the process. “We’ll let management know and they’ll make an announcement. There are worse things, so don’t take it too hard, Joonie.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon mutters, lifting the towel again and burying his face in it, his neck bent. The spaces between his upper vertebrae stand out like glaciers.

Yoongi’s lips part, his mouth dry.

Just one night. One time. They’ve done it before and had even gotten over the awkwardness quite quickly; they can do it again.

“Fine,” he says before he can stop himself. He is glaring down at his feet now but he can still tell that everyone is looking at him in surprise. “I’ll do it.”

There is a beat of silence that drags on, a bit too long to feel strictly comfortable. Luckily, everyone has better sense that to crack stupid jokes in hopes of lifting the mood. Yoongi thinks that, perhaps they had just been waiting for him to cave.

Yoongi himself had expected at least token protests from Namjoon, but he also understands that no alpha nearing his rut would turn down an omega willing to bed him.

“Then let’s get back to the hotel, pronto,” Hoseok says, matter-of-factly, because they really have no time to lose. In the back of his head, Yoongi imagines a clock ticking down the minutes.

So they file out of the room, this time keeping a close circle around Namjoon, a mimicry of what they had done for Yoongi at the airport just this morning. Seokjin motions to their waiting manager that they are ready to head out and they all just get to the parking lot as quickly as possible.

“Jungkook, sit up front,” Namjoon orders curtly before climbing into the back of the can.

“What, but-“ Jungkook complains, looking a little bit hurt.

“Just do it, Kookie,” Jimin tells him, tugging at his sleeve. “C’mon, I’ll join you.”

He’s got one hand cupped over his nose and mouth, and Yoongi wonders just how unpleasant Namjoon’s scent must be for him. It’s pungent, definitely, but Yoongi can only think of it as enticing. Without giving himself time to doubt the decision, he follows Namjoon into the car, sitting beside him.

Just like on their way from the airport, Namjoon doesn’t even look at Yoongi, but once he has buckled himself in, his hand is tightly clenched around his thigh, and Yoongi gets the feeling that Namjoon is fighting the instinct to touch him.

Yoongi swallows dryly. Then he carefully tilts his knee until it’s leaning against Namjoon’s.

At the touch Namjoon tenses momentarily; but then he relaxes again and closes his eyes.

“Whew,” Hoseok says, slamming the door shut behind himself and falling down in his seat. “How about we open all the windows, hm?”

Yoongi’s toes curl in his shoes.

They go to Namjoon’s hotel room. It’s not the same as being at home, but Namjoon’s scent faintly caught in the sheets and his belongings strewn here and there will have to suffice in lieu of an actual territory.

Because that is what a rut is all about. Territory and dominance and ownership. It’s when, during prehistoric times, alphas would go around and make sure no one was trespassing their pack’s land. It’s when they try to fuck a child into their mate’s womb.

Just that they are not mates and Yoongi is already pregnant anyway and all of this is terribly unnecessary. And daunting, but Yoongi won’t admit to that. He just throws his bag down on the floor, kicks his shoes into a corner and slips off his jacket.

Next to him, Namjoon inhales audibly, his nostrils flaring, and Yoongi cannot help but feel self-conscious.

After the Muster, they had not gotten the chance to shower, only wiped themselves down with damp towels, but it did little to clean off the smell. For Yoongi, that is mostly regular sweat and what Hoseok has taken to calling ‘baby fragrance’. For Namjoon it is the heady musk that marks him an alpha, but tenfold and seeming to creep right into Yoongi’s nose, making itself at home there and pressing whatever buttons his taste buds have.

Because, if an alpha wants to mate, their partner ought to be ready and willing. And, judging by the slow warm slide Yoongi can feel between his legs, his body is very much both. Because omegas are made for alphas, and Yoongi has never known it quite so keenly as he does now.

Yet Kim Namjoon, in rut, is a curious creature. His impatience manifests in ways that are not easily read but still there, under the surface. When he closes the door, he does it gently, but turns the lock right away. He does not grab Yoongi and throw him down on the mattress, just beckons him over to the bed with a silent nod. And then, when they are both seated, he does not start tearing the clothes off their bodies but waits until Yoongi feels himself grow antsy.

“Aren’t you gonna do anything?” Yoongi demands, because he had hoped for this to be a more straightforward thing again, driven by their instincts, with everything else put on the backburner for now.

Namjoon, however, gives him a thoughtful look.

“Take off your clothes,” he says simply and Yoongi has to keep himself from biting out something spiteful in response. Instead, he just angrily mutters to himself and pulls his shirt over his head, the collar of it getting stuck on his ears for a moment and mussing up his hair. When he manages to free himself and toss the shirt aside, Namjoon is staring at his belly, intent.

Suddenly, Yoongi realizes that, so far, Namjoon hadn’t really seen the bump up close. At four months, it’s just at that phase where it is becoming undeniably obvious, so Yoongi has been wearing a lot of baggy hoodies to hide it from curious eyes. Now, Namjoon’s gaze on him burns .

“Your jeans, too,” Namjoon tells him and, this time, it at least gives Yoongi a welcome excuse to distract himself. But then he is only in his underwear while Namjoon is still fully dressed, and the nervousness kicks back in.

“Don’t hide yourself,” Namjoon says, grabbing Yoongi’s wrist and pulling it away when Yoongi tries to cross his arms in front of his abdomen.

“I’m not- ashamed,” Yoongi feels the need to point out because he doesn’t have body issues over this, he’s not even feeling overly vulnerable. But to have Namjoon look so openly makes something in him shiver.

“Lie down on the bed,” Namjoon just says, with a small tilt of his head. His demands are not orders; in fact, Yoongi has worked with photographers who were much ruder. He still follows them without complaint, pulling his legs onto the mattress and lying flat on his back. It feels unnatural and even more exposing, though, so he bends his knees and places one hand on top of his chest, trying to look more casual.

“I’m going to scent you now,” Namjoon says and, abruptly, Yoongi is reminded of how Doctor Ahn always tells him exactly what she is doing during examinations, to take some of the fear away. Maybe, he thinks, Namjoon can feel his anxiety.

“Okay,” Yoongi says plainly. After all, he has secretly been yearning for this since they even arrived the airport this afternoon.

Namjoon nods and then takes off his hoodie, followed by the t-shirt underneath, carelessly tossing them aside. A cloud of his smell wafts over, involuntarily making Yoongi shiver. Namjoon seems to catch the movement because his gaze immediately cuts back to Yoongi and then he is gently knocking Yoongi’s knees apart, placing himself between them.

He keeps his weight off Yoongi, particularly off his belly, but he covers him, entirely, and then he tugs his face against Yoongi’s neck and begins to rub.

Like any sort of skinship, scenting is nothing sexual at its roots, just a show of affection and belonging between family members, between those who are considered pack by the primitive parts of the human brain. But Yoongi can very distinctly feel the bulge of Namjoon’s erection pressing up against him, so it is rather difficult to act like they are just scenting each other as friends.

Namjoon is thorough. He rubs himself up against Yoongi’s scent glands, nudging them into producing more pheromones, lapping at them with his tongue because scent and taste always go hand in hand. Then he switches over to the other side and repeats the process.

He does this a couple of times, until Yoongi joins in, until their skin feels a little raw from too much friction. And it’s good. It’s really fucking good, because Namjoon smells of sweat and musk and alpha, and Yoongi can feel himself get worked up, his own cock hardening, covered only by the thin layer of his underwear that is quickly being soaked by slick.

During his heat, he had not been embarrassed, too far gone to really think of modesty, but now he is more aware of his physical reactions, cataloguing every single one. His nipples are erect, the skin around them tightly wrinkled, just from having Namjoon’s chest brushing across them every now and then. Namjoon moves a bit lower, presses an open-mouthed kiss to Yoongi’s sternum, and then closes his full lips over Yoongi’s left nipple.

Yoongi’s hips buck off the bed, colliding with Namjoon’s lower belly, and he groans, moans more like, unable to stop himself.

His nipples had never been overly sensitive, but pregnancy has changed that, and the other day he even had to take off a cable knit sweater because the wool was irritating his skin so much. Now, Namjoon is sucking and curling his tongue around the nipple, licking across the areola, nibbling lightly, and for a second Yoongi thinks he might come just from that, embarrassingly quickly.

But then Namjoon pulls off, moves lower still, not hesitating before pressing his face against Yoongi’s belly. His skin is hot but he moves almost systematically, from left to right and back again, playfully dipping the tip of his nose into Yoongi’s belly button that would soon be curving outward as well.

Their scent, Yoongi realizes. He is spreading their joint scent on the bump, as though the baby could smell it. The thought makes him shiver, because this is Namjoon staking his claim, not only on his omega but of their child as well.

He doesn’t get the time to ruminate about the meaning of it. A few moments later, Namjoon’s thumbs are hooking into the waistband of Yoongi’s underwear and pulling it off of him, past his cock, past his knees, and Yoongi kicks it off the rest of the way. The cold air is a pleasant burn where the slick has dampened his skin and he wiggles his butt against the mattress, not quite knowing what do with himself.

His hands are on Namjoon’s shoulders, but there is nothing he can do, apart from curling his fingernails into the taut skin there. Namjoon doesn’t complain, though, just ducks his head – and then he is sitting between Yoongi’s spread legs.

Yoongi’s breath catches. Fucking is one thing, but this is more intimate, this is acutely vulnerable, and he closes his eyes so he doesn’t have see, doesn’t have to die from the heat that is blazing across his face, his chest, his entire body.

At the first touch, Yoongi just gives a helpless sound, nothing definite, just a breath not quite knowing whether it should go in or out. He’s already wet but Namjoon licks straight inside him, no detours, no subtlety, and Yoongi’s hands come up to clench in the pillow underneath his head, trying to keep his hips from kicking up.

Namjoon’s got his arms wound around Yoongi’s thighs, keeping him in place, and his head nudges forward with each stroke of his tongue, tasting Yoongi so intimately, as though unable to get enough.

Yoongi trembles, fighting to keep himself from locking his legs around Namjoon’s head and keeping him close, but it just feels so good, hot and cool at the same time, and Namjoon’s thumbs are holding him open now, his mouth teasingly moving along the underside of Yoongi’s cock, licking across the head, just once, before slipping down again.

It feels so good that Yoongi’s body instinctively tries to move away, too much pleasure at once, too many endorphins, and he bites his lip to stifle an exhilarated grin as Namjoon keeps him in place, eating him out with something that is somewhere between patience and urgency.

Dedication, Yoongi realizes. The joy of doing something well and wanting to take your time with it.

He’s nearly mad with the pleasure, pliant and throbbing at the same time, his pulse seeming to be centered in the veins running up the insides of his thighs.

Idly, he wonders whether Namjoon’s rut feels as off as his heat had, if it’s slow and sluggish like molasses. Because this is not what he had expected things to be like. There is none of the force, the violence that some people described when it came to alphas in ruts. Just this intense focus on Yoongi and his needs.

Finally, though, Namjoon sits up again, wiping the back of his hand over his glistening mouth. His eyes are low-lidded, his gaze heavy as it falls unto Yoongi. Then he rolls off the mattress and begins to peel himself out of his pants and underwear, the fabric around his crotch deliciously taut.

At the sight of Namjoon’s bare cock in the dim light, long and hard and slightly curved, Yoongi remembers something important.

“Condoms,” he says, vaguely reaching for the bedside table, though he is not even sure whether there would be any. “We need condoms.”

Namjoon, though, just snorts as he climbs back onto the bed.

“Not like you can get any more pregnant,” he says and places a palm on the swell of Yoongi’s stomach, putting just the slightest bit of pressure on it, and Yoongi’s lets out a small moan.

He doesn’t know Namjoon to be quite so blunt. But he doesn’t know Namjoon like this in general, so utterly unashamed of his nudity and, by extension, of Yoongi’s, just putting a hand to Yoongi’s ankle and lifting his leg out of the way as he slides closer, slots his hips between Yoongi’s thighs.

Namjoon has the fingers of his other hand circled around his cock, blowing out a breath through his nose as he lines himself up.

Yoongi stays on his back, a little helpless, a little vulnerable, but feeling as though they had been here for hours already and his body was ready for Namjoon before they even walked through the door. But now his mind has caught up, desperate in his search for satisfaction.

Slowly, Namjoon presses forward.

Yoongi can feel the head of his cock stretching his entrance wide, just moving back and forth a bit, but nothing more, just the tip, no friction, no stimulus. Yoongi wiggles on the spot, trying to push down but not given enough leeway to take him in farther.

“Joon-ah,” he whines, annoyed. He didn’t come here to get teased and taken to the brink time and time again, just to have his wishes denied. So far, Namjoon hasn’t even gotten anything out of this one-sided encounter, so why won’t he just move ?

“I’m not fucking you unless you want it,” Namjoon says simply and how can he be such a gentleman and such an utter shit at the same time, how can he talk like this so calmly, how is he not shaking apart like Yoongi is?

“I want it,” Yoongi moans, writhing on the pillow, because it is the only truth he knows right now. “I want it, please .”

And finally, fucking finally, Namjoon sits up on his knees, hoists Yoongi up by the hips, bracing against his spread thighs – and then he enters him with a thrust so hard it makes Yoongi budge up along the mattress, dragging a long low sound out of him.

“Oh fuuuck,” Yoongi keens. He feels so full where he had previously been empty, and his body parts around Namjoon in the best of ways, welcoming him in.

And once he has been given permission, Namjoon does not bother with reining himself in. He just tightens his grip on Yoongi and fucks him good, a relentless rhythm that has Yoongi’s breath stuttering in an effort to keep up.

His own erection is trapped between their bellies, leaking from the lengthy foreplay, and he wants to touch himself, jerk himself off in tandem with each jab of Namjoon’s hips, but he needs both hands just to keep himself from slipping along the sheets, and so he lets his head fall back and concentrates on the feeling of Namjoon’s cock pushing into him, pulling out again, pushing in.

And Yoongi doesn’t like feeding into the idea that omegas want to be dominated; but, damn, if he’s not enjoying every moment of it. What he does not count on, however, is how chatty Namjoon apparently gets when in rut.

“I wish you could see yourself right now,” Namjoon tells him. His voice is like flintstone, sparking a light behind Yoongi’s closed lids. “You on your back, naked, with your legs around me. Pregnant.”

His palm darts out, ghosting over Yoongi’s belly, before firmly settling under his ass again.

“I hate that people believe there’s some other alpha,” he continues lowly. “I hate how they think this child could be anyone’s but mine.”

Yoongi had not contemplated how the debate would affect Namjoon and he wonders whether it is just the added possessiveness of the rut speaking so directly now. But he doesn’t object – because he agrees. There is no scenario in which Yoongi would be pregnant right now that does not involve Namjoon. Without their friendship, they wouldn’t have had the bond, wouldn’t have had the heat. There is no one else, nothing that makes sense.

And, in a few months’ time, when they issue some official statement about accidental bonds and unexpected heats, when the scandal is curbed down to something a little more manageable, then everyone will understand the truth of the matter. Everybody will know.

Yoongi’s orgasm hits just as Namjoon is sliding out, and his walls spasm around the head, around the length of it as it sinks home again, and Yoongi’s mouths falls open, though no sound escapes him.

He comes all over himself, his entire body going lax at the sudden relief, but then Namjoon is pulling out completely, giving himself a few firm strokes, biting his lower lip in concentration.

It’s moments later when he comes, in long thick spurts across Yoongi’s belly, just the faintest hint of a moan falling off his lips.

And it’s arousing in a way, but it is also kind of gross, and Yoongi pulls a grimace and forces his eyes open to look at the mess painting his skin.

“Ugh, you freak,” Yoongi complains, kicking at Namjoon. “The fuck is wrong with you? Ew, ew, it’s dripping, go get me a towel.”

Namjoon gets up without protest, his gait somewhat unsteady, perhaps weak in the knees. He disappears in the en suite bathroom, followed by the sound of running water, and then he returns to sit on the edge of the mattress.

Yoongi’s cunt is still clenching around the unwanted emptiness after getting fucked so intently, though he tries not to let it show. Namjoon, however, doesn’t seem to have had enough yet either.

He swipes his fingers through their collective seed, Yoongi’s, useless and infertile as all omegas’, and Namjoon’s, potent as it has proven to be, and then presses them up inside of Yoongi again, pushing deep.

Already pregnant, he had taunted Yoongi before, but the rut gets what it wants and that is an omega bred, irrational though it may be.

Yoongi is too weak to protest anymore, just lets his thighs fall open, lets Namjoon do as he pleases, even as he drags his hand through the slick some more, rubbing his oversensitive labiae.

Only then does Namjoon deign to wipe the warm damp towel over Yoongi’s skin, mopping up the mess they made together, the soft circular motions lulling Yoongi into a false sense of security and nearly letting him drop off to sleep.

His eyes crack open again as he feels Namjoon settle in behind him, the mattress shaking slightly under the weight.

“Are you done?” he asks suspiciously when Namjoon’s arm slings itself over his diminishing waist.

“No,” Namjoon says roughly. He’s mouthing across the back of Yoongi’s neck, nosing at the damp hair.

“We have the Muster tomorrow,” Yoongi reminds him, already seeing himself too sore to dance.

“We can sleep in,” Namjoon brushes him off, as though lack of sleep were the only concern. Perhaps it is.

Yoongi licks his dry lips. He can feel Namjoon’s cock slowly hardening again, nudging against his thigh.

“Okay,” he says, allowing himself to turn over in Namjoon’s lose embrace. Suddenly, their faces are very close, their breath intermingling.

They hadn’t even kissed yet, Yoongi realizes and it’s an unpleasant pull in his chest, like a pebble dropped down a dark well.

They’d kissed during his heat, hadn’t they? And that night before they found out about the pregnancy, before their secret had blown up in their faces, back then Namjoon had kissed him, too, though Yoongi had never gotten the chance to ask why.

So why hasn’t Namjoon tried to kiss him today?

Perhaps there is no answer. Perhaps it’s just coincidence.

Because, as though he had read the thought on Yoongi’s lips, Namjoon leans in and kisses him.

Yoongi sighs into his mouth, imagines there are still traces of his own slick.

“You taste good,” Namjoon mutters. And maybe he means the kiss, or how he put his head between Yoongi’s thighs and didn’t even hesitate to eat him out but, in any case, Yoongi will take what he can get.

Thankfully, the worst of the rut is over the next day, just as they had hoped. Namjoon pops some more pills to keep the lingering symptoms in check, washes off the multilayered smell of sex, and instead drowns himself in scent-neutralizing perfume.

Yoongi showers thoroughly, carefully checks his body for hickeys and scratches, and then puts on comfortable sweatpants because he doesn’t need denim to chafe over his already sore nether-regions.

