Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Thirty-five-year-old Taehyung, six months pregnant (at 26 weeks of gestation to be precise), walked through the aisles of a nursery showroom with both hands resting on the gentle swell of his belly.

It was one of the first times in months he didn’t feel like a ghost version of himself. He was not just noted down to hormones and heart rates, pitied by interns and monitored more than heard. His scent glands were still under suppression, back of the hand and wrists still bore the yellowing fingerprints of repeated IVs, but his steps felt his own today. 

Today he wasn’t a case file or a cautionary tale. Today… he was just a… Dada-to-be.

Nursery shopping was the top of the list. Yes, he had been told by an ample number of people to slow down. Yes, his charts said “precious pregnancy”. But he needed this. It was another defiance, but hadn’t he done bigger things defiantly? After all, he did his ‘jail time’ in a sterile environment of fertility clinics for two years before this moment. He should be able to do the little things in life, he assured himself. 

The colours and choices were the happiest Taehyung had been in days and he was just beginning to thank his stars, as his fingers grazed over a wallpaper sample of sleepy bears surrounded by beautiful white daisies, when it started . 

It felt something like a heartburn followed by one of the worst coughing bouts. He clutched the side of the crib on display, the world titling just slightly, and he felt the edge of a peculiar fear crawl up his throat. Reflux. Probably reflux. His OB had warned him that second-trimester omegas on hormone stabilizers often experienced gastrointestinal side effects. But the burn didn’t subside.

Then came the cough even with more wrath and fury.

Taehyung doubled over slightly, bracing himself against the crib edge. “Not again,” he whispered.

Not like last time.

Not again, he whispered out loud. Not again!!!

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Jungkook, thirty-seven, was at a board meeting across the same city, in a corner glass walled office on the 43rd floor. The leather chairs were more expensive than the first used car he ever purchased.

The meeting was originally planned for January every year. But this year, after the delivery about eight days ago - no, after the emergency about eight days ago - they had rescheduled everything. October became the new January. Jungkook had cleared the rest of his calendar, cancelled flights, delegated site visits, paused all fundraising activities. 

Two to two-and-a-half months, Dr Min, the pediatrician, had said last week, upon delivery as Jungkook signed some forms, that’s how long the NICU road might be. If… all went well and nothing else came up. 

The baby had arrived at just 29 weeks and 1 day of gestation, instead of after 37 weeks (which was considered normal delivery). 

His surrogate had walked into the hospital for a routine check up with Jin and never walked back out pregnant. Her cervix had dilated dangerously before anyone could intervene. There had been no warning, leaving them no time to put a cervical stitch - not with the baby pressing hard against the birth canal. Nothing anyone could’ve done, Jin had repeated, kindly but firmly. But, it hadn’t helped much. 

Now this meeting, the last piece of the plan, was just a ghost obligation for Jungkook. It felt like a footnote that's added ‘before everything changed.’

He had his phone on the ‘Do not Disturb’ mode for all but one contact as an exception. So when the phone buzzed in the middle of the meeting his heart didn’t just sink, it plummeted.

He didn't excuse himself, he just stood up, and walked out of the room to answer the call with a hand that had begun to tremble like it had lost all connection to the nervous system. 

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

A strange pressure built behind Taehyung’s sternum, as if someone was pressing it from inside. At first he thought it was a reflux, he was told that it was common in second-trimester omegas with hormonal supplements, but then came the cough. It was unrelenting and violent. Dry to the bones, and it only caused extra pressure in his rib cage and then… 

It was wet. He hunched forward, clutching the edge of the crib even harder. The showroom was spinning for him now and the voices around grew muffled like he was underwater. His other hand instinctively flew over his abdomen in protective cover.

‘Not now. Not again, please not again.’

The panic was just not out of fear, it was visceral and primal. An omega’s body recognizing the threat and helplessness in the same breath. His medical bracelet felt too tight, the light felt too harsh. He tried to focus on his breathing - in out in out in out - but even that was not helping. 

Someone, maybe an employee, suddenly was next to him patting his back asking, “Do you want help? Do you want to sit down, or can we call your alpha?” 

The word made his stomach lurch. He didn’t have an alpha, and didn’t want one.

He managed to nod to the first question, just enough to be interpreted as consent, followed by a quick shuffle of feet as he extended his phone to the staff. Between the plastic case and the phone’s back panel was a doctor’s card, clearly visible under the omega-alert sticker required for third-trimester patients. 

The word omega was thrown around by someone else, and he hated that. Like that was supposed to explain more things than one could see. 

He was helped into a chair, a leather seat one, the one on display. He could feel the bones of his hips settle into the seat as his pulse thudded deafeningly into his ears. 

A moment later someone came with a glass of water and he shook his head. His instincts didn't feel that he should intake anything and also there were too many people around and too much scent, he needed a minute - and some air. 

And as if godsent, there was a flutter, barely even that, more like a brush. The baby kicked. That anchored him and gave him all that he needed. He brought one hand to his belly, fingers slightly splayed and voice hoarse, “We are okay,” he smiled and looked at the people standing (rather hovering) over him, “we are okay.” he repeated, this time stronger. 

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Jungkook had made the decision when he was thirty four. He made a decision to stop waiting for that mythical love-bond that never came. He made a decision to choose fatherhood alone. 

It had taken three years, four clinics and equal number of legal consultations, two surrogate matches, and one long court case after which he’d been finally approved for a high-risk, alpha-legal surrogacy.

But - then… The baby arrived early. Much earlier than expected. 

The phone displayed the contact name. Simply put, it was: Neonatal Ward 5A

“Jeon Jungkook speaking,” he managed to say as he answered. 

There was a pause at the other end. Then the nurse spoke. Her  voice was calm, crisp and urgent in a way the calm people are when they are trained to say things in a way that no one panics. 

“There’s been a slight destauration episode at 12:32 a.m. today. We have stabilised the baby, but the doctor would like to speak with you as soon as possible. Are you able to come in today?”

Jungkook didn't answer right away. Before the nurse could finish, Jungkook was already walking towards the private elevator, the meeting forgotten, and his steps were gaining speed with every second.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he said as the elevator doors closed. He exhaled loudly once and then didn't breathe in again till the ground floor. 

The elevator ride was too long and by the time Jungkook stepped into the car, he was already scrolling through his contacts, hitting the familiar name with muscle memory. It rang twice before a voice came on the other side. 

12:42 p.m.

“Jungkook?” It wasn't the person he called. The owner of the voice was their husband, Namjoon. The calm and deep-voiced Namjoon who always answered the phone when his husband Jin was with a patient.

“Where’s hyung?” Jungkook asked, trying to not sound rude. 

“He is in an emergency consultation.” Namjoon answered calmly. He was about to ask what happened when Jungkook’s voice came from the other side. 

“NICU called, hyung. They said there's been like a desaturation episode or something like that.” Jungkook said, his voice quite flat. 

Namjoon’s voice softened, “Are you on your way?”

“Yes. Can you… just… tell him to check section 5A as soon as he can? I know the pediatrician is already there but…”

“You trust him more.” Namjoon completed the sentence. There was no judgement in Namjoon’s voice. He really understood that Jungkook trusted his cousin and also an obstetrician Jin more than anyone else at this point. 

“I just planned today as the last meeting day for the calendar year. I just had freed up the entire next few months, I just had to do this last thing… And then this happens. I don't even know if I am enough or able to do this.”

“You are more than enough,” Namjoon immediately said, “But if you forget that again… Call me and I will be right here to remind you again.”

Jungkook had thought the worst was over. That they’d crossed the gorge. But he started to realise that the gorge kept shifting and deepening. 

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

At 12:45 p.m. , Taehyung was bundled into the ambulance that had arrived just minutes after the shop staff called. Someone had brought him a blanket and the ambulance care staff gave him a small oxygen staff which he waived off as it was ‘too dramatic’.

He sat in silence as the vehicle started moving and then slowly reached for his phone. His fingers hovered, uncertain, before finally tapping the same contact he had saved as: Jin IVF Hyung. 

12:48 p.m.

He dialled and it connected to Jin this time. 

“Taehyung?” Jin asked as he answered. 

“Hyung, I had a bad coughing bout, like really bad. They are bringing me in.. I am sorry…” Taehyung blabbered. 

“Don't apologise, please. How far out are you?” Jin said sharply, in a way only someone who knew this could be your worst moment. 

Taehyung looked at the ambulance staff and the staff gestured back. “12-13 minutes, hyung,” he replied. “Hyung, i might have panicked and asked for the ambulance. I don't know for sure, I just don't feel right.” 

“You did the right thing,” Jin answered firmly. “I am on my way to the pediatric ward, but they will bring you to the maternity ward. Get in, and I will be there before you get changed into a hospital gown.” 

“Hyung….” Taehyung started to speak but couldn't form words. 

“It is not your fault. It is a war you are fighting.” Jin finished knowing what Taehyung wanted to ask. 

“I don't want to go through that emptiness again,” Taehyung whispered, fighting his tears back. 

“You are not going to,” Jin said, “Not while I am here.” 

“I just thought we were over the scary part…” Taehyung spoke, more like thought aloud. 

“Everyday is a scary part.. But you're not alone. I promised that when we started this journey,” Jin’s tone softened. 

Taehyung let his head fall back. The smell of disinfectant suddenly made him flinch. He moved a bit to get into a more comfortable position and one that would put least pressure on his belly and spine. 

And the much needed cue came… the baby moved inside him too. 

Chapter Text

Taehyung sat in the stiff upholstered chair outside the maternity ward. A thin cotton sheet was covering his legs more out of distraction than need. The chair creaked every time he moved. It wasn't loud but just enough to be heard in the waiting corridor of the hospital. 

He adjusted himself again, slower this time, as if doing it slowly would make his stomach feel better and make the chair behave better. But it did not. 

His lower back ached, lungs felt hollow and the chair, well, it creaked again. And with that came the memory. 

It was a whole different corridor, a different chair and a very different kind of ache.

It was three years ago. The air had smelled the same - disinfectant and syringes mixed with nervousness - and Taehyung had been sitting outside Radiology, waiting for the nurse who never came back. 

At that time, he’d been living with the Alpha. It seemed as stable a bond as it could be, or so he had thought. They had been together nearly for one and a half years and had even talked about the future, talked about moving to the quieter part of the city, maybe even getting a dog. It all seemed linear, and he experienced a kind of peace that was rare for an unbonded omega like him. 

And then the tests came back positive. 

The alpha didn’t raise his voice or run out. What he did was worse, he had paused, nodded and said, “ You are not keeping it, right?”

Just like that. As if he was asking Taehyung to buy the groceries. 

Taehyung would always remember everything, down to the way the silence he felt when he replied, “ I am.”

The next morning the alpha was gone, along with his toothbrush from the sink and clothes from the closet. Taehyung never saw him again. 

That pregnancy had been brutal, not because of the emotional turmoil but because his body had been vulnerable. The progesterone support had not helped. The symptoms came in waves: soreness in his hips, cramping in the night, then some spotting that turned into something else. 

He had gone to the radiology for a viability scan and he remembered exactly that the digital clock on the wall showed 12:30, and the chill gave way to sweat in his palm as he clutched the sonography report for too long. 

The technician had gone silent halfway through the scan. The subtle change in the room’s atmosphere was palpable, like something had been taken away, even before he could share it aloud. He stood in silence, walked out of the scan room and sat right there in the corridor pretending to scroll though his phone as if he had someone to call. 

Something in him knew. And then the doctor confirmed it. 

His parents had shown up twenty minutes later, breathless and trying to be helpful. His appa said, “We’ll take care of this with insurance.” 

His eomma had asked, “Do you want to go home or want to grab something light to eat?” 

No one told him they are sorry. Not until Jin did it, the next day. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Jin had whispered as he adjusted the blanket at Taehyung’s feet. That had undone him more than the scan ever could.

And now three years later , he was back in a hospiral corridor in a chair. He was clutching a bump this time instead of a report, just hoping one thing - that he wouldn’t have to mourn alone again . 

He closed his eyes briefly and whispered to himself, “Stay in there, baby. Just a little longer.”

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Jungkook’s pen hovered for a second too long over the dotted line. The NICU administrator had given him a stack of paperwords on a clipboard - updated consent forms, formula approvals, breastmilk log verification. He had filled out most of it mechanically, his signature praticed and uniform. 

But something about this last line, the one that asked for reauthorisation of emergency override in absence of a mother present, made his chest tighten. 

He sighed and signed. The weight of the pen was the heaviest he ever felt. 

Three years ago, the first form on this journey he filled was much easier. A single check box - Are you pursuing surrogacy as a non-bonded alpha?

Yes - it was as simple as that. 

That one single word had opened a floodgate. A deluge of paperwork, appointments and interviews. Evaluations with language like “alpha emotional readiness” and “non-bonded parental consent” had become a norm like they were talking about buying fruits or veggies. 

As if that was not enough, it was followed with scent neutrality tests, psychological screening, ethical interviews - all especially tailored (felt more like targeted) towards alphas without bonded partners. 

He came from money, lots of it. So that definitely helped in making the process faster. But one thing money couldn't do was - make it feel less humiliating or intrusive. 

He’d sat in a white clinic room across from a counselor who tilted her head and asked gently, “Why not wait until you find a partner?”

He had stared at her for a long second. “Because if I can build an empire alone, I can raise a child alone.”

All he got was a smile. A very pleasant, polished, but judgemental smile. If Jungkook was not that guarded he would have seen that there was something pitying in the smile too. He remembered coming home that night, the intake forms packet still in his bag. He had dropped it on the dining table beside the unopened mail and his laptop. 

He hadn’t told his parents yet. Not because he was scared of their anger or objection. He didn't even reach that point. He just.. had not known how. Any combinations of words seemed insufficient. 

He remembered ordering take out that day, it was chicken rice and miso soup, and while he waited for the order to come in, he had opened the packet. Flipping through the pages of policies, procedures and consent forms he had paused on a page that asked him to list his emergency contacts. He left it blank for the moment. 

He signed the last page before the food arrived. He felt it was easier to control paperwork than wait on fate. 

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

And now, standing in the hallway, outside the NICU, Jungkook pressed the clipboard back into nurse’s hand. His baby boy was breathing again. He could see the little bundle. The emergency had passed, but the tension in his shoulders hadn’t. 

The nurse gave him a soft smile, “We will keep you updated, Mr. Jeon.”

He nodded and his mind took him back to the page he had just signed. Even loving your own child came with a legal trail when you were doing it alone.

As he stood there, with his hands shoved into suit pockets, he thought of how many times he imagined this part - the fatherhood. The little oohhs and coos. The little fists… but not once he had pictured clipboards and pipes and monitor beeps and forms and ward rosters. 

He looked through the NICU window, eyes settling on the transparent cradle that held his baby for around seven days now. So small, so impossibly still, and known as Baby Jeon only because the premature delivery of the surrogate mother was not taken into account and then the urgency that followed left little time to name the child. 

Standing there, rythming his heart beats to the ones that the monitors attached to Baby Jeon showed, he promised himself yet again that he would show up, over and over and over. No matter what the previous day's NICU report said. No matter what the forms said. Even if he had to sign a thousand more he would. 

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Taehyung leaned back against the cold wall and stared blankly ahead as he sat outside the maternity ward. His gaze landed on a laminated noticeboard mounted across form him - Today’s Nurse Duty Roster , it read, written in black thick marker, sectioned over wards and shifts. There were names he did recognise and there were names he didnt. Designations were marked against the initials all in different colours. 

It reminded him too much of something else. Another page he had once in his hand, each colour coded differently, each relating to a particular donor code.

It was a list of nameless strangers, organised by categories like age, smoking habits, degrees etc etc etc. 

It had every detail about a person except their name - which of course was the law. He hadn’t thought about the donor profiles in months, He hadn’t wanted to. But now alone and unsure, he remembered scrolling through the spreadsheet one winter morning two years ago, back when everything felt like maths and consequence. When every step forward came with paperwork, hormone patches and conversations about viability. 

It was his decision to do this alone. He had made it clear from the beginning that he didn't want any alpha, especially not for this, not in the paperwork, not in the room, not in his child’s future.

But the irony of the process was not lost on him. In order to carry the baby, he’d had to go off suppression meds. He had to let his body return to the state of receptiveness. There were consultations involved about his heat cycle, medical instruction about hormonal spikes and above all the cautionary phrase used so often that it began to rot something inside him:  if you change your mind about wanting an alpha co-parent, now is the time.

He hadn’t changed his mind, but there were days the decision definitely felt heavier than others. Days when his body ached from injections, when he was told to rest without having anyone to rest against, when the scent neutral rooms started to feel like something was absent. 

And then came the donor list. 

Each donor came with a profile number. No faces, no names, just charts and preferences and traits in the profiling docket. Blood type, academic scores, medical history, height, weight, eye colour and the list went on. 

He remembered staring at Proifile #13.

“What’s your favorite childhood memory?” the form had asked.

“My father once fell into the pool while trying to teach me to swim. We both laughed until our stomachs hurt. That’s still the first time I remember feeling completely safe.”

Taehyung had chosen that one. Not because of genes or IQ scores or bloodline prestige. But because something about that answer felt... human.

He had not told anyone about that reason. Not even Jin, his gyneac. Also, no one asked him why this one. 

There had been something sacred about that decision, something private as if speaking out loud about it would break the delicate and imagined sweetness of it all. 

And now, here he was. His eyes tracing a different list of names on a different board, wondering all the time of the donor was still out there in the hospital, still around - oblivious to the tiny heart beat they’d helped ignite. 

But that was the precise reason for his panic too. He came very close to asking Jin few times, if the donors still come back, if they were allowed to. He had not dared to say it aloud, but the fear gnawed ar him. What would he do if the Alpha walked past him one day in the hallway? If the donor could somehow smell the baby - their pup? Would they say something? Would they come to know?

It was irrational, maybe. The donations had been anonymous and carefully screened, scent-blocked. But the body has its own memories and Taehyung was tired of being told what was clinical and what was just in his head.

He had built walls, guards of you may, to do this alone. But scents.. Scents didn’t respect boundaries. Biology didn’t honour NDAs.

It was high time now. He needed to ask JIn about it to help his jitters. Taehyung let out a long breath through his nose, one hand resting protectively over his belly. “I picked you, pup” he murmured. “And I’d pick you again.”

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Jungkook stood in the dim NICU’s dim corner, watching his baby’s fingers twitch against the blanket inside the incubator. He was so small, so impossibly formed, the kind of small that made him question how something so delicate could still carry a heart strong enough to keep beating. 

He hadn’t expected the fingers to look like that, not quite his, but still somehow not absolutely unfamiliar as well. 

The thought made him close his eyes, just for a second, and the memory came uninvited.

There had been an entire week dedicated just to egg donor profiles. His agency sent over a secure login - twelve candidates who matched his alpha genome structure. It had felt like online shopping and the thought disgusted Jungkook, he hated every part of it honestly. But he scrolled anyway. 

None of the donors were omegas. That, he had been told, was the standard practise. Omegas gestate, they don’t donate.

Clinics avoided omega egg donations, especially for single alpha applicants as it was too complicated. There were too many hormonal overlaps, the scent markers blocking process was extremely lengthy and of course, there were legal risks of postnatal imprinting. It made sense to Jungkook but it didnt make it easier. 

His donor options had been all betas - stable hormonal baselines, minimal scent trails, low chance of post fertilisation conflict, biologically safe and emotionally antiseptic, so to speak. 

He had spent years denying his instincts to bond, to scent, to mark… because his life hadn’t made room for it. There had been partners, casual or otherwise, but none who felt right . There was never a heat-born connection and no true urge to knot. And certainly never a nest. 

So when he reviewed the profiles, he didnt look at the genetics. He didn’t care about the bone density, athletic achievement or academic rank. 

He did not know what he was excactly looking for till he paused on #49.

It was a (female) beta profile who listed “kindness” as her “defining trait for anyone.” She loved dogs and once wanted to be a marine biologist. There was a quietness in her form and answers that felt like something he could trust. 

He started the scent-neutral compatibility score, even though he wouldn't be allowed near her. She also wouldn't carry the child, wouldn't interact, wouldn't leave a trace of herself behind. 

But biology didn't forget what it was made from. Even now, with all the scent-blockers in place, sometimes when the baby curled it’s fingers just like that, extremely soft and not jerky, Jungkook thought: 

You’ve never been held by the one, but it was someone equally kind who created you.

And somehow, he still felt responsible for ensuring that the kindness didn't end there. 

He reached for the small bottle of pre-approved scent balm in his coat pocket - a blend crafted by a hormone specialist, meant to be neutral enough for NICU tolerance, but still comforting to the pup’s receptors. He dabbed it onto the lining of his wrist and placed his hand gently inside the isolette’s circle port. 

“Hey” he whispered, “You’ve got some grit little man. You got the best half of me somehow, thank god. And an equally good half of someone we will never meet.”

The baby did not stir, but Jungkook also didn't need it to. His scent was there, steady and present. 

And for now, it was enough. 

Jungkook suddenly remembered t he surrogacy clause like it was yesterday. They were in Jin's clinic with his lawyer in the room, the cold air from the vents not helping in calming the nerves at all. 

“The surrogate will be an unbonded omega,” Jin had said across the table. “Vetted, regulated, legally bound to postpartum detachment. No nesting, no naming, no scent transfer.”

Jungkook had nodded, but some part of him had winced.

“She’ll receive hormone therapy to suppress secondary scenting,” Jin had added, eyes flicking over the contract. “You’ll get weekly updates, and she’s agreed to pump for the first two months—exclusively by courier.”

He knew it was the better-case scenario if not the best. It was definitely better than a bonded omega or safer than a beta with poor hormone therapy repsonse. 

But… it was still a stranger carrying his child. And he had signed the agreement anyway. 

The sound of a clipboard and flipping pages caught his attention.  A few feet away, a figure had arrived in his usual quiet manner—sharp eyes, a clipped stride, and the scent of sterile liquid layered with something unreadable beneath.

“Jeon-ssi,” the man greeted without raising his voice.

“Dr Min,” Jungkook replied, straightening slightly.

Yoongi looked over the monitor display without breaking stride. “Oxygen saturation’s back in range. He responded well to the scent balm. Keep using it.”

Yoongi gave a slight hum of approval and scribbled something on his chart. “And your vitals?”

“I’m not the one in the incubator.” Jungkook snapped back.

“You are, in a way.” Yoongi finally looked at him. “You’ve been here every night. Alphas don’t outrun burnout by staying quiet.”

“I can rest later,” Jungkook said. “The pup needs me scent-present right now.”

Yoongi’s expression didn’t change, but his voice softened. “They need you whole. Keep showing up… everyday… and don’t disappear doing it.”

Then just like that, he moved on. Just like any and all good doctors who speak less but carry everything they do. Jungkook watched the doctor go and then turned back to the isolette. The baby’s hand flinched slightly, curling into a fist, a tiny but perfect fist. 

And Jungkook just whispered, “We are okay. You and me… we are going to be okay.”

But Dr Min’s suggestions did not go in vain. Jungkook’s first instinct when told to do anything was to dismiss it. But he knew what Dr Min said was imperative to his and the baby’s health. After  spending some time with the pup he said, “Bye, pup. Appa will leave for a minute and eat something and come. You behave in the meantime, okay?”

With that he removed the hospital gown and cap which he had to wear while in NICU and walked out towards the cafeteria. 

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Taehyung was now sitting outside the radiology department for his sonography. And it happened here again quietly. He was seated just at the turn of the maternity bay where the nurses used to come to sit or rest a bit. 

Just across the corridor, a nurse wheeled the tray of medications past him, the gentle click of glass vials and familiar snap of medical gloves caught his attention. 

It reminded him of Jimin. He was the most senior one around, Nurse Jimin, back then, at the IVF ward - the resident chaos muppet, whi wore peach scrubs and a perennially smug grin. He was the only one who would crack a joke while prepping a hormone injection without getting stabbed in return. 

During his journey of two years at the IVF centre, Taehyung had almost quit… So many times. 

The injections made him swell at places no one talked about. The scent supressants dulled his instincts so badly, he once cried at the hospital elevator because the air freshener remind him of smell of rain. 

Every two-week cycle had ended in a sigh and a bigger medical bill. But Jimin… Jimin was always there, exploding with positivity and warmth. He was never judgemental of his mood swings, but yes Jimin also didn't let go of the chance to make that a punchline, “Your follicles are being drama queens again?” and follow more difficult days with, “Want me to sneak you cafeteria ice cream after this?”

It was Jimin who held his hand when the first transfer failed. And it was Jimin who printed the first ultrasound after his second (current) cycle without saying a word, sliding the paper towards Taehyung like it was contraband. 

There were no screams, no flowers, no balloons. There was just a heartbeat on a screen and a clipboard updated. 

Taehyung had held that printout as if it was made of water, even breathing too hard might make it rain. He remembered sitting there stunned, wondering if joy always felt so quiet to all. 

That day he learned… he learned that silence does shrink happiness. 

And now, seated on a hospital chair again five months from then, he caught another nurse cooing at a monitor nearby - some other parent’s moment of magic. 

“We celebrate in whispers, pup, but we celebrate. Dada will always celebrate you loudest.” Taehyung murmured touching his belly, grounding himself in the ache and the memory. 

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Jungkook was looking and going around in circles looking for a way to reach the cafeteria. He knew he saw this ward of radiology and crossed it twice already. Seeing those carrying their child sitting there, on their nerves literally, he felt bad. He felt worse seeing someone who was sitting there alone, with no one to comfort them or hold their hand. He could see only the back but it was enough to see the slouched and down body language. 

He said a silent prayer in his heart that hopefully they would have someone back home who could not make it here on this day. He moved ahead, and crossed the nursery. 

And this time it happened again. He heard again, barely audible voice of another parent in the corridor. 

“He looks just like his dada.” 

Jungkook didn’t turn to look at them. He could not. That voice, so casual, made his chest cave in, like someone carved out a piece of it with a spoon. 

The memory surfaced unhinged. 

It was winter and they were at one of those ‘ritual’ family dinners at Jeon estate, with linen napkins, a twelve seater table et all. 

His mother served them steamed halibut and his father, seated at the head of the table, cut it with mathematical preciseness. 

“You already have frozen embryos, right?” his mother breached the topic gently, “so… maybe… wait a year. It doesn’t need to be now?”

“I have already waited enough. I am thirty six if you dont realise.” Jungkook replied calmly but firmly. 

His father didn't look up from the halibut he was working on as he said, “And this … what do you call it, will carry the Jeon markers?” 

It was not a genuine question which he wanted an answer of. It was an evaluation. 

“It will be called a child. Just like any other child. And yes, it will carry my name, if that’s what you mean.” Jungkook said, keeping his anger in check. 

“And you’ll raise them without a bond? Without a nestmate? Without another omega to balance them during secondary scenting?” His mother dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Don’t let impatience cost you a legacy, darling.”

Jungkook set his fork down, “This isn’t impatience,” he said. “This is the first time I’m choosing something that isn’t about you guys or the family name . ”

What followed was a long silence and finally his mother tried to smile and ease the tension, “You’ve always been difficult to stop.” 

His father on the other hand, didn’t say anything. He just aligned his fork beside the place, indicating that he was done eating (and maybe done with this conversation too). 

That night, Jungkook packed a hospital bag alone with necessary items for the surrogate’s stay at the clinic for the implantation procedure. He was grateful, and he could always show it in little gestures.

Jungkook sat eating his protein sandwich mindlessly at a small table in the cafeteria. He didn't have a nest. The child’s birth certificate did not have another name etched. But the little boy had his heartbeat and Jungkook could not ask for more. 

Chapter Text

Taehyung was waiting in the maternity ward when he barely registered the knock on the door until it opened with a familiar creak. Namjoon stepped inside, face composed but eyes tense. He didn’t speak right away, just stood there with his tablet and some papers folded behind his back like it was supposed to help him make sense of what he was about to tell Taehyung. 

“Taehyung,” Namjoon said as gently as he could, “It’s time.” 

The words landed exactly how Namjoon didn't intend them to. 

“What do you mean it’s time?” Taehyung’s voice cracked before he could control it, “ I… I just.. just felt the baby kick ten minutes ago. I am just barely 26 weeks, hyung… how can it be time? ”

Namjoon walked closer, crouching slightly until they were at eye level. “We’ve given all the time we could. You have held on as long as you could. Then scans show a continuous drop in amniotic fluid and your BP hasn’t stabilised despite two rounds of medication. The baby’s not safe in there anymore, and neither are you with it there.”

Taehyung’s fingers instinctively curved over his stomach, as if he could cradle the baby from outside and keep them safe for a longer time. He nodded slightly, but his eyes darted towards the door when it opened again. 

It was Jin who entered this time, already in partial scrubs, his tone brisk, but not unkind. “The OR is being prepared, Tae. You will be taken there in fifteen minutes. I just wanted to confirm if you’ve eaten anything in the last 45 mins or so?”

Taehyung, too numb to process or ask any questions, nodded in the negative. 

Jin nodded, more to himself, “Steroids are in, the team is ready and I will be with you throughout.”

Taehyung tried to speak but no words came out, instead his eyes shed tears from the corners over the temple, where he was lying down. Jin took his wrist and gave a reassuring squeeze. “It’s not your fault. And you’re not alone. These are two things I promise you.”

As the nurses moved around him, prepping his arms for IVs and setting up a stretcher, Taehyung felt the moment hollow out into something surreal. He was being lifted and moved. The world titled again and this time it was not panic, it was surrender. 

Surrender to the bigger energy out there, surrender to hope that someone this small would fight their way into this world before the darkness could take them away. 

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

The fluorescent hallway lights above the maternity ward ER felt far too bright for early evening. Taehyung blinked repeatedly at them as his gurney rolled past the signs he couldn't read and into a corridor he was not expecting to see for a few months.

He had just come in for an observation, more like a preventive measure. It was all a part of “just to be sure” as Jin had said. But now… the monitors told a different story. 

His blood pressure was indeed spiking in waves, and the fetal heart rate was growing erratic over the speaker. The amniotic fluid index was dangerously low. 

The baby… well, his baby… was small, even for the 26 weeks and four days that Jin had mentioned. 

IUGR they said. Intra uterine growth restriction. Occurred because of placental insufficiency. 

All these were big words thrown around by a calm set of people in the operation theatre. He remembered hearing them and was sure he would not be forgetting these voices for a long long time. 

They tried steroid shots first. Then came magnesium. “We are just taking you into the maternity ward so that it is easier to shift into surgery if need be. Let’s hope these meds can give us some more time. Each day the kid is inside is precious .” Jin had said. 

He tried to calm himself down as if that was supposed to prolong whatever was coming and maybe it was the meds, but he soon drifted to sleep. By midnight, contractions began. 

He didn’t notice it at first. It was just a hardening across his lower belly, not pain yet, like his body was slowly curling itself. The cough from earlier in the day had returned and his breathing came in sharp little exhales that smelled faintly metallic in his mouth and suddenly there were more than seven to eight people hovering around him. 

Suddenly a voice came “The pup won’t tolerate this labour,” and it was not the pediatrician Jin had gotten him to meet once, it was Dr Min Yoongi the resident NICU doctor. 

The C-section was called at 3:43 a.m.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

They did not let him walk to the OR. By then his legs were already too weak. Someone from the staff handed him a calming scent blend to dab near his collarbone. It was neutral, designed to prevent his natural omega scent spiking out of panic. It did not do too much, but it helped a little and little was good. 

He remembered the moment his spinal injection took hold, there was an immediate cold spreading through his body that made his limbs feel like they weren't his anymore. One nurse squeezed his hand and Jin spoke softly  from just beyond the barrier placed over his waist. He walked Taehyung through every step while another voice - familiar but he couldn't place it - read out numbers in reverse order. 

Suddenly his chest felt empty, as if some organ had been removed from his body and suddenly there was too much place for his lungs to recede. And it was. It was the most important thing that his body carried. It was his baby. 

But… there was no cry. The sound that everyone wants to hear the moment a baby is out of the womb wasn’t there. There was nothing, just a gurgle. And the sound of something wet being handled. The sound of each movement around him was fast and clinical and then there was a slap of plastic clad on the baby's back, Taehyung assumed. 

Taehyung blinked, desperate to tilt his head, but the curtain blocked him. Someone said, “Pup's breathing.” Another voice added, “Let’s send it up to NICU now.”

That’s it. That was all he got. He did not get to see his baby, he did get to not touch his baby, his hands held the rails of the table tight.

“I will be stitching you back up,” Jin tilted his head to talk to Taehyung who’s attention was on his baby lying on the mobile resus station.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” Taehyung asked when he looked at Jin.

“I honestly didn't see, handing it to the NICU staff was my only priority,” Jin said from beyond the curtain that separated them. 

They closed him up quickly. He didn’t speak for the next hour.

The hormonal crash was near-instant. His body still swollen, still scent-raw and aching cried out for the pup. The medical team gave him stabilizers before he could spiral.

By the time he was wheeled into recovery, the sky had gotten some morning light. A nurse adjusted his IV, another fluffed the pillow behind his neck. He stared at the ceiling, blinking slowly. He felt everything... and nothing.

Only one thought pulsed through the brain fog, “Pup was too small. I should’ve held it in longer.”

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Jungkook had only stepped out for fifteen minutes. He remembered because he had checked the wall clock twice - once on his way out and once on his way in, as he tossed a half drunk coffee into the corridor bin. He hadn’t left the NICU wing, he had stepped out into the sterile bay to sanitize himself once and approve the new medication protocol the nurse had shared. 

There was also a small office call he needed to wrap up, one of those where he no longer pretended that they mattered to him more than the needed amount. His mind was still half-wrapped in numbers and timelines, but it dissolved the moment he stepped into the familiar corridor of sterile smell, surgical steel, warm equipment lined bay followed by the rhythmic sounds of monitor beeps, air pumps and nurses chattering.

‘Baby Jeon,’ he saw as he entered. It was out there daily on a white board with some details in front of it - weight, height, diaper weight (the first couple of days this made him chuckle and sad at the same time). Today the word ‘stable’ made him heave a sigh of relief. There were no red alerts, no changes on the monitor. His pup curled up like a mini burrito, but breathing for each second of his life. 

But also noticed something else, the space beside his son’s incubator and name on the board had changed. It wasn’t empty anymore. 

There was another isolette, another set of wires and softly glowing monitors. That space had been empty since day one, but now it hummed with another tiny life fighting for their survival. The baby was smaller than his own pup. A girl, he had guessed from the soft pink tag clipped at the edge of isolette. She looked impossibly red and feather thin and it was as if light could pass through her. 

There were lines and wires and a cpap mask too large for her face. And beside her, in a wheelchair that looked too big for his frame, sat a pale exhausted and still with IVs running through his hand - an omega. 

Jungkook noticed the limpness in omega’s posture first - shoulders slightly hunched, neck slanted at a strange angle like it hurt him to keep it straight. He was wearing the maternity gown and another NICU sterilised gown over that, and he had a folded hospital blanket over his lap. He was clutching one corner of it to his chest like everything might fall apart if he let it go.

There was something quietly haunting about his stillness. But it was something Jungkook recognised. 

And though the omega’s scent was muted under hospital-grade suppressants, Jungkook could catch traces of saline, post-op sterilizers, and something like crushed marigold.

Their eyes met. Just for a moment but long enough to register mutual exhaustion, confusion and above all fear. Neither of them smiled, they didn't need to. Something in Jungkook, something ancient and primitive, simply acknowledged and recognised what was in front of him. Not the main, but the pain. The plain shock that follows such untimely arrival of your baby. The pain of the scentless and silent ache of meeting your child in a glass box. 

Jungkook offered a slow, almost imperceptible nod, the kind given between soldiers at war. 

The omega’s voice, when it came, was soft and cracked. “Yours was born first?”

Jungkook glanced reflexively toward the whiteboard that displayed birth times and weight logs. “Eight days ago,” he said. Then, after a beat, as if it mattered the most, he added, “At 29 weeks and a day.”

The omega nodded faintly but also almost in disbelief. His own eyes were locked on the bundle of wires and the tubing running across the little girl. His hands hovered over the opening in the incubator but didn't go in. 

His fingers trembled, curled inward and then slowly uncurled again. It was as if he was having a wrestling match with his own thoughts. His palm hung there, suspended, caught between instincts and fear.

Scent-marking is what his body wanted. Not the primal or the territorial kinds, but the biological urge to imprint comfort, familiarity and safety. It was built in the omega at the cellular level. His skin buzzed with it. 

But between the suppressants, antiseptic whiff, latex gloves, and alcohol wipes, his scent had dulled. 

“What if I overwhelm the baby? What if even this proximity is too much? What if I pass on some infections?”  

He had sanitised twice before coming up from the room he was recovering in. He had changed his hospital gown, taken his dose of suppressants, just in case. But the closer he was, the louder the ache became and the more his body begged him to press his wrist against the edge of the porthole of the isolette. Just to give the pup comfort and just to be known. 

But, he didn't move. What if… What if the pup didn't respond? What if because of prematurity they weren't bonded enough? What if… his presence made things worse?

He bit the inside of his cheek and swallowed on a whimper. And just sat there and watched…

Silence between the two parents wasn’t empty but it felt like a fragile truce. They didn’t speak again but didn't move away to avoid looking at each other too. Both sat there, at the chairs next to their own pup’s isolettes, not quite together but not entirely apart, watching their babies breathe through machines. 

