Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The ceremonial incense still burned in the braziers outside their den when Jungkook finally closed the heavy wooden door behind them, sealing away the lingering sounds of celebration. For the first time all day, the world narrowed to just the two of them. 

His fingertips traced the deep grooves of the wolf’s head etched into the doorframe, the symbol of guardianship and authority. A mark that showed this space as belonging to the future Pack Alpha. Well, soon-to-be Pack Alpha, he corrected himself. But it's their space now, even though the possessive felt foreign on his tongue.

The den was larger than his family home back in the eastern territory, with high wooden beams and furs draped across every surface. Candles flickered in carved alcoves, casting dancing shadows on the walls, and a fire crackled softly in the stone hearth. On the far side, the bed waited, impossible to miss. Heavy cedar frames polished until it shone, blankets piled high, and a storm of petals scattered across the furs.

He caught himself counting them. Roses, jasmine, mountain violet, marigold, and others he didn’t know. Their fragrance mingled with the almond scent that belonged to Namjoon alone. Taehyung’s handiwork, no doubt. Because no one else would have been patient enough to sort seventeen different blossoms for symbolism.

It should have been romantic.

But the moment his gaze flicked toward his new husband, Jungkook’s stomach turned. He watched his new husband survey their shared space with a furrow in his eyebrows. His dark eyes swept over the placement of furniture, the security of the windows, and the accessibility of weapons mounted on the wall as if cataloguing potential threats rather than appreciating the care that had gone into the remodelling of their new home.

“It's beautiful,” Jungkook offered quietly, hoping to catch even the faintest curve of a smile from the alpha’s guarded expression. “Your pack put so much thought into the preparations.”

Namjoon nodded once, his broad shoulders straight beneath the ceremonial robes he still wore. “They did well.”

Jungkook drifted toward the bed with unhurried steps, his fingertips grazing over the fabric and fur that dressed it, a small smile tugging at his lips. After a moment of hesitation, he let himself sink onto it, testing how it gave beneath his weight. He smoothed a wrinkle in the fur, pretending not to notice the weight of Namjoon’s gaze pressing down on him.

When he looked up, it wasn’t fondness he found waiting. Not even contentment. All he saw was tension, wound tight across the alpha’s face. The sight alone nearly pulled an apology from Jungkook’s throat. He wondered if he’d overstepped, if sitting without permission had been a mistake. Yet before his worry could find words, Namjoon moved first.

The alpha unclasped the heavy cloak from his shoulders. The fabric slid free, caught for a moment in his hands, then was folded into neat quarters and set over the back of the wooden bench near the hearth. The sight of Namjoon slipping out of the formal layers made Jungkook’s shoulders loosen, as if it meant he could finally change too.

His eyes darted to the cedar chest near the bed, where night clothes had been set aside for him. A loose shirt and pants, simple but soft. His fingers brushed the fabric, hesitated, then slipped free of the ceremonial robe. The layers tangled around his waist, stubborn knots catching where the ties crossed. He yanked it, harder than he meant to, the stubborn knot only tightening under his hand.

He tugged again, once, twice, and then Namjoon was beside him.

“Here,” the alpha said. His fingers found the knot and loosened it in two quick pulls, then let the fabric fall free.

“Thank you,” Jungkook exhaled a breath he had not realized he was holding, eyes dropping to the floorboards to hide the flush creeping over his skin.

Namjoon stepped back as though nothing had happened. The space between them yawned wide again, and Jungkook’s chest ached with the sudden emptiness.

He wished the alpha had lingered, wished he had asked for help in return, wished for any excuse to close that gap. His hands itched with the desire to be useful, to feel fabric slip beneath his fingers while Namjoon allowed him even a fragment of closeness. The thought dissolved as quickly as it came, swallowed by the silence.

Jungkook changed quickly, sliding into the soft shirt and trousers. The fabric was a relief after the stiffness of the ceremony. When he turned, Namjoon was tugging a tunic over his own head.

The firelight touched the line of his thighs as he moved. Jungkook’s gaze lingered longer than it should have. Heat rose in his throat and he turned to fuss with the edge of the blanket, hoping the petals rustling under his weight would cover the sound of his breath.

Namjoon finished folding his formal clothes and set them in a precise stack. Instead of coming toward the bed, he lowered himself onto the bench by the fire.

Jungkook hesitated, then asked, “Aren’t you coming to bed?”

Namjoon did not answer at once. The fire cracked, throwing a slow rhythm against the silence. His eyes stayed on the flames, as if the question had been for someone else.

When he finally spoke, his voice was even. “I thought I would stay here tonight. Give you space.”

Jungkook sat straighter, his hand curling against the blanket. “Space?”

“You have had a long day,” Namjoon said, still watching the hearth. “A new den, a new pack, a new… alpha. It is too much to ask you to also share a bed on the first night.”

Jungkook’s pulse climbed. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then forced the words out. “But I want—” His tongue tripped on the word, and the rest died in his mouth. “I mean… I do not need space from you.”

That finally drew Namjoon’s gaze. The warm glow cast the planes of his face. “It is not about what you need.” His tone was low, careful, stripped of the formality he had worn all evening. “It is about not moving too fast. We barely know one another.”

Jungkook’s chest tightened. He thought of the petals scattered across the bed and the furs carefully laid out. For months he had imagined this night filled with warmth, lying close, whispering in the dark, beginning something that might grow into more. But the space between them felt wider than the den itself.

He knew the pressure on Namjoon must be crushing. An arranged marriage, the binding of two packs, the weight of leading as the future alpha. Jungkook understood why he might hesitate, why caution would be his first instinct. Yet understanding did nothing to ease the ache in his chest.

They were married now, vows spoken, packs joined. He had bent to duty, left his family and his territory behind. Did that not earn him, at the very least, a touch of romance? Even the smallest gesture that promised this was more than a political bond?

His thoughts drifted to the small leather journal he had packed away from home, tucked safely among his belongings. Its pages were filled with love poems and stories of true mates who found each other against every odds, of alphas and omegas whose bonds grew beyond duty or politics. He had read those tales over and over, letting himself believe that someday his own story might unfold in kind. 

Those old dreams felt unbearably naive now.

Jungkook heard his own voice before he had fully decided to speak. “The bed is large enough for both of us.”

He caught the briefest flicker in Namjoon’s expression, something unreadable that was gone before Jungkook could grasp it. And then he turned back the fire, drawn to it like a moth to flame. “Perhaps tomorrow,” he said.

Jungkook sat rigid on the bed, fingers knotting in the blanket. “Tomorrow,” he repeated, the word bitter in his mouth. “You speak as though we are strangers passing through an inn, not newly wed.”

Namjoon’s shoulders stiffened, though his gaze did not leave the flames. “We barely know each other. Seven meetings, formal meals, discussions about borders. That is not enough to—”

“Enough to what?” Jungkook’s voice broke through, sharper than he intended. “To share a bed? To speak like a married pair, even if only for tonight?”

Namjoon turned then. “Enough to pretend this is more than an arrangement.”

Jungkook felt tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. He knew of Namjoon’s demeanor. The representatives from both packs had told him as much. The letters Namjoon had sent him had shown it too. Even in the handful of times they had met, it was clear enough.

Namjoon was not a sweet talker like some of the alphas that pursued him before, whose flattery had always come easy, genuine or not. He would never be as gentle as Jungkook’s mother. Still, Jungkook had not expected him to be so cold on their wedding night.

“I know what this marriage is,” Jungkook said, his throat raw. “I know it binds packs before it binds hearts. But I left my home and my family. Do I not deserve even the privilege of sharing the same bed with you tonight? For you to be… a little more romantic? I did not expect you to mate or to touch me. I only thought we could—”

Namjoon’s jaw tightened. “Romance is not built in a night.”

“Nor is trust,” Jungkook answered quickly. “And still, I trusted you. I stood before your pack and came here believing there would be more than walls and distance.”

The alpha drew in a slow breath. “You will have more,” he said at last. “But not tonight.”

The answer hollowed Jungkook. He sank back onto the bed, petals crushed beneath him. Their fragrance clung too sweetly in his nose, no longer celebratory but cloying, almost mocking.

“Fine,” Jungkook said, the word brittle. “If that is what you want, Alpha, I will obey.”

He pulled the blanket to his chin and fixed his eyes on the beams above, forcing himself not to glance at the bench. Every creak of the wood, every shift of Namjoon’s body, marked the distance between them more clearly than silence ever could.

Sleep refused him.

He turned onto his side, staring at the faint outline of Namjoon against the glow of the hearth. The alpha’s face was calmer there, shadows softening what duty had hardened. Strong, intelligent, dependable, everything an omega was told to want in a mate.

And yet, lying in a bed made for two, Jungkook had never felt more alone.

He closed his eyes and told himself patience was all that was required. The mating could wait, the bond could wait, affection would come in time. Love was not written in fairy tales, not born in a single night. It would grow slowly, if he allowed it.

At least that was what he told himself as the night stretched on and the slow crawl of hours drew him toward morning.

🐺

Three months later, patience had begun to taste bitter on Jungkook’s tongue.

He woke to the familiar pattern of Namjoon’s mornings. From the soft rasp of leather, the quiet rustle of fabric being layered for warmth, the scrape of boots across the wood floor. Every movement was almost delicate, as if Namjoon had trained himself not to disturb his husband. By the second week of their marriage, they had perfected this strange choreography of Namjoon rising before dawn, Jungkook pretending to still be asleep, both of them circling the silence as though it were another presence in the room.

The gray wash of early light filtered through the blinds, painting the den in muted strokes. Jungkook lay still, listening. He loved familiarity, loved the rhythm of routine. But routine without closeness was just loneliness that repeated itself at the same hour every day.

When Jungkook finally sat up, Namjoon was almost ready. His bag was heavy with patrol necessities. A flatbread to share with other patrol members, herbs for the healers should they find any trouble on their route, a flask of bitterroot tea to ward off fatigue, spare whetstones for his blades, rolls of binding cloth for wounds, and a pair of throwing knives for speed.

Patrols were the lifeblood of the pack, a constant rotation along the borders that marked their claim on the mountain. They scouted for predators, for signs of rogues, for the faint traces of rival packs that might test their strength.

As future Pack Alpha, Namjoon was expected to lead more often than most. He trained the younger hunters, mediated disputes during the long hours on the trail, returned with detailed reports of every broken branch and every strange scent carried on the wind. Sometimes he was gone until well after dusk, his body streaked with dust and his eyes ringed with exhaustion.

“Morning patrol,” Namjoon announced, his eyes still on the buckle of his pack straps. His tone was formal as though he were addressing a council elder. It had become their language. Polite, careful, and distant. “We should be back by midday, unless the northern border shows signs of wolves again.”

Jungkook approached quietly, a small bundle in his hands. He had wrapped it the night before in oiled cloth to keep it dry. Some smoked venison, still rich with salt, and a handful of mountain nuts he had roasted himself. He had noticed Namjoon favoring the taste of them at communal meals, though his husband had never said so aloud. Jungkook had become something of a collector of details, storing them like pebbles in his pocket, hoping one day they might add up to intimacy.

“For the road,” he said, holding the bundle out. “I know you don’t usually eat before patrol, but the northern circuit is long. You might need something before you return.”

Namjoon paused long enough for Jungkook’s heart to stumble, then accepted the bundle and set it among his supplies with care. “Thank you. That is thoughtful.”

The thanks was sincere enough, yet stripped of affection.

A weight pressed beneath his ribs, the ache familiar now, like a bruise that never faded. In the stories he had grown up reading, mornings in marriage were soft things. Like stolen kisses at the doorway, a laugh shared over a too-burnt cake, the brush of a hand at the small of his back. In reality, his mornings were filled with careful courtesies, two people moving along parallel lines that never touched.

“Alpha,” Jungkook began, voice faltering. Namjoon was already testing the balance of his knife sheaths, adjusting the straps of his pack again until they sat comfortably against his broad frame.

But Jungkook had been rehearsing this request for days, collecting courage as though it were kindling for a candle he was not sure he could light.

“Could I…” He wet his lips, hesitating for a moment. “Would you mind if I scented you? Before you go?”

Namjoon went very still, his hands frozen on the leather buckles of his pack. For a heartbeat that stretched into eternity, Jungkook thought he might refuse entirely. That he’d finally pushed too far past the careful boundaries they had established.

At last Namjoon said, “Of course. It makes sense. Patrol protocol suggests married pairs carry each other’s scents. It helps with recognition in case of emergencies.”

Pack protocol. The words pulled Jungkook back into reality. Right, Namjoon agreed not because he wanted his omega’s scent on his skin, not because he understood the deep instinctual need to mark and be marked by one’s mate. He believed it was just protocol and another item on the checklist of proper married behavior.

Still, Jungkook stepped closer, his pulse a wild thing against his ribs. He wondered if Namjoon could hear it. Namjoon stood still as stone, allowing the approach but offering nothing in return.

“May I?” Jungkook whispered.

A quick nod.

His hands rose to cradle Namjoon’s jaw, thumbs grazing the sharp lines of his cheekbones. He pressed his face to the warm skin of his throat, inhaling deeply, letting his own scent cling there. Up close, Namjoon smelled of creamy almond and soap that lingered faintly from the communal baths. Jungkook breathed it in like a starving man.

He allowed himself this stolen moment. This was what pairs did. This was normal, natural, and right. Even if everything else between them felt stilted and performative, this basic omega need to scent and be scented was something he could claim without shame.

“Be safe,” Jungkook murmured, letting the words blur against the alpha’s skin. For half a breath he let himself imagine that the faint shiver he felt under his lips was desire, not tolerance.

“I will. Thank you, Jungkook.” Namjoon’s hands came to rest briefly on his waist, the weight of them barely there before they withdrew again. Jungkook clung to the echo of that touch, a ghost that branded him all the same.

Then Namjoon’s gaze flicked over Jungkook’s face. Namjoon leaned in suddenly, his breath warm against Jungkook’s skin. His nose brushed his temple, skimmed along the line of his jaw, and pressed lower until it found the soft place just above his scent gland. He gave a nuzzle that would leave no doubt to any wolf whose omega he was.

One hand rose to steady him, broad fingers firm at his jaw as if holding him still. His thumb traced a fleeting line across Jungkook’s cheekbone, the touch so brief it might have been imagined.

Then it was gone. Namjoon drew back, his hand falling away as quickly as it had come, and Jungkook nearly let the loss drag a sound from him. A soft whine caught behind his teeth, but he swallowed it down.

“It is only right that I return the favor,” Namjoon said, after he took a step back.

“Thank you.” Jungkook’s gaze dipped, his lashes lowering as heat gathered in his cheeks.

Namjoon cleared his throat. “Will you have something to do today?” The question was meant kindly, Jungkook knew, an alpha ensuring his omega had purpose during the long hours of absence. Yet phrased like that, it sounded less than genuine interest.

“Taehyung is ill,” Jungkook said, already missing the warmth of close contact. “I will visit him with the healer. Perhaps Jimin, if he is not already busy with other patients.”

Namjoon nodded. “Good. Taehyung will appreciate the company and it is important to build ties within the pack. They will appreciate your effort.” He straightened his shoulders.

“Do you need me to prepare anything for when you return? After that, I might see if anyone needs help with preparations for tonight’s council meeting. Do you need me to cook something when you get back?”

“No, that’s not necessary. I’m just glad you have something productive to do with your time.”

The words slipped by like courtesy, stretched thin and emptied of the heart they should have carried. Like so many of Namjoon’s words. Shaped with good intention, but distant. As if Jungkook’s days were empty vessels to be filled with usefulness, not a life he was building in unfamiliar soil.

“Understood.” Jungkook managed a faint smile, and he prayed the sweetness of his plum scent had not soured.

“Then I should go. You know how to reach me if there is an emergency.”

And then Namjoon was gone, disappearing into the pale mist with long, certain strides, already blending into the mountain that claimed him more fully than marriage ever had.

Jungkook lingered at the doorway, watching the pines swallow him whole. The question he could not ask pressed sharp against his throat. What if he did not want to be productive? What if he only wanted Namjoon to kiss him goodbye?