He bundles himself up in a beanie and a coat and a scarf and a mouthmask, barely leaving any of his skin uncovered. Tokyo is terribly cold at the moment, so it’s not without reason, but he also doesn’t want to feel exposed underneath any wayward glances that the others may send him.

It’s odd to think that, while he and Namjoon had been… busy otherwise, the members had known about it, had discussed it among themselves perhaps, had snickered and bitten their lips as they exchanged knowing looks.

They get through the second day of Muster without further incidents. There are no speculations online about Namjoon acting strangely, and Yoongi does his damnedest to be just as inconspicuous. The second night in Japan, Yoongi sleeps in his own room and does not think about how Namjoon might be taking care of the last urges of his rut by himself.
And that could be that, half a day of embarrassment, followed by the resolute attempt of not acknowledging that anything was ever amiss. It’s an easy approach, if not exactly the most mature.

Unsurprisingly, not everyone seems to have gotten the memo and, once they are back in Korea, it is Jimin whose curiosity gets the better of him, coupled with the certainty that Yoongi can never stay mad at him for long. Now, in the privacy of their dorm, he joins Yoongi on the couch, a morbid kind of fascination sitting in his eyes.

“So,” he opens up without preamble, worrying at his lower lip. “How is he when he’s in rut?”

Yoongi can only splutter. “I’m not telling you that!”

Jimin pulls a face.

“You can be such a prude, hyung,” he says, clearly disappointed. His shoulders sag and he leans back against the sofa. “If I ever was in your situation, I would share all the dirty details with you.”

“I wouldn’t want to know them,” Yoongi says flatly, but it irks him when Jimin just huffs and rolls his eyes.

Yoongi purses his lips, vindication digging at his resolve. Then he caves.

“He talks dirty a lot,” he says, only to get the satisfaction of watching Jimin’s mouth gape open in surprise.

“Oh my God,” Jimin says in English, sitting up straight again. “Does he really?”

“I could barely get him to shut up,” Yoongi tells him. “He composed, like, an entire soliloquy. First he ate me out and then he fucked me and then he jerked himself off all over my belly, which was honestly kinda gross.”

“You’re messing with me,” Jimin says, looking faint. “There’s no way- Joonie is- He’s too sweet for that.”

“Do you know what kind of porn he has on his computer?” Yoongi asks dryly. “I can barely pronounce most of that shit.”

Jimin inclines his head thoughtfully, probably agreeing with that assessment, but then he is grinning again, his eyes positively glowing with excitement.

“And pregnant sex?” he asks. “How is that? Different?”

Yoongi shrugs vaguely.

“Not like my body has changed a lot yet. Though, I guess… I’m a little more sensitive,” he mutters, suddenly embarrassed again. Talking about Namjoon’s quirks is one thing, but he doesn’t feel like giving Jimin a detailed account of how he almost came from having his nipples played with. Or of how he felt having Namjoon hold him so possessively.

He also doesn’t mention how Namjoon had kept him awake until three at night, about how he fucked Yoongi again the next morning, twice, before they were finally forced to get up to prepare for the last day of the Muster.

“Ugh, I kinda envy you,” Jimin admits, flopping back against the cushions, and Yoongi frowns, confused.

“What on Earth for?” he asks because, so far, Jimin had made it very clear that he liked children but didn’t really see any in his immediate future.

“Because you get to have sex,” Jimin sighs, as though it were obvious. “First heat sex, now rut sex. I haven’t gotten laid in ages.”

Yoongi kicks at him, strangely upset.

“It’s not like I chose any of this,” he says, because he didn’t. He had slipped into it like an avalanche that started out small but then buried everything in its way. Perhaps not as violent, not as lethal. But unforgiving and unchangeable with the force of gravity.

In that moment, Namjoon walks into the room. Yoongi tenses, hopes Namjoon didn’t hear any of that because he doesn’t want him to misunderstand. Yoongi does not regret, not as such; he just thinks about everything too much sometimes and grows a little maudlin.

Luckily, the second he spots Namjoon, Jimin immediately dissolves into giggles, pressing his hands over his mouth. Namjoon cocks an eyebrow.

“Something funny?” he asks and, God, if Jimin starts talking about how Yoongi had given him a rundown on how their night had gone, then Yoongi will have to kill him, there is no way around that.

“No,” Jimin laughs, sounding terribly amused by it all. Little shit.

Namjoon doesn’t look convinced but then his gaze slides over to Yoongi and gets stuck there.

“Hyung,” he say, like a prologue to something bigger. “Can we talk for a second?”

That Yoongi hadn’t expected, and so it takes him a moment to react.

“Sure,” he says around a lump in his throat, getting up from the sofa because Namjoon’s tone had suggested a need for privacy. He follows him out of the living-room and into the hallway, prudently closing the door behind himself.

They stand in front of each other, separated by half a meter, and it feels incongruent with how Namjoon had been inside of him just last morning. They hadn’t really given themselves the time to ease apart, just got up, Yoongi sneaking into his unused hotel room. Perhaps they should have taken a few minutes to talk things out more rationally. Perhaps it is a good idea to do it now.

Namjoon looks nervous, if the pinch of his brow is anything to go by, the way he holds his arms angled as his sides. Now that it’s late in the day and the perfume has mostly worn off, he smells a little bit of rut again. Yoongi tries not to inhale too deeply.

Namjoon opens his mouth but, for an uncomfortably long moment, no sound comes out.

“We’re cool, right?” he asks finally, with a cadence that suggests that he is not really worried but that he still wants to make sure, for his conscience’s sake.

Yoongi cracks a smile.

“Sure,” he says and, because he is an idiot, adds, “Just feeling a bit raw.”

Namjoon stares at him, desolate.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, the furrow on his forehead only deepening, and Yoongi blows out a sigh.

“It was a joke,” he explains. “Trying to lighten the mood here; you’re so tense.”

He pushes against Namjoon’s chest and Namjoon sways with the momentum, seeming to mull something over.

“I can still come to your room tonight?” he wants to know, as though Yoongi would not let him after several rounds of mind-blowing rut sex.

“Yes,” Yoongi says emphatically. “And tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and so on.”

Namjoon’s shoulders slump in relief while the corners of his mouth hitch up, just slightly.

“Good,” he says. “That’s good.”

Yoongi waits for more, but there is nothing.

“See you tonight then,” he says pointedly because, to him, the conversation is over, all loose threads neatly tied up.

“’kay,” Namjoon says but then doesn’t move, just gives a long considering look that makes Yoongi want to fidget on the spot.

Without warning, Namjoon cups a hand over Yoongi’s jawline and tilts his chin up a little, before leaning in and ducking his face against Yoongi’s neck, breathing in. Yoongi shivers and stands still, just lets it happen. They may not need to fuck again, but the rut still takes its toll.

Only then does Namjoon step back and turn around, away, leaving for his room. Yoongi gathers himself and returns to his.

Once the public’s initial shock over Yoongi’s secret has died down, they develop a new kind of routine. They do not allow questions regarding the pregnancy during interviews, though they do make offhand comments themselves, at their own terms.

Hoseok jokes that they should do a maternity shoot and Yoongi kicks him off his chair in retaliation. During a vlive, Taehyung goes on a long rant how he has a lot of experience raising babies, because of Yeontan and his siblings, and so he will make the bestest uncle. Seokjin risks his life by stuffing a pillow underneath his shirt and imitating how Yoongi acts around the dorms these days.

Their popularity hasn’t much suffered. The sales of their Japanese album had been good. Some people had canceled their pre-orders but that did not necessarily correlate with the scandal.

Other idols have expressed their support. The strict no dating rules that were generally enforced in the industry were coming under attack again, people saying it went against human nature to keep young people from finding mates. Sympathetic voices that pointed to how surely Yoongi would like to be with the father of his child but was not allowed.

There is still outrage, here and there, but many fans are excited. In fact, their PR team tells them after carefully evaluating online reactions, there is a quite a number of new fans who came for the gossip but stayed for the music.

A pregnant idol is a curiosity that just draws people’s attention. Yoongi gets praised for keeping the baby in spite of the adversary. BigHit gets praised for not abandoning him. Omega activists see this daring act as a step of ushering in a new era of acceptance. Bangtan continues to defy the status quo.

Which is dumb, of course, because it’s not like Yoongi deliberately got pregnant to raise awareness for any societal issues.

He’s at the verge of his fifth month already because time passes like a bitch when you don’t want it to, and he no longer fits into most of his clothes. At home, he has taken to slipping on whatever shirt Namjoon had been wearing the day before, oversized and smelling comfortingly.

Namjoon never says anything about it, but his eyes go a little soft each time he goes looking for one of his hoodies and finds Yoongi curled up in it instead.

It’s one of those nights, when the day way long and stressful, and Yoongi came home to just scarf down some dinner and then crawl into bed, wearing the ridiculously long Mastermind shirt Namjoon had kept from their Mic Drop MV. Yoongi is practically drowning in it, like a child playing dress-up, but he doesn’t even care.

“Oh!” he says abruptly, shooting up in bed. He had been close to dozing off, but now he is fully alert again, pressing both hands against his belly.

Immediately, Namjoon is up as well, nervously hovering next to him, looking afraid to touch, as though Yoongi might break or bite him.

“Are you in pain?” he asks frantically. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“No,” Yoongi says. He’d be annoyed at Namjoon being overbearing but he understands how exaggerated his reaction must have looked from the outside. “I just… I think I felt him move. Just startled me, is all.”

At those words, Namjoon’s jaw goes slack and his gaze drops down to Yoongi’s stomach.

“He moved?” he asks, a tone of wonderment in his voice, and Yoongi feels inexplicably fond.

“Yeah,” he says, shuffling a little to lie back down and get comfortable. “He’s probably just woken up.”

The movement of the day would rock the fetus to sleep. Which meant bedtime for everyone else was good morning for baby. Which would surely be fun once the little bugger was strong enough to actually kick.

“Can I… can I feel?” Namjoon asks, hesitant. He’s got his fingers bunching up the sheets, as though to keep himself from reaching out. Yoongi gives him a contemplative look.

“Don’t think it can really be felt from the outside,” he says, only to watch Namjoon’s face fall. “But… you can try, I guess.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen and then he is lying back down on his side, tugging the blanket back over them. Then he sneaks a hand down and underneath Yoongi’s shirt, tentatively touching the stretched skin.

“Where...?” he asks, his voice almost reverent.

“Here,” Yoongi says, guiding Namjoon’s palm until it rests against the left side of his abdomen where he still feels just the faintest flutter.

For a long moment, Namjoon is silent, intent. Then his shoulders slump.

“I don’t feel anything,” he admits, disappointment sitting in the corners of his mouth.

“It’s too early,” Yoongi knows. “I barely felt it myself. You’ll probably have to wait another month.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon sighs, laying his head down on the pillow. He keeps his hand on Yoongi’s belly until they fall asleep.

In lieu of touch, Namjoon opts to reach the baby via sound.

When they wake up, he says good morning, close to Yoongi’s belly-button. In the evening, when they get the chance to fall asleep together, he’ll spend a few minutes reading from whatever book he is devouring, poetry collections and essays by European philosophers. He exchanges HipHop for Mozart, claiming that it stimulates brain development, playing symphonies and piano concertos at least twice a day.

Yoongi would be annoyed by it, if it weren’t so sweet. Because he is thankful, so incredibly thankful, to have a father for his child who is so involved in the whole process, who reads studies and keeps a fucking diary about all these little things and changes that happen on an almost daily basis now.

And it’s a habit that Yoongi eventually picks up on.

Whenever he is nervous about something, he quietly talks to the baby, just too distract himself. These days, he is nervous about a lot of things. Nervous about interviews during which reporters will inevitably try to steer the conversation toward the elephant in the room, nervous about fan signs where someone is bound to yell out a question about who the father is, nervous about going online and potentially seeing more conspiracy theories and derogatory words tagged onto his name.

So instead of looking at the violent world around him, he turns inward instead, gives himself time to breathe. He gently raps some of his softer pieces, mostly those that haven’t been released yet. He takes to composing after meals and when he goes to bed because that’s when the baby wakes up and is the most active, just vague flutters along his seams, but he likes to interpret it as approval for his art.

The baby feels more like a person now. He can feel him, he’s having conversations with him, even if they are rather one-sided. Sometimes, when it’s quiet, he’ll pull up the latest ultrasound picture on his phone and just look at him.

He’d be born in spring, June, if everything goes well, if Yoongi doesn’t go into labor early, and he has never wanted winter to pass more quickly. But, as his belly grows, so do the discomforts and twinges. The other day, they baby had kicking his cervix, and Yoongi’s sight had blacked out from the pain, and he has to build himself a nest out of blankets each night because it’s near impossible to find a comfortable position to sleep in.

Fortunately, his friends have his back. Quite literally.

“Tadaa!” Hoseok declares when he has dragged a huge carton box into Yoongi’s bedroom and presents it with an exaggerated little pose.

“What the hell is that?” Yoongi wants to know because he didn’t order anything.

“A present for you,” Hoseok says with a big smile. “C’mon, unpack it.”

Yoongi gets up from his office chair, if somewhat reluctantly because Hoseok can occasionally be rather unpredictable. He grabs his key ring for good measure, too, because he doesn’t think he has any scissors lying around.

He throws Hoseok another skeptical look, giving him one last chance to backtrack in case this is some stupid prank, but Hoseok just keeps smiling cheerily, holding the carton box still as Yoongi uses one of the keys to saw through the tape. The content of the box doesn’t seem particularly heavy and Yoongi has no idea what it might be, hoping Hoseok didn’t get one of those ginormous ugly teddy bears for the baby because those generally just ended up sitting in a dark corner and gathering dust.

As it turns out, however, it is really something cuddly.

“See,” Hoseok says proudly when Yoongi has pulled free the large body pillow. “I told you I’d get you one.”

Yoongi has a fuzzy memory of that happening, but he still isn’t sure how to react.

“Is this designer?” he asks instead, running his fingers over the soft covering, fortunately not covered in ducklings or kittens or whatever.

“Of fucking course it is,” Hoseok replies. “Only the best for my favorite hyung.”

“Yah!” Jin yells from somewhere down the hallway. They ignore it.

“Here,” Hoseok demonstrates, tossing the pillow onto Yoongi’s bed and arranging it. “The further along you are, the more weight rests on your spine when you lie on your back. With this pillow, you can lie on your side instead. It supports your back while your baby bump is nestled in this little dent here. Perfect for sleeping through the night.”

Yoongi blinks.

“You sound like an infomercial,” he says and Hoseok blows up his cheeks.

“I’m serious,” he insists. “I read tons of online reviews and everything. This is the best thing money can buy.” His gaze turns a little sly. “Or is Joonie spooning you enough?”

“Screw you,” Yoongi says and then climbs onto the bed, lying down as Hoseok instructed. It is pretty damn comfortable, he has to admit, certainly better than his own makeshift solution of just shoving a pillow underneath his belly.

“Aaand?” Hoseok nudges him with a shit-eating grin.

“Yeah, okay, it’s pretty good,” Yoongi relents with half a mind to just take a nap right there and then.

The mattress dips as Hoseok sits down on the edge, placing one hand on Yoongi’s hip in an easy gesture of comfort.

“The kids are super excited about setting up the nursery, you know,” he tells him and Yoongi looks up in surprise.

“Are they?”

“Of course. They’re just too scared to tell you.”

“We don’t really have space for a nursery,” Yoongi points out. Hoseok and Jimin are already sharing a bedroom, so Yoongi had thought about just converting a corner of his own room, maybe seclude it with a curtain or a paravent.

“Pssh, please, Taetae is this close to repainting his room and moving in with Kookie instead,” Hoseok says and, at that, Yoongi cannot help but laugh.

“That’s cute, but it won’t really be necessary,” he says. “It’s probably easier to just keep the crib in my own room for the first few months.”

“Yeah, and then?” Hoseok asks. “Kids grow fast. It’s gonna be difficult enough to baby-proof the entire apartment. Yeontan is running around everywhere. A nursery is not a bad idea.”

It’s touching. To know that the others are planning that far ahead, that they will all stick together until the kid is at least a toddler, that means something, even though Yoongi cannot quite articulate it.

“I can’t just ask Kookie and Tae to give up their privacy,” he points out, reluctant, but Hoseok just rolls his eyes.

“Hyung, have you considered the obvious solution?”

“Huh?”

“You and Joonie are already sharing a bed every night. Might as well make it official.”

Something about the implications of that wording make something coil up tightly in the pit of Yoongi’s guts and he is pretty sure that is it not the baby.

So far, apart from Jimin, no one had really acknowledged the relationship between Namjoon and Yoongi. They were going to be parents, yes, and there was sex involved, twice, but this is where they had drawn the line of discussing details.

Now, Hoseok seems to want to push the boundaries a little.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Yoongi fiddles with his sleeve.

“I… I would be okay with that,” he says. It would take some re-shuffling, but they would probably be able to fit the fuckton of books Namjoon owns into Yoongi’s room. Then Namjoon’s room could become the nursery; the insane Ryan collection would have to stay there, though, because Yoongi would probably get nightmares if he regularly woke up to that.

“Cool,” Hoseok says, patting his hip. “I’ll bring it up with Namjoon, if you don’t wanna. Knowing him, though, he’s probably thought about something like this as well.”

“Yeah…” Yoongi says. “Thanks, I guess.”

For a few moments, they sit in silence, and Yoongi thinks he really could fall asleep like this.

All of a sudden, Hoseok asks, “Hyung? Are you happy?”

Yoongi stills, slowly blows out a breath.

“I think I made the right decision,” he says, resolute, because it’s the truth.

“That’s not what I asked,” Hoseok points out. He doesn’t say it unkindly, not even with undue concern, and Yoongi knows he cannot deny him an answer.

So he thinks about waking up with Namjoon just a pillow away from him. Thinks about his body growing grotesque as the result of one night keeps dragging through the weeks. Thinks of his career at stake and his dreams deformed into something he wouldn’t have recognized half a year ago.

He wonders whether there really is a difference between being content and being happy. He thinks that, all things considered, he’s doing pretty great.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think I am.”

Hoseok squeezes his hip and doesn’t let go for quite some time.

They are at the studio, him and Namjoon, going over some tracks and sharing a serving of plain white rice because it’s the only thing Yoongi can stomach on this fine day, his nose especially sensitive to anything greasy.

Namjoon has his glasses on and a pencil stuck between his teeth, bopping his head as he counts along to the rhythm.

“He’s gonna be super smart,” Yoongi says, apropos of nothing, swallowing the rice in his mouth.

Namjoon smiles slightly, not looking away from the computer screen. “He doesn’t have to be.”