A machine beeped out of rhythm, adjusted, corrected and the world inside Room 5A was now made of numbers, airflow, and waiting.

A nurse, not on duty with their pups, passed behind them and smiled vaguely. “Room 5A’s got its boys now,” she said cheerily.

Neither laughed. But neither corrected her either that it wasn't two boys, it was in fact a boy and a girl.

Jungkook didn’t know why that line caught in his throat. Maybe because it sounded like something that was his without being asked. It was not just a number, but also a pairing. As if there was a belonging he hadn’t earned but was offered anyway.

He didn’t know this omega. Did not even know his name, except his family name which displayed on board as baby Kim. But the ache beneath his sternum felt magically easier to bear beside someone who looked like he had made out of the same storm as Jungkook did. 

This afternoon he stayed just a little longer than he planned to. Just enough to feel the warmth of proximity of two strangers, two babies, one room. And not one word was needed.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

The doctor’s rounds began about 7:30 a.m., though neither Jungkook nor Taehyung noticed the clock. 

It was the scent that gave it away - coffee, a faint whiff of lavender and the unique sound of sterile gloves being snapped on. There was a soft souffle in the sterilisation bay and the man who walked in didn't wear the standard scrubs everyone else had around. His were different. 

“Doctor Min,” the nurse said, half-respectful, half-exhausted. “Third shift.”

He nodded at her but didn’t stop walking. His steps were soundless rubber against the hospital flooring. He came to the glass where Taehyung’s daughter lay curled like a seashell under too many wires. Her CPAP mask fogged and cleared in sync with her struggling lungs.

Without any preamble, he began: “Twenty-six plus four. Placental insufficiency. Moderate IUGR.”

Taehyung flinched. “That’s what they said. Before the... before the section.”

Dr Min Yoongi nodded, flipping through the monitor data. “She’s on a room air blend. CPAP’s level is set to five. Blood levels show improvement. Fluid balance and holding steady.” He checked the IV line and adjusted the angle of the phototherapy lamp. The nurse next to him didn’t need to be told. She took down every word and plotted it on paper against the relevant rows and columns. It was like a fabulously well oiled machine running to show off its might. 

Another nurse stepped in just then, scribbling vitals onto a clipboard. "We’ll need to rotate the IV site in about four hours," she murmured. "That vein’s looking a little strained."

Yoongi responded with a nod, then glanced at the pulse-ox monitor. “Let me know if the perfusion index dips.”

It was only after he took down everything he needed to, did he turn to look at Taehyung. “She’s just small, yes, but not fragile. I will not beat around the bush. It will be a stormy ride. And I would suggest you view it as a stay of two months minimum, two and a half if you ask me honestly.”

It took Taehyung a second to register the words and a few seconds more to blink. He shook his head as if he understood and swallowed harder. His fingers curled around the blanket tighter as he attempted to sit up from the rocking chair. Yoongi tapped on his shoulders and asked him not to, “It would strain your stitches. Minimum movement please.”

Taehyung bowed a bit in his seated position thanking the sensitivity shown and then looked the pediatrician in the eye, “She will fight, right?”

Yoongi’s voice softened, but not too much, “She already is.”

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

From the other side Jungkook watched the exchange with quiet sharp eyes in attention. Although it had been eight days since his boy was in care of Dr. Min Yoongi, he didn’t have any particular problem with the doctor, but he also didn’t trust him blindly. For Jungkook, Jin was still the sounding board and after every visit, he would meet or call up Jin to just let him know what the doctor said. 

Jungkook waited till Yoongi stepped to his son’s isolette before speaking “CPAP still holding? He was on borderline oxygen last night.”

Yoongi didn't look at Jungkook, “Twenty-nine and one, mild respiratory distress at birth. But yes… holding well. Saturation’s up. We increased lipids in the IV. He’s gained 14 grams.”

Another nurse at Jungkook’s side made a quick adjustment to the feeding line. “Drip rate is good, but we’ll need to monitor for fat emulsion intolerance,” she said.

“Run a repeat abdominal girth check every four hours. Note any distension,” Yoongi instructed. “We’ll catch NEC early if it’s brewing.”

Taehyung exhaled, visibly relieved. It caught Jungkook off-guard. The omega hadn’t said anything, but he’d been listening. Or maybe even feeling for the pup, he thought. 

“Can we maintain weight gain without triggering NEC?” Jungkook asked, nodding toward the nutritional log.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow and inhaled before he could speak. “That depends. Are you planning to whisper threats at his IV line?”

That earned the faintest twitch of a smile from Jungkook. 

‘Alphas…’ Yoongi whispered aloud in his head and gave a sharp mental smirk.

He stepped back and was ready to leave for now when he turned to look between both. “You are both single parents, right?”

Taehyung nodded slowly and Jungkook did too, after a hesitation. 

This earned a soft and emotional sigh from Yoongi and then he said something which was on no one’s agenda for today, “Then here’s your priority - talk to them. Your babies. Don’t just stare at the numbers. Talk to them. Touch when allowed. Scent them if you can. They already know your voices, but if you’re not sure what to say, start with your grocery list. Trust me. It’s less embarrassing than baby talk.”

Taehyung let out a breath that might’ve been a chuckle.

Jungkook nodded again, quieter now. “Right.”

Behind them, a nurse moved between the isolettes, checking lines, resetting alarms, and tucking blankets closer to the soft, tiny limbs that fought so quietly. 

Yoongi paused beside her and dictated “Keep an eye on Baby Jeon’s baseline cortisol levels. Let me know when he’s ready for skin-to-skin.”

The nurse looked up. “And the alpha? Do we brief him or prepare him?”

Yoongi glanced over his shoulder toward Jungkook and nodded once. “Don’t worry. He’ll be ready when the time comes.”

Then he made a final note on his tablet and walked out without ceremony. But Taehyung caught the flash of the screen as he passed:

"Both neonates: responsive to sound and scent. Parental presence improves baseline vitals."

Room 5A didn’t feel like a ward anymore, it felt more like a layover, a stay no one planned, but needed. 

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

It was evening now. Taehyung was at ease after the doctor’s visit. He immediately trusted the pediatrician and what he liked was how calm and collected he was in going about his business, but still not stone cold. 

Also.. He had not meant to stare. That is why all he stared was some fifty times. He just wanted to lie down for a bit so he moved to the small waiting/ feeding area in the NICU just beyond the sanitation bay. He knew if he crosses that he will need to sanitise himself all over again before coming closer to the baby, but his epidural from the surgery was really starting to hurt. Thus he decided to take that rest with the doctor's words ringing in his ears, ‘ Two to two and a half months. It’s a long ride.’ 

He sure didn't mean to stare, but when the quiet alpha returned with a coffee in hand - not vending machine coffee but real coffee - Taehyung’s eyes couldn't help but follow. The alpha moved like he was born for conference rooms not NICU corridors and meant to look at spreadsheets and not blinking monitors. 

His hair was parted very neatly and looked as if they were styled every morning and given an instruction to stay in its place. There was not a single strand of hair out of its place, to the extent Taehyung wondered if the alpha had stopped by the salon next to the coffee shop. 

The omega in Taehyung was raised at the sheer order of it. The alpha smelled clean, with just a trace of scent through antiseptic whiffs. Cedarwood and Petrichor - Taehyung thought, definitely expensive and came from money was his second thought. 

Business Alpha, Clinical, Keeps his omega at arms length and talks very point to point, Taehyung’s omega read the review, involuntarily at this point. 

In the same instinctive manner he glanced down at himself, hospital gown, open on the side, water retention all over the body. He still had that hospital blanket tucked over his knees, still bleeding, pads feeling thick underneath and the spinal block throbbing and sending pain all through his lower body and back. There was no signature scent of comfort around him. No partner’s jacket draped across his shoulders. No carefully packed bag with matching outfits for him and baby. Not even a congratulatory card. There were just forms and pain meds in the bag beside him. 

He watched the alpha rest his palm briefly on the glass pane separating them and the NICU, eyes locked on the monitor of Baby Jeon. Then suddenly the monitor screen shuffled as the stats changed, Taehyung turned his eyes away. 

Does he have someone waiting at home? The thought pierced too fast, too sharp. A mate? A bonded omega? A full nest with a warm light left on for nights like these?

And suddenly his stomach knotted, not from the incision or the pain under the gauze. But from something heavier and seated much deeper. What was he feeling? Shame , for thinking about the alpha at a time like this. Or was it jealousy for an alpha who definitely had someone waiting, but he definitely would not be going the jealousy route as he didn’t want to name it. 

No one had come with him to the hospital. The store clerks had called the ambulance, and nurses had helped him sign the consent forms. He hadn’t even known who to list as an emergency contact. So he went with Jin. But even that had felt like cheating the word "family."

He must think I’m pathetic, Taehyung thought. Just another reckless omega who didn’t plan well enough.

He felt himself sinking, even as his body sat upright. The kind of sinking that came not from gravity but from shame clotted into his bones. His baby lay silent in the plastic crib, chest rising against the rhythm of the CPAP. 

“I should’ve done more,” Taehyung whispered. “She needed longer. I ran out of time.”

The scent blockers administered post-op made his body feel off-kilter, like his own smell was missing from the air around him. Omegas were supposed to scent their babies after birth. Wrap them in something that said, you’re mine, you’re safe . But Taehyung’s scent was buried under antiseptic soap and hormone stabilizers.

The alpha moved in his place again, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and their eyes met briefly. Taehyung looked away first. 

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Jungkook wasn’t ready. It started with the scent. 

It was not soap, not even perfume. It was just a faint layer of omega, vanilla maybe, with a trace of water dripping over a heated metal. It slipped through even the sterile barriers of NICU, even through the post-op suppressants and hospital disinfectants. 

And like we established earlier, Jungkook wasn’t ready. 

His alpha instincts stirred uninvited and his jaw tightened first. Then came the warmth across his lower back and the strange spike of emotions under his ribs. Protect , it said. Respond, Offer and Anchor.

He inhaled once and shut down his mind violently. It had been ages since these instincts had not reared their head without Jungkook letting them. This was new and dangerous and nearly fatal, considering where they were standing at that point in time. He suppressed everything rearing inside him. Instead he turned his focus on the whirr of the machines and the checklists in his head. IV drip, CPAP, Humidity, Diaper weight. 

But… the scent stayed. It came from the man, the omega, resting against the wall and face contorted with pain with each breath. It was the same omega who had not spoken a single thing since asking about the baby’s birthdate. 

Jungkook glanced sideways. He caught the side profile, exhausted, pale but beautiful in that post trauma dystopian way that always made Jungkook look again and again. Fragile , his brain whispered, he looked like he’d shatter if you touched him.

Jungkook’s gaze dropped to omega’s hands. They were curled tight, knuckles pale, one twitching slightly. Jungkook tried to not think but the presence of another alpha was conspicuous by its absence. There was no one who came to comfort him the whole day. There was no second scent that lingered on omega’s skin. There was no trace of bond, no memory of an alpha’s protective layer. All that there was the raw, independent scent of someone holding it together with a thread and sheer will.

Suddenly Baby Jeon let out a hiccup and all monitors blinked and whirred simultaneously breaking the daze Jungkook was in. ‘ Focus,’ he muttered, ‘ focus on your own.’

But the silence between them was not empty. It spiked something, like something shared, something neither of them had a name for most probably. 

Jungkook felt a strange urge of irrational possessiveness. No, it was not towards the omega, well not purely. It was not even towards the baby. It was towards just... The moment. The shared silence, breaths and the understanding. 

It was like someone else understood it exactly. 

And he hated the thought of it. Because he didn't want to share anything, it was absolutely against his nature, especially not with someone whose name he didn't even know. 

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

A nurse arrived just at the time of night shift change and addressed both the men. They were now standing next to their babies’ isolettes. Her voice was softened by routine exhaustion.

“We’re syncing the schedules for Room 5A,” she said, handing them each identical printouts. “Care windows, vitals, feeding updates. It helps us coordinate staff.”

The babies, one boy and one girl, lay swaddled in soft cotton, machines breathing for them in quiet sync. The room wasn’t loud, but it pulsed with life—humming monitors, ticking IV pumps, and two hearts trying not to crack.

Neither of them objected. Jungkook just nodded, his hand hovering protectively near his son’s isolette. Taehyung nodded too, slower, fingers curled around the blanket on his lap like it was tethering him to the moment.

Taehyung turned his head slightly. “Kim Taehyung,” he said, voice rough.

Jungkook looked over, surprised but not displeased. “Jeon Jungkook.”

Taehyung gave a short nod, more an acknowledgement than a greeting and Jungkook mirrored it. 

Chapter Text

Day 5, Postpartum, Taehyung.

The NICU was cold and bright as always and humming with soft hush of machines and beeps as lullaby. The scent of sterilized cotton mingled with something gentler today… an omega’s sweat and quiet resolve.

Taehyung sat upright in the recliner, his posture careful. His arms trembled slightly with the post surgical blooming dull ache which was persistent, but the arms still cradled her. Finally.

Baby Kim, his daughter, lay against his bare chest, a tiny miracle bundle of limbs and wires and impossibly translucent skin. Her first skin-to-skin or as nurses called it Kangaroo mother Care (KMC - Check chap notes for explanation) session had just begun. After five days of excruciating wait for her vitals to stabilise, Taehyung got the green light to hold his baby. 

And the shift was already palpable. 

At first, he was too focused on his breathing. The nurse beside him said not to overthink it, to relax and to let her find him. But Taehyung’s scent glands were still recovering from hormonal stabilisers. His natural rhythm was muffled beneath the layers of medication, and his chest barely gave off any omega warmth he thought he used to know. 

He felt clumsy and unanchored. He was still bleeding and his instincts were not working. Then… without meaning to, he began to hum.

It was soft and tentative. Maybe a bit off the tune too, but he couldn't care less about that. It was just a vibration from his throat and chest as if his body were finding its way back to the part of his body now outside him. It was a lullaby with not much tune, more like a tether. And.. the baby stilled. 

Immediately nurses noted the oxygen saturation ticked upwards. A nurse noted it on the chart and smiled. “She likes your voice,” she said gently.

Taehyung didn’t smile back, but something in his shoulders released. He leaned in, careful not to shift her position, and whispered, “Dada’s here.”

And suddenly he frowned a bit. It felt strange, like he was saying it for someone else. The word and the unfamiliarity of it caught in his throat and ears. No one ever heard him say it yet. Hell, not even him. He was so far away from the due date on the scans and reports that this thought of  What would the baby call me? didn't cross his mind. 

But the baby sighed. It was a tiny shift of her chest against his. Her hand twitched against his skin, and something in Taehyung stilled, maybe grounded would be a better word.

He pressed his palm gently against her back, letting his body hum again… a quiet, private rhythm for two of them. 

A second nurse, passing by with a monitor, called out, “Fetal heart rate is more stabilized with vocal contact.”

Taehyung didn’t answer or ask what it meant. He just bowed his head lower, letting his breath mingle with hers. He tried letting his scent (he could not feel it, but he knew it was there) coat the fine strands of her hair, whatever little had grown. She wasn’t strong yet, but she was his. And she seemed to know.

Yoongi entered a few moments later, coffee in hand. “Finally got your kangaroo clearance, huh?” he murmured, glancing at the chart.

“Barely,” Taehyung said, hoarse. “Took five days.”

“That’s still fast, for a 26-weeker,” Yoongi replied. “Girls bounce quicker. Statistically more stable in micro-preemie cases.”

Taehyung involuntarily gleaned at her and she looked anything but stable. However she was breathing and all monitors were running smoothly… so that was something, he thought. 

Then another involuntary thing happened, he looked at Jungkook, sitting next to his baby, reading what looked like an office file. But somehow Taehyung knew that Jungkook was listening to their conversation. How could a parent not? And he saw Jungkook’s inhale become sharper at the mention of Kangaroo care. 

Taehyung understood why… because for Baby Jeon it had still not started, Jungkook had not been able to hold his baby even after two weeks of it being born. Taehyung could not even begin to fathom the pain of this wait. Their eyes met for a brief moment as the nurse pulled the curtain again to give Taehyung the privacy for continuing the KMC. As the contact broke, Taehyung had seen Jungkook’s shoulder drop. 

From the other side of the curtain Taehyung heard Yoongi say to the nurse. “Flag his chart. Let me know the moment his vitals plateau again. And prep Jeon-ssi. I want him briefed on proper scent layering, posture for pouch hold, all of it. We’ll do the first one supervised.”

“Yes, Doctor Min,” the nurse said.

Before leaving, Yoongi looked between the two isolettes and Taehyung met his eyes from the small creek in the curtains. And the doctor took it as another chance to talk to Taehyung. He could probably see how unsettled and unsure he was about everything happening. 

“Talk to her,” he said. “Even if she can’t talk back yet. Scent when you can. She knows you. The sound of your voice, your stress, your relief… it all registers.”

Then, with a rare softness, he added, “Try not to argue about sports or pop bands, though. They're still forming opinions.”

Taehyung huffed a breath through his nose, almost a suppressed laugh. And his daughter, small and tucked against his chest, shifted just enough for her pulse to sync again with his.

Dr. Yoongi’s visits were short, crisp and quick and his sentences were even shorter, even crisper but not quick. He would just exchange barely one or two eye contacts, a line here or there, and in the last five days this started becoming the time of the day Taehyung looked forward to. That one line gave him all the hope, strength and needed direction. Just one line and he definitely was a fan in the making. 

Later in the day when one of the senior nurses moved towards his baby’s isolette to adjust an IV drip, Taehyung asked softly. "What about the other baby? The one born before mine? I’ve never seen skin-to-skin sessions there."

The nurse gave a sad smile and shook her head. “Not yet. He needed a longer course of respiratory support. But maybe this week. Boys are usually a bit slower to stabilize. Still, he's catching up fast.”

Taehyung nodded to himself and sighed loudly. He couldn't imagine what the other dad must be going through, not being able to hold his baby for two weeks. The nurse bent down, coming closer to Taehyung’s ear as if she was about to spill a big medical secret. “Dr Min says boys born prematurely tend to rely more on mechanical intervention. Strong but slower to adjust. But now that he's crossed and stable at over one kilo, we’ll start kangaroo soon. Dr. Min already flagged it… if his appa’s up for it.”

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Day 13, Baby Jeon.

On the other side, when Jungkook walked into the NICU in the morning, his pace was slower than usual and there was deep crease in his shirt from how long he held the phone to his ear, The virtual boardroom conversation still echoing in his brain. He stepped through the glass partition of the sanitation bay and stilled at the scene in front of him. 

Taehyung was there on the recliner, cradling his baby, the omega’s posture both tense and reverent as if the new dad was scared to move. The isolette for Baby Kim had been opened, monitors adjusted towards Taehyung and the wires loosened. A nurse hovered nearby, but even to Jungkook it was clear that this was a set up for skin-to-skin. 

The omega’s bare chest peeked from the hospital gown. His tiny daughter curled even tinier and fragile, breathing against the rise and fall of the omega’s rib cage. Jungkook did not interrupt and broke the eye contact he suddenly realised he was holding with the omega. 

He dropped to the seat next to his son’s isolette and inhaled slowly. His baby boy was stable today, more stable than other days. The numbers on the monitor blinked today with rhythm and not chaos. 

Then, after what must have been a few minutes, he heard Taehyung hum. It was soft and fractured, barely audible even through the layers of plastic curtains, and then he realised Taehyung said “Dada’s here.”

There was no line of sight but Jungkook still looked away, not out of rudeness or resentment. It was something else, as if it was something private he was not meant to hear. His gaze focussed on his own child who stirred in his sleep, a lazy warm stir, the one which didn't make the monitors go crazy this time. 

Jungkook smiled with gratitude and turned to reach for the bottle he had brought today. “Appa brought your bottle,” Jungkook whispered. “You better like this one.”

His son had been so picky and fussy about it. Unwilling to take any of the four bottles Jungkook had tried, no matter how highly rated or widely recommended. The milk barely went in. Sometimes just half an ounce after thirty minutes of coaxing. Other times, the baby gagged halfway through, spluttering and arching back in protest, the flow too fast, too foreign.

Thus his weight gain was slower than what Dr Min would have liked. The doctor was never unkind or judgemental about it, but Jungkook had seen a cause for concern in the man’s eyes.

Thus Jungkook did what any good parent would do. Ask for help. He had asked his  secretary, quite literally begged her, to reach out to every bottle-feeding parent she could track down from the parent community threads and clinic forums. “Find me the one they swear by,” he had said. “Find me the one their baby didn’t reject.” 

They had narrowed it down. It was a brand not easily available, it came with a controlled flow tip and soft silicone that mimicked breast feeding without overwhelming the lungs. The respiratory distress still was a looming danger. 

It took three days to arrive. Three days that Jungkook spent hovering and second-guessing everything—his timing, his choices, his competency as a father, as an alpha. Every unopened bottle in his freezer felt like evidence. “Don’t be difficult like appa. Work with me boy.. I beg you.” Jungkook had said when they trashed the last model they used. 

As the nurse helped him prepare the formula, she could see how nervous Jungkook was. “First, you breathe. Take a walk if you want. Anxiety passes even from the bottle feeding hands.” He smiled faintly, caught off guard, like a student called out in class who hadn’t realized he’d been speaking out loud. 

They moved to the isolette and as Jungkook gave the bottle to the boy, he said a million prayers. And his prayers had their answer today. 

Baby Jeon latched on immediately, without resistance. Drew in the full 2 ounces, without a single gag or spill. The breathing was normal, which hadn’t been in any other feed cycle. There was no sweat on the forehead of the child, which was never the case earlier. And the feed time was under 10 mins, and this was new too. 

Jungkook stared, frozen in reverence. He hadn’t breathed in a full minute. And when he did, it came out as a sob. He bit it back quickly, blinked up, bit his cheek. He was an alpha. Alphas didn’t cry in public. 

And just then it happened, Baby Jeon wrapped one impossibly small hand around his pinky. It was a reflex… but it made Jungkook tremble. And those floodgates opened. The tears came without apology this time.. because there was no stopping them… Not today.

He might not be doing the kangaroo care, but his son held his finger and that did a lot more for the Alpha in him than anything else. It was a win for the day, maybe not the same win as the omega, but a win nonetheless. 

And suddenly, without a warning his thoughts floated towards the omega, he remembered the last look they exchanged as he walked in and the nurse was drawing up the curtain for privacy.

Taehyung was pale and still clearly in pain from the surgery. And Jungkook remembered the exact angle the omega was sitting in with two propped up pillows, the IV still threaded into one arm. 

There were faded bruises of purple and blue marking his beautiful and dainty hands and the hospital fatigue clearly all over his face. But still Taehyung looked calm in a way Jungkook couldn’t understand. It was not strength, he found himself thinking. It was not peace either. It was more like being present for the baby was what brought Taehyung calmness. 

Taehyung had looked like he’d folded his pain to the side… not buried it, just set it down, because being near his baby required nothing else from him. And Jungkook felt it.

Something primal stirred inside his chest, again. His alpha instincts flared—protective, admiring, something else. Not lust, not possession, but a strange longing. Like he wished he could quiet himself the same way.

He knew it was irrational. He didn’t know this omega. They had exchanged, what, a handful of words? Some scattered glances in the NICU corridors? A quiet apology when their shoulders bumped in the sanitation bay…

And yet, Taehyung had left a mark on him.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Week 2, Baby Kim and Week 3, Baby Jeon

Nights at the NICU smelled different, less bleach, less alcohol whiffs from sanitizers, more warmed formula milk for night feeds and faint heat from exhausted bodies. 

Taehyung sat one night in the corner, legs tucked up slightly as he sipped on the broth the nurses had gotten for him from the canteen. 

Jungkook walked in, holding two warm packs of seaweed soup, and waved them at Taehyung from across the glass partition between the admin/nurses station and the NICU. Jungkook normally never carried stuff into the NICU purely because he read up a lot on possible hospital led infections. 

Taehyung looked at Jungkook confused. He seemed like a kid standing at the window of the class, calling his friend out. With a frown and a confused, but endeared smile, Taehyung nodded and gestured to him to wait, as he was walking out of the cold NICU. Now that meant he would need to sterilise himself all over again to come back in for the girl’s feed, but either he forgot about that (trust the author this was not the case) or he did not seem it to be that much of a bother as what conversation was beyond that glass intrigued him.

“They were making this as a fresh batch downstairs. I wasn't sure if you …” Jungkook said as soon as Taehyung was in the earshot. 

Taehyung raised an eyebrow. He was still confused about everything but also he didn't want Jungkook to feel that he overstepped any line. He smiled with that same frown and accepted one packet with a quiet, “Thanks.”

The next few minutes passed with nothing more than rustling plastic and soft sips.

“I thought about switching to the nighttime schedule,” Jungkook said eventually.

Taehyung glanced sideways. “Too loud during the day?”

“Too full,” Jungkook murmured. “Too many people pretending they’re not falling apart.”

A small laugh puffed from Taehyung. “Night shift smells more honest.”

That earned him a look. “Of course, you can tell that,” Jungkook said with a voice that was lilted, even playful for a moment. 

“I can tell everything… except...” Taehyung responded as his voice trailed off. Inhaling deeply, he shook his head and continued, “You start to notice scent patterns after a while. Suppressed fear. Hormonal spikes. Which nurse cried in the bathroom before rounds. Which parents are holding it together by sheer denial. You smell grief before it hits. You smell guilt clinging to skin like detergent.”

Jungkook didn’t respond at first. He just nodded, slow and deliberate, eyes still on the bowl in his hands.

“You?” Taehyung asked.

“I notice silence,” Jungkook said, after a moment. “And how no one talks to the babies unless someone’s watching.”

Their eyes met again. Not over isolettes or monitors this time… but over a wrinkled blanket lying on the side and shared sleep deprivation. The bowl in Taehyung’s hand had gone lukewarm.

The silence stretched but made neither of them uncomfortable. And then Taehyung added, almost absentmindedly, “ There’s a nurse in the afternoon shift—tall one, smells like cherry lip balm and caffeine. She always hums when she thinks no one’s listening. Baby Jeon’s O₂ levels spike every time she does.”

Jungkook didn’t speak but looked at Taehyung, he was blinking like he was still not done with the thought process. “I haven’t told her yet. It feels like a secret between him and the universe.”

Jungkook’s eyes crinkled, but just barely. He looked down at his hands and then his baby’s isolette. His struggle was evident on his face about saying what he had in his mind or being the ever so in control alpha his child needed. 

Taehyung watched, of course the ever perceptive omega watched, giving the needed space and idea or nuance of safety for the alpha to open up. 

“He likes when I read,” Jungkook admitted finally, voice nearly a whisper. “Doesn’t matter what. Meeting minutes, feed logs, doesn’t even have to make sense. Just… my voice.”

Another silence passed but this one was more calm, quiet and warm. 

“We’re ridiculous,” Taehyung muttered with a crooked smile, reaching for the rest of his broth. “I swore I wasn’t going to be one of those overly emotional parents.”

He paused, the kind of pause that holds in laughter and something heavier. “No one warned me. Where’s the return policy?”

The words were a joke, clearly and obviously and his tone was too light. But underneath it, was a tiredness. It was also a very quiet truth nestled between the syllables, the truth that he hadn’t expected to care this much, this fast.

He didn’t mean any of it, of course he didn't. But sometimes the way to admit that you are terrified was to say it like it’s a joke. 

“And utterly unhinged,” came Jungkook’s reply, lips twitching like he wasn’t sure if it was a joke or a confession. Taehyung on the other hand didn't flinch, didn't justify or explain. He just kept sipping his soup like it was the most natural thing to say aloud in the world.

And he got Taehyung. In fact, Taehyung got him. The alpha in him, cultured, composed, tightly reined-  would never allow him to voice these thoughts, even the funny ones. Those kinds of words stayed folded in the corners of his mind, never seeing daylight.

But Taehyung… said them. So easily.

And Jungkook found himself wondering, almost against his will… What would it be like? To live like that? To speak without bracing for impact? To let the thoughts leave your mouth before they’ve been polished and filtered to death? To not flinch at your own feelings? To not carry the weight of all the things you never said, like a second spine no one could see?

Taehyung sat beside him, legs tucked up, eyes half closed from exhaustion and yet, so unapologetically present. 

And Taehyung wasn’t careless. That wasn't it. He was just… unburdened. 

Jungkook envied that in a way he didn’t have words for. But he didn’t want to admit it, even to himself.

So instead, he just breathed in the silence between them, warm and honest and oddly grounding. Let Taehyung’s lightness settle in the air. Let it exist. Let him exist, exactly as he was.

And for the first time in a long time, Jungkook didn’t feel the need to fix anything. He just let it be. The alpha could rest, this once. 

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

There was another day… later in the week, maybe day four or five—when Taehyung had come in just as Jungkook was finishing up his visit.

They crossed paths by the corridor bench near the coffee machine, where one always passed the other but neither ever left without a nod. That day however, Jungkook lingered.

“You look tired,” he said, the kind of comment one could toss like a pebble on water… seem casual, but watching closely to see how it lands.

Taehyung huffed a soft sound, not quite a laugh. “So do you. Are you… driving back and forth every day?”

Jungkook shook his head. “No. I’ve been using the office service apartment nearby. It’s just across the main road. I kept it after restructuring, mostly for late work nights. Still pay maintenance through the company to keep things official.”

He paused, then added, quieter, “My house is… too far. And it’s too quiet.”

Taehyung nodded like he understood. Because he did. But that didn’t do anything much to appease the question running in mind. If anything “too quiet” only made him want to ask more. He wanted to ask why it was quiet, what about the omega. What about Baby Jeon’s other biological parent? 

But he knew better. He knew better than to ask questions to alphas. He filled the silence with his side of the story, which Jungkook didn't ask, but Taehyung thought he would be expecting. 

“I rented a studio down the lane,” he offered. “It’s nothing fancy. Just clean, near enough to walk, and has elevators.” Then, with a small smile, “My nesting instincts screamed for a balcony, but the elevator won.”

Jungkook almost smiled at how easily Taehyung told him that taking stairs was difficult for him, but the omega chose to talk about how easy elevators are. “Do you have help?”

Taehyung shook his head, then reconsidered. “The nurses here, mostly. And the cafe guy downstairs gives me extra toast when I look half-dead. That counts, right?”

There was a short pause. Jungkook leaned against the wall, eyes tracking the vending machine without seeing it, and then said “I’ve been eating dinner out of a paper bag for four nights.”

“You’re an alpha. That’s illegal,” Taehyung deadpanned.

That finally earned a proper chuckle. Jungkook looked over at him fully, and for a second, it felt like neither of them were standing in a hallway between heartbreaks and beeping monitors.

“You getting any sleep?” Jungkook asked.

“Not really,” Taehyung admitted. “But I get an hour here and there. When she stabilizes, I close my eyes for ten minutes and somehow it counts.”

Jungkook nodded slowly. “Same.”

They didn’t talk about the weight that clung to their shoulders. They didn’t name the fear or the helplessness.

But in that shared moment, the casual, grounded moment, they quietly admitted something else… They were holding it together for their children, but oh so barely.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

One day in the same week, Taehyung came in earlier that morning. He couldn't get much sleep. He knew that nurses took utmost good care of the babies in the night, and he was just 2-3 minutes away, but on this particular day he couldn’t sleep much. 

So, instead of tossing and turning around, he decided it was better for him to go to the hospital.

The NICU was full that morning, the hallway crowded with sleep-deprived parents and anxious relatives hovering near vending machines. Taehyung had slipped into the crowd near the hand-sanitizer stand, waiting for the chaos to pass before entering.

That’s when he saw him.

Jungkook stood at Baby Jeon’s isolette, bent slightly at the waist, murmuring something too soft to catch. One hand rested gently on the edge of the incubator, the other awkwardly adjusting a corner of the muslin cloth that had shifted during the nurse’s last round.

It was the smallest thing. But it caught Taehyung’s breath.

The alpha was trying to tuck the blanket just right . Lining it up with the soft toy taped above the isolette, smoothing the crease over the baby's knee, even though the baby couldn’t feel it over the tapes and wires. His movements were raw, clumsy in a way that meant he cared too much to rush. 

And then Jungkook stepped back, just slightly. He looked at the blanket again, adjusted it once more - just a centimeter, he was looking for a precision that didn’t matter to anyone but him. 

Taehyung didn’t know why it gutted him.

Maybe because he’d always thought of alphas as too large for gentleness, too confident to second-guess themselves.

But Jungkook… he hovered. He hesitated. He tried.

And in that moment, Taehyung realized something: This alpha wasn’t just trying to be a good father. He was terrified of failing as one.

That suddenly didn’t have a place to sit in him. Taehyung had grown up around alphas who barked orders and wielded authority like it was a currency. He knew alphas who rarely said a please . There were alphas who confused dominance with usefulness. 

But Jungkook didn't command. He didn’t command the nurses helping him. He cared. And he did it quietly, when no one was watching. 

And there were also other moments, smaller ones. 

Like the time Taehyung was standing at the formula fridge, elbow-deep in NICU instructions on prepping single-ounce syringes—and Jungkook came up beside him, quietly handed him the right adapter with no commentary, no joke, just... help. There was no eye contact as well, all that there was mutual exhaustion. 

And somehow, it made Taehyung feel seen without being exposed.

Or like the time one afternoon when the overhead lights were flickering… the way they sometimes did when the generator hiccuped. And Taehyung winced, rubbing the space between his eyes.

Without a word, Jungkook walked to the nurse station and came back with one of those NICU-grade soft eye masks.

He didn’t say, You look like you need this. He just offered it in his palm, like it was nothing.

Taehyung took it, slid it on, and exhaled like someone had opened a window.

It was just those little things . But they stayed. 

Taehyung hadn’t told anyone about what he saw that day about the adjusting of the blanket. He didn’t need to. He just started watching Jungkook differently.

Not just as an alpha. But as a man who loved. And he found himself wondering - wasn’t that rarer?

Chapter Text

Taehyung, Day 10, Postpartum 

The nurse did not say anything as she wheeled in the pump. It was just with a gentle knock against the resting room doorframe, followed by a soft shuffle of rubber soles on the wooden floor. Taehyung turned his head, already anticipating the discussion. 

In the second week of his delivery, one of the NICU nurses gently suggested Taehyung to meet the on-call lactation consultant. His milk supply had been sparse - nearly non existent - and though no one pressured him, the unspoken hope had lingered in the air. 

The consultant was a soft-voiced beta, who met him in a quiet room just off the ward. She explained that early preterm deliveries often disrupted lactation in omega bodies, especially after surgery induced births and hormonal suppressants. 

It was his scheduled visit. His chart was color-coded for low stimulation, post-operative care, and early milk expression attempts. None of those labels made him feel any more capable for the coming days. If anything, they reduced him… again… to something procedural. As if he was someone or something to be managed.

Still, she offered gentle remedies: warm compresses, cluster pumping, skin-to-skin when possible.

“You’re not failing,” she said, handing him a logbook for tracking. “You’re healing. Your body will catch up, or it won’t. Your baby will either be breast-fed, or bottle fed, fed being the operative word here. Either way, your baby is loved.”

Taehyung nodded, his throat tightening. He didn’t know what he was looking for—but somehow, that answer felt like one. So he was ready… to give it a try. 

The nurse arranged everything Taehyung needed and gave him privacy, drawing the curtain halfway and placing the sterile kit beside his chair like it was a gift wrapped in indifference. He looked at it for a long moment. The cords, the flanges, the pale tubing like umbilical cords. 

There was no one to rush him or judge him. But still his hands trembled as he reached forward.

The scent suppressants they had administered post-surgery had dulled much more than his instincts. He felt flat. Like he existed in gray-scale while the rest of the world smelled in color, he hadn’t scented properly in days. His glands were healing, but sluggish. The hormonal drop post-delivery had hit hard, and he could still feel the ache where his body had opened before it was ready.

Omegas who delivered this early were rarely able to lactate. Everyone had told him that, softly, clinically. Some tried to reassure him that the formula was fine. That his daughter wouldn’t know the difference. But Taehyung knew, or at least, he thought he did, and that his body did.

For his daughter and the unspoken promise to provide her with the best, he wanted to try. He wanted to offer her something real. Something from him, that was the bare minimum.

The nurse helped him assemble the straps without speaking. He flinched slightly when the suction began.. It was too cold, too mechanical. 

The machine clicked in rhythm, echoing loud against the quiet of the NICU walls and Taehyung winced. It sounded like a stopwatch counting down a race he hadn’t trained for.

One minute. And …. Nothing.

Two minutes… Still nothing.

At three minutes, he began to question everything. His posture, the pressure, the choice to even try. His breasts felt sore and foreign. His body didn’t feel like home anymore, it felt like a lab experiment again.

And then, at minute four, a drop came.

It clung to the plastic pouch like a secret. And then another came. Slowly into 5th minute it was a trickle. Five millilitres. Barely enough to wet the bottom of the bottle. It looked pathetic, Taehyung thought, but it also looked like hope.

He stared at it like it was gold.

When the machine finally powered down, he felt boneless with relief. And no, it was not from the physical pain, but from the weight of disappointment that he had expected but that hadn’t come.

The nurse returned with a small label and a black marker. Her hands were practised but not cold. She peeled the sticker from the roll and wrote out his name in clean, firm letters: “Kim, Baby Girl.”

And then she underlined it once. Then again… and then a third time.

