Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jimin’s cottage is the home of his dreams.

It’s a beautiful but small home nestled closely enough between trees to require an inspection of the root systems before he’d purchased. There everything seems to grow; wild flowers, bushes of berries, and even ivy up the stone. There are beautiful bird calls to be heard, a small family of groundhogs living in the backyard, and minimal neighbors—just one, in fact, living on the ranch across the drive.

Jimin wanted a pretty place to get away while he writes his next novel, and the high-treed countryside suits every need and more. He’s lucky the seller had agreed to let him purchase the home at all; it was an off-market sale.

The trip to the property isn’t difficult, either; only two hours from his old apartment in the capital, though Jimin’s old Volkswagen bug struggles to make it up the gravel drive. The car’s piled with all his small and personal belongings—and a huge trunk, tied to the rack above.

Jimin hadn’t really thought that one through.

“C’mon,” he hisses.

He’s hanging off the driver’s side, feet digging into the driver’s seat while the door itself hangs ajar. The rope in his hand isn’t coming loose no matter how hard he pulls or how much he tugs at the knot with a hanger, which would make sense because he wasn’t the one who tied it in the first place—and hadn’t Kibum mentioned something about a lever—?

That’s when he hears a vehicle coming from further up the drive.

Jimin’s first order of business is ditching the hanger. Then he hoists himself up as much as possible, peeking around the front of the trunk—it’s a big red truck ambling down the drive. Jimin knows a work truck when he sees it; a big guard across the front, and something tall and covered in a tarp sticking out in the back. Deciding he is definitely not interested in the embarrassment, he makes himself look confident and busy.

The truck slows. Embarrassment it is.

“May I help?”

Jimin’s head snaps to the voice.

It’s younger than he’d expected. Deeper, too.

“With the cargo,” comes the addition.

Jimin nearly falls off his ledge.

The driver has tan skin and a heavy brow framing sweet eyes. His hair is carefully combed but for an escaped strand. His shoulders are broad, wrapped in a plaid shirt and set of overall straps. His face is neutral, but it’s handsome. He’s a working man.

He’s an alpha, too.

Slowly, Jimin shakes his head.

Alpha Helper hits his palm against the steering wheel.

“Alright,” he agrees.

Jimin turns his red face back to the carrier. He’s waiting for the truck to pull away.

It doesn’t.

He stutters: “Sorry?” But the alpha hasn’t moved an inch.

The alpha clears his throat, almost uncomfortable.

“’S dangerous.” He’s got a little something in his voice—not a twang, but maybe a drawl. “If you keep pulling, that’ll fall right on you. Maybe even mess up that car door.”

Jimin’s gone red as a beet. There he is, hanging off the edge of his car, knowing full-well he’d lied instead of just admitting—

“Maybe I could use that help?” he squeaks.

The alpha pauses. Maybe he hadn’t expected Jimin to change his mind.

“Sure.” He gets out of the truck.

Jimin ducks his head a little when the alpha doesn’t even shut off the ignition—clearly, he thinks it’ll be quick and easy. There’s the faint sound of a spring as a door opens, and then a slam as it shuts. Then the slow, soft crunch of falling boots.

“May I?” he asks, coming up the gravel drive.

Jimin nods along, unthinking.

“Take my hand,” he says.

And it’s held out, strong and waiting. Jimin blanches. He doesn’t need a helping hand to step down from his already tiny car. Up close, though, Jimin discovers the man smells as good as he looks.

The hand hasn’t moved.

Jimin clears his throat as, nervously, he takes it.

The alpha seems to trace the movement with his eyes. He watches even after Jimin steps down and pulls his hand back.

It’s shaking.

“You want this upstairs?” the man asks.

In the house? Jimin’s dazed. He’s almost certain the man’s still looking at his hand.

“Here’s fine,” he corrects.

The alpha grunts shakes his head. Awkwardly, Jimin stands while he gets to work.

“I can help,” he offers.

“No need.”

The alpha’s already undone the knot Jimin struggled with for so long. He throws the rope over to the other side and somehow manages to pull it back through on his own.

Jimin can’t help but huff. He steps up on the other side.

The alpha knows exactly how to undo each knot. It looks like he knows what he’s doing with the levers, too, cranking the metal every so often.

Jimin shrinks in on himself.

“I didn’t tie it myself,” he admits.

The alpha’s smiling. He undoes the last of the rope. “I’d figured.”

Well.

The man steps back off the car. When Jimin crosses round again, he takes in the Carhartt overalls and the brown work boots and the plaid cuffs the alpha had rolled to his elbows.

“You’re sure you don’t want this in the house?”

Jimin swallows thickly. “Ground’s fine.”

He takes it to the porch.

Jimin rushes up the steps, taken aback. The alpha holds the trunk over his shoulders like it doesn’t weigh more than Jimin himself. He looks like he considers waiting there for Jimin to open the door, but ultimately, he concedes. The trunk is set down with a low thud and a quiet, “there you go.” He isn’t talking to Jimin when he says it, either.

He straightens, takes one look at Jimin—and then he seems to abandon whatever he was thinking, turning back toward his truck with a cough and a nod.

Jimin stops, stunned. The alpha’s halfway back to his truck before he calls out.

“Wait!”

The alpha turns. Jimin wraps his arms around his middle.

“How can I thank you?”

Stupid. The line could make him throw up. Like something out of a bad romance movie. He could’ve tried two words instead, like ‘thank’ and ‘you,’ that might’ve worked—

“What’s your name?”

It isn’t like that. It can’t be.

“… Jimin,” he says anyway.

The alpha’s eyebrows pinch. “Surname?”

Weird, but alright. “Park?”

The alpha nods again. He turns back to his truck.

Jimin stares, bewildered, as the alpha pulls the door shut behind him and starts to drive on down the road. Jimin waves after him. The alpha pauses, but ultimately raises his hand.

The moving truck shows up two days later.

It’s about time—Jimin’s been staying at the closest hotel in the name of wifi and drafting in an environment more acceptable than canned food and an air mattress, but even then he’s more than a forty-minute drive away from his new home. He has a backache from a foreign mattress and several hours of unpacking to look forward to.

And he still hasn’t forgotten his previous encounter, either.

He pulls up to his house about twenty minutes after the movers have arrived. He finds one on the phone and the other tossing the still-sparking butt of a cigarette into his front yard. Beautiful. Jimin signs the papers presented with gritted teeth.

“Alright, well, we’re gonna go to lunch. You got a number we can call when you’re done, or?”

Jimin blinks. “Excuse me?”

“We caught that diner way up the road,” he explains. “We’ll be back in, say, two hours? Unless you’re not done by then, of course.”

Jimin looks toward the open hatch of the truck. All his furniture—heavy, real-wood. He’d paid to have the furniture moved inside the house.

“If I’m not done?” Jimin clarifies.

He gets bored, irritated looks in return.

They’re both betas, he realizes. Both substantially stronger than he is, and perfectly capable of moving everything. Both perfectly paid to move everything. And instead they’re bullying Jimin into… doing it all himself.

“We haven’t had a meal break yet today,” comes the explanation. “Well… I guess we could always come back tomorrow.”

The other beta grunts, shaking his head. “The next day,” he says. “We have another move scheduled.”

It all sounds very practiced. Jimin narrows his eyes, looking between the two of them—but neither budges.

He sighs. “Fine.”

They’re startled by his response. Definitely practiced, then.

“Yes, fine,” Jimin huffs. “What am I gonna do, wait even longer?”

They look at each other, unsure. He rolls his eyes.

“Go on,” he grunts. “I’ve got this.”

He does not, in fact, got anything.

Jimin struggles not with a trunk on top of his car, this time, but a desk.

He’s managed to lift two of the four legs up onto the first step of his porch, however. A major success, considering Jimin is weak—even for his dynamic.

But it won’t budge.

Nope. Not a chance. He can’t lift again no matter how hard he tries to figure out what it means to lift from his legs or how many times he tells himself that the current pull will be the last. And of course, it’s exactly when Jimin’s struggling the most that he’s caught again.

The truck pulls round from the other side of the drive this time—likely because Jimin’s moving truck is blocking it off in the first place.

It slows to a stop. The ignition shuts off this time. The sound of the door opening and closing is much faster.

“Sorry!” Jimin calls over his shoulder, wincing.

The alpha doesn’t ask to help this time around. He’s at Jimin’s side in a second, both hands beneath the desk.

“I got it,” he says.

Of course the desk looks as heavy as a feather in his arms.

The alpha carries it up to the porch without issue. The whole thing is done without a single word. Stupidly, Jimin stares at him. He’s in a buffalo plaid button-down and a substantially more worn set of overalls than the prior set Jimin had seen before. On anyone else, it’d look geeky. On the alpha’s frame, it looks like a living room full of freshly-chopped firewood.

Jimin rushes to help while he daydreams, rambling this and that about helping and apologizing—but the alpha shakes his head. He does nod toward the door, however, and Jimin rushes to open it.

He doesn’t set the thing down once he’s inside. Instead he merely turns to Jimin.

“Where will this go?”

Jimin flounders. “I can get it up the stairs—”

He turns without another word. Jimin flounders again.

“Which room?” comes the call.

By that point, Jimin’s resigned to his fate. “Left, please,” he offers meekly.

He watches the man comply with a nod. He jogs lightly back down the stairs with his job completed. Jimin, lingering awkwardly by the doorway, apologizes again.

The alpha looks out the open door with eyebrows pinched.

“Where are the movers?” he asks.

Jimin wraps his arms around himself. “Up the road.”

Silence. He can feel the weight of the alpha’s eyes on him.

“They mentioned something about lunch,” Jimin folds. “Said they’d be back in a couple hours.”

The resulting look he gets is incredulous.

“They left this to you?”

Jimin knows how it looks, but the look on the alpha’s face reveals the true degree of obscenity. How embarrassing. He has to look away to nod.

A pause.

“I’ll get a dolly,” he decides.

And Jimin, absolutely not in the position to refuse, has nothing to offer up but thanks.

He doesn’t drive away to retrieve the wheeled contraption as Jimin expects. In fact, he doesn’t even go back to his truck for it. He does walk past his truck, though—and in the time it takes for Jimin to stupidly wonder when the alpha’s going to turn back around toward his vehicle, the man crosses the drive entirely.

Jimin squints. The alpha disappears behind the tall fence that marks his neighbor’s property line. He must’ve misheard the man, Jimin rationalizes, although getting help sounds nothing like getting a dolly.

Less than a minute later, the man comes back, wheeling a contraption with him. Slowly, wheels start to turn.

To say Jimin’s jaw drops is an understatement.

“You’re—?”

The man looks up, waiting.

But Jimin’s already got his answer. The alpha hasn’t been driving along the private road because it’s a short cut, or because of some other coincidence. He’s been driving home.

Which makes him Jimin’s singular neighbor.

“—Your name,” Jimin shifts gears, shaking his head. “I never got it.”

Jimin’s in big, big trouble.

“Jeongguk,” comes the eventual answer.

Jeongguk. Okay. The hot, hardworking alpha neighbor’s name is—

“Thank you—Jeongguk,” Jimin offers politely. “I really appreciate it. I can get all the small stuff, too, just—y’know.”

The alpha—Jeongguk—climbs inside the moving truck. He comes out with Jimin’s rocking chair and sets it on the porch.

He gestures to it with a hand suggesting Jimin sit and, yeah, he’s pretty screwed.

“That’s okay,” Jimin excuses. “I really can help.”

Jeongguk pauses and rubs at the back of his neck.

He quietly strains: “Please,” and then, urging, “Omega Park.”

Jimin burns red right down to his toes.

“I’m not married,” he corrects.

Jeongguk looks at him like he’s confused, which makes Jimin sputter. Old manners, then, from the hot alpha across the road.

He takes a seat.

Jeongguk takes a ridiculously short amount of time to clear the truck, even down to the lightest boxes. He wheels the thing around to move Jimin’s mattress and couch; the things too big to be carried alone. He does it all without even appearing to break a sweat, only ever stopping to ask Jimin, “Where would you like this?” or to stop and scoop up whatever’s in Jimin’s arms the few times he tries to cut in and help.

It is hopelessly, completely chivalrous—like Jeongguk was born thirty, or forty years ago.

Jimin’s going to fall in love if he isn’t careful.

“I didn’t realize we were neighbors,” he admits sheepishly as Jeongguk comes back out of the house.

The alpha nods. Jimin wonders, for the nth time, if he’s shy or simply quiet.

“I’m sorry I blocked the road,” he frets.

Jeongguk shakes his head this time. Jimin’s prepared to sit back in silence again, but Jeongguk speaks up.

“…Where are you from?”

“The capital,” Jimin answers, and watches the alpha’s eyes widen.

Jeongguk returns to the truck for Jimin’s headboard, emptying the truck entirely.

“I’m a writer,” Jimin shares. “I guess the city’s just too loud for me to get anything done.”

Meaning he’d finally managed to find some financial success and immediately decided to pour it into the home of his dreams.

“What do you write?”

Jimin shrinks in on himself. “Romance novels.”