Yoongi frowns. “Joonie, I don’t think I want to parent a dumb kid.”

A chuckle and Namjoon shakes his head. “Relax, it’ll just be like raising the Tae and Kookie.”

“Exactly,” Yoongi insists. “We’ve already done that, I don’t want to do it again.”

“Whether he is smart or not, I’m sure he’ll be lovely regardless.”

“Easy for you to say,” Yoongi pouts. “You’ll be doing pushups in the army and I’ll be stuck with a toddler who wants to eat toilet paper.”

It’s a point of consternation he has been struggling with lately. The others would all have to serve, unless Jimin ends up having a kid, too, which seems rather unlikely. And Yoongi doesn’t want to come off as too dependent but he hopes that the maknae line would stick around long enough until Namjoon’s two years are over.

“About that,” Namjoon says, his shoulders less relaxed than before. “I’ve talked to my mother and… if your parents still haven’t come around by the time my service starts, she says you could move in with her.”

Yoongi stares at him, surprised. Asking the members for support is one thing because they are his family but going to live with Namjoon’s mother is an altogether different matter. Perhaps Namjoon realizes that he has offered too much too soon because he quickly backtracks.

“Just- just in case you are still unmated by then,” he hurries to say. “If you need someone to help you with-“

“Wait,” Yoongi says, lifting a hand to interrupt him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Namjoon fiddles with his pencil.

“Well,” he says hesitantly. “Eventually, you’ll find an alpha and-“

He trails off, lets the words dangle at the precipice he created, and Yoongi gets the chance to really let them sink it.

Back when they first got their diagnosis, Doctor Im had said that the bond, even once severed, might interfere when they tried to find other mates. But even if that weren’t the case, Yoongi still wouldn’t have wasted a thought on such an elusive part of the future. All he knows is that he’ll have his kid, he’ll have his brothers and, to an extent, he’ll have Namjoon.

Namjoon, however, seems to be planning much farther ahead.

“I know it will be more difficult with an illegitimate child,” he admits now, looking somewhat pained. “But people are going to line up for a chance to be with you. And I… I trust you to make the right decision for- for the baby’s sake, but also for your own.”

Yoongi splutters. “Line up for- I am not a summer sale.”

Namjoon just gives him a look.

“You are smart and funny and accomplished and really fucking famous,” he points out. “Not to mention that you are beautiful, as an omega, and as a man, and… pregnancy really suits you.”

Suddenly, he seems embarrassed and quickly rubs a hand over his face, as though he hadn’t quite meant to say all those things, while Yoongi can only sit and stare.

He hadn’t considered that his pregnant body might somehow entice Namjoon. That he might be attractive to him in general. The heat and the rut had been driven by hormones and pheromones, not aesthetic appeal. And yet here Namjoon is, throwing another confusing stone into their path, making Yoongi stumble.

He doesn’t know what to say, whether to say anything at all. In the end, the silence drags on for too long and Namjoon turns back to face the computer.

“Just think about it,” he mutters. “About my mother’s offer, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi croaks, pushing aside the rice. Somehow, the past minutes made him lose his appetite. “Tell her thanks, alright?”

“Sure,” Namjoon replies, shoulders hunching slightly. “So, about the second chorus here…”

It’s toward the end of the fifth month when Yoongi has grown somewhat accustomed to hear the media refer to him as ‘pregnant idol Min Yoongi’. ARMYs all over the world, not allowed to send in gifts for the baby, instead donate to orphanages and charity institutions geared toward children. And on Twitter, people kept tagging their account to direct them toward all kinds of things, ranging from toys over onesies to various ways of delivery.

What is most hotly debated, though, is the name of the baby, with some media outlets dedicating entire sections to speculations of what kind of name someone like Yoongi would prefer.

They are having dinner when Seokjin suddenly brings up the topic, halfway through his second serving of kimbap because none of them could be bothered to cook after a long day of work.

“Have you thought of a name yet?” Seokjin wants to know as he pours Yoongi some more water.

“I made a list!” Taehyung says at once and Yoongi sends him a glare.

“You don’t get to decide that,” he says, but Taehyung pouts.

“I think we should vote on it.”

“My kid, my decision,” Yoongi says resolutely. “And I was gonna wait till the birth. No point in settling on something when it might not even suit him.”

“What about you, Namjoon-hyung?” Jungkook asks guilelessly. “Any ideas?”

“Uh,” Namjoon says. His head is slightly bowed, and he keeps poking his chopsticks into his rice. “Kinda, I guess.”

Yoongi stares. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“I, uh, wasn’t sure whether you’d wanna hear it,” Namjoon hedges, his gaze flicking up at Yoongi and then quickly away again. “And you want to wait anyway, so…”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t take it into consideration,” Yoongi says. Underneath the table, he knocks their ankles together. “So let’s hear it.”

For a moment, Namjoon looks uncomfortable. Then he squares his shoulders.

“I like Isang,” he says with a quiet voice.

“Isang,” Hoseok echoes. “A bit old-fashioned, isn’t it?”

“Better than something commonplace like Minjun,” Seokjin claims. “I feel like everyone is called Minjun these days.”

“Wait,” Yoongi says slowly, not really concerned with the opinion of the others. “Isang as in Yun Isang?”

Namjoon shrugs like he doesn’t care but in such a way it belies that he actually cares a great deal.

Yun Isang was a composer who revolutionized Korean music with his avant-garde ideas. He traveled the world, studied under the great maestros, and accrued fame and awards – until he was unlawfully imprisoned on grounds of treason for criticizing the government. His case garnered international attention and protest until he and his wife were finally released. He continued composing, even during his captivity and later hospitalization. He was the icon of an era and a monument to the darker times of Korea’s past.

And now Namjoon wanted to name their son after him. How absolutely typical.

“I think it sounds great, both sweet and distinguished,” Jimin chimes in, sending Namjoon an encouraging smile. “I like names that have some meaning behind them.”

“What’s the hanja?” Seokjin wants to know and Namjoon clears his throat.

“Mulberry tree,” he says. “It- It was just an idea, though. I haven’t put much thought into it.”

It’s a blatant lie. Yoongi presses his tongue against the roof of his mouth and leans back in his chair to better look down at his belly.

“I dunno,” he says. “Isang has a nice ring to it, I think.”

In that exact moment, his stomach lurches, so sudden it makes Yoongi drop his chopsticks in surprise.

“Joon,” he says urgently, grabbing Namjoon’s wrist and tugging at him. “Joon, come here.”

“What is it?” Namjoon asks, panicky. He’s already standing from his chair, slightly leaning forward so he is towering above Yoongi.

“He’s kicking,” Yoongi says, scrambling to twist around and lift his shirt. “He’s kicking for real now.”

“Oh my God,” Namjoon says simply and then he is sinking down to his knees in front of Yoongi, placing both of his palms on the every-growing expanse of Yoongi’s belly.

Another kick, hard enough to make Yoongi wince slightly, and Namjoon’s eyes grow round.

“I can feel him,” he whispers, pressing just a bit closer and his thumbs rub tiny circles into Yoongi’s skin. “He’s moving around so much.”

“Maybe he likes the name,” Hoseok offers.

Yoongi meets Namjoon’s open gaze and, for a moment, his heart seems to stop. Then, the baby kicks it back into motion.

“Isang,” Namjoon says, leaning down to pepper kisses all over the bump, making the hairs on Yoongi’s arms stand up in response.

Quickly, he looks away, hoping to fight down the heat in his cheeks, but instead he finds himself faced with the members sitting around the table, quiet witnesses to this profound moment.

Jungkook is very studiously staring into his mostly empty bowl of rice and Seokjin has his gaze politely averted, but Hoseok is grinning to himself, as though he were not particularly surprised. Taehyung, on the other hand, looks like he would really like to feel the baby, too, but Jimin’s got his fingers pinched in the back of his collar to hold him back.

It occurs to Yoongi that this is the most intimate the others have ever seen Namjoon and Yoongi act around each other. Because they know the two share a bed, they know they’ve had sex. But this, finally, is a true expression of everything that has accumulated during the past months.

What must it look like, to them, to see Namjoon in such utter devotion, on his knees in front of Yoongi, so blatantly enamored before their child has even been born? Are they surprised? Do they approve? Do they see heartbreak in the making because they know this arrangement cannot continue as smoothly as it has so far?

When he looks down again, Namjoon is looking back. His smile is pure and blinding.

Yoongi doesn’t know what do think.

Chapter Text

The name, not quite unexpectedly, sticks. First, Seokjin jokingly asks how baby Isang is doing and then Taehyung picks it up and, because Taehyung is talking about the baby non-stop, everyone else starts doing the same. Even Yoongi.

Namjoon seems happy about it, if his quiet smile each time Yoongi doesn’t object is anything to go by.

Yoongi, in turn, catches himself scribbling Isang into the margins of his notebook over and over again, next to half-finished song lyrics and random reminders; just that, no family name attached, because he and Namjoon haven’t discussed yet whether they would put down Min or Kim on the birth certificate.

It is tradition to go with the alpha’s name, of course, but that is only when the parents are mated. There is also the fact that Yoongi actually really likes his family name, while Namjoon’s is terribly common.

Min Isang, he sometimes thinks to himself and finds that it doesn’t sound half-bad.

Kim Isang would be alright, too, if Namjoon was in favor of it. They’d talk about that later, maybe. They still have time.

And they do, really. For the first time in years, Yoongi feels like he has enough time on his hands to actually relax. He still works hard, writing and producing, because it’s not like he can just shut off his brain’s inspirations. But he doesn’t run himself into the ground anymore.

ARMYs approve, say he looks healthier and well rested now that he forces himself to sleep enough, to eat enough, to not primarily worry about work.

They’ve cleared their schedule of not strictly necessary commitments and also pushed back their next comeback. Yoongi had protested at first, but comeback stress always takes a lot out of all of them, so it’s certainly not a good idea to do it while heavily pregnant.

He also has no desire to be seen pregnant in an MV, certainly not while performing a choreography, so they just throw some stuff on Soundcloud instead, some covers and new mixes. They bombard ARMYs with selcas and the like, doing their best to keep their fans happy, and even Jungkook has regularly been tweeting, much to everyone’s delight.

After the initial scare of an eighth member joining the group, the majority of ARMY seems to have happily accepted the thought of one of their faves having a child instead. They praise Yoongi for accepting his new responsibilities so well and promise that his well-being is more important to them than his new mixtape or whatever else they could be hoping for.

The media at large also seems to have accepted his predicament for now, especially since there are no news forthcoming regarding the identity of the child’s father. Every now and then there are paparazzi pics on Dispatch, of Yoongi buying chewing gum at a gas station or going for a walk with Taehyung and Yeontan.

But there are no more scandals for now and so things are relatively quiet, quieter than Yoongi would have thought possible when he first decided to keep the baby.

And life is good. Really good. Yoongi is healthy and his baby is healthy, and there is nothing more he could ask for to complete his happiness.

So he doesn’t.

Yoongi sleeps poorly. He has to get up several times in the middle of the night to go to the toilet, and then Isangie still won’t him let get any rest.

Finally, as dawn slips by, Yoongi gives up and crawls out of Namjoon’s embrace and their bed, and makes for the kitchen, shuffling his socked feet over the hardwood floor. He turns on the water boiler and selects some chamomile tea, hoping it will help him calm down. If the baby had been up all night, he’d fall asleep soon and then Yoongi could at least take a nap as well.

He opens the cupboard to grab a mug, only to realize that he cannot see any. Most must be in the dishwasher and the rest pushed to the back of their shelf, so Yoongi stands on his tiptoes, belly digging into the kitchen counter, but he still cannot reach.

He mutters angrily under his breath, contemplating whether to climb on a chair, but in the past weeks he has been getting more circumspect of anything that might cause undue strain on his body. Taking a nosedive onto the kitchen tiles doesn’t sound like much fun.

He is about to open the dishwasher and pull out a mug to rinse it out in the sink, when there is suddenly someone standing behind him. Yoongi only has to breathe in to immediately know who it is.

“Here,” Namjoon says, reaching overhead into the cupboard. His body is warm along Yoongi’s back and his scent is thickened by sleep. He sets a mug down on the counter, but then his hands are sneaking up under Yoongi’s threadbare t-shirt, cradling the bump.

“Good morning, Isangie,” he says, right in Yoongi’s ear, and his fingers draw whimsical patterns into the skin. Tentatively, Yoongi leans back in the embrace.

“How did you sleep?” Namjoon asks. His voice is deep and gravelly, like he isn’t fully awake yet.

“Barely,” Yoongi replies dryly. “He seems to think I’m a trampoline or something.”

“It’s good he’s moving,” Namjoon reminds him. “Means he is healthy.”

“I know…” Yoongi says, trailing off when Namjoon begins to scent him, nuzzling against his neck, his hands still on Yoongi’s belly.

It feels so fucking domestic that Yoongi could scream, the tea, the baby, the unbrushed teeth. But there is no bite on his neck, they are not mates, and so it’s meaningless; just a small comfort while Yoongi carries Namjoon’s child, a concession to this lingering bond between them.

“G’morning,” someone suddenly says and then Seokjin is shuffling in, rubbing a fist over his eye, and Namjoon quickly steps away.

Yoongi grabs the water boiler and pours hot water into his mug, watching silently as his tea steeps.

“You’re up early,” Seokjin notes. “Everything alright?”

“Baby was being hyperactive,” Yoongi shrugs and yawns. “I swear he has Jungkook’s energy levels.”

“Don’t say that,” Namjoon says tightly, and Yoongi and Jin blink at each other before looking over at him.

“What?” Yoongi asks. “It’s true, you felt him last night. He just keeps turning from one side to the other, it’s annoying.”

“Yes,” Namjoon agrees. He has opened the drawer with the cutlery and is senselessly rearranging it, not looking up at them. “But don’t… don’t make it sound like he is taking after Kook-ah or anyone.”

“I wasn’t- I wasn’t saying that,” Yoongi frowns, not understanding what the problem is. “It’s not like Kookie’s the… oh.”

Abruptly, he is reminded of Namjoon’s rut, of him complaining about why people would think that anyone else could possibly be the father. Back then, Yoongi had assumed that it was just the hormones speaking, an alpha angrily asserting his lineage. Now, he isn’t so sure.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Namjoon says and pushes himself away from the counter, leaving the kitchen with swift steps.

“You know you’ll have to sort this out eventually, right?” Seokjin tells Yoongi once they are alone.

“Yeah…” Yoongi says, pulling the tea bag from the mug and tossing it into the trash. “I… We’ll announce that he’s the father soon enough. He’ll just… have to be patient some more.”

Seokjin sighs; he probably wishes he wouldn’t have to have this kind of conversation at such an early hour.

“That’s not the only thing, Yoongi-yah,” he admonishes gently. His hair is messy and his shoulders slope like a mountain side. “None of this is easy for Joonie.”

Yoongi pouts as he blows on his tea to make it cool down more quickly. “Yeah, well, it isn’t easy for me either.”

“I know that. We all know that – him more than anyone. And that’s the problem, really.” Seokjin sighs again. “I think Joonie is trying so hard to make this all bearable for you that he neglects to think of himself sometime.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Seokjin shrugs, a minor earthquake, and the look he gives Yoongi is baleful, like he didn’t think he’d have to explain it.

“He’s going to be a father and he can’t tell anyone,” he says anyway. “Outside of us and the company, only his immediate family knows. He hasn’t told any of his other friends. His mother cannot brag to her colleagues. His sister cannot buy baby socks as a present. And this whole time he knows that, eventually, you might find an alpha who-“

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Yoongi bursts out. The mug trembles between his tightly clenched fingers, the tea in it threatening to spill. “Why- why does everyone think I’ll just move on and cut him out of my life?”

It bothers him, endlessly, that his friends of all people would think him so fickle. But Seokjin just looks sad.

“How else is it going to work, Yoongi-yah?” he wants to know. “I’m not saying that you are going to turn your back on him but, as soon as you mate with someone else, his child will carry another man’s scent. And even if he is the biological father, he’ll still be an outsider.”

“I’m- that-“ Yoongi struggles to come up with a good counter argument. “That’s still years and years away.”

“Is it?” Seokjin doesn’t look convinced. “Just look at how things are going right now. He can’t come to your doctor appointments. He can’t talk about how excited he is to be a parent. Each time either of you leaves the house, you have to wash off each other’s scent. And all the while strangers on television are discussing who is a more likely candidate than him.”

Yoongi opens his mouth, but no words come out.

“I didn’t consider that,” he manages to say finally and Seokjin nods.

“I know you’ve got your own problems,” he acknowledges. “But… they don’t necessarily outweigh his.”

It’s strange, really. So much of Yoongi’s troubles are based around how he cannot deny his pregnancy, how this is now his most defining feature. For Namjoon, though, it is the opposite. And Yoongi isn’t quite sure what to do about it.

He watches silently as Seokjin fixes himself breakfast, until Jungkook walks in a well, yawning and waving before faceplanting on the table, making unintelligible noises when Seokjin begins to chide him.

Yoongi sets his mug down on the counter and picks up his phone instead, pulling up the camera, putting it into selfie mode and just contemplating his face for a moment, pale and sleep-wrinkled as it is. Then he gives himself a push.

He takes a few photos of himself, not perfectionist enough to care about the right angle and flattering lighting. Instead, he wants the essence of himself this morning, barefaced and rumpled and with tender blue bruises beneath his eyes. No filters, no pretense.

When he is satisfied with the result, he pulls up the Twitter app and licks his lips.

Isangie kept me up all night, he types. Looks like he’ll pick soccer over basketball.

That should be enough, really. A cute selca, an anecdote about pregnant life, and the reveal of the baby’s name. Enough to feed ARMYs and keep them satisfied for a little while longer. But, if he is honest with himself, this isn’t really about their fans.

Btw, he adds decisively. His appa picked the name.

It’s a shit day. It’s a really fucking shit day, but they have a tight schedule so Yoongi bites his tongue and doesn’t complain.

There’s a photoshoot for a magazine in the morning, and the stylist noonas are unfamiliar, tutting at each other as they try to find him a flattering outfit, making borderline impolite comments on how they are not exactly used to dressing someone of his proportions. Then the photographer has them shuffle around several times during the group shots, trying to figure out how to best hide Yoongi’s belly behind the other members, and all the while the bright lights sting Yoongi’s eyes, and he still has to keep smiling through it all.

Since the reveal, they’ve had photographers who wanted to highlight the pregnancy instead, thinking it would get them extra attention, but Yoongi had not been comfortable with that either. He is just an omega expecting a child. It’s the most natural thing in the world. But he is also an idol and that makes it special, makes his scandalous, makes it sensational.