She didn’t explain why and Taehyung didn’t ask. His throat closed as she placed the vial into a bio-secure container to be added to the NICU milk bank. 

That was his milk. His… Not the machine’s. Not the hospital’s. His body’s. His blood and bones and sleep-deprived hope had made that entire five millilitres.

He exhaled and wiped at his eyes without trying to hide it.

It wasn’t shame that blurred his vision. It was, in fact, pride—ridiculous, disproportionate pride in something so biologically small—but emotionally enormous. For the first time since the emergency C-section, his body had done something right by his daughter.

He stayed in the chair a little longer after the nurse left, holding the now-empty collection kit against his chest. There was no scent to offer, not yet at east. But the ache in his glands pulsed with the promise that maybe next time… maybe his body would be able to do a little more.

He looked over at the isolette nearby, across the glass partition. His daughter slept in the lights of the CPAP machine, her tiny chest fluttering up and down and she looked exactly like a butterfly getting her wings.

He whispered across the space between them.

“We’ll keep trying, baby. I’ll give you what I can and you, you fight with everything you have.” His voice cracked. But this time, it didn’t matter.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

The NICU smelled the same every morning and evening, rather anytime during the day -clean plastic, warm saline, the chemical hush of machines breathing in place of lungs too small to hold air. But today, Jungkook noticed something else: a silence in the fridge.

His surrogate hadn’t pumped.

He’d been told she wouldn’t go beyond the first two weeks. She had, in fact, done a couple of days more than what was agreed upon. It had been part of the agreement; one she signed with clear boundaries and no emotional engagement. She’d done her part. She delivered a baby that was biologically his and some donor's, and then stepped away.

There were supposed to be no strings and no frozen vials. He hadn’t expected otherwise. But it still stung.

The nurse handed him a laminated chart, breaking him out of his spiralling thoughts. “Here are your current formula options,” she said, her voice kind but brisk, the way professionals are when they don’t want to sound clinical. “You’ll want something omega-neutral to avoid gut rejection, Dr Yoongi suggested. His system’s immature, so nothing too acidic. No alpha-primed compounds, either. 

Jungkook blinked at the page.

There were columns, rows, something labelled additives, other listed enzymes, broken down protein structures.

Three were goat-based.

Two were cow’s milk derivatives.

One was plant-adapted but thickened with emulsifiers.

He squinted at the name of one that read, “Simulated Bonding Hormone Blend.” And that was asterisked twice. This made Jungkook flinch.

It was probably safe. Everything on the chart was vetted. But that line… "simulated bonding”… made his jaw clench.

He didn’t want “simulated” anything. He just wanted to feed his baby properly and gently, in a way that didn’t make every molecule in his body feel like he was failing.

“Any preferences?” the nurse asked.

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

He picked two formulas at random; he was looking at anything just enough to start. They were left neatly on the cabinet shelf next to the isolette. The nurse made a note in his baby’s file and smiled at him like she understood.

And just like any parent, Jungkook’s fear came true. That evening, Baby Jeon fussed longer than usual, his limbs fluttered, heart rate spiked, then steadied with contact—but not enough. 

This was due to the intolerance of the feed. The feed which Jungkook had chosen. It was nothing like he had hoped.

The guilt sat behind Jungkook’s sternum like a stone. He didn’t know what his son needed. And worse, he didn’t know how to figure it out. 

The next morning, he returned with two more formulations. They were new brands. One was designed for neonate gut simulation, another for enzyme deficiency recovery, even though there was no diagnosis of such. He didn’t care.

He laid them out like offerings, unsure which to use. His fingers hovered over labels. He didn’t know which one smelled too sharp, which one foamed up too much, which one would upset that fragile little stomach. They all looked like guesses. He hated guessing.

The same nurse was there again. She watched quietly for a moment before walking over.

“Do you want help narrowing it down?” she asked, kindly.

He swallowed. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to mess this up.”

“You’re not,” she said. “You’re just learning what his body needs.”

He nodded, but it didn’t settle.

Later that day, he returned during evening care rotation. A different nurse had prepped the formula feed already. She didn’t say anything until she caught him glancing at the bottle.

“It’s the one from yesterday only,” she said. “Your baby did well with it on the morning feed. There was less gas and more stable output. We thought we’d repeat and monitor.”

Jungkook nodded again. “Thanks.”

Something inside him relaxed—barely. The decision had been made by him, and even though he doubted it, someone else validated it… But it had helped.

That night, the isolette glowed softly under its warming dome. Jungkook sat beside it, elbow propped on his knee, watching the rise and fall of that tiny rib-cage.

His alpha instincts rattled against the glass, wanting to scent, to hold, to feed. But everything was done through shields, gloves, and barriers. He could offer a voice, and sometimes a fingertip.

But that was all.

He whispered, “Appa brought you something again. Hope you like this one too.”

There was no reaction. But the monitor stayed green and stable the whole day. And sometimes, green was enough.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

The hallway smelled the same as always, but there was a gentler undertone today. A familiar hum that drifted from the parental waiting corner to the isolettes and back again, unnoticed by most but not by her. Nurse Hana had been in NICU long enough to know when two unrelated cases began to align without explanation.

She noticed it first during Taehyung’s pumping visit.

He was still tentative, his back not fully straight, arms clumsy from fatigue and healing, but he logged his 5.2 ml with trembling hands and a soft thank you. The label read: “Kim, Baby Girl.” Hana underlined it, three times like she always did.

Hours later, she passed by Incubator 2—Baby Jeon—and noticed the same hesitation in the air. Jungkook had just fed his son one of the newer formulas, something branded “SimuCare Omega-Neutral Plus.” The baby had taken it, but not peacefully. There had been a slight grimace, a flutter in oxygen saturation. It was nothing dangerous, but different.

Hana didn’t say anything, not right away.

Jungkook was busy scribbling into his diary, brows furrowed, phone buzzing in his pocket. It was the third time today… something about a postponed meeting. He stepped away to take it, murmuring as he passed the supply cabinet.

Hana moved with the quiet efficiency of someone who’d worked twenty years in silent emergencies.

She replaced the next prepped formula bottle for Baby Jeon with one already stocked in the warming drawer. It was the same brand Jungkook started using but didn’t give enough time for baby to adjust. It was also the same brand Taehyung’s daughter had responded well to. It was much milder and neutral. No simulated bonding compound, so easier on the gut.

She didn’t write anything down right away. She just made a note to observe.

Back inside, Taehyung was asleep in the skin-to-skin recliner, baby girl breathing with slow precision against his chest. His scent was soft now, blunted by medicines, but less withdrawn than before. A faint trace of vanilla settled into the air. It lingered even after he left.

And maybe that mattered.

“Sometimes babies respond better to what’s already familiar in the air,” Hana said aloud, not to anyone in particular, as she marked a quick log on the intake chart for both babies’ vitals.

That evening, she noticed it again. Both monitors were green, respiration consistent, no desat.

Baby Jeon, for the first time in days, had no supplemental feeding residual. Baby Kim’s heart rate remained steady through her sleep window.

Jungkook returned, noticing the bottle wasn’t the one he’d left out. But the baby had taken it well, and then he looked at the nurse, who nodded when he raised an eyebrow. “Good choice,” she said with a quiet smile.

He assumed maybe he had picked the right one without realizing.

Taehyung returned the next morning to hear the same thing. “She did well overnight,” Hana told him. “Must be the rhythm of your voice.”

Neither man looked across the glass on the board that morning. But the schedule still had them synced. Room 5A, 08:00 to 10:00, care rotation, vitals, touch-therapy.

Their chairs remained three feet apart, and both babies breathed easier. That was all the nurse cared about.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

It was nearly midnight in NICU Room 5A, and most of the unit was tucked in a hush conversation that only a hospital at night could hold. The lights dimmed to an amber glow. Nurses walked softer, voices a register lower. Even the chaos here bowed to the midnight hour.

Jungkook sat by the Incubator of Baby Jeon, hands folded neatly between his knees, watching the slow rise and fall of his son’s chest through the CPAP mask. He hadn’t planned to stay this long. The bottle shelf had been restocked. The night nurse had logged vitals already. Still, he lingered, alert but unmoving, as if touch might break something delicate.

Across the room, Taehyung stirred in his recliner, half-asleep and half-watching. He hadn’t spoken to Jungkook all day, they had just shared the same air, the same space. Sometimes that was louder than words.

As if all this was a pre stage setting for the person about to walk in. A soft shuffle announced the arrival of Yoongi with his clipboard, black hoodie under his coat, coffee in one hand—not hospital-issued. He stopped beside Jungkook with the ease of someone who belonged here more than anywhere else.

“You haven’t tried kangaroo care yet,” Yoongi said, almost casually.

Jungkook startled slightly. “I didn’t know if he was ready.”

Yoongi tilted his head. “He is. Are you?”

“I don’t want to mess anything up.” Jungkook came across more like a CEO during appraisals than the scared father that he was.

Yoongi didn’t flinch before answering. “You won’t. He needs your warmth. Not your resume.”

He handed Jungkook a sterile wrap gown, no frills, standard blue. Jungkook stared at it for a beat longer than he should have, then nodded and began unbuttoning his shirt with fingers that trembled only a little.

And there was Taehyung, sitting just a few feet away. Now it was not Taehyung’s fault that Jungkook or Yoongi did not bother to pull up the curtain.  The omega looked away… but not fully. Taehyung looked away just enough to give the illusion of privacy.

Yoongi helped lift the baby out, adjusting cords and tubing with practiced hands. Then, slowly, reverently, he laid him against Jungkook’s bare chest.

What happened next wasn’t something Jungkook had prepared for.

The moment the baby’s skin met his, his alpha instincts surged - fast and primal. His pulse shot up. The glands behind his neck flared with scent he hadn’t used in months, at least not like this, not raw. Protective hormones spiked through his bloodstream before he could even summon restraint.

His breath hitched as he closed his eyes, afraid that even exhaling too hard might scare the baby.

But the opposite happened.

The tiny body shifted, relaxed, sighed, and then…  settled over Jungkook’s chest.

Jungkook opened his eyes slowly. One of his son’s fists curled over his sternum. It was weightless, but it was everything.

Yoongi watched them both, expression unreadable but gaze gentle. “Alpha vitals steady. Neonatal heart rate aligned,” he murmured, typing quietly into his tablet.

In his peripheral vision, Jungkook caught Taehyung’s silhouette still and unblinking, gaze soft and unreadable.

Taehyung didn’t speak. But in his chest, something pulled.

He had seen enough alphas weaponize instinct. But watching Jungkook now, every nerve live-wired to the infant on his chest… this felt different. For the first time, he felt an alpha’s instinct was for surrender, and not domination.

It was, perhaps, the first time Jungkook had also done something as a father that had nothing to do with documents or donor papers or brand selection. It was just skin, heat. It was contact.

Jungkook swallowed hard as a knot formed in his throat, but he was not ashamed of it. It was his release, and Jungkook whispered something Taehyung couldn’t hear.

Yoongi didn’t interrupt. He only marked the note:

“Initiated KMC: Day 19. Good response. Father tolerated proximity surge. Neonate stable.”

When he left, he said only one thing to the nurse, “Let the alpha hold him again tomorrow.”

And to Jungkook, he offered a single look, one that said, *You did it. And see, the world didn’t crumble."

Across the room, Taehyung closed his eyes and breathed. He knew what Jungkook must be feeling to be able to hold your child. And for  Jungkook it had been an exceptionally long wait.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

The NICU had grown quiet again. Two recliners sat on opposite ends of Room 5A, both angled slightly toward the center. Two bodies in them - one alpha, one omega. Both gown-draped, some buttons undone, and very still.

Each with a baby tucked into their chests, cords trailing gently from tiny limbs to machines that monitored everything from heart rate to oxygen, to breath.

Jungkook sat upright, spine rigid but eyes soft, his hand cupped over his son’s back like he was afraid to press too hard. His pulse was still running fast, the echo of instinctual flare not yet settled. But his breathing had found a slower rhythm now, one paced to match the rise and fall of the newborn curled beneath his clavicle.

Across the room, Taehyung mirrored him without realizing. His own daughter shifted once, then quieted, her nose nudging instinctively into his scent gland which was still muted, still healing, but very much present.

No words passed between them. Neither father looked at the other.

But if they had, they might’ve noticed how their postures had aligned. How their fingers flexed at the same moment. How the machines beside them beeped in unison—soft, steady, two rhythms matched not by chance but by effort and presence.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Seokjin noticed first.

Normally, the NICU had its own rhythms. Hours blurred into days and nights and lot of chart printouts. The lights dimmed on a timed cycle that neither any parent nor infant seemed to fully obey.

But what stood out most in Room 5A wasn’t just the hum of machines or the sterile scent - it was the presence of two fathers who simply… always stayed.

“You’re back,” he said dryly one morning, clipboard in hand, glancing between Taehyung’s hunched form beside the isolette and Jungkook’s usual seat tucked near the opposite wall.

“We live here now,” Taehyung muttered without looking up.

“Did you sign the lease, or are we still month-to-month?” Jin replied, setting down his notes to check the monitor. He didn’t miss the way Jungkook smirked slightly from his side, head still bent as he adjusted his son’s swaddle.

The banter had become a fixture. Jin, Head of Obstetrics but still moonlighting in NICU to check on his former patients, was fastidious with his rounds but generous with his sarcasm.

When he caught Taehyung sitting too long without hydrating, he left electrolyte packets beside his chair.

When Jungkook’s shirt was clearly on day two, he dropped a hint about the hospital’s laundry room “accidentally being open after 10 p.m.”

Seokjin never lingered, but he always came back.

Once, he showed up with two rice balls and a bottle of barley tea. He didn’t make any fanfare. He would just come announcing, “Blood sugar affects scent too, you know,” before disappearing again.

It was Yoongi who watched more than he spoke.

Third shift, dusk to dawn, he moved like a shadow through Room 5A—adjusting IV rates, tapping on oxygen regulators, noting weight gain that no one else celebrated. His notes were brief but precise, peppered with things like: “Father humming during KMC. Neonate HR stabilized” and “Maternal scent detection probable—pre-wipe response observed.”

He noticed how Taehyung had begun to hum a lot as soon as he entered the room. The kind of hum that set his daughter’s vitals into a steadier climb before skin even met skin.

He noticed how Jungkook had started arriving earlier, staying later, quietly shifting his entire schedule around these visits without ever mentioning it.

“His scent is imprinting,” Yoongi murmured one night to Jin, who had lingered to scan a nurse’s logbook. “He doesn’t realize it yet, but his alpha instincts are syncing to both their rhythms.”

Jin didn’t even look up. “And the omega?”

Yoongi gave the faintest shrug. “Matching rhythm.”

Jin smiled without any hint of judgment. “Of course.”

Later that week, Yoongi noticed the way Taehyung tracked Jungkook’s movements out of the corner of his eye. Taehyung was either trying to be very subtle, or all that was on a sub-conscious level - like one wolf watching another cross a shared trail.

And Jungkook, despite keeping mostly to himself, had stopped flinching at the proximity of another’s scent. At first, the NICU’s bouquet of hormones had made his skin prickle. Suppressed omegas scents, alpha-tinged blankets, everything bothered him.

But lately, it smelled… like life to him.

“He’s building a pack,” Yoongi said one afternoon at lunch to Jin, scribbling something on his tablet. “They both are. Even if they don’t know it yet.”

“Mm,” Jin replied, flipping through the discharge protocols. “And if they figure it out, who gets to tell them they’re doing it right?”

Yoongi’s lips twitched into something that might’ve been a smile, “No one,” he said. “That’s how we know it’s working.”

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

It was Wednesday when the laminated flyer showed up on the NICU bulletin board: pale lavender, corners curling, text in two languages

“Peer Circle for Neonatal Parents: Every Friday at 6 PM, Room 212.” Below, in smaller font, it said, “No need to speak. Just sit.”

Taehyung noticed it first when he was heading towards the room he visited for pumping. He had been scanning the board for nurse names, the way one might look for familiar constellations on a shifting sky. He read the flyer twice, lips twitching at the wording. “Just sit,” as if that was a skill.

Behind him, a warm presence lingered and Taehyung didn’t need to turn to look at who it was. It was Jungkook, arriving early again. Their routines had begun to collide with casual predictability. No one spoke of it.

“Are you going?” Taehyung asked quietly, still not turning around.

Jungkook didn’t answer immediately. He stepped closer to the board, his gaze flicking over the flyer like he hadn’t already read it. “Maybe,” he finally said. “Doesn’t sound like much of a ‘circle’ if no one talks.”

Taehyung chuckled under his breath. “Maybe that’s the point.”

They stood there in silence, side by side, unspoken things blooming between them that neither could understand or did not want to understand.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

That Friday, Taehyung didn’t go to Room 212.

He hovered by the NICU door instead, torn between instinct and exhaustion. The baby had latched well for five minutes that morning…. Which was an eternity by preemie standards. 

She was sleeping very well and very sound, and the nurses told Taehyung he could use that tie to rest, maybe just swing by the apartment as she would in all likelihood sleep at least two and a half to three hours.

He didn’t want to leave, even if just to “sit.” But he also didn’t want to go back to the quiet apartment filled with pump flanges and untouched bassinet linens.

So he stood there until a voice behind him said, “Room 212’s got fluorescent lighting, iron folding chairs and old tea bags. You’re not missing much.”

It was Jin. The older alpha wasn’t in scrubs this time. Maybe he was off-duty, or maybe between shifts, but still there was that trailing scent of antiseptic and faint citrus. He didn’t wait for Taehyung to reply.

“I used to think support groups were only for people who couldn’t cope. But the good ones? They’re for people who are already coping… and just need someone to say it out loud.”

Taehyung tilted his head. “Do you go?”

“Used to. When Namjoon’s brother passed, we went for six months. We didn’t talk. Just sat. It helped.”

That was all he said. Then he handed Taehyung a folded blanket, the one Taehyung had left behind two days ago in the recliner, and walked away without another word.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Jungkook, on the other hand, did go.

He slipped in ten minutes late, dressed in jeans and a creased shirt that still carried NICU antiseptic. There were six people already seated in a loose circle. One pair of bonded parents. A woman with paint on her hands. A beta who said he was there for his sister’s baby. The facilitator just smiled and gestured toward a chair.

Jungkook didn’t speak; he just sat. He listened to someone talk about naming a baby before they could hold them. Another shared how they kept forgetting their own birthdays. Someone else whispered about going home without a baby.

He stayed the full hour. And when it was done, he didn’t clap or nod… he just stood up, heart thudding, and left.

But later that night, in the recliner with his son on his chest and the blanket Jin had once tucked over Taehyung now covering his own knees, he whispered: “We’ll go home together. And we will name you when you are home. I promise.”

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

The following week, a new name appeared on the NICU whiteboard’s family section: Baby Jeon, Grandparents Visit Today.

Taehyung noticed it first. He always did, scanning the morning updates while waiting for his vitals log to finish syncing. He didn’t ask, but his glance toward Jungkook was subtle and angled. That glance Jungkook noticed and gave a brief nod in confirmation.

They arrived mid-morning.

Mr. Jeon came first. He was tall, clean lines, pressed shirt despite the heat. He shook hands with the head nurse, nodded to Yoongi, and stood by the isolette like a visiting dignitary. The resemblance to Jungkook was faint but unmistakable: the eyes, the jawline, the posture held like a signature.

Mrs. Jeon followed ten minutes later with a tightly held handbag and a gaze that flickered from baby to monitor to her son. She didn’t speak much. She also didn’t touch the incubator. She just watched.

Taehyung stayed seated. But he observed from behind his curtain, a screen not thick enough to block scent or silence.

Jungkook didn’t say much either to his parents. There were murmured introductions, a quiet report from Yoongi. “Stable,” the doctor said. “Holding weight. Good auditory reflexes.” He didn’t elaborate.

When Jungkook’s father finally broke the silence, his words landed heavy. “We weren’t sure you’d go through with it.”

“I did,” Jungkook replied. “He’s mine. And he’s here.” Nothing followed after.

Taehyung closed his eyes, letting the monitor rhythms drown the tension. His own daughter stirred against his chest, and he adjusted her mittens gently, as though shielding her from the sound of other people’s unresolved feelings and meeting endings.

 ✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Two days later, Taehyung’s mother showed up with a small tiffin of miso soup and a folded prayer cloth. Her smile was tight, her eyes shadowed. She asked no questions and just sat beside Taehyung for twenty-three minutes, said a single blessing over the isolette, and left with the same quiet composure she’d walked in with.

On her way out, she passed Jungkook. They nodded - two strangers bound briefly by hallway protocol. He watched her walk down the corridor, then turned back, holding the formula bottle tighter than necessary.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Later that evening, when both Taehyung and Jungkook sat again across from each other, and it was just them, recliners set in mirrored positions, their babies settled against their chests, it felt like a quieter kind of support group. Where there were no name tags, no facilitators. Just the babies and the two fathers.

And for the first time in days, when Taehyung’s daughter hiccupped in her sleep, he didn’t jump but looked up, and both of them giggled.

Chapter Text

Taehyung: Week 6, post partum

The stitches from the caesarean were healed now. Taehyung was finally cleared for a proper bath. He could not wait for that as sponge baths were quite an irritant for him. 

He didn’t want to go home for that, so he used the hospital bathroom on the NICU floor. The floor has been sparsely occupied last week so he knew it would be available and cleaner. 

He leaned slightly forward, letting his gown lift a little so that he did not need to bend to pick it up. His body still was in pain, not only from the dull throb of the c-section, but from much deeper exhaustion and lack of any rest post his surgery. The pain seemed to have settled into his bone marrow he felt. 

It was week six postpartum, and he still hadn’t felt like he was back in his own skin. 

He folded the gown nicely and gently and suddenly shivered a lot. He had not factored for the chill air of the hospital. That was when he noticed it. 

It was a faint drop blooming red on the white hospital tiles under his feet. It was not a lot and not dangerous. It was something he was told to expect, for his lining to shed and cycles to restart. 

But still, something about it made his breath catch in his throat. His baby was well and breathing, albeit with wires and tubes. But this…?

This was a reminder that his body was still bleeding, and the flashback hit.

It always started with the socks. He had bought them after the second test turned positive. It was a soft and yellow pair, meant for baby - any baby - alpha, beta, omega. He had not told anyone yet, not even the alpha, the father of the baby. 

The alpha was a coworker, a casual thing they had, he had said to everyone. The alpha was kind, always kissed Taehyung’s wrist goodnight… but never stayed till morning. When Taehyung finally texted him about the pregnancy, there had been silence. 

Then after three hours, three excruciatingly long wait of hours, he received a text message from the alpha. It was something about “not being ready” and something more about “you deserve more.”

Taehyung had stared at the text for a few hours straight. It was as if he was still hopeful, still thinking there would be a follow up message and this was just a shock response. 

But there was radio silence. Nothing, not even to ask how or what Taehyung was doing or thinking. And then… two weeks later - the cramps began.

It had happened in his apartment. He was all alone there and there was blood on bathroom tiles, on the white hand towel he had grabbed in panic. It soaked into the ground like it belonged there. And when it was done, when Taehyung felt the major surge of bleeding was done, when the pain dulled a bit, he cleaned it himself. 

He never called anyone, not even the emergency helpline. He didn’t need medical paper to tell him what it was. He knew what it was…

Taehyung took a week off, went to see his obstetrician who just reaffirmed that it was a miscarriage and he needed to take a few meds and hydrate and rest. The first day at work just went by as usual. He said nothing to anyone, held his meetings, cleared up some backlog work, ate a sandwich at lunch and laughed when someone made a joke about omegas being over emotional. 

The grief actually came later. It showed up in a pharmacy aisle, weeks down the line. He had walked past a section and that scent hit him like a freight train. It was baby lotion section and he couldn’t move for ten minutes. 

It was later that night that he deleted every ovulation tracker app from his phone. He told himself then that the universe didn’t see him fit to be a parent. 

And yet… here he was. Back in the hospital. Back to maternity wards. Back to being sitting numb in a chair… all this while still bleeding. 

Still clutching his abdomen like he was holding something that had betrayed him. Only this time… it wasn’t. This time there was also an NICU and a monitor that beeped to show a pulse. This time he had a baby. 

Just at that moment some staff came into the open area of the bathroom, they just asked if he needed anything, a kind woman cleaned the floor and sanitized it. None of the people looked at the stain as if it was Taehyung’s fault. That kindness nearly undid him.

He bit down hard on his lower lip and whispered, to no one in particular, “Sleep peacefully in there, baby. Dada is coming out.”

And for a fleeting moment, Taehyung felt like he had survived something.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Jungkook pushed open the frosted-glass of the NICU lounge. He was holding a warm paper cup of hospital grade coffee between both his palms. The corridors were dimly lit, in night-mode he used to call it. It had become a routine - these late night stays, half forgotten meals and lukewarm coffees that tasted nothing like coffees.

He doesn't come to the NICU lounge nowadays for comfort. He used to come there to breathe. He could let out a loud tired sigh in here which he didn’t feel his son should be hearing. 

Then, he spotted them… and paused. 

Across the room, in the last chair on the right, Taehyung was asleep.

The omega’s head was tilted just slightly to the side, a strand of hair escaping his hospital cap. The baby lay curled against his chest, bundled very close, tubing snaking between them. The rise and fall of Taehyung’s chest matched the tiny pattern of breaths against him.

Jungkook didn’t move, he just watched… and unknowingly his grip tightened slightly on the coffee.

There was something about the scene… Maybe it was its stillness, or its symmetry or it was about the two fragile lives held together by pulse and proximity.

And just like that, memory opened its door.

Two years ago, Jungkook sat alone in the waiting room of Seokjin’s fertility clinic. The room was marked 4C and he was on the last chair on the right. 

Nothing was out of the ordinary there. The magazines were too outdated, the nurses smiled a bit too brightly, most of the “patients” surrounding him were either pregnant omegas or trying to get pregnant omegas. 

Most came in pairs, some with betas and then there was one very flustered Alpha who kept glancing at his watch … Jungkook. 

Jungkook had worn a hoodie that day and kept his head down. He didn’t want to be seen, even though he had nothing to hide.

An older woman had smiled at him kindly. “Are you here with your mate, son?” she asked.

He smiled back and nodded vaguely. He didn’t correct her or explain his reason.

When the nurse called him in, Seokjin didn’t blink when Jungkook said, "I want to raise a child. I’m not waiting for a bond anymore.. and that may never happen honestly."

Seokjin simply said, “You’d be surprised how many good parents start with a choice, not a mate.”

And in that sterile, well-lit office, something in Jungkook exhaled. Something about not getting into a lecture of why mates are needed or how stupid single parenting is as an idea or how difficult it would be.

And today… in the NICU lounge, staring at the quiet omega with a baby pressed to his chest, Jungkook remembered that day vividly. 

Here was another single parent, another one who started with a choice and not a mate. Another one who was probably the only other person who could understand Jungkook’s nervousness, stubbornness and hope.

Taehyung shifted slightly in his sleep. His chin dipped even lower, nose brushing the baby’s cap. Jungkook turned away slowly, sipping the coffee that had gone cold.

He didn’t know the omega’s past story yet, but he understood the weight in his arms.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

It was another time when Taehyung was in the lounge, folding the muslin cloth for the third time, when Jungkook entered. This time, he did not have have coffee in his hand, but a half-empty water bottle. Their eyes met briefly and awkwardly, but there was no stiffness like strangers have. 

Taehyung nodded first and Jungkook returned it with a faint smile. 

“Your daughter is gaining weight well. Touch wood,” Jungkook said, his voice low so it wouldn’t echo down the NICU corridor.

Taehyung nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Yeah, silver linings of my days. Yours is tolerating the feed well with that formula?”

“Oh, yes” Jungkook answered, mimicking wiping sweat off from forehead.

Then the silence followed again… but it wasn’t the heavy kind. 

But then, as if needing to fill the air with something other than beeping monitors, Jungkook murmured again, “She’s strong. The nurses say girls usually are.”

Jungkook gestured toward the whiteboard where NICU updates were scribbled. “Both of them are on the same care schedules. That’s rare for the nurses to achieve, they told me.” Jungkook shifted his stance and continued. “He responds to your hums too, you know. He settles when you’re in the room.”

Taehyung looked at the board, then at the two parallel recliners across the room. “Maybe they’re syncing up even more than we know.”

Jungkook chuckled. “Wouldn’t be the first time kids outpaced their parents.”

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Skin-to-skin times were its own kind of silent prayers every time for Jungkook. He sat back in the recliner beside baby Jeon’s isolette, one palm gently cupping the curve of his son’s diapered bottom. The baby’s chest and breathing followed a hum like clockwork.

One long breath and two shallow ones. And then a pause. Regulating his own body temperature outside of the isolette was also a big task for the little ones. The pattern wasn’t perfect but it was a rhythm and rhythm always meant life, Yoongi had told them a lot of times.

Jungkook leaned forward, eyes fixed on the soft flutter under his fingers. For a moment, his alpha instincts were quiet here - no roaring protectiveness, no adrenal surge. He was just watching.

And he remembered that dinner…

It was a gala dinner. Which meant it was formal and very loud. The food was somewhere between the shrimp course and a speech about quarterly revenue, when his phone buzzed and there was a message.

[He kicked, just once. Wanted you to know.]

He had excused himself with a murmured apology and walked into a marble hallway, heart hammering. He leaned against a column and closed his eyes to replay the message again in his head.

He hadn’t felt the kick, of course, he wasn’t with the person carrying the baby. Aka the surrogate. She was across the city, but the message, just those few words, had wrapped around his chest like a second heartbeat.

It was only weeks later, when she had offered Jungkook a spot at the next scan. That spot meant a chance to see the baby move in real time and to hear the Doppler.

He had said yes, of course he had said yes.

But the day of the appointment, the board meeting had run very late. And unfortunately… He’d missed the scan. She’d sent him a recording anyway.

Now, months later, that clip was saved in a protected folder in his phone. Sometimes, in the stillest hours of night, he played it. It was just enough to remember what it felt like to hear life where there had only been numbers before.

Jungkook shifted slightly in the recliner and baby Jeon made a hiccuping noise. The pause after the exhale was longer this time, but it was not alarming. Jungkook had learned to differentiate between those signals in the last few weeks.

He adjusted the blanket, brushing one knuckle along his son’s cheek.

“I missed your first flutter,” he whispered. “But I’m here now, okay?”

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

The suggestion from the nurse came lightly to Taehyung. It was almost casual , one evening during their evening duty. It was an older beta woman with gentle hands and a notebook always clipped to her waist, and was updating Baby Kim’s care chart when she turned to Taehyung. 

“Some parents add ultrasound prints,” she said, her voice soft, unassuming. “It helps the team remember they’re more than just charts. Before the wires, you know?”

She didn’t linger on it, waiting for Taehyung to answer. She flipped open the binder, it was filled with grids of feed volumes and oxygen stats and monitor logs. It had an empty page protector that she slid into the back, in ase Taehyung wanted to use that later. 

Taehyung didn't respond immediately. He just offered a small nod, it was more out of politeness than agreeing on what she said, and immediately started looking at his daughter’s monitor. 

But still, the words were ledged somewhere in his chest. 

Later that night when NICU lights dimmed even further, he held his daughter again for their scheduled Kangaroo hour. She was still tiny, her limbs tucked in a pearl still inside its shell. The sling the NICU staff had given him held her closer in a soft pocketed kind of way which made him feel anchored. 

Only when the baby was in deep sleep and Taehyung’s one hand was curled protectively across her back, did he open his phone. 

He scrolled through the folders - one that he had not touched in weeks, or maybe months. Everything had been organised by him in days leading to the emergency c-section. There were labels, subfolders, date stamped scans and even lab reports. Of course it also had IVF lab transfer papers, Blood-work panels, supplement logs too there. 

He skipped all those and the folder he looked for and stopped at was simpler. Unlabelled at first glance, he long pressed and renamed it in lower case: Week 12

There were only two images in the folder - One was a blurred one he took with a shaky hand. The other was what he also had printed and kept on his home desk. It was pixelated but unmistakable - it was her. 

There was no specific shape, or form yet - but she was there. In the curve of that light in black and white - as a spot - she was there. 

There was just a little blotch on a much bigger blotch if you would have asked anyone else. But for him - it was a mitten shaped blob reaching for space.

He remembered that moment with painful clarity. He was sitting in a darkened room in a clinic for a sonography. The schedule was fixed after his pregnancy test and blood test had come positive and Jin had asked him to wait for 12 weeks into the implantation for a sonography. 

And then he was, lying on his back, gel splayed over his abdomen, the nurses were getting the probes ready. His heart was thundering loud enough to be heard by everyone in the dark room he thought, but there was little he could or would do about that. 

In a couple of minutes, Namjoon walked in. Jin asked Taehyung to go to Namjoon specifically for the scan, not because he was the gynaecologist's husband but it was only Joon’s readings that Jin would trust for Taehyung’s case. Joon sat with blind drawn halfway and everything too still in the room. 

The probe was over taehyung’s lower abdomen and the screen lit up in grey-scale. With a steady and low voice Joon had pointed to the screen and some dots. 

“That… that is the fetal pole.” he had said. 

And Taehyung hadn’t heard much after that. He just remembered himself looking at the screen and whispering, “hi baby.”

He stayed alone that day, purposefully. He also hadn’t told anyone that the scan was scheduled - not friends, not even family. He didn’t even tell Jimin, his nurse for all the IVF proceeding because he knew Jimin would have kept updated on his own. He had felt the only person who did not judge, or pass a statement or ask anything during his entire journey of choosing IVF was his nurse at Jin’s clinic - Park Jimin. There were warriors who led, and were celebrated but nurses were often the silent ones holding the fort on the side. 

Taehyung didn’t want distraction or company that day. There was no gender told yet as it was far too early… But he had known. It was a girl.

He didn't know how or whether it was his mind playing tricks. He also did not know if it was pure instincts, scent or what. He just knew. And not once in the following week till the gender was written down in the file had he questioned it. 

Now, sitting in the NICU recliner with his daughter on his chest, Taehyung tapped the image and uploaded it to the hospital portal link he was left with. 

A few hours later, early in the morning, the same nurse returned with a small printout. She had formatted it carefully, resized the image and taped it beside Baby Kim’s name in the NICU binder, right next to it she made the weight entry for the day. 

When Taehyung looked at it through sleepy eyes, he felt his throat tighten. SHe had always been real to him, but for now, he was also seeing what the nurse intended others to see - her before the wires.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

The question caught him off guard. It came mid-shift, said without any premise, just folded into the evening rhythm of vitals and tape changes.

“Do you have any ultrasound photos?” the nurse asked, voice clam as her gloved fingers adjusted Baby Jeon’s oximeter line. “We’re updating NICU records. Some parents like adding an image from before.”

Before… the word hit harder than it should have. Are these supposed to be two chapters now in his story: Before and After?

It felt as if months of planning, legal prep, hormone syncing, scheduled clinic visits all could be collapsed into a single image pinned somewhere as Before . 

He had not known how to answer so he didn’t. The nurse finished what she came to do and left. 

But later - when the feeding log for his was updated and his son’s vitals had stabilised into soft free hum of acceptable range - Jungkook sat down on the bench at the corner in the NICU. The hallway outside was quiet when he unlocked his phone and opened an encrypted album on his cloud storage. 

Jungkook began to scroll and there were several scans. It was dozens, truth be told. He had kept all the scans and even made copies of them. It was not out of emotions or sentiments purely - it was out of habit. 

The earliest ones were saved from the day of embryo transfer, and the images made life look like static, where hope was barely more than a blur. He had labelled each one with a date and time, and had them catalogued by gestational week and scan type.

Week 6… week 8… week 10… week 14… week 18… week 24. 

It was basically now a timelapse of the process he had built his world around. Each one of them a tiny marker that something was growing. 

But the one he stopped at … without thinking… was week 12.

The baby’s hand was near its face in the scan. The hand was not clenched, but also not fully outstretched. It was just hovering… positioned with a kind of unconscious grace that felt almost deliberate thinking pose.

Jungkook remembered that scan vividly. It had been one of the few times he’d attended in person instead of over video, standing awkwardly beside the surrogate while Namjoon “operated” the “wand” as Jungkook used to call the probe.

He’d squinted at the screen and asked, “Is that a frown?”

Namjoon laughed. “That’s muscle tone, not mood. Where do you even get these ideas from?”

But Jungkook had smiled anyway, not paying attention to Namjoon’s observation. He remembered muttering, almost to himself, “Looks like this one is working through something.”

From then on, that scan became the baby’s thinking face.

He’d looked at it more times than he wanted to admit. It might have been also during meetings, sometimes on flights, even when the court date for finalizing the surrogacy paperwork got delayed again, and he wondered what the hell he was doing sitting alone in the courtroom.

Now, months later, sitting outside an incubator, Jungkook tapped the image, attached it to the hospital app, and flagged it for NICU record printing, renaming it as BABY JEON in bold and caps.

The nurse returned a few minutes later and wordlessly taped it to the inside of Baby Jeon’s binder. It was absurd, how much space a black-and-white blur could take up in a man’s chest.

But when he looked at it, like really looked at it … he felt something shift.

Now the baby had a picture before the wires.

And somewhere, down the same hallway, someone else was probably going through the same thing.

Chapter Text

It was week 7 of NICU for Baby Jeon and week 6 for Baby Kim.