Because he’s the fucking omegean stereotype, apparently—but Jeongguk just nods. Jimin wonders what the alpha would think of him if he confessed he’s writing full-length novels about love and sex at twenty-five with a blank relationship résumé.

The alpha pauses, headboard balanced over his shoulder, and seems to consider his words before he asks: “Are you—?”

But he cuts himself off. Jimin doesn’t get to hear his question; there are voices coming up the road, and when Jimin peeks around the truck, he spots the movers. He sighs.

“There they are,” Jimin deflates.

He stands, ready to bid good-bye, but Jeongguk looks down the road until two shapes emerge. He scrutinizes them carefully, and then he inhales. Whatever he’s looking for, he must find it; all at once, his eyes narrow.

“Why don’t you go inside for a minute?”

Of course, Jimin isn’t an idiot. He peeks through the curtains.

He’s not sure what he expects, but it isn’t for Jeongguk to head back to his truck. He pulls open the passenger side and reaches around inside—and when his hand comes back into view, Jimin’s eyes widen so much he feels a sting.

Jeongguk rests the shotgun on the hood of the truck. Then he waits, just enough to be within speaking range of the two betas by the moving truck.

They’re immediately put off, stopping a ways back when they notice his presence.

Jimin doesn’t blame them. He rushes to crack his window. He’s just fast enough to hear the entirety of the conversation.

Jeongguk greets: “Afternoon.”

He doesn’t sound very happy about it. Jimin sees the pinch in his brows, the way his lips are pressed into a thoroughly unimpressed line.

“Hey there,” one of the movers greets back, albeit anxiously.

Jeongguk shifts his weight.

“… What can we do for ya?”

“He’ll take a refund in full, to start.”

Jimin’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. He watches the two betas shift and stutter. Jimin believes he catches something about completed services.

Jeongguk leans back against the guard, drawing attention to the vehicle and, therefore, the gun laid atop its hood.

“You’re right,” he concedes. “The job is done.”

It’s the last thing he says to them, even as he gets fumbling in response. He allows the movers to get into their truck and drive away. As they move down the road, Jeongguk turns toward the cottage like he’s planning to knock on Jimin’s door—but when he catches Jimin peeking, he merely holds up his hand in another departing wave.

All without a proper thank-you. Again.

Jimin gets the refund, interestingly enough.

More interesting is what Taehyung brings up over a phone call following said refund.

“And you didn’t think it was, I don’t know, a little bit scary that he just whipped a damn weapon out?”

And, huh. Funnily enough, Jimin didn’t.

He hadn’t minded it at all, in fact. He thought it told him more about Jeongguk’s character than anything. Rough and tumble, quiet but strong, very much alpha—and that’s what Jeongguk seems to be, though deceptively sweet in the eyes. Jimin had come to figure out that he ought to put emphasis on the ‘quiet’; Jeongguk has no social media, no relevant Google search results. And, as it turns out, he’s even hard to find in-person.

Jimin’s ashamed to admit he’s spent the day since the incident peeking out his windows and taming his garden longer than necessary. No matter how often he looks, he hasn’t seen any sign of the alpha aside from his truck occasionally disappearing from the drive.

It’s disappointing, to say the least. And worst of all, having a real-life version of a romance novel character living across the road is distracting Jimin from his drafts.

“I thought the whole thing was sweet,” Jimin eventually admits into the phone with a sigh. “Like… in a tough kind of way.”

“Uh-huh. And when was your last heat, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Jimin shrugs, even though he’s sure his editor can’t see it. With the phone pinched between his shoulder and cheek, he gingerly lowers a chicken breast to the bottom of a pot.

“Well, I can imagine the appeal. And hey, your instincts won’t guide you wrong.”

Which is not at all true in Taehyung’s case, but Jimin’s are generally solid.

“I don’t know,” Jimin sighs.

He wants him.

“Invite him to that dinner thing we have to go to,” Taehyung drawls. “Country boy in the big city. Nice fancy dinner. Sounds promising, right?”

Jimin snorts. “As much as I’d like to keep Jihoon off of me, I sent my RSVP in about, oh, six months ago.”

Taehyung makes a gagging sound. “When will the assholery stop?”

They both know it won’t. He’s a bothersome alpha who’d transferred his overbearing advances from Taehyung to Jimin. Jimin, unfortunately, does not have any other friends to forward Jihoon onto—not that he’d wish it on his worst enemy.

“I’m really just not sure how to thank him,” Jimin frets. “Jeongguk, I mean. He’s so quiet; it’s not like I know much about him.”

“If he’s as hot as you say he is, hop on his knot and sing his praises.”

Jimin only sighs. He takes the latex gloves off of his hands carefully before bringing his pot to the sink.

“I don’t know. Maybe I could just offer him an IOU?”

“Sounds like a promising start to my prior suggestion.”

“Which…” Jimin has to admit, flicking the handle of his faucet upward: “that wouldn’t be an issue, I mean. But—”

He cuts off.

“—but? Hello? Jimin?”

Jimin frowns, flipping the handle of the sink down again. Clear water pools in the basin. He feels around, checking for a trap or plug—nothing, though there’s a bubble or two for his troubles.

“My sink’s not draining,” Jimin mutters.

“Maybe it’s like a new moisturizer. Keep pumping and see if it starts to work?”

Under any other circumstance, Jimin would laugh. As the water level is stagnant, though, he frowns.

“Can I call you back?” Jimin asks.

“No. I’m bored.”

He does snort at that.

But it’s strange. Jimin’s bathroom sinks have been draining just fine. The shower, too. Hell, even the toilets are working well. There’s nothing fishy about the look of the drain itself. No smells from it, either; though when Jimin listens closely, he can hear the faint swoosh of water moving through pipes.

“I’m gonna check under the sink,” he mutters.

And Taehyung says something—Good idea, Sherlock, or something similarly sassy—but when Jimin pulls the cupboard back to look inside, he’s sprayed sharply in the eyes.

Jimin’s not a plumber. Apparently, no one else within an hour and a half is, either.

He’s called six drain shops. Four had refused; of the others, one was much too busy considering the dire nature of Jimin’s kitchen, and one had offered to come out exclusively for Jimin’s “sweet omegean timbre.” It’s with his first floor rapidly becoming a pool and his hair half-soaked that he drives down to the small strip of businesses known as the town square.

Jimin, in his several visits down before buying the cottage, has frequented several shops on the strip; the singular diner, the touristy shops, and his favorite little bookstore/coffee shop duet that plays decent music at a low volume. He has not, however, been down to the hardware store.

He feels out of place even in the parking lot.

The place is fairly standard, smelling of dust and wood and being awkwardly colored of steel and primary colors. It’s exactly the type of business Jimin avoids at all costs, knowing how to describe only about two percent of the merchandise on the shelves.

He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, either—so when he enters through the sliding doors, he wanders up to the counter.

An elderly alpha sets his paper down when he notices Jimin.

“I haven’t met you yet,” he warbles, surprised. “How can I help you?”

That’s when Jimin realized he hadn’t planned much out.

“I don’t know,” he admits.

The man’s eyebrows raise above his wire-rimmed glasses. Jimin figures he ought to elaborate.

“My sink is spraying everywhere.” He makes vague gestures with his hands. “In the… underneath part. I can’t get it to stop. And it won’t drain, and I called six plumbers but—”

“—Well, you won’t get a plumber out here,” the old man mulls. “Not easily, at least. That’s over an hour’s drive.”

Jimin sighs. “Yeah. Next opening is Tuesday.”

It’s almost an entire week away. The alpha hums.

“Well, I’m not a plumber myself,” he mulls, “but I’ve got something that’ll help.”

And that’s promising. Jimin perks up. “Really?”

The man stands and nods. “Follow me.”

Jimin wanders after the man as he’s guided through the aisles. At best it’ll be something he doesn’t know how to use, and at worst it’ll be a bucket—regardless, Jimin will be paying for it. He’s in no place to complain.

The man leads him past the aisles, along the back wall, and toward the opening of what appears to be a garage.

He sticks his head around, yelling: “Jeongguk!”

Jimin’s stomach drops.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

But of course Jimin’s oh-so-handy alpha neighbor would work at the hardware store. He fixes his shirt and runs a hand through his hair self-consciously, but nothing’s going to fix the drowning cat look—especially when the alpha who comes up to the doorway is anything but.

Jeongguk comes out in a shirt with the store’s logo and the most worn denim he’s seen the alpha wear yet. Jimin eats up exposed leg and the curved, toned muscle of thigh.

He notices Jimin immediately, eyes widening. Jimin swears, for a second, that his jaw is clenched—but then his polite nod erases it all and makes Jimin acutely aware of how ruffled he looks.

“You got some time, son?”

Jeongguk’s nodding before the man’s finished.

“He’s got a leak in ‘is sink. Said it’s sprayin’ all over his kitchen. Sounds real time-sensitive. Even called plumbers, and—hell, I’m assuming you probably know what you’re doing with that sort of thing.”

A pause, this time, before the nod. His boss nods back before addressing Jimin.

“It’ll be good for you to meet Jeongguk here,” the man explains. “Good local handyman; plumbing, electrical, even vehicles—he’s got you covered. Unless you got a boat. If it’s a boat, I’ll come help you out with that.”

Jimin’s never felt more stupid in his entire life. Inside the garage, Jeongguk’s got his face turned away. He scratches at his forehead.

“Look at him getting embarrassed,” the alpha’s boss comments. Then to his employee: “Well, go on, then. Take the rest of the afternoon. Let me know if you need more time—poor thing here looks exhausted.”

He nods to Jimin at that one.

Worse yet, the older gentleman waddles back to leave the two of them be. Jimin is horribly, astonishingly reminded of how attractive his new neighbor is.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin winces. “I don’t mean to—to keep bothering you.”

Jeongguk shakes his head. He comes closer to the door, reaching along the other side of the wall where Jimin can’t see, and retrieves a tool belt.

Jimin has never before found brown, worn leather to be sexy in his entire life.

“Really,” Jimin insists. “I didn’t even know you worked here; I’m not, uh, stalking you.”

“There are sixty people in this town,” Jeongguk points out. “Bound to happen.”

Which would normally be a great way to make Jimin feel stupid; when the alpha turns, though, Jimin notices the corner of his mouth is turned upward.

He’s… teasing.

“Sixty-one,” Jimin blurts.

He’s shocked when Jeongguk laughs. It’s quiet and sweet.

The alpha steps through the doorway. Jimin gives him plenty of space to do so, but it doesn’t do much to contain the whiff he gets of Jeongguk’s scent. His knees are weak as the alpha picks up various parts on the shelves. As he’s finished, he leads Jimin through the garage and out the shop’s back door.

“I could drive,” he offers. “Bring you back when I’m finished.”

Jimin takes a look between his dinky Volkswagen down the lot and the enormous truck Jeongguk approaches and understands the alpha’s hint at a faster solution. He nods, following—though he does falter when Jeongguk opens the passenger door and offers a calloused hand.

Old manners, he’s reminded.

Jeongguk drives like a goddamn maniac.

He’s good at it, of course. Jimin doesn’t feel unsafe in the front seat by any means—he isn’t exactly the safest behind the wheel himself, after all—but he isn’t risking a peek at the speedometer, either. The alpha pulls up the drive before Jimin can get used to the gravitational force.

It’s probably actually Jeongguk’s scent making Jimin dizzy. He ignores that part.

Jeongguk might be in a hurry to get to Jimin’s sink, but he still opens the passenger side door door. Jimin tells himself this is because Jeongguk wants him to hurry the fuck up, although Jeongguk isn’t like that at all.

Inside, the water puddle has been decently contained by the towel Jimin had tied tightly around the spewing pipe. He’d put a bucket beneath to catch the remaining drip, but it’s overflowing in a slow trickle of nasty-looking brown fluid. Jeongguk’s eyebrows raise.

“Good job,” he comments.

For just a second, Jimin’s able to pretend that isn’t scrambling up his insides. Then Jeongguk takes off his jacket.

Holy shit. Jimin averts his eyes.

He’d known Jeongguk was likely fit. That’s no surprise. But as the alpha lowers himself to one knee and sets about solving the issue at hand, Jimin gets a view of Jeongguk’s shoulders.

Hooooly shit.

And his too-tight shirt. Jimin swallows dryly.

“Can I help?”

He makes the offer, but his mouth is watering. He expects it when Jeongguk shakes his head, brows pinched in focus.

“Leak’s slowin’ down,” he mulls.

He reaches for–something. Jimin’s eyes aren’t on that, exactly, but the ripple under fabric. And the sheer bulk.

“Might just be clogged.”

Which sounds like Jimin’s time with his new favorite alpha will be cut short. He tries not to let his disappointment show.

“—Don’t know what all this is, though,” he whistles.

Jimin perks up.

“What is it?” he asks, leaning over. There’s a complex maze of white pipe, sure, but all Jimin eyes is smooth, carved muscle. Shoulders, back–even Jeongguk’s forearms.

He’s admittedly inviting himself into the alpha’s personal space, but Jeongguk doesn’t seem to mind. He might still, just a bit, but it could be a trick of Jimin’s poor kitchen lighting.