So he endures, somehow makes it through, naps in the van, wakes up in time for their interview at a radio station.

The interview, unfortunately, doesn’t go much better. It starts out okay, really, with the hosts asking the approved questions and the members answering in tandem. Yoongi shyly confirms the baby’s name, keeping his eyes off of Namjoon sitting next to him, and then Jungkook boasts about soon having someone so call him hyung. Hoseok squeaks that Jungkook will always be the maknae in their hearts, and it’s all pretty easy-going.

Then the conversation turns back to their comeback that was planned for sometime this season but that has now been pushed back, even though all the songs are already written and mostly recorded.

Jimin lets on that their new main track will be a ballad, and that the choreography will feature a more contemporary style, slow and sensual instead of what some fans have come to expect from them. They admit that it’s partially in consideration of Yoongi who, after giving birth, would still need some time to regain his previous level of fitness, Seokjin making a quip about no longer being the most ungraceful dancer of the bunch, and Yoongi genuinely laughs.

But then one of the hosts asks, without any ill intent, whether it doesn’t infringe on their artistic integrity to adapt their performances to Yoongi momentarily being out of commission, so to speak. Something in Yoongi’s chest clamps up tightly and doesn’t relax, even as Namjoon goes on a lengthy explanation about how Yoongi is a part of Bangtan and the baby will be a part of Bangtan and all of this will be a part of Bangtan’s history, therefore it only makes sense to reflect this era of their lives in their art, they’ve never much favored le mort de l’autheur when it comes to writing music-

On the drive back to the dorm, Yoongi is sullen. The others can sense it and keep quiet, not wanting to get on his nerves. Yoongi is thankful for it, closing his eyes and biting his lower lip as they drive through the damp streets of Seoul.

When they make it back to their building, Jungkook grabs Yoongi’s bag without a comment, only offering a tiny smile, and then they are all standing huddled in the elevator, Taehyung shuffling around a little because he really really needs to pee. Yoongi counts the seconds in his head until they make it into their apartment.

The moment the door closes behind them, he bursts into tears.

“Shit,” he says simply, wiping the sleeves of his cardigan underneath his eyes. For him the tears are expected, but the others stand around him like deer caught in headlights, frozen in their movements.

“Hyung…?” Jimin asks carefully and Yoongi’s breath stutters as he tries to inhale.

“Just- hormones, fuck ,” he manages to get out. He’s tried swearing less because who knows whether strong language has an impact on the baby, but now he cannot help it, his emotions inarticulate in all but this brutal way, tears and expletives and all.

This is not the first time he has broken down crying since he found out he was pregnant but it is the first time, since that day in the bathroom when the test showed up positive, that he is doing it in front of someone else. In front of Namjoon.

“Yoongi,” Namjoon says. He has set his bag down real quietly and now slips out of his shoes before he steps closer. “Do you want to be alone?”

Yoongi thinks for a moment. Shakes his head.

“Okay. Do you want anyone in particular to stay?”

Yoongi just stares at him, his vision blurred, and hopes it will get the message across. It does.

Namjoon breathes.

“Guys,” he says. “Could you…?”

The members scurry away so fast Yoongi doesn’t even know where they go, just that they are considerate enough to let the two of them have the living-room.

“Let’s sit down,” Namjoon says and hooks a finger in Yoongi’s sleeve, gently tugging him over to one of the sofas. “Can I get you anything? Tissues or- or something to drink?”

Yoongi shakes his head again, wipes his palms across his cheeks. God, he feels stupid. Because yes, today was crap, but he can still tell that this is mostly just the hormones wreaking havoc on his psyche, and he hates that he can’t just get those back under control.

“Alright,” Namjoon says, pushing at Yoongi until they are both seated. “Do you want to talk?”

“No,” Yoongi says, then amends, “I don’t know.”

He gives a full-bodied shudder in lieu of a sob, pulls his knees up to his chest as far as his belly allows.

“Do you have any idea how much pregnancy sucks?” he asks, feeling vaguely vindictive because of course an alpha will never fully understand.

At the same time, he knows he is getting off easy. So far, his pregnancy has been a comfortable one and, during each appointment, Doctor Ahn was happy to announce that both he and the child were perfectly healthy.

He’s barely even gained any weight, which he knows runs in the family. His mother had even assured him that his omega uncle had lost weight during pregnancy and, similarly, Yoongi doesn’t look pregnant from behind, the weight of the belly centered relatively high.

But there is flatulence and discharge and heartburn and some other really annoying discomforts, ranging from pain in his joints to stupid crying fits like these.

“It’s not- it’s not that long anymore,” Namjoon tries to cheer him up. He’s tentatively lifted his arm and is setting it around Yoongi’s shoulder. “Only three more months.”

“It’s only gonna get shittier,” Yoongi predicts glumly. For one, the thing about morning sickness only happening in the first trimester had totally been a lie. As soon as he was actually no longer able to participate in the group’s schedule, he’d be left alone with his thoughts and annoying comments on Twitter chiding him for endangering the group.

“But,” Namjoon says hurriedly. “Just think of all the cool things that’ll happen once Isangie is born.”

Yoongi pouts, lets himself slump into Namjoon’s side.

“Like what?” he asks and Namjoon tenses and relaxes, probably happy he has found something to distract him with.

“Like online shopping,” Namjoon tells him. “All the toys your parents wouldn’t get you when you were a kid, but now you have the excuse and the money to buy all of them. And- and we can buy one of those cute onesies, you know, the ones with kitten ears. And when Isangie learns to speak, we can teach him to rap Cypher, so he’ll know never to take anyone’s shit and-“

At those words, Yoongi laughs wetly, turning to stifle it in Namjoon’s shirt, and Namjoon only seems encouraged by it.

“We’ll take him to Daegu and Ilsan and then he can meet Monnie and Holly.”

Yoongi smiles, nudging his nose against Namjoon’s collarbone. “I hope Holly loves him.”

“He will,” Namjoon promises. “We all will.”

How is it that Kim Namjoon manages to always find the right words to make Yoongi’s world okay?

Because it’s not the pheromones calming him down. It’s not the bond singing its approval. It’s just Namjoon knowing how to make Yoongi laugh when he hasn’t even stopped crying yet.

Yoongi curls up on himself, burying deeper into Namjoon’s side. His tear tracks sit hot upon his cheeks and he knows that, if he doesn’t wash them off soon, his face will be swollen and tender tomorrow.

“I wanna hold our baby,” he whispers thickly.

It feels strangely intimate to say it like that, to call it their baby, but he cannot exclude Namjoon, neither verbally nor otherwise, especially after what Seokjin told him the other day. They’ve been going through so much shit lately and, as always, they can only endure when they focus on the eventual reward.

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, his breath tickling Yoongi’s hair. “Me too.”

There’s an award show, albeit a small one, and they are nominated in a number of categories. It’s a relatively informal event, luckily, and they get to wear more casual outfits instead of full suits. Yoongi is especially thankful for it; his skinny jeans aren’t exactly comfortable either, but at least he gets to wear a large sweater on top that manages to flatter his figure.

The size of his belly is undeniable now and he can tell that people are taking pictures of it at every opportunity. He tries to not get overprotective, reminds himself that of course people are curious. Pregnancies on the red carpet are always a spectacle, and he just happens to be an extra special case.

They have all been drenched in perfume, though, meant to confuse the noses of anyone who might try to sniff out who the father is. All their scents are intermingled anyway, but it would be rude to cover someone else’s omega with your scent entirely. So, if Yoongi does have an alpha, he ought to be smelling like him.

So to everyone else it is still a mystery - Namjoon, Jungkook or some other alpha - and Yoongi can feel all of them thinking it when they ask questions about their music instead, about their fans, about their work process.

He is relieved once they are off the red carpet and directed to their seats. They don’t even have to perform today, so it’s just a longish evening with some food and an award they are sure to win.

He tries to stay attentive throughout the following hour, clapping politely and cheering for freshly debuted acts, bobbing his head to songs he has only fleetingly heard before, but Isangie is feeling restless tonight. Yoongi has to fight not to let any discomfort show on his face.

He keeps fidgeting until he finally can’t bear it any longer.

“I need to go to the toilet,” he whispers to Taehyung who is sitting next to him.

“You just went,” Taehyung says, his mouth in a little o-shape.

“There is a human being jumping around on my bladder,” Yoongi reminds him tersely. It’s not like he enjoys his frequent toilet breaks.

“Then hurry, hyung,” Taehyung urges. “I think the award ceremony starts after.”

“Yeah yeah,” Yoongi hisses and gets up from his chair, weaving through the other tables. They are seated up front, courtesy of their acute fame, so he’s already close to the exit of the hall. He greets some familiar faces as he walks but doesn’t bother stopping anywhere. It’s too loud to chat and Isangie really seems to be vibing on the music, judging by how he must be digging his elbows into Yoongi’s intestines.

Yoongi makes it out quickly, probably followed by whatever fansites have their cameras trained on him, but then he is in the brightly lit hallway and begins to jog into the direction of the toilets.

Once inside, he ducks into one of the stalls, because using the urinals is no fun once you can no longer see your dick. He pees quickly, has to jump on the spot a little to get the skinny jeans back over his ass, makes sure his zipper is properly pulled up.

When he steps out again, another man is standing by the sink, washing his hands. He must be in his twenties, too, a beta, cleancut but a little overdressed in his tuxedo, and a look in the mirror tells Yoongi it’s a rapper from some indie label.

NTT, he calls himself, Yoongi thinks, though he can’t recall his real name. He’s heard some of his stuff, a little rough around the edges, relatively new to the mainstream scene, so Yoongi gives him a polite nod as he joins him at the sink.

NTT smirks, tilts his head to the side.

“What are you even doing here anymore, Suga ,” he says, pronouncing Yoongi’s stage name like a taunt. “Your time’s up.”

For a moment, Yoongi is so confused at being addressed so bluntly that he genuinely thinks the guy is urging him to quickly return to his seat. But there is something malign in the words that has Yoongi’s guard up at once, even as he steps up to the sink to turn on the faucet.

He just hums vaguely, keeps his eyes on his hands as he holds them under the water, terribly aware of the man watching him.

“For real,” NTT continues. He’s turning toward Yoongi now, the side of his hip pressed up against the counter. Yoongi follows his movements in the mirror.

“You think anyone is gonna take you serious like that?” NTT gives a vague nod toward Yoongi’s belly. “You can’t fit into proper clothes, you can’t even fucking dance anymore. You think that idol shit will work once you’re toting a brat around with you?”

Yoongi’s teeth clench. So that’s where this is going. Just some asshole who envies Bangtan’s fame, who thinks that omegas belong in the kitchen. How uninspired.

“Listen, buddy,” he says, reaching for the soap dispenser in an attempt to look more casual. “I don’t give a fuck about your opinion.”

“You say that like it’s just my opinion,” NTT snorts derisively. “Everybody thinks that.”

“Oh yeah?” Yoongi cocks an eyebrow, thoroughly lathering his hands before washing the soap off again. “And what do they think?”

“That you are a slut,” NTT says simply because, yes, he doesn’t seem like the creative type.

Yoongi first entered the music industry by performing in the underground, an omega run away from home, not even twenty years old yet. He’d gotten his fair share of sexist comments, had even gotten used to it, to a degree, had learned to take the insults and turn them around, throw the disses right back into their faces.

But that was years ago. That was when he was mentally prepared for it. To be accosted here, so unexpectedly, throws him off his game and, for a moment, he can only stare at the guy with wide eyes.

And that is a mistake and NTT must be tasting blood because there is an eager glint in his eyes and he leans in a little, fingers traipsing along the marble counter.

“Think about it,” he says as though he had just let Yoongi in on some wild conspiracy theory. “For a moment, you fooled people into believing that you were actually good at this thing. But then you go and get yourself knocked up like an idiot. And you can’t even get the alpha to stay.”

Yoongi’s lips purse. “Like you have any idea about how my life works, you shit.”

“It’s not about knowing, but about what people believe.” NTT gives a slick smile. “What alpha who cares a fig for his omega would just let him run around like this, pregnant and unmated? So you either really are a slut and don’t even know who the father is, or you are worthless enough that he doesn’t want you.”

“Shut the fuck up-“ Yoongi tries to stall him because he doesn’t need to hear this, not when there are hundreds of variations of this in online forums and twitter threads and private conversations throughout South Korea.

“Pity,” NTT cuts him off and then he is lifting a hand, reaching two fingers toward Yoongi’s neck. “I bet you’d look nice and proper with a claiming bite on-“

Yoongi reacts so quickly his body moves without his permission, just his fist flying up to punch the guy’s hand aside, preventing him from touching him, and then Yoongi is dashing past him, pushing open the heavy door and flying down the hallway.

He is not as quick as he used to be, his belly weighing him down, but he still runs as fast as his feet can carry him. Before he can return to the audience, however, he is waylaid by a stagehand who firmly points him into another direction, whispering about how the rest of Bangtan is about to go on stage.

They must have won then. Yoongi doesn’t even know in what category. The blood is rushing in his ears as he bounds up the stairs, and then there is Hoseok chiding him for being late, pulling at his sleeve to drag him along, and Yoongi barely has time to regain his composure.

There’s loud applause as they step outside, fan chants, and Yoongi wants to wave but his hands are shaking. He clenches them tightly and keeps them at his sides, his gaze straight forward as he sidles up with Taehyung, standing slightly behind him, and they go in for their customary group hug.

“Well done,” Namjoon praises them, smiling, catching each of their gazes – but then stills when his eyes land on Yoongi.

“Hobi,” he says with a vague motion of his hand. “You handle the speech.”

Hoseok doesn’t question this deviation from the norm, just plasters on a big smile and turns to grab the microphone from the announcer, politely bowing to her, while everyone else shuffles into a loose half-circle.

“Hey,” Namjoon whispers from his place next to Yoongi, his voice masked by Hoseok’s enthusiastic gratitude and the noise from the audience. “Did something happen?”

Of course he would notice. He reads all of them so well and not even Yoongi, tight-lipped and stone-faced as he can be, is an exception to that rule.

But Yoongi merely shakes his head. He still feels jittery with adrenaline but, in the grand scheme of things, he’s had worse encounters. “Just… some idiot making dumb comments.”

Namjoon, however, frowns. “Someone talked to you? What kind of comments?”

“In the bathroom.” Yoongi swallows hard, chancing a glance up. He doesn’t like revealing his weaknesses like this, but he also knows that Namjoon is the last person who would judge him, neither for getting harassed like that nor for not properly standing up for himself. “Called me a slut and tried to touch me.”

It’s difficult to describe the emotion that flashes across Namjoon’s face then. Rage maybe, and regret, poorly contained.

“Shit,” he whispers under his breath, his lips pulled up in an ugly snarl. It’s a look that Yoongi hasn’t seen on him very often, usually when they watched the news and there were reports about wars and hate crimes. “Shit, this is my fault.”

“It’s not,” Yoongi tries to assure him. In front of them, Hoseok passes the microphone on to Jimin. “He just got cocky because I don’t smell like- like anyone.”

Because of the perfume, his scent has been nullified. Right now, he doesn’t smell of the others, and certainly not of alpha. In a way, NTT had been right – with a child but no mate, Yoongi looks like a bitch that no one wants.

“Fuck,” Namjoon curses, and then his hand is on Yoongi’s collar. “Come here.”

Before Yoongi can even comprehend what is happening, Namjoon’s face is against his neck, nuzzling him insistently, and Yoongi instinctively tilts his head back, welcoming Namjoon’s pheromones, hidden somewhere underneath the layers of cologne.

All of a sudden, everything seems quiet.

Yoongi snaps back into the moment so fast that it almost makes him sway on the spot.

He is still in Namjoon’s arms, but they are on stage, and there are cameras and thousands of people watching them, and no one has to wonder anymore who the father of Yoongi’s child is. Because no alpha would touch a pregnant omega like this unless it is his pregnant omega.

Quickly, they separate, Namjoon’s eyes shuttered, taking a deliberate step to the side, as Jimin smoothly wraps up his speech. But it’s too late. Everybody has seen, everybody knows.

“Thank you, ARMY!” Taehyung yells over Jimin’s shoulder, Jungkook hoists the award, and Hoseok and Seokjin are throwing kisses left and right as they all march off the stage.

Yoongi lets himself be pulled along by Jimin until they are off stage, and then it is their manager who welcomes them, visibly terse.

“Alright,” he says, phone already in hand. “Straight back to the dorm with you. No detours. We’ll handle the fallout.”

This had not been planned. The reveal of the other father had been meant to happen on their own terms, slightly understated. People had been expecting something along these lines already, had been hoping for it even. But truth had been meant to be contained for a little while longer. Now, mayhem must follow.

Yoongi is slightly numb as they are herded to the celebrity entrance at the back where their limousine will be parked. The soles of their shoes slap loudly along the naked concrete of the hallway. Yoongi thinks of how, less than ten minutes ago, he had gone to the bathroom to pee. Right now, he’d rather vomit.

“Okay,” Hoseok says, clearly on edge as he throws the door to the limo open and unceremoniously pushes them inside, one after the other. He doesn’t even look at the maknae line, is gentler when lending Yoongi a hand, and gives Namjoon a bit of a death glare. “Okay, what the fuck just happened?”

Seokjin climbs in last, slams the door shut before falling into a seat. Their driver starts the engine, probably already informed that their schedule has shifted a little and that he is to return them to the dorms until further notice.

“Yoongi got molested by some asshole-“ Namjoon says, fists tightly clenched in his head, and Yoongi’s head whips up.

“He didn’t molest me,” he grits out because fuck if he doesn’t know the difference. “He tried to talk shit because he is an insecure little man child.”

“What?” Jungkook asks in confusion. “When? Where?”

Yoongi breathes in, exhales slowly through his nose. “When I went to the bathroom. There was a guy-“

“Did you know him?” Seokjin cuts in and Yoongi nods reluctantly.

“NTT?” he tells them at large. “You know, the rapper?”

Namjoon mutters something under his breath that suspiciously sounds like ‘murder’, but Yoongi doesn’t pay it any heed.

“And he harassed you?” Hoseok asks, leaning forward in his seat so he can better look at Yoongi who purses his lips but nods.

“He just… wanted to get a rise out of me, or something. Said some shit.”

“Like what?”

Yoongi stares up at the low ceiling, uncomfortably shrugs his shoulders.

“He called me a slut,” he mutters, but the quietness of his voice only throws it into sharp relief when Jungkook and Taehyung gasp loudly. Yoongi pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t like the thought of the kids hearing about shit like this. It’s come up once or twice before but usually in the form of anecdotes, not immediately after something like this actually happened to him.