Their monitors now mostly blinked in soft green, and routines had begun to nest into days. Bottle feeding, chart updates, diaper logs, temperature notes, everything had turned into a beautiful rhythm no one questioned. 

Jungkook just had the nurse log in baby Jeon’s weight for the day's end when he glanced across the partition.

Taehyung was feeding his daughter, sitting back in the recliner. His arm was cradled high, fingers splayed behind that tiny head, and the bottle propped up at a distinct, upright angle. The baby was sucking steadily, her eyes fluttering closed as the stomach was probably full now, this being her last feed for the day. 

“You’re not supposed to prop the bottle like that,” Jungkook said in a soft but authoritative tone.

Taehyung was unusually calm on this day; he didn’t look up immediately. He got the bottle out of the baby's mouth as the grip loosened, wiped the corner of her mouth with the soft cloth he carried, and positioned the baby in his arms, head resting on his shoulders. The baby needed to burp. 

Then he decided to look up and when he did, his jaw was set tight, “I’ve read three guides and watched five videos. Want to quiz me?”

The air between them thinned.

Jungkook straightened his posture immediately, his voice low when he responded. “It’s not personal. It’s about milk pooling in the throat. CPAP babies are at risk.”

Taehyung continued to lightly pat the baby’s back, his posture not shifting or straightening. “And she feeds better like this. You think I didn’t account for reflux? I’m not reckless just because I’m not quoting a study.”

Jungkook’s lips parted but no words came out. His thoughts were all over the place, between arguing, agreeing as well as apologising. At the end he did none of the three and chose silence.

But Taehyung’s mind ran. ‘Typical. ’ He didn’t look at Jungkook, but the thought still completed itself, ‘a classic know-it-all alpha, ready to explain how an omega should hold a bottle. He wants to tell me how to feed, how to soothe, how to do it properly, like the biology made him expert by default because he is an alpha after all’.

The rest of the time they sat in silence. Baby Kim decided to break it with a tiny burp and a content sigh as she went into deeper sleep than she was. No hiccups, no discomfort in sight.

The nurse logged in the stats and Taehyung inhaled sharply, maintaining eye contact with Jungkook as if that deep sleep state of the baby was a valid enough response. 

Jungkook didn’t comment again on anything or anyway Taehyung held or swaddled the baby. 

The night both fathers went home at different times and there were no NICU lounge room coffee breaks or see you tomorrow. 

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

The next day when Taehyung arrived at 7 a.m. he noticed Jungkook was already there. But he also noticed something else. 

Baby Jeon was taking his feed from the bottle, in Jungkook’s arms. The recline of the chair, the posture of the father and the angle of the bottle, everything was almost identical to how Taehyung was doing the day before. 

Later, when Jungkook put the baby down back in the isolette, the blanket was folded just like Taehyung does, tight corners, looser near the feet. 

Taehyung’s brain spoke to him again, 'Maybe, I had been wrong.'   Maybe the alpha had not been trying to correct me… but just learn from me. And maybe he just has a terrible way of asking for help.’

The eye contact started with stillness, but also with a small hint of understanding and care. But it definitely was not a peaceful or friendly one, yet.

Jungkook sat still beside baby Jeon’s isolette, gaze fixed somewhere in nothingness, not on the baby definitely. The steriliser in the NICU bay pinged, which meant Baby Jeon’s bottles were ready to be taken out. But Jungkook didn’t flinch.

Taehyung approached quietly, holding a half-used burp cloth and the haze of exhaustion bags under his eyes. “You haven’t spoken to him all yesterday and even this morning.”

That brought Jungkook’s attention back to the NICU and Taheyung . He just blinked once, slowly and said, “He’s stable and sleeping. I thought that is what matters. Or you have read three books on that as well?” 

Taehyung was taken aback and tilted his head with a frown, “That is not what I said.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched and clicked before he could respond, “Not everyone processes things by humming and crying.”

Taehyung froze, this was uncalled for. 

Jungkook also knew it immediately but something in him again stopped him from saying anything. The silence stretched very thin between them now. 

“Then try processing… something, anything at all,” Taehyung snapped back. “You sit here like a machine and pretend you have everything under control.”

Jungkook stood up slowly and with a visible stiffness in his body. “Don’t lecture me about parenting. You don’t know how I feel.”

“I know how you act,” Taehyung said and his voice came out quite bitter. “You hover. You record stats. But when was the last time you even held him without glancing at the monitors?”

“That’s none of your business,” Jungkook snapped.

“It became mine when you started copying how I hold her,” Taehyung hissed in sharp whispers. “It became mine when you started folding the blankets like I do.”

Jungkook’s breathing was very fast and and exhales very loud…

They both stood too close, and neither one wanted to yell. This was sacred space, NICU ground, but the whisper-fight was no less sharp for its volume.

“You act like feeling things makes you a better parent,” Jungkook said, low and sharp. “News flash - It doesn’t.”

Taehyung’s lip curled, not in anger but hurt. “And you act like not feeling anything makes you stronger. NEWS FLASH - It doesn’t either.”

At the other end of the room, Yoongi was passing up his round for the day. He was just taking a download from the nurses and looking at the charts before going in. At this news flashing, he glanced up from his chart.

“High cortisol in Room 5A today?” he murmured to the head nurse, not amused, but the nurses chuckled. Yoongi never understood what the staff found funny in his comments, but now he was used to this. He just decided to not go into the NICU at that moment and left as he said, “I shall visit in some time, I don't want to get in the middle of whatever is happening. My sanity is far more important.” He again heard the chuckles behind him. 

Both fathers left within five minutes of each other, in the middle of the day for the first time. They used to go back only for resting in the night as NICU staff had assured them that babies sleep from 11 p.m. till 6 am. And they should be using this time to rest.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Jungkook didn’t return that day. Taehyung did in an hour. 

The empty recliner beside Baby Jeon’s isolette made the monitors feel louder. Even Taehyung’s hums were not as soft and harmonious as usual. Baby Kim wriggled restlessly in his arms, as if she sensed something was out of its usual orbit.

Taehyung fed her in silence, gaze flickering every so often to the space Jungkook would normally occupy. He saw the nurses returning every two hours to feed baby Jeon. And somewhere, involuntarily, Taehyung found himself thinking ‘He must have called and instructed the nurses to take over. I feel bad, that boy has been alone for half a day now.’ 

The next morning, Taehyung arrived earlier than his usual 7 a.m.. The nurse at the desk didn’t greet him like everyday. She just nodded, eyes trailing toward Room 5A of NICU. He turned the corner and found Jungkook already there, back straight, holding his son with a kind of affection and admiration he hadn’t shown in days.

He wasn’t speaking, not audibly at least. But Taehyung saw his mouth move.

He didn’t want to interrupt the moment so he skipped his routine of calling out to Jungkook saying ‘Good morning, Jeon’s Appa.’

Rather, he moved to his side of the room, gently unwound Baby Kim from her wrap, and began their morning skin-to-skin session. He didn’t look up for nearly ten minutes.

When he finally did, Jungkook met his eyes. The apology was not required as his next words came out very soft, very unusual.

“I played him that heartbeat clip. The one from Week 20 I told you about.”

Taehyung breathed easy and happy as he responded, “Did he like it?”

Jungkook’s expression changed as he shrugged. “ I don’t know exactly. He hiccuped halfway through.”

That made Taehyung smile and the words came out faster than he could think, “Like father like son.” And he immediately bit his lip back, took a couple of breaths and then added “That’s approval, trust me.”

The silence which followed this interaction was a better one, still tentative, but definitely easier than the day before. 

“For what it’s worth, I didn’t mean you’re cold,” Taehyung just spoke after a while, as if it was a continuous conversation. And maybe it was… because silence also was not just silence. It was a conversation. He adjusted his daughter’s cap and continued, “I just… sometimes it feels like I’m nailed to this floor, not able to do much… and you’re two feet away not staying still in one place. Office, home, work, colleagues who come to meet you here, phone calls. I just…”

As his monologue continued, Jungkook’s lips parted and he jumped in between, “I know,” he said. “And sometimes I look at you and I feel jealous. Calm and present here without anywhere to run, without any anxiety… I feel like if I stop moving, I’ll drown.”

By that afternoon, the space between their recliners closed two inches more. 

Yoongi came through his visits, and he noticed. He just pulled out his phone and opened his DMs to text one contact - 

“Remind me to tell you the cortisol levels when we meet next.”

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥ 

Another early morning of the week, NICU was its usual self - sterilised floor, sanitized bay, stable monitors. 

The lights were dimmed for morning transition and the whiteboard had already been updated in a loopy handwriting of the nurse:

Baby Kim – stable.
Baby Jeon – resting, on low-flow.

That day, Taehyung walked in carrying not much for the NICU. His plan was he would walk home if he needed something that way he would get some exercise as well. Now that he was cleared for walk, he told himself he shall use the opportunity. 

(But if you ask the narrator - his plan was… to … borrow. From the other resident of NICU and his appa)

But, no wait… He did carry something. He carried folded creases of exhaustion as his under eye bags. He looked himself in the mirror and knew that no amount of sleep would be mending this in near future. 

He wasn’t expecting anything different today, just the usual. But when he reached the little square of space everyone half-jokingly called “his corner,” he paused.

The recliner had already been pulled out from the wall.

Now that alone might have gone unnoticed or written off as maybe a nurse had adjusted it after changing the sheets. 

But the blanket… his favourite NICU blanket, the hospital-issued one with the tattered hem and a faded laundry label… that blanket had been smoothed over the side. 

There was something else also resting neatly on the armrest - his favorite shawl . The one he had been leaving at the NICU as it carried whatever scent of Taehyung it could absorb. It was a navy blue overused, the one he always covered himself with during skin-to-skin.

It was folded, very intentional, it was definitely not by a staff or nurse cleaning up the corner.

And then… he saw it.

There was a mug. Not one of the plastic tumblers they had been using in the NICU, but a brown ceramic mug and he didn't take more than a moment to recognise it. 

The mug sat on the side table, steam still forming up at it’s rim. As he picked it up, the scent hit him first… chamomile…and then as he tasted it, the sweetness hit him again… It was honey, not sugar. It was just the way he took his morning tea. The rest of the day could run on coffee but morning tea was a must.

There was no note left, the cup owner not around, no one asking for credit for this moment of bliss Taehyung was experiencing. He stood sipping it for a long time, one hand tightly curled around the shawl and the other around the mug.

Fifteen minutes later, Jungkook entered the NICU room. He didn’t look at Taehyung much, there was no indication in his body language that he was wanting to explain anything. 

He did his usual nods, at the nurse, at Taehyung and then jotted something in his tablet. 

And somehow… that said everything. 

Baby Kim was tucked neatly into her wrap in the isolette. Taehyung sat back in the recliner, that shawl, the same navy blue one, draped across his lap, his fingers curled around the ceramic mug. 

Jungkook also didn't glance, but knew each of these details. He also noticed another thing, a note on the white board against Baby Kim’s 4 a.m. time log. 

Without any unnecessary premise, he cleared his throat and asked (to no one in particular but Taehyung knew it was him), “Did she take a 4 a.m. bottle today?”

Taehyung also didn’t look up and he simply answered, again to no one in particular, “Yes, it was a cry bout, the nurses decided to give her something. They suggest it’s a growth spurt.”

“Good, that would do great for the weight gain.” Jungkook replied, nodding his head and a smile across his face. 

They both knew the magic number (of the weight) for discharge and each 50/60/100 gms gave them the hope of going home so much sooner. 

Also, that was it. That was what they said to each other for the next hour. 

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

At some point, Jungkook rose to grab a fresh swaddle from the shared supply shelf near the warmers. He moved efficiently, as always, but now it was his turn to pause…

Because he caught sight of something small as he crossed baby Kim’s isolette.

Taehyung had tucked a towel beneath her neck. It was just a simple cloth triangle, folded under her cheek to absorb moisture, and to help align her posture… just like Jungkook had done for Baby Jeon the morning before.

He didn’t make it a point to say it aloud, but something about it sat within him. 

By now the tea was nearly over and the rest of it was cold in Taehyung’s hands. But… he hadn’t let go of the mug. His grip on it remained gentle, like putting it down might shift the balance somehow. 

And Jungkook was amazed at himself. Because Jungkook… who had always been territorial about everything he owned, even mugs… hadn’t asked for it back.

The navy blue shawl always remained on the recliner for the rest of the week. Always folded with care and waiting. What changed now was, it was used by them both.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

It started with a diaper blowout. Just as Jungkook lifted the flap of the diaper, Baby Jeon let out a noise that could only be described as smug. It was a pleased little grunt as if to say, ‘Yeah, I did that Appa.’

The damage was… substantial.

Jungkook had just inhaled through his nose but now exhaled through his soul, grimacing as he reached for the wipes with one hand and gently lifted the baby’s legs with the other. The smell hit with cruel precision but he had no choice but to power through. 

He thanked his stars that the embarrassment was limited to the three of them, as Taehyung had not yet come in and he told the little girl, ‘ Baby Kim, you won't rat on us, right?’  He was sure she won't.

He was halfway through cleanup, sleeves rolled, hands already in damage-control mode, when he realised the wet tissues packet in his hand was over. And the second one was on the side table, a few steps away.

He stilled.

Last wipe in one hand, baby’s legs half-raised in the other, he stared at the side table and box of wet tissues on top of it like it had personally betrayed him. In no universe he could sanitize the current state, get the new tissue box, and come back to finish the diaper situation without abandoning one or risking more mess as well as contamination.

He cursed softly under his breath.

And then… out of nowhere… a hand appeared in his vision. It was a steady one and even gloved, “I’ve got the legs,” Taehyung said quietly.

Jungkook blinked, startled and embarrassed as he had never been embarrassed before in his life. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I’m good at hovering.” Taehyung gave a small smirk, like it was an elite skill no one had properly appreciated ever because they didn't understand it.

He slipped into position beside Jungkook and lifted Baby Jeon’s feet with practised ease, holding them just above the battlefield while Jungkook resumed wiping with the new tissue box opened. 

Their foreheads nearly touched over the isolette. The air between them warmed with proximity, but neither mentioned or made a point to notice it. The baby gurgled contentedly, blissfully unaware of the tactical operation underway beneath him.

Jungkook reached for the final wipe… just as the baby grunted again. Jungkook took a beat to understand what the noise was, but Taehyung understood before Jungkook.

He changed his hand's direction where he was holding baby Jeon’s legs and moved a little away. Jungkook was confused but before he could react there it was…The spray.

A perfect arcing stream of pee landed squarely across Jungkook’s sleeve and chest and he froze.

Taehyung made a noise, somewhere between a gasp and a wheeze, before transitioning into full blown laughter. “Oh my god,” he choked out, “it’s like a sprinkler system in here.”

Jungkook looked at his arm and chest... Then at the isolette, and then at Taehyung and that is when he lost his facade and started laughing too.

They collapsed into the kind of laughter that comes not from the joke itself, but from the situation around it and it was the kind that usually cleans out something heavy inside.

For the next ten minutes, they fumbled through wipes, fresh linens, and a rogue sock that somehow ended up across the room. Taehyung almost tripped over it while retrieving it. In amidst all this Jungkook mistook a burp cloth for a diaper liner. 

But… somehow… on this day, It didn’t matter. The baby was clean now, fed in sometime again and happy.

And… So were they.

When they finally stepped back, breathless, Taehyung wiped tears from his eyes… this time from laughter, not stress as he said, “They don’t put this in the brochures.”.

Jungkook grinned, “No. But maybe they should.”

Their eyes met across the isolette, Jungkook’s heart thudding warm in his chest and this time the feeling was different. This time he couldn't ignore it. 

And for the first time, neither of them looked away from eye contact.

Just like that, it was nearly 10:30 pm. And time for the last feed. The bottle warmer beeped but Taehyung didn’t move.

Jungkook shifted first, rising to place the empty bottle into the sterilizer rack. He wiped down the feeding log, then hesitated, pen still in hand.

“Do you think they’ll ever ask about this?” he asked and his voice was exceptionally quiet.

Taehyung looked up at this, he was confused and wanted to clarify “What do you mean?”

“This part, the machines, the monitors, the wires, the logs” Jungkook let out a low chuckle.

Taehyung was as clueless as Jungkook and he went silent for a moment. But somehow, whenever it was Jungkook needing an answer, Taehyung always had it. “Maybe. But I think we’ll have edited it down to something simpler by then.”

“Like?” Jungkook frowned as he asked.

“Like, ‘You slept through all the hard parts.’ Or, ‘You looked like a potato in a beanie, but we still cried the first time you farted in your sleep.’”

Jungkook huffed a laugh and Taehyung leaned back, brushing his knuckle over his daughter’s cheek. “They don’t need to know everything. Just enough to know they had a story.”

Jungkook sat in the recliner beside him as he spoke “I never realized how much parenting meant was just… keeping the worst parts off their shoulders.”

Taehyung nodded, “Yeah. And carrying it without making it look like you’re carrying it.”

At this moment a nurse passed behind them, adjusting a chart, but neither of them looked up.

“Sometimes I wonder,” Jungkook continued the conversation, “what it would’ve been like to do this the way we thought we would. With someone beside us from the beginning.”

Taehyung again didn’t answer right away. This was a more difficult question and hit home also a lot. But then he just found himself saying, “Maybe we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

He didn’t look at Jungkook when he said it, but Jungkook turned to look at him. After that they didn’t say anything else.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

The NICU was not a place for poetry and a paediatrician was not exactly a poster boy for a poet. But what could be done when the love for poetry found it’s way into a medical student’s heart. 

Yoongi’s clipboard and diary was for numbers and vitals and charts and CPAP settings. Everything in those screamed precision.

But some things still managed to smudge the corners. 

Like when he logged baby Kim’s vitals first during this week (barring the day when he walked out from the drama), it said - Oxygen 95%, consistent breath pattern. 

But what made him pause was the shifts in oxygen levels when Jungkook entered. The alpha would not even speak, he would just enter the NICU room and yet, her oxygen curve used to raise half a point.

That went into the corner notes : Passive auditory/scent influence???

Similarly across the hall, baby Jeon’s pulse had been unusually quick during one late evening shift change. Yoongi was doing his last round for the day and he noticed how Taehyung placed his hand, on a reflex, just above the baby Jeon’s isolette rim. There was no touch but still the heart rate stabilised within seconds, just with Taehyung’s presence. 

Another note found its way in scribbles: Baby shows physiological response to non-parental contact. 

But still, what made him pause the longest was the rhythm.

The things Yoongi noted but those didn’t have columns in charts where it could be recorded.

It was the way Taehyung and Jungkook now arrived five minutes within each other. And every time, it was unplanned sync. 

He glanced up at the end of third round for the day beginning of week 8 for Baby Jeon. Jungkook walked in just after Taehyung, and was not surprised to see him. His body and mind were kind of aligned to Taehyung’s presence and they worked in tandem now, almost accidentally. 

One folded blankets white the other warmed bottles for feed. They had gone to the extent of finishing each other’s checklist columns on the NICU board without any exchange of words needed. 

Yoongi pulled out his second notebook. It was his private one, the one Seokjin had once gifted him with a smirk and a note on the first page ‘for all your side quests.’

Yoongi flipped open a new page as his mind raced between - Unbonded Co-Caregivers? Unspoken Alignment?? Mutual Behavioural Modulation??? Emotional Transference????

He tapped his pen once and then a few more times. Then he underlined the last one a few times and closed the notebook. 

Later that day, while in his own cabin, reviewing the neonatal logs for the other two new admissions in NICU room 7, a text buzzed on his phone. 

It was from Seokjin,

“How are my miracle babies and their dads doing? Cortisol levels in check?"

Yoongi glanced up looking at nothing in particular as he smiled. It was not a regular occasion to see Yoongi smile like that on his own. 

He picked the phone to reply,

The babies are doing great. The dad, though?? Refusing to notice anything.

He put the phone down and opened his log book again and made a visible entry in both the files for Room 5A - Heartbeat variance synchronized during side-by-side KMC. Will monitor again tomorrow.

Then in a very cursive handwriting he made an entry in his private notebook. 

Prediction: They’ll be the last to know.

He knew this would make a good story one day and he wanted to keep certain markers for it to remember.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Chapter Text

Baby Jeon Week 8 / Baby Kim Week 7

It started with file folders. 

Someone in the nurse’s station began stacking Taehyung and Jungkook’s updates together - Kim/Jeon Room 5A. It had the same feeding logs, same shift notes, same timings, the habits formed fast and everyone forgot to question it. 

One evening there was a new intern in NICU. They leaned over the attending nurse and gestured toward the people sitting in the ICU lounge and said, “The Room 5A couple,” she whispered. “They’re kind of amazing, huh?”

The attending/ older staff or anyone else somehow never corrected her. 

Baby Kim’s vitals were logging higher consistency nowadays, especially during the evenings. Evening was when Jungkook visited her side of the isolette. In the evening when Baby Jeon started napping longer and she was a little fussier, Jungkook was mostly around Taehyung’s reclining chair, helping him with fresh burp cloths or diaper changes.

Across the divider, Baby Jeon began tolerating his feeds better, especially after Taehyung had casually recommended a formula brand that wasn’t on the standard NICU list. Jungkook hadn’t said anything when the nurse switched it. 

It was subtle, but obvious… if anyone were watching.

Their bags went on the same hook now.

They’d stopped stepping around each other like strangers. They moved like codependents with maps of each other’s routines.

Taehyung warmed both milk bottles without asking. Jungkook adjusted Taehyung’s recliner angle while he was in the bathroom.

And then…

One morning, both babies wore matching socks… pale green with daisies on the toe. Taehyung did not remember buying them and thought the nurses must have found them from Jungkook’s stack and put it on. 

Incidentally, Jungkook thought the same. He didn’t remember buying them and thought nurses pulled them out from Taehyung’s stack . 

And both left the socks on.

During an afternoon feed, Taehyung chuckled at something Jungkook mumbled under his breath. He reached out and touched Jungkook’s wrist, correction: inside of the wrist. Jungkook didn’t flinch, nor did he pull away. He just… stayed.

From the observation bay, nurses marked down a non-clinical note on the margin of the NICU log:

"Emotional sync noted. Co-caregiver pair functioning as one unit." No one showed it to anyone. Everyone already knew.

Everyone… except maybe the two of them.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Baby Jeon: Day 51 of NICU

The NICU was quieter than usual that morning. Not peaceful… just subdued, like the air itself had something amiss and the whole ward was holding its breath.

On day one, Yoongi noticed it almost immediately.

Baby Jeon had taken only three-fourth of his morning feed. The overnight chart showed low bottle intake. There was a spike in reflux at 3:20 a.m., and again near shift change. Respiration was uneven, though still within range, but hovering close to the thresholds he didn’t like.

Yoongi tapped his pen twice at the bottom of the vitals sheet.

He’d seen this pattern before. Feed refusal wasn’t uncommon in preterm babies, it happened with over stimulation, with minor colds, with belly gas and fluctuating temperatures. But this didn’t feel like that. It felt… cyclical, a subtle kind of distress that stemmed from an absence.

The father wasn’t here.

“Jeon-ssi called in sick,” the nurse mentioned right before Yoongi entered the NICU.

“Low-grade fever. Probably nothing, but of course he cannot come into the NICU.”

So they waited…

Taehyung didn’t say it aloud, but he watched the isolette like he was listening for something. He saw the little boy in distress and he wanted to give him the rhythm… the rhythm he couldn’t recreate unfortunately.

Day two, the pattern held. Yoongi was charting Baby Kim that morning when he glanced across the pod and caught the note beside Baby Jeon’s station: 2 refluxes. 1 missed bottle. Mild desaturation post-feed.

Taehyung was there that day too. He stood in the same spot near Baby Jeon where Jungkook usually did… next to the isolette, hands tucked into the sleeves of his sweater, humming softly under his breath. Yoongi could tell he was trying to lend calmness with his presence, as if that alone could tether the child through someone else.

It helped, a little. But it was not enough as per Yoongi.

“Still no fever spike?” Yoongi asked the paediatric intern during rounds.

“No, sir. Lungs sound clear. But he’s spitting up more, and his weight plateaued today.”

Taehyung adjusted Baby Jeon’s swaddle twice in the same minute. And not because it needed fixing… just because he didn’t know what else to do.

Yoongi didn’t say anything. He just noted it, signed the charts, and lingered a little longer than usual.

By day three, the weight had dropped.

It was not a dramatic drop, not dangerous at all but … but enough to tighten Yoongi’s brow as he stood at the station, flipping through the tablet. The curve that had finally begun its slow climb after weeks of struggle had bent downward again.

Stress response. Delayed caregiver withdrawal. Attachment imprint disruption. The words lived in Yoongi’s mind like pinned tags. And he knew better than to over-pathologize a 28-weeker still in NICU care.

But he also knew better than to ignore instinct.

He circled Baby Jeon’s isolette once, then approached the lead beta nurse on duty.

“Has anyone heard from Jeon-ssi today?” he asked quietly.

The nurse nodded, already expecting the question. “He’s still running a fever. His primary doctor wants two more days of isolation, just in case.”

Yoongi stared at the chart. The data confirmed what his gut had whispered two days ago.

This baby missed his father.

Across the room, Taehyung exhaled slowly, rubbing at his temple. He hadn’t said Jungkook’s name all morning, hadn’t spoken to any staff about him. But he had looked toward the entrance four separate times.

Yoongi gave a tight nod. He wasn’t worried about the virus, Jungkook would recover. But the baby… the baby wasn’t responding to any of the care staff. Every time a bottle approached, his face crumpled into a wail before the bottle even touched his lips.

“Regulated contact might help,” another nurse said under her breath. “He’s scent-conditioned already. He knows what’s missing.”

Yoongi closed his notebook. “Then we find a workaround.”

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Taehyung wasn’t listening intentionally. He was in the far corner of the ward, eyes on his daughter’s feed, adjusting her sock cuff with deliberate movements. 

But the voices carried to him and words like regulated touch and reflex comfort and scent association cut through his mental haze.

And just then, Yoongi approached him… not like a doctor, but like someone about to ask something.

“Kim-ssi,” he said softly, “I want to ask something that’s not protocol. It’s not even comfort-zone.”

Taehyung looked up sharply at the tone and the look in Yoongi’s eyes made his stomach turn before he heard the request.

“He won’t settle,” Yoongi explained, referring to Baby Jeon. “He hasn’t taken a full feed since last two days. We’ve tried warm touch, low lighting, even humming. But his readings only calm when you’re in the room.”

Taehyung didn’t speak. His hand was still curled around Baby Kim’s swaddle blanket like a lifeline.

“We’re not asking you to bond,” Yoongi added. “Just one max two kangaroo sessions. Supervised and short would help I strongly believe.”

A nurse lingered nearby, her eyes full of hesitation… but also quiet hope.

Taehyung inhaled slowly. His instincts screamed No. That wasn’t his child to hold. That wasn’t his scent to calm. It felt intrusive, even disrespectful. It was sacred in a way that even medicine couldn’t uncoil.

But then he looked across the room, where Baby Jeon’s tiny limbs fluttered against the nest of hospital blankets, restless and alone.

And suddenly Taehyung remembered the weight of his own silence when his daughter cried and no one came. When she’d been in the NICU Day 2 and he hadn’t been cleared yet. When all he could offer her was his scent pressed into a blanket and prayers whispered outside the doors.

“I’ll do it,” he said, voice barely audible. “Just once.”

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

They prepped him in silence.

He had to go through the entire sanitation process with a fresh gown, scrubbed hands and that never stopped him from doing it.. The sling was already warmed and cushioned. 

It was day three of Jungkook’s absence, and the nurse just offered a quiet nod toward Baby Jeon’s isolette, as if to say he needs this. You’re here. Please.

Taehyung hesitated for some moments. And then… his body moved before his heart did.

He sat stiffly in the recliner, Jungkoook’s recliner. Baby Jeon was awake, his eyes were fluttering, chest rising in that rapid, uneven rhythm that always made Taehyung ache. The nurse lifted him gently, cords and tubes much ,lesser now and managed with steady hands, and then… carefully… laid the baby onto Taehyung’s bare chest.

The reaction wasn’t immediate. But then…

There was a sigh, a soft one, barely audible… but a definite i know you sigh.

His tiny fist curled against Taehyung’s collarbone as the breathing slowed. The saturation monitor clicked upward in the second minute. Then a full point by fifth minute. Then another… and another… another… till it reached the level it was supposed to be at.

Taehyung didn’t need to look at the monitor to know. He felt it. He felt the shift with the soft drop of stress in the baby’s limbs. All just indicators of unconscious trust.

Something in Taehyung opened then… painfully and without permission.

The baby was lighter than his own daughter, but the weight of the moment was worse. It wasn’t that Taehyung didn’t want to hold him.

It was that he wanted to hold him too much.

His hands trembled slightly as he adjusted the blanket. And he began to hum… a soft, barely above a breath. It was not a lullaby, just a steady tone of hum. Something he’d learned calmed his daughter when her heartbeats spiked.

And baby Jeon responded. His limbs slackened and the faintest huff of contentment vibrated against Taehyung’s skin.

He didn’t stay long, just the allotted hour. When the nurse came to lift him back into the isolette, Taehyung nodded without looking up, throat tight, guilt dragging behind every step back to his chair.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

The next day, they asked again.

It was day four of Jungkook’s absence . This day, Taehyung didn’t answer right away. He looked at the baby, already awake and fussing and then he looked at the nurse. Then, wordlessly, nodded a yes.

It was a repeat of everything from the day before. The same prep, the same soft hands, the same sling…

But this time, Taehyung sat down differently, it was slower, like the air weighed more. He accepted the baby onto his chest with careful hands, then stilled… almost too still.

Because today… he couldn’t stop thinking.

He couldn’t stop imagining Jungkook walking through those doors.

He couldn’t stop picturing the exact moment their eyes would meet. He could not stop imagining Jungkook seeing him like this - shirt open, cradling the alpha’s son, humming like it was muscle memory.

And he didn’t know what would hurt more… That the alpha might get angry or violent… Or that he might not.

Taehyung glanced at the NICU doors, then glanced again and again and again.

Every few minutes, his eyes flicked there, then away. There was a guilt pressing into his chest like a second heartbeat and it was under every breath. Every time the baby made a tiny, trusting sound that wasn’t meant for him… but somehow was , Taehyung felt that pang of guilt.

The blanket was warm against his chest, but Taehyung barely felt it, everything inside him felt still.

Baby Jeon settled with a rustle of wires and a faint hiss from the CPAP tubing, his tiny limbs curling toward Taehyung’s sternum. The shift in weight was so delicate it barely registered… except it did. It lodged under Taehyung’s same collarbone like a quiet ache.

The baby squirmed first, his breath uneven, unsure. Taehyung could feel it in the tremble of the ribs… hesitation, confusion. He wasn’t his Appa, but the baby was more settled and suddenly it wasn’t. Taehyung was about to turn and call the nurse…

But then…

Then the baby’s head turned slightly, nose pressing just beneath Taehyung’s clavicle, where his scent glands still lived, definitely dulled but not absent.

And the baby was still. His breathing steadied and was no longer panicked.

Taehyung bit the inside of his cheek.  “You’re braver than your father,” he whispered, voice hush. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

He began to hum again, like a secret, even as his arms curved more securely around the child he had no right to soothe.

A nurse passed by and noted the heart rate stabilization. 

Systolic pressure easing. Duration: 14 minutes of skin-to-skin contact.

Taehyung didn’t see what she wrote, but he knew he was helping.

However, he was also unravelling… because in the low light of NICU Room 5A, with this small pup nuzzled close, something stirred under his rib-cage… A need to protect.

He fought the urge to rub his scent against the blanket, his hands curled into fists. He pulled the fabric tighter… not to warm the baby, but to keep his own body from betraying him.

“I’m not supposed to be doing this,” he murmured, voice catching against the blanket’s edge. “I’m not supposed to want this.”

But he did. And when he finally began to shift, to ease the baby back into the arms of the isolette, he hesitated.

Still… he stayed longer than instructed. It had been ten minutes above an hour at first… then it became fifteen and then twenty.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Jungkook’s fever had broken sometime the previous day. 

His skin no longer ached with heat, but something inside him still burned. His physician had instructed that if for 12 hours the fever didn't come back, he was cleared for NICU … although he was advised for being masked and sanitized…. but every cell in his body was taut, coiled. He missed his pup, his baby… more than he would have admitted to anyone.

He hadn’t told anyone he was coming early.

The automatic doors hissed open with the usual puff of cool air, and he stepped into Room 5A, still adjusting his second glove. He was halfway to his son’s isolette when the sight stopped him cold.

Taehyung… he was not beside the girl’s isolette. He was near the boy’s…  in the chair, with gown open, chest bare, skin-to-skin…Holding his baby and humming.

It was a sound Jungkook had heard only in fragments… it was low, steady, the kind of sound meant to calm. And it was. The monitors confirmed it. Baby Jeon’s heart rate had normalized. Oxygen saturation was peaking. All signs pointed to comfort.

But all Jungkook could see was someone else touching his child. Someone else soothing what he’d been desperate to soothe.

He couldn’t move, not at first. Every alpha instinct in him erupted louder than his logic and stronger than his restraint. 

His breath caught like his throat was closing. His pupils dilated behind the mask. Taehyung didn’t hear him at first.

He didn’t know that he was being watched and that every second his skin remained against Jungkook’s son, it was sending static through Jungkook’s spine.

Suddenly as if on instinct, Taehyung looked up… and froze.

Jungkook was already standing just inside the room, eyes locked on him, unmoving.

Without a word, Taehyung shifted. He adjusted the sling, carefully placed Baby Jeon back into his isolette, smoothing the blanket even though his hands had started to shake.

Jungkook hadn’t spoken a word as he just turned and walked out toward the NICU lounge with clipped, deliberate steps.

And… Taehyung followed, not because he was asked. But,...  because he knew.

Whatever this was… whatever Jungkook needed to say, he wouldn’t say it in Room 5A. And Taehyung hated that he understood that.
Jungkook stepped forward, jaw clenched. His shoulders were rigid, breath shallow—like he was holding something back not just from Taehyung, but from himself.

His voice, when it came, was low and each word precise, “Did you scent him too?”
The there was a pause where no one said anything. Jungkook continued, “Was that the plan? Step in where you weren’t asked?”

The words landed like they were meant to bruise.

Taehyung didn’t speak at first. He blinked, slow and stunned. His mouth parted slightly, as if forming a protest that never reached the air. His shoulders curled inward, not defensively, but like someone caught in headlights.. like a prey.

But he didn’t flinch. He understood where Jungkook was coming from so he didn’t argue. He just stood there, swallowed hard, and then said softly, “He needed someone.”

Jungkook's fists balled at his sides. His nails pressed half-moons into the meat of his palms. His heart thundered so loudly it drowned out everything inside him.

“He has someone,” Jungkook snapped, voice cracking with something closer to grief than rage, “He has me.”

The sentence felt like it kept echoing between them.

He could feel his heartbeat in his gums and nostrils now. It pulsed through his limbs with nowhere to land.

He hadn’t meant to say it like that. At least not with a blame or an accusation. But the image was seared into his memory now… Taehyung, half-naked, holding his son to his chest like he’d done it a hundred times… Like he was supposed to.

Taehyung stood still under it all. He didn’t cry or explain, but his silence pressed back just as loudly.

And Jungkook… gutted by the sound of his own voice, wasn’t sure who he was really angry at.

• The omega in front of him.
• The alpha inside him.
• Or the fact that he hadn’t been there first.

Jungkook’s scent had begun to spike… sharp at the edges, all static and stormy, but Taehyung didn’t back down even when he noticed it.

Something in him, independent omega or the rebel or otherwise, rose to meet it. He felt it claw up his spine, past the shame and carefulness.

“And where the fuck were you?” Taehyung’s voice snapped across the space between them, sharper than ever before… and Jungkook stilled. He hadn’t expected that.

The babies stirred slightly as if at the sudden tension, a high-pitched alert blipping once before settling again.

Taehyung still didn’t flinch. His hand curled tighter around his chest where Baby Jeon was a few moments ago, “You think I wanted this?” he continued, quieter now but shaking. “You think I wanted to hold a child who isn’t mine, to feel… feel this… and know I don’t have the right?”

Jungkook took a step closer, teeth bared behind the mask, hands trembling. “Don’t touch him again, Kim. Don’t even look at him unless I say so.”

Taehyung inhaled as if struck. It wasn’t just dominance. It was terrifying. Jungkook’s alpha instincts, unshackled by fever and fear, had warped into something defensive and desperate. This wasn’t about trust or boundaries. It was about loss.

Because somewhere inside him, Jungkook had already imagined what it would feel like to be replaced. He had imagined what it would be like to walk in and find the only thing that mattered more than his company, his estate, his schedule… was being comforted by someone else’s heartbeat.

Taehyung’s eyes gleamed from restraint. His voice dropped low as he moved dangerously close to the alpha, meeting him eye to eye and said, “Say it again if you really mean it.”

Jungkook’s mask slipped slightly as he exhaled loudly. His lips moved, but nothing came. Say it , he told himself. Or say the truth… that it scared you. Say that it mattered.

But he couldn’t.

And Taehyung, without another word, turned to go back into the NICU room. Their fingers brushed and Jungkook’s hand was ice cold. And somehow Taehyung’s was hot as fire.

