Chapter Text
The city of Borhae was a place where alphas, omegas, and betas could come together and live in harmony. A utopia, the glittering crown jewel of society. Philosophers, artists, economists, and scientists gathered to create perfection. Sociology polls revealed Borhae was the happiest city in the world with the lowest rates of crime and poverty.
It was heaven to all except Yoongi.
Admittedly, he’d fallen victim to city propaganda and bright-eyed newscasters, spouting off scientific facts about how perfect Borhae was in comparison to the rest of the savage world.
Min Yoongi wanted a change.
After being kicked out of his parents’ house, the omega wandered the urban city streets of Daegu with nothing but a doe-eyed dream. A pipedream to share his music with the world. A desperation to lay his mark on the world. To rip down the veil of the upper class and expose their lies with the decisive twist of his tongue.
A fire burned in his soul and he was too prideful to allow it to go out. If he had, maybe he wouldn’t have moved to Borhae, or fell victim to the facade of beauty.
For the monster hiding behind the sequined smile laid in wait for him. He awed the ivory teeth before they clamped down on his shoulder. Yoongi saw rubies before he saw blood.
“You sure love to fight, pretty omega, such rough play. You were just begging me to relieve you and I am ever so glad to carry out my civic duty…”
Yoongi’s throat clenched tight with blinding fury. He thrashed in the alpha’s firm grasp, kicking at the ground. “Let me go!” he screamed. Heart lodged in his throat. “Let me go!” He wanted to cry for help but no one would help him, not in the way he wanted.
Omegas were cared for in other ways.
It was their societal duty to be fucked.
The alpha nuzzled his neck. “It’s dangerous to go so long without your daily orgasm… I’ll make you feel so good… I promise…” The heady scent of violets flooded his brain. He fought against the fog of submission—his body begged to relax in the stranger’s arms—and screamed louder, arching his back to wrench away.
Yoongi bared his blunt teeth and bit down on the alpha’s hairy arm. His jaw ached from clenching so tightly. He blocked out signals of restraint and bit harder, wanting to draw blood.
Finally, the alpha released him with a hard shove.
Yoongi tumbled to the ground, landing hard on his knees. Stinging pain spread through his palms. He scrambled to his feet as his head spun with confused hormones of arousal and terror.
He broke into an unsteady run without looking back.
Daylight seared in his eyes as he ran through the evening rush crowds. The culture shock of the bustling city numbed his mind as he raced down its corridors of skyscrapers. His neck ached from swiveling back and forth, paranoid of another attack.
The barrage of scents clouded his mind further: the river water, warm tires on asphalt, puffs of cigarette smoke, the sourness of weed, and the whirlwind of subgender scents.
Blood roared in his ears as he tripped over his own feet. Run, run, run. He shoved past tourists, nearly face-planting into their backs when they stopped suddenly to take pictures and wove around speedwalkers carrying briefcases.
He ran out into the street, seconds before the light changed. Angered honks from an overly eager SUV followed in his wake. But Yoongi didn’t care. The stoplight will put some distance between him and the alpha.
Yoongi ran underneath an abstract art piece—a grand arch of painful red and warbled human faces. Its shadow cast a cool shade over his sweating body, a brief reprieve, before he sprinted toward his apartment, giving up trying to clear his head from his disaster of an interview.
He should have stayed home. He shouldn’t have been so stupid.
Not when he knew the dark truth of Borhae.
The saccharine smile of the newscaster still burned in his memory. “Recent studies showed irrefutable evidence that an omega requires at least one orgasm, daily! Scientists recommend even more for added health benefits. This revolutionary study is the first of its kind to focus solely on the biological needs of an omega. For years, studies have favored alphas. Today, the city council has officially ordained it is our societal duty to care for the omegas. To help them. And recover the damage of decades of inaccurate medical recommendations.”
The dooming ordinance that turned Yoongi’s life into a living hell.
The gates of halcyon heaven closed on his face, trapping him inside.
Overnight, the city of Borhae took to the ordinance without breaking stride.
Alphas and betas were strongly encouraged to take care of an omega’s sexual needs, wherever and whenever they needed it. An omega was fussy on the bus? Over the knee and in goes a vibrating toy. It’s three PM, time for their daily knot, but they have company over? Not a problem, they had a breeding bench for just this reason.
For Yoongi, it was completely humiliating and unnecessary, but it wasn’t up to him.
He ran without break to his apartment complex.
He dropped his key card several times—his hands shaking so badly he could barely hold it—and shoved through the weighty door. Yoongi started to run when he nearly collided with his doorman in the lobby.
“Whoa!” Hands caught Yoongi by the shoulders.
Ice flooded his veins. A gasp escaped his mouth as he staggered back, slamming into the lobby desk. Pain like bleeding pulsed through the back of his head. His vision darkened, eyes shuddering against his will.
He slid to the ground as his hands tried to force his body to stay upright.
His skull bled.
“Great Goddess!” A faceless shadow knelt in front of him. “Are you alright?”
Yoongi groaned as he raised trembling hands to cradle his head. His lungs constricted with every breath he drew, unable to expand fully. His legs tingled from his mad sprint to return home, the sensation spreading through his thighs like pins and needles. “Let me go,” he pleaded as a hand pressed against the side of his shoulder.
That damned hand was the only thing keeping him upright.
“Should I call an ambulance?”
Dread seized his heart. “No, please,” he begged as he blinked away spots in his vision. Yoongi felt a wave of nausea move through him. He found his wrist, pressing his fingers down on his veins to force it away. “I’m fine,” he said between gasps, “I’m fine, let me go.”
“Okay.”
Discomfort weighed in his stomach, despite forcing his thumb on his pressure point. “I just need a second. And get your hands—” he released his wrist to shove the hand away, “off of me.”
“I’m sorry, but you don’t look too good. Your face’s gone white.” The doorman inhaled. “And you don’t smell okay.”
Yoongi finally regained his vision and used his sight to pin a glare on the man. “I don’t need your help,” he hissed through his aching teeth. He could still taste the alpha’s hair and sweat on his tongue.
His nostrils flared as he sucked in a full breath, then he went rigid with newfound panic.
Alpha.
It hadn’t mattered before. Yoongi barely paid attention to who sat at the lobby desk. He’d rarely left his apartment since the ordinance. This was the first time he’d left in two weeks.
A mistake he’d never make again.