But the words stayed unspoken, and the silence of the den swallowed him instead.

He touched his lips, remembering the brief ceremonial kiss they had shared before the gathered packs three months ago. That one had been dry and perfunctory. Since then, there had been nothing. He could count on one hand the moments of casual contact between them, today’s scenting among the rare few. No stolen kisses, not even the brush of lips against his cheek.

Maybe today will be different, he told himself, as he prepared to visit Taehyung.

The word burned bitter on his tongue, but he clung to it all the same. Hope was all he had left. And he was not ready to let it go.

The six-month mark loomed, when tradition said they would be expected to seal their union with the mating bite. The custom was an old one, a compromise struck generations ago. Young pairs, whether bound by choice or by arrangement, were granted half a year to familiarize themselves with each other before making the bond permanent. It gave omegas time to ease into new territory, to learn the rhythms of a strange pack. It gave alphas the chance to prove themselves as providers and protectors before taking their mate fully. The elders believed it was an effort to maintain stability because no union could survive if it soured too quickly, and a bond sealed in haste was harder to undo.

Jungkook understood the wisdom behind the rule, but wisdom did little to comfort him. Six months might be meant as grace, but to him it felt like a sentence. How could they hope to take that final step when they could not even manage a morning kiss?

🐺

The healer’s quarters occupied a cluster of interconnected buildings near the heart of the settlement, their walls lined with bundles of drying herbs and shelves crammed with neatly labeled jars. The morning air carried the sharp, clean bite of medicinal plants. From chamomile, feverfew, willow bark, to dried ginger. Beneath it all lingered the damp, loamy smell of earth, the mountain soil still slick with dew. It was a scent that spoke of care, of hands that had tended the sick here for generations.

Jungkook found Jimin bent over a grinding stone in the preparation room, humming under his breath as he worked dried roots into powder. The healer’s sleeves were rolled back, making sure nothing hindered his movement and efficiency. He looked up as Jungkook stepped inside, his face brightening like sunlight breaking through clouds.

“Perfect timing,” Jimin said, gesturing to the neat scatter of small cloth bags on the table. “I was just finishing Taehyung’s medicine. How are you this morning, Jungkook? You look…” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing as if doing an assessment. “Tired. Are you sleeping at all?”

The question was casual, but Jungkook caught the note beneath it. Jimin had noticed. Jungkook curved his lips into a smile that felt weak even to him. “Well enough.”

Jimin made a soft humming sound that said plainly he didn’t believe it, but he let it pass. He tied the cord on one of the bags and slipped it into a leather satchel, then handed Jungkook another filled with tinctures. “Taehyung caught something nasty. Fever, aches, chills… The whole show. Nothing dangerous, but he’s been moaning loud enough that half the settlement already knows his symptoms by heart.”

Despite his melancholy mood, Jungkook found himself genuinely amused. In the three months since his arrival, he’d grown fond of Namjoon’s cousin and his flair for drama. “That sounds about right.”

“Exactly.” Jimin rolled his eyes fondly. “You’d think he’d been cursed by the moon instead of catching a cold.” He slung his healer’s bag across his shoulder. “He’ll be glad to see you, though. Keeps asking about you. Wants to know how married life is treating you.”

Jungkook’s smile faltered, a flicker of unease breaking through. “Has he?”

“Every time. ‘How’s Jungkookie settling in? Is my cousin being good to him? Are they happy?’” Jimin’s imitation of Taehyung’s low voice was uncanny, exaggerated just enough to make Jungkook laugh. “I told him to ask you himself, but you know how Tae is about boundaries when it comes to family.”

They left the healer’s hall together, taking one of the winding dirt paths that linked the settlement’s clusters of dens. Sunlight filtered through the high canopy, splintering into pale gold beams that turned drifting pollen into flecks of fire. Children darted between the trees, their shrieks of laughter carrying as parents hauled water or tended the smokehouses. Hunters checked their bows and packs in the clearing near the armory, preparing for their own rotations.

It should have been comforting, this hum of life woven together. Jungkook had always loved mornings in his old pack. He enjoyed waking to the sound of neighbors calling greetings, the smell of porridge drifting from open windows. Here, it was much the same. And yet, as they walked, his thoughts slid inevitably toward Namjoon, already out in the forest. Was he thinking of home? Of him? Or only of duty and the endless responsibilities that never seemed to loosen their grip?

“You’re doing it again,” Jimin said.

Jungkook blinked. “Doing what?”

“That thing, with the sad eyes.” Jimin pointed at his face. “You’ve done it a few times these past weeks. Like a pup hearing the word ‘no’ for the first time. Want to talk about it?”

Jungkook shook his head, a little too fast. “It’s nothing. Just… adjusting.”

“Adjusting’s no small thing,” Jimin replied. “Especially when you’re trying to build a life with someone you barely knew before the vows. Even good alphas can stumble there.”

The kindness in his voice tugged at a place Jungkook tried not to touch, and Jungkook fought to keep his expression even.

“Namjoon is… good. More than good. Respectful, considerate. I couldn’t ask for better.”

“But?” Jimin prompted.

Jungkook kicked a loose stone, sending it clattering into the underbrush. “But… nothing. I’m just being silly, probably, and having unrealistic expectations. I knew what this marriage was when I agreed to it. It’s not Namjoon’s fault if I hoped for something... more.”

“Ah, Jungkook…” Jimin sighed and he looked apologetic. “You know you don’t have to sugarcoat your worry with me, right? But let’s unpack those emotions where there are fewer ears.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the healer seeming to sense that Jungkook needed time to organize his thoughts. The settlement stirred around them. Two elders were seen quarreling amiably over breakfast, young omegas weaving wreaths of wildflowers, the air thick with the yeasty scent of bread baking in one of the communal ovens. Everyone they passed greeted Jungkook warmly, and several praised his work helping with winter stores or tending the younger pups. The acceptance of the pack was real and generous. And yet.

Everyone Jungkook encountered offered friendly greetings, and several stopped to ask how he was settling in or to compliment him on something he'd contributed recently. The warmth of their acceptance had been one of the few bright spots in his adjustment period. Whatever else was uncertain about his new life, he'd found genuine friendship and community within Namjoon's pack.

Taehyung’s den came into view, smaller than Namjoon’s but vibrant with color. Painted cloths hung in the entryway, wooden carvings cluttered every shelf. Smoke from burned rosemary sprigs incense curled lazily along with the unmistakable scent of someone running a fever.

“Taehyung? I’ve brought reinforcements!” Jimin called cheerfully as they stepped inside.

“Thank the moon,” Taehyung groaned from his bed. His normally styled hair stuck out in all directions, cheeks flushed crimson. “I was beginning to think you’d abandoned me to waste away in obscurity.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but laugh as he crossed to him. “You sound near death.”

“Jungkookie! You came to see me in my hour of greatest need.” Taehyung struggled to sit up straighter, then immediately collapsed back against his pillows with a theatrical groan. “I am near death.”

“It’s a cold,” Jimin said flatly, already pulling bottles and jars from his bag. “Stop being so dramatic.”

“A curse,” Taehyung insisted, his eyes twinkling with mischief even as his voice rasped. He turned to Jungkook, lips twitching. “You must understand me, don’t you? No one else suffers like this.”

The comment was playful, but Jungkook must have let something show on his face, because Taehyung’s grin faltered. “Wait,” he said, squinting. “Are you okay? You look… not plague-ridden, but… sad? Did I say something wrong?”

Jungkook opened his mouth, then closed it. “I'm fine.” Even he could hear how hollow the words sounded.

Jimin set down the fever tonic he’d been preparing and moved closer to Taehyung’s bed. “You’ve looked sad for weeks now.”

“Pack is pack,” Taehyung added, his dramatics gone. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

The concern in both their voices was almost too much to bear. Jungkook sank into the chair beside Taehyung’s bed, fiddling with his fingers.

“I feel… lonely.” The confession clawed its way up his throat, jagged as gravel. “Which sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? I’m married now. Everyone welcomed me. But I feel lonely anyway.”

Neither interrupted. Jimin moved closer, sitting cross-legged on another chair beside Jungkook. Taehyung leaned forward, ignoring Jimin’s scolding when the motion made him cough.

“Namjoon is respectful,” Jungkook continued. “Considerate. But it’s all so formal. He tells me when he’ll be back from patrol, asks if I need anything, and makes sure I’m settled. But it feels like duty. Like I’m something on his checklist. This morning, when I asked to scent him before he left, he said yes because it was protocol. Not because he wanted it.”

“Ouch,” Taehyung muttered. “Kim Namjoon. Dense as a rock when it comes to feelings.”

“Taehyung,” Jimin said sharply. “Show some respect. He is the future alpha.”

“He’s also my cousin,” Taehyung shot back, rolling his eyes. “I can say it. He’s brilliant with leadership, hopeless with hearts.”

“Three months isn’t very long,” Jimin said softly, laying his hand over Jungkook’s to still its restless movement. “But you’re not wrong to hope for more by now. Arranged marriages need tending. If you feel like strangers, something has to change.”

“I don’t want to push him,” Jungkook whispered. “This marriage is too important for both our packs. If I push too hard and he pulls away—”

“Jungkook,” Taehyung cut in, serious now, “wanting affection from your husband is not unreasonable. It’s normal.”

“And if he doesn’t want it?”

“Then at least you’ll know,” Jimin said. “But don’t assume the worst. Namjoon respects you. He may be hiding behind duty because it’s what he knows best.”

Taehyung leaned back with a groan, then smirked despite his fever. “Honestly, he probably stares and lusts at you in secret.”

“Taehyung,” Jimin said again, scandalized.

“What? It’s true.” Taehyung grinned weakly at Jungkook. “I’ve seen him. He looks at you fondly when he thinks no one’s looking.”

Jungkook hesitated, the heat rising in his cheeks. “It isn’t just words or time I want. We hardly… touch. I mean, like hugs or holding hands. Except when I force the moment. He doesn’t cuddle me at night, and no… no kissing. It feels like something in me is withering.”

Jimin’s expression sharpened, his healer’s instincts taking over. “That’s not just emotional, Jungkook. Lack of scenting and touch affects an omega’s body. Your hormones regulate through contact. Through skin, scent, and closeness in general. Without it, your cycles can falter. Your stress builds. It’s unhealthy.”

“I knew it,” Taehyung said, pointing from his cocoon of blankets. “That’s why you look like you’re walking around half-starved.”

“I do not look starved,” Jungkook said, flustered.

“You do,” Taehyung teased. “All pale cheeks and big eyes. Cousin Namjoon better get his act together before you waste away from lack of back rubs.”

“Taehyung,” Jimin groaned, exasperated.

“What? It’s true. Back rubs are medicine.”

Despite his embarrassment, Jungkook laughed weakly, the sound breaking the heaviness in his chest for a moment. “I don’t even know how to bring it up. How do I ask my husband to touch me more without sounding pathetic?”

“You won’t sound pathetic,” Jimin said firmly. “You’re his mate. You can tell him it’s what you need. And you’ll be surprised, maybe he might need it too. Alphas aren’t immune. Denying themselves touch only makes them restless, irritable, and distracted.”

“See?!” Taehyung exclaimed, jabbing a finger at Jungkook. “That’s why he scowls so much. He’s touch-deprived. Give the man a hug, scent him until he’s scent-drunk, and he’ll melt.”

“Kim Taehyung!” Jimin swatted his fingers with the spoon he’d been stirring the tonic with, sending a few drops flying.

Jungkook buried his face in his hands, groaning. “I can’t believe we’re even talking about this.”

“You’d better believe it,” Taehyung said smugly. “Because if you don’t, I’ll drag him in here and demonstrate myself.”

“You absolutely will not,” Jimin snapped though it lacked any real bite.

“Relax, healer. I meant talking, not scenting. Though it might take that much to drill through his thick skull.”

“You, Jungkook, is the one that needs to talk to him,” Jimin urged. “Be honest. Tell him you want more. He won’t guess it on his own.”

Jungkook was torn between mortification and gratitude. Fortunately, Jimin and Taehyung’s banter made it bearable, making the heaviness in the den ease, just a little.

Jungkook pressed his palms together, gathering his friends’ words like precious things. “I’ll try,” he finally said. “I just… need to find the courage.”

The conversation continued for another hour, with both Jimin and Taehyung offering encouragement and advice about how to approach such a difficult topic. Between the medicine, the banter, and the quiet validation of their words, Jungkook felt lighter than when he’d arrived, though the fear coiled in his chest refused to let go entirely.

When they finally stepped out of the den, Taehyung propped up and grumbled less now, both he and Jimin lost in their own thoughts. The sun had climbed higher, warming the air until the scents of soil and woodsmoke thickened into something heady. Around them, life unfolded as it always did.

Jungkook found his gaze lingering on every couple they passed. A beta holding hands with his omega as they bartered for cloth. An alpha and omega shoulder to shoulder while inspecting a new spear. An older pair, their heads bent together in conversation, laughing over some private joke.

He couldn’t help but wonder which of them had been arranged like he had, which had fallen in love first and folded duty into it later. Could anyone tell, from the outside, which bonds were born of choice and which not?

“Thank you,” he said suddenly as they neared the healer’s quarters, the words pulling him from his spiral. “For listening. And for the advice. I know you didn’t sign up to be my emotional counselor just because we came to check on Taehyung.”

Jimin’s face softened, cheeks puffing and eyes curving into their familiar crescent shape. “That’s what friends are for. And Jungkook, whatever happens with Namjoon, you’re not alone here. This pack has accepted you. That won’t change, no matter what path your marriage takes.”

Jungkook took a shaky breath against the rush of emotion. “I appreciate that more than you know.”

“Promise me you’ll think about what we talked about,” Jimin squeezed his shoulder gently. “You don’t have to rush. But don’t let fear keep you stuck in uncertainty forever.”

Jungkook nodded. “I promise.”

The promise felt both heavy and fragile, like a stone carried in his pocket. Small enough to be forgotten until it pressed sharp against him at the wrong moment.

Jimin had parted ways with him to do his other duties minutes before Jungkook reached the den. The door creaked softly as he pushed it open, greeted by the familiar hush of the space that should have felt like home.

Namjoon was still out on patrol, as expected. The den was, of course, still as tidy and orderly as Jungkook left it. He stood in the center, staring at everything with new eyes. The bed they shared but never truly occupied together. The air smelled faintly of almond and plum, two scents that hovered in the same room but never quite blended.

Maybe it was time to stop waiting for change to happen on its own. Maybe it was time to risk being the one to reach across the gap.

Jungkook pressed his palms together, heart beating unsteadily, and whispered into the empty den, “But first, I need to be brave.”

Chapter Text

The world outside was still dark, the horizon only bruised with the faintest wash of blue and orange. Even the birds had yet to break the silence when Jungkook slipped from their shared bed, careful not to disturb the weight of Namjoon’s arm draped across his eyes.For once, the alpha was truly asleep—mouth slightly parted, breath deep, a soft snore slipping free. The long muscles of his throat lay unstrung, no tension braced beneath the skin. Most nights, even in slumber, duty held him taut as a bridle.

Today was a rare gift. For the first time in weeks, Namjoon had no patrols to lead, no council meetings to attend, and no territorial disputes demanding his attention.

Today was theirs, if Jungkook could make it count.

Jungkook dressed quickly. He pulled on his warmest cloak and soft boots, the ones that didn’t squeak against the floorboards. Cold kissed his cheeks as he stepped out. The settlement was still asleep around him as he made his way toward the meadows, where the first spring flowers had begun to bloom despite the lingering mountain cold.

His breath puffed white in the crisp air, and dew soaked through his boots within the first few minutes of walking, but he barely noticed the discomfort.

Because Jungkook had a plan.

He moved through the meadow, his boots cutting through dew that darkened the grass. Wild daisies lifted their faces to the sun, their white petals trembling in the soft wind.

At the edge where trees met open ground, Jungkook finally found what he was looking for. Wild roses sheltered in the crook of a wind-bent pine, their petals the soft pink of a sky just waking. He caressed one with his thumb, thin as breath, cool with night. They were small and simple compared to the elaborate blooms that might grow in warmer territories, but they were still beautiful. 