“Your trap’s run all weird,” the alpha manages. “I’ll probably just replace it.”

Jimin has to ask: “What does that mean?”

Jeongguk grins. It’s amused, with lots of teeth, and it makes Jimin flush and feel happy about being stupid all the same.

“It means I’m going to fix your sink,” he simplifies. “May I?”

Jimin’s distracted when he nods along.

Jeongguk reaches for him. He scoops Jimin up with a hand on either side of his waist and promptly sets him down on the countertop. It’s over in a flash, deceptively chaste. Jimin catches another glimpse of his neck and shoulders, though, and that’s decidedly not.

Jeongguk kneels, back to the issue at hand. Jimin has the urge to ask why he’d left.

“You’re sure I can’t help?” Jimin breathes.

The alpha kneels back down to the sink.

“I like to hear you talk,” he suggests, plain as day.

Jimin flushes down to his toes.

On the way back, Jeongguk’s driving is much more reasonable—Jimin imagines it’s closer to fifteen over the limit.

A station quietly fades in and out to fuzz over the radio. Jimin doesn’t recognize the song, but he appreciates the buffer it gives him as he tries to think of conversation.

“The movers gave me a refund,” he eventually shares. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

Jeongguk rushes to lower the radio. Even if it’s only polite, it makes Jimin’s heart beat a little faster.

“They shouldn’t have done that to you,” the alpha says.

Jimin nods. They shouldn’t have.

But the words, shouldn’t have, get his mind going about all sorts of things. Like letting someone else tie his cargo to the rack on top of his car without thinking about getting the thing down, or letting movers take advantage of him, or not even knowing how to fix basic appliances when he no longer has a landlord to do it for him.

“I probably should have learned about all of this stuff before I moved out of the city,” he admits.

Jeongguk looks at him briefly, confused. Jimin wants to run his fingers through the damp parts of his hair.

“I guess I was just excited to get out,” Jimin laughs a little bitterly. “But I don’t really have the skills to get by out here, do I?”

Jeongguk’s silent in the driver’s seat. It’s a wonderful feeling, really, knowing he’s managed to annoy the ever-living shit out of the alpha—

“You have me.”

Jimin’s head jerks.

“What?”

Jeongguk swallows thickly. Jimin’s shamefully attracted to even that much.

“You don’t need to know how to fix a leak,” the alpha tells him, carefully. “You can ask me.”

Jimin is, all at once, completely overwhelmed. He turns his face toward the window before Jeongguk notices his red face.

“Thanks,” he squeaks.

He imagines Jeongguk probably nods.

Jimin’s nursing a crush.

It’s a big one, too. Jeongguk doesn’t give him much of a choice; he does things that make his heart pound and his stomach ache, like fixing his sink with open ears while Jimin does his best to make small talk (even if Jimin’s horrible at it)—and then refusing to let Jimin pay for any of the parts.

Jimin knows no matter how much Jeongguk likes to hear him talk it could, really, be just out of polite neighborly duty. Jeongguk could think Jimin’s about as appealing as the bottom of his shoe, but he can’t help but daydream. He spends hours at a time imagining the alpha doing it all out of something a little more selfish.

He’s shoved all his holey sweats and stained hoodies to the back of his drawers, too, replacing the usual drafting-hanging-around-the-house clothing for nicer, softer sweaters with sweet details. He unpacks with vigor, decorating his whole house for the one guest he hopes to have.

Decorating doesn’t mean shit, evidently.

Jimin does have to pull his stained clothing back out when he does his chores, after all. And the alpha seems to have a penchant for watching Jimin struggle, so it just seems to make sense that despite his efforts to look cute and available at all times, Jeongguk catches him lying in the dirt with his head under his car.

The crunch of his boots on the gravel is almost familiar. Jimin’s heart pounds on anyway.

“I didn’t hear a knock,” Jeongguk suggests.

He glances over, seeing only a sliver of the alpha’s boots. His cheeks are warmer, suddenly. It’s really too bad he looks like a mess.

He blurts: “I’ve done this before, you know.”

At least Jeongguk can’t see him blush when half his face is under his car. But Jimin shimmies out, trying to look more confident than he is.

The angle doesn’t help at all. Jeongguk has one eyebrow raised and half a smile on his face.

“Sorry,” Jimin backpedals. “Just… didn’t want to bother you again.”

He gets the feeling Jeongguk’s getting more entertainment out of it than anything.

“What’re you trying to do here?”

Jimin clears his throat. He’d been dreading the question, but he says, as proudly as he can manage: “Change a tire.”

It definitely isn’t the ideal way to see Jeongguk again. Jimin had imagined something more picturesque, like running to each other in town. He’d been planning his next trip to the hardware store thoroughly.

Jeongguk must not expect his answer, though. His expression neutralizes for a brief second, and Jimin’s struck with the smallest moment of satisfaction. There he is, putting his one real-life skill into practice—

“I hope you’re not looking for your spare down there, Omega Park.”

Jimin watches him smirk. He huffs.

“Just Jimin’s fine,” he tries, though Jeongguk’s the type that won’t take that. And then he admits: “… I’m trying to remember where to put the jack.”

The alpha kneels down immediately, but Jimin feels shame in his gut, knowing he’d expected that response. Knowing he’s taking advantage, and craving more.

“That’s okay,” he says, waving a hand. “I’ll figure it out. I’ve got it.”

Jeongguk’s eyes widen.

“I really have done this before,” Jimin says again. “Just… not in a while.”

“I don’t mind,” the alpha offers again, shifting.

But Jimin pouts. “I won’t remember that way,” he points out.

And he doesn’t want to feel so desperate, though he doesn’t share that particular detail.

Jeongguk pauses—when Jimin realizes he doesn’t have an answer to that, he sets about lifting his car.

He parrots, tongue-in-cheek: “You could keep me company.” Which isn’t I like to hear you talk. But it’s something.

The alpha looks very much out of place when he takes a seat on Jimin’s porch. He lowers himself down with hands on his knees, giving Jimin the vague idea he’d rather be up and walking. Maybe even pacing.

“How’d you get a flat?”

Jimin pouts. “I think I drove on a nail. Good thing it happened in the driveway. Took me forever to push it back to the house.”

“You could call me,” Jeongguk offers, shifting. “I could come help out if you needed to get it off the road, or something.”

Or something. Jimin finally locates the spot of metal that cushions his engine.

“... I don’t have your number,” he hints, biting his tongue.

“I’ll write it down for you.” The response he’d wanted. “Or maybe I should just be checking in on you a little more often.”

Wouldn’t that be the dream? He sounds like he means it, too. But he also looks at Jimin like he’s found the wrong spot for the jack—or, more accurately, like he’d rather be doing it himself. He shifts like he’s about to get up at any second.

The metaphorical light bulb goes off: Jeongguk legitimately feels that he should be doing the work. He doesn’t seem to be uncomfortable with the way Jimin does it, but the fact that he’s doing it at all.

Resigned, he pinches his eyebrows and hums like he’s confused.

“I forgot what I’m supposed to do here,” he lies. “Do you… think you could—?”

Jeongguk leaps off the porch.

Jimin tries to keep his heart-eyed glances to himself while Jeongguk does the job. He finishes in ten minutes and makes an offer to check for a spare at the auto shop a town over—all while looking more at-ease than Jimin has seen yet.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” Jimin protests. Jeongguk looks like he’s going to disagree, so Jimin adds, “but they’ll probably take advantage of me if I don’t take you up on it, I think.”

Jeongguk’s eyes crinkle up when he laughs.

Jimin says thanks one too many times. The alpha offers him a little advice each time, bringing him back into conversation just a little more.

He’s stalling; he wants more time.

“Um,” Jimin finally starts, glancing back at the house. “Have you eaten?”

Jimin’s a little nervous to have a guest.

“So, this—well, you’ve seen it before,” Jimin realizes.

Jeongguk doesn’t seem to agree, eyes circling over the space. Jimin wonders if he’d expected something so homey. Maybe he’d thought Jimin would be the minimalist type; a luxe little omega from the capital.

“Looks nice,” Jeongguk compliments.

Yes, the preening little shit part of Jimin thinks. Yes it does.

The soup, thankfully, is coming together nicely in a warmed pot on the stove. Jimin had spent so long trying to run down to the store for cornstarch that he’d let nature do its job. A taste test proves decent enough.

“Perfect timing,” he whistles. “It’s done.”

Then Jimin hears an audible, bodily gurggle. Jeongguk grins sheepishly when Jimin glances over his shoulder.

Jimin keeps his smile to himself as he reaches for his cabinets. He should’ve known.

The stretch for his dishes is a lengthy one, typically aided by a spatula or an outright crawl onto the counter—but with Jeongguk behind him, tip-toes will have to do. His fingers have just brushed the rim of the bowls when the alpha comes around the counter.

“Need a little help?” Jeongguk asks.

Eyes on the shelf, Jimin finally nods his head and drops back onto his heels.

He’s expecting to see the alpha’s hands reach over his head. When he takes a step back, he meets Jeongguk’s body.

He wraps his arms around Jimin’s waist.

“Up you go,” comes the murmur.

Jimin, in the worst possible response, grips Jeongguk’s forearm for dear life and waits a long, long moment before finally reaching for the bowls.

There’s also the yelp. That doesn’t help, either.

“I can move these cabinets down,” the alpha offers absentmindedly. “Make things easier for you.”

He lowers Jimin down painfully slowly. Jimin’s stomach twists and his toes curl before his feet hit the ground.

It definitely wasn’t necessary. And Jimin was pressed right against him, something holdable.

“Yeah,” he agrees. With shaky hands, he sets the bowls on the counter. “Okay.”

When the alpha pulls away, he’s left a little dazed. He fumbles for silverware, and shakes through serving. His appetite is gone to nerves, not that he’d managed much in the first place.

His face is burning as they sit.

“Eat as much as you want,” he manages. “I can’t really save it, and I don’t usually eat much—”

Jeongguk looks up from hands clasped together. Jimin can’t quite tell if he’d been giving thanks or not, but the thought stuns him.

The alpha grins.

“Explains why you’re so small.”

Jimin rolls his eyes, biting back a smile. Jeongguk waits until he takes a bite to eat himself.

He eats three servings. He asks Jimin a total of two questions throughout the meal: why the soup doesn’t save well, and what it’s made with. Jimin explains that the fat content gets a little wonky upon reheating, and then Jeongguk looks toward the pot where a little more resides, and then he eats that, too.

Then, in a move so predictable Jimin should’ve seen it coming a mile away, Jeongguk stands at the sink and introduces himself to Jimin’s dish soap and sponge.

Jimin takes it in. Then he gathers up the remaining dishes with a sigh. “Are you always this polite?”

“I try to be.”

“Do you ever relax?”

Jeongguk’s shoulder shake. “I do.”

Jimin’s dubious.

The alpha glances overhead as he scrubs.

“We’ve got a glass shop, at the end of the strip,” he mulls. “After I pull these cabinets down, you could put some more up top with stained glass doors. Put some lights in them and keep them for decoration.”

Jimin glances up at the high, high ceilings. It’d be nice to use the space a little better.

“I can re-grout this for you,” he comments, tapping his foot against Jimin’s tile floor. “And I can put some new trim around this window.”

He has to laugh. “Sure, if I can pay you.”

Jeongguk shakes his head.

“I don’t think dinner here and there is fair compensation,” Jimin points out.

The alpha seems to disagree, but he doesn’t push. The dishes are finished in a silence that Jimin, surprisingly, finds comfortable. Even warm.

Jeongguk stacks the last dish and hangs the towel exactly where he’d found it.

“Just let me know if you need something done,” he reiterates. “Don’t let some idiot charge you five grand for a couple hours’ work.”

Something about it is too sweet to go unnoticed. Jimin approaches and wrings his fingers together.

“You’re a very generous neighbor,” he provokes.

The alpha pauses, but he nods.

Leaving it there doesn’t feel quite right either. Jimin teases: “You’d be a friend if you stopped calling me by my Mom’s name.”

Jeongguk turns around. He leans back with both hands curved around the countertop, raises his eyebrows, and gives a smile that says he’s absolutely not about to use Jimin’s given name.

Jimin throws the damp towel at him with a huff.

After that, Jeongguk starts to come by more often.

It starts with the shed out back. The thing would be useful if not for the door, which is knobless, weather-worn and half-beaten—until Jeongguk replaces it, anyway.

Jimin’s lucky he notices it when he does; he’s waking up, rather late on a weekday, and glances out the window to see his shed in perfect working condition again. When Jimin runs to the other window, he catches a glimpse of Jeongguk still crossing the drive, toolbelt thrown over his shoulder.

“Thank you!” Jimin calls out his bedroom window.

The alpha turns, already at his fenceline, and waves. His grin’s too bright for having only just woken up.

The alpha doesn’t stop there, either. Jimin comes back from a drive out to the capital the next day to find the fallen siding by his back door stapled into place again. The warped metal of his gutter’s fixed up. He considers knocking on the alpha’s door outright at that point, but the man’s backing out of the drive.