His doorman was an alpha, meaning he could be as insane as the rest of Borhae.
Yoongi started to rise only for a wave of dizziness to knock him back. Pain shot through his head, nearly bringing tears to his eyes. He groaned as he carefully lowered his head. A tingling ache spread through the base of his skull and down his neck. “Don’t—, don’t touch me,” he pleaded, forcing back the emotion in his voice.
He couldn’t fight another alpha. He was too weak and nearly convinced he had a concussion.
Yet Yoongi tried to stand up, determined to make it to his apartment and lock the door behind him. He wouldn’t leave until his six-month lease was over. He’d return to Daegu a failure, but he’d learn to swallow his pride.
Still, his fear of Borhae’s research would spread like a disease throughout the world. The nightmare would chase him back to Daegu. There was no escape from this.
Omegas will turn into glorified sex toys and all the alphas and betas of the world would happily partake in their “societal duty.” The voices of omegas were silenced as they were fed lies to roll over and take it.
Yoongi would never stoop to such a level. He’d rather die than believe in the nonsense infecting the rest of the city. It felt as if he were the only person who hadn’t lost their mind.
“Please stop, you’re going to hurt yourself,” the doorman said. “You don’t look okay. Why don’t I call an ambulance?”
Yoongi’s eyes slid off the man’s figure like water. His focus liquid, not quite landing on anything in particular.
He winced as he lifted his sore head. “I need to get back to my apartment,” he replied, ignoring the doorman’s concerned face. “If you call an ambulance, I’m not taking it so let’s not waste our time.”
He couldn’t afford to go to the hospital. He wished the city council focused on providing free or cheaper healthcare, rather than creating knotting schedules for omegas. They’d banned the sale of heat and rut suppressants, claiming it as self-harm for not allowing their biological needs to carry out. Not that anyone could afford them in the first place.
The city he believed would grant him freedom stole his autonomy.
The doorman’s face fell, clearly disapproving of Yoongi’s plan.
“My partner is in his residency, if you won’t go to the hospital, at least let him take a look at you. It would only take a second.”
“I don’t need—” Yoongi’s vision blurred, the ground beneath his feet swaying dangerously. The doorman messily caught him, muttering something to himself.
“No,” he said firmly, “you’re coming with me.”
Yoongi’s heart thumped nervously. He tried to wriggle out of the doorman’s arms, but he was surprisingly strong. With one swift motion, the doorman picked him up. His legs swung up and his head fell back against a muscular arm.
His stomach clenched with embarrassment, realizing the doorman was carrying him bridal-style out of the lobby.
Sweat broke out all over his body. Yoongi grit his teeth, briefly considering biting him to escape. They headed for the looming tunnel, toward the elevator at the end of it.
“What’s your name?” the doorman asked.
“Fuck you,” Yoongi hissed as he began to struggle. He tried to twist out of his grip, only to be restrained further. “I’m fine! I told you that I’m fine!” His voice rose as his anger burned in his chest.
A woman with a stroller stared baldly at Yoongi, tucking her fearful child against her leg. They backed away as the two approached the elevator, but Yoongi didn’t care about appearances.
He wasn’t going to be kidnapped by this man. Yoongi couldn’t trust anyone in this insane city.
“You’re not fine!” the doorman snapped, stirring something within Yoongi’s gut. A shameful emotion Yoongi quickly suppressed, shutting it down before anything could take root. “You won’t let me take you to the hospital so tough shit. Your eyes were shaking. I can’t let you go, not when I know you’re injured.”
The doorman struggled to reach for the button while holding Yoongi. His grip loosened for only a second, and that’s all Yoongi needed.
His body coiled with tension, then he sprang out of his arms. He slammed into the wall in front of them and ducked under the doorman’s arms. He broke into a run, heading back to the lobby like the devil was at his heels.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, Yoongi chanted as he heard the doorman chasing after him.
When he looked to the front doors, the sunlight stabbed through his eyes like knives. Another wave of nausea rolled through him, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. Something rose up his throat, burning enough to bring tears to his wild eyes.
The world tilted, sending his body catapulting to one side. His balance swayed again. His knees hit the ground, reviving the bruises already forming from his earlier escape. Bruises like bleeding, pain like bleeding—Yoongi couldn’t last for much longer, but he refused to give up.
He crawled pathetically toward the blinding doors until he threw up on the black mat laid before them.
A cloud must have passed over the sun for his vision darkened.
He couldn’t shove the doorman’s hand off his shoulder again. Yoongi could only focus on remaining on his knees and not passing out in his own puke. He squeezed his eyes shut as defeat crept closer as the last of his fight drained from his body.
“Don’t take me to the hospital,” he rasped to the darkness. “I can’t go.” He couldn’t afford it and refused to imagine what they’d do to him. Yoongi hadn’t gone into heat in years and he’d gone through the last of his suppressants last week. He’d been so careful.
When he presented late as an omega, his world fell apart.
Yoongi harbored an internalized hatred for his subgender. He didn’t care about anybody’s subgender as his disdain was isolated to himself. The humiliation of heats nearly drove him insane; he’d never gone without heat suppressants. He’d chosen them over meals back in Daegu.
He thought Borhae would allow him easier access to the suppressants. It was supposed to be his escape. His chance at reinventing his life and achieving his dream. Now it all felt like a sick joke.
“Namjoon? Joon, what’s wrong?” a new voice called.
“He hit his head,” the doorman answered, panic lacing his tone. “I tried to take him up to see Jin hyung because he refuses to go to the hospital. He’s not doing well. I don’t think he knows what he’s doing.”
Yoongi growled as he scented another alpha through his puke. The last remaining bile bubbled in his throat. He tried to urge his body forward, trying to make a break for the door, but his limbs were made of stone.
“He smells feral, Joon-ah.”
“He ran in from outside, I think he’s not in control of himself.”
Yoongi tried to shove Namjoon away but found the collar of his uniform instead. His hand tightened into a fist, drawing a choked noise of surprise out of the doorman. He forced his eyes open to glare into his golden brown eyes with unabashed rage, despite the pounding in his head and how the room seemed so terribly dark.
His throat clenched as another wave of sickness crashed through him. The blood drained from his face again. Yet he locked eyes with the alpha, daring him to try touching him. “I—” Yoongi burped as bile continued to rise. His body gave a shudder as a sour taste flooded in mouth. “I am in control,” he forced out before he jerked away and threw up on the ground again.