Jungkook crouched to smell one. Its fragrance was sweet. Not identical to his own, but close enough that it might remind Namjoon of how pleasant his scent could be. He had always been known for that sweetness, leaving a faint trail wherever he goes, so much so that children once teased he must keep candies tucked in his pockets.

Maybe Namjoon would understand the subtle message Jungkook was trying to send.

He gathered roses carefully, angling the stem just so to avoid the thorns, and threaded in sprigs of star-flowers until the pink and white sat together in a pretty arrangement. It wasn’t elaborate, but it was pretty and thoughtful. It’s a gesture that should speak to any alpha with even a basic understanding of omega courtship behaviors.

Should being the operative phrase.

On the walk back, he detoured through a narrow grove where thorn canes arched over a tumbled heap of stones. Raspberries grew there, a secret he had discovered on his second week in the territory and tended in stolen hours by pruning the dead canes and tamping the soil when the wind uprooted new shoots.

This morning the berries were exactly right, swollen and dark, the red that had once pulled Namjoon’s gaze like a tide at Jungkook’s mother’s table. He could still picture the tall alpha trying to be polite while his eyes kept drifting back, drawn to the shine of the small fruits in a bowl.

By the time he returned, light had climbed the walls like honey. He set the roses in a clay vase, pinched a leaf’s stem to set the greens just so, and poured the berries into Namjoon’s favorite wooden bowl. One carved with a ring of running wolves along the rim. He lined the table with a linen cloth and pressed the creases with his palms until they lay flat and smooth.

Then came the cooking.

The bread had already been baked the day before. Jungkook only warmed it by the fire, setting out a crock of butter and a small jar of honey he’d traded for last week. He cracked a few eggs into the pan, turning them gently the way Namjoon preferred, soft-fried, white set but yolks still a little runny, perfect for sopping up with bread. It was nothing elaborate. The only indulgence was the good tea his mother had sent. A floral blend usually shared between lovers. Jungkook set the pot to steep, steam curling into the air as if it carried his hope with it.

As he worked, Jungkook let himself imagine a different morning. The sound of Namjoon’s steps, an unguarded smile, a hand at the back of his neck with gratitude breathed into his hair. A meal eaten slowly, their talk meandering like a path they had never walked. Laughter tugging at the distance between them. Perhaps today that space would narrow, just enough to let him through.

The sound of the bed creaking and a groggy groan pulled him from his thoughts.. Jungkook wiped his palms on his pants, patted his hair smooth in the polished bronze plate that served as a mirror, and took a deep breath.

Namjoon stepped out rumpled but well-rested. Sleep had left his hair in defiance. A faint crease marked his cheek where the pillow had pressed, softening the stern lines habit had carved there. He stopped in his tracks, when his gaze took in the roses, the table laid for two, and the robe Jungkook had chosen. Deep blue that warmed his skin and set off his eyes.

“Is there an occasion I forgot?” he asked, dragging a hand through his hair, a crease forming between his brows. His scent, usually a subtly sweet almonds, turned sharp for a moment, turning bitter at the edges.

Of course that was his first thought. What duty had slipped past him, what detail he’d failed to account for. Always the careful alpha, forever ticking through lists in his head. Jungkook wished, just for once, that the first thing he saw was the beauty of it. The flowers, the table, the robe Jungkook had chosen for him. Still, maybe it was only his surprise speaking. Maybe, beneath the question, there was care. He tried to believe that.

Jungkook’s expression faltered, the smile dipping just enough to betray him before he steadied it. “No occasion. You don’t have patrol. I wanted to make the morning… pleasant.”

Namjoon’s brows pinched a fraction, as if searching a mental ledger for a date that wasn’t there. He came to the table and sat down, back straight as one might sit at a council meeting. “You didn’t have to,” he said, looking properly at the arrangements at last. “But thank you. It’s—” his gaze moved from the vase to the bowl and the bread “—very nice.”

Nice brushed only the surface of what Jungkook had meant. He sat anyway. He would not spill his hope on the floor like rotten milk.

“The fragrance is nice,” Jungkook commented while pouring Namjoon a cup of tea. “I didn’t think the roses would have their scent this strong.”

Namjoon leaned, sniffed, and nodded. “They’re lovely.” His mouth made almost a smile. “We should keep the window latched, though. With scent this strong, bees may nose at the seam.”

Bees. Of course. Jungkook’s throat wanted to laugh and did not. “There are enough flowers outside to keep them busy,” he said softly, and lifted the bowl of raspberries. “I also picked these. I remembered you kept eyeing them when you visited my pack. Um, at my mother’s table.”

Color rose, subtle but real, under Namjoon’s skin. His mouth changed shape, surprised and a little rueful. “You noticed?” He huffed, almost a laugh. “I thought I was subtle. I hope your father didn’t think I was ignoring him.”

“On the contrary,” Jungkook chuckled. “I considered asking him to adjourn so you could have seconds. I decided the peace of the eastern ridge was marginally more important.”

For the first time that morning, Namjoon relaxed. Just enough to erase the wary pull at the corner of his mouth. “Thank you,” he said, and it sounded like more than manners. “I didn’t know you were watching so closely.”

You were going to be my husband, Jungkook thought to himself. He slid his thumb along the tea cup’s rim, feeling the clay’s slight grit. “Of course I was. I wanted to know more about you.”

Namjoon looked at him as though a different thought had risen to his lips, but then he caught himself and asked instead, “What’s your favorite food?”

Married people were supposed to know such answers before they spoke vows. But Jungkook decided not to fault him because of that. So he gave Namjoon the truth. 

“Purple sweet potatoes. Seaweed, when my brother’s pack sends it up from the coast. And, um, spicy noodles with chilis.” Jungkook’s eyes unfocused, sifting through memories. “Bananas when we can trade for them. My pack didn’t get many.”

Namjoon nodded, already reaching for berries again, and said, “I see,” in a tone that closed the topic like a book. No questions about the brother or the coast or why his pack didn’t get many bananas.

Jungkook bit back the urge to pout, the expression tugging at him like a sulky child. Instead, he set the tea down carefully, making sure it didn’t clink against the table.

“Let me serve the food.” He suddenly rose because movement was easier than silence. He put eggs on plates with meat and bread. Namjoon thanked him but said nothing more.

After a while, Namjoon paused with his cup halfway to his mouth. “Are you tired? You’re quiet.”

“I’m fine.” Jungkook watched the tea’s surface smooth after a small ripple and tried to smooth himself the same way. “Just enjoying the morning.”

Namjoon studied him as one might study a suspicious sound at the border. His eyes softened, briefly. “After you bathe,” he said, as if deciding, “let’s go out. To the bridge, perhaps.”

Jungkook’s hope leapt. “The bridge?”

He had passed it countless times, always on his way somewhere else, never staying to join the other pack members relaxing there. He imagined leaning against the railing with Namjoon at his side, their reflections together in the water below. Maybe Namjoon would take his hand, interlacing their fingers. Maybe they could trade stories about their childhood, about the packs Jungkook had left behind, about anything that might make them less like strangers sharing a roof. It sounded almost like… a date.

But then—

“My father insists we make appearances,” Namjoon admitted, setting his spoon aside. “The elders are concerned that we haven’t been seen together enough. They think it gives the wrong impression. The bridge is well-traveled.” 

There it was, face uncovered. We should be seen. Jungkook took a slow sip of his tea and burned his tongue a little. “Of course,” he sighed. Because anything else would be petty, and he refused to be petty.

Namjoon’s eyes traced the line of his robe, and for an instant his composure cracked, a softness breaking through as though Jungkook had glimpsed something almost private. “You look nice,” he said at last. “That color suits you. Though you’ll need to change.”

A small compliment, laid gently between them like a shared piece of bread. Jungkook wanted to pocket it. “Thank you,” Jungkook beamed.

It was always a push and pull with Namjoon. One breath leaving Jungkook aching, the next making him glow. His poor heart hadn’t learned how to brace for the swing of it. A single compliment, simple as it was, sent his omega preening, hungry as if it had been starved. Was he really that deprived? The thought stung. He remembered home, where packmates and would-be suitors had once scattered praise over him like petals. The memory curdled in his chest, guilt rising sharp. To think of other alphas while sitting across from his husband felt like a betrayal, even if only in thought.

“Bring a cloak,” Namjoon said, already planning. “We should stay long enough to—” he gestured vaguely, the word he did not want to say obviously ‘be seen’ “—enjoy the weather.”

Jungkook nodded and excused himself to the bath.

Hot water steamed the small room. He sank until heat covered his chest and let his head tip back against stone. Jasmine soap slipped under his palms, the scent clean and bright. He breathed it in until the sting behind his eyes ceased. He did not want to cry about bees. He did not want to cry about how they should be seen. He wanted to walk out of the bath warm and brave and choose the kind of day that made its own meaning.

Jungkook pulled on a robe the pale blue of morning sky, the fabric wrapping across his chest and tied off simply at the side. The fabric was light but fine, soft enough that it shifted like water when he moved. Loose white trousers gathered at his ankles, practical for walking the settlement paths, and his shoes were plain hide, scuffed at the toes.

When Jungkook stepped back into the main room, Namjoon had showered and tamed his hair. He sat straight in clean layers of indigo robe. By the door, a small bag waited. Everything prepared and contingencies accounted for. It might have been endearing if it weren’t also a performance.

His gaze slipped down and back up again, tracing the pale blue against Jungkook’s skin, and the omega could have sworn a smile began to form. There, quick at the corner before it was swallowed by the movement of Namjoon’s lips as he spoke.

“You look nice.”

Then, almost as if to seal the words, Namjoon extended a hand. Jungkook hesitated, startled by the gesture, before slipping his fingers into his husband’s palm.

They stepped into mid-morning light together.

The bridge stretched over a stream running clear and slow, its surface broken by darting fish and drifting petals from the trees upriver. Grasses crowded the banks, thick with wildflowers in yellow and violet, their scents stirred by the breeze. Children waded knee-deep in the shallows, shrieking with laughter as they sent water flying at one another. A few adults sat on the stones with lines in hand, baskets open at their sides, while others leaned back in the grass, letting the sun find their faces.

“Alpha,” a beta with a fish dangling from his hand called, bowing his head. “Good day.”

“Good day,” Namjoon returned, slipping into the role of son of Pack Alpha that fit him like a second skin. He asked after the catch, the water, which bait had worked best. Voices rose around him, easy and respectful, the bridge itself seeming to bend closer.

Jungkook stood at his side, their fingers still laced. The warmth of it sent his pulse stumbling, but the greater surprise was how the pack looked at them. Whispers stirred like leaves in a current.

Handsome pair.

Good to see them close.

Eyes lingered, not just on Namjoon’s broad frame and presence, but on Jungkook too. On his pale blue robe, hair falling loose, and his shy smile. Compliments curled through the air, half-spoken, half-whispered, and Jungkook felt his ears warm. His fingers tightened around Namjoon’s, shy under the sudden weight of so many eyes.

After greeting and talking to a few of the pack members, they drifted a few steps down the bridge where the railing dipped lower. Beneath them the river carried its voice in a steady rush, clear enough that they could see smooth stones and the occasional flash of a fish’s belly. Wildflowers crowded the banks in loose tangles of color, and dragonflies stitched lazy arcs above the water.

“Did you fish here as a pup?” Jungkook asked at last, because the silence between them was a rope that could either bind or burn. His hands rested lightly on the railing, fingers worrying at a nick in the wood.

“In the summer,” Namjoon answered. His gaze followed the current. “Sometimes with my father. A couple times with Jin hyung. Yoongi hyung came twice and complained about the sun the whole time.” Namjoon chuckled at the memory. “I liked how it made my head quiet. You read the water instead of each other. Also talking wasn’t… required.”

Seokjin, Namjoon’s older brother, was an omega who had married into a coastal pack. Witty and easygoing, he had charmed Jungkook easily during their first meeting on the wedding day. Though they’d spoken only briefly, Seokjin’s love for the sea had surfaced more than once. He was certainly the keener fisherman of the two brothers, and he had mentioned more than a couple of times his adventures of casting nets and fishing alongside his mate.

Yoongi was Namjoon’s oldest friend, an alpha with a sharp tongue and an unexpected kindness beneath it. A craftsman of wood and joinery, he shaped fine furniture and carved animals from timber, raised beams and built walls sturdy enough to withstand mountain storms. He and Namjoon had grown together, boys side by side until boyhood itself was carved into them.

Jungkook let the words slip out like stones dropped into clear water. “I’d like to learn. From you.” The ripples carried too far to be taken back.

Namjoon’s head turned, the surprise as plain as the flash of a fish breaking the surface. “You’re interested?”

Jungkook kept his eyes on the current sliding under the bridge. “I’m always interested in what matters to you.”.

The pause stretched. A crow called from the trees, the beat of its wings breaking the hush. “When I have time,” Namjoon answered at last. Neither a yes nor a no, only another stone laid carefully between them.

Downstream, a group of pups scrambled over slick stones, daring each other closer to the current. Their laughter spiked whenever one slipped, arms windmilling until balance returned at the last instant, and Jungkook was thrown back to his own days as a pup.

“When I was a pup, I was always in the mud. My mother couldn’t keep me clean. I liked wrestling with my cousins, sneaking into the training yard to learn how to wrestle and throw axes. Everyone thought I’d grow into a hunter. An alpha hunter. No one expected me to present as an omega.” He exhaled through a smile.

“Wow.” Namjoon chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as though trying to reconcile the picture. “You must have been a handful. Fun to play with, though. But…” Namjoon’s words slowed, “what was it like when you presented?”

Jungkook shrugs. “I didn’t mind. I’m glad of who I am.”

Namjoon’s gaze shifted from the water to Jungkook, then flicked down to his mouth. For a heartbeat Jungkook thought the space might close, and worse, he hoped it. As if answering, Namjoon leaned the slightest fraction.

Then a shout split the moment. “Hey, careful!”

One of the boys downstream had pushed too far. He was bolder than the rest, quick to show off, his confidence outstripping his footing. His shoe slid on moss-slick stone, body pitched forward, and his arms thrashed in the air, useless as the river surged to meet him.

Jungkook didn’t think. He vaulted the railing where it dipped to the bank, shoes skidding as they hit the slope. His palm snatched the back of the boy’s tunic just as momentum dragged him forward. He hauled the child hard against his chest and locked both of them against a boulder. The river clawed at his ankles, the current testing which of them it could tear away.

There was weight at his side suddenly. Namjoon had dropped from the bridge, landed without a splash. His hand anchored Jungkook at the elbow and palm a firm heat at Jungkook’s waist.

“I’ve got you,” he rasped in Jungkook's ear.

“I’m fine,” he lied, though the cold gnawed sharp as teeth up his legs. He shifted the boy toward Namjoon, who set his feet like a tree and took the weight. Together they crabbed sideways until the scrape of pebbles shifted to the thud of soil beneath their feet.

The boy’s mother collided with her son, sobbing, scolding, kissing his wet hair. “Moon bless you,” she gasped to Jungkook, gripping his sleeve. Then her gaze darted to Namjoon, eyes wide. “And to think—you dragged the future alpha and his husband into the river! What were you thinking?”

The boy mumbled an apology, head ducked into his mother’s shoulder. Jungkook shook his head, squeezing water from his sleeve. “It’s alright. Rocks can be really slippery. Accident happens.”

Namjoon’s hand still rested at Jungkook’s elbow, his grip warm through soaked fabric. He turned to the boy, voice stern but not unkind. “Next time, be careful. You’re lucky Jungkook was watching. Are you hurt?”

The boy shook his head. Jungkook scanned him quickly, eyes darting over knees, elbow, and wet sleeves, but found no blood. The mother fussed, guiding her son through an inspection, asking him to stretch his arms and kick his legs. Nothing broken. Jungkook let out a sigh of relief. Pups’ bodies were surprisingly resilient. Made to tumble, bruise, and spring back again.