Jimin jogs up to the truck with a wave. When Jeongguk rolls down the window, he climbs up carefully with a hand over the ledge and his feet on the running boards.

“Omega Park,” he greets, with a knowing smile on his face even as he squints at the overhead sun. “Hi there.”

Jimin opens his mouth. “You can call me—”

That’s when he smells it.

He pauses. The wind picks up Jeongguk’s scent, and it carries. Jimin’s hand almost goes lax. He tries to clear his thoughts. He fails.

Then the wind whips back, and a moment later, Jimin catches Jeongguk’s adam’s apple bobbing. And then? Jeongguk’s scent smells a little warmer, a little stronger.

Jeongguk’s alpha likes what it smells, whether Jeongguk himself likes Jimin or not.

“—Will you call me by my name?” Jimin croaks.

Jeongguk’s smile is only a little stiff.

“Thought we weren’t friends,” he teases.

Jimin’s brain might be fried, but he knows he doesn’t want to be friends. How can Jeongguk even think, anyway?

“We’re… friendly,” he argues. If only Jeongguk knew how close he wanted to be with that scent. “At the least.”

“How you figure?”

“Well.” Jimin exhales, face hot. “You’ve been doing some nice things for me.”

Jeongguk grins. “Just a good neighbor.”

Jimin bites his lip. “Not to me,” he tries.

The alpha’s hand is tight on the steering wheel.

“Thank you,” Jimin says. “I really appreciate everything you do.”

Jeongguk’s face freezes. Slowly, his eyes go wide. Jimin considers, just for a second, that he might be the most embarrassing person on the planet.

He leans back from the truck, clearing his throat.

“Sorry to keep you,” he offers. “You’re probably trying to go to work. Well, um, thanks again.”

He steps off of the truck. Jeongguk looks like he might have something more to say, but when Jimin waves, he must decide against it. He shifts gears.

“It’s no problem,” he says first. He’s looking down as he nods. “Bye, Jimin.”

He pulls out of the drive. Jimin presses his lips together until the alpha pulls around the bend, and then he doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

Jeongguk’s only downfall seems to be that he’s too kind. The final straw snaps when Jimin comes home from the grocery store later that evening to find a little bird bath nestled in his garden. There’s a note shoved under its foot.

You don’t have to keep it. I’ll take it back if you don’t want it. Found it in the back at work. Guess it wouldn’t sell. Saw you have seed out for the birds – maybe they’ll like this too.

P.S. Put the cleaner for it in the shed.

Jimin’s not an idiot. He’d seen it right out front in the shop’s little lawn and garden section.

It has him pacing. Then it has him texting Taehyung, and calling Taehyung, and going to his window every few minutes to look at how cute the little stone basin is. And then he snaps a photo of a cute little red bird sitting on its ledge while the sun’s setting, and it’s a done deal. Suddenly, an idea emerges.

Two days later, Jimin hesitates at Jeongguk’s property line. Carefully, in shaking hands, he holds a pie.

He’s not much of a baker.

Which is partially a lie, really. Jimin’s pretty decent at it. He’s got several working recipes in rotation, all of which are tried and true, passed down from his family. He bakes his own bread; whether it’s seedy, chewy loaves good for sandwiches or soaking in cream or airy, no-knead toasting bread perfect that holds butter better than any bought in-store. But, on the other hand, he doesn’t do it often. It all just sits on the counter, after all, waiting for Jimin to have a bigger stomach than he ever has.

Carefully, he shifts the pie in his hands. Jeongguk’s gone beyond the so-called neighborly duty, Jimin reminds himself—so it’s a good way to offer some thanks. Not quite as good as a cobbler, but Jimin had gotten carried away with the promise of outlining little apples into the crust every few inches.

Then he’d covered it with a lacey cloth and tied that down with a red ribbon. Then he’d spent twenty minutes figuring out what to wear just to cross the driveway.

That’s not what has him hesitating, though.

Jimin doesn’t comprehend until he’s stepped out the front door that he’s never actually set foot on Jeongguk’s property. A high fence offers privacy from the drive, and when Jimin finally does step around it, he’s surprised to see how manicured the front is. There’s no wild ivy, floral bushes, or thorned flowers crawling up the ranch. There is, however, a birch tree, an obvious transplant.

The ranch itself is so frustratingly stark that the owner’s dynamic is startlingly obvious. Jimin has to hold back a laugh at the plain exterior. Jeongguk doesn’t even have a doormat.

Slowly, Jimin starts to cross the yard.

The whole lot smells like Jeongguk—enticing in all the right ways, and warm. Jimin likes it so much because none of it is offensive like the musk of nearly every other alpha he’s met. It draws him in.

The scent is strong, though, almost as much as it is in person. Jimin catches himself wondering if the alpha’s outside once or twice, though only pups are unable to tell between pheromones and trails. It’s with that embarrassment that he pushes forward to the porch.

By the first step, the smell is practically an assault. By the second, his eyes widen and his knees go weak.

His hands falter; he has to steady his grip on the pie.

If he’d been paying more attention, he would’ve seen Jeongguk’s drawn curtains in the middle of daylight. He would have questioned why the alpha would have his curtains drawn when he’s so clearly at home—his truck’s parked in the drive, after all. And then he probably would have thought rationally about the scent radius, and about Jeongguk never dropping by in the days prior.

But he hadn’t noticed any of that. So he knocks.

There’s no answer. Adjusting the glass dish in his grip, he calls: “Jeongguk?”

At the sound of something crashing inside, his suspicion starts.

“I made you a pie,” he calls, voice cracking. “I’ll leave it here—I would have made something more, if I’d known–”

A low, loud weight slams against the door. Jimin’s hair stands on end and, as if that isn’t enough, a growl seems to vibrate right through the wood.

Jimin absolutely squeaks, pie slipping between his fingers. The glass pan spins in circles before it stills on the porch. If it isn’t cracked, the pie definitely is.

“S-sorry!” he yelps.

A long growl sounds again. It makes Jimin hesitate, listening in—and that’s exactly when Jimin has his last spark of sense. He uses it to turn on his heel.

“—And I dropped the pie,” Jimin groans.

A long, mourning groan sounds from the other side. Jimin glances from his laptop screen to his phone, where Taehyung’s face can be seen in a grimace.

“A moment of silence,” Taehyung suggests, bowing his head solemnly—but then he peeks up. “How was it?”

Jimin shrugs. “I didn’t try it.”

“Not the pie, for fuck’s sake. The smell.”

Jimin’s face is enough of an answer. Taehyung cackles wildly, spinning around in his office chair.

“Hooooly shit. I bet you got busy after that whiff,” he crows.

“You’re nasty.” Jimin rolls his eyes.

He was busy three times, to be precise.

Taehyung shrugs over the call. “So pie plan failed. What next?”

Jimin snorts. He glances at his calendar. “Become a hermit, turn this draft into a tragedy, and magically disappear from my signing dinner once Jihoon makes an appearance?”

“Surprised you’re planning on showing up.”

“Debating it,” Jimin grumbles, but when Taehyung gives an exasperated look, he puts on an angelic smile. “Going for you, Taehyungie.”

Going because of Taehyung, more likely—without the other omega, Jimin would be too worried to walk back to his car.

“I hope Jeongguk finds out you’re secretly a gremlin.”

“Never,” Jimin tuts.

“Maybe the problem is the rating,” comes the comment. “Seems pretty PG to me.”

As if Jimin has the gall to initiate anything more.

The day of the dinner rolls around, and with it, Jimin’s stomach.

He pushes his glasses atop his head with a sigh. The open document on the screen of his laptop threatens to fade to a screensaver, and he hasn’t felt much motivation to do anything but stare at the wall.

It takes all his strength not to direct his gaze toward the window.

He tells himself he shouldn’t hope. After all, there’s a two-to-three day period in which Jeongguk’s rut may or may not have lingering symptoms.

He’s going to that dinner whether Jeongguk shows up or not, and the alpha’s presence might soothe Jimin—but it won’t fix the fact that he doesn’t want to go, so he shouldn’t be holding his breath. More than anything, he ought to be embarrassed. He’d dropped an absolute mess on Jeongguk’s porch.

That’s what he tells himself, anyway, until there’s a knock at the front door.

He springs out of his seat embarrassingly quickly. The only decent thing about lying around waiting for a love interest to show up is being ready—at least he isn’t a drowning rat when he yanks the door open.

“Hi,” he breathes, even before he sees the alpha on the other side.

Jeongguk looks better than he remembers—and smells better, too.

“Hey there.” He has a sunny smile and pink cheeks. “I’ve uh, got somethin’ for ya.”

Jimin’s ready to drool. “Mm-hmm?” He hopes it’s Jeongguk’s—

The alpha points to the box beneath his arm.

“I don’t think the mailwoman’s met you yet,” he mentions. “She dropped your package on my porch.”

Jimin doesn’t remember a package. He remembers that smell, though, standing on Jeongguk’s porch and knowing just how much of an alpha he could be.

He blinks, shakes his head.

Post-rut scent isn’t for everyone. There are multiple side effects, included but not limited to: idiocy.

“I’m sorry for showing up,” he blurts. “I didn’t know that you—well, you—I didn’t know.”

Definitely idiocy. May reduce mind-to-mouth filters, too, apparently.

Jeongguk’s eyes widen like he didn’t expect Jimin to say it at all. Probably because it was completely out of place in the conversation.

Then the alpha says: “That pie was delicious.”

Jimin gasps.

“You ate it?!”

Jeongguk nods, completely serious. “Best I ever had.”

He has to cover his face at that point, cheeks red and feeling all sorts of embarrassment.

“Pan’s a little cracked,” the alpha admits. “But it wasn’t split when I picked it up; just kinda fell apart when I picked it up. I’m treating the stain on your handkerchief.”

Jimin can’t believe it.

“I’m gonna get you a new dish,” Jeongguk promises.

“—No,” Jimin blurts, heat creeping down his neck. “No, that’s okay. I’m… glad you liked it. Sorry for, um, dropping it.”

“No need to apologize. Should’ve warned ya.”

Clearly, he has no problem discussing his cycle out and in the open. Maybe he doesn’t know how he smells, Jimin rationalizes. He can’t know that Jimin’s subtly piecing every part of Jeongguk and trying to tie it to his rut—any loose hair, or crease in his tee. He even looks at Jeongguk’s toolbelt and thinks stupid shit like you could fix me up.

There aren’t even any wrinkles in his shirt, either. It’s just lots of barely-hidden muscle mass.

It’s the dreaded final side effect: major horniness.

“Um.” Jimin clears his throat. “You said I got a package?”

Jeongguk sure does.

The alpha grins, two perfect rows of white. “I do.”

Package. Jimin tries to recall the meaning of the word, though he’d used it only moments before. The box beneath Jeongguk’s arm is fairly narrow, though rectangular. He squints, trying to process anything that isn’t the alpha’s post-rut scent.

Then it hits him, and he scowls.

“Oh.” He twists his mouth. “That.”

“You look like you’re gonna kill it.”

Jimin sighs, leaning against the doorframe. “I might.”

He takes the offending box regardless. A quick shake reveals that it is, as expected:

“It’s a shirt for this stupid dinner I’m supposed to go to,” he grumbles.

Jeongguk’s stifling a snort.

“Don’t laugh.” Jimin rolls his eyes. He should probably bring it in, and let Jeongguk do whatever work he’s clearly ready to do with all those tools on his person, but: “...Wanna come in? I was just about to make some tea.”

The alpha follows. Jimin feels a little guilty luring him in just to smell him a little longer.

“What’s so bad about this dinner?”

He huffs as he flips open the pantry. With his back turned, he takes a deep breath, and—yeah, it smells fucking amazing.

“Nothing about the dinner itself, really,” Jimin mulls, distracted. “Just… the people there. I’m just not looking forward to it. It’s a work thing”

A hum. “You don’t like the people you work with?”

“I don’t really work with people often,” Jimin admits. Does Jeongguk always smell so strong after a rut? “I have lots of meetings, but I mostly just work with saved files and, if I’m lucky, a printer.”

“You like it that way,” the alpha assumes. Jimin nods, so he guesses: “And now you don’t have the option…?”

He doesn’t quite know how to explain that his problem isn’t really people, but instead the people who don’t respect his boundaries. Which in isolation is a very reasonable thought and a low expectation to meet, really. Jihoon just doesn’t meet that expectation, like many hormone-heavy alphas, and Jimin barely even knows him.

Jeongguk isn’t like that.

Someone like Jeongguk could fix that, too. Not that Jimin should need it. But it’s true; no one would cross a line with him around, or even lingering. Post-rut or not, that aura would send a message. Strong, capable, self-assured. Even Jeongguk’s scent on him would—

He pauses.

Inviting Jeongguk along would still be awkward at best, outright rude and inconsiderate to the staff at worst. But maybe Jeongguk doesn’t actually need to be there.

“... Can I ask you something?”

He shouldn’t.

“Of course.”

He might, though. It’s the scent tempting him to do it.

“... I don’t know,” Jimin winces.