Tears filled his eyes as the puke burned with a vengeance. “Fuck,” he croaked, his arms trembling as he struggled to keep himself up. He’d fall over sooner rather than later.
Silence fell over them.
Yoongi coughed out the last remaining bits, then focused solely on recovering. Exhaustion swirled in his head, begging to lay down and sleep. If he could lay on the cold tile floor, if he could just close his eyes, he’d feel so much better…
A tissue pressed against his nose and mouth. “Blow,” Namjoon instructed.
Yoongi didn’t have the energy to fight him, so he did as he was told.
“Hobi hyung, can you stay with him? I need to call the janitor.”
“Of course.” The scent of the other alpha settled beside him. The tissue was replaced with another. “Blow for me.” Yoongi almost didn’t as he regained some of his senses, but there was too much puke and snot blocking his airways so he had no choice in the matter.
“Don’t touch me,” he tried to say, but it came out gravely. His body slumped onto one crooked arm, begging to lie down. “And—,” he coughed, “no hospital,” he reminded, “can’t… afford it.”
“I know, we’re going to take you to Jin hyung, even though you should go.”
“I’m going to—” Yoongi shuddered as he covered his saliva-covered lips with a shaking hand. He grimaced as pain spread through his head again. “You can’t take me there. You can’t. I’ll sue you.” He wasn’t sure what he was saying at this point.
“Hobi” laughed halfheartedly. “We have a law student in our pack. Are you sure?”
Pack, Yoongi thought fearfully. He was in more danger than he realized. People who used the word were known to “celebrate” their subgenders. They’re known to follow traditional roles and indulge in their wolf heritage.
They’d called him feral earlier.
Thoughts of being forced into a heat caused his body, even in its weakened state, to stiffen. He wasn’t safe here. He had to flee to his apartment. Screw his lease, he needed to get out of this city.
But a wave of hopelessness crashed over him. The same paralyzing defeat that forced him into staying. Yoongi had no money, he had no family to support him. He was bitterly alone in the world as he watched his dreams die before his eyes.
If he left, he’d still be trapped.
There was no point leaving because there was no escape from himself.
When Namjoon returned, Yoongi’s eyes glazed over as the embers of his anger died away. He didn’t care anymore. He couldn’t run from his fate forever.
The submission cut deep into his chest. Yoongi watched helplessly as everything fell apart again as it did when he’d presented as an omega. As it did when the news of the city ordinance broke. As it did when his interview at the record label this morning went to shit because his music was “too unconventional” and no one wanted to listen to depressed fucks whining about being poor.
“It’s dog-eat-dog, so to speak. You’ll never make it. This isn’t marketable.”
The final straw of almost being fucked in broad daylight sent him over the edge.
It was all too much to bear.
When Namjoon picked him up, Yoongi didn’t have an ounce of fight left in him.
He didn’t look up when the elevator dinged, but the scent of the two alphas pressed against him.
Now trapped in the space, he could pick out the unique notes between their scents and how they enhanced it. Scent enhancers were created with the underlying purpose of detailing the natural scent of their subgender. It allowed the base scent to reach perfume levels of strength and fluctuate with their natural scent; it helped gain the trust of others, to smell their true intentions.
Yoongi didn’t bother with it, but the two alphas present clearly used them. Namjoon smelled of anxiety and sage wood, while Hobi balanced between panic and forced calm and water lilies.
“How’s your head?” Namjoon asked.
“I hate you,” Yoongi grumbled as he gently held his stomach. He’d stopped throwing up, but the feeling lingered.
The elevator dinged and an identical hallway to his own floor appeared, but Yoongi knew all the levels were the same.
“Do you have anyone we can call?” Hobi questioned. “Do you have any roommates or a heat partner?”
Yoongi only laughed.
Hobi frowned at him, unamused. He unlocked the door without another word.
The first thing Yoongi noticed when they crossed the threshold was the warm smell of home-cooked food. Even if Yoongi spent the better half of the hour throwing up, he couldn’t deny his yearning for real food. Not dehydrated ramen packets or frozen pizza. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a real meal.
His hatred for the two alphas only grew.
“Jungkook, where’s hyung?” Hobi darted inside first. “We need help!”
“What?” a voice called back from the kitchen, confused.
Namjoon held Yoongi tighter as if he feared he’d run away again. If Yoongi’s head didn’t feel as if it’d explode, he would.
He stood in the middle of a small living space lined with couches. Scattered across the cushions were sherpa blankets and pillows along with bundled sweatshirts and worn-out t-shirts. A cluster of unscented cream candles sat on a low table at its center. Yoongi spotted a bottle of lube and a basket of toys on the shelf underneath the coffee table. He fought the urge to break free again as his suspicions from earlier were confirmed.
He wasn’t safe here.
“He’s out with Jimin hyung and Taehyungie, he’ll be back soon but what’s going on? Who’s that?” A dark-haired man poked his head out, large spoon in hand. His brow jumped up to his forehead. “Oh,” he breathed out.
Yoongi squirmed, ignoring the young man’s clearly aroused gaze. “I don’t need you to carry me,” he snarled as he kicked his feet. “Put me down, I’m a grown-ass man.”
Namjoon shot him a look so cold Yoongi nearly froze out of instinct. “I’m not letting you puke on my carpet.”
“He threw up? Why?”
Hobi returned from the kitchen with a first aid kit in hand. He gestured for Namjoon to set Yoongi down on the couch. “I don’t know what we can do, but you need to rest. If you have a concussion—”
“There’s nothing the hospital can do,” Yoongi retorted as the words weighed heavy in his mouth. His skull wasn’t bleeding, it only felt like it was. It was pointless to go and waste thousands of dollars he desperately needed. “Nothing you can do.”
“I feel a bit of responsibility for you,” Namjoon admitted as he lowered Yoongi onto the couch, “since you ran into me and hit the desk in the first place.”
“How chivalrous,” Yoongi grumbled. He didn’t lay back. His head ached whenever he moved it. At least his stomach finally settled, probably a result of pressing his fingers into his wrist to unclench his queasy stomach.
He breathed in, then out until he forced his body to physically relax.
Even if he hated the two alphas for kidnapping him from the lobby, Yoongi didn’t have enough spite to ruin their couch.