“Thank you so much,” the mother said, her grip tight on Jungkook’s wrist before she pulled her son close again. “I’m sorry once more. I’ll watch him more carefully from now on.”

Water pattered steadily onto the planks, gathering in small dark blooms. Jungkook squeezed at his sleeves, twisting them until rivulets streamed down his wrists. He rubbed his hands together for warmth as a shiver chased up his spine.

Namjoon had crouched to check his shoes for any damage, but his head lifted at Jungkook’s movement. “You’re freezing,” Namjoon pointed out.

Jungkook forced a small laugh. “A little cold, but not freezing. What about you? Are you fine? I’m sorry you had to pull me out like that. But thank—”

“Alpha?” someone called from the road.

Whatever thin thread of quiet had been between them broke cleanly, like a twig underfoot. Namjoon stepped back, his hands reluctant to forget their place. Elder Haneul strode onto the bridge with two hunters, her hair bound tight, her expression tighter.

“Forgive the interruption,” she said to both of them. “There’s a few feral wolf sightings near the ridge. A small patrol was ambushed and one injured. Pack Alpha and the council need your help on how to secure the border before dusk.”

Duty returned like a cold up the spine.

The crease of worry Jungkook knew so well returned to Namjoon’s face. “Understood,” he said quickly, then to Jungkook, “you should change. You’re soaked.”

Before Jungkook could answer, Hoseok appeared, quick as wind, tugging at Namjoon’s sleeve with no sense of protocol. “Go on, Joon. Take him home first. Let him change, and you need to as well. Don’t make me explain to the council why our alpha walks in dripping wet.”

Namjoon hesitated only a moment before yielding to the suggestion. As they made their way through the settlement, voices rose in thanks from those who had witnessed the near-accident.

At their door, Namjoon paused. “Thank you,” he said. “You moved fast.”

“I had brothers,” Jungkook replied. “They used to fall off things to see who could scare my mother more.”

Namjoon smiled at that. “Change,” he ordered. “I’ll check with Elder Haneul.”

By the time Jungkook stepped back out, damp hair clinging to his neck, Namjoon was gone. Hoseok was waiting instead, arms folded, eyes traveling around the den in fascination.

As an omega like himself, Hoseok had been the first to greet him when he arrived weeks ago, ignoring protocol entirely and throwing his arms around Jungkook in an embrace. It had startled the elders present, but the contact had eased Jungkook’s nerves more than any polite welcome ever could. 

Since then, Jungkook had learned why Hoseok could bend rules without censure. As the pack’s Council Liaison, he bridged elders, alpha, and pack members alike. He carried decrees down the line and pack’s worries back up. Both sides trusted him, and that trust made his voice hard to ignore.

“Moon above, you were quick. They said the boy came out without so much as a scrape!” Hoseok's eyes shone with admiration. “Not everyone would’ve moved so fast. He’s standing because of you, Jungkook. Remember that.”

“Thank you,” Jungkook murmured. “I just… reacted.”

“Don’t be so modest, Jungkook,” Hoseok chuckled.

Jungkook laughed along, but his attention was ripped away when the door to the den opened. Namjoon stepped back inside, already changed. His usual earthy almond scent was tinged with smoke.

Hoseok bowed his head, a smile tugging at his mouth, and gave a small nod to Jungkook before slipping past them. “I’ll let you two talk.”

“The council meeting may run long tonight,” Namjoon said after Hoseok left, his voice already weighed down. “They’re mapping the ridge and waiting on the scouts’ full report. I’ll come home late.”

“I see.” Jungkook hoped his disappointment was not showing on his scent. He knew the pack’s safety came first, that an injured hunter was no small matter. But he had counted on this rare day and now it was gone. The guilt for feeling selfish made his stomach churn.

Namjoon hesitated, eyes flicking to Jungkook as though he noticed the change in Jungkook’s mood. “Today was… nice,” he admitted. “I don’t get days like that often. So I really appreciate you coming with me to the bridge. I’d like to share more stories with you.”

For a moment, Jungkook only blinked, unsure if he had heard right.

He cleared his throat, daring himself to be bold. “Then… maybe after you return, will you tell me more about your childhood?” His voice shook a little. “I’d like to hear more. And, um, I’d like to… be close.” The words tangled, his thoughts scattering like wolves breaking from a trail. “We could… just sit together on the bed. Or… cuddle, if you’d let me.”

Namjoon’s eyes widened. For a few seconds, he only stared, then his shoulders eased, the tight line of his mouth loosening. “Tonight,” he said at last. “We’ll make time.”

Jungkook’s fingers curled into the fabric at his knees to keep his hands from trembling. “Thank you, alpha.”

🐺

The moon climbed higher. The settlement stilled around him. Jungkook stared at the door until his eyes burned, willing it to open. Every small sound from outside made his eyes darting to the door. Footsteps on the path, voices drifting past, the creak of a neighbor's door. Each time, he straightened, expecting Namjoon to come through the door. Each time, the footsteps faded away, belonging to someone else, going somewhere else.

He told himself it was fine. The meeting would end soon. Namjoon would come home, and they would have their time together, however brief. They would sit close on the bed, and Namjoon would tell him stories about his childhood, about the boy who once loved fishing. Maybe Jungkook would finally learn what made his husband laugh freely, what memories he held dear.

The door remained closed.

Jungkook's fingers worried at the edge of the blanket, picking at a loose thread until it came free in his hand. He wound it around his finger, watching the tip turn white from pressure, then released it and watched the blood return. A small, pointless distraction. His mother used to scold him for fidgeting like this, said it betrayed his restless heart too easily. She had been right, as always.

Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the window. Jungkook rose to check them, needing something to do with his hands, some task to occupy the gnawing emptiness. He pressed his palm against the wood, feeling the cold seep through. Somewhere out there, Namjoon was bent over maps and strategies, his mind far from this room, far from the omega who waited.

When Jungkook returned to the bed, he caught sight of the clay vase on the table. The roses he had picked that morning were already beginning to droop, their petals curling inward. By tomorrow they would need to be thrown out. Such a brief, fragile beauty. As brief and fragile as the fleeting hour he had shared with Namjoon on the bridge.

A sound outside the door made Jungkook’s head snap up. The shuffling footsteps stopped right at the door. His heart kicked hard against his ribs.

Namjoon. Finally.

But the door didn’t open. Jungkook waited, confusion creeping in. Why would Namjoon stop outside his own door?

Then came a soft knock.

The hope that had surged through him crashed, sudden and devastating. Namjoon wouldn’t knock. This was his home too, his door, his den. He would simply enter, tired and apologetic perhaps, but he would come in. Which meant—

The knocking came again, a little louder this time. Jungkook rose slowly, each step toward the door feeling heavier than the last. His hand hesitated on the latch before he pulled it open.

Hoseok stood there, silhouetted against the moonlight, a cloth-covered bundle cradled in his arms. His bright smile faltered the moment he saw Jungkook's face.

“Oh,” Hoseok said softly. “You were expecting someone else.”

Jungkook tried to rearrange his expression, to smooth away the disappointment that must have been written plainly across his features. “Hoseok. No, I—” The lie stuck in his throat. He couldn’t force it out.

“I'm sorry. I should have waited until morning, but I wanted to drop this off before I forgot. And I thought Namjoon might be back by now.” He gestured at the bundle in his hands. “He’s still at the council meeting?”

Jungkook nodded, not trusting his voice.

Hoseok’s expression softened, almost sorry, as though he hated to find Jungkook alone. “May I come in? Just for a moment.”

Jungkook stepped aside, and Hoseok entered. He set the bundle on the table, pulling back the cloth to reveal a plate of cookies, golden and studded with what looked like dried berries.

“These are from the mother of the boy you saved,” Hoseok explained. “She wanted to bring them herself, to thank you properly. But her little girl, um, her youngest I believe, came down with a fever this evening. Nothing serious, the healer said, but she was crying for her mother, so she couldn’t leave.” He pushed the plate toward Jungkook. “She made these herself. Said she wanted you to know how grateful she is.”

Jungkook stared at the cookies, their sweet scent filling the room. “That’s very kind. Please tell her I hope her daughter recovers quickly.”

“I will.” Hoseok’s smile tilted, fond and a little sad. “It’s been a long day for you, hasn’t it?”

“No, I’m fine,” Jungkook argued.

“If you say so.” Hoseok didn’t press. He stepped toward the door, then paused. “Do you want me to send a message to Namjoon?”

“Oh, please don’t. I wouldn’t want to disrupt him—or make the council think badly of me.”

“Right.” Hoseok smiled. “I know it’s not my duty to say this, but as a packmate, Jungkook… let me, or anyone, know if you need something. You don’t have to carry all your worries alone.”

“Thank you, Hoseok.”

“Thank you for saving that boy.” Hoseok's hand rested briefly on the doorframe. “His mother won’t forget it. Neither will the pack. Neither will Namjoon, whether he says so or not.”

Then he was gone, leaving Jungkook alone once more.

The cookies sat on the table, their sweet scent a reminder of the good he’d done today. Of the gratitude he’d earned. It should have been enough. Should have filled some of the emptiness. But as Jungkook returned to the bed, pulling the blanket around his shoulders, the hollow ache remained.

The fire had burned down to embers. Jungkook smoothed the fur blanket flat across his knees, then gathered it up again, motions restless as his thoughts. Namjoon had said he would make time tonight. But from the first night they’d shared a roof, Jungkook had learned where he stood. The pack first. Duty second. The council third. Somewhere after all of that came him. Sometimes he wondered if he was even on the list at all.

Today had left him wrung out. Hope and disappointment had tugged him in opposite directions until he felt thin as thread. On the bridge, with Namjoon’s hand laced through his own, he had almost let himself believe the alpha had forgotten the watching eyes, forgotten the performance. For a moment he had felt seen. Wanted, even. He thought Namjoon had felt it too. But now the bed was cold and he was alone again.

And the border problem was not something he could resent. Aggressive feral wolves at the ridge meant danger, meant blood if left unattended. Jungkook knew that. He would never wish Namjoon to abandon the pack. Which only made him feel guiltier for wanting and lonelier for needing. What kind of omega resented his own husband for keeping their people safe? What kind of husband felt selfish for craving his alpha’s attention?

The moon climbed higher. The settlement stilled around him. Hope bowed under its own weight, and at last Jungkook lay down on his side, the blanket pulled tight around his shoulders. He left a space open beside him, foolishly, as if the act itself might summon Namjoon to fill it.

Sleep took him in snatches, full of half-dreams where the door finally opened, where Namjoon’s voice filled the room, where the bed dipped with another’s warmth. Each time he woke, the room was still empty.

It was deep into the night when he heard a creak from the door. Jungkook stirred but did not wake fully, too far sunk into sleep. He caught the sound of the door closing softly, quiet steps moved across the floor, and drifted again.

Something touched his hair. A stroke so soft it felt like memory. In the dream, it was his mother, humming a lullaby to him when he was small, the way she used to soothe him after he’d cried himself sick. Fingers brushed his temple, then he felt a warmth pressed to his forehead. A voice followed, goodnight, hushed as embers settling to ash.

Chapter Text

The morning after what happened at the bridge, Hoseok came with news. He knocked, noticed the door sitting a finger’s width open, and poked his head in with a grin. Dawn was only smearing light along the horizon. Jungkook had been awake long enough to watch it inch across the empty half of the bed, over furs left tidy, over the place where Namjoon’s almond-warm scent had thinned to a ghost his nose kept chasing like a fool.

He had come home late and risen early. Jungkook doubted the alpha had rested at all. Still, he had searched the table for a note. For an apology, a promise to make up for the stories Namjoon had said he’d share. There was nothing, of course. Jungkook should know better than to hope.

Hoseok slipped in, a satchel bulging with loose papers slung across his chest. His hair mussed a little as if he’d run the whole way. “Morning, Jungkook! They want you to teach,” he announced.

Jungkook blinked, halfway through tying back his hair. His fingers had gone clumsy with sleep deprivation, the leather cord slipping twice before he caught it properly. “Teach what?”

“Not needlework, of course,” Hoseok teased. “The young ones. Future hunters. After what you did for that boy.”

Jungkook’s mind rushed with the memories of the boy’s shirt fisted in his hand, the river’s teeth at his ankles, Namjoon’s palm at his waist, and then the long, hollow night of waiting for a promise that never came home.

“The elders were impressed by the story—” he tipped his chin, eyes gleaming with something that might have been pride “—they know you were trained. Properly.”

Of course they knew. Nothing stayed secret here. Every document that sealed his arranged marriage to Namjoon’s pack likely held more than enough to shame him. His strengths and flaws laid bare. His own pack would have tried to cast him in the best light, but there were details Jungkook would never have revealed if it had been left to him. And yet those details unraveled anyway, slipping into the hands that wanted them, passed along in low murmurs, then stitched back together in council rooms where power sat at tables and decided what to do with wayward threads.

Heat pressed behind Jungkook’s eyes. He remembered his father’s voice, rough with pride the first time he threw his eldest brother cleanly to the ground. His mother’s hands, gentle as she bound his bruised knuckles in fresh cloth. His brothers’ laughter rang through the practice yard when he sent them sprawling. 

Hoseok let the satchel slide onto the table. “You don’t have to be a master. You just have to be willing to let them learn beside you,” he said, not so much disagreeing as brushing Jungkook’s protest aside.

From the satchel he drew a slim scroll. An official parchment and laid it gently for Jungkook to see. “And besides,” he added, “they’re short on instructors. Too many of the usual teachers are tied up with the older groups, drilling them for the harder work ahead. That leaves the youngest group with minimal training right now. The council thinks you fit what’s needed. You can train them. You’re patient, and they’re more likely to listen to someone who doesn’t bark orders at them.”

Jungkook slid his hair tie into place and smoothed the loose strands at his temple, a nervous gesture he’d never quite grown out of. His fingers trembled slightly. “So it’s… official?”

“Well, yeah. It’s an official instruction. The council is giving you a trial period. One week to start, maybe longer if you prove useful. Morning hours only, nine to twelve.”

Jungkook’s hands went back to smooth the hair on his temple that didn’t need smoothing. “Wow. Okay.”

“You’ll have a small group at first. If you do well, there will be more students.”

“Okay. Well. That’s… great.”

“You can say no,” Hoseok added. “No shame in it. Teaching’s not for everyone.”

Something rose in his chest that felt very much like standing up after being knocked down. Like deciding that if he was going to be lonely in this territory, he could at least be useful. He could at least be seen for something other than whose bed he warmed—or didn't warm, as the case seemed to be.

“I'll try.”

Hoseok's grin returned, bright as a banner catching wind. "Good. I'll tell them Hoseok’s grin returned, sharp with mischief. “Good. I’ll tell the council to expect miracles by midday.”

Jungkook stared at him, scandalized. “Don’t you dare. If they start expecting miracles, I’m leaving before dawn tomorrow.”

Hoseok snorted. “Relax, I’ll downgrade it to minor wonders. Maybe the ability to stand without falling on their faces.”

Jungkook huffed, but a smile broke through, thin but real. “That’s about the limit of my talent anyway.”

“You sell yourself short,” Hoseok said as he tugged the satchel closed and slung it back on his shoulder. “But good luck, Jungkook.”

🐺

The training ground sat at the edge of the pines, the earth pressed flat by years of bodies learning how to fight, how to fall, how to stand up again. Stones ringed the space, holding back the grass that always tried to reclaim it. The air was already warm on the back of Jungkook’s neck despite the early hour, promising a hot day to come.

Six alphas waited inside the circle. Freshly presented, not quite boys anymore but not grown either. It was their fifth session with him. They knew his voice now, his instructions, and the drills he made them repeat until their legs shook. 

Hajoon, the tallest of the lot, bounced on his toes like a colt still testing its legs. Soobin, the youngest, already sported a raw scrape on his knuckles. Another doomed attempt at “training” against a tree. The others looked straighter in their stances, though nerves of a new day showed in the clench of jaws and the twitch of hands.

“Morning,” Jungkook greeted, and six heads bowed in unison. “Six laps to warm up.”