But he scoots up onto the counter, ankles crossed. He glances up at the ceiling, tempted to sigh. It’s desperate, and cringe-worthy.

Which—maybe it’s not so bad, really. Jimin would’ve invited Jeongguk if he could’ve. And the alpha could always say ‘no.’

Plus, Taehyung’d be thrilled.

“I’ve got a favor to ask,” he warns.

Jeongguk nods, waiting.

“It’s… um.” He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. “Sorry, it’s kind of a weird one. I feel bad even asking.”

The alpha’s features are growing concerned. He opens his mouth, but Jimin cuts in—

“I’m annoyed because the dinner tonight is for a book I put out a little while ago, and—” He swallows. “There’s an alpha that’s attending that’s, um.”

He looks up at the ceiling.

“He’s a little pushy,” Jimin admits.

He can hear Jeongguk inhale sharply.

“I originally wanted to ask if you would come with me,” he reveals carefully, casually, “but I filled out the invitation almost six months ago, and I didn’t put down a plus-one because I never thought I’d know anyone aside from my editor, and he’s already going, and he’s also an omega, so it wouldn’t really… help much.”

He swallows. His face is burning. He looks carefully at his hands.

“I just thought that…”

His heart’s pounding. He doesn’t dare look at Jeongguk, knowing he wants to ask:

“Is there any way you would mark me?” he stumbles.

Jeongguk’s toolbelt lands on the counter. Jimin’s come to recognize the sound.

“I just… I’ll totally understand either way, of course. I didn’t think it through, sorry. I just thought he’d—"

Jimin’s worried he’s laying it on a little thick. But the thought of it is too good, and it’s the only way he knows how to ask, so he finishes it out strong.

“—finally, um. Leave me alone.”

And Jeongguk could always refuse.

“Yeah.”

Jimin freezes. The air shifts, heavy. He grips the counter in his hands. He’d imagined the idea, but he’d never anticipated Jeongguk actually agreeing. He’d hoped, sure. But he’d never thought it would be real.

He never thought Jeongguk’s voice could get that low, either.

“… You’re sure?”

He pinches his lips together. How stupid of him to ask.

But Jeongguk nods, removing his work gloves. Jimin gets chills at the sight alone.

“What time are you leavin’?” he asks.

Jimin can’t remember anymore. He’s pretty certain: “Seven, I think.”

The alpha hums.

“’S noon,” he points out.

Which means he’s either going to wait, or scent the shit out of him.

“… That’s alright,” Jimin excuses weakly.

And when he expects Jeongguk to mention coming back, he doesn’t. He steps across the kitchen.

Jimin uncrosses his legs.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I just…”

But he trails off, not quite knowing what to say. He offers a hand, palm-up, instead.

Jeongguk’s eyes drift down.

“What’s a knothead doing at your dinner?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Jimin admits, breath uneven. “Nepotism, or something.”

He doesn’t care, either. Jeongguk takes his wrist in hand, calloused fingers on his skin. He pulls it in—

“That won’t really last,” Jimin breathes. Even though he’d been the one to offer it.

Jeongguk stiffens.

“You could—?”

He tilts his head, inviting. His heartbeat pounds beneath the surface.

Jeongguk leans in, ever so slowly. Jimin’s stretching his neck out as if Jeongguk’s actually his to preen for.

But Jeongguk agreed, didn’t he?

“You can come closer,” Jimin suggests.

The alpha takes the space between Jimin’s open legs. He’s careful about it, with both hands on the counter, but Jimin’s heart pounds like the alpha’s taken him in his arms and has decided to scent him all on his own.

But what does Jeongguk think? He’s inches away, nose turned toward Jimin’s shoulder.

“I could drive you,” he suddenly offers, voice low.

Jimin has to make a focused effort to respond. He frowns. Then it clicks. Rejection stings.

“You changed your mind,” he thinks out loud.

“No,” Jeongguk breathes, and then he leans in.

At the first touch, Jimin promptly loses his shit.

Jeongguk’s gentle about it, with manners in mind; he nuzzles against Jimin’s scent gland, but he keeps his lips firmly out of the equation. He noses gently, sparking little tickles on his skin. His breath is warm. He pulls back when he should.

Jimin likes it a little too much.

Jeongguk’s scent thrums low in his gut. He wants the alpha’s mouth involved, wants him to drag things out so that Jimin can finally stop wondering and start feeling up the weight of Jeongguk’s strong body—which is probably why he grabs a fistful of Jeongguk’s shirt.

The alpha freezes, inches from his neck. It takes a belated second for Jimin to feel how much he’s pulling.

“Other side?” Jimin stutters, grip tightening.

There’s a long, long pause before Jeongguk nods, nice and close. It’s intimate. Jimin shivers. When the alpha obeys, Jimin eats up a passing view of his lips and jawline. A low, quiet sound escapes.

Jeongguk’s restraint will be the death of him. Always the perfect gentleman; close enough for Jimin to want, far enough to crave. He lets Jeongguk in until the alpha’s hips are nearly flush with the counter and he brushes the inner seam of Jimin’s pants.

Jeongguk dips in to brush along the crook of Jimin’s neck once more.

The trouble starts when Jimin’s back arches to meet him. It puts them chest to chest, and that’s the beginning of the downfall; that’s when Jimin feels the alpha rising and falling against him. He knows he’s already gone too far for it to be believable anymore, too—and, on top of it all, his nose is only inches from Jeongguk’s scent gland.

Scenting the alpha isn’t a part of the bargain. Jimin’s eyes fixate anyway. His grip tightens. Then he snaps.

Jimin doesn’t just return the favor; he throws himself into it and rubs his face desperately into Jeongguk’s neck.

He vaguely registers Jeongguk catching him with both hands under his thighs, which won’t do much at all to calm him down, he thinks, running his tongue hot and heavy over the spot where Jeongguk’s scent is the strongest—

Until he realizes what he’s doing, and he jerks back with an inhale.

Jeongguk’s shirt is rumpled and stretched. He’s got both hands thrown around the alpha’s neck. He pulls one back to slap over his lips, leaving Jeongguk to adjust Jimin’s weight in his hands.

They stare at each other, eyes wide.

Jimin sputters: “You—” and then he realizes that it’s really more of an ‘I’ moment. He freezes again.

Slowly, Jeongguk lets his weight drop. His hands slip upward—over the curves of Jimin’s hips, catching on his shirt—and Jimin’s feet touch the cold floor.

Jeongguk’s eyes are wild. Jimin looks for something smug or scandalized, but he can’t find it.

He breathes: “That’s—that’s probably enough, right?”

It’s the only thing he can think to say. He blinks. Dreaded moisture stings in his eyes.

Jeongguk’s got wide, blown pupils.

“Should do it,” he agrees.

Jimin leans back against the counter, knees weak.

For the dinner, he should specify. Except he’s probably not going to go at all.

Jeongguk leaves his number on the counter.

A while later, Jimin stares at the offending sticky note with a granola bar in hand. The supposed dinner is in two and a half hours, meaning he’ll need to leave in a half hour if he intends to go.

He doesn’t.

The problem is that Jeongguk thinks he does. Jeongguk, who not only gave Jimin his number on the sly but also turned to Jimin in his doorway and said I’ll drive you, smelling like smoke and cedar and sex.

Jimin hadn’t been able to say shit in the way of declining. Which means now he has to own up to the fact that he’d ditched Taehyung (who had of course understood the very serious matter of being scent fucked, in his own words) and his own dinner.

He has his phone in his hand, at the ready.

Should he text? Should he call? What excuse could he make? I’m not feeling well seems avoidant at best. Family emergency might have Jeongguk wondering if anyone had died. Then there’s the fact that Jeongguk would likely suspect he’s lying either way.

Then again, he doesn’t have much of a choice. But Jimin really doesn’t want Jeongguk to think he’s… off-put by earlier events.

He pulls out his phone.

Carefully, he composes: Hi, it’s Jimin. The dinner ended up being rescheduled; my agent had an emergency.

Takes the blame off of Jimin himself, but it’s too specific; he removes the excuse. And too serious.

Hi, it’s Jimin :) Dinner got rescheduled.

Perfect. But how to preserve the precarious friendship balance?

He adds: I’m making something instead. There will be extra. You’re welcome to it if you want it!

A good motivator. Plus, he could theoretically be inviting Jeongguk over or offering leftovers—it’s up to the alpha to interpret it. He sends the message, throws his phone across the couch, and yells into a pillow.

His phone chimes before he’s done.

Jimin scans the screen. It’s from Jeongguk, sure, but the preview of the message alone has him confused. He opens the message and reads again.

I wouldn’t start anything. I picked up some food earlier if you like.

He scans again and again. His first thought is the sneaking suspicion that Jeongguk probably can’t cook to save his life. Then he’s wondering why until another message comes in.

Unless you have a generator. I didn’t think you did.

Jimin squints. ‘Stupid city skillset,’ as he calls it, has him Googling. Then he opens the weather app. The report of the next town over shows a storm warning, and so does the capital’s, so Jimin connects the dots.

It’s time to play along and avoid looking like an idiot caught in a lie.

I wasn’t sure if that would hit us so soon, he lies.

Always does.

Jimin’s a little nervous and taken aback. He glances out the window where dark skies are, sure enough, looming.

Another ding. Jimin’s excited, expecting it to be Jeongguk again, but instead Taehyung has sent the weather report and called him a lucky little bitch. At least his dinner really is postponed.

Do you think the power will really go out? he sends to Jeongguk.

It’s a minute before the phone sounds again, and when it does, it rings. Jimin picks up with shaking hands.

“... Hello?”

“How’d you move down here without knowing we have some of the worst infrastructure there is?” the alpha teases on the other end.

The sound of his voice goes straight to Jimin’s stomach.

“I bought the house for the visual appeal,” he admits.

“A strong breeze’ll cause an outage.” A laugh. “For a week, at least.”

“... Well, I didn’t know that.”

It’s a factor he probably should’ve considered before he purchased the house, especially with his job.

“I was wondering about that when you asked me earlier. Figured your dinner might be further up north in the capital, or something like that.”

It takes Jimin a long minute to fill in ‘to scent the everloving shit out of you’ after ‘asked me.’

“... No, I hadn’t checked,” he admits. “No one called, either.”

There’s a moment of quiet on the other line. Jimin’s scrambling for ways to expand on that thought, thinking Jeongguk’s waiting for him to continue. Just when he’s got something, the alpha asks:

“Would you like to stay over?”

“—Huh?”

“In my home,” Jeongguk specifies. “While the storm passes.”

Jimin’s mouth shuts with an audible clack.

“You’re welcome to come over. I figure I’m a little better prepared than you might be.”

He huffs. But then he takes a look at his phone, which has low battery—and his pantry, which is not very stocked on items ready-to-eat without an appliance of some sort.

His decision is made for him.

It takes Jimin an hour and a half to pack a bag.

There’s the pacing, first of all. Then there’s the delay he’d had the forethought to warn Jeongguk about—needing to email some documents over to the necessary people before he didn’t make his deadlines. Then there’s the panic. He’d take longer, too—but then his lights flicker and his house goes dark.

By the time he does finally cross the driveway, the storm threatens to soak his hair through in seconds and there’s even standing water on the pavement. Jeongguk’s porch is a welcome island—so welcome, in fact, that Jimin forgets he hasn’t seen the inside of the alpha’s home.

The door swings open before he even crosses the yard. Jeongguk runs out with an umbrella, swinging its open curves above their heads just to cover Jimin from the few feet of downpour to the porch.

“Hey there,” he says, as always.

Jimin pretends it’s the forced proximity of a shared umbrella that has him pressing up against the alpha’s side. He smells good even in the scent-dampening weather.

“I think I’m gonna need rain boots,” Jimin yells over the pouring rain.

Jeongguk cracks up at that, laughing even as he ushers Jimin in the door.

“Are you hungry?”

It’s a sweet way to be welcomed inside. Jimin shrugs, smiling.

“If you are,” he offers. “I could eat, or I could wait, either way.”

Jeongguk lingers for a sec, like he isn’t quite sure, and then he eventually nods and says something like I’ll go warm something up. It’s so fast and low that Jimin doesn’t catch all the words, but he gets enough of the meaning to nod.

Jeongguk turns. Then he pauses. He looks over his shoulder.

“Power’s from the living room to the bedroom,” he says. “Outlets in the bathroom won’t work. But, uh… there’s hot water.”

Then his brows furrow.

“Make yourself at home,” he tries, unsure.

Jimin could laugh. Jeongguk seems like he’s never had a guest before in his life, after all—but the broad expanse of his shoulders is still distracting. He nods instead, glancing around while the alpha makes himself busy in the kitchen.

Jeongguk’s home is decorated sparingly, to say the least, but it’s clean. Jimin sets his bag down at the tiled entryway and removes his shoes before stepping into the carpeted living room. He sees no especially personal touches—a photo on the mantel, and a spare book on an end table—but it’s cozy regardless, with plenty of warmth. And it has power while Jimin’s does not.

Generator. Right.

“—Here,” Jeongguk says.

To say Jimin jumps would be an understatement. He slaps a hand over his mouth, but the yelp’s already come out.