He started to regain his ability to focus and found himself staring at a web of Polaroid photos on the wall. Fairy lights and strings connected the smiling faces and blurred bodies together like a work of art. Tiny decals and puffy stickers decorated their edges; it was so cute it annoyed him.
Yoongi hated how they made their apartment look like a home, one filled with warmth and tasty food. The comparison left a stinging in his heart, a bitter jealousy for something he could never have.
“I grabbed the Tums!” the young man bound across the room, shaking the container with every step. Yoongi struggled to track his movements as he leaped effortlessly over the couch. He slowed and carefully handed the plastic container to Yoongi. “Here. I’m Jungkook, by the way.”
Yoongi spared one hand to take it while keeping his other hand gently pressed against his aching head. He gave the barest nod, secretly grateful. He didn’t have Tums at his apartment.
As the fruity chalk dissolved on his tongue, Yoongi kept a close eye on the two alphas. The alpha from the streets still haunted his thoughts. He couldn’t trust anyone, not even the beta Jungkook.
“We’re waiting for Jin hyung,” Namjoon explained as he sat uncomfortably close to Yoongi, criss-crossed on the ground.
“For what?” Yoongi sighed, “I’m fine.”
Hobi handed him an ice pack wrapped with a dish towel. “You’re not, and I’m not convinced we won’t end up in the emergency room tonight.” He met Yoongi’s challenging look with one of his own. His caramel brown hair looked impossibly fluffy, contrasting his sharp-natured features. That’s not fair, Yoongi thought helplessly.
“We’re not going to the hospital,” Yoongi snapped as he cautiously brought the ice pack to his head. He winced sharply, sucking in a sharp breath. His hand shook as pain intensified as he tried to place the ice on his head. Tears welled in his eyes, forcing him to drop his hand in defeat. “And there’s no we,” he added quietly.
Jungkook pulled out his phone, tapping furiously on the screen. “I’m looking up concussion symptoms.”
“What’s your name?” Namjoon asked.
Yoongi let out a short breath, losing his patience again. He hated this. He should have gotten up and left, but his legs weren’t cooperating. His body refused to work properly, forcing him into a place of weakness.
“Min Yoongi. That’s Yoongi-ssi to you.” He had no intention of familiarizing himself with them.
“I’m going to ask again, do you have anyone you can call or—” Hobi started but Yoongi cut him off smoothly.
“Hobi-ssi, I heard you the first time. If I had someone I could call, I would’ve done so.” Yoongi ignored the salt rubbing in his wound as he admitted it out loud. He tried to sound brusque but even he could hear the pathetic truth in his words.
Then Hobi’s face appeared to glitch, taken aback by Yoongi’s comment.
At his side, Namjoon and Jungkook shared a brief look of amusement. Yoongi’s heart raced for a new reason. What? What’d I say?
Hobi’s shocked expression was wiped away, replaced with a cool look. He stood up as he kept his sharp eyes on Yoongi. “That’s Hoseok -ssi to you.”
Yoongi’s heart pitched forward, realizing his embarrassing mistake.
The door to the apartment opened, though Yoongi wasn’t sure if it was his saving grace.
A tall, broad-shouldered man walked through with hands filled with groceries. Two men trailed behind him, talking amongst themselves. Yoongi swore he heard the slight roughness of a Daegu accent in one of their voices.
“Oh,” the tall man stopped short, “we have company?”
Hoseok spoke first. “Namjoon ran into him in the lobby and we think he has a concussion.”
“He what?” Within seconds, the tall man set the groceries down and appeared at Yoongi's side in an instant. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“I don’t need a hospital, they fucking kidnapped me,” Yoongi answered curtly, hoping he could convince presumably “Jin-hyung” he didn’t need a trip to the hospital.
As he leaned closer, Yoongi caught the wafting scent of alpha. His skin prickled with apprehension. Yoongi leaned away unconsciously, gripping the ice pack so tightly it burned his skin.
“This is Kim Seokjin,” Namjoon introduced, probably to avoid further embarrassing moments. I can’t believe I used his damn nickname. “I mentioned him earlier, he’s in his residency—”
Seokjin waved him off as he narrowed his eyes at Yoongi. “So? Any symptoms?”
It hurt too much to shake his head, so he replied no.
“He threw up in the lobby,” Hoseok answered without missing a beat. “Twice.”
Seokjin swiveled on him, “And why in the goddess’s name are you here?” Then he looked back at Yoongi, aghast. “Why are you here?” he repeated. “We’re going to the hospital. Now.”
Yoongi clenched his teeth only for pain to flare through his skull but he still managed a smoldering look. “I’m not going,” he argued. “I don’t need it. I’m not going to waste my money to be told to rest—”
“Throwing up is the only reason we’re doing this. It’s the symptom.”
There’s no we, Yoongi wanted to protest but held his tongue. Seokjin was surprisingly blurry. Had they turned off the lights? Words died on his tongue as he struggled to focus. “Don’t help me,” were the last words he remembered before he passed out.
“When was your last heat, Mr. Min?”
“My last heat has nothing to do with a concussion.”
“Please, sir. It’s standard procedure.”
Yoongi glowered at the beta nurse and her tablet, the powdery blue of her scrubs, the exasperation in her eyes. He knew he shouldn’t be angry with her, only the inane questions she asked but it was difficult to separate the two.
He didn’t want to be here.
He’d been forced to come against his will.
Two days passed under the hospital’s roof. They’d given him painkillers to ease the pain, but he didn’t require surgery.
Yoongi was right, of course.
Those knotheaded alphas would have hell to pay if he saw them again.
The nurse tsked her tongue at his silence. “We received your medical records from Daegu’s hospital and according to their charts, you’ve been prescribed heat suppressants since your presentation.”
“Wouldn’t mind prescribing those to me again, would you?” Yoongi attempted to joke only to earn a scowl.
“They have been outlawed—”
Yoongi groaned loudly to interrupt her. He covered his eyes with the backs of his head. “I know, I know, it’s just a joke.”
“Heat suppressants are detrimental to an omega’s health. They’re damaging. It’s about time they did something about this. They’re one of the main causes of infertility—”
Yoongi cut in, “Then I’d save money on birth control.”
The nurse glowered.
He shrugged.
“This isn’t a joke.”
“If you have my charts, why bother asking?” All of this was pointless. “Fine. No, I don’t remember the last time I had a heat. Now what?”