“You said,” Namjoon begins lowly. His fists are still bunched up in his lap. “You said he tried to touch you.”

“Just- just my neck,” Yoongi says, though there is nothing ‘just’ about it. “I stopped him.”

“You should press charges,” Seokjin tells him but Yoongi just gives a hollow laugh.

“It’s my word against his,” he points out. “If every omega went to court each time they got some shitty comment thrown at them, we’d never get anything else done.”

So far, Jimin has been suspiciously silent on the matter, but now everyone looks at him for confirmation.

“It happens.” He shrugs, seemingly unaffected. “Some people don’t like how omegas in kpop make themselves… available to a lot of people.”

Taehyung makes an outraged face. “You’re not prostitutes!”

“But we maintain the façade that anyone can have us,” Jimin notes mildly. “And Yoongi-hyung. Well. He’s been had by someone.”

That puts it quite succinctly and Yoongi very stoutly does not look at Namjoon who is still seething.

“So what happened on stage there?” Hoseok wants to know. “I didn’t really see much of it.”

Both Yoongi and Namjoon remain silent, stubbornness or embarrassment, it’s hard to tell.

“Namjoon-hyung scented Yoongi-hyung,” Jungkook pipes up quietly. “Probably to, um, you know…”

He doesn’t specify, but he doesn’t have to. They all know why an alpha would make such a point of scenting an omega.

And Yoongi understands it, he does. After all, he had been hoping for just that. But he still cannot help but be angry at Namjoon for so easily being overcome by his instincts and revealing his involvement in Yoongi’s pregnancy in possibly the most dramatic way possible.

The rest of the car ride passes in tense silence and, once they arrive at their building, Yoongi is the first to jump out of the limousine, stalking through the parking garage. Unfortunately for him, Namjoon has longer legs and easily catches up with him just as the elevator doors open.

“Wait for the next one,” Namjoon bellows over his shoulder, making the others stop dead in their tracks, and then Yoongi finds himself in an enclosed space with a rather enraged alpha.

It’s not fun. But they keep to their corners like boxers before the beginning of a fight, just glaring senselessly, while Yoongi tries to articulate in his head just how exactly he would prove Namjoon wrong as soon as they are in the privacy of their apartment.

“I don’t have the key,” he says petulantly when they are standing outside their door and he has left all his stuff in the limousine. Namjoon sighs, reaches inside the breast pocket of his waistcoat and pulls out the keycard, quickly sliding it through the lock.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Namjoon says, once they are inside and have kicked off their shoes. Yoongi doesn’t even look his way, just moves right on to the next bathroom.

He struggles to pull his socks off as well, leaving them where they fall, and then begins to unbutton his jeans. The seams have bitten into his hips and the insides of his thighs and he is glad to get out of them; perhaps his mother’s tale of minimal weight gain has been a myth after all.

He hasn’t bothered to close the door behind himself, so he is not surprised to see Namjoon appearing on the threshold, just hovering there. Yoongi hesitates for just a moment, then he pulls the sweater over his head and tosses it aside.

“Hyung,” Namjoon says. It pisses Yoongi off how he is trying to sound deferential now when he was anything but just moments and minutes ago.

Yoongi turns to the sink and turns the faucet on, testing the water until it is lukewarm. He ducks his head under it, wets his hair, combing his fingers through it, and then he blindly reaches for the bottle with liquid soap, some brand name shit that’s supposed to smell of honey or whatever. He rubs it along his neck, his damp shoulders, his collarbone, anything to get rid of that fucking dreadful perfume that he cannot seem to get out of his nose because they have all been drowning in it for the past hours.

“Yoongi,” Namjoon says and suddenly, in the mirror, he is very close. “Yoongi-yah, stop.”

There is a towel in his hand and he drapes it over Yoongi’s head before reaching around and turning off the faucet.

Yoongi exhales sharply, not letting it turn into a sob. He is angry; he doesn’t want to cry. He stands up straight instead, thankful for the towel obscuring most of his face. Thin rivulets of water run along his torso, chased by gravity and then slowing down when they reach the prominent swell of his belly.

“Yoongi-yah,” Namjoon says again. His hands are on Yoongi’s head now, gently drying his hair. “Will you listen to me?”

“Depends on what you have to say,” Yoongi mumbles. He is trying very hard to keep his voice under control, to not let it shake like it wants to.

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon repeats what he said before, but it sounds more genuine this time. “I acted without thinking and I made things difficult for all of us. I’m sorry I’ve upset you. I’m sorry that I was neither a good leader nor a good friend tonight.”

Yoongi harshly bites down on his lower lip.

"I just cannot believe we kept this secret for weeks and you ruined it with your stupid fetish,” he says because that is the easiest issue to handle, the one that hurts the least. Not the fact that he got harassed for being unmated. Not any of that other stuff.

"It's not a fetish-" Namjoon objects, slightly exasperated.

“Yeah?” Yoongi defiantly juts his chin forward and the towel slips back. "Don't think I haven't noticed you constantly touching my neck.”

He doesn’t know why he says it, doesn’t know why he has to draw attention to it in such a provocative manner. But there is scenting and then there is whatever Namjoon has been doing to him, driving him madder with each moment. Now he watches as Namjoon’s expression changes, gets calmer, quieter. Namjoon’s shoulders roll back and he stands a little taller, angling his body toward Yoongi in a manner that is almost imposing.

“Oh?” Namjoon only says quietly, taking a step closer. "Don't think I haven't smelled how wet you get whenever I do it."

And then he is crowding Yoongi up against the sink.

Since his rut, he hasn’t acted much like a stereotypical alpha. Protective, yes, and a little territorial. But not so much that Yoongi minds.

His eyes are wide as Namjoon, towering above him, leans down. Involuntarily, his breath hitches when Namjoon opens his mouth against the side of Yoongi's neck, teeth scraping over the pulse.

"See," Namjoon says, his voice much too close, and then he is slipping a hand inside Yoongi’s underwear, down down down, before easily pushing a finger inside him. “Every time.”

And he is right. Because Yoongi is wet, he thinks he’s been wet since Namjoon first touched him on stage, in front of all those people to see. But they haven’t touched outside of their heat and rut, not sexually, and so this is new, this is confusing, this is slightly intimidating.

But it is not unwanted.

When Namjoon takes a step back, pulling his hand away all too quickly, Yoongi can only groan in protest.

That must be enough encouragement, because Namjoon only gives him another considering look.

“Turn around,” he says, without pressure, but Yoongi does it anyway, slowly, palms scrambling along the porcelain surface of the sink because he fears he might fall if he lets go for even a second.

His eyes are wide as he stares at himself, reddened cheeks and all. Behind him, Namjoon hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear and pulls it down. Yoongi wriggles a little to help him and one of Namjoon’s hands cups over his flank, that part where hipbone smoothly segues into his baby bump.

“Push back your ass,” Namjoon says. Yoongi can feel the slick drip against the inside of his thigh.

He does as he is told, though, clenches his eyes shut when Namjoon finally touches him. Warm fingertips trail through the wetness and then move up, pressing up inside him.

Namjoon fucks him like that, two fingers, three, until Yoongi feels wide and aching around him, but the movements are languid, almost lazy, nowhere near enough to satisfy him. He can feel Namjoon’s erection against the swell of his ass, and he wants it, he needs it inside him.

Vaguely, Yoongi is aware that the bathroom door is still open. Vaguely, he knows the others might already be back in the dorm. But he still imagines getting fucked like this, here, in front of the mirror, and with the risk of someone walking in on them.

He keens when Namjoon’s fingers pull out of him, hoping that this was enough foreplay for both of them. His eyes have fallen shut at some point but, when he opens them again, he sees Namjoon lick the slick off his knuckles. Their gazes meet in the reflection.

This time when Namjoon touches him, he does it with his entire body. He is still fully dressed while Yoongi is naked, but the cool silk of his waistcoat is a blessing against Yoongi’s back, and he lets out a quiet breath, Namjoon’s arms wrapped around him.

Namjoon’s mouth wanders across his neck, his teeth teasing at the skin, just nibbling here and there.

“I could bite you,” Namjoon whispers. “Do you want me to bite you?”

Yoongi moans at the thought but shakes his head. Not like this, not when they just fought, he doesn’t, he can’t-

Abruptly, Namjoon lets go of him, takes two swift steps back. Yoongi flounders from the whiplash, not quite comprehending what just happened, why Namjoon isn’t at least fucking him.

He turns around, suddenly terribly aware of his nudity, of his now flagging erection, of his arousal permeating the air.

“Aren’t you gonna…?” he begins, trailing off in uncertainty.

But Namjoon shakes his head.

“Payback for the fetish comment,” he says simply, turns on his heel, and leaves.

Yoongi takes a shower, properly. He dries off properly, dresses properly. He goes to the kitchen to get himself some proper dinner and, when he finds Jimin and Taehyung there, cannot properly meet their eyes.

He eats without appetite, gets ready for bed without real tiredness. He tries to read but cannot concentrate, turns off his phone to not be tempted into looking for reactions online. He waits until his eyes hurt from the yellow glow of his bedside table lamp.

Then he reaches over to switch off the light and carefully settles his head down on his pillow.

For the first time in a long time, Namjoon does not come to join him.

The next morning is awful. Yoongi didn’t sleep well and he can feel it deep in his bones. He knows the reason why.

When he makes his way to the kitchen, Taehyung is blindly shoveling cereal into his mouth, his eyes fixed onto his phone instead.

“Hyung,” he says around the half-chewed mush. “You’re awake.”

“Barely,” Yoongi groans, slowly sinking down onto one of the chairs. His back is killing him and he is not looking forward to the rest of the day.

“The managers issued an emergency meeting for later today,” Taehyung tells him after he has swallowed. “To see how we are going to handle everything.”

Yoongi sighs.

“What’s there to handle, really? The cat’s out of the bag anyway.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung agrees. “But, like, no one knows the details, so people are speculating again. And, so far, they are way off the mark.”

Yoongi’s guts clench uncomfortably.

“Why, what are they saying?” he wants to know.

“Well…” Taehyung throws another look at his phone before sliding it across the table. “This is Twitter right now.”

So Yoongi looks, reluctantly scrolling through their notifications. There are excerpts from their acceptance speech last night, closeups from various angles, shaky fancams of Namjoon scenting Yoongi. Some even focus on their hushed conversation beforehand, trying to figure out what is being said. No one gets close to the truth, but everyone agrees on the one thing that matters: Namjoon is the father.

Yoongi swallows. He had already known last night, of course, that there was possibility to talk their way out of this implication. And it’s okay, kind of. They had planned to reveal it sometime soon, though obviously not in such a dramatic manner. But they had meant to finally tell the truth.

The bond, the heat, the accident. The mutual decision to keep the child. The agreement to co-parent and stick with Bangtan for the time being. Friendship, at the bottom of it all. Commitment.

Twitter, however, paints a different picture.

From the outside, because nobody knows about what had happened in the bathroom with NTT, it looked like Namjoon was marking his omega for everyone to see, a possessive but still natural and socially acceptable act. For a mated pair.

But everyone knows that neither Namjoon nor Yoongi sport mating bites, so that has kicked loose a whole new slew of speculations. Most people, however, seem to think that BigHit is the big bad, that the company is trying to keep the lovers apart, that they are just cashing in on the drama around the pregnancy, that this was Namjoon’s desperate attempt of outing their love to the public, irreversible and unquestionable.

What idiots, Yoongi thinks, his cheeks heating in embarrassment.

The comments beyond the tragic tale of star-crossed lovers are far more excruciating.

Yoongi had known, of course, that in the debate around who the father is, people had been advocating for each case with long lists of arguments. But this is the first time he allows himself to read any of them.

They fit so well together, one tweet reads. They are both introverted and calm and thoughtful. They’ll be such great parents.

It’s obvious that Yoongi wouldn’t pick a stereotypical alpha, another claims. He’s too headstrong and unconventional to let himself be ordered around by some macho idiot.

And, someone has replied to that, Namjoon wouldn’t even want some submissive omega. He’s said before how he wants a mate who can meet him at eye level.

You can see how upset RM is, someone has commented on the video of their acceptance speech. He obviously wishes he could just claim his omega.

A hot and cold shudder goes through Yoongi.

“I’m going back to bed,” he announces, abruptly pushing his chair back.

Taehyung looks up in alarm. “You haven’t eaten yet!”

“I’m not hungry,” Yoongi claims.

“But Isangie probably is,” Taehyung says with a little pout, knowing exactly just how to guilt Yoongi into taking care of himself. Yoongi rolls his eyes, though he knows Taehyung is right.

“How about this,” Taehyung offers. “You go back to your room, I’ll make you breakfast and then you can just eat in bed.”

Yoongi considers it for a moment.

“Deal,” he says finally and leaves.

To Yoongi’s surprise, it’s not Taehyung who ends up serving him breakfast fifteen minutes later.

“Good morning, hyung,” Jungkook greets, kicking the door shut behind himself as he carries an overladen tray into the room.

Yoongi flips his blanket back and sits up.

“Morning,” he mutters. He’s feeling a bit suspicious, but his stomach grumbles at the sight of food. Maybe Isangie really is hungry.

“I hope you like it,” Jungkook says, carefully setting the tray down on the mattress for easy access. There is fruit and a bowl of rice and a cup of milk coffee, and Yoongi feels a sudden wave of affection for their two youngest members.

“Thanks,” Yoongi says, reaching out to pop an apple slice into his mouth. He kind of expects Jungkook to leave, but the boy lingers instead, kneading his hands in his lap.

Yoongi’s eyes narrow.

“Are you gonna watch me eat?” he asks bluntly and Jungkook flinches slightly.

“Uh,” he says. “I was actually hoping that we could talk.”

And of course Yoongi cannot just enjoy his meal in peace; he really should’ve expected as much.

“About what?” he drawls, trying to sound unaffected. Feebly, he wishes that Jungkook only wants to talk about some song he is writing, anything work related. But things are never that easy.

Jungkook hedges.

“I, um, know you’re probably not happy with how things went last night,” he begins and Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“Well, that’s an understatement,” he mutters, but Jungkook just continues.

“I’m just… I guess I’m trying to figure out what you are really thinking,” Jungkook confesses. “Because I get the feeling that no one knows. You just… keep everything to yourself. And! And that’s okay, but… maybe now would be a good point to just… lay out all the cards on the table?”

“There are no cards, Kook-ah,” Yoongi assures him. “Things went to shit. Again. But we’ll figure it out.”

Jungkook shoulders sag.

“Are you really going to just find another alpha?” he asks apropos of nothing, looking genuinely troubled.

Yoongi’s mouth falls open, outraged.

“Why is everybody so convinced that I will find another alpha?” he demands. “Joon-ah is just as likely to eventually mate with someone else.”

Jungkook, however, gives him a flat look.

“Yeah, I don’t think that is likely to happen anytime soon,” he says. “Have you seen the way hyung looks at you?”

Yoongi tries not to automatically preen at that, fails, derails.

“That’s just because of Isangie and- and the whole thing. Don’t read too much into it.”

“Hyung, do you understand anything about alphas?” Jungkook asks. “Of… of course everybody is different. And hyung is always very invested in not feeding into any stereotypes but.” Here, Jungkook takes a deep breath. “If it were me, if I had a bond with someone and then a baby. I would never be able to ignore my instincts. I don’t know how he does it. Or how you do, for that matter.”

Yoongi stares down at his knees, feeling caught out.

“I don’t want to commit to something like this just because my biology tells me to,” he admits. “It should be a choice.”

“Then I don’t understand why you chose no.”

It’s a simple thing to say, a plain accusation. But it perfectly echoes that quietly nagging voice in the back of Yoongi’s mind, the one that has been begging him for months now. Asking him to have faith.

“It’s not that easy,” he objects anyway.

“It’s also not that difficult,” Jungkook insists and he is starting to sound a little bit fed up. “I. Hyung. I know what happened last night.”

Yoongi frowns. “With the scenting or…?”

Now, Jungkook looks uncomfortable, his lips tightly pressed together.

“No,” he says. “After we got home, I mean. The bathroom kind of, um, smelled.”

Immediately, Yoongi’s cheeks begin to burn.

“That- that’s none of your business,” he stammers because he certainly has no desire to discuss this matter with their maknae. Jungkook, however, seems determined to say his piece.

“What I am trying to say here,” he continues. “Is that, apart from the bite, you are already mates anyway.”

Yoongi closes his eyes, centers himself.

“Kook-ah,” he says. “Just.. just because Joon is… taking care of me in… different ways… doesn’t mean he actually wants to spend the rest of his life with me. I’m fine on my own. I’ve always been.”

It’s a blatant lie. Back when Yoongi had come to Seoul, life had been miserable. When he had been accepted into BigHit, things had started to look up and Namjoon had been one of the primary reasons. Even back then, Namjoon had had a vision – and he had shared it with Yoongi. And, what’s more, he had been Yoongi’s first true friend.

“Bullshit,” Jungkook says, his jaw stubbornly set. “I don’t understand how you are coming up with these things. You think hyung wants the- the baby and the sex and that he scents you all the time and sleeps in a bed with you and barely takes his eyes of you, that he changed his will to accommodate you and Isangie and- and is writing all these songs – you think he is doing that because you’re bros ?”

Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever heard Jungkook speak so forcefully, certainly not to his face. But the small speech is delivered with such vehemence that the words themselves take a moment to sink in.  When they do, something small inside of Yoongi trembles.

“Do you…?” he asks hesitantly, trailing off when he cannot bring himself to finish the question.

“Do I what?” Jungkook asks, nudging him in encouragement. His voice is all gentle again.

Yoongi buries his face in his hands, unable to look at him. “Do you really think he’d want me?”

Because that is the real fear, isn’t it? Namjoon not wanting him is so much easier when Yoongi pretends that he doesn’t want him in turn. Not the full package. Not a future together.

There is a beat of silence, followed by a rustling of the sheets as Jungkook scoots closer. Carefully, he puts his arm around Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi tenses a little but welcomes it anyway.

“I think you really ought to ask him that,” Jungkook allows. “But… to me it’s quite obvious.”

“He’s never given indication before,” Yoongi says. Because he knows, rationally, that Jungkook’s words make sense. He knows that Namjoon’s behavior only points into one direction. Yet he still cannot help but think that, without their discovery of the bond and the pregnancy, nothing would ever have changed between them.

Jungkook hums quietly, the sound close to Yoongi’s ear.

“Does the before really matter so much that you’re gonna miss out on the now?” Jungkook asks, even though someone his age really shouldn’t be this wise. “And anyway, you’ve been best friends for ages. You’re the perfect match.”

Yoongi purses his lips. The truth has been staring him in the face for a long time now and it is getting impossible to ignore.