They groaned as one, the eternal language of boys told to start slow when all they wanted was the clash and thrill. Yejoon, broad as a barrel, even rolled his eyes.

“Running isn’t punishment,” he told them. “If running makes you this miserable, wait until you’re actually fighting. At least this way the only thing chasing you is your own lungs.”

By the time the laps were done and their breathing evened out, Jungkook had already marked the ground with a stick. Long lines, short lines, a grid scratched into the dust. He tapped it once with the end of the stick.

“This is your world for the next half an hour. Forward, side, back, pivot. Heel, toe, weight transfer. You’ll move through this grid until your feet know it better than your head. Until you can do it in your sleep, in the dark, with someone screaming in your face.”

“That seems excessive,” someone muttered.

“It’s not,” Jungkook said simply. “Now move.”

Dust rose at every step and clung to their ankles. Jungkook walked among them, correcting small errors whenever he saw them.

“Eunchan,” he called to one of the alpha that almost loses his balance. “Keep your weight inside your stance.”

“Yes, instructor!” Eunchan adjusted immediately, wobbled, nearly tripped over his own correction, then finally found the center point.

They progressed from grid to stance, from stance to guard, from guard to strikes. Jungkook’s corrections were light taps, gentle redirections, and generous with praise. When impatience made them sloppy, he loosened it with a joke.

“If I wanted to watch people stumble around, I’d sit by the longfire on feast night when half the pack’s too drunk to stand. Slow down. You’re not racing.”

Eventually Hajoon raised his hand, out of breath. “Instructor Jungkook, can you please show the counter to a forward rush again? Yejoon keeps knocking me back before I can plant my feet.”

“That’s because Yejoon is a tree stump with legs,” someone snickered. Yejoon bristled and would have shoved the speaker if Jungkook hadn’t raised his hand as a command for them to be quiet.

“Watch.” Jungkook stepped into the center. They boys crowded closer. “Momentum is an animal. You can coax it to work for you, or you can let it trample you. There’s no third option.”

He demonstrated once, slow enough for them to see the detailed movements. Then again, faster, the movement turning fluid and effortless.

“Try that again,” he said.

The boys went in pairs, testing, learning, missing their cues and laughing in frustration. The training ground filled with sound. The thud of bare feet, the smack of bodies hitting the ground, quick exhales, low curses bitten off before they finished.

“Remember,” Jungkook called over the noise, “strength isn’t only in your arms. It’s where you put your weight and when you take it away. Read your opponent’s intention!”

“Show us the shoulder feint again, please!” Soobin piped up.

“Later,” Jungkook said. “We’re not juggling three techniques at once when you haven’t mastered one. Walk before you run.”

Half an hour later, they stopped for water, wiping sweat and dust from their faces. They settled nearby, still catching their breath but staying close, ready if he called them back to continue.

“Instructor,” Hajoon said between gulps of water. “Is it true you trained in secret? Even after you presented?”

“Well, it’s more of a public secret. Everyone knows but not all of them liked it. But no one actually tried to stop me.”

“But you presented omega,” Minho said, one of the quiet ones. “Most packs don’t let omegas train after that. My cousin presented two years ago and they took away his practice sword the same day.”

Jungkook felt the weight of their attention. Some of them, he suspected, had siblings who’d presented omega. Perhaps, they had the same worry before they presented as an alpha.

“My father believed everyone should know how to protect their pack.” Jungkook chose his words with care. “Not just alphas. Everyone. Because there will be days when the nearest person to trouble isn’t your best hunter, not the pack’s best fighter, and not someone who spent their whole life preparing for that exact moment.”

For a moment, they were all serious faces, taking in Jungkook's story. But quiet never lasted long with boys their age. They always break tension with absurdity.

Soobin suddenly raised his hand, dead serious. “So… if the nearest person to trouble isn’t the best fighter, that means Yejoon’s in charge, right?”

The tension shattered into laughter. Even Yejoon cracked a smile, shoving Soobin’s shoulder with affectionate exasperation.

“Pair up,” Jungkook said.

The boys scrambled to find partners. Jungkook walked the perimeter, correcting grips, adjusting stances, and stopping overly aggressive swings before someone got hurt. A week ago they’d been a mess. Now they at least looked like they knew what they were doing.

Teaching was harder than he’d expected. It required patience and attention to each student's different bodies at once, as well as the ability to explain things his own body simply knew by now.

It kept him busy, at least. It was better than sitting around thinking about the empty space at breakfast, or how Namjoon came to bed later and later each night.

They’d barely spoken in days. Three nights ago, Jungkook had found Namjoon asleep at his desk past midnight, neck bent at an angle that would hurt come morning. He touched his shoulder gently and called out his name to wake him up. Namjoon had stirred, blinked up at him with unfocused eyes, and followed him to bed without a word. They slept back to back and in the morning Namjoon was gone before dawn.

“Instructor Jungkook!” Yejoon jogged over, face bright with enthusiasm. “Can I try the rush counter? Against you?”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “You want me to put your back on the dirt?”

“Come on, I’ve been practicing!”

They closed in around the sparring space, a semicircle of dust-streaked faces and held breath. Yejoon stepped forward when Jungkook nodded, broad-shouldered and confident, still learning the patience to match his strength.

Jungkook settled into his stance, weight even, eyes tracking the small shifts in Yejoon’s shoulders that always gave him away.

Yejoon bounced once on his toes then charged. Fast and committed, shoulder dropped for impact. Jungkook sidestepped smoothly, hip turning, and used Yejoon’s own momentum to guide him past and down. The boy hit the ground with a thud and a grunt.

The other boys cheered. Yejoon rolled to his feet, grinning despite the dust on his clothes. “Again,” he said, determined. “I almost had it!”

Jungkook was about to refuse when movement caught at the edge of his sight.

Namjoon.

He came up the path with Elder Haneul and two hunters, their boots kicking loose gravel. His cloak was dusted from travel. They looked to be on their way somewhere until Namjoon slowed down.

He paused as his gaze snagged on the sparring ground. Elder Haneul kept talking, but Namjoon’s attention didn’t follow. It was fixed on Jungkook.

Their eyes met and Jungkook felt himself getting a little excited.After days of Namjoon barely looking at him over meals, of shallow conversations where Namjoon only asked surface-level things before hurrying off somewhere else. He was looking now. Here, in front of the boys. In front of the pack.

Namjoon must have known about his new responsibility. The council had assigned it publicly. But he’d never asked about the teaching. Wouldn’t an alpha be curious? Wouldn’t a husband want to know?

If Namjoon wouldn't ask, then Jungkook would show him instead.

“Alright,” Jungkook said, settling back into his stance. “Once more.”

Yejoon’s face lit up. He reset his position, bouncing on his toes again. This time would be even cleaner. Perfect form. Jungkook would demonstrate exactly why the council had chosen him for this.

Namjoon would see that Jungkook was good at this. That the pack hadn’t made a mistake putting him in charge of their youth. That he was more than just—

Yejoon charged.

Fast and committed, shoulder dropped for impact. Jungkook moved to counter, hip already turning, but his eyes slipped sideways for just a second, checking if Namjoon was still looking.

He was.

Then, Yejoon’s shoulder slammed into him.

The impact knocked the air from his lungs. Pain bloomed hot through his left side. Jungkook staggered, caught himself before he fell to the ground, but his shoulder throbbed and his pride stung worse.

Stupid. He felt fucking stupid.

Showing off like a child. Getting hurt because he wanted his husband to notice him. Because after every night of sleeping back to back and days of distance, one look from Namjoon had been enough to make him reckless.

“I'm sorry!” Yejoon’s face crumpled. “Instructor, I didn't—oh moon above, I should’ve stopped—"

“It's fine.” Jungkook forced himself upright despite the throbbing in his shoulder. “Good commitment. You followed through, Yejoon. That’s good.”

“Should we call a healer?” Hajoon asked. A few others echoed the concern.

Several of the boys were starting to smell anxious, their alpha instincts kicking in. Jungkook raised his hand and they settled.

“I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine.” He looked around at their worried faces. “Werre done for today. Cool down and dismissed.”

They dispersed reluctantly, casting worried glances back. Yejoon looked like he might cry. Jungkook made himself smile at the boy until some of the guilt eased from his face.

When they finally scattered, Jungkook stood alone in the center of the circle. The pain still bloomed under his skin, radiating down toward his elbow.

Namjoon had seen everything. He had seen him get distracted and get hurt because of it.

Perfect.

“You should have that looked at.”

Namjoon’s voice came from the edge of the yard. When Jungkook turned too quickly, sending fresh pain down his arm, his husband was already crossing toward him.

Elder Haneul and the hunters had disappeared, which he didn’t notice.

“It's not bad,” Jungkook assured, but almost defensive. “It’s probably just a bruise.”

“You're holding it wrong.” Namjoon stopped an arm’s length away. Up close, he looked more tired than Jungkook had realized. Shadows under his eyes, tension in his jaw. “May I?”

Jungkook’s pride wanted to refuse. But his shoulder hurt and some starved part of him would take any excuse for contact, even this. So he nodded.

Namjoon stepped closer. His fingers found the Jungkook shoulder and eased it back. His hands were warm, rough with calluses. He pressed carefully at the joint.

“Here?” His thumb pressed down.

Jungkook stifled a wince. “Fuck—” Jungkook bit off the curse, then admitted, “Yeah. There.”

“So it’s worse than ‘just a bruise’?”

Jungkook grimaced. “Maybe.”

“The joint took the shock.” Namjoon’s fingers moved lower, assessing. “Could be worse. Ginger salve will help. Also, you should compress it with cold cloth.”

His touch was careful but impersonal. Like Jungkook was any pack member who needed tending, not his husband who just got hurt. Jungkook felt the distance in it.

“You were distracted,” Namjoon said.

“Well,” Jungkook cleared his throat, “for a moment."

“That's not like you.” Namjoon's gaze flicked up.

“Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Not you.” Namjoon said it with certainty. “Not in the five sessions I’ve seen.”

Five sessions?

Five sessions. Namjoon had been here five times and Jungkook didn’t know. He never caught the scent of almond, never felt eyes on him the way he did now. Had he really been that absorbed in teaching? Or had Namjoon stayed far enough back that his scent never reached the training ground?

Guilt pricked at him. He had assumed Namjoon didn’t care, that the teaching was just another detail in his husband’s periphery. But if Namjoon had cared enough to watch, why hadn't he mentioned it?

Namjoon’s scent suddenly shifted. The light almond sweetness deepened into something darker and richer. Like roasted almonds with caramelized sugar. His alpha scent turned possessive, and Jungkook’s omega responded to it involuntarily. He felt a flutter low in his belly and the urge to lean closer.

“So, you were watching,” he said. His voice came out too breathless.

“I saw.” Two words that shouldn't have affected him this much, but it made his omega preens with pride.

Namjoon’s fingers slid down his arm, slow enough that it couldn’t be mistaken for an assessment anymore. Jungkook’s skin heated under the touch.

“You smell like them,” Namjoon said, leaning closer. His nose skimmed along Jungkook’s collar. “The boys.”

Jungkook’s throat felt tight. “It’s bound to happen since we were sparring.”

“I know.” Namjoon’s jaw flexed, teeth working behind closed lips. “Instinct doesn’t care what I know.”

Jungkook’s omega that usually stayed quiet now pressed close to the surface, preening at the thought of his alpha being jealous and possessive. He tried to push it down but it clung stubbornly.

“It’s just teaching, Namjoon.”

“I didn’t ask you to explain.” Namjoon’s thumb settled into the crease of Jungkook’s inner elbow, pressing slowly into the thin skin there. “I’m not accusing you.”

The training ground had emptied long ago. It was just them and the wind by then, moving through the pines in long sweeps. Namjoon stood close enough that Jungkook could track each inhale, could smell how his scent had changed. It filled Jungkook’s lungs and made his thoughts slow and syrupy.

“Namjoon,” he managed. The name left his mouth like surrender.

The careful mask Namjoon always wore cracks, just enough to show the strain underneath. His hand moved from Jungkook’s elbow to his waist, fingers pressing briefly into the fabric there, then lower, against the skin where his shirt had ridden up.

Namjoon’s eyes dropped to Jungkook’s throat. His other cradled the nape of Jungkook’s neck, fingers pressing gently into the muscle there. The touch was a question. And Jungkook’s answer was to tilt his head, baring the line of his throat. 

His scent rose. Warm plum-sweet, desperate and wanting.

Namjoon didn’t wait. His nose found the hollow beneath Jungkook’s ear, inhaling his scent like a drowning man breaking the surface.

Jungkook’s legs turned unreliable. The ground felt farther away than it should. Namjoon’s hand came up fast, gripping his hip to keep him upright. Heat spread through Jungkook’s abdomen, radiating outward in concentric rings. His fingers found Namjoon’s cloak and twisted it tight.

Namjoon’s nose dragged along his scent gland. Mapping it. Then his mouth opened and the first touch of tongue against sensitive skin punched a gasp out of Jungkook’s lungs. His fingers spasmed in the fabric he held.

“Wait—” His voice shook badly. “Namjoon, anyone could—the boys might—”

Namjoon licked again, slower this time, and the words died in Jungkook’s throat. It came out as a sound instead, high and breathy. His vision blurred soft at the edges. The gentle scrape of teeth against his gland sent electricity down his spine, making his toes curl in his boots.

“They could come back,” Jungkook tried again, but it came unconvincing even to his ears.

Namjoon made a noise against his skin. A warning mixed with a plea before he hauled him forward. Jungkook’s body met his with no space between. Chest to chest, hip to hip. He could feel Namjoon’s heart racing, could feel the hard evidence of his arousal, and his own body responded with a rush of heat so sudden his knees nearly buckled again.

Slick gathered between his thighs. He’d been around other alphas before. He had sparred with them, worked alongside them, spent his heat with a heat partner, but none of them had ever made his body react like this.

Jungkook bit down on his lip, trying to stay quiet, but a whimper escaped anyway. “Please—”

Namjoon’s mouth lifted from his throat.

Cold air hit wet skin and Jungkook shuddered hard, a sound of protest catching in his throat before he could stop it. His whole body felt strung too tight, wound up and left hanging. But Namjoon stayed close. His nose pressed back into Jungkook’s neck, breathing him in one more time.

“Jungkook.” He let out a shaky breath. “I—”

Pupils vast and consuming until awareness filtered back through. Jungkook saw the exact moment he lost him. He saw Namjoon’s control rebuild itself piece by careful piece, saw the distance return to his expression even as his body stayed close.

“I can’t.” Namjoon’s hands loosened. “I can't do this.”

“What?” Jungkook still wouldn’t let go of him. “Namjoon—”

“I can’t do this. Not where anyone walking past could see us. Not because you got hurt and my instincts—” He stopped. “I lost control, I’m sorry.”

The space between them opened up again, cold and wide. Jungkook’s throat still tingled, his body still humming with want that had nowhere to go. “It’s fine,” Jungkook said. “Instincts seem to be the only part of you that still wants me.”

Namjoon flinched like he’d been slapped.

“It’s not about you.” Namjoon dragged both hands down his face, breathing hard through his nose. “It’s about me not trusting myself. About which part of me is making decisions right now.”

“Maybe I’d rather be wanted for the wrong reason than not at all.”

Namjoon’s composure broke, leaving his expression bare. Want tangled with fear and guilt carved deep. “Don’t,” he said, barely audible. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why?” Jungkook asked. “Because it’s true?”

The alpha turned his head away. His hand came up to scrub across his mouth, as if he could erase the taste of Jungkook there and hated himself for wanting to keep it. Like he was trying to erase evidence of the moment he’d lost control. Of the only moment Jungkook had felt wanted in weeks.

“I’ll get the salve,” he said finally. “From the healer. And soap. Stronger soap. For the scent. Go home and hydrate yourself while you wait.”

Soap to wash away alpha scent from the boys, yes. But also to strip away Jungkook's own sweetness, to remove any trigger that might make Namjoon's control slip again. [this is jungkook’s insecure brain speaking]

"Fine," Jungkook sighed, feeling defeated.