The nurse’s eye twitched with annoyance. Then she tapped something on her tablet. The smug look in her eyes made Yoongi’s stomach turn with anxiety. “To comply with the city ordinance, you will be placed under observation until someone of opposite subgender or family relation can discharge you. Omegas coming off their suppressants must be cared for. A heat partner may be provided to you should you request one.”
Yoongi nearly launched from the bed. “What?” he demanded.
The nurse shrugged, an infuriating copy of what he had done earlier. “These are our procedures.”
“I don’t need a heat partner!” Outraged, Yoongi fought the urge to rip out his I.V. “And I don’t know anyone! You can’t keep me here!”
“If you go into heat under medical supervision, you will be free to leave. We are simply observing to ensure your heat is safe and healthy.”
“Decades! Decades we’ve had access to heat suppressants!” he exploded. “This is bullshit! You can’t just—, you can’t do this to me!” Yoongi couldn’t hide the desperation rising in his voice, hating how exposed he felt. He was at the hospital’s mercy. “I won’t go into heat, I won’t let that happen.”
The nurse bristled, backing toward the door. “We didn’t understand the damage of smoking for decades either,” she argued. “You can’t ignore scientific fact.”
“You can’t hold me here,” Yoongi said with a shake of his head. “I can say no.”
“Then we cannot allow you to leave without a guardian. It would be irresponsible to leave without going through heat—”
Yoongi sank into the pillows behind him. He groaned into his hands, half-screaming, and said, “I didn’t even want to come. I’m being held hostage.” He didn’t care if he looked insane. He felt insane.
All control over his life was slipping away and he couldn’t stop it.
When he was nineteen, he tried to indulge in a heat during a one-night stand. He was too drunk to even remember the guy’s name. He only remembered how disastrous it was and hated every second of it. Yoongi wished he could erase the ugly night from his memory.
Since then, he refused to go into heat. He’d have phantom heats as a side-effect of the suppressants but never considered having a heat partner. Yoongi couldn’t handle brief intimacy; his heart yearned for too much to let go so easily.
He had a weaker heart than he cared to admit.
The door opened before the nurse spoke again.
“Oh, hello Seokjin-nim.” The nurse allowed Seokjin to enter the hospital room, her curt tone shifting to soft. The change sparked a fury Yoongi couldn’t swallow. “I thought you were done for today?”
“I am.” Seokjin met Yoongi’s eyes from across the room. His body went still. “I’m here for him.”
Yoongi’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you?” he asked mockingly.
Seokjin gestured for the nurse to leave, “I’m visiting.” He tapped the badge at his waist, clinging to his skinny jeans pocket. “It’s my partner’s fault he’s in here. You can go. I need to talk to him.”
Yoongi hated how they spoke as if he weren’t even there. Typical. Ignoring the omega in the room. Maybe he should sue.
When the nurse exited the room, Yoongi forced himself to sit up straight. He stared daggers at the man who put him in this cursed place. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“I have plenty,” Seokjin walked to the end of the bed, “I have a proposition for you.”
Yoongi scoffed but said nothing. He might be interested in what the resident doctor had to offer.
“Namjoon feels awful about this,” he started, “he blames himself for giving you a concussion. He’s not the most graceful man in the world, but he feels terrible.”
Yoongi lowered his gaze as discomfort prodded his heart. “It’s my own fault for running into him.”
“Careful now, you almost sound guilty. I’ll be tempted to rescind our generous offer.”
“What do you mean?”
“Namjoon has offered to pay your medical bills.”
Yoongi blanched at him. “No,” was the first thing out of his mouth. “Hold on—”
Seokjin raised his hand, silencing Yoongi’s protest. “Hate to break it to you, I know. Truly a horrific thing. But we did ignore your wishes by taking you here.”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I reject the offer.”
“That’s not the offer. That’s the news. I’m getting to that part,” Seokjin waved him off as his slender face lifted, and sunlight warmed his skin from the window. “I can tell you aren’t from here.”
“What’s that got to do anything?”
Seokjin coolly raised an eyebrow at him. Disinterested. “I assumed you lived under a rock after hearing that conversation.”
“I don’t keep up with the news.”
“Clearly.”
“And this city ordinance,” Yoongi swallowed back a rising growl in his throat, unable to restrain the anger he felt, “it’s bullshit .”
“Just because you don’t understand it, doesn’t mean it isn’t fact. Those of us who lived in the city all our lives can barely tell a difference. Borhae has always encouraged us to embrace our subgenders.”
He recalled seeing an omega getting railed in a fast food restaurant. Their horny cries were drowned out only by the sound of beeping of fryer ovens and lunch rush chatter.
“How nice for you.”
“The city ordinance changed little to nothing for us.”
“So getting raped on the streets is normal?” Yoongi questioned, the hair on his arms sticking up as goosebumps spread across his skin. “Consent isn’t part of your culture?”
Something flickered in Seokjin’s eyes. His full lips pressed together into a firm line. “What do you mean?” he asked, oddly quiet.
Yoongi rolled his eyes as best he could without sparking a headache. He looked out the window instead. “Daily orgasms,” he said tiredly, gesturing vaguely in the air. He dropped his hand onto his lap. “Gotta get those daily orgasms in. Civic duty he called it.”
“With consent,” Seokjin argued hesitantly. “Did something happen?”
Yoongi stayed quiet. He wasn’t going to admit it to him. He already felt weak enough as it was. It hurt his pride too much, not like there was much left of it.
“That shouldn’t happen,” fury seeped through his voice, “it’s with consent.” Then Seokjin went deathly pale. “Was that why you were running?”
Yoongi refused to look at him. “Whatever. What’s your offer, Seokjin-ssi?”
“Since you’re in here because of us, I thought it was only fair to get you out too.”
Defeat curled in his stomach, familiar with how he felt when he received the concussion. “How?”
“You need a guardian of alpha or beta subgender to be discharged or you need to go into heat under medical supervision.” Seokjin gestured to his body, glancing up through his eyelashes. “I happen to be both.”
Yoongi swore the painkiller was messing with his head. “What are you asking?”
“We can get you out if you agree to sign me as your emergency contact. You have none listed, that’s why they are keeping you here for observation. Unless you prefer to go into heat here?”
He gulped. Sign him as my emergency contact? “Temporarily?”
“Until they clear you, yes.”