“I should call the managers,” he decides finally.

“No,” Jungkook says, perplex. “I said you should- Oh.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi nods and pulls out his phone.

Yoongi waits until the managers send out a group message to notify everyone that the meeting is postponed. It hadn’t been easy to beg them for a few hours delay, but Yoongi had insisted that this was mainly a private matter and that it was his prerogative how to sort things out.

So now, when it’s only late morning but the day has already felt endlessly long, Yoongi gathers his courage and goes to Namjoon’s room. He knocks on the door, like he has done countless times before, like he did when he came to announce that he had decided to keep their baby.

“Yeah?” Namjoon calls through the wood. “Come in.”

Yoongi presses down the handle and lets himself in, standing in the doorway for a moment to give Namjoon a chance to turn him away. Namjoon doesn’t, just stares at him like a deer in the headlights, nearly toppling from where he is perched on his desk chair.

“Did you get the message?” Yoongi asks, watches as Namjoon blinks and then quickly nods.

“Yeah, I- yeah. Do you know why they-“

“I asked them to.”

“Oh.” Another blink. “Uh. Why?”

“I… wanted to talk to you first,” Yoongi admits, shuffling on the spot. He gives himself a push, steps over the threshold and closes the door behind himself. “Before we settle on what to say in the announcement, I mean.”

A muscle twitches in Namjoon’s cheek, barely noticeable if you don’t know what to look for.

“Dragging it out won’t make things better,” he says, sounding exhausted. He probably just wants things to be over with. To be easier.

“I know.” Yoongi allows himself to cross the room and sit down on the bed. Hovering around is only going to make him feel more exposed. “I know but… There are still things about last night that-“

Namjoon groans and hides his face in his palms.

“I wanted to apologize for that,” he says, his voice muffled. “All of it. I was… way out of line and. I was upset but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

Yoongi is not surprised. He knows Namjoon, knows he would go blaming himself for this. And he does, pettily, think that Namjoon ought to have kept himself in check on stage last night, because it was still a stupid and impulsive thing to do. But now he also understands.

The distance between them, though, is palpable.

“Could you, um, come over here?” Yoongi asks. He thinks it might make things easier if they are already closer.

Namjoon hesitates, for just a moment, but then pushes himself up from his chair. His naked feet shuffle across the floor and then he is sitting down next to Yoongi, just within touching distance.

Yoongi swallows nervously.

“You didn’t sleep in my room tonight,” he says, trying to catch the reaction on Namjoon’s face, just a flicker of chagrin.

“Yeah.” Namjoon rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I, uh, thought we both might’ve needed some time to ourselves.”

Maybe he means he wanted them to calm down after their fight. Or maybe he left Yoongi in the bathroom last night to go and touch himself instead.

Yoongi wars with himself, with his pride and his fear of rejection. Then he slips the collar of his plaid shirt over his shoulder and exposes his neck.

“Scent me?” he asks, not letting his voice tremble.

Namjoon stills. Then, he very slowly nods and leans forward.

The tip of his nose brushes against Yoongi’s skin, dragging across the scent glands, gently moving back and forth. When Yoongi leans into the touch, he grows bolder, inches closer, until they are both fully scenting each other, more thoroughly than they even did during Namjoon’s rut.

It feels good. It feels so good and Yoongi surrenders into the sensation, can feel heat glow in his cheeks and in his gut.

Eventually, when Namjoon tries to pull back, Yoongi’s hand darts out to grab his shirt, holding him in place.  For a long moment, they look at each other, unflinching.

Last night, Namjoon had said he could smell whenever Yoongi got wet because of him. So this is a gamble, but not as big a one as Yoongi had still thought a few days ago.

Namjoon blinks slowly. Then he drops a kiss to Yoongi’s bare shoulder, unambiguous and lingering.

They should talk. They really fucking should talk about this first, but the words are stuck in Yoongi’s throat and he cannot seem to make them come out.

So instead, he ducks forward to press his lips to Namjoon’s, little more than a peck, to be honest. But it’s the first kiss Yoongi has properly initiated between the two of them and that makes it meaningful.

A quiet breath goes out of Namjoon. Two of his fingers hook into Yoongi’s collar, not quite pulling at it, but leaving the option open.

Yoongi begins to unbutton his shirt. He doesn’t let himself rethink his decision.

Namjoon watches him, calmly, but it’s a superficial kind of calm, a deliberately executed one, like he is trying not to scare Yoongi away by showing a too visceral reaction.

After that, it is almost easy.

Their clothes come off in a progression of movements that Yoongi cannot quite follow, his shirt, then one of his socks, Namjoon’s sweats, maybe. It doesn’t matter, really, just that they end up naked, completely, like only twice before.

Their scents are stronger like this, more concentrated, and Yoongi allows himself to breathe it in, to really let Namjoon’s pheromones affect him in the way nature intended. Some alphas let their scent fester in poor attempts to smell more overwhelming, but Namjoon simply smells of warmth and clean skin and a hint of spice, just behind his ear. Yoongi licks across his scent glands, trying to taste whatever his nose cannot catch, and Namjoon hums in approval before returning the favor.

Then Namjoon pulls back, gently pushes against Yoongi’s chest to make him lie down on the mattress, and then he just shoulders his way between Yoongi's thighs, kissing a trail across his belly, his chest, slithering up along his body. He dives down to kiss Yoongi deeply, pressing close, and Yoongi groans into his mouth.

They fit together easily, none of the extensive foreplay from before. Though, Yoongi thinks wryly, they had danced around each other so long, perhaps it is always that everything happens a little more quickly now.

In any case, he cannot complain. Namjoon’s hand slips down between them, vaguely running his knuckles over Yoongi as though to make sure that he is wet enough. Then he grabs his own cock and lines himself up.

Yoongi makes a small high-pitched noise at the back of his throat and, in any other situation, he would be embarrassed about it. Now, though, he only hopes it gets the message across.

Namjoon’s breath stutters once he is fully sheathed and he stills above Yoongi, both of them adjusting to the feeling of being joint once more. Then he begins to move.

It’s different when they are both fully coherent, neither of them wrecked by heat or rut and indistinct instincts.

Namjoon is splayed out on top of Yoongi, covering him fully, slowly rocking into him. With each undulation of his hips, his belly presses against the swell of Yoongi’s stomach.

He seems less focused on the sex itself and more concerned with dropping small kisses onto Yoongi’s lips, slipping his pink tongue inside, tasting him shallowly and swallowing each quiet moan that Yoongi cannot suppress.

Yoongi feels weak, faint almost, and he blames it on the singing pleasure low in his gut, the throb between his legs. Finally, though, he opens his eyes to find dark spots dancing across his vision.

“Wait,” he says, lightly pushing against Namjoon’s chest. “I’m- I’m feeling dizzy.”

Immediately, Namjoon pulls back, pulls out of him as he sits up, his heavy cock dragging along pale skin. Yoongi nearly whines at the loss, feeling wetness drip down between his ass cheeks, and it’s almost obscene to imagine himself spread wide open like this.

“We can stop,” Namjoon offers, looking worried, and that sweet little crease is back on his brow. Yoongi rolls his eyes and pushes himself up on his elbows. At once, the dizziness lessens.

“We don’t have to,” he gripes. “Just… maybe try a different position.”

It’s the new weight cutting off his arteries, he knows, and missionary is not exactly the best choice, so he sits up as well and rubs a hand against the small of his back. Namjoon gives him a thoughtful look.

“Turn on your side,” he instructs and then helps Yoongi roll over, pushing a pillow underneath his head.

“That feel alright?” he asks. His hand runs down along Yoongi’s flank, sliding toward the inside of his thigh.

“Yeah…” Yoongi says, his arm coming up to curl around the pillow and pull it closer as Namjoon settles down behind him.

“Lift your leg,” he says, helping Yoongi along, and then he is guiding himself back inside, slick easing the way.

He pushes his arm further, hitching Yoongi’s leg up in the crook of his elbow and making Yoongi curl up on himself a little, his body nestled in Namjoon’s warm embrace.

“Good?” Namjoon asks. His breath fans out against the shell of Yoongi’s ear.

Yoongi lets out a voiceless wheeze.

“Yeah,” he manages to say. “It is.”

Namjoon kisses his temple; then he begins thrusting anew. The angle is not perfect, the leverage a little lacking, but he reaches deep and he feels so close, and Yoongi clenches around him in response to each push.

On the sheets, Namjoon’s hand slides into his, fitting their palms together, sinking his fingers into Yoongi’s gaps, holding him, gently.

Faintly, Yoongi wonders how long ago he could have had this, if he hadn’t been so uncertain, so blind, so stubbornly self-reliant. But it does not matter. He has it now and, maybe, he will have the future, too.

Afterwards, they lie in bed, still naked and relatively unashamed. Yoongi has to shift around for a few minutes before he is somewhat comfortable and then he watches Namjoon from the side, his low forehead, the soft slope of his nose, the prominent curve of his lips as the corners of his mouth quirk upward.

“I can feel you staring,” he says, quietly amused. Yoongi thinks he hasn’t heard him sound so relaxed and contented in a long long time.

“Why did you kiss me that night?” Yoongi asks apropos of nothing. Judging by the small frown that appears on Namjoon’s brow he doesn’t have to clarify.

But since it happened, he had been unable to let it go, to pretend it was only something that happened in a dream. The evening before they found out about Isangie, before the others realized Namjoon and Yoongi had not terminated the bond, before everything was forever changed – Namjoon had kissed Yoongi, half-awake and pliant as he was.

And then they never talked about it. Now, they do.

“Do you really have to ask?” Namjoon sounds neither accusatory nor annoyed. Just a little tired, perhaps.

And the truth is, Yoongi doesn’t have to ask.

Denial has a habit of getting stuck on you. The bond hasn’t caused them trouble in months now. It’s just there, at their periphery, their baseline, like it has always been.

Yoongi bites his lip. “You never said anything.”

“Because I didn’t want to pressure you,” Namjoon explains and then, a little spitefully, he adds, “And you never said anything either.”

“Because how much of a cliché would that be? Desperate omega trying to tie some alpha to him.” Yoongi chuckles humorlessly. “You’re already sacrificing so much and-“

“Yoongi-yah,” Namjoon interrupts him, swiftly rolling onto his side so that he is directly looking at Yoongi. “I am not sacrificing anything. I would rather have this baby and you than anything else.”

He says it so bluntly, so easily that Yoongi’s breath catches, unable to say anything.

Namjoon sighs, reaches out a hand to trail his fingertips over Yoongi’s belly.

“I felt scared,” he admits. “Guilty. I had already been the one who couldn’t stand up against the withdrawal symptoms. And then, when everything else happened…  I didn’t even know whether you ever really wanted kids at some point.”

“Someday,” Yoongi mutters. “After everything.”

After they disbanded, eventually. After his military service, when he was continuing his career as a producer, with more time for himself. After he found an alpha whom he could trust, wholly and completely.

“Then, do you trust me?” Namjoon asks, as though he were able to read Yoongi’s thoughts. Maybe he is. They’ve had years of this, way before any sort of bond tried to push them even closer.

Yoongi takes a deep breath. “I do.”

Namjoon kisses him, slow and sweet, and Yoongi allows himself to melt into it. Their bodies are close together again, skin on skin, and it’s not as titillating as Yoongi would have expected it to be, just warm and comfortable like before, when their only excuse were the headaches the bond was giving them if they went against their instincts.

Finally, Namjoon pulls back slightly and moves his mouth to Yoongi’s neck.

“Okay?” he asks quietly and Yoongi closes his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

Ten minutes before the managers are meant to arrive at the dorm, the other members are already gathered in the living-room, all a little listless and lost in their thoughts, no doubt contemplating what ideas their PR team had come up with.

When Namjoon and Yoongi walk in, everyone’s heads automatically swivel over to look at them.

Yoongi is hyperaware of how red and obvious the bite mark on his neck must be, because Namjoon’s certainly is. It doesn’t hurt, though, doesn’t even ache. For the first time in many months, Yoongi feels completely at ease.

“Holy shit,” Hoseok breathes. “Did you really-?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, his hand reaching to tangle with Yoongi’s. “Sorry for not talking it over with everyone first.”

Yoongi bristles slightly at the thought that they would have needed permission for this, but he knows it’s an irrational reaction. The members have been nothing but supportive since this whole story began and he is incredibly grateful for it.

He lets himself be tugged over to the leftover sofa by Namjoon. He makes a point of sitting a little farther to the right, but then Namjoon just scoots over to get closer to him, his arm coming up to settle around Yoongi’s shoulder. Their bond, newly strengthened by the bite, purrs in response.

“So, um,” Taehyung starts, curiously glancing between each other. “Do we even need this meeting anymore?”

“We still have to figure out the official statement and everything,” Seokjin reminds him. “Whether to tell the full story with the original bond or whatever.”

They all look remarkably calm and so… unsurprised. Yoongi cannot help but wonder whether they secretly had been expecting this, waiting to see whether it would be Yoongi who caved first or Namjoon.

“Yes, but the outcome won’t really change,” Jimin notes. “So why not just-“ He waves a careless hand. “-get it out there?”

“Like how?” Jungkook asks, worrying at his lower lip.

“Well…” Jimin says and holds up his phone, giving a little shrug. “Might as well have a little fun with it right?”

Yoongi exchanges a look with Namjoon who just cocks a questioning eyebrow.

“Fine by me,” Yoongi says lazily, hoping no one can hear his nervous heartbeat. Namjoon smiles.

“Alright,” he says, placing one arm across Yoongi’s shoulder, slightly pulling him in.

Like this, both their marks and Yoongi’s belly are on full display. Considering all the drama that had come before, it must make for a wholesome picture.

His life will be so very different from what he had still imagined a year ago. He’d have a mate, for one, and a child, and all of that may have been a potential variable in his daydreams before, but now he gets everything a little early, a little out of order.

Namjoon’s other hand places itself on Yoongi’s thigh, squeezing comfortingly.

Jimin snaps a quick photograph.

“How should I caption it?” he asks everyone at large, but his gaze flicks up to meet Yoongi’s.

“Just leave it blank,” Taehyung pipes up, his natural hunger for chaos omnipresent. “This is probably gonna be our most popular tweet ever.”

Yoongi still remembers when he had uploaded the very first ultrasound picture of Isangie and nearly broken the internet. He thinks they might not surprise people quite like that today, but that’s alright.

“Give it here,” Namjoon says, leaning over to take the phone from Jimin. “I have an idea.”

Yoongi opens his mouth to say something, to tell him to not write anything stupid. But then it occurs to him that this is the first time Namjoon will properly get to acknowledge that he is Isangie’s father. He deserves to have this moment.

Yoongi still peeks at the screen as he types, curious to see what he has in mind.

“Good?” Namjoon asks when he is done, angling the phone so that Yoongi can read more easily.

Yoongi bites his lip against the smile that his threatening to break across his face, but then he decides he doesn’t care. He’s too happy for that.

“Yeah,” he says, pressing his nose against Namjoon’s neck, just above his bite mark. “Good.”

Finally, a #family.

Chapter Text

“Easy, easy, we’re almost there,” Seokjin says, standing a little too close, as though Yoongi were at risk of spontaneously breaking.

Yoongi shoots him a glare, slightly miffed. Even if he were to trip and fall on his face, he’d be only endangering his nose and little else. He does feel sore, admittedly, despite all the painkillers he had popped, but there’s little Seokjin can do about that.

“I’m fine,” Yoongi insists, trying to ignore the throbbing between his legs.

Seokjin unlocks the door, pushing it open. Immediately, they are greeted by a squeal.

“Shhh!” Seokjin hisses at once, throwing a glare down the hallway. “You’ll wake him.”

There’s some more commotion at that, but it is more muted and contained. Yoongi sighs fondly. The maknae line had stayed behind for his return, because a smaller group was easier to smuggle out of the hospital, but he understands that it must have been a big sacrifice for them.

“Hyung,” Taehyung whispers urgently, hovering on the threshold to the living room. “Where is he?”

“Relax,” Yoongi drawls. “Joon-ah’s got him.”

He lets Seokjin maneuver him into the living room, carefully sitting down on the sofa, before getting his shoes slipped off his feet. What a service. He should give birth more often. No, scratch that. Giving birth was awful, he won’t be doing that again anytime soon.

Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook are still waiting by the door, holding on to each other as if to keep themselves in check. Yoongi rolls his eyes. It’s not like they hadn’t seen the baby before.

A gasp from Jungkook clues Yoongi in on how Hoseok and Namjoon must have finally made it into the dorm as well. Hoseok comes in first, deposits Yoongi’s overnight bag on the floor and then steps aside to let Namjoon pass.

Yoongi’s heart flutters.

Namjoon is looking rumpled in his t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair messy and not washed for two days. They had had a private room at the hospital and he had insisted on staying by Yoongi’s side through it all, barely leaving long enough to go to the toilet every now and then.

Now, he is holding the baby cradled in his arms, wrapped up in his hoodie as protection against the cold winds today. He cannot seem to take his eyes of Isangie, which is probably why it had taken him so long to get from the elevator to here, so incredibly gentle as he is with all creatures. Yoongi might just be a little bit smitten.

He is sore and exhausted; the time right after the birth might as well be even worse than the pregnancy itself, from what he has heard. But just seeing this seems to make it all worth it.

For now, he had decided that the next week will be spent on his babymoon. A vacation to recover from the strain of everything, doing nothing but lying around and snuggling his baby. And his mate. They deserve this.

“Joon-ah,” he says, and immediately Namjoon’s gaze flicks up to meet his. A second later, he is striding across the room to sit down next to Yoongi. Very carefully, he transfers the bundle into Yoongi’s hands, before placing his own arm around his shoulder and leaning in to scent him, as though they hadn’t done that just before leaving the hospital.

Yoongi just tilts his head to the side to give him better access.

He understands why Namjoon is so possessive. They had hoped to keep the birth a secret, but of course someone had leaked the info. Fans and reporters had camped outside of the hospital, and it had been nearly impossible to get out unseen. In the end, they had made their escape in the back of an ambulance, only switching to their van a few blocks down the road.

Now, though, they are home. And their son is, too.

Isangie is small and pink and lovely. He’s long and narrow, Namjoon’s genes, doubtlessly, but his cheeks are chubby, his legs and belly pudgy. He is the most perfect thing Yoongi has ever laid eyes on. Right after birth, he had been admittedly pretty wrinkled and ugly, but Yoongi had loved him at first sight anyway.

Yoongi bends down his head to gently run his nose through the tuft of black downy hair, scenting him as well. Soon enough, instincts would drive the infant to return the favor.