Namjoon heard what lived underneath the words. Jungkook watched Namjoon force himself not to react to it.

“Jungkook,” Namjoon began, and stopped, stranded halfway between explanation and apology.

Jungkook rescued them both by tipping his chin toward the path that should take his husband to the healer's hall. “Go. I’ll have to gather a few things first.”

Namjoon’s mouth opened, closed. Searching for words that might …. "I'll be back," he said finally.

Namjoon turned and walked away. When the pine shade swallowed him, Jungkook released the breath he'd been holding. His hand came up, palm covering the wet place on his neck where Namjoon's mouth had been.

The skin there throbbed. Evidence that would fade by the time Namjoon gave him that soap that stripped him bare of the alpha’s scent there.

🐺

Jimin’s hands were steady as he spread the salve over Jungkook’s shoulder. The ointment felt cool at first, almost soothing, then heat bloomed underneath as it sank into bruised tissue.

“Namjoon said it was bruised deep,” Jimin commented, fingers working in careful circles. “He asked me to check it immediately before the swelling sets in. Good thing I wasn’t busy with other patients.”

Jungkook hummed but didn’t say anything else. Jimin’s hands paused, waiting, maybe hoping Jungkook would elaborate. When he didn’t, the healer resumed his work. “He’s meeting with another pack delegation. I’m not sure which one, though. They arrived about an hour ago.”

Jungkook flexed his fingers, watching tendons shift beneath skin. “Right.”

A knock came at the door.

“Come in,” Jungkook called out.

“Oh good, you're alive.” Hoseok stepped inside, pausing to close the door behind him before making his way over.

Jimin shot him a look as he smoothed the last of the salve over Jungkook’s shoulder. “He’s bruised and exhausted, Hoseok. Maybe skip the jokes for once.”

Hoseok lifted both hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. How bad?”

“Not terrible,” Jimin said, pressing a square of clean linen over the salve and securing it with a strip of cloth tied at Jungkook's shoulder. “The bruise will fade in a few days. The strain might last longer, though.”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to be.” Jimin sat back on his heels and decided not to argue which Jungkook appreciated.

“Elder Haneul sent word.” Hoseok pulled a sealed message from his satchel. The council’s mark was pressed into the wax. “Council wants you to join the meeting tomorrow afternoon.”

Jungkook's stomach dropped. “The full council?”

“Every last one of them.” Hoseok handed over the invitation.

“But for what?”

“My best guess? They want to discuss the training program. They’ll probably want you to expand the program. Take on more students, develop a formal curriculum, sacrifice your remaining free time to the great god of Pack Improvement.”

Jimin made a sympathetic sound as he packed away his supplies. “Councils do love making more work for people who are already working.”

“It's their primary function,” Hoseok agreed. “That and eating all the good food at gatherings before anyone else gets to it.”

Despite everything, Jungkook’s mouth twitched into an almost smile. “Sometimes I can't believe you’re their liaison.”

“As long as they don’t hear what I say when I’m not liaising.” Hoseok grinned, then his expression sobered slightly. “Namjoon will be there too. He sits in on all major sessions. You know that, right?”

Of course he knew that. He also knew what it meant. He will have to sit in the same room as his husband while the elders evaluate his work, while Namjoon maintained that careful professional distance, while Jungkook had to pretend his alpha’s mouth hadn’t been on his throat at the training ground.

“At least they’re noticing your work.” Jimin patted him gently on the back. “That's something.”

“I guess,” Jungkook responded curtly.

Hoseok studied him for a long moment. “Are you okay?”

“The shoulder’s fine.”

“Not what I asked.”

Jungkook’s fingers found the edge of the bandage, pressing until the ache sharpened. “I will be fine.”

The silence that followed said neither of them believed him, but they were kind enough not to press.

“You want company tonight?” Jimin asked. “I was planning to eat dinner with Taehyung. He’s cooking a new mushroom recipe.

“Oh dear.” Hoseok grimaced.

“Taehyung’s cooking isn’t that bad,” Jimin protested.

“You’re biased because you have a soft spot on him.”

“Maybe, but you liked his berry pie.”

“I did like his pie.” Hoseok admitted. “But his savory dishes are questionable. He experiments too much.”

“He promised he wouldn’t this time.” Jimin looked at Jungkook with gentle encouragement. “You should come. Better than sitting here alone.”

Jungkook shook his head. The thought of sitting through dinner, of making conversation, of pretending to be present when his mind kept circling back to Namjoon—it felt impossible. “I’m tired. I should rest before tomorrow.”

“Alright. But if you change your mind, you know where Taehyung’s den is.”

“Get some rest,” Hoseok added. He squeezed Jungkook’s uninjured shoulder once then headed for the door.

Jimin followed, pausing at the threshold to look back. “I can smell your scent, Jungkook. You know you can talk to me, right? You already did once. Come to me if you want a listening ear, okay?”

Then they were gone. The door closed with a soft click that somehow made the den feel larger. Like the space had expanded to accommodate all the things Jungkook wasn’t saying.

The salve had fully dried, leaving behind a faint medicinal scent that mixed with the ever-present ghost of almond in the den. Jungkook flexed his shoulder once, testing the range of motion. Pain flared, sharp but manageable, then settled into a dull throb.

Physical pain, he could handle it. He’d been handling it many times in his life. But the ache in his chest at the thought of Namjoon pulling away again, was different. That rested deeper, somewhere bruises couldn’t show.

In a few hours, Namjoon would come back. He’d check on the shoulder because that was his duty as Jungkook’s alpha. Maybe talk about the pack representative he met. He wouldn’t bring up what happened at the training ground. He wouldn’t  acknowledge how his body had made it clear exactly what he wanted, even if his words had tried to take it back.

And Jungkook would smile like none of it mattered.

Chapter Text

The cushion wasn’t comfortable. Jungkook shifted his weight and his shoulder sent a sharp pulse of pain up his neck. He kept his spine straight anyway, hands folded in his lap and gaze respectfully lowered. Empty tea cups sat at each elder's right hand. A wooden bowl of dried apricots sat untouched in the center.

Elder Haneul sat directly across from him, silver braid draped over one shoulder like a rope of moonlight. Elder Joowon was next to her, watching him with an unreadable expression, fingers steepled beneath his chin. Three other elders he recognized but couldn't name filled the remaining seats.

The Pack Alpha sat off to the side with his arms crossed. His hair had more silver than his son’s. Jungkook could count on one hand the conversations they had. Each time, the man’s voice had made his spine want to curve, his head wanted to drop. His instinct responded to an alpha who expected submission. It was like being scolded by his own father, except this one held more power over his life now.

Namjoon sat next to his father. Posture straight as a blade, face carefully blank. He was looking at Elder Joowon, not at Jungkook. In fact, he hadn’t looked at Jungkook since the meeting started.

“We’ve heard about your work with the young hunters,” Elder Haneul said when the topic had moved to recent pack improvements. “Five.. or was it six sessions now? The boys speak well of you. They say you teach them well.”

“And we haven’t forgotten the rescue at the river,” Elder Joowon’s smile deepened the line around his mouth. “Good instincts.”

“Thank you.” Jungkook bowed his head in gratitude. Murmurs of approval rippled through the other elders like wind through tall grass.

“We wanted to ask your opinion on training gaps,” Elder Joowon continued. “And discuss your role going forward. How we might best use your skills for the pack's benefit.”

“Yes, Elder. I’m happy to help however I can.”

They asked about the training first. What curriculum he was using, how he structured the sessions. Elder Joowon wanted specifics of how much time he spent on defense versus offense, whether he was teaching them tracking, how he handled different skill levels.

Jungkook explained his approach. How he taught conditioning, building stamina, teaching proper breathing, sparring, throws, and counters. He paired stronger students with weaker ones but rotated partners frequently so no one developed dependencies.

“There’s a recent incident at the ridge,” Elder Haneul said. “A young scout pushed himself too hard on a rainy day and got injured. Could your training have prevented that?”

“Possibly,” Jungkook said. “If he had recognized his own exhaustion earlier. I teach them to monitor themselves so they know their own limits.”

“And practical experience?” Another elder asked. “Taking them beyond the settlement, into real territory?”

“Eventually.” Jungkook kept his tone respectful but firm. “Field training is important, but foundation comes first. They need to be competent in controlled settings before someone takes them anywhere unpredictable.”

“How long?” the Pack Alpha asked.

“Two months minimum. When I’m confident they can maintain discipline under stress and won’t panic if separated from the group.”

“Isn’t that too long?” The Pack Alpha’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“It’s necessary.” Jungkook met his gaze briefly before lowering his own as a show of respect. “They’re young. Overconfidence is dangerous and they need to be cautious.”

The elders seemed satisfied with that. They asked more questions, voices overlapping occasionally. About session frequency, which boys showed the most potential, and whether he needed additional equipment or access to different training grounds. The discussion went on for nearly an hour. Jungkook answered each question carefully, aware of Namjoon sitting silently to the side. A few times he glanced over, hoping to see approval or pride in his husband’s face. But Namjoon’s expression remained neutral, attention fixed on whoever was speaking.

“You’ve shown yourself strong.” Elder Haneul’s voice suddenly became even more formal. “Strong in body, mind, and spirit. It’s rare in an omega.”

The shift in tone caught Jungkook off guard. That last sentence, it's rare in an omega, sat wrong in his chest.

“We chose you for many reasons, Jungkook. Your lineage is strong. Your father’s pack produces capable warriors. Your mother’s line has given birth to many healthy pups. Strong alphas, clever betas, resilient omegas. And you… Well, your training was unconventional, but it proved you have discipline.”

Jungkook’s gaze flicked to the Pack Alpha, who nodded once in agreement.

“Strength was important in our decision. Physical strength, yes, but also character. The ability to bear hardship. To endure and bring forth the next generation with the same resilience you’ve shown.”

A bad feeling settled in Jungkook’s stomach. He knew where this was going.

“We’re practical people. A strong omega makes strong heirs. The pups you bear will carry your strength and intelligence. Combined with Namjoon’s lineage…” Elder Haneul’s smile widened, revealing her perfect set of teeth. “The pack takes comfort knowing the future stands on a good foundation.”

A bad feeling settled in Jungkook’s stomach like spoiled meat. He knew where this was going. He knew this talk would come eventually. Everyone married to power hears about heirs. But hearing it stated so bluntly, that his worth was measured by what he could produce, made his blood run hot beneath his skin.

He breathed in through his nose. Slow and deep. Out through his mouth. The way he taught the boys when things got overwhelming.

“Elder,” he said, keeping his voice carefully even, “I hope to be useful to the pack in many ways.”

Elder Haneul nodded. “You already are.”

“And we hope,” Elder Joowon added, leaning forward slightly, “when the time is right, to celebrate new life. The six-month mark approaches. I’m sure you’re aware.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “That is what omega bodies are for, yes? Bearing life. Nurturing it. The pack will rejoice when you fulfill that main purpose. What we agreed upon with your family pack back home before you two married.”

Heat flooded Jungkook’s face, burning from his neck to his hairline. His fingers curled tighter on top of his thighs, nails biting crescents into his palms hard enough to hurt. The urge to say something that would slice through the smug certainty in Elder Joowon’s voice, pressed against his teeth like a caged animal. But he forced it down hard, determined to not show any of it in his expression.

So Jungkook smiled.

“I was under the impression that my worth was not measured by a single organ.”

Reactions rippled through the room. Someone gasped. Another elder choked on their tea, coughing violently into their fist. A strangled laugh came from somewhere to his left before it was quickly stifled. Namjoon’s gaze finally found him. Jungkook felt it but didn’t look back.

Elder Joowon’s face didn’t change. His expression remained controlled. “Your worth is measured by what you bring to the whole. At present, that’s teaching. But it also includes other contributions. Like bearing a child, continuing the bloodline, and securing succession.”

Jungkook felt his fingers going numb from how hard he’s holding himself back.

“We are not patient forever.” Elder Joowon’s smile never wavered, as if his entire speech hadn’t just reduced Jungkook to breeding stock.

“With respect, the other contributions require partnership. Two people participating equally. I cannot produce an heir alone, regardless of how strong my body is.”

The murmurs this time were almost scandalized, hissing through the room like steam. One elder made a disapproving sound deep in his throat. Another shifted in her seat, looking uncomfortable while she stole glances at Namjoon, then at the Pack Alpha, as if unsure where to direct her discomfort.

The Pack Alpha’s eyes sharpened like broken glass. “You have a sharp tongue for someone so newly joined to this pack.” Then his gaze cut sideways, dismissive and cold. “Namjoon.”

“Yes, father?”

“Are you going to handle your omega, or do I need to?”

Jungkook finally looked at Namjoon. He looked tense. Maybe even angry. But no one in that council room had any right to be angrier than Jungkook, who’d just sat through elders discussing his body like they owned it.

“We appreciate the elders’ concerns. The stability of the pack requires clear succession. I acknowledge that it’s an important matter.”

Jungkook almost wanted to throw up. Of course. Of course Namjoon would side with his pack. With his father. With tradition and stability and everything that mattered more than his own husband's autonomy.

“We intend to continue what we’re doing in the present. The rest will follow in its proper time.”

The rest. Two words that encompassed everything they hadn’t done yet. The mating bite that would seal their bond permanently. Heirs. Consummation. The physical intimacy that Namjoon kept pulling away from.

Namjoon hadn’t defended him and said his omega is a person with autonomy. He just smoothed things over with diplomatic language that promised nothing and protected no one specifically.

“Discipline your household, then.” The Pack Alpha’s glare could have stripped the paint from the walls. “Your omega speaks boldly. The council will read it as lax authority. Too much freedom of tongue and too little respect for hierarchy.”

Discipline your household.

A reminder that no matter how strong Jungkook was, he was still omega. Still subject to his alpha’s authority. No matter what good he brought to the pack, he was still expected to bow his head and accept whatever scraps of dignity they allowed him to keep.

Jungkook’s breathing went shallow. “I apologize for any disrespect, Alpha. I spoke out of turn. It won’t happen again.”

The lie tasted bitter as poison on his tongue, burning all the way down.

They talked more after that. Elder Haneul brought up a proposed alliance with a neighboring pack. A marriage between one of their alphas and an omega pack member here. It was a girl barely past her second heat, someone mentioned, as if that detail didn't make Jungkook’s skin crawl. Someone else mentioned food stores, whether they had enough preserved meat and grain to last through the predicted harsh season. Finally the Pack Alpha discussed adding more scouts to the border patrols where there were increasing sightings of rogue wolves .

Jungkook couldn’t focus on any of it. The words washed over him like water, meaningless sounds that slid past without sticking. His hands stayed folded in his lap, not uttering a single word after that. But inside, he was fuming with rage so hot it felt like it might consume him from the inside out and burn through his skin.

Finally the Pack Alpha dismissed him with a wave of his hand, casual as swatting a fly. “We're done here. Jungkook, you may go. Continue your good work with the young ones.”

Jungkook rose to his feet, movements fluid despite the anger making his muscles shake. He bowed to the council, then to the Pack Alpha, the gesture perfunctory. He didn’t look at Namjoon as he turned and walked out.

Outside, the air hit his lungs too fast. He gulped it down, hands shaking at his sides. His vision blurred with unshed tears. Or maybe it was rage, he couldn't tell anymore. Both, maybe. Probably both.

He followed the path to his den without conscious thought, his body moving on muscle memory alone. He resisted the instinct to run. But he couldn’t afford the attention or the whispers that might follow. So he walked on with his head low and fists tightening at his sides as he slipped through the settlement’s winding paths, until his den came into view.

People passed him and greeted him. He nodded, smiled, and kept moving. Let them think everything was fine. Let them see the future Pack Alpha's omega, composed and graceful. Let them not see the way his scent had gone sour and sharp, the bitter edge of burnt plum that meant distress.

By the time he pushed through the den door, his composure was hanging by a thread. He stood in the center of the room and tried to breathe, tried to calm the acrid scent of his anger before it seeped into the walls and announced his humiliation to anyone who passed by outside.