Yoongi studied Seokjin closely, trying to gauge if he was serious or a serial killer. “And the heat stipulation?”
Seokjin shrugged, dropping his hands at his sides. “That’s up to you. I’ll admit we feel some responsibility for you.”
“I got along perfectly without help,” Yoongi claimed, even though he knew he suffered for it.
He was fine, but it didn’t erase the unhappiness weighing in his heart every time he opened his eyes. It didn’t silence the agonizing loneliness when insomnia forced his eyes open after barely drifting to sleep. It didn’t erase when he tried to escape into his music. It infected every sphere of his life, but he was fine.
Seokjin’s eyes softened, nearly tearing Yoongi’s weak heart straight from his chest. He hated him. Him and his damned pack and warm apartment. “You could be better, no one should be alone.”
It’s not by choice, Yoongi wanted to plead. I didn’t ask to be alone.
“What do you expect to do with that responsibility ?” Yoongi asked sarcastically. He locked eyes with Seokjin, refusing to look away first. “What does that mean to you?”
“How about we start as friends? At least, until Namjoon feels he’s done all he can to ease his conscience.”
“So I’m supposed to wait around until he feels atoned?” Yoongi sneered, only to watch as Seokjin’s charming face darkened. A force moved through his gut, forcing his body to still against his will.
“Have you no shame?” Yoongi had the decency to wince. “I know you didn’t ask for this to happen, but honestly, a little gratitude is in order? Unless you feel no responsibility for your own life?”
A hot flash raced through his body. He saw red in his vision, clenching his jaw so tightly his head started to ache. “How fucking dare you,” he growled, but Seokjin remained undeterred. A picture of deadly calm. “Obviously I didn’t want a concussion! I don’t want to be here! It was an accident! Goddess, I’ve said it a hundred times!”
“Then consider how he feels!” Seokjin snapped. “He’s never going to say it, but I will. Sometimes there are things we can’t avoid! This was inevitable!” His arm swung out to demonstrate the picture of the entire hospital. “And you could at least show a little sympathy! It was an accident, yes! So act like it!”
Yoongi shut his mouth.
Seokjin huffed as red bloomed over his ears. He took a few deep breaths, stepping away from the bed. “This wasn’t how I wanted this conversation to go. I don’t know what came over me.”
Yoongi sank down into the pillows, defeated. “I have that effect on people.”
“No, I—,” Seokjin sighed as he pressed his hand against the bridge of his nose, “I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m sorry. Namjoon has a good heart, I can’t bear to see him taken advantage of.”
Guilt like poison pulsed through his veins like the painkillers. Yoongi hated how he’d ended up here, but he hadn’t considered how awful Namjoon felt. It wasn’t his fault, yet he felt obligated to pay Yoongi’s medical bills. He was a doorman for goddess’s sake, there was a high chance he couldn’t afford it in the first place. To Seokjin, Yoongi looked like a complete asshole, which wasn’t an unfair assessment.
It was Namjoon’s decision, Yoongi couldn’t refute it. Yoongi refused to take blame but he still felt guilty for winding them all in the situation in the first place.
This is too complicated, Yoongi thought. I want to go home.
“I’m sorry,” Yoongi said finally.
“It’s fine.” Seokjin allowed his hand to fall. “Anyway, I will understand if you don't take my offer. I’ve presented it quite terribly.”
“I didn’t say that. I still don’t know what you’re asking.”
“The hospital is preparing to keep you here until you go into heat, or assign you a heat partner. Suppressants have been labeled as a self-harming drug. Regardless of your thoughts on the matter, that’s what has been determined and they will treat it as such.”
That’s why they won’t let me go. They think I’m suicidal.
“If you won’t go into heat here, then go into heat with us.”
Yoongi choked on air. He shot upright. “What?”
Seokjin appeared calm as ever, acting as though he didn’t suggest the most outrageous plan in existence. “They want to keep you under observation and refuse to let you go without medical supervision. I’m medical supervision, and we’re a pack of six.”
“Are you insane? This isn’t a porn. I’m not making deals with you. I don’t care how guilty Namjoon-ssi feels, I’m not paying you back with my body—”
“I didn’t say you had to pay us back, I’m saying for your own sake, it would be safer to go into heat with someone,” Seokjin cut him off smoothly. “You can’t remember the last time you went into heat, right?”
Yoongi couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. “No. Just phantom symptoms.”
“I’ve seen too many omegas come into the emergency room from withdrawals from their suppressants,” Seokjin cast him a forlorn look. “Their heats turn them almost feral. There’s a reason why the hospital wants to place you under medical supervision, Yoongi-ssi, and I don’t blame them. I’ve seen too much.”
His heart gave a frantic thud, fearing what may happen to him when his heat comes. He’d heard of people going feral only in extreme causes. “Why didn’t I hear about this?”
“Because you live under a rock.”
“Oh.”
“We’re offering to help you through a withdrawal heat,” Seokjin said, spelling out the deal in clear terms. “Afterwards, we expect nothing from you.”
“And this is out of the kindness of your hearts?” Yoongi asked sarcastically, waiting for the catch.
Seokjin gave a shrug. “I suppose it is. Call it being a good Samaritan.”
“Because you and your pack think I can’t take care of myself?”
A beat of silence passed between them. The deadpan look in Seokjin’s eyes as he stared at Yoongi, currently in a hospital bed and without a heat partner or familial relationship.
Borhae ran on a system of “civil duty” and giving friendly orgasms to strangers. It was an alien system to Yoongi, but he supposed Seokjin saw reason in their way of life. This was the way things were for them.
“And I’d sign you on as my emergency contact,” Yoongi said quietly, mulling the idea over in his head. He wondered if he’d lost his mind when he hit his head. But the benefits seemed to outweigh ignoring his offer.
His medical bills were going to be paid, regardless. He’d be able to leave the hospital and have a guaranteed heat partner for when he had his first real heat.
Yoongi’s stomach sank with unease as he thought more about it. What do they get out of this? “I still can’t figure out what you guys want.”
“We don’t want anything. I already told you. Namjoon is doing this of his own free will. And we know too much about suppressant withdrawals not to offer.”
It’s too good to be true. They’re lying to me. Yoongi narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “No catch?”
“You can always say no.”
“I didn’t say that.”
His brow jumped in surprise. “Oh?”