Neither of them said sorry. But neither of them left either.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Yoongi never raised his voice. Even though his work made him responsible for tiny little hearts and lives, he never spoke out of turn or raised his voice. He didnt need to. Years of NICU nights and emergency C-sections ahd trained him to sense and address chaos without directly looking at it. 

He would also walk straight into it - when necessary. 

This week the monitor readings and and chart logs spoke first to him on every visit. Rest of the details were filled in by the head and attending nurses.

Baby Kim’s oxygen stats had dipped for a couple of minutes when the voices rose. Baby Jeon’s heart rate was skipping between spikes, his baseline now several beats higher than the hour before the spat. 

Cortisol readings had tripped an internal flag. And… The cause wasn’t medical—it was emotional.

Yoongi closed the chart slowly. When he turned, the sight in front of him didn’t surprise him.

Taehyung stood a step back from the isolette, his arms still slack. Jungkook was stiff, knuckles pale as they hovered above the controls. The babies were quiet as of now, but the room's silence was loud.

“You both think this is about boundaries and roles,” Yoongi said, approaching with his usual calm, clipboard in hand. “Well… It isn’t.”

Neither of the fathers spoke. They didn’t have to. Their scent trails still lingered in the air, distorted by adrenaline and something else Yoongi recognized all too well… Fear.

“It’s about plain biology. And maybe something about identity.” Yoongi tapped the pen once against the chart as he continued. 

“Jungkook, your alpha instincts were triggered by something you couldn’t control. That doesn’t make you wrong. It makes you human. But it also doesn’t give you the right to direct that fear into cruelty.” Yoongi said with no expressions on his face.

And then he turned to the other dad. 

“And Taehyung… You stepped into a moment that wasn’t yours, because you didn’t want to watch a baby suffer. That’s not overstepping. That’s empathy. But it’s also why it hurts more. Because it maybe meant something.”

And… He let that sit.

Yoongi gestured toward the two isolettes, now separated by just half a curtain as he continued, “You weren’t supposed to do this alone. You started alone…. But you have to acknowledge that now you’re not. So stop pretending like it doesn’t matter.”

He watched them, “Figure it out,” Yoongi said at last. “Not for each other. For them.”

The night feeds were done after Yoongi’s round. No one spoke to each other after that. When it was time to leave, Taehyung had been halfway to the door when something in him snapped and he turned.

Jungkook stood frozen and his eyes unreadable above his mask. But Taehyung wasn’t looking for permission or courtesy anymore.

“You don’t get to pull rank when you’re the one who was unable to be here for him,” Taehyung said, voice low and shaking. “You do not get to growl at me because I didn’t let the boy go untouched.”

The words landed like knife between them, and for a second, Jungkook didn’t move. Then he said it, “He’s not your boy.”

Taehyung flinched like it had been shouted at it. “I know,” he said, the breath catching in his throat. “And… That’s what makes this worse.”

The air shifted, before either of them did, when Taehyung’s scent broke into the space between them… Flooding the space with a mix that even nurses, staff and maybe Yoongi also would later log in clinical terms [Elevated temperature. Scent profile shift. Omega grief]

And it also… It hit Jungkook hard and he couldn’t step back fast enough. He inhaled deeply without meaning to. And then it settled in his chest like smoke.

That wasn’t a bond scent. That wasn’t a rut trigger as well. Maybe… That was what mourning was supposed to smell like when it hadn’t had a name.

Taehyung’s eyes were glassy now as he said, “You think I wanted this? You think I asked to become the person who can calm a baby that isn’t mine? Who hums lullabies into ears that I didn’t make?”

Jungkook didn’t answer.There was in fact nothing Jungkook could say. And that… somehow made it worse.

Taehyung’s hands dropped to his sides. “Don’t worry,” he said bitterly. “It won’t happen again.”

He didn’t slam the door when he left. But the scent clung to Jungkook’s clothes long after he was gone.

And he knew… Jungkook knew that it wouldn’t wash out.

When Jungkook later that night went to his apartment, it was too quiet.

He stepped inside and discarded the mask on the kitchen counter, his jacket falling half-off the couch as he sunk into it. 

It wasn’t cold, but he couldn’t stop shivering. The smell of NICU lingered on his clothes… sanitizer, saline, and something else. It was something Taehyung.

He rubbed a hand down his face and he could feel the anger was fading. Something else was taking shape in its place now … The guilt.

He pulled out his phone, thumb scrolling automatically to the hospital app. He went there to check vital updates, weight charts, feeding logs. He didnt need to check the numbers, but what he needed was to feel in control.

Suddenly, his hand slipped and something else played.

“Hi, peanut. I hope today you don’t feel alone. Because I didn’t make you to be alone.”

The voice came through the speaker and gave him a whiplash. It was his own voice, from months ago. The audio and the voice in it continued, “I don’t know what kind of person I’ll be when you’re here. But I hope you’ll know I tried. That you were wanted. And that i will try everyday.”

He stared at his phone like it belonged to someone else. Because that version of him—the one who’d recorded that message in the dark of his car, nervous and hopeful and trying to believe… felt so far away.

He closed the phone but he didn’t move. He sat there in the dark, phone pressed to his chest, heart racing for all the wrong reasons.

And as if all this was not enough, beneath the thrumming of his heartbeat in his ears, he swore he could still hear Taehyung’s hum.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

NICU STAY: Day 55, Baby Jeon & Day 47, Baby Kim, 7 a.m. 

Both isolettes were calm and so were the babies. The chairs were in their places. 

Jungkook sat in the recliner closest to the bottle station, one foot tucked beneath him, arm resting over his chest, not asleep, but close to that. The viral had gone, but exhaustion still lingered in the muscles of his back.

Across from him, Taehyung had drawn his blanket tighter. He wasn’t curled toward the incubator. He was facing slightly away. But his hand still rested on the edge of the blanket swaddling Baby Kim’s isolette.

They didn’t speak. They hadn’t spoken since the time Jungkook entered and saw Taehyung sitting in his chair, 30 minutes ago.

A nurse paused just inside the doorway, gaze flicking between the two fathers. She didn’t interrupt. They were here, both turned up for the babies, that was enough for now.

Yoongi, arriving to start his shift early, watched from a short distance. His pen hovered above his chart. But he didn’t have anything for the notes on the chart that day. Instead… he pulled out his phone and opened his chat box with Jin. 

“Room 5A, 08:11. Both fathers returned. No verbal exchange. Man, I don’t get paid enough for this drama.”

Chapter Text

Week 9 Baby Jeon  / Week 8 Baby Kim

Taehyung had been arriving early for the last 4 days in a row. Earlier than even the NICU lights have been on day mode. He’d taken the early check-ins every day, slipping into the same chair, checking the same notes. 

But today felt different. As it was the day the discharge was scheduled.

There was a binder placed neatly at the end of Baby Kim’s isolette. It was nothing unusual, the regular white plastic, stapled corners, and his name typed in bold across the top.

He didn’t have to open it to know what it meant… It was the discharge preparation file.

Dr. Min, the nurses and even other staff said it could happen soon… maybe even within the week. His daughter was holding temperature well and tolerating full feeds. The only major milestone left was her weight.

2.5 kilograms. That was the golden number. Once she crossed it, she’d be cleared for release… barring any last-minute flags in vitals or blood work, god forbids.

So, of course Taehyung did what any sane person would do at such a time. Go insane about it. 

His whole life suddenly seemed narrowed to that number. He checked it obsessively and read every decimal shift like it was an earthquake morning. Some days last week it rose by a few grams.. Other days it held the same. It was fine, this was still a win, a drop of even 25 grams felt like gravity failing for him. 

His main job now, as far as NICU was concerned, was to keep her growing and to keep her homeward bound. 

But… of course, there was another bridge to cross too.

The nurse had mentioned it gently a few days back, flipping through the discharge checklist. “We’ll need a name for the final paperwork,” she’d said, almost like it wasn’t the most intimate bureaucratic step in the world.

At that moment, Taehyung had nodded, but it lingered now, loud on the file lettering. ‘She cannot go home as Baby Kim.’

And Taehyung, who was still wrapped in stretch marks and water retention, had to decide what she would be called when the world finally met her. 

That Discharge Binder, it sat like a weight across his chest.

He ran his hands over it once, fingers trailing the letters and corners like it held the deepest secrets which his daughter might also not know ever. Then he exhaled and reached for the small cloth bag he had tucked in the cubby last week when Baby Kim touched 2.25 kgs and whispers of discharge started doing the rounds. 

He had embroidered that one himself, with tiny white daisies during the days he was pregnant and sleep had refused to come. 

His daughter was asleep, all monitors calm, tubes were gone, just a nasal cannula for a couple of hours a day to check dependency, and everything else had begun to feel optional. From the mere 1.3 kgs at birth, her body had grown into itself, bony wrists filling out the sleeves now. 

He pulled out the first onesie from the bag, it was the one that had a bright yellow sunflower on its chest. It looked enormous on the day he bought it, and looked even bigger the day she was born. Taehyung had at some point thought that she would never fit into it. Now, it looked even more beautiful on her than the day he saw it in the shop. 

He folded it gently, smoothing its creases and speaking to himself quietly all the while.

“You wore this the first time when your breathing finally held steady for more than four hours,” he whispered. “Dada was scared to even take a photo in case I jinxed it.”

There was another item he folded between those folds, a soft pink beanie, “You hated this. You cried so much the first time we tried it. And later, we both cried.”

Then there was the scent cloth, still wrapped in the sterile hospital bag. He hadn’t used it, not even once and he didn’t know why.

He laid it in the bag anyway, “Dada cannot believe your first outing would be with a hospital go-to bag” and chuckled.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Behind him the door of the room clicked open and Taehyung heard footsteps. He didn’t turn, but his fingers paused as he was putting the cloth bag back.

Jungkook also didn’t announce himself when he entered. He rarely did that anymore. Room 5A had its own personal rhythm now which was understood by all 4 residents of the room. 

Jungkook saw the binder first when he entered and then the bag that Taehyung was putting back in its place. Then he finally looked at the omega. He didn’t interrupt and slowly moved and took a seat beside him. 

Greetings were not necessary anymore. Jungkook didn’t offer any help or showed participation by asking about the process of discharge. He felt it was not his place to ask, also he knew it would hurt somewhere. His son weighed more than Taehyung’s daughter at time of birth and had been here longer, but thanks to the respiratory distress his weight gain and feed tolerance had been a question on a regular basis. 

Even though the alpha didn’t ask, the omega in Taehyung was perceptive enough. He slid the pile of other stuff from the bag between them anyway. 

Jungkook picked up the second blanket… the one with the embroidered stars and blue night sky… now slightly frayed edges from too many sterile washes. His hands hesitated at first, then followed Taehyung’s motions - fold once, pat smooth, fold again.

“You stitched this on the second day,” Jungkook said without thinking. “I remember.”

Taehyung smiled faintly as he looked intently at the alpha “You remember which day?”

“You bled your finger through the nail… trying to rethread the needle.” Jungkook answered with an expression as if he was offended that Taehyung thought he would not know.

Taehyung let out a soft laugh, “It was that or crochet, where I would have definitely bled through my shirt, hitting myself with the sticks.”

They sat there folding and didn’t speak after that, not in words at least. But the folds softened, and their elbows brushed a few times.

When Taehyung reached for the NICU ID band from the file… the one he had cut off during skin-to-skin and saved between the pages of a folder… his fingers trembled, just slightly. But enough for Jungkook to notice. He reached across and steadied the corner of the band so Taehyung could thread it into the memory envelope in the binder.

Neither of them acknowledged it, but when they reached the final item, a lavender swaddle with tiny clouds stitched along the trim, they folded it together, hands overlapping.

And for a beat, they stayed that way, a beat much longer than necessary.

They were not packing anymore, they were holding on at this moment.

“It doesn’t feel as light as I thought it would.” Taehyung murmured, looking at where their hands touched.

Jungkook, with his eyes still on the blanket, replied softly, “Yeah. It’s like there is something slipping away. But I don’t know what it is.”

They didn’t stop folding, not because there was more to do, but because neither of them wanted to mark it as a finished thing.

It was Jungkook who began gathering the swaddles and putting them into the outer compartment of the bag, and Taehyung who adjusted his beanie pockets once more even though it had already been folded twice. 

Across the aisle, Baby Kim stirred in her isolette. It was not much, just a soft rustle of her moving her limbs and a loud sigh as if he was learning to breathe deeper by herself… But dada was on his feet in an instant. 

He reached her in a couple of steps and his hand found its way almost reflexively, fingertips brushing her hair away from the eyes. Then his voice followed, “It’s okay, my storm-lette, ” he murmured. “We’re just packing. I am not going anywhere without you.”

Behind him, Jungkook stood still and then stilled even more.

It wasn’t the words.. But it was the way Taehyung said them. Storm-lette, that was right. These little few thousand grams of things caused the biggest storms in a parent's lives. Two months ago he was sure that it was the worst storm of his life, but now… he was not so sure about it being the worst. Some storms take you where you need to be… he thought and Jungkook’s throat went tight.

The way he met Taehyung, could be a matter up for discussion but not that he met him. 

And here he was, the omega, standing there his posture curved protectively, not out of habit, but visible undeniable love. It did something to Jungkook’s chest, something he couldn’t name. 

So he moved ahead, just a step. He didn’t mean to, but he did.

And when Taehyung turned around, there was something different in the space between them. It was not that the distance has gone lesser, or tighter. It was the moment in that distance… that one that made them forget they’re standing in a hospital.

One final item sat on the side table now… an envelope sealed with a NICU discharge stamp and Taehyung’s full chart. Inside it were admission and discharge dates, vaccination notes, a feed schedule.

And one blank line. Child’s name.

Taehyung reached for it, then hesitated.

“I haven’t filled this out yet,” he admitted, thumb tracing the edge. “I had two names in mind. Been holding onto them since the second trimester. But I couldn't choose.”

Jungkook tilted his head and raised his eyebrows in a way that made his eyes look like a deer caught in headlights “Still can’t?”

Taehyung smiled and it was a little crooked and wicked on anyone else, but on Taehyung it added to his charm “I’m tired of choosing things alone.”

Then he held out his hand, fingers curled loosely, like a child about to play a game.

“Pick one,” he said.

Jungkook looked at him, shocked, “What am I choosing?”

“A finger, pick one,” Taehyung said, “Just... trust me. The two names are assigned to 4 fingers mixed up”

Something about Taehyung’s tone dared him not to ask more. So Jungkook pointed… to the ring finger on Taehyung’s left hand.

And Taehyung paused before nodding once, lips pressing into something softer than a smile. Jungkook was still that bambi deer, but he waited to see as Taehyung looked like he would act it out in time. 

Taehyung uncapped the pen, leaned forward, and wrote on the file in careful handwriting, Haeun .

The other name, the one that didn’t get picked, he didn’t say aloud and no one needed to know.

Jungkook picked the envelope and read the name out aloud, “Haeun…” and handed him the envelope after that, their fingers brushing again. But this time, the touch didn’t snap away, it lingered. Taehyung took it and exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“I thought I’d feel happy,” he whispered, voice almost lost in the beeping rhythm of machines.

“You don’t?” Jungkook asked, his eyes looking at Taehyung eagerly without knowing what answer he was looking for..

“I feel…” Taehyung searched for the word as his hands gestured a lot in the air “Interrupted .”

Jungkook blinked, he was falling short of any words or actions, “That’s a strange word.”

“No,” Taehyung said, looking down at the envelope. “It’s the right one, might not sound right… but it is.”

After that they didn’t talk much, not really. But they packed and that moment was somewhere being packed and pressed between the folds… like a keepsake they weren’t ready to name.

And somewhere in the middle of it all… without fully knowing how or why… Jungkook had named her.

Haeun.

The discharge nurse arrived right on time… they had said before 5 p.m. and it was 4:42 p.m. A badge was clipped to her lanyard, tablet was already syncing with the NICU console, she greeted them with a warm smile and an armful of neatly stapled handouts. It was another checklist, another folder and another finality.

Taehyung nodded as he took all that and the instructions he was being given. He even answered her first question correctly. “Temperature range?” “Yeah, 36.5 to 37.4,” he said without pause.

But it was only the moment she smiled and moved to the next section, he realized he hadn’t heard anything she said at all.

The room suddenly felt too white.

The isolette was empty now, polished to a sterile standard. And… it looked wrong. The pink name placard had been peeled off. Taehyung’s eyes darted to the whiteboard. There was no weight log for baby Kim, no scribbled notes about diaper count. Just clean boxes waiting for the next name. The only name there was baby Jeon.

He pressed his fingers tighter on Haeun who was in his arms.

His finger lifted slowly, instinctively, to scratch at the inside of his wrist, where his hospital bracelet used to be. The skin there tingled at the contact, not with itch but with the absence of something.

Beside him, Jungkook sat and saw everything and said nothing. At the same time, the nurse didn’t seem to notice Taehyung wasn’t fully there, but Jungkook did.

He’d shifted forward in his seat, close enough that their elbows almost touched, and Taehyung didn’t know that Jungkook heard everything, every word, every instruction of the nurse to the fullest.

As Taehyung suddenly came back to the discussion, he reached for the thermometer from the take-home kit, still sealed in its sterile wrap, he read the back of the box once, then again, and then flipped it over once more.

Jungkook reached out, slow and steady, and covered Taehyung’s wrist with his hand. There was no pressure, but just a gentle touch.

“I already checked,” Jungkook said, “It’s the same one they used here.”

But he didn’t let go of Taehyung’s wrist and neither did Taehyung move away.

The nurse’s tone softened. Now whether she noticed or simply understood, her demeanour changed. She walked them through burping positions, alternate swaddling methods, and pointed out which number on the emergency discharge paper was the NICU nurse hotline. “Twenty-four hours,” she said. “Even if it’s just a question.”

Taehyung nodded in affirmation but his chest felt tight again.

She moved on to explain the breathing monitor, “Now… Some families use it for peace of mind. If her oxygen dips or if she has an apnea episode…”

And again… Taehyung didn’t hear the rest. He only heard the words: “post-discharge failure to thrive.”

The phrase sank like ice water through his spine.  His eyes flicked down to the folder in his lap, but the words blurred. His hand tightened around Haeun. And Jungkook’s hand tightened too, around Taehyung’s wrist, just slightly.

The checklist had narrowed down to its final two items - One diaper change and One latch trial.

The nurse handed over a fresh set of wipes and a size-zero diaper, her voice still calm like a tour guide narrating the edge of a cliff and how deep the fall might be.

Taehyung’s hands moved automatically and smoothly. He’d done it a hundred times now, in sleepy dawns and tired midnights, but today it felt like a ritual.

Haeun cooed faintly, her legs kicking once against his palm, and she let out the softest protest to being unwrapped. She blinked up at him, eyes unfocused but undeniably her dad’s. 

It had taken days for her eyes and face to grow into each other, but it was clear now that she had inherited the mismatched eyelids of her dada. The mismatch which in fact was the biggest charm to Taehyung’s beauty.

Jungkook’s hands stayed just a couple of inches away from Taehyung’s throughout the entire dance, ready to jump in at any moment of need. 

“You’re a pro,” the nurse murmured as he re-wrapped her securely. “Most partners don’t co-practice this well.”

And…Taehyung froze. The word lodged in his rib-cage like a stone, Partner .

But Jungkook, standing next to him, one hand resting on the fold-out table, the other loosely holding a bottle out for Haeun didn’t flinch. He met Taehyung’s eyes and held them.

He didn’t say anything, not even correct the nurse, he just stayed.

The nurse handed Taehyung the baby. He adjusted her gently, guiding her mouth to the bottle while she was still swaddled. His hands were steady, but his chest was caving by the second.

It wasn’t the first time they’d done this, not the fifth, maybe the fiftieth. But today… it was probably the last.

Somewhere during this, Yoongi came... And now stood at the doorway. He didn’t announce himself, but just watched. They also didn’t notice him.

Jungkook reached to reposition the burp cloth on Taehyung’s shoulder without needing to be asked. Their hands moved around each other like they had always belonged in the same orbit. It was muscle memory.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Finally Yoongi moved and the familiar squeak of paediatric soles on the vinyl floor broke the quiet.

Yoongi walked in with his usual clipboard, his usual neutral expression, and something else in his head. His eyes didn’t scan the monitors first today, they scanned the two fathers first.

He made his way to Baby Kim’s isolette, flipping open her file with a flick of his thumb and smiled at the mention against the Name column. 

“Alright, Haeun ,” he muttered, “let’s see if you’ve earned your dramatic exit.” and Taehyung let out the faintest laugh.

Yoongi bent at the waist, unlatched the weighing scale tray with practiced ease, and slid his hands beneath the swaddle. Haeun squirmed but didn’t cry. He lifted her gently and set her down.

“She used to feel like a feather,” Yoongi said, not looking at anyone in particular “Now she’s closer to a dumbbell.”

Jungkook blinked as he mentally rolled his eyes “Now… is that a proper medical term?”

And Yoongi grunted. “It is if you’re sleep-deprived enough.” He logged the weight, just over 2.5 kilos. He moved on to the temperature probe, then a fingertip test for muscle tone and head symmetry. Each motion from Yoongi was clinical, but not cold. When he pressed two fingers to the bottom of her foot and she kicked, Yoongi’s mouth twitched into a proud smirk.

“She’s got a fight,” he said. “That’ll do.”

He peeled a pink sticker from the back of his clipboard and pressed it onto her chart in firm strokes.

DISCHARGED – Warrior.

Taehyung inhaled a loud breath and Jungkook saw it in the corner of his eye but didn’t say anything. His hand hovered near Taehyung’s shoulder for a second, didn’t touch and then dropped.

Yoongi closed the file, tucked his pen behind his ear, and gave the baby a final look.

“She’ll be fine,” he said, and then softly added, “And so will you.”

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Yoongi didn’t linger there. He didn’t draw things out, that wasn’t his style. But even Taehyung could tell there was a slight lingering in the way he folded the chart closed, like he was closing the final chapter of a book he loved reading.

He turned to Taehyung, one arm already lifting in a side-hug that was somehow both practiced and completely rare.

“Text me if she sneezes weird,” Yoongi said, pulling him in for exactly one second. “Or if you sneeze weirdly. Or if you cry and think it’s hormonal. It still counts. In those cases I will let Jin know, you are his problem too.”

Taehyung let out a short, surprised chuckle. 

“And sleep, when possible,” Yoongi added, already stepping back. “For the love of all things medical, you need to sleep. Nesting does not mean rebuilding your entire apartment with handwoven linens. You hear me?”

Taehyung nodded, eyes tearing out but smiling.

Jungkook stood nearby, quiet, arms crossed but no longer defensive, watching it all. Then Yoongi turned to him.

“You too, Alpha.”

Jungkook straightened in surprise. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” Yoongi said, with a clap on the back hard enough to knock a step forward. “Don’t act like you’re not going to miss the chaos of the Kims.”

Jungkook tried to smirk, but something in his throat caught before he could reply and Yoongi didn’t press. He just glanced at Baby Jeon’s isolette across the room. He walked over, and placed one hand lightly near the monitor. The numbers blinked and Yoongi’s clipboard got updated.

But he lingered for one extra beat and turned to Jungkook to say, “Soon. Soon, I can feel it.” And then left, the same way he always did, clipboard in hand, other hand in pocket, talking to the head nurse.

Taehyung turned to look at Jungkook—and found him already watching. Not casually. Not accidentally.

Jungkook was watching him like he’d been doing it for a while now, like he didn’t know how to stop.

“You okay?” Jungkook asked, voice low, and scared.

Taehyung swallowed loudly before answering “No.”

It wasn’t dramatic or seeking attention or anything else. It was just honest and as if Jungkook understood, he nodded once. He walked closer, stopping just beside Taehyung. Their arms didn’t touch as he patted Haeun’s head, “She’s going to be okay,” Jungkook said softly.

“I know,” Taehyung whispered. “I’m the one who’s not.”

Jungkook didn’t answer that, but he reached out and gently picked up the pacifier that had fallen to the side of the isolette, brushed it once against his palm, and handed it back to Taehyung.

Their fingers touched, and neither of them let go right away

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

The sunlight, although evening time, seemed to be blinding. Taehyung realised that it was maybe after two months or more that he was out in the open at this time of the day. Otherwise he used to leave the house early in the morning for the hospital and late at night for going back to his apartment. That was it. 

As he stepped out of the hospital today at 6 p.m. it felt like crossing a border out of a battlefield he didn’t wish to return. Everything outside was too loud, too bright, too fast. 

As if life had the audacity to continue unbroken, as if nothing changed, where Taehyung fought everyday and his world daily narrowed and bloomed at the same time. 

Haeun was in the infant car seat in his hand. Seat and Haeun weighed nothing and everything at the same time. It was a model Jin had once recommended during their ultrasound appointments and had allied it safest in it’s class. Taehyung was prudent enough to buy it on sale, very much ahead of time. He followed the instructions exactly. 

Installed the base into the backseat of his compact sedan with the instruction YouTube video he paused every three seconds to confirm the level and angle. 

But now, as he stood beside it, key in hand and breath caught in his chest… because somehow it still looked wrong. He opened the door and stared at it, as if praying that it would fix itself. 

It should have been simple, with a quick press he should have heard the satisfying click. But the strap twisted in the wrong place, curling under itself like it didn’t want to cooperate. He undid it, and tried again. But… still missed the latch. His hands were too tight and too slow.

His breathing stuttered and a strand of hair slipped into his eyes, and he didn’t bother brushing it away. What did it matter? The whole world had narrowed to a five-point harness and the infant-sized burden it carried.

The sun hit the windshield at the worst angle now, sharp and fluorescent white. It split across the dashboard and pierced straight into his vision and he squinted and winced.

Haeun stirred slightly in the carrier, her brow furrowing like she felt it too… the light, and the tension. Taehyung froze, one hand still gripping the strap.

Her tiny onesie sleeve was wrinkled near the shoulder. He smoothed it instinctively, then paused again, thumb trembling against the soft cotton. It was her first time outside the walls of NICU. Her first day as a girl with no monitors, no incubator.

“How do you carry something that once fit inside your body into a backseat like it’s nothing?” he thought. “How do you walk away to the front seat without feeling like you’re leaving part of yourself behind?”

He clenched the strap tighter and he tried again. There was still no click.

A whimper scraped the back of his throat and he swallowed before it left his lips. “Please,” he whispered, though it wasn’t clear whether he meant the buckle, or the day, or the version of himself that still didn’t feel ready.

And then… just as he leaned forward, muttering something half self-pity under his breath, barely audible over the sound of everything else… 

A voice came from behind the car. “Need help?”

Jungkook didn’t wait for permission. He came around the other side of the car, pulling the back door open with a familiar ease, like this wasn’t the first time they’d put a car seat for her together.

It wasn’t, really, at least not in the ways that counted. There were the countless times they'd stood on either side of an isolette, each managing a wire, a wipe, a whisper, a diaper, a feed and the thousand other small things that filled a NICU day.

Taehyung didn’t look up. But he shifted a little in his position, where he was sitting on the back seat turned towards the car seat side. There was a quiet lean to the left, enough to open the space between his elbow and the door-frame. And… that… was a silent acknowledgement, and Jungkook took it.

They crouched in tandem, knees scuffing against the driver's backseat cover, shoulders brushing in the narrow space. 

There was no conversation about who would reach first. Jungkook’s hands went to the buckle as Taehyung steadied the carrier. Their bodies slotted into place like scent trails that knew how to circle each other without collision.

Haeun stirred again, and both men stilled. The last thing anyone wanted right now was a fussy wailing baby. 

Jungkook adjusted the base angle by a few degrees. Taehyung’s hand hovered protectively near her head. The alpha’s breath was audible, tight at first and then exhaling low. “It’s twisted here,” he murmured, brushing the strap. “Let me.”

Taehyung nodded, even though Jungkook wasn’t looking. 

The heat of their proximity was subtle, not driven by anything primal, but still… there was something charged in how close their scent signatures sat. Alpha and omega, coiled in unspoken effort, even tangled, maybe.

The damn click finally came. It was small but decisive.

Neither of them spoke for a moment because that sound, simple as it was, meant it was really happening. She was leaving… and so was Taehyung with her.

Their hands brushed once, it was barely knuckles. But there was a faint spark. It was not too much, not shocking but definitely there.

Then as they adjusted Haeun’s blanket over his knees, the hands touched again. That touch lingered a beat longer and their skin was warmer, breath more hitched and neither looked up this time. 

And then the third time… it happened again, when Jungkook’s fingers hovered just above Taehyung’s, both of them hesitating over the buckle.

Neither moved and Haeun gurgled softly beneath them, unfazed. But above her, two grown men had stilled completely.

The air between their hands felt almost scented now, tinged with something quiet and unnameable. It was still not pheromonal or instinctive.

Jungkook exhaled first but Taehyung didn’t. He blinked down at the car seat, but in his mind, he saw Jungkook's hands.

He saw the bottle warmer between them, the curve of Jungkook’s shoulder as he leaned across to reposition a cloth under Baby Jeon’s neck, their hands had always moved in the same rhythm.

It hit him like a reflex… a muscle memory and a reflex.

Jungkook reached out again, steadied Taehyung’s wrist, just like he had done a few hours ago when Taehyung had rechecked the thermometer three times in a row.

Their breaths synced, not in some romantic metaphor, but in the literal way they always did when the world stilled around their children.

“You breathe better together,” Yoongi had said once, without lifting his eyes from the chart.

And with memory of this sentence, Taehyung turned his head slowly and looked at him, not just looking, but really looking.

“Don’t disappear on me,” he whispered in a shaky voice. 

Jungkook didn’t speak right away. The street noise faded into something muted, like the world itself had stepped back to give them space. His eyes didn’t flinch and his gaze didn’t waver.

Then Jungkook loudly just said “fuck it” in his head and leaned in.

Taehyung held perfectly still, not because he didn’t want to move, but because he couldn’t quite trust what movement would mean. His breath caught between panic and clarity, the same breathless and alertness he’d lived in during the NICU days, where waiting had felt like prayer.

Jungkook’s hand found the omega’s knee and his hold was gentle and grounding on Taehyung.  The other hand braced lightly against the inside of the car door, boxing them in not with dominance, but care.

And then…their mouths met halfway.

It wasn’t hurried, at all. Although they were blocking the hospital driveway, as if either of them remembered it at that moment. 

What they had was not hurried and not engulfed. It was just a soft, almost reverent press of lips, the kind of kiss that didn’t have a beginning or an end.

Taehyung’s eyelashes fluttered shut a beat too late. He hadn’t prepared for how still the world would feel with Jungkook’s mouth on his. He also definitely did not prepare for how easy and how devastating it would feel as well.

Their lips barely parted for a moment, as if both gave the other an out but when neither backed they just brushed again, this time with a faint tilt of heads and a pause where breaths mingled. 

Jungkook’s nose grazed the omega’s cheek. Taehyung’s fingers twitched against his own thigh, desperate to touch something… anything… but afraid the movement would shatter whatever was holding them together right now.

The kiss deepened only by a margin, lips parting very slightly, but not for hunger. It was maybe for finding the answer to the question neither of them had ever said aloud, Is it okay to want this, too?

Jungkook kissed like someone who had learned restraint too young, despite his ranking in the societal structure where no one told Alphas they need to be careful. Jungkook on the other hand was like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to ask for anything more, so he gave everything in the smallest space possible.

And Taehyung… he received it like someone who hadn’t been chosen in a long, long time. And it was not for what he could give, but he felt he had been chosen just for existing and for staying.

Now they wouldn’t say it, so we might as well do. It was the kind of kiss you only give when your heart’s already halfway in the other person’s hands and the kind that doesn’t scream. 

But god, did it echo!!!

They’d shared so much already. The erratic sounds of the little heartbeats on monitors, the silences, the guilt, hours spent in side-by-side chairs, but not this.

When they finally pulled back, it wasn’t sudden. It was the kind of parting that felt like closing a parenthesis for now and not an interruption. Their foreheads still hovered close, and though neither of them smiled, the warmth had returned to Taehyung’s face and Jungkook’s eyes had never carried more galaxies in them.

Both inhaled and it startled them. How natural it felt, how not embarrassing and how inevitable.

Taehyung blinked, eyes slightly too wide, as if waking from something. His hand curled unconsciously over the top of the car seat, grounding himself with the smallest point of contact. 

Haeun slept soundly through it all, as if even she knew better than to interrupt something so soft.The silence lingered, neither of them quite ready to disturb it.

Then Taehyung glanced at the dash and quietly sighed. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

Jungkook tilted his head. “Something wrong?”

“My shawl,” Taehyung said, already stepping out from the car. “The blue one. I left it upstairs on the recliner.” He hesitated, before he continued, “Would you mind just… staying with her for a bit? I’ll run up and grab it…”

But Jungkook was already shaking his head with a small, amused smile. “If you think you can survive one night without it, I’ll bring it to your place tomorrow morning. I pass your street on the way to NICU anyway.”

Taehyung paused. It was a simple offer and a very small gesture. But it landed with a thud in his rib cage, warm and heavy in the space between them.

He nodded once, then again, this time slower. “Okay,” he said softly, “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

What he meant to say though was - thank you. Thank you for offering. Thank you for caring.
Thank you for staying just a little longer, even when you don’t have to.

Jungkook’s gaze held a bit longer before he stepped back from the car. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, voice low but sure. Then he turned, walked back toward his car without looking over his shoulder.

Taehyung watched him go. The silence around him didn’t fill with panic this time. It just… settled, because this time, it didn’t feel like goodbye.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Chapter Text

The doorbell rang at 7:02 a.m.

Just one soft press, and then then quiet again. Like whoever was on the other side knew not to startle a house still adjusting to new born’s sleep cycles.

Taehyung opened the door in loose pajamas and a slightly wrinkled robe. His hair was messy in a way that wasn’t aesthetic at all, but just honest, and his eyes carried the exact expression of someone who had survived his first solo night with a newborn. Nothing short of a war. It had three equal parts of awe, fatigue and I-don’t-know-how-I’m-still-standing.

Jungkook stood on the other side, holding the folded blue shawl in both hands like it was something sacred. He was in his usual hoodie and track pants, hair still damp from a shower, a paper coffee cup tucked into the crook of his arm.

“You made it,” Taehyung said softly, not really meaning it for Jungkook as much as for himself.

Jungkook smiled and offered the shawl to Taehyung, “Oh my god, you made it? Didn’t think you’d last the night without it.”

Taehyung rolled his eyes and took it with both hands, brushing his fingers lightly over the hem. “I missed it,” he admitted. Then, almost sheepishly, he added, “But she didn’t give me a chance to, honestly.”

Jungkook huffed a laugh, shifting his weight. “How was it?”

Taehyung leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. “It was like… sleeping on a seesaw. Every time I thought we were balanced, she’d twitch, or hiccup, or spit or make that one noise that sounds like a sneeze but isn’t?”

“Ah, the fake-sneeze Baby Kim wheeze... Classic.” They both smiled, tired but honest.

“She ate okay?” Jungkook asked, more gently now.

“Yeah. You know it was slower than the NICU pace, but steady. We figured it out.” Taehyung paused, eyes crinkling. “She didn’t cry until sunrise.”

“Respect,” Jungkook said, mockingly but absolutely sincerely. “She’s better than most adults I know.”

Taehyung laughed, and something about the sound made Jungkook shift closer, like it was involuntary. Neither of them mentioned the kiss, but their feet moved closer and their shoulders nearly brushed. 

Jungkook looked down, then up again. “You gonna be okay today?”

“Probably not,” Taehyung said, honestly. “But we’ll try anyway.”

That earned him another soft smile from Jungkook. Like if Taehyung looked even a little bit, he would see how Jungkook looked at him with awe and respect and something else he still couldn’t name.

“You heading in now?” Taehyung asked.

“Yeah. Got the early check in with that grump. Who allowed him to be a pediatrician with that demeanour. He is a kid’s doctor, for god’s sake but have you ever seen him smile, that Yoongi hyung of yours.” Jungkook huffed and puffed like really tried to make a scene but even Haeun could tell how much Dr Min meant to him.

“Tell him I said hi. And not to touch Haeun’s folder. It’s color-coded now.” Taehyung hit Jungkook’s shoulder playfully.

“I’ll let him know he’s officially banned from the lavender tabs.” 

Then Taehyung gave a small nod and stepped back. “Thanks for the shawl.”

“Thanks for allowing me to get it,” Jungkook replied, and turned to leave.

Again, Taehyung didn’t close the door right away. He watched Jungkook walk down the front path, the morning light catching on the edge of his hoodie. 

Still, no one said anything about the kiss, but let the narrator assure you that neither of them forgot it.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

It was still early morning when the phone buzzed loud and even before Jungkook could register it was a video call, he had answered.

Taehyung was there, bare face, holding a half-empty packet of diapers in one hand and a bottle cap in the other. His hair was tied up messily and there was a burp cloth draped over one shoulder like a forgotten accessory.

“Morning,” he said, voice still hoarse with sleep. “Quick favor?”

Jungkook sat up and nodded without hesitation. “Tell me.”

“She’s going through diapers like it’s a game of Need for speed. NICU stocks lasted way longer.” Taehyung said as he tossed the packet slightly for effect. “I’ll owe you a better brand recommendation later for when we buy more stocks, but for now, anything size P.”