“Got you a towel,” he explains, fabric held out in his hand.

Jimin slowly remembers his hair and shoulders are damp. He reaches out—and thinks about whipping the towel back at the alpha when he gets it. The corners of Jeongguk’s mouth are turned up.

“You scared me,” he pouts.

The alpha’s ready to say something—teasing, from the looks of it, but when Jimin actually takes what’s offered, he pauses.

Jimin doesn’t notice anything especially odd about it right away. He pats at his hair, hoping it won’t look too stupid. Maybe that’s what has Jeongguk’s standing so still. Maybe he’s ready to deliver his most embarrassing burn yet.

“—Gonna go get that soup,” the alpha mutters, turning on his heel.

Jimin stares after him, thrown-off.

It’s several long minutes before he returns. Jimin occupies his time by settling down on the couch and digging his phone out. He shoots off a text to Taehyung, though he knows it won’t send for some time if at all, and then he glances around the room.

There’s more detail upon closer inspection: a woven kind of draping hanging over the far armchair that appears handmade, and a book shoved in between the cushions he sits on.

The cover of the novel, he discovers, is awfully familiar. He takes one peek, cringes, and shoves it back down and in between. He’ll just pretend he didn’t see that—and the fact that Jeongguk’s evidently half-way through.

The alpha himself comes in not long afterward.

“It won’t be as good as yours,” he warns, and just as Jimin’s about to deny: “It’s from a can.”

Jimin’s getting the sneaking suspicion that Jeongguk appreciates his cooking so much because he largely purchases grocery items that favor convenience and simplicity.

He tries for the table, but the alpha waves him back to the couch with a shake of his head and a gesture toward one of the thicker blankets hanging over the couches arm. Jeongguk reaches for the remote but makes no effort to pay attention to the news that flickers on, turning instead to face Jimin.

Jimin, for his own part, doesn’t need to spread the blanket over both of their laps. But he does. Jeongguk seems to pause at this, too, but before Jimin can wonder if he’s gone too far, the alpha passes over a bowl.

As Jeongguk takes a bite, Jimin asks: “Is that your family?”

Jeongguk looks up, eyes round. Jimin gestures to the photo on the mantel. The alpha swallows, and then nods. “Yeah. My mother and father.”

Such formal titles. “Do you have siblings?”

“A brother.”

Jimin doesn’t know if he should shut up or not. Jeongguk isn’t quite giving him fuck off vibes, at least. “Do they… live in town?”

The alpha pauses, spoon in his bowl. He seems to consider what he says.

“My dad passed the ranch on to me,” he finally offers.

Jimin doesn’t prod anymore.

Jeongguk peeks up, looking at Jimin for the first time since he’d sat. Jimin’s struck again by how long his eyelashes are.

“Where’s your family?”

Jimin swallows. “In the capital, all of them.”

“You were raised there?”

A nod. That’s when Jeongguk smiles.

“So you picked up and moved to the smallest town on this side of the mountain range,” he laughs. “Why?”

Jimin flushes.

“I knew I wanted to buy instead of renting,” he mutters, stirring. “Investing versus spending, and all that.”

“Isn’t much investing to be done out here,” Jeongguk teases.

He rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he huffs. “I liked the way it looked and my agent failed to tell me about the semi-regular flash flooding.”

Something always goes twinkly in Jeongguk’s eyes whenever he smiles.

“Hey,” he says with a shrug. “‘M glad you like it.”

“Were you lonely?” Jimin teases.

Another shrug. “Maybe.” It doesn’t sound like it, but maybe he’s glad his neighbor isn’t horrible. “Just hope you still don’t hate it.”

“Of course not,” Jimin huffs. “I have a very helpful neighbor.”

The alpha’s eyebrows pinch in mock hurt. “I thought we were at least friendly.”

“You shut me down!”

“You like being riled up.”

That shuts his mouth. His face goes hot and he feels it low in his gut, for whatever reason—and worst of all, it’s the kind of low-swooping heat that’s obvious, at least in his scent.

Jeongguk sees it, or at least smells it. Jimin knows he does. His eyes flicker and his lips are just barely open like he’s not going to let it go unspoken.

“Did you really not know there was a storm coming?”

It’s almost a let-down. Jimin exhales.

“No, I didn’t know.” But he’s confused. “Why?”

Jeongguk lifts his eyebrows as he turns away. He’s finished while Jimin’s only half-way through.

“No particular reason.”

He takes his bowl to the kitchen. Jimin knows that’s a lie.

“You’re a bad liar,” Jimin says, not even ten minutes later.

Jeongguk hums, kneeling in front of the fireplace. The view would be great if Jimin’s heart weren’t jumping and thumping. Well, it’s still great. But he’s too anxious to enjoy it.

“Why’d you ask me about the weather again?”

“Why’re you askin’?”

“You’re being weird.” He curls his legs beneath himself. “Just hurry up and make fun of me, or something.”

The alpha’s shoulders finally shake.

“Quit it,” Jimin says, even though he’d wanted that response.

Jeongguk just hums a happy sound. He reaches along the cabinet to the side of the fireplace, scanning, and pulls out a title.

“Pretty Woman?”

And yeah, Jimin’s pretty much required to love great romance movies as a producer of romance novels. It doesn’t tell him why Jeongguk’s being a little shit, but it’s exciting nonetheless.

“You like that? Really?”

“I have it,” the alpha says, as if that proves his point.

In the disc goes. Jeongguk wanders off into the kitchen while it lingers on the menu, and when he comes back, he has two sweet-smelling mugs.

Again, he starts the program but doesn’t seem too interested. His body’s turned toward Jimin, with absolutely none of his focus on the screen. It’s with that queue that Jimin only glances at the film every so often.

“So,” the alpha says, “no dinner.”

“Thank God,” Jimin snorts.

The alpha shifts. “But you mentioned it was rescheduled.”

He tries not to let his panic show.

“Well, um.” He nods his head side to side. “That’s what I figure, anyway. It was more of a last minute ‘Hey, I hope you’re not leaving because we’re not going to be able to do it’ kind of a thing.”

Which isn’t exactly his best lie, but Jeongguk seems pleased. He leans back against the couch.

“How often do you work with that guy?”

‘That guy.’ Interesting.

“I really only see him at stuff like that,” Jimin says, carefully. “Dinners, signings, stuff I try to avoid.”

Jeongguk hums into his mug. He crosses an ankle over a knee, and on his exhale, he reaches his arm over the back of the couch.

Jimin, with no visible hints that the alpha intends to continue discussing, glances back to the screen. The hot chocolate’s warm in his hands and the scent tickles his nose, but it’s nothing like the pin pricks of awareness he feels knowing Jeongguk’s so close. Closer than they’ve ever been really, but that’s only if he didn’t count that afternoon in the alpha’s arms.

And damn, he really hopes Jeongguk doesn’t pick up on the way he’s thinking about that.

“The bathroom’s down that hall,” the alpha suddenly says.

Jimin nearly jumps. He hadn’t asked, and it seems so random, but he offers a ‘thanks’ anyway.

Jeongguk nods. “You’re welcome to a shower.”

“Do I stink?”

He cracks a grin. “No,” he says, and then he looks purposefully at Jimin’s neck. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Oh. Jimin’s whole face lights up. He scratches nervously at his neck, wondering just how much Jeongguk’s smell lingers.

In retrospect, that might be related to Jeongguk’s acting generally weird.

“I can wash it off,” he offers, clearing his throat. “Or just—I can fuck off, y’know, whatever.”

Jeongguk laughs outright at that.

“‘S fine.” He raises his mug to his lips. “I don’t mind.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Jeongguk shakes his head, still smiling.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he clarifies.

Jimin sucks in a breath. There’s a movie playing, a fire crackling away in the fireplace, and a storm raging outside, but the room might as well have been completely silent.

When the credits roll, Jeongguk offers to show him the bedroom.

Jeongguk stretches as he stands.

“I’ll show you the bedroom,” he guides, and as Jimin follows, he says, “I’ll take the couch.”

Which is polite, really. But also disappointing as fuck.

“No, no,” Jimin rushes, putting all of his energy into a convincing performance. “It’s fine, really, I can just—” Step one: “—take the couch. Seriously.”

Jeongguk laughs like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s heard. Which is sweet, and great, and so nice. And also exactly what Jimin wants to hear.

“Really,” Jimin pouts. “It’s okay.”

He doesn’t really especially want either of them to take the couch.

Jeongguk’s bed isn’t exactly a twin, either. Jimin peeks at the wide mattress and takes in the rest of the alpha’s bedroom; minimally decorated but comfortable, following the established trend.

Maybe a little flattery would help. Step two.

“You already do a lot,” he says, swallowing down his embarrassment. “You don’t have to give up your bed.”

Which isn’t the best way to have said it, really. He can visibly see Jeongguk’s response processing; he really does think Jimin’s trying to ask for a trade.

So he takes a seat on the mattress and tilts his head.

“We can just share,” he suggests, eyes wide. Step three.

Jeongguk lets go of Jimin’s bag. It falls onto the carpet with a light thump. All Jimin sees is sweet, dark eyes.

“I don’t see why we couldn’t,” he points out.

He pouts for good measure. Maybe Jeongguk will notice what Jimin’s getting at if he asks nicely enough.

Finally, Jeongguk thumbs back over his shoulder with a grunt. Jimin’s heart falls.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Yeah, okay. Sorry.”

But Jeongguk shakes his head on a sharp inhale. He rubs at his face and shakes his head.

“Not that.”

“What?”

Another exhale.

“I wasn’t talking about the couch.” He’s gesturing over his shoulder again. “I meant a shower.”

He seems like he doesn’t want to meet Jimin’s eyes. A hunch creeps up, but Jimin’s going to make Jeongguk elaborate before he acts.

“What do you mean?”

Jeongguk turns like he might leave the room entirely. He stops, covers his eyes again, and makes a low growly sound.

“I’m not immune,” he groans, eyes covered.

He widens his eyes like he’s spelling it out in every possible detail. And Jimin latches onto the implied meaning. He presses his lips together and tries not to let anything show on his face.

“So… I should go take that shower,” he tentatively fills in.

Jeongguk sighs, exhausted, as he nods. It takes real effort, when Jimin stands, to not skip his way into the bathroom.

He comes back less than ten minutes later having made no real effort to remove Jeongguk’s scent.

He knocks on the door, just in case, but Jeongguk calls him in without a pause. He’s throwing his laundry into the bin in the closet. He wears a pair of plaid pants and a tee, which is no less than he’d expected.

He pulls the door closed with a quiet ‘click.’ The double take the alpha does when he sees Jimin is satisfying.

“‘S cold,” Jimin says, shuffling his way over to the bed.

Jeongguk stares at him with wide eyes.

“You’re not wearing pants,” he says, frozen on the other side of the room.

Jimin crawls over toward the side of the bed that appears less-used—no nightstand, and furthest from the bedroom door. He makes a strong point to give Jeongguk a confused look.

“Yes I am,” he corrects.

He props one knee onto the mattress. He reaches for the hem of his sweatshirt and pulls it up, up, up until the alpha can see the high, tiny hem of his shorts.

Jeongguk’s eyebrows lift to his hairline. Beyond that, Jimin’s too busy avoiding eye contact to see if he reacts any other way.

“I’ve got extra blankets,” the alpha says.

He reaches into the top shelf of his closet—shockingly organized, Jimin notices, though the alpha still somehow manages to smack himself in the face with a blanket.

“Thanks,” Jimin chirps, rolling onto the mattress.

Sharing a bed. Sharing Jeongguk’s bed. It’s not under the circumstances he’d imagined, but grins all the same. With the alpha’s back turned, Jimin discreetly rubs his wrists on the comforter.

Jeongguk doesn’t need to know.

“Will your power just not go out?” Jimin asks.

The alpha turns around just as Jimin flips over, chin resting in his hands and feet kicking in the air.

“Not as long as there’s gas,” comes the answer.

His face is… serious. The way he looks at Jimin is like—

“Are you okay?” Jimin asks, biting the inside of his cheek. “I can go, or…?”

Jeongguk shakes his head. “No,” he says, very deliberately. “I’m just thinkin’.”

Jimin leans further toward the end of the bed, bated. “About what?”

The alpha leans back, blankets under his arm and a look of real consideration on his face.

“I’m figurin’ out what a brat you can be,” he answers, and then he chucks the blankets right in Jimin’s face.

Jimin yelps as it hits him, though it’s only heavy fabric. The comforter’s managed to cover his face, though, and before he’s done scrambling, Jeongguk’s crossed the room.

“Mmmf—”

“You’re a little shit,” Jeongguk laughs, and then he puts a hand on either side of Jimin’s covered head.

“I am not!” Jimin kicks his feet.

“I turn around,” Jeongguk snickers, “and there you are, laying like it’s your bed. You’re spoiled.”

Jimin shimmies his way out the bottom of the cocoon. He whips around, ready for combat, but Jeongguk presses his lips together and points at his own head.

Jimin smushes his hair down, narrowing his eyes.

“Oh, are you mad now?” the alpha grins.