“Welcome home, Isangie,” Yoongi whispers, his mouth against the crown of the baby’s head, and Isangie gives a tiny mewl in response, his mouth pink and curled up at the corners.

“How about a picture of the happy family?” Hoseok asks and Yoongi glances up to see that the others are gathered around them, keeping a tentative distance, giving them space. Yoongi had given birth in the small hours of the morning, and the others had come to visit around noon, but only for a little while. Now they are curious and eager, and Yoongi cannot blame them for it.

“For us or for Twitter?” he asks and Hoseok looks slightly chagrined.

“Well,” he says. “It is just in time for Festa.”

“Ugh,” Yoongi says, wriggling around a little to get more comfortable, leaning into Namjoon’s side. If he had thought he felt needy after getting his mating bite, then it’s nothing compared to what he is experiencing now. All he wants is to be close to his alpha, to make sure both he and their child are well protected. “Okay, fine, whatever.”

Namjoon doesn’t verbalize his opinion on the matter. Perhaps his instinct to shelter his mate and offspring is overpowered by his pride. Perhaps he wants to show them off, just a little. Perhaps Yoongi doesn’t mind all that much.

When Hoseok pulls out his phone, they should probably at least make a token effort to look at the camera – but it’s impossible. Isangie snuffles and scrunches up his nose and vaguely balls his tiny hands into tiny fists, and Yoongi’s brain is very effectively turned into mush by the onslaught of endorphins.

He hears the click of the camera, knows his expression must be utterly starstruck, but he doesn’t much care. For now, he just basks in the scent of his proud alpha and their newborn.

Later, he’ll check their Twitter, the millions of likes and retweets they got, and the caption Hoseok saw fit to add, and he’ll maybe snicker a little, and marvel at how much sense it makes to see the three of them together like this. Happy family indeed.

Single: Isangie

Producers: Suga, RM

Year: 2020

When Isangie cries that first night, Yoongi is awake immediately, his eyes snapping open in a kind of alertness he had not expected with how exhausted he still is. He gets out of bed, hearing Namjoon groan behind him and roll over.

“I’ll take him,” Yoongi mutters, listening for another groan that sounds more affirmative.

The cradle stands at the foot of the bed and Yoongi blindly reaches inside, led more by instincts than sight. Isangie’s breath hitches at the first touch but, instead of gearing up for a louder scream, he just whimpers quietly against Yoongi’s chest.

“Hey, baby,” Yoongi coos, carrying him out of the room on socked feet. “What are you making a ruckus for?”

Isangie only whimpers again and, of course, doesn’t actually say anything. Yoongi weighs his butt in his hand, and the diaper feels neither heavy nor warm, so that can’t have been it. Considering he stopped crying the moment he was picked up, it’s probably not hunger either, but rather thirst for attention.

So Yoongi makes his way into the nursery next door, Namjoon’s old room that they had remodeled during a Run episode, bright and happy and with entirely too many toys already. There’s a sofa in the corner and Yoongi sits down on it, prepared to spend the next hour rocking Isangie back to sleep.

It must be terribly confusing for a baby to suddenly be in a world where it can no longer hear a heartbeat, feel the familiar warmth of the womb. Maybe Yoongi ought to download those in-utero soundscapes and play them, help him calm down a little.

But, if he is honest with himself, it also feels pretty weird to no longer be pregnant. The last few weeks had been harrowing, especially since he found himself with entirely too much free time than he was comfortable with. Now, with his belly still swollen but empty, he sort of misses feeling Isangie move around inside of him. He misses knowing where he is. Hopefully, that would not turn into some fucked up kind of separation anxiety.

Isangie, luckily, quiets down quickly. He’s got one thumb in his mouth, the other hand hooked into the collar of Yoongi’s sleep shirt. It probably wouldn’t be this easy every night, but Yoongi appreciates it.

It is also, he realizes, the first time he has been completely alone with his child. Before, there were always nurses and doctors and the members around. Now it is calm.

Gently, Yoongi runs a finger along Isangie’s plump cheek, silently hoping that he’d have dimples like Namjoon. That he would be kind like Namjoon, and tender.

“Your appa is the best thing that ever happened to me, you know?” Yoongi tells him quietly. “Without him, I wouldn’t have my friends and the fans and the fame. And I wouldn’t have you.”

Where would he be instead, he wonders and then immediately scolds himself because it doesn’t really matter.

What matters is the mating bite on his neck, and the way Namjoon had held his hand during the birth. What matters is that, so far, Yoongi hasn’t changed a single diaper because Namjoon was always quicker. What matters is that Yoongi couldn’t be happier.

“I love you,” he says, bending down to kiss Isangie’s forehead. “So much.”

Isangie makes a breathy little sound in response and then settles back in to sleep. Yoongi could probably put him back into the cradle and return to bed himself, but he allows himself to just sit there some more, enjoy the quiet moment.

“Hey,” Namjoon says suddenly, making Yoongi look up. He is standing in the doorway, but then comes in, sits down beside Yoongi, leaning in for a kiss. His mouth tastes a bit stale, but Yoongi’s does, too, so he doesn’t complain.

Then, however, Namjoon ducks his head to fit his mouth over the side of Yoongi’s neck, reaffirming the mating bite as he has done so often during the past few weeks, preferably in public.

“You’re terrible,” Yoongi sighs, though he has admittedly grown quite fond of it.

“I thought I was the best thing that ever happened to you?” Namjoon teases him and Yoongi stills.

“You heard that,” he realizes.

“Every word.”

“Ugh.” Yoongi pointedly looks away. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late.” Namjoon presses another kiss to the shell of his ear. “I am irrevocably devoted to you.”

And that is something that Yoongi has finally managed to wrap his head around. Back after their mating, after that fateful Twitter reveal that blew up the internet, they did a vlive during which they explained everything to the fans. How they first grew aware of the bond. How their instincts knew before they did how well suited they were to each other. How compatible. So yes, it was an accident. But a good one. Serendipity, as Namjoon had said with a smile.

The world had welcomed it. It was a scandal still and would always be. But it was also one that made sense.

“Come back to bed?” Namjoon asks, offering Yoongi his hand as he stands up. Yoongi takes it without hesitation.

Life with a baby is unpredictable, but routine takes over surprisingly quickly.

After that first week during which Yoongi allows no one but Namjoon to handle Isang, he grows more comfortable to let others? take over now and then. They rotate diaper duty, and that in itself makes things all the more bearable.

It’s how things used to work in the olden days, and Yoongi is beginning to understand why. Back when people still lived in cohorts, in packs, instead of nuclear families, raising the children was not a duty pushed solely onto the birthing parent. Rather, kids were taken care of by everyone equally, lots of aunts and uncles, which allowed for everyone to get enough downtime. Because babies are a 24/7 job and no one should be expected to manage that on their own.

Slowly, Isangie grows used to the scents and voices of the others. In newborns, their sight is still impaired, unfocused, unable to really tell things apart, so their sense of smell and hearing is what helps them differentiate between people. So they all avoid strong deodorants and perfumes, carrying Isang around with his nose nestled against their necks.

It’s curious to see the different ways in which they interact with him. Seokjin is kind of no nonsense, the way Yoongi remembers his own mother being, changing diapers efficiently, but then suddenly pulling silly faces and making funny noises to distract Isangie and make him laugh.

Hoseok is much like Seokjin, to an extent, a bit more energetic, but learning quickly when it becomes too much, when he needs to quiet down. Then he holds Isang calmly and with a confidence Yoongi had not quite expected of him, only for him to turn around and put his sunglasses on Isang’s tiny nose.

Taehyung is enthusiastic, a little over-eager, talks to the baby the same way he talks to his dog. He snaps endless pictures, films videos when Isang is not even doing much of anything, never grows tired of being around him.

So much for the betas, neutral and assured in their dynamic and their general hierarchy. For Jimin and Jungkook, it’s a little more difficult.

Jungkook, at first, is circumspect with Isang, never wants to hold him for long, doesn’t really scent him. It takes a long heart-to-heart from Namjoon to make him realize that, even as an alpha, he is still part of the family and not taking any undue liberties which a child that is not his. After that, he grows more affectionate, proudly calling himself hyung and letting Isang sleep on his belly as he plays video games.

Jimin, in a way, has it even harder. As an omega, he is naturally more attuned to Isang’s needs, while Isang is more easily comforted by his softer scent. Jimin handles him instinctively, but with an underlying reluctance to it. It’s the expectations, Yoongi suspects, the pressure. As though having forgotten the scandal of the first one, people are eager for another Bangtan baby. And Jimin loves children, doubtlessly, but he’s long since grown sick of being reduced to his body.

“One day,” he tells Yoongi quietly, when the dorm is mostly dark around them and Isang has fallen asleep after being gassy and cranky all day. “Maybe one day he will be hyung or oppa for mine.”

“There’s no rush,” Yoongi reminds him. “You’re still young.”

“And I haven’t found the right alpha,” Jimin muses and that’s a good point as well.

Yoongi has found the right alpha and he knows it every time he sees Namjoon so much as look at their son.

Namjoon gets up whenever needed without complaint. He throws out some of his stuff so their bedroom is not overcrowded. He has strong words with the company board when they want to push for the comeback.

What Yoongi loves the most, though, is when Namjoon rocks Isangie to sleep. He never sits down when he does it, walking up and down, Isangie usually draped across his forearm like a leopard on a branch. Namjoon doesn’t take his eyes off him then, just singing or rapping quietly, often enough off-key and without much semblance of a melody. It reminds Yoongi of when Namjoon is recording a guide for a song, a little bit rushed, too enamored with his idea to really care about perfection, just wanting to get it out there, unpolished and sincere.

It’s during times like these that Yoongi knows with absolute certainty that it is not his instincts that drove him here. It’s love.

Yoongi fiddles with the camera once more, makes sure that the angle is good. He sets his empty teacup aside, out of view, brushes imaginary crumbs off the surface of the desk. Then he turns on vlive.

“Hello, everyone,” he says. Instead of a hand, he lifts his shoulders in lieu of a greeting. “It’s been a while.”

Four months now, if he remembers correctly. The last one was after he and Namjoon had given each other the bite and officially announced their mating. They are just at the threshold of summer now, and he had given birth five weeks ago.

“Let’s wait for some more people to come in,” he tells those that are already online. He clicks his tongue as he watches the number rapidly climb up. This would probably break some records again.

There’s heart and emojis in the chat window, thousands of well wishes and questions fired like machine guns, dozens of languages, some of which he doesn’t even recognize. Crazy to think that so many people are excited for something so small.

He leans forward, reading one of the Korean messages out loud.

“’Will you introduce us to Isangie?’ – Yes, in a moment. He’s just woken up from a nap.”

He leans back in his office chair, twists his head around.

“Joon-ah!” he calls and nothing more. A second later, he can hear footsteps coming down the hallway.

When the door opens, Yoongi cannot help but smile.

Namjoon is in a tank top and big glasses and he very carefully nudges the door open with his shoulder. Cradled in the crook of his arm is Isang, still swaddled in a thin blanket.

“Are we live?” Namjoon asks, and Yoongi nods, beckons him closer.

“Hi, ARMY,” Namjoon greets, stepping over and slightly bending over in front of the camera so that Isang can be seen. Like this, his tiny round face is in full view. “Here is our eighth member: Kim Isang!”

While Yoongi had opted to keep his own family name, they had agreed that Isang should take Namjoon’s. It was only fair after how long Namjoon had not been allowed to call himself a father.

Namjoon sits down in the other chair, maneuvering Isang around. Isangie’s small hand is curled around Namjoon’s index finger and Namjoon makes him wave at the camera.

“Say hello to ARMY, Isangie,” he croons, before dipping down to press a kiss to the top of Isang’s head. Isang makes a smacking noise with his pink mouth and then his murky eyes open, blearily looking around.

Yoongi watches fondly, trying to school his features so he doesn’t look entirely demented in front of – he checks the numbers again – four million people already.

He sucks in a breath between his teeth.

“Guess we can start with the questions then,” he says. “I’m sure you have plenty.”

He leans closer again, squints his eyes. “’Who does he take after?’”

“That’s hard to tell, at this point,” Namjoon muses.

“I think he will grow pretty tall, like Joonie,” Yoongi says. “He has long limbs.”

“But,” Namjoon says. “He has your mouth. Like a flower.”

“A flower?” Yoongi echoes with a frown.

“Yeah,” Namjoon insists. “Like, with the petals all rosy and curled up.”

“Anyway,” Yoongi moves on, ignoring the blush in his cheeks as he reads another comment. “’I’m pregnant and terrified of giving birth. How was it for you?’”

Yoongi has to think about that one for a second. He doesn’t want to scare other prospective parents, but he also doesn’t want to sugarcoat things.

“Honestly, I don’t remember all the details. I guess that’s how the mind works, to get you over the trauma.” He pauses, rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. “It was painful, definitely. I was in labor for five hours. Which I was told isn’t even that long, so I guess I was lucky?”

He scrunches up his nose, resists the urge to run a palm over his slowly receding belly.

“There’s a lot of stuff people don’t tell you about pregnancy and giving birth and everything after. Frankly, a lot of it is awful. Half of the time, your body feels like your enemy. Your brain does weird things. And then it takes ages to recover. But-“ His gaze cuts over to Isang. “I’d say it’s worth it.”

“I know, as an alpha, my opinion is only secondary here,” Namjoon says. “But, for me it wasn’t a walk in the park either.”

He bites his lower lip, looks down at Isang as well.

“To be honest, I was incredibly scared the entire time,” he confesses. “We had the best doctors on site, of course. But I just kept thinking about all the things that could go wrong. If Isangie didn’t get enough oxygen, if he had some sort of birth defect, if he would need surgery. And- and it was horrible to see hyung in so much pain.”

Namjoon had stayed with him all throughout the birth, held his hand, whispered sweet – though completely useless – words of encouragement. Yoongi had expected nothing less from him.

Namjoon’s got Isang propped up against his shoulder now and the two of them are nuzzling each other, absentmindedly, instinctively. Isang makes a contented gurring sound.

Yoongi’s mind does a very awful thing where, for a moment, it entertains the thought of a different reality. One where maybe he had died during birth. Or maybe Isang had. Or both of them.

Then Isang gives a very audible fart into his diaper, and he and Namjoon are doubled over laughing instead.

Once they have caught their breath, Yoongi turns back to the screen.

“’What kind of presents has Isangie gotten so far?’” He hums thoughtfully. “Let’s see… My parents came to visit and they brought a stuffed toy that looks like Holly. Toy Holly sits in the cradle and watches the baby at night. He takes his duties very seriously.”

“We got a ton of amazing presents, really,” Namjoon continues, and it’s true. From the members and the company, of course, but from other idol friends as well. Even the president and his wife had sent them a signed picture book and a personal letter. Perhaps Kim Isang really is the best known baby of the nation. “But I personally liked the members’ present best.”

He holds up his arm where a gold bracelet dangles prettily. Yoongi, of course, sports an identical one. And so does Isang, even if his is incredibly small and delicate where it sits on his chubby wrist.

Each bracelet has the hanja of all their names engraved in it, a perfect trinity.

It’s better than getting his name or birthday tattooed, Hoseok had explained with a big grin, which was probably true.

“Okay, next question,” Yoongi says, squinting at the chat box again. “’When did you fall in love?’”

He props his up his chin on his fist, contemplating the question.

“Ah, there wasn’t just one specific point in time, I guess,” he tries to explain. “I was in denial for a long time and I kept thinking about how complicated it all was. That everything was only happening because we developed a bond and then had a baby. So, in the beginning, I really struggled to accept how my feelings were changing. I only fully admitted it to myself when we were giving each other the bite.”

Namjoon, on the other hand, is silent for a while.

“For me, it was different,” he says. “When we were first, ah, diagnosed with the bond, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Because I figured the bond must be there for a reason. And… more and more it started to make sense to me. That we would fit well together.”

He takes a big breath.

“I actually came close to confessing one time. Of course, that was the day we later found out about the baby.”

Yoongi blinks, feeling dumbfounded. His memories of that day are a mess, some moments utterly blurred out, others thrown into sharp relief.

He turns to Namjoon, a little accusatory. “Why am I only hearing about that now?”

Namjoon, however, smiles softly. “You seemed very adamant on not letting anything change between us. And I didn’t want to push. Just being your friend was an honor and-“

“Shut up,” Yoongi says, grabs Namjoon by the collar and reels him in for a kiss.

“Oh,” Namjoon says quietly, but doesn’t protest.  

“Idiot,” Yoongi says and pushes him away again before swiveling back to the screen that is blowing up with hearts. Oh right, the camera. He had kind of forgotten that for a second.

For a second, Yoongi wars with himself, wonders whether it’s too much of a dick move. Then he decides he doesn’t care.

“Whoops,” he says, staring straight at the lens, even as he reaches over to ‘accidentally’ end the broadcast.

“How do you even have fans?” Namjoon laments in a weary tone but Yoongi just snorts.

“Haven’t you heard?” he teases. “I’ve been voted Most Influential Omega of 2020 .”

“What a coincidence,” Namjoon returns. “I think I was named Most Influential Alpha .”

Yoongi hums around a tight-lipped smile, leaning in for another kiss.

In truth, different sources had also called them Mates of the Year . Admittedly, Yoongi doesn’t quite know what to make of that, but it’s not like he is going to complain either.

Let the world burn in envy looking at his happiness.

Yoongi has two problems. Number one: his mate is not home. Number two: he is feeling inexplicably horny.

Since the birth, he hadn’t really let Namjoon touch him, because he felt unattractive and his body was still recovering. They had made out and exchanged handjobs, but little more than that. The exhaustion that came with having a child to take care of was killer on their libido.

Now, mostly back in shape after rigorous training and with only some stretch marks around his hips, Yoongi wants to feel wanted.

When will you be home? he texts Namjoon, hoping for a swift answer. He gets it.

15 mins, tops, Namjoon replies. Meeting went quicker than expected.

He’d had another board meeting, about their stocks and his involvement in the company, taking over more production duties while the others got to focus on their mixtapes and their acting. He hadn’t actually said so yet but this was Namjoon’s way of thinking ahead, of preparing for a future when they were no longer idols.

And Yoongi doesn’t think that should make him hotter than he already is, but it really really does.

He’s almost alone at the dorm, apart from Jungkook and Isang, of course, but that actually works out nicely. So he doesn’t let himself overthink, just carries Isangie down the hallway, through the living room and toward Jungkook’s bedroom where the door is slightly ajar.

“Kook-ah,” he says, sticking his head in, unsurprised to find Jungkook in front of his laptop and playing Overwatch. “Can you watch Isangie for a few hours?”

“Uh, sure,” Jungkook says, not even dragging his eyes away from the screen. “Are you going out?”