Jungkook looked at the packet, brows raised. “Got it. Anything else? Wipes? Bottles? Sanity, maybe? Or a mirror…???”

Taehyung let out a low growl and an eye roll. “Dont push it Jeon. For now… just the diapers. And maybe a coffee for me, if Baby Jeon allows the pit stop.”

Jungkook grinned as he sat more relaxed and got into the conversation “He spat up on me twice yesterday, so yeah, I have his permission, I am sure.”

That made Taehyung smile wider. “How is he doing otherwise?”

“Better than the day before. Took his morning feed a little slower, but no gagging. Yoongi said he’s catching up again.”

Taehyung exhaled softly, some tight knot in his chest loosening. “Good. And weight?”

“2.3 kilograms. We are getting there.” Jungkook said and crossed his fingers across the phone camera. 

Their eyes held for a beat longer than necessary and no one said anything about how normal this felt. Would talking about how easy the asking had become make asking difficult henceforth?

“Okay,” Jungkook said, backing away from the screen. “Size P. Strong enough for storm-lette output. Got it.”

Taehyung raised the bottle cap like a salute. “You’re a hero, no no, a diaper-hero.”

“You’re a hazard,” Jungkook waved a bye and said with a smirk, “but I’ll see you later.” as he cut the call.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

It was the 6th day of Haeun being home , when Jungkook showed up at Taehyung’s door at 6:50 a.m. 

Taehyung opened the door with a yawn and gave a few startled blinks. “You okay? Is everything…”

“I brought you the freezer latch.” Jungkook huffed as if he had jogged here.

Taehyung blinked again. “What?”

“For the breastmilk bags,” Jungkook said quickly. “You said the bank called and they have some supply and your freezer shelf is too shallow and the bags keep slipping? I remembered I had an extra clip-latch from when I set mine up today.”

He held out a plastic latch in its original packaging.

Taehyung stared at it, then at Jungkook, then leaned against the doorframe and muttered, “You made that up just to check on us, didn’t you?”

Jungkook’s ears turned red. “...A little.”

A long silence passed, filled with the sound of a baby stirring somewhere in the background. “She’s okay,” Taehyung offered quietly. “Did five feeds yesterday. Still hates the pacifier, though.”

Jungkook smiled, eyes dropping slightly. “Stubborn already.”

“Wonder where she gets it from,” Taehyung said dryly but both of them knew where she got it from exactly, and both smiled.

“And Baby Jeon?” Taehyung asked after a moment, softer now.

“Still waking up cranky, but stats look better. Yoongi says if he holds his curve through the weekend, we might start talking about a discharge date.”

Taehyung’s smile faltered, just a little, but not in a bad way. “That’s good. He’ll be home soon.”

“Yeah.” Jungkook smiled, biting his lower lip.

Taehyung reached forward and took the latch gently from Jungkook’s hand. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Jungkook said and Taehyung knew how much he meant it.

The alpha stepped back again, like always, but this time, he lingered a moment longer at the gate, as if waiting for an invitation he’d never voice out loud that he wanted.

He looked back, and still not having the courage to ask the omega to invite him in, he used his back up plan. Of course Mr Planner had a plan B. 

He jogged back to the house door and Taehyung looked at him with confusion and excitement. He tried to control his excitement but it was pretty evident. 

Jungkook extended his hand and 4 fingers splayed in the air and said, “Time to return the favour…”

It took a couple of seconds for Taehyung to register it and his mouth turned into a big O. 

“He’s getting discharged??” Taehyung squealed and clapped his hands as his eyes welled up. 

“Tomorrow.. In all probability. Dr Min will confirm today on his rounds.” JUngkook said calmly, his hand stayed stretched between them and the other hand behind his back. 

“A planner like you… I think all 4 fingers have the same option and you are just making it to balance the favour scale.” Taehyung said with a put and head titled. 

“You will be surprised, it's not even two like you. It is four. I have four names and I cannot choose.” Jungkook giggled, very un-alpha - like. 

As Taehyung went ahead and picked the ring finger for a choice, Jungkook smiled and whispered Thank you. He did not even whisper, it was just his lips moving, Taehyung thought. 

And Taehyung felt something catch in his chest. He had seen the alpha unravel and collect himself again and again during their long week coinhabiting Room 5A. But there was something different now. Something absolutely devastating about a giggling Jungkook on his doorstep at 7 a.m.

It sent pangs through Taehyung’s ribs and a flutter through his gut - absolutely equal parts of ache and butterflies.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

It was quieter when Baby Jeon’s discharge turn came.

Nine days after Haeun had gone home in Taehyung’s arms , Room 5A felt both familiar and strangely hollow. Their absence was not loud, but it was everywhere. In the unchanged smell of the linen cart, in the empty recliner still slightly angled toward where she used to sleep, in the echo that followed the absence of Taehyung’s hum.

Jungkook sat beside his son’s isolette, bottle in hand, thumb resting against the tiny notch of Baby Jeon’s collarbone. The baby was stronger now, his eyes more alert, breaths deeper. A small fighter who had grown into the space he once drowned in.

The nurse appeared mid-morning, discharge file in hand, voice gentle with familiarity. “It’s your turn today.”

Jungkook blinked. “Today?”

“Vitals look good. Breathing has stabilized. Weight’s crossed the threshold. He’s ready.”

He nodded “Okay.”

And they moved through the checklist. He kind of pseudo-sat in on the paperwork when Haeun was getting discharged. Final feeds, one more swaddle demonstration, even though Jungkook had mastered that particular origami weeks ago. His hands were calm, practiced, but something beneath his skin fluttered.

It wasn’t fear, but in fact it was the absence of any panic.

The head nurse slid him the same slim, white binder across the counter toward him. NICU Discharge - Baby Jeon, the label read. “You’ll just need to sign off on the final vitals and complete the identification page,” she said, tapping where the baby’s legal name was meant to go.

Jungkook reached for the pen without hesitation. His handwriting was slow but certain, each letter deliberate as it curved into place.

H-y-u-n.

Hyun. The letters looked different on paper, more permanent, more real than they ever had in his head. Taehyung had picked it in the end , choosing the finger Jungkook had quietly hoped for all along. The game had been casual, almost silly, but Jungkook hadn’t needed to play it out to know which name sat nearest his heart. It had lived there for months, in the same place he kept the first scan photo and the sound of that earliest, hiccuping heartbeat. 

When he handed the binder back, the nurse gave a small approving nod and filed it away. The nameplate on the chart above the empty isolette was updated within the hour.

From that moment forward, his son wasn’t just Baby Jeon on the monitors - he was Hyun. A boy with a name, ready to go home.

When he picked his son up from the isolette for the final time, he cradled him close, Hyun shifted against his chest, nestled in, as if he’d known this was the moment to hold still.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

By the time Jungkook finally got home that night it was 7 pm. Sitting on the couch, he realised it was now two days of him being home which just passed by in a blur. He barely got any chance to shower, eat or sleep and the third night he didn’t even take his hoodie off before lowering himself onto the couch. 

Hyun who had initial trouble because of a change of environment maybe, now slept in the bassinet a metre away, the faint sound of his breathing threaded through the room like a lullaby only Jungkook could hear.

It was the first time in two days he and Taehyung hadn’t spoken since Haeun’s admission to NICU. He did not have any moment to call, message, not even a quick question about formula or a NICU chart. 

Taehyung thought about calling more than once. Each time, his hand hovered over his phone, then stilled. He could picture exactly what the Jeon apartment might have looked like… bottles in the drying rack, blankets in a heap, Jungkook with hair sticking up on one side from falling asleep sitting up. He didn’t want to interrupt the boys.

The next day passed the same way. There was no contact, but not because anything had broken between them. It was just… breathing room. 

On the morning of the fourth day, Jungkook’s phone lit up before sunrise. He answered before his brain had fully caught up that it was not an audio call but a video one, and Taehyung’s face filled the screen, bare and familiar, a bar of protein dangling from one hand.

The first thing out of his mouth wasn’t hello. It was, “Need help?”

The call lasted a little more than 17 mins and then Taehyung’s bottle steriliser made a whistle, demanding attention. 

It was that easy to fall back into conversation, like the silence had never been there at all. And Jungkook realised, with a sudden lightness in his chest, that he should have called sooner.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

The days fell into a rhythm neither of them had planned but both leaned into without question.

It started small… That morning video call turinng to throughout-the-day calls while bottles were being warmed, just to “check in” but really to trade sleepy smiles and small victories. A night feed here, a longer nap there. 

Sometimes the calls were barely ten minutes, other times they stretched into the quiet part of midnight when both houses had finally gone still.

Between them, a running list of reminders grew naturally … Diaper restocks, formula orders, milk bank updates and more. It wasn’t official, but they kept track of each other’s supply like it was shared inventory. 

Taehyung would send a quick, “Order the wipes before you forget,” and Jungkook would reply with a photo of the delivery confirmation. 

Jungkook, in turn, would text, “You’ve got two bottles left of the preemie size. Don’t stretch it,” and Taehyung would sigh, but order them anyway.

By the end of the week, Taehyung was the one who was already looking ahead. One afternoon, between folding laundry and trying to coax Haeun into her third nap, he opened his laptop and booked the next round of follow-ups for vaccinations, milestone checks at Dr. Min Yoongi’s clinic. 

Without asking, he set the appointments back-to-back so neither of them would have to sit through it alone. A minute later, Jungkook’s phone pinged with a calendar invite.

From: Kim Taehyung
Subject: Dr. Min Appointment, bring the brave face (and extra burp cloths)
Time: 10:30 a.m. Tuesday

Jungkook’s thumb hovered over the accept button, a smile tugging at his mouth despite himself.

It was that easy to fall back into a routine, he thought as he hit “Yes.” And maybe even easier to stay in it.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

They didn’t plan to arrive at the same time. Of course they didn’t.

Taehyung pulled into the clinic lot first, hair brushed, shirt ironed, exhaustion neatly disguised under designer sunglasses and a scarf knotted just so daintily across his neck. He told himself he wanted to look decent for the first outing with Haeun. And let us pretend that… and that it was not because there was a chance Jungkook might show up.

Jungkook arrived exactly ninety seconds later, juggling a bottle bag, his son in the crook of one arm, and a car seat strap he forgot to re-fasten. He looked like a sleep-deprived billionaire trying not to drop his entire stock portfolio before his investor meet.

The babies spotted each other immediately.

Hyun hiccuped once, loud and proud, the second Haeun’s quiet cooing hit the air. She giggled like it was the best joke she’d ever heard. As if for the accolade, she reached across the stroller gap and grabbed his sock and didn’t let go.

Taehyung crouched to gently pry her fingers away, mouthing apologies to Hyun even as he smiled at both the kids.

“Let her win,” Jungkook murmured from beside him, low and fond, and his eyes dipped in a smile.

Taehyung glanced up, a ready retort balanced on the edge of his tongue, but it never made out. Their eyes met for one second too long. 

It was long enough for Taehyung to notice the tiny crinkle at the corner of Jungkook’s eyes, the way his eyes looked like they carried two hearts in them… softened like it had been caught watching something he didn’t want to look away from. 

It was also long enough for Jungkook to see the faint eyebrow raise threatening to show on Taehyung’s forehead, the one that only appeared when he was trying to hold his laughter to act cool.

Between them, Haeun gave a triumphant little coo, completely unaware of the silent standoff she’d just caused.

“She acts cute to get her way…,” Taehyung whispered, as if that explained why his pulse had picked up.

“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Jungkook countered, with a shoulder shrug but gentle, like that was the most natural excuse in the world.

Taehyung snorted, and still, neither of them looked away.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Inside, the nurse barely looked up from his screen before reaching under the counter and pulling out two clipboards, his pen already poised.

“You’re both in 4B together,” he said, in the same way someone might comment on the weather.

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “We are?”

He sat up looking at Jungkook and the alpha finally saw the name on the tag - Nurse Hoseok (Hobi). Hobi leaned in on his elbows, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone that somehow still carried across the room, “Shared slot. Dr. Min said it was fine with him, if it was fine with you… which I assume it is because you booked together… so If you both will spare him and me some sanity… saves us from repeating ourselves . You two come in like clockwork anyway..” And with that Hobi pointed to the clipboard with a small smirk. 

She said it with the easy, good-natured sass of a nurse who’d been in the game long enough to know exactly how to scold and care in the same breath. 

Taehyung opened his mouth, maybe to protest or maybe to explain, but no words came. Jungkook had stepped closer to sign, close enough that Taehyung caught the faint mix of sandalwood and fresh rain, warm cedar threaded through it all. It overlapped with his own softer notes of vanilla, honey, and clean musk, the blend warm in the air between them. Neither moved back.

He glanced down instead. Haeun, in her carrier, still had Hyun’s tiny sock clenched in her fist, the pale cotton crumpled from a morning of determined gripping.

“Oh, stop it ,” Hobi gasped dramatically, clutching his own clipboard like it was his heart. “She’s already marking her territory. You’re not winning that argument, Jeon.”

Jungkook noticed too, his lips curving upwards at the sight. “Guess she made the decision for us, together it is” he murmured.

Hobi nodded solemnly. “Then it’s settled. And don’t you dare try to separate them in the waiting room. I will be around to notice.”

And when they signed their names on the same clipboard, their handwriting almost touched.

“You two again,” Yoongi said without looking up at first, stylus already tapping the corner of his tablet. He finally glanced up, gaze flat but not unfriendly. “Let me guess… joint checkup?”

Taehyung made a polite sound that could have been a laugh. Jungkook just rolled his eyes, nudging Hyun’s stroller further into the room. The movement brought him close enough that the faint mix of sandalwood threaded into the air, brushing against the softer vanilla that always clung to Taehyung. It was an unspoken thing, the way their scents layered, infact complimented. 

As if on cue, Haeun released a high-pitched squeal from her carrier. Her tiny legs kicked once in pure delight. Hyun responded with a hiccup-gurgle, followed by a delighted shriek of his own, his whole body wiggling like he recognized his pediatrician and this was a reflex.

Yoongi looked at the babies, then at his tablet. Then back at the two men standing on either side like mismatched bookends - different postures, different expressions, united in the way they were both leaning in just enough to be closer to their own and, inevitably, each other.

“They’re emotionally imprinted,” Yoongi muttered, mostly to himself, but loud enough to be heard. 

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “That’s a real term?”

“In NICU-adjacent cases, yeah,” Yoongi said. “It means they respond more to each other than to average external stimuli.”

As if proving Yoongi’s point, Taehyung had just settled Haeun on the padded mat between them when she immediately tried to reach for Hyun. The little boy, sock missing from one foot, flailed that bare foot in return, like some signal or flag.

Yoongi’s gaze flicked up again, one eyebrow arched in silent judgment that also managed to feel vaguely affectionate. “Should I just start scheduling you as a family pack?”

Taehyung opened his mouth, clearly prepared to object… only for Jungkook to beat him to it.

“Ya, less paperwork for you, right?”

Yoongi didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth almost twitched before he went back to his notes. He crossed the room to weigh Hyun, scooping him up. 

He glanced at the scale’s reading, jotting it down in tight, efficient handwriting. “Hyun’s up one hundred and eighty grams since discharge. That’s a good curve… Keep the fortified feeds for now.” He shifted his gaze toward Haeun’s chart without needing to be told. “And you?”

Taehyung straightened a little, already fishing the feeding log from his bag. “Eight feeds a day, still fortified to twenty-four calories. No spit-ups except once, after the 3 a.m. feed.”

Yoongi gave a short nod, “Good. Both of them are still in the RSV season. I’ll pencil in the shot for next week,... same day, saves me from explaining it twice .” The last part was said clearly for Jungkook who knew that too.

He tapped his pen against the column for supplements. “Vitamin D drops… still daily?”

Two quiet “yes”es came in unison. Yoongi made a dry noise in his throat. “Ahh… synced on something again."

Haeun tried to reach for Hyun again, her hand curling into the empty air between them.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

By the time Haeun hit her six-week mark at home and Hyun was five weeks into his, the clinic visits had started to feel less like appointments and more like checkpoints in an ongoing, shared marathon.

They’d leave Dr. Min’s office with matching printouts tucked under their arms, linger too long in the parking lot talking about nothing in particular, and somehow part ways without actually feeling apart.

The scent-trails clung faintly to them afterward following them back to their separate homes like an unspoken reminder.

That was also the time when the “Coffee??” texts began to land in the quiet hours between feeds.

Taehyung didn’t remember the first time he sent it. Maybe after a long night of bottle feeds and cluster cries, or maybe on the kind of morning where even the birds outside sounded too noisy for him. He never expected an answer, just wanted to maybe reach out with something without saying too much.

But Jungkook always showed up, within twenty minutes, every time.

There was always just the familiar knock and the low sound of the door swinging open before Taehyung even got up to greet them. Hyun has started recognising Taehyung’s apartment now.

Jungkook came with both orders memorized. Taehyung liked his with oat milk and exactly one and a half teaspoons of sugar. Jungkook preferred his black, sometimes iced, always strong enough to offend.

They didn’t talk much at first during those early mornings. It was just centred around the kids, the discussions were about them, or either kid would need something - maybe a feed, or a diaper change or a burp etc.

If one was not around immediately, the other would get to it.

They sat on the balcony when the weather and kids allowed, blankets over their knees, babies asleep in their bassinets nearby. Other times, they sank into the living room floor like students cramming for exams, legs stretched out, backs against opposite ends of the couch.

There was comfort in the ritual.

The babies stirred now and then, hiccuping in their sleep or kicking out of their swaddles, and one of them would reach over without speaking, adjusting a sock, smoothing a forehead.

Somewhere along the line, the routine stopped being new or a trial. It became necessary. 

And Taehyung, who had once believed he was best left alone with his mornings, found himself reaching for his phone instinctively, thumbs typing the same word before he could think better of it.

Coffee??

And Jungkook would come, every time.

One morning, it was barely past five when Taehyung heard the knock.

Jungkook entered like he always did, balancing two cups and a half-hearted yawn, blanket around his shoulders, Hyun asleep beside him like a tucked-in comma.

Taehyung was already on the floor of the hall, he had to be less worried this way about Haeun falling off, if he slept off too much.

They didn’t speak right away. They never did. Jungkook tucked Hyun next to Haeun.

Taehyung took the mug and it was warm, familiar. The exact temperature he liked. He sipped and let the silence stretch.

Jungkook sighed, long and slow, and leaned back against the couch. His eyes were half-closed, head tilted to one side as if he was storing the moment in some part of his memory he rarely accessed.

Then he said, “I don’t even need caffeine anymore. Just this.” pointing fingered to the four occupants in the living room.

Taehyung’s chest went tight. And not, it was not romantically or dramatically. It was just… tight… ;like something in him had clenched around that sentence. He didn’t answer. Of course he couldn’t.

But he reached forward, took Jungkook’s mug without asking, and poured more coffee into it from the thermos that had been keeping warm on the side table.

He didn’t ask how much or if Jungkook even wanted it. He just knew.

Jungkook looked at him, that soft unreadable expression on his face. One that said thank you without the words. They sat like that for a long time.

The babies didn’t cry and the sun didn’t rise any faster that morning. The world didn’t shift. 

But Taehyung’s heart did, toward something he didn’t dare name.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

One such late night coffee message had them sitting in that living room, kids sleeping in the small tent created on the carpet, away from the air conditioning draft. The flat had gone quiet in that precious way only households with newborns understood. Like the whole space was holding its breath, terrified of waking what it had just barely soothed to sleep. 

A side lamp cast a soft light across the living room, catching on the edge of a plastic toy still stuck beneath the coffee table. Two baby bottles stood rinsed but not scrubbed were in the sink, the lullaby playlist was mid-transition.

It had been a particularly difficult day and it had taken two hours to settle them.

Two hours of bouncing, walking, swaddling, unswaddling, and alternating between hopeful shushing and silent prayers. Haeun had quieted first, her hiccups folding into sleep.Hyun had fought harder, colic making his cries feel like accusations. But finally, his breath had slowed and his fists unfurled.

Now, they both slept, tucked against a makeshift pillow fort Jungkook had built on instinct.

Taehyung stood at the edge of the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, a burp cloth draped over one shoulder.

“I should go,” Jungkook murmured, not for the first time.

Taehyung didn’t look up from where he was rearranging a bottle cap with his thumb. “You really need to? You are inviting a whole trouble”

Jungkook badly wanted to stay, God, he wanted to stay, but the thought snagged on something sharp. He didn’t know what Taehyung’s omega would read into it, what scent-note might slip through if he lingered too long in the soft light of that living room. 

And he didn’t have the energy for that talk, not now, maybe not for a long while yet.

Jungkook hesitated to answer but then didn’t move either. A few minutes later, they were both on the couch, “Let him crash for an hour or so, then in that deep sleep, I will carry him home.”

They were not side by side, just… folded toward each other into the dip of the middle cushions, like the universe had tipped them into place and decided to leave them there and see what happens.

Jungkook let his head fall back, eyes closing for a beat too long, his spine filing a complaint with him which he ignored for now.

Across from him, Taehyung stretched his legs until the muscles in his calves pulled, then let them drop, clearly not thinking, across Jungkook’s knee. 

He didn’t pause or ask, it was just an instinctive claim of warmth and safety that Jungkook didn’t bother to resist.

The room smelled faintly of formula, baby shampoo, and the familiar layering of vanilla-honey and cedar-sandalwood, the scents tangled so subtly it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

“We survived,” Jungkook murmured, tilting his head just enough to catch Taehyung in the corner of his eye.

Taehyung laughed, sleep-heavy, and surprised at himself. And then, again clearly not thinking, his head tipped sideways and rested against Jungkook’s shoulder.

Jungkook didn’t move or speak, he just let it happen. Taehyung’s hair tickled his neck. Their arms pressed together from wrist to elbow.

Taehyung’s head still rested on Jungkook’s shoulder. Outside, a dog barked once. Inside, the silence between their faces felt so loud it might split open.

Jungkook turned his head slightly and Taehyung looked up.

And that was it.

The kiss, again, wasn’t planned. It wasn’t a moment either of them could explain later, at least not fully. It was like one second, their eyes met and the next, their mouths did.

It began soft, tentative, a brush of warmth more than anything else. Both of them were curious, but still testing each other. 

Then it deepened… not with urgency, but with a pull neither of them tried to fight. It was still not desperate, not yet, at least. This one was just a steady unraveling.

Taehyung’s fingers, almost without his consent, curled into the front of Jungkook’s sweatshirt. The fabric bunched under his grip, and the shift pulled Jungkook closer… close enough that Taehyung could feel the change in his breathing, the subtle shift of cedar and rain in his scent warming against his own honey-vanilla.

That tiny anchoring touch made something in Jungkook answer back. His hand slid up, palm skimming the line of Taehyung’s jaw, holding it as though it were both fragile and inevitable.

This was when the kiss tilted then, just slightly… enough for lips to part and for it to deepen.

Jungkook shifted to face him, hand sliding instinctively to Taehyung’s waist. Taehyung let out the smallest breath against his lips, something almost like a whimper, and swung one leg over Jungkook’s lap.

They moved without thinking, as Jungkook’s hand found the nape of Taehyung’s neck and the omega tilted his chin up in answer.

It wasn’t polite anymore. It was breathless, deep, mouths opening wider and movements less careful.

Taehyung gasped when Jungkook pulled him closer, hands framing his hips. His fingers slid up, tangling in Jungkook’s hair. Their teeth clicked once in a rushed breath, and neither stopped or paused. They kissed like they’d been waiting for this, like every bottle washed and blanket folded had led to this.

They’d been pretending not to want it for weeks and were finally… finally… done pretending.

Jungkook felt the tremble in his own hands, his mind telling him he should stop… but he didn’t want to stop. He only wanted more… more of Taehyung’s mouth, more of his hands, more of this heat that felt like the centre of the earth hot.

Taehyung was the one who bit his lower lip, gently but firmly and Jungkook thought he might die if he didn’t taste that again.

Jungkook’s hand had just grazed the hem of Taehyung’s shirt tentatively, fingertips slipping beneath soft cotton, the barest brush of heat against heat….

And that was when it happened.

A sound cut through the air so suddenly it felt like earth moved from beneath their feet.

The wail was so loud that it was as if it split the apartment in two. Not only was it high but it also demanded immediate attention.

Jungkook froze, his breath catching mid-thought, the warm cedar of his scent fracturing under a spike of adrenaline. Taehyung’s fingers, which had still been tangled lightly in the back of Jungkook’s sweatshirt, loosened.

For half a heartbeat, they stayed like that… caught between the echo of what almost was, and the pull toward what had to be.

Taehyung blinked, already turning toward the pillow fort. “Hyun,” he murmured. 

And Jungkook groaned, low and devastated, and dropped his forehead against Taehyung’s shoulder.

You have got to be kidding me,” he mumbled.

Taehyung let out a breathless laugh. “Your son has timing.”

Jungkook straightened just enough to meet his eyes again, still caught between heat and disbelief. “And it’s definitely NOT hereditary from me at least.”

Jungkook straightened himself, running a hand through his hair like he could shake the heat from his skin and the wailing continued. He just needed a minute to calm himself… was it too much to ask.

Taehyung moved toward the bassinet first, already lifting Hyun with the confidence of someone who wasn’t new to this anymore. He crooned softly, bouncing once, twice, murmuring something about bottle timing and bad dreams.

Jungkook watched from the couch, still trying to find his footing. His lips still tingled and his heart thudded like it didn’t know the moment had ended.

Taehyung didn’t look back, but he shifted the baby closer to his chest, then gently turned to the side, just enough that Jungkook could see the soft curve of his smile in the dim light.

Jungkook walked to the kitchen and busied himself and his hands into preparing the bottle feed for Hyun. 

“You didn’t screw the bottle lid on right last time,” Taehyung said lightly, as if they’d been in the middle of that conversation all along. “Hyun was wearing half his feet.”

Jungkook huffed a laugh. He felt ruined but the most real he ever felt was, “Maybe he just prefers a bath to a meal.”

And somehow, in the chatter of the bottle warming and the sound of Hyun’s breath against Taehyung’s shoulder, the comfort found a way to stay. 

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Chapter Text

The living room was dim. Hyun and Haeun both went down for their morning nap in the chaos of Taehyung’s “day nest”. It was two carriers side by side, blankets tucked just so, the bottles lined on the low table like they belonged there.

Jungkook sat forward on the couch, elbows braced to his knees, absently rocking Hyun’s car seat with one foot. “I think I have to go back next week,” he said finally, the words sounded heavier than he’d meant them to.

Taehyung, crouched by the coffee table, was sorting a small army of pacifiers into “clean” and “needs-sterilizing” piles as he glanced up. “To the office?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook nodded. “This is longer than the policies of the office. Of course I can use the privilege… but I don't want to abuse it. My inbox is already a mess. I’m just…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know how the hell to make it work. He’s not at full feeds yet. I don’t want him in daycare. And my mom…. Well, she says she can’t stay here.”

Taehyung hummed softly, but nothing seemed to worry him “Then leave him here,” he said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

The words were said simply, but they landed differently in Jungkook’s chest. It was not here in my apartment, but it felt here in the den, where Haeun is, where it’s warm, where I’m watching. His alpha mind mapped it in an instant… Hyun in that corner by the window, the familiar bottle rack within arm’s reach, Taehyung’s scent already woven into the blankets.

“You’re sure?” Jungkook asked carefully.

Taehyung nodded, eyes flicking back to the carriers. “Honestly… it’s easier with two. They settle each other… And I have already emailed my office. I'm extending the Nest-leave by two more months and then opt for work-from-home. They agreed… though it’s with a pay cut.” Taehyung shrugged one shoulder, not quite meeting Jungkook’s eyes. “It’s manageable for now, but…”

Jungkook caught the pause, “But?” he prompted.

Taehyung set the last pacifier down and straightened a little. “The lease. The apartment was an emergency grab when Haeun was starting NICU. I took it on a six month lease cause it was expensive as hell, but I didn’t have time to be picky. That was four months ago. Once it’s up…” He trailed off, exhaling through his nose. “I don’t know. With the pay cut, it’s…” He cut himself off with a small shake of his head. “I’ll figure something out.”

The air shifted in a way Jungkook didn’t have to name. Housing wasn’t just housing… not in their world. An omega with an unstable den was a thing an alpha couldn’t ignore, even if he didn’t step in right then.

Jungkook’s brow furrowed. “That’s not a small problem, Tae.”

“I know.” Taehyung’s tone was even, but there was something fragile under it. “But… I also know I can handle Hyun while you’re gone. It’ll be fine.”

Jungkook didn’t offer fixes yet. “We’ll figure it out when we get there,” he said, “I’ll help. Whatever you decide, whatever you need. I’ll make sure you don’t have to do it alone.”

Taehyung’s mouth pulled into a small smile, like he believed him, “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Good,” Jungkook replied as he nodded, more to himself. 

They didn’t talk about it further, but when Jungkook left that day, he noticed something he hadn’t before. One of Hyun’s spare blankets was already folded in the basket beside Haeun’s, as if Taehyung had been expecting him. And for the first time since he’d said the words “go back to work,” the knot in his chest eased, just a little.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

The elevator doors opened onto the executive floor, and Jungkook stepped out like he hadn’t vanished for nearly 4 months.

The space looked the same, floor marble polished to a shine, the usual art hung up on the walls… but now, it somehow didn’t greet him the way it once had. It didn’t make him feel centered or gave him the sense of purpose for the day.

The alpha anyday had a paced out and predatory gait, but on this day he walked even slower than usual.

The staff rose from their desks when he passed, polite and soft-eyed, like he was walking in after a somber situation. No one said “congratulations.” gleefully because they didn’t know what the battle was like, and they did not want to sound unempathising. They had passed on their greetings and wishes earlier, some had texted, some emailed, and some implied over the calls. This entry to the office was quieter.

His office door was ajar, someone had aired it out he thought, freshened the flowers, and swapped out the water in the glass vase.

And someone, Jieun, probably… had changed the frame on his desk.

It held a photo of Hyun bundled in the NICU cap, arms flailing, face crumpled. The image was blurry and emotional. Jungkook’s breath caught as he remembered sending Jieun the pic when she did not let him breathe till he did.

He sank into his chair, and not with the practiced grace of the pack heir, but with the gravity of someone who had been stretched far too thin and then reassembled of sorts.

The screen blinked to life. It had the usual unread emails, some folders awaiting signature on the side of his table. One of them was titled “Deferred Due to Medical.”

He opened that one first, scanned the spreadsheet and closed it again.

Midway through his third email reply, he checked his phone… not because he was worried, but because he missed the background noise of cooing.

He opened the photo Taehyung had sent an hour earlier: Haeun tugging at Hyun’s blanket while the latter looked on with clear betrayal written all over his face. The caption by Taehyung read, *She’s learning dominance.*

Jungkook allowed himself a few more seconds to look at the picture and he chuckled under his breath. He then opened his messages.

> How’s it going?

Taehyung's reply came within seconds. 

> Your son drooled on your quarterly report. And… I didn’t stop him.

Jungkook smiled as he replied.

> I am raising a revolutionary and anti capitalist it looks like.

The spreadsheet could wait, some things couldn’t.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

By the time the babies had been home for just over a month , they were both past the fragile stillness of their earliest days. 

A 3+ month old Haeun had mastered the art of rolling from her back to her side, often stopping there to grin smugly at whoever noticed. 

Hyun, determined not to be outdone, had rolled clean off the folded blanket Taehyung had set him on last week… promptly getting his foot stuck in the leg of Taehyung’s sweatpants.

“Sabotage,” Jungkook had declared over the video call when Taehyung relayed the incident, with much added theatrics (we must say), “He’s gunning for mobility rights already.”

It was exactly why Taehyung’s presence mattered most right now. Being able to roll meant unpredictable movement, and unpredictable movement meant you couldn’t turn your back for longer than it took to pour water into a bottle or take a piss.

Taehyung’s official Nest Leave , the one HR called “Omega Parental Recovery and Bonding Time” in boring and long emails, had stretched past five months. It was supposed to end next week, but he hadn’t clicked ‘accept’ on the calendar reminder for his return-to-office date.

He’d read it three times and closed it each time.

One morning, without thinking too hard about it, he finally clicked accept .

Jungkook heard about it at their lunch call, “ Accepted your return date, Dada?”

Taehyung sent back a shrug over the screen and said, “ Guess someone has to pay for extra cabinets to store the educational toys Appa keeps buying in bulk.”

Neither of them remembered when, and neither do we, how the nicknames had settled in. Somewhere between bleary 3 a.m. feeds and morning coffee drop-offs, Dada and Appa had stopped being jokes and started being simply… theirs.

Jungkook didn’t reply right away. But when he did, it was just one line, “ Already put in for two days off starting on your rejoining day.”

Taehyung blinked at the screen, “ Why?” he asked genuinely not being able to piece it together.

Jungkook did not take a beat to respond, “Because I know how that day goes.”

To add to the devastation, Taehyung could see the expression that went with it… Jungkook’s matter-of-fact tone covering an undercurrent of something softer, having the kind of care Taehyung didn’t ask for, but felt everywhere around.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Taehyung didn’t have a formal desk anymore. His office was in whichever corner of the house the babies weren’t crying.

He was a senior brand creative, part visual storyteller, part strategist as he was the seniormost by time spent in the firm, someone who could build an entire campaign moodboard out of two keywords and a half-lit photo. 

Before the babies, his desk at the agency had been a carefully arranged mess of Pantone swatches, fabric samples, and mock-up printouts. Now, his “workspace” was whatever surface could fit a laptop and survive the occasional milk splash.

On this day, it was the corner of the living room, with his laptop propped on a wide sketchbook, stylus balanced between two burp cloths. Haeun was asleep on a cushion beside him, arms flung open like she was mid-flight. Hyun had fallen asleep after his bottle and was nestled against Taehyung’s calf.

The monitor pinged with a calendar reminder - “Team Moodboard Review – 11AM.” He exhaled, slow and deliberate, and straightened his back.

The meeting was brief, the regular status updates, visual concepts, deadlines that somehow meant nothing in the face of NICU charts and immunization calendars. One team member suggested adding kinetic gradients to the new interface theme. Taehyung nodded along, jotted notes, and bounced his knee when Hyun stirred.

None of them asked about the babies. Don’t get them wrong, it was not out of rudeness, but because no one seemed to know the protocol for congratulating someone whose newborn had spent two months in the NICU before coming home. 

Instead, one designer shyly changed their Zoom background to soft nursery clouds and Taehyung smiled.

Afterward, he replied to an email from his senior creative lead who asked when they would get to see him next. >> *I’d prefer to keep working remotely until the pediatrician clears them for daycare routines. We’re just past corrected Week 36-37 . I’d rather see her hold her head up than hit a campaign launch.*

[See chap end notes for what is corrected week?]

The response came almost immediately, >> *Of course. Your team’s covered. We’ll make it work.*

He closed the laptop and looked down.

Haeun had rolled half out of her blanket and Hyun’s fingers had found her elbow. They stayed asleep like that, tangled in a way no one could have scheduled.

Taehyung snapped a photo and sent it to Jungkook with a caption.
> *Our interns are forming a union.*

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

It started as a casual suggestion over coffee, or at least Jungkook had tried to make it sound casual. “We should start taking the kids over to my place sometimes,” he’d said, tapping his cup. “Let them get used to… you know… that place. So that it feels like home for them too.”

Taehyung had looked up and nodded sharply at the way the alpha had said home for both kids , but he didn’t comment.

From that moment, Jungkook started preparing his apartment like it was a second nursery, not just for Hyun and Haeun, but for Taehyung too. He didn’t want the omega to feel like a guest. He wanted him to feel settled for as long as he wanted to stay there .

He rearranged the living room so there was open floor space for tummy time mats. He shifted the couch to catch more natural light in the mornings, knowing Taehyung preferred to work in bright corners. One whole kitchen cabinet was emptied and restocked… formula tins, sterilized bottles, Haeun’s preferred teething toys lined up in a neat row.

And the scents… Jungkook knew better than to make it all his . He aired the apartment out, then moved through each room slowly, letting his own scent settle at a low hum in the background, that fresh rain and warm cedar stayed, but it was not dominant. It would always be Hyun’s anchor. But he left space, physically and chemically, for Taehyung’s to take root. He even tucked one of Taehyung’s softest blankets into the corner of the nursery crib so its vanilla-honey musk would start to sink into the sheets.

The first day when Taehyung finally arrived with both babies, he paused in the doorway. He could feel it… Jungkook’s scent had been dialed down just enough that it didn’t overwhelm. It mingled with faint traces of his own, like the place had been expecting him.

In the nursery, the cot Jungkook had once kept stripped bare now had two sets of bedding folded on the shelf below… one patterned with little clouds, the other in muted creams. There was a small laundry basket that sat beside it, already labeled “Haeun & Hyun” in Jungkook’s handwriting.

Taehyung’s throat went tight in a way he didn’t want to delve into at that moment. He brushed a finger along the edge of the crib rail, where the faintest trace of his scent had already caught. It felt… steadying.

“Wow,” he said, the word sounding too small for the way his insides felt.

Jungkook shrugged, his signature shrug, like it was nothing. “Didn’t want you to feel claustrophobic. Or like you had to keep everything in a diaper bag. It’s easier if you can just… be here sometimes. A change of scenery is always good.”

Taehyung looked at him, really really looked, and for a second there was something heavier than gratitude in his eyes. But all he could get himself to say was, “It’s… nice.”