Yoongi eyed him as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’d prefer if this offer wasn’t so one-sided.”
The corner of Seokjin’s pretty mouth lifted slightly. “I suppose you’ll have to trust us.”
Yoongi thought back to when he passed out in their apartment. They could have hurt him, they could have done anything to him while he was out. They were under no obligation to take him to the hospital. Yet he awoke in a hospital bed with his wallet still intact, nothing stolen or broken.
They didn’t need him but they wanted to help him.
This damn city.
“Fine.”
Seokjin’s eyes flew open in shock. “Seriously?”
“Disappointed?” he questioned, zeroing in on his expression to pick out any hints of regret or red flags. Seokjin appeared genuinely surprised, that was all.
“No.” Seokjin offered him a small smile as he started to open the door. “I’ll grab your doctor so you can sign the papers. You’ll be out of here in no time.”
Yoongi found some solace in the idea of leaving. He said nothing as Seokjin left. He contemplated the bizarre turn of events while staring at the ceiling.
He supposed it wasn’t the end of the world to have an emergency contact. Clearly, they’d proven themselves as men of action when he hit his head. They wanted to care for him, Goddess knew why and took the matter seriously even as strangers. Even when he didn’t want to be cared for.
A small part of himself asked if it was all that bad? Maybe the loneliness had sunk its claws too deep.
When Seokjin returned with the doctor, Yoongi filled out the six-page paperwork to sign Seokjin on as his emergency contact. He found the pages Namjoon filled out with his card information to pay for the bills, the decision made without Yoongi’s presence.
He reached the section about pack affiliations, prepared to skip over it when Seokjin cleared his throat. “We’re registered. Allow me.” He took the clipboard and started to fill out the section.
“You’re registered?” Yoongi asked. Registered packs are for three or more people living in a single household. They’re granted tax benefits and have an adjusted tax deduction for their multiple incomes.
What am I getting myself into?
The doctor glanced at the paperwork and raised his brow. “That’s a cool name for a pack.”
Seokjin smiled proudly as he finished off his signature. “Bangtan. It has a nice ring to it, wouldn’t you agree?”
Oh fuck me, they have a name for their pack, Yoongi thought miserably, realizing they were one of those packs.
“I expected you to be the leader,” the doctor went on, ignoring Yoongi’s sour look. “Are you not?”
“That right is reserved for Namjoon.”
Yoongi couldn’t mask his surprise. He blinked several times. Seokjin’s cool gaze fell upon him. “Oh, yes, Namjoon’s our leader,” he told him. Suddenly, Yoongi understood why Namjoon decided to pay his medical bills and why no one bothered to stop him. Still, he couldn’t wrap his head around Namjoon being their leader and a doorman.
“Hoseok is our second-in-command,” he added.
Yoongi felt himself wilt as reality sank in. They are a traditional pack. Then Hoseok’s razor-sharp gaze appeared in his mind with newfound revelation.
He didn’t look forward to talking with him again. His stomach twisted at the memory of accidentally calling him by his informal nickname while being an ass. He’d never live it down.
“Having second thoughts, Yoongi-ssi?” Seokjin teased, needling him for a reaction.
He heaved a loud sigh through his nose, accepting his fate. “You wish.”
Seokjin laughed and handed the clipboard off to the doctor. “Sorry to disappoint—, hmm, no, actually, I’m not sorry.” He winked at Yoongi, “How about we blow this joint? Ready to eat some real food?”
Yoongi blinked at him, momentarily dazzled by his award-winning grin and the playful gleam in his eyes. I’m a goner, he thought helplessly. He snapped out of it and scoffed, looking away from the impossibly handsome man. “Sure.”
“Careful, Yoongi-ssi, do try to keep your excitement contained. I’m not sure the world is ready to handle so much enthusiasm.”
Yoongi felt a flicker of amusement and cast Seokjin a half-smile. “I’ll do my best,” he answered, emotionless. This is temporary, keep your feelings out of this. But he couldn’t stop the quiet yearning for connection, a change in his miserable life. What have I gotten myself into?
Yoongi didn’t own a car and the doctor strongly discouraged driving as he recovered from his concussion. Seokjin kept to his promise of finding real food and offered him a ride back to the apartment.
“And you’re sure your…” Yoongi’s tongue felt heavy as he forced out, “packmates won’t mind?”
“We always make more than we need,” Seokjin replied. “It’s the least we can do.” He led him through the hospital lobby, a sunlit space made of modern sharp angles and arches. A beta sat at the secretary’s desk, discreetly tracking their path through the corner of their eye.
Yoongi shuddered.
“It’s just dinner,” Seokjin added. “You can always say no—”
Yoongi shook his head, fervently. “I didn’t say that.” He sucked on his lower lip as they crossed the doors. He winced as the light pierced through his eyes. He kept his head low as they walked through the parking lot. “I don’t… I don’t want you to feel obligated.”
Seokjin gave him a funny look that Yoongi couldn’t quite interpret.
They found his car—warmed by the sun, metal hot to the touch. Seokjin turned the air conditioning on blast as they lingered outside for it to cool off.
“When did you take your last suppressant?”
“I ran out last week.” Apprehension bled across Seokjin’s face. Yoongi’s heart spasmed with panic. “What?”
“Heats usually restart within one to two weeks after taking suppressants,” Seokjin answered, schooling his expression. “You’ll have it sooner rather than later. Are you sure you don’t want to stay with us?”
Yoongi’s skin prickled at the thought. He already hated how quickly things moved. He couldn’t overstep. This was too much. “No. I’ll text you when it happens.” Then he added, “To make sure I don’t go feral. I don’t need a heat partner.”
“If that’s what you want.”
He fought the urge to snap that it was what he wanted, but that would be a lie.
When they entered the car, the heat settled over his skin and warmed his face. He turned a vent toward him, but the car remained unbearably hot for the duration of the ride.
Seokjin drove through the city with precision and pushy lane changes. He wedged the car between already-filled lanes, angling his car to fit into the space. Traffic worsened as rush hour was upon them, but Seokjin kept the radio on as a picture of calmness, even going as far as to drive one-handed.
Yoongi couldn’t suppress his attraction toward the man, so he focused on trying to cool his reddened face instead. He fanned himself with an absent hand, trying not to think about anything at all.
When they finally reached the apartment complex, he took them into the parking garage and Yoongi’s anxiety grew.