Unfortunately, Yoongi cannot think of an excuse, so the truth will have to do. “No, er, just waiting for Joon-ah to get home.”

At that, Jungkook does turn his head. His nostrils flare.

“Oh,” he says and his ears redden, visibly embarrassed. “Yeah, no problem, give him here.”

Yoongi fights the feeling of humiliation, just waits for Jungkook to pull on one of the baby slings that everyone seems to have acquired. Jungkook’s is black-and-white checkered, Seokjin’s is pale pink, and Taehyung seems to own one for every day of the week.

“Come here, Isangie,” Jungkook says, taking him from Yoongi and maneuvering him into the sling, making sure they are both comfy. “Your parents need some quality time.”

Yoongi’s mouth opens, ready to retort, but then he thinks better of it.

“Turn down the sound a little,” he just reminds Jungkook because he tends to forget that baby ears are not made for certain noise levels.

“I think I’ll just put on my headphones,” Jungkook says innocently as though he weren’t rather protecting himself than Isangie.

“Fine, whatever,” Yoongi waves him off, ignoring the faint heat in his cheeks. He closes the door for good measure.

He has to wait ten more minutes for Namjoon to return and every second is agony.

Finally, he hears the key jiggle in the lock, hears the front door open, hears someone step in, hears the door fall shut again. He hears socked feet thudding down the hallway and presses his knees together to stop himself from squirming.

“Hey,” Namjoon says, a bit distractedly, as he enters their room, setting his keys and phone on top of the dresser. He is wearing business casual, a crisp white dress shirt with a skinny tie. The cut of the dark slacks makes his legs seem even longer than they already. One of his hands comes up to undo the first two buttons of the shirt, plucking at the collar.

Yoongi, kneeling on the bed, spreads his legs just a little.

Immediately, Namjoon stills, glances over at him.

Like Jungkook, he must smell the arousal on him, but his reaction is rather different.

“Ah.” He gives a small laugh, ducks his head. “Is that why you wanted me to come home?”

“So?” Yoongi challenges, cocking an eyebrow.

Namjoon gives a chagrined smile, runs a hand through his hair.

“I could suck you off, if you want to?” he offers, but doesn’t actually make a move toward the bed. Yoongi decides to bring out the big guns.

He climbs off the mattress, very aware of how he is wearing nothing but one of Namjoon’s old cable-knit sweaters, the sleeves much too long, covering his hands.

“Hyung,” Namjoon warns but pushes the door shut with his heel, like maybe he knows this is inevitable.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Yoongi mutters as he comes to stand in front of him, ghosting his fingers over Namjoon’s belt buckle. He keeps his voice low and his gaze down because he’s not good at this whole seduction thing.

Words like these don’t come easy to him, so he just takes one last step closer, presses himself up against Namjoon, grinding his half-hard cock against his thigh, standing on his tiptoes to reach for a kiss.

“Yoongi-yah,” Namjoon- whines almost, leaning his head back and away. “I want to, I really do, but you’re not all healed up yet and you’re only going to hurt yourself if-“

Yoongi, however, just takes his hand and leads it, all the way around, under the sweater, a little bit up and-

Namjoon sucks in a quick breath of surprise, his fingertip dipping into Yoongi’s hole.

“That’s… unexpected,” he says, sounding rather strangled.

Yoongi bites at his earlobe.

“Are you gonna fuck me or not?” he growls, pushes a sealed condom into Namjoon’s loosely curled fist.

“Yeah,” Namjoon nods quickly, breathless. “Yeah, okay.”

And then he is grabbing Yoongi, hoisting him up by the thighs, carrying him across the room and over to the old armchair that’s standing by the window, early evening sunlight filtering through the glass in shades of honey.

They don’t bother with undressing completely. Namjoon’s shirt would probably need to get taken to the drycleaners after this, or maybe they would just have to throw it out in embarrassment. Sometimes, being rich and not having to worry about money has its perks.

“C’m here,” Namjoon murmurs, settling down on the armchair with Yoongi kneeling above his lap. His palm whispers across Yoongi’s bare ass again before he pushes his finger all the way in. “Think you’re wet enough?”

“Y-yeah,” Yoongi stutters out, leaning back into the touch. “The condom’s lubed up.”

“Okay.” Namjoon nods, pulls back to start undoing his own pants, making swift work of the belt and the zipper, pushing all nasty metal bits aside so they won’t bite at Yoongi’s exposed skin. He strokes his cock a couple of times, works it to full hardness.

Yoongi shivers in anticipation, watches as Namjoon pries open the wrapper and then rolls the condom on with steady hands.

Absurdly, Yoongi finds himself thinking that, if they had been as careful the first time they had sex, they most likely wouldn’t even be here. They wouldn’t have Isangie and they wouldn’t be mates. Really, some mistakes were blessings in disguise.

They shuffle around a little until Yoongi is poised directly above Namjoon’s erection; then, Namjoon carefully guides him down.Yoongi trembles as he feels the pressure against his hole, feels himself opening up around it. Over three months after the birth and his doctor had long since given him the green light for sex, but it’s not like either Yoongi nor Namjoon had felt entirely comfortable with that.

Namjoon, as always, was much too preoccupied with Yoongi’s well-being, constantly worried that he might hurt him or unduly urge him to have sex. Yoongi, on the other hand, had his doubts about whether it would feel the same.

His body has changed, in many ways, and he is very aware of that. A small vain part of him just doesn’t want Namjoon to find it out yet.

So this moment now is a compromise, something they can both be happy with. And God, Yoongi doesn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before.

The angle happens to be just so immediately perfect that it leaves Yoongi breathless, caught in limbo as his body wants to bear down or wriggle away from the pleasure.

“This okay?” Namjoon asks. He sounds strained, as though he is keeping himself from just bucking up and into Yoongi.

“Yeah,” Yoongi manages to get out, fully seating himself on Namjoon’s cock. He had opened himself up with his fingers before, but the sensation now is something else. Deeper, fuller, more intimate. “You can, ah, move.”

Namjoon does, but subtly so, and for a minute they are just grinding against each other like that, getting used to the tightness, the feeling of being joint once more.

Yoongi locks his arms behind Namjoon’s head, pulls him in. They kiss, their lips whispering across each other, little sighs in-between.

Steadily, they grow more daring, remembering the rhythm they used to have in this. Yoongi lifts himself up, sinks down again, thighs burning with each time he does it.

The movement has made the sweater slip already, but Namjoon smoothes his palms up along Yoongi’s pale thighs, makes the fabric hike up further. Then, his hands are cupping the globes of Yoongi’s ass, squeezing them tightly, guiding Yoongi through his thrusts with a strong grip.

“We should, ah, definitely do this more often,” Yoongi comments, eyes slipping shut as Namjoon’s laughs faintly against his cheek.

“More often when?” he asks. “We never have time and, when we do, we are dead on our feet.”

“I’ll pencil it into our schedules,” Yoongi says, breath hitching when the next thrust strikes him just right. “Or drop by your studio when I feel like it.”

“ Fuck ,” Namjoon curses quietly, drawing out the syllable, obviously not opposed to the idea. “You want to fuck at the studio?”

To be honest, Yoongi isn’t sure whether he’d actually dare to go through with it but, in this very moment, the fantasy is enough.

“Yesss,” he says, pushing down harder. “Yes.”

So maybe there is not much time for romance and eroticism when you have a baby in tow wherever you go but, in a way, that just makes the scant minutes alone all the more special.

Much as they want to, it’s rare for them to really get to spend time together like a normal family, to just go to a park without having to worry about overzealous fans intruding on their privacy.

But they live in a gated community that luckily comes with a small playground. Sometimes, the other members take Isang down there to play in the sand and watch the other children. But, more often than not, it’s Yoongi and Namjoon when they are in need of a bit of a break and some fresh air.

In the beginning, the other parents had been somewhat circumspect of having them around, but by now they are a familiar sight. One day, Namjoon had struck up a conversation with another omega who was watching over his twins, and somehow the atmosphere had shifted. Now, they are just two young parents, wiping away spit, sprinting at record speed to pluck the most random things out of a curious mouth, bags under their eyes because last night was tough.

It’s one of those days now, when Yoongi is sitting half-asleep on a swing, Isang cradled in his lap, while Namjoon gently pushes them into motion. They are both pretty much zombified while Isang keeps blubbering to himself, reaching up his hands and grabbing for imaginary butterflies.

Yoongi had always thought he knew tiredness. He knew sleep deprivation. He knew bone-deep exhaustion after a week of comeback insanity.

He was wrong.

Truth is, you haven’t really been tired until you tried to eat while simultaneously stopping your baby from spitting his food all over the table. You haven’t been tired until your baby was screaming most of the day and you couldn’t pinpoint the reason why. You haven’t been tired until you were kept from sleeping at night because your womb was shrinking back to its original size and the cramps were driving you up the wall.

Sometimes, Yoongi thinks of Namjoon’s looming military service and is fucking terrified. Because how can he possibly do this on his own, how does anyone ever manage, how will he spend nearly two years alone with a toddler who is bound to paint the walls with crayons and eat questionable things and have chickenpox or a really nasty cough and who won’t eat his vegetables or refuse to fall asleep because his appa is not there and he misses him-

It always takes Yoongi a moment to wrangle himself free from those spiraling thoughts, to remind himself that the maknae line had promised to stay with him until Namjoon’s service was done. And it wouldn’t be the same, obviously, but it would be something.

Yoongi cranes his head back, blearily gazing up at Namjoon. Namjoon, for his part, has his eyes closed, looking like he might be asleep on his feet.

“Should we head back?” Yoongi asks, and the question at least manages to rouse his mate.

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, nodding vaguely. He takes a step back and his soles crunch on the sand. “Yeah, sure.”

Yoongi hoists Isang up, who just squeals and proceeds to drool all over Yoongi’s sleeve. Yoongi doesn’t even care. In the beginning, he had still thought that style and babies were compatible concepts. Months later, he knows that they are very much not.

The walk back to the dorm takes only five minutes, but it feels longer. Or maybe they really are that slow, Yoongi honestly cannot tell.

They stand in the elevator, huddled close together, while Isang talks to himself, all excited noises and waving hands. It’s impossible that he doesn’t seem tired at all, considering he had also spent most of the night awake.

“You look like hell,” Hoseok greets them when they come shuffling into the kitchen.

“Love you, too,” Namjoon mutters. He’s leaning his temple against the fridge, perhaps hoping that the cool metal will stave off a headache.

Hoseok contemplates the three of them for a bit, watches as Yoongi fights with the zipper of Isang’s jacket. The fact that Isang is squirming like crazy does not help.

“You know what,” Hoseok says. “How about the two of you take a bit of a break and I’ll take care of everyone’s darling?”

“But your mixtape,” Yoongi protests. He knows the members are always eager to help but he still sometimes feels bad, like he is taking more than he should ask for.

“Nonsense,” Hoseok waves him off, plucking Isang straight out of Yoongi’s arms. Isang happily kicks his feet. “I know that, when I have kids one day, you’ll do the same for me.”

At that, Namjoon and Yoongi exchange a look of silent understanding. Because the friendship between the members is precious, of course, but Yoongi rather doubts that he will willingly offer to take care of other people’s children. Not when he already has more than enough on his plate looking after his own.

“Let’s just go crash,” Namjoon says, grabbing Yoongi’s hand and pulling him in the direction of the bedroom. “I can hear my pillow calling my name.”

“Aw, shit,” Yoongi says. “The sleep deprivation is making you hallucinate.”

Instead of a proper comeback, Namjoon only makes an unintelligible noise. That’s okay, though. It’s not like Yoongi is looking to make conversation.

It’s been a long day. Their schedule is getting more crowded again and so it’s interview after photo shoot after radio recording.

Yoongi uses the downtime behind the cameras to make sure that Isangie is not being neglected. It’s not the easiest thing to constantly have to hand his baby over to someone else, but the members and the noonas and the managers are always there to help when Yoongi is needed elsewhere.

Isang, luckily, is not a fussy kid. Whenever things around him get all too loud and hectic, his nose scrunches up and chin quivers, and then everyone does their best to quiet down again.

Their own little Buddhist monk, reminding them all to center themselves, Seokjin had joked once, and it’s true in a way.

It’s impossible to completely shield Isang from all drama that idol life entails, but Yoongi thinks they are doing an okay job.

Life seems to happen all at once, but it’s the snapshots that stand out. Like Isangie and Yeontan trading a biscuit for a dog treat. Or spending lazy Sunday mornings just cuddled up in bed and not doing much of anything.

Or, as today, taking a relaxing bath together.

Yoongi is piling bubbles onto Isang’s head, like a white mohawk, careful to not let any get into his eyes.

“Look,” he snickers. “Like you in Do You .”

Namjoon snorts but doesn’t disagree. Isang blows raspberries, and Yoongi blows them right back, grinning when Isang trills out a laugh.

“Shall I wash your back?” Namjoon asks, washcloth already in hand.

“Please,” Yoongi says and leans forward a little.

The water is warm and soothing, and Namjoon’s hand familiar with finding the tender spots in Yoongi’s shoulders. Yoongi has to make a conscious effort not to nod off, because Isangie is slippery and he’d probably not much enjoy suddenly getting submerged.

Namjoon is kissing Yoongi’s nape now, along the side of his neck, up to his ear, nosing his hair out of the way. It feels wonderful and Yoongi is pretty sure that, if he were to press back, he would feel Namjoon’s cock twitch in interest.

“Not now,” he warns, a reminder for both of them. Now is family time. Maybe they could sneak away for an hour, though, and have one of the others watch over Isang for a little bit.

“Not now,” Namjoon agrees, pressing another lingering kiss to Yoongi’s temple and, as though able to read his thoughts, adds, “But later.”

When Yoongi returns to the dorm, Jimin is sitting on the sofa in the living room, taking selfies.

“Jiminie,” he sighs in exasperation. “Where is my kid?”

Jimin just glances up and smiles. “Taetae has him.”

Yoongi gives him a look. “Why do I even ask you to babysit when you are just going to pawn him off again?”

“But Tae always asks so nicely,” Jimin whines. “I can’t say no to that.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes heavenward. “I bet he dressed the baby and the dog in stupid costumes again.”

“Hey, let him have his fun.”

“My firstborn is not a toy,” Yoongi complains, but Jimin only cocks an eyebrow before pointedly looking down at Yoongi’s flat belly.

“Firstborn, huh?” he teases. “Are you planning on making more anytime soon?”

“Shut up,” Yoongi says, blushing as he swiftly turns toward the hallway.

“Hey, the walls here as not as thick as the rent money might make you think!” Jimin calls after him, but Yoongi only stomps his feet in his haste to get away.

As expected, he finds Taehyung in his room, in the company of both Isang and Yeontan.

“Tae,” Yoongi groans, only for Taehyung to smile widely, proudly lifting up the baby.

“Look, he is a tiny dragon!” he cheers. At his feet, Yeontan sits decked out in what seems to be a knight’s armor made of plush. “Isn’t this adorable?”

“It is not adorable,” Yoongi tells him bluntly, though it is a tiny bit adorable.

“You are such a spoilsport, hyung,” Taehyung pouts. “I took lots and lots of pictures, though.”

“Did you post them anywhere?”

“No, of course not!” Taehyung insists. They had agreed that Isang would not be used for undue social media attention and, so far, everyone had kept to the rule, though it was sometimes difficult to keep from showing off all the pictures and videos they took.

“Good,” Yoongi says as he takes Isang from Taehyung and begins to unbutton the dragon costume. “But you can send them to me later.”

At that, Taehyung grins happily and Yoongi smiles back, indulgent. After all, it wouldn’t do to get on his babysitter’s bad side.

Isang squeals, pats his palm against Yoongi’s cheek. His fingernails have gotten long again; they’d need to cut them soon.

“Hey, my little monster,” Yoongi greets, though Isang is, under most circumstances, an angel. “Wanna take a nap?”

It is, doubtlessly, one of his favorite things about having a baby: the excuse to take naps at random times and call it family bonding. Especially now that he has returned to working at the studio more regularly, he knows to enjoy the additional downtime it gets him.

Once in their room, Yoongi gets comfortable in a bed that smells of his small family, setting Isang down to rest on his chest.

Isang makes a happy little purring sound, his tiny fists bunching in the front of Yoongi’s shirt, and Yoongi presses a kiss to the fuzzy head, humming a little melody. Sometimes, he wishes he were a better singer, but it’s not like the kid is lacking for lullabies in this household. In fact, it seems like every other song Namjoon produces these days is written primarily for Isang. And for Yoongi.

“If we fall asleep now, your appa will be here when we wake up,” Yoongi promises, gently running his hand up and down Isang’s back. “How does that sound?”

Isang agrees with a yawn.

When Yoongi does wake, it’s already turning dark outside. Namjoon is half-kneeling on the mattress, leaning above them, which must be what had roused him.

“Hey,” Namjoon whispers.

“Hey,” Yoongi mutters back, blinking slowly and feeling somewhat groggy. It’s probably time for dinner but he wishes the three of them could just cuddle up for another hour.

Namjoon only kisses him, first on the mouth and then angling his head to the side to fit his teeth over the bite mark that still lingers on the pale skin, almost a year later.

“If you don’t get up now, neither of you will be able to sleep through the night,” Namjoon admonishes, carefully plucking the baby out of Yoongi’s arms.

Isang wakes with a little mewl, letting himself slump in Namjoon’s arms, his head lolling back. He mumbles something that is more gibberish than anything close to an actual word, but Namjoon still beams as though he had just been read an entire encyclopedia.

“That’s right,” Namjoon coos. He’s always going on and on about the importance of speech development in children, citing various articles and studies he has read, but Yoongi tunes most of it out.

Sometimes, he wonders whether Isang would turn out to be just as much of a genius as Namjoon is, and the thought terrifies him a little bit. Other than that, though, the future is a wonderful promise.

For now, he just rolls out of bed, running a hand through his hair to make it lie flat, stuffing his bare feet into his slippers.

“You coming?” Namjoon prompts with a soft voice, waiting for him in the doorway.

“Of course,” Yoongi says and follows him.

In the dining room, the lights are warm, the table is set, and the others are already seated.

Namjoon puts Isang in his high chair. Taehyung whips out a bib and fastens it around Isang’s neck; there are tiny crocodiles on it. Seokjin starts putting the pot and pans on the table, slapping Jungkook’s hand when he tries to sneak an early bite. Isang reaches out, grabs a stray baby carrot and throws it on the floor where Yeontan is waiting with his mouth open. The dog yips happily and the baby blows raspberries, terribly amused.

It’s not the most conventional of living arrangements, Yoongi will admit that much. But, like this, the definition of family finally makes sense.