He hadn’t realized Namjoon was right behind him until the sound of the door shutting made him flinch and turn.

“Jungkook.”

“No.” Jungkook held up a hand, palm out. “I need to say something first.”

Namjoon looked like he was about to speak, then thought better of it.

“You let them talk about me like a… Like a vessel!  Like my only value is what I can produce, what I can give birth to.” Jungkook paced around the room like if he stopped moving the anger would eat him alive.

“The elders care about succession more than we—”

“You let your father tell you to discipline me!” Jungkook cut him off, turning sharply. “What am I, a misbehaving pup? Something to control rather than someone to respect?”

Namjoon's scent took on a bitter note. Jungkook's eyes burned. Even now, even angry, the smell of his husband's distress made him want to cry.

Namjoon’s scent soured, bitter as ash. Jungkook ran a trembling hand through his hair. “And you spoke ‘of the rest’ like I’m some task you’re postponing. Like I’m one more responsibility to manage and you’ll be glad when it’s over.”

“I can’t challenge the council in public. It undermines my authority. It creates instability—”

“Everything creates instability with you!” Jungkook took a step forward, chin up, refusing to be cowed even though Namjoon towered over him. “Being honest creates instability. Defending me creates instability. Showing I’m more than a political alliance creates instability. When does it end, Namjoon? When do I matter more than appearances?”

“You matter,” Namjoon’s voice came out low but strained. “I didn’t speak up because it wouldn’t have helped. It would have made a spectacle. I didn’t want to turn you into a point of contention. Something for them to pick apart and debate. That would have made everything worse for you.”

Jungkook let out a short, disbelieving laugh and paced away. “And what am I now? A symbol you parade? A womb they assess for breeding potential? Tell me, alpha, what’s the difference?”

“No.” Namjoon’s voice cracked. “A partner I’m—” He stopped, exhaling hard. “I’m failing you. A person I’m trying not to hurt but apparently keeps disappointing. I don’t know what to do, Jungkook. I’ve never had a relationship in my life. I wasn’t ready for marriage. I’m—fuck, I’m truly scared and I don’t know how to fix any of it.”

“And you think I wasn’t?” Jungkook shot back, voice rising. “I don’t know anything about marriage either. But I tried to make things work. I understand your fear because I’m scared too. But why is it only me who’s brave enough to challenge that fear? Why am I the only one trying?”

“You think I’m not trying?” Namjoon’s voice rose to match his. ”I’m trying every day not to fail the pack, not to fail my father’s expectation, not to fail you.” His voice wavered. “I’m trying to be what everyone needs and… God, now I feel like I’m failing all of it.”

“Then stop trying to be what everyone needs!” Jungkook's chest heaved. “Just try being my husband a little bit more. Spend time with me. Talk to me. Treat me like I’m—”

“I can’t just shut that part of me off.” Namjoon dragged a hand down his face, looking suddenly exhausted. “The pack depends on me, so the pack is my priority. That’s what I was raised to do from the time I could walk. I’ve spent my whole life being told that duty comes before everything, even love. I keep thinking that if I can get everything under control, my father, the council demands, the pack… Then I’ll finally have time for us. But it never works out that way. There’s always another crisis and another urgent responsibility. I don’t know how to be a good leader and a good husband at the same time, but I'm trying. I swear I’m trying. You have to believe that I want to.”

“You keep saying you’re trying.” Jungkook;s laugh was brittle. ”What does that even mean, Namjoon? Tell me. What have you done that you think counts as trying?”

Namjoon looked taken aback. “The bridge,” he finally said. “That day I asked you to walk with me. I thought it would be good for us, to spend time together, to be seen as—”

“As what?” Jungkook cut in. “As proof of a stable marriage? Because you told me the council wanted us seen in public more. You said it was for appearances.”

Namjoon sighed. “That’s not all it was.”

“Then what was it? Because when I asked you to tell me stories that night, you didn’t. You said you’d make time, yet you didn’t come home until dawn.”

“I was working. You know that.”

“I do know that,” Jungkook huffed. “I also know you could have told me that you couldn’t. You could’ve told me we could do it another time. But the thing  is, you acted like it never happened, Namjoon. You found time for everyone but me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And then when I got hurt and you scented me… You pulled back like it was something shameful. Do you even realize what that feels like?”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he argued. “I was trying to keep my control. We were in public—”

“I know we shouldn’t have done that in public,” Jungkook interrupted. “You were right to stop. I understand that part. But what I don’t understand is why you never initiate it in the first place. Since we married, you haven’t touched me once. I feel ashamed even saying that. I know how it sounds. It’s like I’m needy, selfish, and a desperate omega. But Jimin said it’s natural. That it’s necessary for omegas to be scented and touched. And I thought maybe… that time at the training ground, you finally wanted me. I keep thinking, if you can’t love me, maybe you could at least want me. Maybe that would be enough. But then I wonder if I really want that either. Do I want you to touch me only because instinct tells you to? Because I’m convenient and available?”

“It’s not that I don’t want you. I’m just not ready. I don’t want it to feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

“Taking advantage of me?” His voice trembled. “Namjoon, I’m not some naive pup who doesn’t understand what marriage means. I know what I’m saying. I want you. I’m telling you that clearly.”

Jungkook pressed on, the words spilling out before shame could stop them. “I know it sounds selfish, but I miss being wanted. You make it sound like I’m some temptation you have to resist. Like I’m not your husband, but a test of your restraint. I’m not asking you to lose control, Namjoon. I’m not asking you to claim me in front of the pack or make some grand gesture. I’m asking you to want me back. Even just once.”

Namjoon’s temper frayed visibly. “You think it’s that simple? You think I can just unlearn everything I’ve been taught about propriety and restraint and proper behavior?”

“Yes!” Jungkook’s shout cracked through the den. “Because all that restraint feels like rejection! Every time you pull away, every time you avoid being alone with me, it feels like you don’t want me at all. I just need you to stop being so cold. To stop pretending you don’t care.”

“Just give me time—”

“You want more time. How much time, Namjoon? How long do I wait while you figure out how to care about me?”

Something shifted in Namjoon’s eyes, like a thread snapping, like the last piece of his control giving way. He stepped forward before either of them could think better of it. His hand caught Jungkook’s wrist, then his face, fingers splaying across his jaw and threading into his hair. The touch was too rough, too sudden, and almost desperate.

“Is this what you want?” He growled near Jungkook’s ear.

Jungkook didn’t have time to answer before Namjoon’s lips were on his.

The kiss was clumsy at first, almost violent in its hunger. Their teeth clashed as Namjoon’s grip tightened in his hair, tilting Jungkook’s head back at an angle that made his neck strain. Pain shot down his hurt shoulder but Jungkook froze, mind going blank with shock, and then broke open beneath it like a dam giving way. He kissed back just as hard and desperate. His fingers curled in Namjoon’s robes, fabric bunching in his fists as he dragged him closer.

It should have felt like relief. Like finally, he got what he had been begging for.

But it didn’t.

Namjoon kissed him like he was trying to prove something. Like this was an answer to an argument. His mouth moved against Jungkook’s with bruising intensity, tongue pushing past his lips, claiming space without asking permission. Jungkook could feel every line of him, the hard press of his arousal, and the rough path of his hand sliding down to where slick trailed along his thigh.

Jungkook tried to chase the warmth, tried to sink into it and believe this meant something. That his alpha finally wanted him. He kissed back with everything he had, pouring months of loneliness and longing into it, trying to make Namjoon feel even a fraction of what he felt.

But the more Namjoon kissed him, the more it felt wrong. There was hunger, yes. Desperation. Need that made Namjoon’s hands shake where they gripped him. But there was no tenderness. He didn’t feel any care or sense that Namjoon truly wanted him. It felt like Namjoon was trying to silence something. To shut Jungkook up with his mouth since words hadn’t worked.

Namjoon’s teeth caught Jungkook’s bottom lip, sharp enough to sting. The kiss turned more demanding, more aggressive. He walked Jungkook backward until his spine hit the wall behind him. The impact drove the breath from Jungkook’s lungs. Namjoon followed him, pressing close, one thigh sliding between Jungkook’s legs.

This was supposed to be what Jungkook wanted. What he had been asking for. His husband’s hands on him, his mouth hungry and insistent. But it felt like being devoured instead of desired.

Jungkook’s lungs burned. He couldn’t breathe properly with Namjoon’s weight against him. He couldn’t think past the overwhelming sensation of being consumed. His scent gland throbbed where Namjoon’s fingers pressed against his throat, not quite threatening but close enough to make alarm bells ring in the back of his mind.

“Stop—” The word came out muffled against Namjoon’s mouth. “Please stop.”

Namjoon didn’t hear him. Or maybe he did and couldn’t stop, lost in whatever was driving him to prove this point, to show Jungkook he could want him if that’s what Jungkook needed.

“Alpha, stop.” Jungkook turned his head to the side, breaking the kiss. “Please.”

Namjoon froze. His breathing was ragged, chest heaving against Jungkook’s. His hands and fingers were trembling. His pupils were blown wide, lips swollen and red. He looked wrecked. Almost pPanicked.

“I’m sorry. Oh moon and heavens above. This is why. This is why I… I can’t control it. I told you I wasn’t ready because when I—” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry, Jungkook.”

“Namjoon…” Jungkook tried to hold back his tears.

Namjoon’s scent had gone sharp with distress. “This is exactly what I was afraid of. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I shouldn’t have—” Namjoon’s hands finally fell away completely, dropping to his sides like dead weight. He looked at them like they belonged to someone else, like he couldn’t believe what they did. “See, I told you you don't know what you want. You should’ve listened to me!”

That did it. The tears came fast. They streaked hot down his cheeks, dripping off his jaw. “Don’t say that. Don’t tell me what I feel. Don’t tell me I’m confused or… or that I couldn’t think for myself! You think I don’t know the difference between being wanted and being used to win an argument?”

“You really thought I did that just so I could win an argument?”

More tears fell. Jungkook didn’t bother wiping them away anymore. “I need you to go.”

Namjoon didn’t move at first. He stood there, looking at Jungkook like he wanted to reach out but didn’t know how anymore.

“Please.” Jungkook begged. “I can’t look at you right now.”

For a long moment, Namjoon just stood there. His scent was painful to breathe. He headed towards the door, and looked back at Jungkook once more.

“I will sleep somewhere else.”

Then he left, pulling the door closed behind him.

Jungkook stayed where he was against the wall, legs shaking too badly to hold him up properly. Everything hurt. His shoulder throbbed from being pressed into the wall. His scent gland ached where Namjoon’s fingers had pressed too hard. But worse than all of that was his heart, which felt like it had been pulled apart thread by thread until what remained was too damaged to be called whole.

He slid down the wall slowly until he was sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest. He pressed his fingers to his mouth where Namjoon’s kiss still burned. He buried his face in his knees and let himself break apart in the privacy of their empty den.

He thought about his father and mother, who’d kissed his forehead the morning he left and whispered don't let them make you feel worthless.

He just failed them. Jungkook had sat in that council meeting and let them make him feel exactly that.

He stayed on the floor until the worst of the crying passed, until his tears dried on his cheeks and his breathing evened out. How much longer could he keep doing this? He wondered what would come first, Namjoon’s walls crumbling or his own spirit breaking against them?

Right now, sitting alone on the floor of their den with the ghost of a kiss and the memory of apologies ringing hollow in his ears, Jungkook was terrified he already knew the answer.

Chapter Text

The morning sun was too bright. Jungkook squinted against it as he made his way through the settlement, each step sending a fresh pulse of pain through his skull. The headache had started sometime during the night, or maybe it had been there for days and he’d only just now stopped being able to ignore it. A dull, persistent throb behind his eyes that made the world feel slightly off-kilter, sounds too loud, and light too sharp.

He’d woken before dawn in an empty den. Again. Four days in a row now since the fight. Four days of Namjoon not coming home at all. They had been avoiding each other; thankfully, Jungkook hadn’t been called for another council meeting. They’d only crossed paths briefly, both too absorbed in their own duties. If anyone in the pack had noticed the rift, they kept it to themselves.

Jungkook had stopped hoping. It was easier that way. Less painful to expect nothing than to keep reaching for something that wasn’t there.

The pack grounds were already busy when he stepped out. He had promised the young hunters he’d run drills with them this afternoon, but that was hours away. Right now, he just needed something for this headache before it split his skull open.

A few people sat on the steps of the Healer’s Hall waiting their turn, one of them holding a pup with a scraped knee. The scent of herbs and damp linen drifted out through the open door. Someone inside was coughing and another groaned softly.

He pushed through the entrance and stopped.

The hall was a bit chaotic. Three small cots had been set up near the windows, each occupied by a feverish pup. More children sat on benches along the wall, waiting to get checked. Parents hovered anxiously. And in the center of it all, was Jimin.

Jimin glanced up when Jungkook entered, the stress on his face easing into concern almost immediately. Jungkook guessed he must’ve looked worse than he thought. He usually made an effort to look put together, but the headache and lack of sleep had finally done their work.

“Jungkook.” He finished wrapping a poultice around a pup’s throat and stood, wiping his hands on his apron. “You look terrible.”

“Good morning to you too.” He smiled, and immediately regretted it as his headache flared.

Jimin’s frown deepened. “Are you sick? You must’ve not slept at all last night!”

“How—” Jungkook started, then stopped. What was the point of lying to a healer? “I came for something for a headache.”

Jimin’s brows drew together. He reached out, pressing the back of his hand to Jungkook’s forehead “You’re a little feverish… Sit. Let me finish with these pups first, then I’ll take a proper look at you.”

“You’re overwhelmed.” Jungkook glanced around at the chaos. “I can help. If you need it.”

Jimin looked conflicted, torn between treating Jungkook and accepting the help he clearly needed. “Are you sure? You don’t look okay.” In the end, he couldn’t bring himself to turn away an extra pair of hands. 

“I’m fine. Just tell me what to do.”

Relief washed over Jimin’s face. “Blessing of the spirits. Yes, thank you. The fever’s going around. Three more pups came in this morning. I need to prepare more willow bark tea, but I can’t leave them unattended.” He gestured to the occupied cots. “Can you sit with them? Keep them comfortable, watch for any changes?”

“Of course.”

Jimin squeezed his shoulder once, then hurried toward his workbench where dried herbs and clay vessels waited.

Jungkook moved to the nearest cot. A small girl, maybe six years old, lay curled on her side. Her cheeks were flushed with fever, dark hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. She blinked up at him with glassy eyes.

“Hello,” Jungkook said softly, kneeling beside the cot so he was at her eye level. “I’m Jungkook. What’s your name?”

“Mira.” Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“That’s a pretty name.” He reached for the cloth in the basin beside her cot, wrung it out, and gently pressed it to her forehead. She sighed at the cool touch. “How are you feeling?”

“My throat hurts.”

“I know. Healer Jimin is making something that will help.” He kept his voice low and calm. “You’re going to feel better soon.”

Jungkook continued to move between the three cots, refreshing cool cloths, offering sips of water, and giving the pups reassurances. One of them, a boy with a gap-toothed smile even through his fever, grabbed Jungkook’s hand and wouldn’t let go. So Jungkook sat there, letting the child hold on, his own headache pounding relentlessly behind his eyes.

The boy’s mother approached, worry etched into every line of her face. “Thank you for helping,” she said.”I know you must have other responsibilities.”

“This is important too.” Jungkook managed a small smile. “He’s doing well. The fever’s not too high.”

She nodded, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “Will your alpha be stopping by? I’m sure the little ones would be encouraged to see him showing concern.”

Jungkook’s smile didn’t falter, but it felt like it was carved from stone. “He’s very busy with pack duties. But I’ll make sure to tell him how brave everyone is being.”

She seemed satisfied with that answer and returned to her seat along the wall.

The boy in the cot tugged on Jungkook’s hand. “Are you really going to be Pack Alpha’s omega?”

“I already am,” Jungkook said gently.

“But you don’t have the mark yet.” The boy pointed at his own neck, where a bond mark would eventually sit. “My mom says you can’t really be mates until the mark is there.”