Jimin reaches behind himself. He throws Jeongguk’s pillow clear into its owner’s face. The alpha makes this dumb look as it falls, this stupified face that has Jimin erupting in giggles.

“No, no,” he says. “I’m not mad.”

The alpha stares down incredulously where the pillow rests at his feet.

“Are y’sure?” He shifts his weight, eyes crinkled. “You could try it again. ‘S your bed, after all.”

Jimin shakes his head, trying not to laugh. “That’s okay.” He swallows a snort. “I’m good now.”

Jeongguk smirks. “You’re sure?” He glances down at the pillow. “‘Cause I’m gonna get you back.”

Jimin’s eyes widen. That’s when Jeongguk crosses the room.

It’s over in less than a minute. Jeongguk grabs him and all the blankets in one big heap, Jimin’s pretty sure, and then he’s thrown back down to the mattress in a jumbled heap. It’s a mess of hands and legs—he wiggles out from an arm lock, at one point, but then Jeongguk drags him right back when he nearly topples off the bed.

“You wanna keep going?” Jeongguk asks.

The fact that he doesn’t look even a little bit tired makes it that much more humiliating. But his grip? Inescapable. The size of Jeongguk’s arms isn’t helping any.

“Fine,” Jimin bluffs, and when Jeongguk finally begins to let up, he wiggles his legs around the alpha’s waist.

Jeongguk makes a strangled sound. He falls back faster than even Jimin expects—which means they’re both along for the ride.

He manages to unlock his ankles just before they’re pinned beneath Jeongguk’s back.

“Got you,” Jimin grins, though his breath is shaky.

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything. His lips are parted, Jimin notices, and his eyes dip down. Jimin shifts his balance—with both hands on Jeongguk’s chest, because it’s clearly necessary—and confirms one leg is thrown over the alpha’s hips.

Jeongguk’s eyes are locked on it, too.

Jimin clears his throat. He shifts his weight and sits back on his knees, putting inches between them. He clears his throat.

“I’ll just ignore your humiliating loss,” he bluffs, starting to swing his leg over the alpha’s lap.

The alpha waits only a half second before he shoves Jimin down faster onto the mattress and gets up to cross the room.

“I’m turnin’ the light off. Don’t drool on me,” the alpha teases.

It’s an awful quick recovery. Jimin crawls under the covers, face warm, and watches the flow of Jeongguk’s body as he crosses the room. When the alpha flicks the switch, his toes curl. He pats the other side of the bed invitingly, though it probably can’t be seen.

Jeongguk slips in quietly under the sheets.

Jimin expects him to lie on his back, or worse, turn away—but Jeongguk faces Jimin, only inches away.

To be fair, Jimin’s kind of a bed hog. He’s nearly in the middle of the mattress.

“You can wake me up if you need anything,” the alpha offers.

Jimin nods, just a soft sound of his face sliding against the pillow case.

It’s silent for a little while. Jimin wonders if Jeongguk’s thinking of saying anything, or if he’s waiting for Jimin to say something, or if he really ought to just say ‘good night’ and pretend to sleep. But as time lapses, he just relaxes into comfortable quiet. His heart rate slows to a reasonable pace.

Jimin hears the pouring rain on the roof and a soft shift of the sheets as the alpha shifts.

“Thanks,” he eventually murmurs.

There’s a long silence. Jeongguk adjusts, presumably to look at him.

“For everything you’ve done,” Jimin rambles. “All the help—when I moved, and with my house, and this, too.”

Against all expectations, the bed starts to shake.

“Why are you laughing?” Jimin hisses in disbelief. “I was trying to be nice.”

Jeongguk sighs, amused, and props his face up on a palm.

“When I saw you moving, you were hanging off your little car,” he snickers. “You were trying to get that chest down. I’d bet it weighed twice as much as you, and you just kept pulling—” and then, holding his thumb and forefinger a centimeter apart, “—and you looked about this big.”

Jimin reaches across the space between them and shoves him in the chest. His hand falls, landing only an inch away.

He huffs. “You’re dumb.”

“You’re so small,” Jeongguk chuckles. “Caught you trying to get into your shed the next day. Pretty sure the knob’s bigger than your fist.”

Jimin scowls. “That’s ridiculous.”

He can just barely make out Jeongguk’s raised eyebrow. The alpha holds up his hand.

Jimin swallows thickly before he scoots in even closer and meets it with his own. He’s practically beneath Jeongguk when their hands meet. The alpha’s hands are calloused and warm, and the tips of Jimin’s fingers don’t even reach the second knuckles of his fingers. When he flexes the ends of his fingers over Jimin’s and squeezes, he grins.

Told you so, the smile says.

Jimin sniffs. “Maybe I shouldn’t have thanked you.”

Jeongguk’s trailing his fingertips down and further down, hands threatening to leave entirely.

“But I mean it,” Jimin rushes, heart pounding. “You’re—”

The alpha’s eyes flicker to his. His hand’s paused.

“—Great to have around,” he finishes lamely.

The alpha smiles anyway. “I’m here whenever you need me.” He’s proud to offer it, too.

Jimin’s stomach drops out and regret’s all over his tongue. Of course he’d say that. You’re resourceful, he’d basically said. What a load of shit.

“I’m always trying to write characters like you,” he tries.

That’s closer. Something in Jeongguk’s expression sharpens. His hand hasn’t pulled away, not yet.

Jimin thinks about saying what he’d wanted. About the way it would feel coming off of his tongue, even though it’s frozen. About Jeongguk’s reaction, whether it might be negative or positive.

He stares up at Jeongguk and wonders if the alpha can see it in his eyes.

“You’re a good alpha,” he confesses.

The hand grips his wrist.

“What are you trying to tell me?” he asks.

Jimin squeezes his eyes shut. He shakes his head. Jeongguk lets out a low sound—displeased, or maybe half-way there—but Jimin clenches his hands into fists and shakes his head again.

“You’re getting pretty quiet,” comes the observation.

Jeongguk’s weight shifts. Jimin’s eyes shoot open; he’s as close as he could be without outright looming over him, gaze trained on every move.

“I…” Jimin swallows. Looks away. “I’m just—”

“Sending me a message,” Jeongguk says, frank and low, like a warning.

And desperate, his mind supplies. Eating up all the attention Jeongguk gives him, even if it’s just a little touch and proximity.

He tests Jeongguk’s grip. He could move away, if he wanted.

“You’re being cute, too,” he adds, nodding.

Jimin gapes at him.

“I’ve noticed,” he says. “Even though you are pretty. And even if you’re testing the ever living shit out of my patience.”

Pretty. Jimin inhales a deep, heady breath of Jeongguk’s warm scent. There was a part of him that had wondered if Jeongguk didn’t even think like that.

“You think I don’t have eyes?”

Clearly, he’d been wrong. Hand shaking in Jeongguk’s grip, he shakes his head. The alpha leans in, sweet brown eyes turned serious.

“You’ve been playing this game a long while.” The bite is honeyed. “Calling me your neighbor and your friend. Asking me to call you by your name. You let me come to your rescue and give me eyes like you like it when I pick you up or grab your hand.”

Jimin flinches.

“So what do you want? A neighbor? Your friend?” His jaw clenches. “A good alpha?”

Then he pulls back. He’s waiting: probably for some kind of confession, or some modifier. But Jimin cracks and nods, wide-eyed and desperate.

Jeongguk’s eyes shoot wide. When it finally processes—Jimin wants it all—he leans in.

Jimin meets him with open lips. He’s hungry for it; Jeongguk growls, and he whines, and Jeongguk wraps his arms around Jimin’s waist while Jimin’s snake their way around the alpha’s neck. Jeongguk kisses like he means it: he pulls Jimin into him and takes what he wants.

They kiss until Jimin can’t take it anymore and he nips, and then they kiss some more with tongues and sighs a yelp, on Jimin’s part, because Jeongguk shoves him into the sheets and snaps:

“You want this,” he seems to realize, predatory. “You wanted it before this.”

Jimin hums his agreement into Jeongguk’s lips.

“You liked it when I’d touch you.”

He’s narrowing in on something dangerous.

“And being thrown around.” He pulls Jimin beneath him with an arm around his waist. “You liked that, too.”

Jimin eyes Jeongguk’s arms and decides he’ll keep his real preference to himself. He has a feeling the alpha will figure out soon enough.

“It’s not bad,” Jimin hedges.

He makes his way across Jeongguk’s jawline, shivering when it tenses under his touch. But Jeongguk shakes his head and grabs a fistful of Jimin’s waist.

Then he ducks his face between Jimin’s neck and shoulder, nosing along the skin.

Mine, the touch threatens. Jimin’s gland is brushed outright, and he keens. He pounces for the alpha’s lips.

“Yes, I like it,” he gushes. “I like that you can—move me.”

It sounds stupid. Jeongguk laughs a little, a dry sound that turns to a growl when Jimin’s hands roam his neck and shoulders.

“I like—” He wiggles in Jeongguk’s grip. “I liked it when you—when I was—”

“When I helped you reach that shelf,” Jeongguk fills in. “In your kitchen.”

“No—” But that, too. “Yes. On your bed, before, when you had me pinned but I—”

Jeongguk drags Jimin into his lap, two hands on his waist.

“Yeah,” Jimin whines. That.

Jeongguk moans something like just like this, puts a hand on each hip, and guides him into a slow, hot grind. He presses heavy kisses on Jimin’s lips, jaw, and neck. And he smells like sex.

“You’re fuckin’ pretty,” he suddenly says.

Jimin’s head empties. And he thought he’d liked polite, sweet Jeongguk.

“I don’t know how you look like that,” he rambles. “Act like that. And now you’re in my lap. I’ve been wanting to tell you for—”

Jimin shivers down to his toes. His cock’s hard and obvious through his thin clothes. If Jeongguk looked down, he’d see the outline even in the dark. Judging by the way he moves Jimin’s body, he doesn’t need to.

“Tell me,” he chokes.

“Every day,” Jeongguk says, off-hand but resolute.

Jimin’s cock twitches and his toes curl. Pleasure’s building—at the rate they’re going, Jimin’ll be lucky if he lasts until the first article of clothing is taken off.

“More,” he whines, eyes closed and delirious. “More.”

Jeongguk curses again. “What do you want?”

He races to pull Jeongguk’s shirt off. Jeongguk takes over when his hands scramble but fumble, and as Jimin watches white cotton give way to tanned, smooth muscle, he has to lean back.

Jeongguk’s got curves and dips like the stuff of Jimin’s wildest fantasies. His chest rises and falls with breath, but Jimin’s still tempted to pinch himself. He drinks in the sight instead, though, from the bulge of his traps down to the lined dip where his stomach meets a faint hint of pubic hair.

Just seeing Jeongguk’s stomach ripple as he moves is enough to set him on edge.

Jimin sighs dreamily, wrapping his hands around the alpha’s shoulders. His hole’s getting wetter, and he’s sure Jeongguk can smell it.

In no uncertain terms, he sighs, a little dreamily: “I want you to fuck me.”

Jeongguk’s eyes go comically wide. In any other circumstance, Jimin would laugh, but the alpha recovers fast enough to yank Jimin’s shirt off of his body. He throws it to the far end of the room and turns them over, caging Jimin in.

“Do you remember the way you acted in your kitchen?” Jeongguk pants. He traces his fingers up the soft plane of his tummy. “Cute, baby.” He pauses, considering. “Can I call you that?”

Of course he can. Jimin nods, and nods—“Oh my God,” he moans.

Jeongguk flicks his nipples beneath his thumbs. It’s good, so good, but Jimin remembers:

“You knew it would storm,” he breathes, accusing. “And you—you marked me anyway.”

Jeongguk snickers. “For a writer, you really can be oblivious.”

Jimin sucks in a hiss—but then Jeongguk starts up that pace again, and a moan makes its way out instead.

“You looked like this.” He rolls and pinches while Jimin whines in tiny little jerks. “When I marked you.”

Jimin remembers. He remembers being so horny he couldn’t think—which isn’t far off from the present moment, really, not when he’s dragging his nails down Jeongguk’s chest.

“I really—” Jeongguk twists a nipple, and his whole body twists up. “I really like that you can… do that.”

The alpha noses from his earlobe to his nipple and hums, questioning. Jimin’s face burns.

His breath is hot on his chest. Jeongguk looks like he wants to eat Jimin right up, but he waits. His hips give a weak twitch.

“When you hold me,” he elaborates, heart fluttering, “the way you did before.”

Jeongguk pauses. He looks like he might say something, but just when Jimin thinks it’s coming, the alpha merely nods. Then he runs his tongue over Jimin’s nipple in a long, flat swipe.

“Hah!” Jimin’s head hits the headboard with a thump. Jeongguk only pulls him down by the hips before he does it again. “Don’t stop,” Jimin moans.

The alpha moans an affirmative. He reaches beneath Jimin’s waistband and, in one motion, pulls Jimin’s dripping cock out and into a slow back-and forth. He suckles and pumps and pulls away only for a second to look appreciatively at Jimin’s face.

And his hand. It covers Jimin’s whole cock in a wet slippery grip.