The reality of returning to their apartment was hitting him. He couldn’t stomach facing Hoseok and Namjoon again, not after his stubborn attitude and incoherent cursing. Worse, Namjoon felt obligated to pay his medical bills.
Yoongi shouldn’t have said yes.
He was selfish and exactly what Seokjin feared. He was taking advantage of them. Yoongi couldn’t stomach it. His body trembled as his thoughts spiraled. Sweat pooled on his hands and under his armpits.
By the time Seokjin parked, Yoongi was a nervous wreck. Ready to call the whole thing off to save his pride, Seokjin’s hand pressed against his forehead.
Yoongi startled. “What are you doing?”
Seokjin knit his brow in concern. “Are you feeling okay?”
Recoiling from how his body ached for Seokjin’s touch, he threw Seokjin’s hand aside. “I don’t think this is a good idea. I think I need to go back to my apartment.” His eyes darted to the door handle. His headache was back, but it paled in comparison to how his body burned.
“I don’t know that’s a good idea.”
He rubbed his palm across his face, trying to wipe away the heat on his cheeks. “It’s too much. I can’t do this. Not today.”
“Yoongi-ssi…”
Yoongi threw open the door and stomped out. “I’m sorry,” he managed to choke out. “I can’t do this.” Then he bowed, remembering his manners only for the ground to sway under his feet. Yoongi stumbled and found himself in Seokjin’s arms. Yoongi sucked in a panicked breath. “I’m sorry.”
A pair of steady hands cradled his face. “Yoongi-ssi, is your heat starting?”
“No,” Yoongi answered, sharp.
Seokjin snorted in disbelief.
Yoongi backed out of his reach. “I shouldn’t be doing this. Why did I let you talk me into this?” He couldn’t stop thinking about that damn doorman and how Seokjin offered too much. Yoongi couldn’t dream of repaying him, he had nothing to offer.
“We want to help, let us help you,” Seokjin argued, taking a step closer. Yoongi’s feet rooted to the ground. His body refused to turn away as Seokjin took his hands. “Let us show you kindness, we ask for nothing in return.”
Yoongi tried to shake his head. “Please,” he begged, “I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”
Seokjin hummed in thought as he angled Yoongi’s face with his finger. Lifting his chin. “Does someone need a reason to take care of another?” He gazed into his eyes with a heart-wrenching softness. Yoongi couldn’t accept it.
“Let us take care of you,” he said softly. “Say yes.”
Yoongi fought back a rush of tears. The blazing heat in his chest spread. His eyesight blurred. “It doesn't make sense,” he pleaded again.
Seokjin remained quiet, waiting for an answer.
Yoongi’s mind warred with his paralyzed body. He couldn’t move, no matter how much he told himself to. The painful truth was Yoongi wanted to stay. He wanted to learn how they’d take care of them. He wanted to understand their kindness, and trust in it.
“You don’t understand,” Yoongi whispered.
“I believe I do.” Seokjin stepped closer. He brushed a finger across Yoongi’s flushed cheek, feather-light and soft. “You fought so bravely. Now it’s time to rest.”
Yoongi’s knees went weak. He stared up into Seokjin’s eyes, unable to turn away. The sweet scent of oncoming rain enveloped him. His thoughts clouded with a sweet fog, lulling him into a state of security and peace.
His heart slowed as he rested in the alpha’s presence.
“I don’t understand a thing about this city,” Yoongi mumbled as the fight left him. He inched forward. Gently, he pressed his bowed head against Seokjin’s chest. “I’m lost.”
Seokjin ran his hand against the back of Yoongi’s head, taming his wild, bedhead locks. He couldn’t remember the last time he cut his hair. “That’s culture shock, baby. You’ll find your way, I know you will. But for now, let us guide you through it.”
Yoongi’s heart flipped at the nickname—even if it was cheesy as hell.
His foggy mind didn’t seem to care, instead, it craved to be called baby again and again.
“Why though?” he muttered.
A car’s engine echoed through the parking garage. He barely noticed. Yoongi could’ve been on the moon and nothing would’ve changed. His perception was isolated to the space between him and Seokjin’s broad chest.
Seokjin slid his arm around Yoongi, guiding him to start walking. Yoongi followed as his eyes remained low, trance-like. He continued to breathe in Seokjin’s scent as the fog settled heavily over his head. “Has anyone told you how handsome you are?”
Yoongi let out a dry laugh. “No.”
“Then allow me the honor of being the first.” Seokjin dipped his head to press his gorgeous lips against Yoongi’s forehead. Yoongi nearly fell to his knees yet somehow kept walking. “You’ve certainly caught my mate’s attention. He’s had quite the crush on the elusive dark-haired omega in the building for some time. Imagine his shock when you ran into him in the lobby. And you’ve impressed me with your… I think the word for it is moxie.”
“He—,” Yoongi stirred from his trance enough to look confused. “He what?”
Seokjin smiled secretively. “I’ll let him explain.”
“Doesn’t that make you angry? He’s your mate.”
“We’re all mates,” he corrected, “we don’t do jealousy.”
“How could he—, he—,” Yoongi struggled for words. That’s why he’s paying for my medical bills. Somehow, Namjoon had his eye out for me the entire time. I hardly left the apartment. How is this possible? “It doesn’t make sense,” Yoongi said, feeling like a broken record.
“That’s not for you to figure out. Accept it.” They reached the elevator to take them down to the ground level. Seokjin pulled him close, not allowing for an inch between them. Seokjin smiled beautifully, was it possible for someone to look so handsome? “We’ll take care of you tonight.”
Yoongi’s eyelids fluttered as Seokjin’s tone dripped with sweet devotion. He’d chased after this feeling his entire life; always too afraid to take it.
He wanted to feel good, even if Seokjin and his pack were traditionalists and believed in the city ordinance. Maybe he was simply carrying out his civic duty of caring for an omega.
But Yoongi wanted to be loved so badly it was humiliating.
And perhaps it was the humiliation that pushed him over the edge. That pushed him past the point of no return. The hatred boiling in his veins turned to molten honey as heat radiated from his body. The boundary of hatred and desire blurred.
“Do your worst,” Yoongi whispered.
“Relax,” Seokjin purred into his ear, sending shivers down the length of his spine. “We’ll take such good care of you, baby… everything is going to be okay.”
And Yoongi chose to believe him.