“That comes later,” he responded, careful not to let any strong emotions appear in his tone of voice. “When the time is right.”

“My mom also says—” The boy’s voice was getting drowsy, fever and exhaustion pulling him toward sleep. “—that you and the Pack Alpha are gonna have lots of pups. Strong ones. She says that’s why they picked you.”

Jungkook felt his composure crack, just slightly. He smoothed the boy’s hair back from his forehead. “Rest now. You need your strength to fight this fever.”

The boy’s eyes drifted closed, his grip on Jungkook’s hand loosening.

Jungkook stayed there, kneeling beside a child who trusted him, in a hall full of people who expected him to fulfill a role he didn’t know if he could bear. The contrast was almost unbearable. These pups received his tender care without question. But who was caring for him? Who was checking if he was sleeping, eating, surviving the slow collapse of his marriage?

The headache pounded harder. Nausea rolled through him in a wave. He pressed his free hand to his temple and tried to breathe through it.

“Jungkook?”

He looked up to find Jimin watching him, a tray of steaming cups in his hands.

“I’m fine,” Jungkook said automatically.

“You’re not.” Jimin set the tray down and crouched beside him. “You’re pale and shaking. Also your scent—” He stopped, as if saying it out loud would make it worse. “When did you last eat?”

Jungkook tried to remember. Yesterday? The day before? Everything blurred together. “This morning.”

“Don’t lie to me. I’m a healer, not an idiot.” Jimin pouted. He helped the boy’s mother give her son the fever tea, then guided Jungkook away from the cots to a quieter corner. “Sit.”

Jungkook sat on a wooden bench, suddenly exhausted. The room spun slightly.

Jimin knelt in front of him, hands on Jungkook’s knees, forcing eye contact. “This headache, it’s not just from lack of sleep, is it? Your body is reacting to stress. You’ve lost weight. Your scent has been off for days. You’re not taking care of yourself."

“It’s just a headache,” Jungkook said again.

“Come on, you know better. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t feel sick.” Jimin squeezed his knees once.

A commotion at the door saved him from having to respond. A young messenger burst in, slightly out of breath. His eyes scanned the room and landed on Jungkook.

“Jungkook!” He hurried over, pulling a sealed letter from his satchel. “This came from the eastern territories. Your pack’s seal.”

Jungkook’s hands shook as he took the letter. The wax seal bore his family’s mark. A star pressed into deep blue wax. His name was written across the front in her mother’s elegant script.

“Thank you.”

The messenger nodded and left.

Jungkook stared at the letter in his hands. He couldn’t make his fingers work to break the seal.

“Do you want privacy?” Jimin asked.

Yes. No. He didn’t know. “It’s okay. But I need to read it now.”

“Go ahead, Jungkook.”

Jungkook broke the seal. The wax crumbled under his thumb. He unfolded the parchment with trembling hands.

My dearest Jungkook,

I hope this letter finds you well and happy in your new home. It’s been too long since we’ve heard from you. Your father pretends not to worry, but I catch him watching the road for messengers more often than he’d admit.

A pressed orchid fell from between the pages. Small and purple, the same one that grew in the fields near his childhood home. Jungkook caught it before it hit the floor.

Things here are much the same. Your sister’s pup took his first steps last week and promptly fell into a mud puddle. Your father laughed so hard he nearly choked. I wish you could have seen it.

But the real news, and I’m bursting to tell you, is about your brother. Do you remember how he and Yeonu have been courting for years? Well, they’ve finally decided to make it official. The bonding ceremony is planned for next spring. You should see how happy they are, Jungkook. Yeonu looks at your brother like he hung the moon and stars, and your brother… Well, I haven’t seen him smile like that since you used to chase each other through the orchards as pups.

Something hot and bitter twisted in Jungkook’s chest. He loved his brother and wanted him to be happy. But the ache was there anyway. His alpha brother got to choose and spend years courting someone he loved. While Jungkook had been handed to a stranger for the sake of his pack.

How are things progressing with your alpha? The six-month mark will be here before you know it. There’s been so much anticipation here about the mating ceremony. Your father received a letter from the Pack Alpha asking about traditions we’d like honored. It was very thoughtful.

I hope you’re finding happiness in your marriage, my dear. I know arranged bonds can be difficult at first. Your father and I didn’t love each other immediately either. But we were able to grow together and eventually love each other’s company. I have faith you and Namjoon will do the same.

We’re all so proud of you. Write to us soon and tell us everything.

With all my love,

Mother

Jungkook truly wanted to cry. His mother thought he was happy. She thought the bond completion was approaching naturally, and that Namjoon was planning a mating ceremony with honored traditions.

The gap between her expectations and his reality was a chasm so wide Jungkook couldn’t see across it.

How could he write back? What could he possibly say?

Dear Mother, my marriage is failing. The council sees me as breeding stock. My husband can’t stand to be in the same room as me. We fought and now he won’t come home. I’m so tired I can’t sleep, so stressed my body is shutting down.

He couldn’t write that. Couldn’t put that pain onto paper and send it home where it would hurt his family too.

“Jungkook?” Jimin must’ve sensed the change in his scent. “What’s wrong? What does it say?”

Jungkook tried to answer but the pain in his temple. The headache spiked sharp and vicious behind his eyes. He could only extend the paper to Jimin with his eyes closed.

“Breathe,” Jimin ordered. “Slow deep breaths.”

Jungkook focused on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Until finally he could opened his eyes again.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.” Jimin plucked the letter from his hands and skimmed it quickly. “Oh, Jungkook.”

“She thinks I’m happy. She thinks we’re—that everything is—”

“I know.”

“My brother is mating someone he loves. Someone he chose. And I’m here—” Jungkook took another deep breath. “I can’t write back to her. What am I supposed to say?”

Jimin set the letter aside and took both of Jungkook’s hands in his. “Tell me what happened. All of it. The truth.”

So Jungkook did. The words spilled out in a rush. He told Jimin what happened at the council meeting, Namjoon’s refusal to defend him, and the fight after. By the time he finished, his voice was hoarse and Jimin’s expression had gone through a dozen variations of fury and sympathy.

“That’s why you have a painful headache,” Jimin concluded. “Your body is under immense stress. You’re not sleeping, you’re barely eating, and you’re emotionally neglected. This isn’t sustainable, Jungkook. Your body is trying to tell you that.”

“I know.” Jungkook rubbed his temples, trying to ease the pressure. “I know, but I don’t know what to do about it. I can’t make him care. I can’t make him want this marriage to work.”

Jimin hesitated, clearly weighing whether to speak. “I actually heard... some gossip. People were gossiping about the council meeting. Words must’ve gotten out. I swear I tried stopping the pack members from gossiping, so I didn’t know the details until now. But I heard it was tense.”

Shame flooded through Jungkook.. “What are they saying?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.” Because he needed to know. He needed to understand just how exposed he was.

Jimin sighed. “They’re saying you talked back to the elders. That the Pack Alpha had to tell Namjoon to discipline you.” He said the word ’discipline’ like it tasted foul. “There’s speculation about whether the marriage is working. Whispers about whether you’re refusing to provide an heir or…” He stopped, anger flashing across his face.

“Or what?”

“Or if you’re infertile.” Jimin finished through gritted teeth. “Which is absolutely ridiculous and completely out of line, but apparently people have nothing better to do than spread cruel rumors about someone who’s done nothing but help this pack since arriving.”

Jungkook dropped his gaze, the back of his throat stinging. He blinked once, twice, until the blur faded. “Okay,” he said, voice too thin to sound convincing.

“Some are also saying you’re too proud for your own good. That you should be grateful for the match and stop causing problems.”

“I see.” Jungkook mumbled. “So the whole pack thinks I’m either a disobedient omega who refuses his alpha, or a broken one who can’t give him heirs.”

“The whole pack is full of idiots who don’t know what they’re talking about.” Jimin squeezed his hands. “You weren’t wrong to speak up. The elders were completely out of line.”

“Doesn’t matter if I was right.” Jungkook pulled his hands away, wrapping his arms around himself. “I’m still the one being punished for it.”

“Then they’re punishing the wrong person.”

Jungkook looked up at that, surprised by the vehemence in Jimin’s voice.

“The elders see omegas as one thing,” Jimin said. “Breeders. Caregivers. Soft things to be protected and controlled. You’re challenging that just by teaching those boys to fight, by being competent and strong and refusing to fit into their neat little box. Of course they’re uncomfortable. You’re forcing them to see that maybe their whole understanding of omegas is flawed.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

Jimin’s smile was wry. “I’ve been pressured too. About staying unmated, about ’wasting time’ on healing work and research instead of finding an alpha and settling down. About how my skills would be better used caring for pups alone than treating injuries.” His expression softened. “Taehyung tells them to mind their own business. He’s good at that… at not caring about what people think. I’m trying to learn from him.”

“It’s hard not to care, at the end of the day.”

“You’re right. But you’re not alone, Jungkook. You have friends here who see your worth.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” Jimin stood, brushing off his apron. “Come. You need to eat. You need company. And I need to get you something for that headache before you collapse.”

“I can just take the medicine, Jimin.”

“No arguments. The pups are stable and their parents are here. I can ask another healer to take my spot for a little while. You’re coming with me.”

Jungkook didn’t have the energy to protest. He let Jimin guide him out of the Healer’s Hall and toward the communal eating area. They found a quiet spot under a large oak tree, away from the main clusters of people. Jimin pressed a bowl into Jungkook’s hands. The menu was stew for today. It was still warm, the scent of meat and vegetables rising with the steam.

“Eat.” Jimin sat beside him with his own bowl. “I’m not letting you leave until that’s empty.”

Jungkook picked up the spoon. His appetite had vanished days ago, but he forced himself to take a bite. Then another. Jimin was right, his body needed this, even if his mind couldn’t care less about food.

“What if this is my life now?” Jungkook heard himself say. “What if it never gets better?”

Jimin set down his bowl. “Have you tried talking to him again?”

“How can I? He won’t even come home.” Jungkook stared into his stew. “And maybe... maybe I should’ve been more patient. But the council is pressuring me too. How am I supposed to be patient when everyone is waiting and judging?"

“You’re not responsible for fixing this alone,” Jimin said firmly. “Marriage is two people. He needs to meet you halfway.”

“But he won’t. And I’m tired of waiting for him to decide I’m worth the effort.”

Jimin opened his mouth to respond, but his gaze caught on something over Jungkook’s shoulder. His expression shifted into surprise.

“What?” Jungkook started to turn.

“Don’t look,” Jimin said quickly. “It’s your husband.”

Jungkook’s whole body went rigid. His hand clenched around the spoon. “Where?”

“Getting food. Near the serving area. He hasn’t seen us yet.”

Jungkook turned his head despite Jimin’s earlier warning not to. Across the room, Namjoon stood with a bowl in his hand. Their eyes met before either could look away.

Namjoon looked exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes, hair not quite as neat as usual. He looked like he hadn’t slept either.

“Namjoon! Come join us. You should eat properly, not just grab something on the run.”

Jimin, bless him, was clearly trying to give them a chance to talk.

Namjoon’s mouth pressed into a thin line. He glanced at Jungkook, then dropped his gaze. “I can’t. The resource distribution assessment needs to be completed soon and I’m already behind schedule.” He tried to smile at Jimin. “I’m leaving in ten minutes.”

Jungkook almost wanted to laugh at the irony of it all. Namjoon couldn’t spare even ten minutes to sit and eat lunch with him.

“Take care of yourself, please.” Namjoon said, this time to Jungkook.

What? Had he been watching? Asking about Jungkook while avoiding actually talking to him? Before Jungkook could process that, Namjoon turned and walked away. Within moments, he’d disappeared around a building.

“Jungkook,” Jimin said softly.

“It’s okay.”

He wasn’t going to cry. Not here, not in public where people were already gossiping. 

“I’m done,” Jungkook said quietly. “I’m done breaking myself against walls that won’t ever come down.”

Jimin reached for his hand. “What are you going to do?”

Jungkook looked down at his half-eaten bowl of stew, at the normal day continuing around them, at his own trembling fingers. He thought about his mother’s letter, about his brother’s happiness, about the pressed orchid that smelled like home.

“I think…” The words came slowly, like he was discovering them as he spoke. “I need to go home. To visit. Maybe for a while.”

“Jungkook… That’s a big decision.”

“I know.” He did know. Going home meant admitting failure. It meant announcing to both packs that the marriage wasn’t working. “But I can’t stay here and keep doing this. I can’t.”

“What about Namjoon?”

“What about him?” Jungkook heard the bitterness in his own voice and couldn’t bring himself to care. “He’s made his choice clear. He doesn’t want this marriage any more than I do. The difference is I tried. I tried so hard, Jimin. And I have nothing left to give.”

Jimin squeezed his hand. “Are you sure?”

“I’ll write to my mother. Ask if coming home is an option, maybe for a week or two. And if Namjoon…” He stopped to calm himself down. “If he doesn’t try to stop me, then I have my answer. Then I’ll know for certain that he doesn’t care.”

“And if he does try to stop you?”

Jungkook thought about that. About Namjoon realizing he was leaving. Would he care? Would he even notice?

“Then maybe we’ll finally have to sit down together and truly figure out how to make things right.” Jungkook sighed. “Either way, I need to know.”

Jungkook kept eating, though the stew might as well have been water, tasteless in his tongue. When they finished everything, Jimin walked him back to the Healer’s Hall. The sick pups were sleeping now, fevers broken or at least manageable. Their parents dozed in chairs nearby, exhausted from worry.

“Let me get you something for the headache,” Jimin said, moving to his workbench. He ground herbs and mixed them with honey and warm water. “Drink this. It’ll help with the pain and the nausea.”

Jungkook drank it. The mixture was bitter despite the honey. “Thank you,” he said. “For listening, for eating with me, and for… being my friend.”

“Always.” Jimin pulled him into a quick hug. “Write that letter. Think about what you really want. And whatever you decide, I’m here.”

Jungkook nodded against his shoulder, then pulled away before the tears could start again.

When afternoon came, the ache behind his eyes had finally dulled. Jungkook left the Healer's Hall feeling lighter. His headache had eased enough for him to teach. He was glad he’d gone to Jimin first because he wouldn’t have lasted through a single drill otherwise.

When the lesson ended and the last of the young hunters drifted off, Jungkook walked slowly, in no hurry to return to an empty den. Jungkook walked slowly, in no hurry to return to an empty den.

But he did return. Eventually. Because where else was there to go?

After standing in the doorway longer than he meant to, he crossed to the small writing desk in the corner. Pulled out a sheet of parchment and a pot of ink. The blank page stared back at him.

Dear Mother,

Thank you for your letter. I’m glad to hear everyone is well. Please give my congratulations to my brother and Yeonu. I’m so happy for them.

You asked about my marriage and whether I’m finding happiness here.

Jungkook paused. The quill dripped ink onto the page, a small black spot spreading. How much truth could he tell? How much honesty would break his mother’s heart?

Things have been… difficult. Our relationship hasn’t developed as smoothly as everyone anticipated. I would like to request permission to return home for a short visit. Perhaps an extended one, a week or two.

I understand the marriage was intended to strengthen the alliance between our packs, but I need time to reflect. To assess whether this arrangement remains sustainable in its current form. I realize I will be expected to return afterward, but I miss home. Meeting with you and father may help me regain clarity and perspective.

I hope for your understanding.

Please write back soon. I miss you all more than I can say.

Your son,

Jungkook

He set down the quill. Stared at what he’d written. It wasn’t everything. It wasn’t even close to the whole picture. But it was honest enough. A plea for help wrapped in careful language.

He folded the letter and set it down on the table. He didn’t seal it yet and planned to reread it in the morning with fresh eyes, to make sure this was really what he wanted to do. Make sure he wasn’t making this decision out of pain and exhaustion rather than clear thought.

Jungkook closed his eyes, willing himself not to wonder if Namjoon would come home tonight. The letter rested under his hand, the ink dry and dark against the parchment. Tomorrow, he would decide whether to seal and send it, or burn it in the hearth and be done with it.