“I’m not gonna—” He digs his nails into Jeongguk’s back. “Stop, I’ll—”

Jeongguk hums in acknowledgement but otherwise ignores Jimin’s pleas. He pumps Jimin’s cock like it’s his job and bats away Jimin’s hands when he tries to intervene.

“N-no,” he stutters. “I want you in me.”

The alpha’s hand stills. His lips slip from Jimin’s torso with a lewd ‘pop.’ Jimin eyes the wet shine on his swollen lips and the determined look in his eyes. He’s got his fingers wrapped around the tip of Jimin’s cock, too, hand disproportionately large.

He seems to debate it; Jimin has the underlying suspicion that Jeongguk might, at some point, make him come until he can’t. But he gives in and begins to remove Jimin’s pants.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs.

Something impossibly low stirs in his gut. He’ll leave that to deal with later.

Jeongguk slips down his body with kisses and wide, calloused hands. There’s something reverent about the way he does it that makes Jimin somehow feel like it’s all for his sake.

He stops at Jimin’s cock. His breath is warm and his gaze is heavy.

“—No,” Jimin rushes, “I’ll come, don’t—”

The alpha’s almost distracted, parting Jimin’s thighs to look at his hole. His fingers slip down the crease of Jimin’s thigh. They come back shiny and sticky and, if Jeongguk’s face is anything to go by, it must smell good.

So Jeongguk takes his tongue lower than Jimin’s cock, which is infinitely worse.

“Fucking shit,” Jimin pants.

Jeongguk’s amused huff is warm on his thighs.

He’s a sight, with an arm wrapped around Jimin’s thigh and his face ducked down low. And his grip’s so tight that squirming doesn’t do much but leave him half-hanging off of the mattress, feet twitching on the alpha’s shoulders.

“Jeongguk,” Jimin pants. “Please.”

He’s starting to feel lightheaded, and he’s pretty sure it’s not from his head hanging off the mattress. But Jeongguk growls and licks deeper. Jimin feels his shoulders moving—when he strains for a peek, his stomach drops. Even with the view obstructed, he can tell Jeongguk’s fisting his own cock while he licks between Jimin’s legs.

Jimin digs his fingers in the alpha’s hair.

“Please,” he whimpers. He strains his neck, seeing white dripping onto his stomach and Jeongguk’s flushed cheeks.

Jeongguk pulls back. “Turn over for me, then,” he suggests.

It’s not going to happen in that position.

Jimin shakes his head and the alpha peers through the gap in his thighs, considering. Seconds later, his hands are around Jimin’s ankles and they’re off the bed entirely.

The carpet prickles faintly under his hands and knees.

“Sorry, sunshine,” Jeongguk murmurs.

Jimin’s still reeling. The alpha’s hands are still on his hips— because Jeongguk really did move him, just like that. Apparently that’s all it takes for him to present.

“Hurry,” Jimin drawls, stretching until his nipples touch the floor.

Jimin swears the alpha lets out a low whistle.

Jeongguk presses a finger in gently, but when Jimin only bucks back for more, a second slips in. He takes his time with the stretch, fucking Jimin open long and slow until his hole sucks each finger loud and wet and Jimin lets out an “ah, ah, ah,” with the alpha’s movements.

He’s losing himself in it just enough to stop wondering when Jeongguk’ll finally fuck him with a knot. That’s when he opens his mouth, dazed, and says: “Alpha.” It’s the most embarrassing thing he’s ever let come out of his mouth.

Jeongguk stills. Jimin squeezes his eyes shut. He tenses.

He’d always thought whining over dynamics was cheesy and stupid and only existed in bad porn. At the least, it’s something to say after a long time together. Not the very first time.

Jeongguk probably thinks he’s into assholes who shove him down and call him names. Which—Jimin’s okay with everything but the asshole part of it, but that part counts.

Jeongguk isn’t an asshole. He reaches around Jimin’s waist and pulls him up like Jimin weighs nothing, like it isn’t inconvenient at all to turn him around just to look into his eyes. Strong hands find the underside of Jimin’s thighs, and they lift him. Cold air brushes his wet hole. Jimin’s ashamed that it only turns him on more.

He kisses Jimin’s temple and holds him in his arms.

“Whose alpha?” he prompts.

Jimin’s flush is reaching his chest. He whines.

Jeongguk scents each side of his neck attentively. “Whose alpha?” he asks again. “You want to talk like that?”

Talk like that, he says. Like it’s a secret they’re finally talking about out loud.

Jimin nods dumbly. He never thought he’d like that.

“Mine,” he tries, unsure. It clicks into place a little more when he tries it out loud. “And, I’ll be…”

He doesn’t have to finish it. Jeongguk shivers as he growls.

“Yeah,” he drawls. “C’mere.”

His eyes are glazed over. He waves Jimin closer—it doesn’t make any sense, but Jimin scrambles to comply, wrapping his arms around the alpha’s neck.

Jeongguk lets Jimin go just enough for his back to touch the wall. That’s when realization prickles.

He’d thought they were headed for the bed. But Jeongguk’s finally reaching for his own cock instead of Jimin’s. He adjusts Jimin in the process.

“Fuck,” Jimin whimpers as he’s jostled.

“Really does it for you,” Jeongguk comments off-handedly.

Caught red-handed. Jimin’s tempted to bang his head backward against the wall.

But if that didn’t do it for him, Jeongguk’s cock would. The alpha wets his cock with the same slicked-up hand he’d had in Jimin minutes before, pumping the engorged tip in the tight ring of his fingers. Jimin beats impatiently at Jeongguk’s chest.

“Hurry,” he hisses. He squirms and lifts and even scrambles for a grip on the dresser, muttering: “Give it to me, please, been waiting forever—”

He shuts up when Jeongguk finally presses into his hole.

Jimin chokes on air, shuddering at the stretch. His legs twitch in Jeongguk’s hands.

“Oh my—oh my god,” he gasps. He didn’t know—right there, he’ll practically hang off of Jeongguk’s knot—

The alpha hisses into his shoulder. He pushes further in. Jimin’s never felt so full before and he doesn’t know how far Jeongguk’ll keep going. But he opens more than he thought he could, until Jeongguk bottoms out and digs his teeth into Jimin’s shoulder.

It has to be the position. The angle, the lack of anything in the way. Not pain, but not far from it. And only Jeongguk can do that for him.

Jimin tries to lean in—and sucks in a breath, because the stretch runs all the way down. Jeongguk cups his ass and digs his fingers into the flesh.

The alpha adjusts his grip and jostles Jimin again. This time, he rocks inside Jimin’s hole.

“Does that feel good?”

Jimin’s irritated he asks. “Fucking—yes!”

Jeongguk sets a brutal pace.

He fucks like he’s giving Jimin what he’s owed. Jimin leans back against the wall and stares at him, dazed. Jeongguk’s inside him. He’s literally pinning Jimin against a wall to fuck him, and he’s chasing Jimin’s lips for a kiss. No more waiting, trying to flirt without going too far, whatever the fuck that means, and being able to say shit like—

“You’re mine now,” Jeongguk snaps. “I wanna hear you.”

Jimin moans, open-mouthed and loud against his lips.

His lower body slams against the wall with every thrust. Jimin distantly thinks, as Jeongguk fucks him harder and deeper, that it would have been a damn shame to miss out on the part of the alpha that works up a sweat just to please him.

“You’re s’good,” Jeongguk slurs. The wet sounds and the clapping of skin is obscene.

He’s shamelessly close to the edge when Jeongguk pauses. It’s not for any of the reasons he’d expected—he hasn’t slipped out, no adjustments need to be made, and he apparently isn’t tired from maintaining a position Jimin had frankly considered unrealistic. Instead his hands are slipping on Jimin’s legs. Literally slipping.

“You’re soaked,” Jeongguk curses under his breath.

Soaked. How indecent. Jimin’s cock twitches.

He drags his nails down the alpha’s chest as his feet touch the ground. Jeongguk looks like he might take things to the bed, but Jimin’s already turning over.

“Don’t stop,” he begs.

When he looks over his shoulder, Jeongguk gives him a long look up and down. He groans.

“Don’t even know what’s gotten into you,” he pants.

Jimin could say the same. Jeongguk has to plant his feet further apart to compensate for the difference in their height. Jimin yelps when the alpha guides his hands to the wall and, in one continuous movement, mounts him.

“‘S full,” he slips. “Feels good.”

The obscenity of it isn’t lost on Jimin. Jeongguk literally losing his grip on Jimin, having to put Jimin down and fuck him from behind because there’s too much slick is—it’s ridiculous. Even his hands, gripping each of Jimin’s hips to rut fast and hard, are tacky.

And Jimin loves it. The angle’s not quite as deep but it strokes him the right way and Jeongguk reaches around to literally stroke him the right way. Jimin has to brace his whole body against every thrust.

He turns back over his shoulder, but it’s hard to make out much between the jostling and the angle. But Jeongguk cups Jimin’s cheek in his palm and swipes his thumb gently over the skin.

“You cry pretty.”

It sounds so dirty. Jimin squeezes his eyes shut. Jeongguk’s cock drags just the right way.

“‘M not gonna—I can’t,” he hiccups. “I need… shit, please.”

He takes it as a challenge, pulling Jimin in close. Jimin stretches on tip toes to accommodate.

He moans Jeongguk’s name. He puts his cheek to the wall and whimpers. “A-are you close?”

Jeongguk’s hips snap. He growls Jimin’s name, pitches forward, and nips the back of Jimin’s neck in a scruff.

Jimin doesn’t expect that. He claws at the wall.

His orgasm takes him by surprise. He comes open-mouthed and wide-eyed on Jeongguk’s cock, silent and shaking. It numbs his mind and his legs. He thinks he might give out completely if not for the alpha’s hands on him. Jeongguk follows not long after—and Jimin’s thankful for it, because he doesn’t know if he could take any more.

The alpha pulls out carefully, kissing the back of Jimin’s neck with care. He turns Jimin around in his arms.

“May I?”

Jimin bites his lip and nods.

Jeongguk tucks Jimin’s face in the crease of his neck and shoulder before he lifts and deposits him at the foot of the bed. He returns minutes later with a damp rag, and he takes his time cleaning Jimin up.

Jimin can finally stare into his sweet, round eyes again.

After a long moment of silence, Jeongguk smiles up at him.

“Hey there,” he greets. He almost looks bashful. “You doing alright?”

Jimin nods, though he’s—“A little sore,” admittedly. But he grins, too.

The alpha hums, knowing. He peeks up again.

“You probably didn’t bring extra pajamas,” he assumes, tongue-in-cheek.

Jimin totally did, as a chronic over-packer, but he shakes his head. He’s rewarded with one of Jeongguk’s shirts, oversized and smelling just like him. Then the alpha helps him into the sheets.

“May I?” he asks again.

It has Jimin’s face going red, even after all of—

“Stop asking,” he huffs.

Jeongguk slips in behind him. Jimin feels the alpha’s grin against the back of his neck.

“I won’t be too overbearing,” he promises.

Jimin’s eyes go wide. “What?”

Jeongguk squeezes him close.

“I’ll try not to drive you up the wall,” he specifies. “I know you like to do your own thing. As much as I like… what I like.”

He clears his throat.

“You live across the road. I won’t pester you to be over all the time—it would be nice, I mean.”

Jimin is thoroughly confused. He stares around the room.

“I’d like to re-grout your tile, though. Without you asking to pay me. You know I won’t say no to a meal, of course, but I’d like to just… be around you.”

He hooks his chin over the top of Jimin’s head. “I can help you out. Maybe you’ll let me take you out now and again.”

He’s… giving Jimin an out, Jimin’s pretty sure. In case he’s regretting offering up commitment. But he isn’t letting Jimin think he doesn’t want it, himself.

Jimin worms around until he’s facing the alpha. Carefully, he noses along Jeongguk’s collar bone.

“I daydreamed about relationships so much I turned it into full-time employment,” he hints.

Jeongguk inhales. Jimin runs his fingers over the alpha’s chest and wonders how long it’ll take for him to get used to having that privilege.

“I don’t want an out,” Jimin huffs. “I’ve been…”

—drooling over Jeongguk since the beginning, but he isn’t going to share that.

“I’ve been waiting,” he settles. He’ll let the alpha imply the rest.

“... You weren’t just talking, then.”

Jimin flushes. So Jeongguk’s thinking about when he’d called Jeongguk his, and when he’d called him by his dynamic—which Jimin was trying to forget about, as embarrassing as it is.

He shakes his head into Jeongguk’s chest. Jeongguk lets out a pleased, low hum.

“I meant it,” Jimin admits. “I didn’t think I would… say that, though.”

Jeongguk doesn’t seem to mind.

Jimin’s heart thumps away in his chest long after Jeongguk’s tracings on his arms still and the air between them slows into comfortability. He has time to preen under all the little kisses Jeongguk presses to the top of his head, and to eventually, finally still his racing heart.

Of course, that’s when the alpha speaks up.

“You’re a lot less perverted in your novels,” Jeongguk murmurs.

Jimin’s eyes shoot open.