It wasn’t just nice. It was a quiet invitation … Invitation to belong there, in a space that smelled like both of them, where Haeun’s breaths could sound the same as they did in Taehyung’s apartment, and Hyun could sleep without needing to adjust at the same time.

By the time the babies were down for their first nap, Taehyung’s scent had already anchored deeper into the room, mixing with Jungkook’s in a way that felt almost… inevitable.

And nap time was supposed to be predictable by now… ninety minutes, give or take, before someone stirred and it had synced up in a way it almost never did before this day. Both babies were down within minutes of each other.

But Hyun didn’t just sleep. He melted into it . He was in the crib, and across the room, Haeun was sprawled in the bassinet Jungkook had set up just for her, a faint milk blister still on her lip from her last feed. She’d gone down easier than usual, her own breathing deep and even, cheek pressed against a muslin cloth Jungkook had quietly scented before laying her down.

Taehyung had settled into the armchair near the crib, sketchbook balanced on his knee, half-watching the slow rise and fall of the babies’ chests. Hyun’s fists were open, his mouth slacking in the way only deep, safe sleep allows. He knew he was home .

Taehyung noticed it, of course he did. Not because it was obvious, but because omegas didn’t miss those things. 

Jungkook wandered back from the kitchen, handing Taehyung his coffee before leaning against the doorway. “She’s out,” he said quietly, nodding toward the bassinet.

Taehyung’s mouth tugged into something small but real. “You scented her blanket, didn’t you?”

Jungkook didn’t even pretend to deny it, “Figured she should have something familiar if she’s going to be here more.”

Taehyung nodded, eyes on Haeun. “She’s… comfortable here.”

Jungkook’s lips curved, soft but unreadable. “That was the point.”

Post that, there were no written schedules, no pinned calendars or chore wheels. It was just a rhythm on a daily basis.

In the early mornings when Jungkook had investor briefings, Taehyung arrived even earlier.

On the Wednesday afternoons Taehyung had team check-ins, Jungkook would try to walk home for a lunch break, he used to wear soft cotton and layered his alpha pheromones low. Enough for Hyun to recognize and neutral enough for Haeun and the omega to relax against his chest.

No one said “can you take them today?” anymore. One would simply arrive and the other handed off a bottle, a pacifier, and a shoulder to rest.

Sometimes Jungkook left notes… some gadget instructions scrawled in shorthand on the fridge.

Sometimes Taehyung refilled the humidifier in Jungkook’s guest room without being asked.

They had slipped into shared care as if they had always meant to… just without the bond, the knot, or any of the paraphernalia that came with the declarations. 

Everything they needed was already there. And when Jungkook returned from his meetings to find Taehyung curled up with both babies on the couch, the scent settled like early spring rain, he thought,,, quietly and always privately of course… 

That this was what mating *should* mean and feel like. Even if neither had claimed it yet.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Gratification for all their hard work and sleepless nights came in soft emails and passing compliments of praise.

Jungkook’s board called him “sharper” during a quarterly review. “Balanced under pressure,” one executive said, after Jungkook closed a negotiation late night while cradling a half-asleep infant through video call.

What the board didn’t know that morning, Taehyung had refilled Jungkook’s thermos and straightened his collar. They did not know that Haeun had drooled on the sleeve; he didn't have time to change. That he’d left the house that morning with Taehyung’s voice behind him, “Don’t forget your watch.”

One evening when Jungkook drove to another town for a meeting and he could do that because Taehyung held fort back home. That evening, his inbox lit up after he posted a launch graphic for a campaign he no longer directly managed. “So elegant,” someone replied. “How do you make this look so effortless?”

He didn’t reply, just politely nodded as a thank you. Then he tagged the folder “Delivered” and closed the laptop.

One Wednesday afternoon, during Taehyung’s review call, Jungkook was restocking the diaper caddy, and he found a printout tucked inside the drawer. It was a mockup of a baby onesie Taehyung had doodled once for fun.

It was a white, cotton-soft and the caption read: *I made Appa and Dada late for work again.*

Jungkook smiled and folded it gently, sliding it into his bedside drawer like a secret.

It had been two and a half weeks since the couch kiss… the one they didn’t talk about, didn’t name and didn’t follow up on.

That evening, the babies were down early again. It was the kind of rare, miraculous alignment that made the apartment feel almost holy.

Jungkook leaned against the hallway wall, shoulders loose, hair still damp from the rushed shower he’d taken while Taehyung readjusted Haeun’s swaddle with the kind of precision only he seemed to have.

Taehyung emerged from the nursery, aka Jungkook’s guestroom, with an empty  bottle in hand, thumb tapping the corner. 

They didn’t speak at first as Taehyung set the bottle on the kitchen counter. Jungkook handed him a cup of lukewarm water… Neither of them remembered who started this, or if it was even meant for one person or the other. The battle of the day which culminated into two deep sleeping babies was clear on both their faces and bodies.

“I got through three calls today,” Taehyung said finally, voice low. “Only two had to be muted for crying.”

Jungkook smirked at it “A new record. So overall a good day for dada-appa team. I closed the Holsinger proposal.”

“Was that before or after the poop incident pics?” Taehyung’s reply came two ways, also in the form of low, deliberate claps… palms meeting softly, a grin tugging at his mouth as if to say well done, Appa without actually saying it.

Jungkook’s laugh was soft but unguarded, the kind that eased something in the room. Then his gaze shifted, steady and almost too honest.

“How the hell do people do it alone?” His voice wasn’t dramatic, but it wasn’t light either… it was that quiet, shaken truth you only said out loud when you trusted someone to hold it carefully. “I can’t even imagine. I….” He broke off, shook his head. “I can’t even begin to imagine doing this without you.”

Something flickered over Taehyung’s face, too quick to name, but his shoulders shifted like the words had landed somewhere deep. The world outside… the clients, the investors, the campaigns, nothing had paused for them… but they had paused for each other.

Jungkook bowed in pretend play standing across from Taehyung in that kitchen passage when his hand brushed the small of Taehyung’s back.

Taehyung didn't move, his one hip cocked out. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, collar loosened, hair pulled back with a bandana that covered those beautiful perms as well as the way his ear tips were red.

Jungkook moved after a beat too long… through the bottle prep station with mechanical precision… washing, filling, snapping lids into place basically anything to keep his hands busy and cold. His forearms flexed when he dried the sterilizer tray, and Taehyung hated that he noticed. (Between us we know he loved it too)

“I told you, you’re filling them too high,” Taehyung said without turning, just enough edge in his voice to tease.

Jungkook bumped his hip into Taehyung’s in mock offense. “They measure stand height in milliliters, not vibes , Kim.”

Taehyung smirked and tucked a strand of hair behind into the bandana and said, “Vibes have better results. Ask my daughter.”

Jungkook didn’t respond. He just reached over his shoulder to open the spice cabinet when their shoulders touched. They didn’t pull away.

Taehyung turned slightly, dipping one finger into the cinnamon-sweet liquid and bringing it to his mouth. He sucked the drop off slowly, eyes on the spoon, lips shiny post that.

Jungkook paused, mid-motion. He paused and watched.

Taehyung licked the edge of his mouth and sighed. “It’s missing something.”

Jungkook’s voice came low but certain, “Maybe it’s you.”

Taehyung looked up, startled by how warm his own body felt in response and as if it was what was supposed to happen next… Jungkook was already stepping closer, one hand on the counter, the other brushing a curl behind Taehyung’s ear. His thumb lingered at the hinge of Taehyung’s jaw.

Then, slowly, like saying a prayer, he leaned in and kissed the corner of the omega’s mouth.

And… The kiss didn’t end with that… It unfolded.

Taehyung turned his head, just enough to meet Jungkook’s mouth fully, and everything felt heightened. The cinnamon clung to both their lips, sweet and warm, but the heat that bloomed between them tasted like something far more dangerous.

Jungkook’s hand ghosted over Taehyung’s waist before gripping it with purpose, pulling him flush against his chest. Taehyung’s free hand reached behind Jungkook’s neck, threading through the soft undercut and tugging him closer. Their mouths parted, breath shared, tongues brushing slow and then hungrier.

The kitchen counter pressed into Taehyung’s lower back… absolute cold marble against the heat in his skin. It grounded him, then pushed him further into the kiss. Two pairs of shoulders collided and thighs bumped in erratic movements.

They moved like they’d done this before. Not exactly this, but something a lot like it. Taehyung’s fingers found the hem of Jungkook’s shirt. Jungkook’s hand slipped beneath the edge of Taehyung’s shirt. It was as if they immediately took off from where they left last time. This time their hips met in an unspoken rhythm and mouths opened wider.

When Jungkook’s hands slid to Taehyung’s waist, his grip tightened, not demanding, but certain. A breath later, the alpha lifted him, an easy pull upward that set Taehyung onto the counter in one smooth movement. The cold marble shocked through the back of Taehyung’s thighs, but the heat of Jungkook’s chest chased it away just as quickly.

Shirts were gone before either could name the moment they’d left their bodies. Skin to skin, their scents thickened in the air… vanilla honey and clean musk tangling with sandalwood, fresh rain, and the deeper warmth of cedar… everything melding until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

Taehyung’s legs came up instinctively, wrapping around Jungkook’s waist, ankles locking. It wasn’t just to hold him there; it was to pull him closer, to feel the full press of the alpha’s body against his own. There was no space left between them, just the solid press of alpha’s hardened cock and the telling heat low in omega’s belly, wetness pooling without shame.

Jungkook’s breath hitched at the scent-shift… It was sharp, heady, instinct lacing through absolute naked desire and he nosed briefly along Taehyung’s jaw, scent-marking in passes so subtle they could almost be denied later. It was another almost they crossed without naming it.

Taehyung’s fingers dug into Jungkook’s shoulders, hips rolling in small, thoughtless motions, answering the slow grind of the alpha’s against him. It wasn’t frantic, not yet; it was deliberate, as if they both knew exactly how far they’d take it tonight.

Jungkook’s hands slid lower, palms holding Taehyung’s hips in a firm hold that guided each movement, coaxing rather than forcing. Their breaths tangled between open mouths, warm and unsteady, every exhale feeding the heat that coiled low and tight in Taehyung’s gut. 

The counter trembled under their shifting weight, marble unforgiving against Taehyung’s thighs as Jungkook leaned in harder, chasing his mouth again. Their rhythm broke only when Jungkook’s elbow clipped something at the edge.

The sterilizer.

It toppled before either of them could stop it… clattering to the tile in a burst of steam and the metallic ring of scattered lids.

The sharp crash tore through the quietness and they both startled, breathing ragged, eyes snapping toward the mess before finding their way back to each other.

Then, in perfect unison, they turned toward the nursery hallway.

There was silence, a long, fragile silence.

Taehyung mouthed, don’t you dare wake up, like he was praying directly to the baby gods. Jungkook stayed still, every muscle tense, as if sheer force of will could keep the world quiet.

Another beat passed. Still no crying.

They both exhaled at once, muttering thank yous to the divine forces… and that’s when the real problem hit. 

They had to move… but neither of them could move without drawing attention to the obvious. Jungkook was still caged between Taehyung’s knees, Taehyung’s shirt somewhere on the floor, and the scent of slick and arousal still hanging thick in the air.

“I’ll… uh… let me clean it up,” Jungkook muttered, finally stepping back. The sudden absence made Taehyung’s thighs ache, but he wasn’t about to admit it.

“Yeah. You… do that.” He hopped down from the counter with more force than necessary, grabbing a kitchen towel and focusing very hard on not watching Jungkook bend over to collect the sterilizer pieces.

Unfortunately, the towel didn’t help with the other problem… Taehyung’s sweats still clung damp between his thighs, and Jungkook’s obvious hard-on wasn’t exactly camouflaged by his own joggers.

They moved around each other in the small kitchen like awkward planets in too close orbit, bumping elbows, avoiding eye contact, and both silently calculating whether finishing this later would make them terrible people.

“Thanks for… helping,” Taehyung said finally, though it came out a little strangled.

Jungkook bit his inner cheeks and lips from letting that dangerously close-to-a-grin thing form on him. “Anytime,” he replied, keeping it compact.

The world hung there, heavier than it should’ve been. The steam from the sterilizer still curled in the air. 

Jungkook’s voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper growl. “ We can’t keep doing this halfway.”

Taehyung closed his eyes. He could feel Jungkook’s exhale skim his temple, the rise and fall of his chest not quite touching but close enough that Taehyung’s body registered it anyway. 

“Then why,” he said softly, his voice threading through the quiet like something private, “does even a halfway feel so whole?”

When everything was reset, the bottles lined in the rack like soldiers, counters wiped, steam long vanished… They both still stayed close. Not because there was more to do, but because neither seemed willing to be the one to leave first.

Jungkook reached for the tap, the motion slow, as if filling two glasses could buy them more time. He slid one across the counter, and Taehyung accepted it without speaking.

Their eyes met over the rims of mismatched glasses, one was chipped at the edge, the other faintly stained from too many late nights. The breaths were still unsteady, like their bodies hadn’t decided to cool down yet. 

And in the space between blinks, without a sound, they wished they said the same thing, I want more. I just don’t know how to ask.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Chapter Text

The kettle whistles just as Taehyung says, “My lease ends in four weeks.”

It had been two months of NICU and three months of the babies being home out of the six month lease of Taehyung’s apartment.

He doesn’t look at Jungkook when he says it, he doesn’t need to. The statement lands between the two mugs on the counter, next to the bottle brush and a sterilized pacifiers.

Jungkook pauses with a hand inside the dishwasher. “Oh,” he says lightly. “You’re going to renew?”

Taehyung lifts the kettle, steam fogging his glasses. “Rent’s gone up even further. And I’m barely there now except to shower and pick up trousers I forgot I owned.”

Jungkook, at the sink, was drying the last plate from dinner. He set it down on the rack a little too carefully, like the weight had suddenly changed in his hands. “You could stay here,” he said, tone easy… like it had just popped into his head.

But the offer hung there, warmer than the kettle steam still clinging to Taehyung’s glasses. It was not a throwaway line or a band-aid for rising rent.

It was the kind of suggestion that carried a quiet undercurrent: You’re already here most of the time. You fit here. So why not make it official?

Taehyung glanced over, searching for any sign of pity and finding none. Jungkook was just watching him, one hip braced against the counter, as if the idea was so obvious it barely needed discussing.

Jungkook kept his tone neutral; the inside of his chest was anything but. He continued, “The guest room is theirs anyway. I’ll swap the couch for a decent sofa‑cum‑bed and take the living room. Bedrooms face each other, so you in the bedroom makes more sense… and that way we’re in good earshot, and monitors cover the rest.”

Taehyung’s eyes flickered, just enough to betray that the offer had landed somewhere deeper than he wanted to admit. He set the kettle down. 

“That’s… practical.”  he said finally, the words neat and flat. 

Jungkook leaned back against the counter, arms folded loosely, “Yeah,” he said, letting the word stretch a little. “Just logistics.”

Neither added, choose me (when both wanted to)

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

The new sofa cum bed arrived on a Thursday evening, two delivery men grunting as they pivot it through the door. Jungkook had insisted on assembling it himself, of course he did, and for the next two hours, the living room was an exploded floor shop of a factory  - hex keys, plastic wraps, instructions pressed under his knee. 

When it finally folded out with that smooth and sexy glide, he smiled at himself, with a lot of cockiness in that smile. He tests the mattress with the palm, he was not a finicky alpha as such. He could adjust his surroundings and generally make space for everyone around. It was just that the mattress could be the only deal breaker. He was not even picky but anal about mattresses. And maybe that was the only explanation for extra mattresses lying around in the apartment - he ordered, but was not satisfied with it. 

He let his whole weight fall on the palm on the mattress first and then his whole body followed. He exhaled, absurdly proud of himself again… he ordered the right one this time. 

By the evening, Taehyung’s toothbrush stood in the cup next to his own, red and blue ones, accidentally complementing each other. His own moisturiser  sat by the mirror, hair brush tucked into a tray with Jungkook’s other accessories. The wardrobe had ninety percent black and some pastel shade shirts. He monitored every square inch, well of course.. It was the official migration season. 

And Saturday morning was the date with destiny of sorts. Taehyung arrived at Jungkook’s apartment - log stock and barrel and two kids of course. 

The nursery, which was the guest room, was turned into a kids' room. Two cribs stood there side by side, the changing table squeezed under the window, a slim rail placed on the wall for drying muslins. The range of sleepy animals that hung on the mobile turned slow and hypnotic. 

Their scents had been in this room for months, but now the air felt warmer and ready to be lived‑in.

Taehyung didn’t say, “Hi Roomie…” Jungkook didn’t announce “you live here now.” They just… did.

At 2:14 a.m., the monitor glowed blue on Jungkook’s nightstand, well, on the box he was now calling a nightstand. It was a storage ottoman dragged beside the sofa‑bed. The alert chimed once, twice. He was already on his feet by the third, walking bare‑footed down the short hallway.

The nursery door was open. Taehyung was already there, hair messy, t‑shirt slipping off one shoulder, humming under his breath while he checked the temperature of the bottle on his wrist. The sound was barely audible but instantly familiar; Hyun’s chest hiccuped once, then steadied as he reached for the bottle.

“You didn’t have to get up,” Taehyung said in a groggy voice.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Jungkook lied, because he couldn't say what he wanted to. 

He took the bottle when Taehyung passed it over. Their fingers brush, wrist to wrist, a small warm shock that feels bigger than it should have. Jungkook pretended to study the angle of the nipple. Taehyung pretended to fix a swaddle that didn't need to be fixed. 

Hyun was busy working on that bottle and the room breathed skeptical. Somewhere both were thinking they needed to talk… high time they should talk. Before… you know ….

But when? Between work, bath schedules that got squeezed in within a timer running on the head, between colic pains, diaper changes, vaccination appointments, sleep schedule of a bug. When were they supposed to have the talk? And they muttered a thousand curses to the one who made the talk as a milestone to be crossed. 

Back on the sofa‑bed, Jungkook was awake for longer than it made sense, the taste of formula and chamomile still in the air. The apartment has always been quiet, but tonight, the quiet felt shared and that was new for Jungkook. 

✥✥✥✥✥

Rearranging the nursery and setting it up for new needs cropping up daily was an errand disguised as a trap, they discovered soon in week 1.

“Left, left, left...no, the other left,” Taehyung said, half‑laughing, half‑exasperated, as he palmed Jungkook’s shoulders. They were navigating him between the crib and the bookcase.

“What the fuck is the other left, Tae? Enlighten me, please… Also, do you want me to crawl under it next? Should I get you a measuring tape? A headlamp?” Jungkook shot back, voice climbing with something more grateful than anything else..

They were too close, the kind of close where one felt the other's breath on their cheek, where the wall cooled their shoulder blades and the heat they were feeling wasn't the room’s fault . Taehyung’s hands stayed  where they were one heartbeat too long, and Jungkook’s fingers flexed like they might find Taehyung’s hip next, but then they didn't.

The monitor crackles, the lazy rustle of a waking baby. The moment slips away like a thread under a fingernail. They move the crib.

As Taehyung came back to his own bed and let himself fall face first into it, his mind was only screaming one thing… “It wasn't the first almost… and it's definitely not going to be the last. What the hell did I get myself into??” He could pretend that he was genuinely rethinking but that was betrayed by the very visible ear to ear smile that followed. 

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

It had taken them three full days to agree to leave the house.

“It’s just a coffee,” Taehyung had said, not quite meeting Jungkook’s eye. “We can try, Jungkook. All of us could use a change”

Jungkook nodded, his eyes flicking to the calendar. It had been 123 days since Haeun’s discharge and day 115 for Hyun. For the first time there were no medical appointments in the coming days.

Still, his alpha instincts told him to rethink. What if the café was too crowded? What if someone coughed near them? What if the change in air made their little noses run, and that turned into something worse? His mind was already scrolling through contingencies and back up plans - sanitizing wipes, backup blankets, extra bottles, a swift exit route if either baby so much as sneezed.

Taehyung could feel it… he could feel it in the way Jungkook’s shoulders stayed tight even as he nodded to agree. He wanted to tell him, gently, that omegas sometimes just knew. That he could feel in his chest, in that deep part of him, that nothing bad would happen today. But the words stuck somewhere between his throat and his pride.

Because saying it would mean claiming a place in Jungkook’s decision-making and in turn about Hyun’s safety. And Taehyung wasn’t sure… despite everything they’d already shared if that was his place to take.

So instead, he only said, “It’ll be fine.” And hoped Jungkook would believe him without asking why.

✥✥✥✥✥

They picked a café close enough to home that they could walk back if anyone had a melt down. It had outdoor seating and a quiet corner. Both carried more supplies than they probably needed - extra bottles, extra bibs, formula scoops, a backup pacifier for each.

The sun was mild, early spring clinging to the April breeze. Haeun was tucked into a sling against Taehyung’s chest, swaddled in her cherry red blanket. Hyun mirrored her in a navy blue sling against Jungkook’s front, wide eyed just like his appa and exceptionally alert like… he couldn’t believe he was outdoors.

They took turns pushing the door open with their elbows and laughed softly when it didn’t work. Inside, they ordered iced americanos, one with oat milk, one black, and slid into a corner seat like they’d rehearsed it.

The babies were surprisingly calm, as if sensing the delicate weight of this rare outing. Taehyung rocked his knees gently and Jungkook untucked a burp cloth from his bag and smoothed it across his leg.

Then a voice from the side.

It was a woman, probably in her sixties, smiling kindly. She wore a pressed cardigan and had a floral canvas tote filled with paperbacks.

“Your twins are adorable,” she said warmly. “How many minutes or hours apart?”

And… There was a beat as Jungkook looked up, lips parting like he meant to explain, but Taehyung sensed the tension before he looked at Jungkook.

Surprisingly, Jungkook didn’t say anything on this day and he just nodded. Somehow knowing where this was going, Taehyung smiled.

“Just a few,” he replied softly. (A few days apart both completed in their head, but that no one needed to know on the road)

The woman chuckled. “You’re lucky they sync. Mine never did.” and she moved on without realising the stir she caused in two hearts and minds.

They sat there quietly for a little too long. Then Jungkook took a sip of his coffee and looked at Taehyung,  “She thought we were…”

Taehyung didn’t look away. “A couple… yeah. I didn’t hate it, unless you did, and we can always correct them if there is any discomfort….”

Jungkook shook his head in a negative way, very quickly (almost too quickly) . His thumb traced the rim of his cup as he said, “No No. I didn’t hate it either.”

They stayed in that moment as the rest of the world kept moving around them. Orders getting called out from the counter, chairs moving around and scrapping the floor, someone’s coffee spilled at the table beside them… but between the two of them a silence settled and the beauty was it didn’t ache nor was it awkward. 

Taehyung reached for the babies’ travel pack and pulled out a bottle. Haeun stirred faintly, so he began to warm it between his palms. Hyun blinked at him from Jungkook’s chest, as if still unsure how the world outside his nursery ceiling worked.

“Do you think they too will grow up thinking we’re…?” Taehyung asked after a while.

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, lips brushing the rim of his cup. “Thinking we’re what?”

Taehyung shrugged matter of factly, “Together.”

Jungkook didn’t answer right away. He looked down at his son, whose hand had curled into the sling loop near his collarbone. His voice was quieter than the chatter around them, “If we raise them together, I don’t think they’ll care what it’s called.”

Taehyung exhaled and it almost turned immediately into a laugh. “That’s a very you answer.”

Jungkook turned his cup in a circle. “That’s a very you question.”

They looked at each other, the way they always did now … past what met the eye, past the hesitation.

Then Hyun yawned, a little too loudly and the spell broke. They both leaned down at the same time, fussing, adjusting, one checking the sling belts and edges, the other reaching for a wipe. It was too much movement but too familiar and too fluid to be anything but shared.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s what the woman had seen, it was not the matching slings or mirrored eye bags. But the way they didn’t second-guess each other. The way they looked like they belonged.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

It wasn’t a holiday on any calendar, but Taehyung marked it like one. End of April . 

The babies had both crossed into the “first solids” stage. Yoongi’s words were still in his head from their last clinic visit. “Start with something blended. Rice porridge, apple purée. Watch their intake. Track urine output, water intake too… since milk feeds will drop.”

It was just practical advice and quite clinical, even. But to Taehyung, it sounded like a milestone.

It was also a reminder, because the storm looked like it had passed. 

New Year’s had also come and gone while the babies were still getting discharged from the NICU, that was their only celebration. They hadn’t registered it then; there’d been no space, no breath. 

The omega in him, the part that craved ritual and nesting, couldn’t let another first pass unmarked.

So he woke up one day, before either baby stirred, and walked quietly into the kitchen. Jungkook was already up and in the guest washroom. 

Barley tea simmered on the stove, filling the apartment with a warm, toasty scent. A pot of pale rice porridge prepared and was kept beside it, cooling just enough for their tiny spoons. He sliced the fruits into slivers for himself and Jungkook, fruit bowl being Jungkook’s favourite first meal of the day, he decided that on this day they could cheat a bit on that and thus made some small pancakes to go with that.

By the time Jungkook emerged from the guest bathroom, hair set by gel he heard some cooing noises from the nursery. Now he had Hyun, who had woken up, balanced on one hip. The low table in the living room was already set and two bibs lay folded beside the bottles and two cards next to bowls laid out there. 

“Morning,” Jungkook said, stopping just inside the room. His eyes caught on the table, then on the little cards beside each cup.

One read Appa. The other, Dada.

He didn’t ask why. He didn’t want anything to disturb how nice they looked there.

Taehyung, still crouched to adjust the placement of Haeun’s seat cushion, glanced up. “Figured we should mark it,” he said lightly, as if it were nothing more than a Tuesday. “First solids. And… a very very belated New Year’s. The one we didn’t get.”

Jungkook’s mouth quivered, the smallest acknowledgment of something heavy. “You didn’t have to go this far.”

Taehyung just shrugged, settling Haeun into her baby rocker. “Maybe.. I know I didn't have to.. But I wanted to.”

They started slowly, tiny spoonfuls coming with exaggerated encouragement, quiet laughter when both babies made near-identical grimaces at the taste of a new porridge ingredient. Hyun gurgled after his third try, smearing porridge on his cheek. Haeun took to it faster, though her bib caught most of her success.

Jungkook handed Taehyung a slice of pear between feedings. “Yoongi’s going to want a full report. He warned me last time that I should not make them sit up” he said.

“I saw, and yeah, they will sit in their own time, Jungkook. We cannot go by birth certificate. They are around just around 4 months corrected age now. Gut and spine work differently…” Taehyung replied, tilting his head toward the feeding log on the side table. “Intake, diaper count, water notes. On that,  he is never catching me off-guard.”

They worked in a quiet rhythm. Passing spoons, swapping babies when one squirmed, leaning just close enough to feel the overlap of warmth between them. The moments nowadays didn’t ask for more. It was enough that they were both here.

When the bowls were empty and the babies drowsy from effort, Jungkook set his plate down and looked across the low table.

“This counts,” he said simply.

Taehyung’s brow lifted. “As what?”

Jungkook’s gaze flicked to the name cards, then back to him. “As our New Year.”

Taehyung didn’t answer right away. He just smiled, and let the omega in him tuck the words away somewhere safe… Somewhere alongside the sound of baby laughter, the scent of warm barley tea, and the sight of Jungkook smiling over a table that felt like home.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

It happened on a Saturday.

It was the kind of Saturday where the rhythm was so set, they barely had to think about what came next.

Haeun was chewing on the edge of her teether like it had personally wronged her. Hyun was sprawled on his play mat, determined to catch the rotating giraffe but mostly batting at empty air. Both kids were on the floor mat for their tummy-time. 

Taehyung sat cross-legged between them, laptop balanced on one knee, notebook on the other. Jungkook was in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, rinsing out the morning bottles before the next round.

It was all so normal… their normal… that neither thought twice about the stream of conversation flowing between them nowadays which ranged like, 

“Appa, did you get the wipes from the dryer?” Taehyung’s usual questions.

“Dada, can you grab the extra bib from the drawer?” Jungkook’s usual checklists.

It was second nature now, like breathing. Appa and Dada, volleyed back and forth with no pause and seemed like it was thor names now. They didn’t remember when it started. 

Which is probably why Jungkook wasn’t prepared. Because it came out of nowhere, in the most ordinary moment.

Jungkook just bent down to pick Hyun up, careful of the tiny fists tangling in his hair, as the boy was trying to topple the laptop placed on Taehyung’s knee. The omega’s voice was casual, distracted, almost off-guard, he said, 

“Thanks, hyung.”

And… Jungkook froze. It was not that he froze dramatically. And it was also not enough for Taehyung to notice right away. But something inside the alpha went very, very still… like the ground under his feet had shifted and he needed a second to figure out if he was still upright.

Hyung. Taehyung called him Hyung. 

Taehyung…

It wasn’t that the word itself was foreign. He’d heard it a thousand times in his life, from friends, from colleagues. But from him , here, after months of being Appa? It was like the syllables had been dipped in something sharp and slow-burning before landing in his ears.

By the time Taehyung glanced over, Jungkook had schooled his expression into something that looked normal… or close enough.

“What?” Taehyung asked, a faint crease between his brows.

“Nothing,” Jungkook said too quickly, adjusting Hyun on his hip.

But Taehyung wasn’t stupid. He caught the slight edge in Jungkook’s tone, the way his ears had gone red. His own mouth curled at the edges.

“Oh,” Taehyung said, drawing the word out like he’d just stumbled onto a secret. “You liked that...”

“I didn’t… Sorry, what are you talking about?” Jungkook began, only to stop when Taehyung’s grin went downright wicked.

“You did. You liked that…” Taehyung murmured, half to himself. “Appa’s blushing.”

Jungkook turned toward the kitchen before he could betray himself more by saying anything else, muttering something about rinsing the bottles again even though they were already spotless.

But Taehyung wasn’t done.

The rest of the day, the word kept slipping into conversation like it had always been there.

“ Hyung , can you pass me the wipes?”
“ Hyung , she needs a burp.”
“ Hyung , your son just tried to eat his sock.”

By lunch time, Jungkook was certain Taehyung was doing it on purpose. And by dinner time, he knew it.

“Keep it up,” Jungkook warned, pointing a spoon in his direction during the evening feed, “and you’re on night-shift diaper duty.”

Taehyung just leaned back, smug as anything, licking his lips while eating. “Sure, hyung .”

Jungkook’s grip tightened on the spoon. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair that the man could make the word sound both harmless and loaded at the same time, and Jungkook’s head, heart, and somewhere in his lower abdomen, everything was all too willing to trip over each other because of it.

By bedtime, he’d told himself he’d get used to it. That it would fade like any other novelty. He was nearly 38 for god’s sake…

But when Taehyung brushed past him in the hallway, voice was low and deliberate as he said…
“ Goodnight, hyung. ”

Jungkook knew he was doomed for good.

And Jungkook also knew something else... It wasn’t about the babies anymore.

It hadn’t been, not for a while. Somewhere between the 3 a.m. feed hand-offs and the lazy evenings tangled in the same blanket with a half-watched movie playing in the background, the axis had shifted. 

The easy excuses… for the kids , for convenience , just logistics … had done their time and run too thin to hide behind. Now every shared glance carried weight, every brush of fingers was a little too aware. It was about them.

Across the bed in the room, Taehyung’s hand lingered on a stray page from the half read and abandoned book. His gaze was on it, but not reading it. He’d been telling himself for weeks that this closeness was temporary, situational. That it would fold itself away once the routines changed. But he also knew better now. He could feel it every time Jungkook leaned just a fraction closer than necessary, every time the low rumble of his voice cut through the late-night quiet like something meant only for him. 

This… whatever this was… had stopped belonging to circumstance a long time ago.

They were both aware of it, they were both thinking about it.

And yet, neither had the faintest idea how to say it without tipping the delicate balance they’d been keeping. So they stayed there, side by side but not enough where they would accidentally touch each other and that felt like a universe away, waiting for the other to make the first move.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Chapter Text

The apartment was very still. Now “still” is a relative term. 

It was as still as a home with sleeping infants can be - tense but very tight and reverent. On the open shelf of the kitchen counters, bottles used during the day were lined up to air-dry. 

There was a silent but fragrant humidifier in the passage where both rooms - the nursery and Taehyung’s bedroom which had been shared very generously with Jungkook, were accessible for the air.

One baby monitor was on the TV console, regularly blinking a light to show that it was working and the silence was only because the kids were sleeping. 

Taehyung stood barefoot in the kitchen, an apron on his waist protecting his beige pajamas, and sleeves rolled up, he watched the warm rinse water pool of the sink. He really was not washing anything anymore - he was just letting the heat from water cling to his fingers helping his joints feel soother. 

Jungkook hadn’t slept yet.

He should’ve, at least that was the plan. He’d gone towards the kitchen counter to drop off a new bottle brush and help sterilize the extra feeding sets. They had already done that. And then… he stayed there. 

So, Jungkook did what he used to do around Taehyung in the house for the last few months. Chores . He folded laundry, which he knew Taehyung despised. He helped take the trash out, refill the cooler bottles, even cleaned the steriliser tray. He basically remembered all these chores in that sleepy quiet hour after the babies used to go into dreamland. And there was an amount of time between that and when the adults of the house slept. 

If he was honest, this was the most dangerous hour… the hour where it was hardest to be near Taehyung without reaching for more.

Now, Jungkook was on the couch, folding a row of impossibly tiny onesies with the kind of precision Taehyung only ever applied to swaddles. He hadn’t been asked to do it. He just… did.

And Taehyung, his muscles ached from the rinse repeat cycles but he stood there in the kitchen, watching Jungkook, humming under his breath as soft warm basin tap soothed his fingers. 

And it was then that the silence and quiet suddenly hit Taehyung. I trust him. Not just with the routine or the bottles or the part where they shared freezer bags and feeding logs. ‘ I trust him with everything I made and gave birth to. I trust him more than myself with Haeun.’ His brain screamed at him. 

And then, without meaning to, another thought slipped in and rooted itself: I love him.  

This was the first time he’d ever let the sentence finish… and it terrified him.  It was not the usual grief or fear of inevitable. This was softer and slower as if he was standing in the surf wave and realised that the tide had crept up past his knees without noticing. And it filled him with the same bright, dizzy butterflies he thought he’d outgrown. 

Taehyung dried his hands, moving slowly, and walked into the living room. Jungkook looked up when he approached but didn’t speak. He held out a folded swaddle, and Taehyung took it, smoothing it out before placing it in the drawer by the side table.

Neither of them moved for a moment.

Taehyung sat beside him, very close, but not touching. The overhead light had been turned off an hour ago. Only the warm amber of the corner lamp remained which was soft enough to blur edges, but not enough to hide from.

He didn’t know how to explain it, so he didn’t. He just let his head fall back onto the cushion and closed his eyes for a breath.

Then he said it. “Can you sleep in with me? Just tonight.”

It didn’t feel risky or it didn’t feel scary at all when he said it. Everything sounded right in his head and the words came out right he thought. But then… the silence that followed.

Jungkook didn’t answer right away. He just sat there, fingers still curled lightly around the edge of a folded burp cloth, as if moving would unravel something too delicate in the open.

Taehyung didn’t look at him. He kept his eyes on the laundry basket, on the quiet stack of neatly folded baby clothes. This was not the first shared task or the first shared silence. They had been doing this dance for more than six months now. 

So why did it suddenly feel the most vulnerable either of them felt ever?

Then, finally, Jungkook’s voice came, lower and rougher than Taehyung had expected, “If I come to bed, I don’t know if I’ll be able to reign in myself.”

Taehyung’s lips curved before he even realized it. And something caught in his throat. He forced a sane smile as he tried to say, “ Maybe… it’s time you don’t.”

It wasn’t flirtation. It wasn’t even coded or charged with anything else other than a simple offering, unwrapped of expectations or pressure.

He heard the shift before he felt it… Jungkook leaning back to mirror Taehyung’s posture, spine settling into the worn couch cushion beside him, like something unspoken had clicked into place. 

No one reached for anyone, no one moved closer, but both knew that the space between them changed.

Taehyung could feel it: the soft weight of what hadn’t been said but lived beneath every shared bottle, every breathless moment when one baby would hiccup in their sleep and the other would bolt upright in fear.

This wasn’t romance… It was a relief, from the thought of waking up alone in bed. Even if it was just for once. 

He turned slightly, just enough to glance at Jungkook’s profile. The alpha’s eyes were trained on the baby monitor still perched on the tv unit, where both tiny chests rose and fell in tandem. There was something so naked in that look, so gentle… that Taehyung had to look away.

“Don’t tease,” Jungkook said, softly, not as a warning but as a question hidden in plain sight. Would you let me stay? Would you keep staying in bed if I…?

Taehyung didn’t reply. But his arm shifted slightly on the couch cushion between them, still not touching, still not reaching.

But just… there.

Taehyung let his head fall to the side until it rested lightly against Jungkook’s shoulder. It wasn’t bold, but it was a quiet permission - to share his weight with Jungkook and permission to carry some of the weight Jungkook carried on his shoulders. 

And Jungkook didn’t move away as Taehyung closed his eyes.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

It was much later from there, the night had just started to get pitch dark and the monitor light blinked. Both the fathers were startled. They did not realise when they slept off on that couch with one’s head on the other’s shoulder. And with the speed of light ran to the nursery. 

It turned out that both babies went into a deep sleep with a lot of snoring sounds which were new for the monitor, thus it sent the alarm. Two peacefully sleeping babies was one of those rare synchronized miracles neither of them dared name aloud. 

The lullaby playlist on Taehyung’s phone hummed gently from the corner speaker. And the air held that warm, lived-in kind of quiet and peace. 

Taehyung was leaning overHaeun’s crib, smoothing her blanket down the way he always did… twice across the chest, once over the legs, a light pat on the side as if to say, you’re safe again. Jungkook had seen him do it at least a dozen times a day. He still wasn’t used to how tender it made him feel.

Jungkook reached around him, without thinking, he did so to adjust the mobile monitor device above the crib. The yellow star had gotten stuck on a wing of the cloud again, and Taehyung always grumbled when it did. It was nothing, just muscle memory for a small fix.

But their arms brushed and then their shoulders. And when Taehyung looked up, really looked up, did Jungkook realise how close they were.

Both their breaths caught and hitched and no this time it wasn't because a baby cried or a monitor beeped. There was no interruption in any status quos.

Their faces hovered a breath apart, not angled like strangers or flinching like friends. They were still and close, very close.

Jungkook’s hand was still raised, fingertips brushing the edge of the device. Taehyung’s fingers rested on the crib rail, knuckles pale with the grip of touch.

Neither of them moved first, but something between them did . Their lips touched, not desperate, not possessive.

The kiss started as soft at first. Both were being careful like the kind of care that asked permission even as the kiss happened and the kind that still said, I know everything hurts but maybe we’re allowed this too.

They kissed in the nursery, of all places.

Taehyung exhaled quietly against Jungkook’s mouth, and something low and tight pulled through Jungkook’s gut. It was a wanting not born of rut or hormones, but of recognition, of having waited too long to be known like this.

And then… Taehyung’s fingers curled around the front of Jungkook’s hoodie and he gave a little tug. It was barely anything… But it shattered the stillness.

Jungkook inhaled sharply as his hands found Taehyung’s waist, fitting there like they’d always known how. He pressed forward and kissed deeper, not with need but with clarity this once. It wasn’t frantic, but it was hungry, a hunger that had lived quietly under everything and now, finally, had a voice.

That’s when Jungkook felt it, just the faintest trace. Scent, very warm, sweet and familiar. But most of all, very distinctly omega.

The scent was subtle with just a little whiff. The scent was not blooming, not rising. Taehyung was definitely not in heat. The scent did not overpower, but was enough to make Jungkook’s pulse stutter in his throat.

He himself was not in rut, as well. He wasn’t even close. But his body... recognized.

His hands tightened slightly more at Taehyung’s waist. His grip wasn’t demanding, however it was anchored , as though the omega might float away if he didn’t hold steady. 

Taehyung leaned in further, hips brushing Jungkook’s, and the weight of Taehyung’s body against him was solid, present, trusting . That made Jungkook tremble.

Taehyung tilted his head to kiss him again - deeper and less hesitant. It was a soft slide of mouth against mouth, teeth just barely grazing, breath warming the space between them. Taehyung tasted like the herbal lozenges, the ones they both stole from the NICU staff stash and giggled about later, but underneath it was something Jungkook could never name, only feel.

He kissed back with careful hunger, letting himself press closer until he could feel the rhythm of Taehyung’s breath sync with his. His own temperature had risen, low in his abdomen, tightening at the base of his spine, his body already whispering its instincts to Taehyung in signals he didn’t dare address.

Because this wasn’t about claiming. This wasn’t even about pheromones or pull. It was about permission .

And Taehyung… god forbidden, Taehyung… was letting him in like he did everything else, on his own terms. He did not put up any performance, no seduction attempt. Taehyung had only one thing to offer - truth.

Jungkook let his forehead rest against Taehyung’s, eyes fluttering shut. He could still smell it - sweet and sharp, him … but he didn’t chase it. He just stayed.

The star light above the crib swayed gently from earlier, casting little paper stars in slow orbit around them. For a few moments no one said anything.

Then, Taehyung’s hands loosened from Jungkook’s hoodie, settling instead on his chest, splayed out as if to feel proof of something. Jungkook covered one with his own hand.

“Sorry,” Taehyung whispered , not sounding sorry at all. His thumb dragged lightly across Jungkook’s collarbone.

“For what?” Jungkook murmured.

“I meant to check the blanket.” Taehyung said, as if that was a good enough explanation.

Jungkook laughed, low and breathless, “You did.”

They stood like that for a long while between lullabies and shadows, between monitors and humidifiers. 

It was not their first kiss, but the first time it was honest.

Taehyung's lips were parted from the kiss that hadn't quite ended. His back was warm against the bookshelf, one hand splayed over Jungkook's chest as if he couldn’t believe it was really happening—or that it hadn’t stopped yet.

Jungkook stood close enough that Taehyung could feel the tremble beneath his shirt. One of the arms of the alpha was bracing the wall near Taehyung’s head and the other was hovering around his waist. 

Taehyung tilted his chin up and kissed him again, slower this time. Their mouths fit in ways they shouldn’t have. 

And then, just as Jungkook deepened it, his tongue brushed past Taehyung’s lower lip with a soft pressure… Taehyung felt it. The unmistakable quiet, pulsing slick gathering low and warm in his body. It wasn't his heat. It was pure want, instinct catching up to emotion.

Taehyung shivered which made Jungkook still. 

Their eyes met, wide and a little startled, like two people discovering they were already standing at the edge of something far deeper than planned.

Jungkook inhaled, and Taehyung knew… he just knew… Jungkook scented it.

Taehyung was still reeling from this realisation when another hit him like a freight train. Jungkook, in spite of getting the scent of it, didn’t push.

Instead, he whispered, voice rough from want and disbelief, “If we keep going... I won’t want to stop.”

Taehyung's heartbeat skipped in his throat. His hand slid to Jungkook's jaw, thumb grazing the corner of his mouth, and he said "Then don’t."

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

They moved without speaking.

Taehyung led them. He moved past the framed NICU schedules at the nursery's door, past the soft nightlight shaped like a bunny in the passage. His bare feet made no sound against the wood. Finally Taehyung paused at the door of his bedroom. 

It wasn’t a shared space like the living room or the kitchen. It had never been between two of them in a charged up environment.

Taehyung’s room was warm with low light, soft quilts layered over the floor mattress, clean sheets, flannel and cotton and something faintly lavender-scented. Taehyung hadn’t built a full nest since the birth . He hadn’t needed the surge. But lately, he’d started curating comfort again, piling textures, making space.

Now if it coincided with Jungkook’s frequent stays in the bedroom and staying longer than needed, then it was between Taehyung and his bed and his pillows.

The air was still lavender. But under it, unmistakable: the fresh note of Jungkook's alpha scent lingering… faint on his own clothes.

He pushed open the door. The moment they stepped inside, Jungkook reached for him again and Taehyung exhaled. His fingers found the buttons of his shirt, still half-undone from the heat of their last kiss. Jungkook’s hands joined Taehyung’s. Each button undone was a breath released.

They stumbled backwards until the back of Taehyung’s knees hit the edge of the low bed. Jungkook caught him before he could fall.

When Taehyung lay back on the bedspread, he looked up at the ceiling, arms resting loosely beside him, shirt already halfway unbuttoned. Jungkook hovered above him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side, hands not quite touching.

They were still clothed,still cautious. But the quiet weighted with everything they hadn’t said and everything their bodies had already begun to understand.

Taehyung reached up first. He touched Jungkook’s cheek with the backs of his fingers and brushed his thumb along the jawline and he enjoyed watching the alpha’s throat bob.

“You don’t have to be careful,” Taehyung said, voice soft but firm.

“I want to be,” Jungkook whispered back, leaning down.

As they kissed, Jungkook’s hands found the hem of Taehyung’s shirt. He paused, glanced down as if asking permission. Taehyung nodded once, and Jungkook slid the fabric up, revealing skin inch by inch.

His hands moved over Taehyung’s sides, palms flat as if he wanted to feel every inch with his own. He traced the curve just under his ribs, the soft stretch of skin that had carried life. He brushed lightly over the faint scar near Taehyung’s lower abdomen, the one Taehyung still hated seeing in mirrors but didn’t flinch from now.

Jungkook touched everything like it meant something, like each mark was a sentence in a language only he wanted to know and understand from here on.

And Taehyung let him. He closed his eyes, chest rising slowly. He felt warm and grounded.

When Jungkook leaned down again, kissing just beneath his sternum, something low in Taehyung clenched. He felt the first flicker of slick begin to pool.

It wasn’t much but it was happening. Surprisingly outside of a heat or hormone induced cycle, this had never happened to the omega. Want , this was a foreign concept now for him, he thought. But the pool between his legs was absolutely real and present. 

Jungkook stilled, lifting his head just enough to look at him, “Do you want me to stop?”

Taehyung met his eyes and maintaining eye contact he said “No.”

Jungkook didn’t move right away. his breath shallow where it ghosted over Taehyung’s chest.

Taehyung watched him… Watched how the alpha’s pupils had darkened, how his jaw clenched like he was holding back everything there. 

Taehyung slid his palm up Jungkook’s back. “You’re not going to break me,” he whispered.

That’s when Jungkook exhaled. He leaned down again, not to kiss, but to rest his forehead against Taehyung’s collarbone. The weight of him, even just there, made Taehyung’s thighs fall open in surrender.

“You’re not in heat,” Jungkook said, barely above a breath.

“I know,” Taehyung murmured. Then, slower, he added “I still want you to knot me.”

Everything stilled. Jungkook’s body tensed like he’d been pulled underwater. His head lifted. His eyes searched Taehyung’s face as if expecting him to take it back, to laugh, to say it was just hormones or awkward pillow talk.

But… Taehyung didn’t, he let it sit and let it be.

“I’ve never let someone knot me outside of heat,” Taehyung added softly, “Not like this.”

And that broke something in Jungkook’s resistance, it was a clear and deliberate kind of surrender that was enough to get any alpha undone.

Jungkook’s hands moved again, slower this time. He kissed down Taehyung’s stomach, pausing at each stretch mark like it was a much needed stop. When his fingers reached the waistband of Taehyung’s pants, he paused once more and looked up.

Taehyung lifted his hips wordlessly and that was answer enough. The fabric peeled away and more warmth bloomed.

The scent of slick rose around them, clean, sweet, already clinging to Taehyung’s inner thighs. His body had begun preparing before his mind could process it.

Jungkook made a sound then… barely a groan. He cupped Taehyung’s thighs gently, spreading them wider.

The first touch was his fingers - one, then two, trailing through the slick with a patience that made Taehyung’s eyes flutter shut. Jungkook didn’t press in, not yet. He just circled the omega’s rim, shallow and featherlight.

“Tell me if anything hurts,” Jungkook said against his hip, voice hoarse.

“It won’t,” Taehyung whispered.

“Still,” Jungkook insisted, pressing a kiss just below the dip of his pelvic bones. “I want to hear you.”

When the first fingertip breached him, Taehyung let out a soft exhale. It wasn’t pain but the stretch. It was a fullness that reminded him he was still a body with want.

Jungkook worked with the slick, coaxing it deeper, easing him open like something sacred. He didn’t speak again and just let his hands and mouth and breath do the asking.

And Taehyung answered with his body. He had forgotten what it felt like to be touched like this. He was not just wanted, not just taken care of, but seen. Every part of him - his curves, his folds, his stretch marks, the ways his body had softened and reshaped after carrying life. Jungkook’s eyes made no comment. His hands didn’t stop with doubt or hesitation. They only softened.

One finger became two and then three. Taehyung had slicked enough for ease, but Jungkook still took his time. Curling slightly, pressing in, withdrawing as his other hand rested on the side of Taehyung’s hip, grounding him with warmth.

Taehyung arched into it slowly, he was not chasing the friction, but welcoming it.

By the time Jungkook knelt back and slipped his sweats down, Taehyung’s body was ready, wet, open and wanting.

Jungkook looked at him, lips parted, eyes dark with restraint. His own cock was hard, flushed, glistening with precome but he didn’t move to press in. 

“You’re sure?” he asked, one last time.

Taehyung nodded. Then said it aloud so there’d be no question, no haze, “Yes. Now come on, please.”

And Jungkook did. He pressed forward with a slowness that bordered on reverence. His tip breached, then slid deeper, guided by slick and breath and the trembling muscle beneath his hands. 

Taehyung exhaled through it… his thighs spreading wider, hands fisting the blankets at his sides. The stretch was deep, not foreign but definitely new as it had been how long Taehyung did not remember. The angle was just so right and so pleasurable. There was a pressure that bordered on too much, and yet… “More,” Taehyung whispered, voice cracking.

Jungkook grunted softly and kept going, hips rocking forward in a long, smooth glide until he bottomed out. And Taehyung moaned, head falling back, spine arching off the mattress.

The omega could feel all of it, the weight, the fullness, the anchoring, but it wasn’t the pain-laced edge he remembered from before, it wasn’t heat-fueled desperation or an alpha marking himself.

It was presence. Jungkook was present there for Taehyung, his every moan heard, his every breath counted, his every shudder noted down in Alpha's head.

Taehyung wrapped his legs around Jungkook’s waist, pulled him in tighter, ankles locking together.

“I’m not fragile,” he said, his breath hot against Jungkook’s ear. “I’ve carried a life inside me. You won’t break me, hyung . Please go harde…”

Jungkook made a sound low in his throat and thrust deeper before Taehyung could finish his sentence, unable to control his reaction to the one word carefully added to the request. The rhythm grew. Their bodies found it together, each stroke a question, each moan an answer.

And just when the pressure began to build, thick and coiling at the base of Jungkook’s spine… He felt it. The knot, beginning to swell.

Jungkook’s rhythm stuttered and Taehyung felt it too. The swell, it was the growing tension, stretching Taehyung even further with every thrust. It was still forming, not fully engorged yet. 

Jungkook groaned and dropped his forehead to Taehyung’s shoulder, his breath ragged. “Would you let me…” he gasped, voice hoarse with restraint, “I need to stop if you…”

Taehyung reached up and cradled Jungkook’s face in both hands. His voice was steady as he said “I wouldn’t…”

Jungkook blinked as if the word had unraveled something he didn’t realize he’d been bracing against. “Are you… ” he began to say something. 

“Yes,” Taehyung said again, firmer now. “I want you to. Please.”

His legs tightened around Jungkook’s waist, anchoring him. His scent flared in full now… welcoming, open, unguarded. The room filled with it, and something instinctual inside both of them snapped into place.

Jungkook began to move again, letting the knot form with the rhythm of their shared breath. Taehyung moaned into his shoulder, his whole body arching into it, hips tilting upward to take every inch, every stretch.

And it happened… the lock. 

Jungkook’s knot slid in fully and caught, locking them together in a single, involuntary thrust that made both of them gasp. Taehyung’s body clenched around it, slick coating every inch of them, pulling them tighter, tighter, until there was nothing left between them but heat and heartbeat and want.

Jungkook came first, the orgasm wrecking him. His hands trembled where they gripped Taehyung’s waist, his body twitching with the intensity of it. He buried his face in Taehyung’s neck, muffling the sounds that tore from him. 

Taehyung followed seconds later. He clutched at Jungkook’s back and came hard, his body shaking with it.

They lay locked together, Jungkook still buried inside him, knot pulsing gently as it began its long, slow journey toward softening. Taehyung’s thighs ached, his lungs burned, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt his orgasm like this.

Jungkook whispered something just then… but taehyung didn’t catch it. Maybe a thank you or maybe his name… or maybe nothing at all.

Taehyung wrapped his arms around Jungkook’s neck and kissed the damp edge of his hairline. They stayed like that until their breathing returned to something steady.

Both of them were still unmarked and unclaimed. But they chose. They chose each other. 

And in the warm, quiet weight of the bedroom, Taehyung finally allowed himself to believe that this… this … was the safest he had ever felt.

The first few minutes after the knot held were quiet… their skin stuck with sweat, bodies still joined, tangled and trembling. 

Jungkook didn’t move. His weight rested carefully along Taehyung’s side, one forearm propped beside his head, the other arm curved protectively around his back. He didn’t even shift his hips.

He could feel everything.

Taehyung’s breath, the faint pulse where their chests touched, the aftershocks still rippling through the omega’s body in subtle, involuntary tremors.

And then Taehyung did tremble again… more visibly this time. It was a full-body shiver that left his legs twitching and his throat letting out a shriek.

Jungkook immediately cupped the back of Taehyung’s neck, leaning in, forehead pressed gently against his temple.

“Breathe,” he whispered, lips brushing omega’s skin.  “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Taehyung’s eyes fluttered open, he was dazed but still focused. He let out a small, shuddering laugh. “I know,” he murmured “Just that… no one’s ever stayed this close.”

The knot throbbed gently at that. Jungkook kissed his temple again. Neither of them spoke for a moment.

And then, quietly, like he wasn’t sure if the words would land or crash… Jungkook said,
“I could feel your heartbeat from inside you.”

Taehyung made a sound at that… something between a laugh and a gasp. He tilted his head just enough to nuzzle his nose against Jungkook’s cheek.

“That’s ridiculous,” he whispered, eyes closed again.

“It’s true,” Jungkook replied. “It was... steady. Like it trusted me.”

The overstimulation came and went in waves… Taehyung’s body flinching now and then, hips twitching involuntarily as the knot kept him open and filled. But he also didn’t ask to be let go. He didn’t panic. He just curled one hand into Jungkook’s shoulder and rode it out.

Jungkook watched every breath. He counted the seconds between shivers. Nothing about this needed fixing.

It was just them. Still joined. Still wrapped around each other. The knot would release, eventually… but neither of them were counting down for it.

The release was slow.

One minute, Jungkook could still feel the firm lock of it and the next, there was the faintest give and the shift of their bodies finally exhaling together.

The knot slipped free with a soft, wet sound and Taehyung winced once, instinctively, and Jungkook caught it.

“Easy,” he whispered, brushing damp strands of hair from Taehyung’s forehead. “I’ve got you.”

Then Jungkook moved slowly, reaching for the warm clothes he’d taken a note of beside the mattress earlier, not knowing if he’d need them, but hoping. He cleaned Taehyung with unhurried hands, catching every bit of slick and release with gentle precision.

Taehyung let him. He just lay back and watched, one arm curled under his head.

When Jungkook was done, he nudged the blankets aside, pulled a fresh one over them both, then lay down fully… skin to skin, every inch of him real and grounded against Taehyung’s side.

Taehyung turned toward him, their legs tangled easily as their chests pressed close. There were no monitors in the room, no beeping, no glow of hospital-grade nightlights.

But just through the cracked door, the nursery monitors blinked green and steady. Taehyung exhaled, long and deep. His voice was barely a whisper, “You didn’t run.”

Jungkook didn’t respond at first. He slid his palm up Taehyung’s spine and let it settle at the curve of his neck.

“No,” he said finally, mouth brushing the skin behind Taehyung’s ear.  “Why should I? I am home.”

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

The sun was barely up when the first baby monitor blinked red. It was a tiny cry that pierced the quiet, followed by a second a few heartbeats later… out of sync, but perfectly timed.

Taehyung groaned into the crook of Jungkook’s neck, “They’ve unionized against us.”

Jungkook chuckled, voice still rough from sleep. “We should file for early retirement.”

They untangled slowly, limbs stiff and shirts barely buttoned. Jungkook was already halfway to the nursery when Taehyung called after him, “Hyung… You’ve got my shirt on.”

Jungkook looked down and the hem was floral. “It smells like you.” He shrugged, unapologetic. “It’s mine now.”

Taehyung smiled and leaned against the doorframe, watching Jungkook scoop up one baby, then the other, as if he'd always known how.

Taehyung crossed the floor barefoot, kissed Jungkook’s shoulder, and didn’t say anything more.

They didn’t say I love you. At least not yet and maybe not for a while. But it was there, with zero regrets. Some moments didn’t need narrating. They were already the story. 

Chapter Text

Seven months since Taehyung moved in (Babies are 13 months old now)

The morning unfolded with the kind of energy that made the apartment feel smaller than it was. Shoes were lined up near the front door but never sat in a straight line anymore. A bib had gone missing and somehow reappeared in same stack of laundry they both had checked earlier. Haeun insisted on clutching a plushie rabbit even though she was supposed to hold her snack. 

Taehyung was crouched low in the living room, steadying and supporting Haeun’s elbows as she wobbled her way forward. She was still in that half-step, half-fall stage of walking where knees bent too far, arms flung for balance and determination was much sharper than coordination. She tumbled the last two feet into his lap, laughing, proud of herself. He kissed her hair, smoothing it flat where it had gone tussled with the effort.

Across the room, Jungkook wrangled Hyun into his own tiny shoes, tongue caught between his own teeth in concentration. Hyun babbled in protest, clearly arguing that footwear was necessary for whatever this “daycare” was supposed to be. Jungkook muttered soothing nonsense, working the Velcro straps into place, and when he glanced up, he caught Taehyung watching. 

For a beat, they both smiled, not at each other exactly, but at the scene itself. Getting out the door was the usual comedy . The diaper bags checked and rechecked, water bottles, extra clothes, a pacifier clipped just in case. By the time they locked up, the children were already a little overstimulated and wide-eyed at the novelty of the morning. Any and every new activity was a reason for giggles and shrieks. Protests for cooperating with the parents was just the needed dash of spice for the adults, the kids had decided. 

The daycare they were visiting (and mostly finalised in their heads) was three blocks down, painted in pastels, with a mural of animals across its outer wall. Inside, the air smelled faintly of finger paints or floor polish. Parents gathered around in a small waiting area, cradling toddlers, adjusting baby carriers, murmuring introductions. 

Taehyung shifted Hyun higher on his hip, brushing his thumb across his back in slow circles. Hyun pressed his face into his dada’s collarbone, shy in new spaces. Jungkook set Haeun down on the carpet where a pile of blocks had been left as bait for distraction; and within seconds, Haeun was hammering a red cube against a blue one, determined to make noise if nothing else.

“Orientation in the Butterfly Room,” a cheerful teacher announced. They filed in with the others, taking seats at tiny round tables clearly designed for tiny human beings. The chairs creaked under adult weight, and Jungkook had to hunch forward to keep his knees from colliding with the tabletop. Taehyung suppressed a laugh at the sight. 

A stack of forms waited in the center of each family table, clipped together with bright plastic pins. Emergency contact information, health details, permissions for sunscreen and field trips. 

Taehyung reached for the top sheet, uncapping a pen without hesitation. Jungkook leaned over to do the same, and for a moment, the two of them bent in unison over the paper, the children tugging at their sleeves, the hum of voices around them softening into background.

Taehyung didn’t hesitate when his pen reached the line marked Emergency Contact . His handwriting was steady, loops wide and deliberate: Jeon Jungkook.

Jungkook, still adjusting the way Haeun tugged insistently at his sleeve, happened to glance sideways. He caught the letters forming, blinked once, then twice. His own form sat waiting in front of him, a blank space daring him to fill it.

Smiling at what he saw in Taehyung’s form, he wrote: Kim Taehyung.

“Perfect,” the teacher chirped, collecting forms as she walked the circle. She paused to beam at their table. “You two are such great dads. The twins are lucky.”

Jungkook’s mouth opened on instinct… Barely half-formed words caught in his mouth. We’re not…

But before the sound could come out from Jungkook, Taehyung looked up, calm and certain, and said simply, “Thank you.”

The teacher smiled even wider, already moving on.

Jungkook shut his mouth.

For the rest of orientation, Jungkook was unusually quiet. He sat through the slideshow of nap schedules and allergy protocols, the cheerful reminders about labeling sippy cups, the tour of cubbies with bright stickers where each child would stash their belongings. He nodded at the right times, offered polite smiles, even took Haeun’s hand when she wandered too far from the rug.

But the silence hummed underneath everything, his thoughts drawn again and again to the neat print of Taehyung’s handwriting on that line of the form. Jeon Jungkook, written like it had never needed a question.

Taehyung didn’t seem fazed. He carried Hyun on his hip as if he belonged there, took the orientation packet with a small bow of thanks, and listened intently to the instructions. He even crouched low to show Hyun the tiny sink where he might someday wash his own hands, speaking to Hyun in that low, soothing tone that somehow kept him from fussing in unfamiliar places.

By the time they filed back toward the entrance, the other parents exchanging goodbyes and promises to meet again next week, Jungkook still hadn’t said a word about it. His throat itched with the things he might have asked— why didn’t you correct her, when did you decide to write me down, when did this become so matter-of-fact for you —but he swallowed them all, bundling Haeun into his jacket and tucking the orientation packet under his arm.

Outside, the children, worn down from newness, sagged against their shoulders, babbling faintly before drifting into that half-sleep. Taehyung held the car door open without a word. Jungkook slid Haeun into the seat, buckled her carefully, then glanced up. Taehyung’s expression was unreadable but calm. 

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

The car ride started quiet after the morning’s whirlwind, half thanks to the form, half thanks to the sleeping kids in the backseats. Hyun had already lost one shoe, his sock dangling from the side of the seat, as his thumb found the way to his mouth. Haeun stubborn as ever even in sleep, still kept clutching to the rabbit by one ear, eyelids fluttering with some dream. 

JUngkook adjusted the rear view mirror once again until both heads sat framed in there and soon they were on their way home. It was not silent, it was just enough but then Taehyung breathed in relief. He was worried if kids didn’t vibe with the place. But now that worry was past him. Jungkook let his fingers drum the wheel, eyes tracing the road ahead.There was something forming at the back of his head but he couldn't put his finger on that at all. 

For a couple of minutes the silence stretched. It was a fragile pocket of quiet that came only once the little ones napped and the sort of silence no one wanted to disturb unless absolutely necessary. 

But Jungkook suddenly decided it was necessary. 

“Taehyung,” he said, voice low as he kept his gaze on the road. “When did you decide I was your in-case-of-emergency?”

The words seemed to weigh more than the tone allowed. He had tried for casual, for idle curiosity, but the strain at his jaw and the tight hold on the wheel betrayed him.

Taehyung shifted upright, the seatbelt tugging against his chest. He didn’t answer right away. He only watched Jungkook’s profile in the morning sun, lips pressed together, gaze unreadable. 

Taehyung’s pause wasn’t hesitation, but care, as if he wanted to place the words down neatly instead of throwing them into the air. 

His mouth curved then and said… “Before I moved in,” tone steady, as if it were the simplest truth in the world. “You just caught up late.”

Jungkook’s fingers tightened around the wheel. He moved his eyes sideways, catching the shape of that smile before it slipped into something unreadable… smug, maybe. He exhaled, the sound breaking somewhere between a laugh and a breath, “Caught up late,” he repeated under his breath, as if trying out the taste of that phrase in him.

Taehyung didn’t answer. He only let the words hang, turned his face back toward the window, watching the trees rush by in blurred greens. 

Jungkook checked the mirror again, eyes lingering on both small faces slack in sleep, before glancing once more at Taehyung.

He didn’t speak again, not because he lacked questions (trust me he had plenty) but because he understood something in the quiet certainty of that earlier smile. 

The air between them shifted once they were back home and children were actually asleep in their cribs in the nursery.

Jungkook rinsed the last plate, drying it until the cloth squeaked before stacking it neatly on the counter beside the bottles lined in rows. Behind him, the TV volume was on low, light flickering across the couch… some drama Taehyung had half-picked and then forgotten and now it just always played in the background.

When he came into the living room, Taehyung was exactly where Jungkook knew he would be… stretched into the corner of the couch, socked feet tucked beneath a cushion, shoulders finally relaxed. His gaze wasn’t even on the screen.

Jungkook sank into his usual spot, arm draped along the backrest, phone in his other hand. He scrolled without seeing, thumb moving out of habit more than attention. They had earned this silence, the kind that didn’t demand filling in.

A few minutes slipped like that, until Taehyung’s voice cut through… “We never talked about it.”

Jungkook lowered his phone. “Talked about what?”

Taehyung’s eyes flickered up, then down again to the fold of the blanket in his lap. “About us. About what this is. But…” His fingers twisted the fabric once before smoothing it flat, then finally he looked over, “You know I’m not going anywhere, right?”

The words were not heavy, not hesitant, not formed into a question…. They were laid down plain and simple. 

Something warmed up low in Jungkook’s chest. We cannot call it a surprise. He had always known, in the small ways Taehyung always stayed… But hearing it out loud was different.

He set his phone facedown on the armrest. “Good,” he said, his voice rougher than intended. “Because neither am I.”

Taehyung’s mouth curved, humor slipping in with the ease of someone who knew exactly where to press Jungkook, “Well, of course not. It’s your apartment. You’re the one trapped here with me.”

Jungkook turned his head, blinking at him. “…That’s not how that works.”

“Sure it is.” Taehyung tugged the blanket higher, as if to prove his point. “You can’t exactly evict me now. Not when half the closet’s mine. Not when your couch already has my shape carved into it.”

Jungkook let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Carved into it? You’ve been here seven months, not seventy years.”

“Feels about the same amount on some mornings.” Taehyung’s eyes glinted, pretending innocence, though the smile betrayed him.

Jungkook groaned, dragging a hand over his face, “This one… Unbelievable.”

Taehyung leaned back contentment all over his face, “Exactly. And yet, here you are. Stuck with me.”

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

It was a Thursday night. 

The apartment had a stillness that arrived after midnight. Especially treasured in houses with infants/toddlers. The kids had been asleep for hours, their soft breaths coming faintly through the baby monitor like a soundtrack to the house.

Jungkook sprawled at his end of the couch, phone balanced in his palm, screen dimmed so low it barely lit his thumb. He wasn’t really looking at it… it was just scrolling out of habit more than intent. His mind kept circling back to the words Taehyung had given him earlier in the week - I’m not going anywhere. They had taken root inside him, wrapped too tightly for him to know yet what shape they were growing into.

He rubbed absently at his chest, thumb pressing into the bone as though trying to settle the weight there. It was only when he flipped open his calendar app to check a reminder for the pediatrician that the date caught his eye, immediately.

Six months.

It had been half a year since that night. Since the first time their hands had reached for each other without caution, since the day Taehyung asked him to sleep in the room with him and they did everything else, but sleep. 

Jungkook could still summon the memory as if it were pressed into him: the smell of Taehyung’s shampoo, the scent of cedar, the disorienting realization that the man who had been his anchor in the NICU had become fire in his blood too.

His stomach turned slowly. He stared at the number long enough that the phone dimmed, and before he could stop himself, the words slipped out, low but clear in the hush.

“Guess it’s our half-anniversary of seeing each other naked for the first time.”

He hadn’t meant for it to carry, but in the quiet, it landed anyway.

Taehyung, curled on the opposite end of the couch, blinked as though tugged out of half-sleep. He lifted his head, his eyes narrowed slightly, and then a smile crept across his mouth… amused and mischievous. Without a word, he reached for the nearest cushion and lobbed it lazily across the couch. It thumped against Jungkook’s chest, soft but deliberate.

Jungkook caught it easily, raising a brow.

“You keep track of that too?” Taehyung asked. His voice carried a lightness meant to tease, but something lingered underneath, too thinly veiled to miss.

Jungkook’s fingers pressed into the cushion, tighter than necessary. He then set the cushion aside, the curve of his mouth tugging somewhere between a smirk and something more vulnerable. “Of course I keep track,” he said. His voice came out low, not defensive but intent, as though it really mattered to him that Taehyung believed him. “I like anniversaries.”

Taehyung arched his brow, eyes gleaming in the flicker of the TV light. “You’re ridiculous,” he murmured, but the words didn’t carry much force.

“I want more of them.” Jungkook’s gaze didn’t falter “... with you.”

This is what Jungkook said, but his eyes said a lot more. Taehyung maintained eye contact, in fact he looked even more intently and for a moment Jungkook really felt like Taehyung was staring into his soul. He could see words forming up very well and big into the lump of the alpha’s throat, but somehow his mouth was betraying him again and again.

“You don’t have to say it,” Taehyung whispered, after this happened for a minute or so, almost as if offering Jungkook a way out.

But the alpha shook his head, steady and determined. “No. I do, Tae. It’s high time I do.”

The words settled in his chest like a weight finally set down after months of carrying. He let them out carefully, clearly, as if they’d been waiting at the back of his teeth for too long.

“Tae… I… I love you. Like… I am literally in love with you, truly madly deeply.”

There was no drama in the way he said it. No nervous laughter to blur the edges. Just truth, laid down as plainly as Taehyung’s promise had been earlier that week.

For a moment, Taehyung froze. His eyes widened slightly, something raw flickering across them, maybe disbelief… but then it shifted and melted, giving way to something Jungkook hadn’t seen this openly before in Taehyung. 

Relief.

Taehyung exhaled shakily, a sound that was almost a laugh but carried too much weight. “I am in love with you, too, hyung.”

The moment broke and sealed at once.

Jungkook leaned forward first, slow enough to remember this moment, but sure enough to leave no space for questions. Taehyung met him halfway, blanket slipping from his knees as their mouths met, not with urgency but with a kind of inevitability. The kiss wasn’t rushed. It was deep, anchoring, a quiet yes written into the press of lips and the exhale of shared breath.

It didn’t feel like the start of something new. It felt like recognition of what had been growing in the background all along… The threads that weaved tighter with every shared morning, every bottle passed across a couch cushion, every unspoken promise that had led them here.

When they finally drew apart, neither of them spoke right away. Their foreheads lingered close, breaths mingling. Jungkook’s hand found Taehyung’s on the couch between them, fingers curling until their knuckles pressed together.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Sunday mornings in the household were always noisy as kids were home and so were the dads. 

Plates clinking around on all possible tables, fingers sticky with jam or something else finding their im prints on some surfaces. The two cups of orange juice for dads sat sweating on the kitchen higher shelf, forgotten between toddler demands and parental distractions.

Hyun was in the phase where every object had to be tested for its rolling properties, and at the moment he had claimed the lid of a sippy cup as his chosen experiment, crouched low and spinning it across the tiles with a triumphant shout every time it wobbled. 

Haeun waddled after him, rabbit in tow, narrating her pursuit in a heap of babble that made more sense to her than anyone else. Together, they created their own kind of orchestra… plastic clattering, high-pitched giggles, the babbles between spit bubbles. The house had it all.

At the counter, Jungkook moved with concentrated efficiency, buttering the toast with the same precision that he brought to everything. He balanced the knife easily in one hand, as he’d long since learned not to fight the chaos, only to anchor himself in the middle of it and let the noise roll around him.

Taehyung leaned back against the opposite counter, cradling his bottle of hot water in both hands. The steam curled upward in lazy fashion, fogging the lower edge of his glasses. He wasn’t really watching the food or the sink or even Jungkook. His gaze was fixed on the children… on Hyun’s determined crouch and on Haeun’s dogged little chase. His expression softened as he watched them, lips tipping into a smile too private for anyone but himself.

Then, almost to himself, he murmured, “I miss having tiny ones around.”

The words weren’t regretful but contemplative, but they slipped into the air sending ripples to the unintended.

Jungkook looked up from the toast, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t turn right away, letting the butter sink into bread with deliberate slowness before he glanced over his shoulder.

“We could open a daycare if you want more little ones running around,” Jungkook said finally, knife pausing mid-swipe across the bread. He smirked as he glanced over his shoulder, but there was a faint edge to his tone under the humor. “But you know…”

He let the words trail off like a joke, but Taehyung heard the warning beneath it clearly.

The kids shrieked with laughter at something only they understood, Hyun banging the sippy cup lid against the fridge while Haeun tried to pry it from him, both of them stumbling sideways into the cabinets. Taehyung didn’t move to stop them right away. He just sipped from his bottle, posture casual as though Jungkook’s comment hadn’t landed sharp in his ears.

“I was joking,” Taehyung said smoothly. He lifted his eyes from the children and met Jungkook’s gaze to add “Mostly.” with a lot of meaning into it.

Jungkook turned fully then, knife set down on the plate, his hands bracing on the counter. He studied Taehyung for a long moment, expression narrowing not with anger but with the kind of scrutiny Taehyung knew too well… It was like Jungkook was trying to read every hidden note in his voice.

He didn’t need alpha biology to hear the truth under that single word. The mostly wasn’t nothing or a joke.

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed just a fraction, the smirk slipping into something closer to seriousness. “I think we should try to get through their second birthday with our sanity still intact… before you go catching baby fever again.”

The phrasing landed with a deliberate firmness, a boundary drawn but not cruel. His gaze didn’t waver, challenging Taehyung to push if he wanted to. Jungkook wanted to know the truth behind that mostly.

Taehyung chuckled, clearly hearing the deliberate emphasis, “Baby fever, huh?” he teased, as though tasting the phrase. “Is that what you’re calling it now?”

There on cue came a hiccup that sent Haeun into another fit of giggles, clutching her rabbit against her chest as though it were in on the joke. Hyun dropped the spoon in favor of clapping along, delighted at the noise he’d managed to stir out of his sister. 

Jungkook leaned his hip against the counter, arms crossing loosely over his chest. He watched them for a long moment, expression caught somewhere between exasperation and awe. 

Beside him, Taehyung sipped his water slowly, eyes following the children with the kind of gaze that had softened more and more over the months. He wasn’t smiling wide, just that small curve. 

And Jungkook noticed. He always noticed. For the moment, the kitchen was warm and loud in all the right ways. The kind of noise they wanted to keep forever. The kind that felt like home.