Chapter Text
The approaching courting season weighed heavily on Jeongguk’s mind, moving faster than he would have liked. There was a time when it had been the highlight of his year—a grand event where eyes sparkled with admiration when they landed on him, where whispers of awe and longing followed him wherever he walked. Back then, he had been the center of it all, an alpha destined for greatness, someone worth watching. But that time had passed, lost in the ashes of what he once was. Now, when people looked at him, their gazes were a mixture of pity, discomfort, and thinly veiled disgust. Their attention was no longer sought; it was something he dreaded. It left him hollow, every sideways glance a reminder of how far he had fallen.
Jeongguk didn’t want to care about the courting season. Not anymore. So, why couldn’t he stop thinking about it? The answer was simple, and yet he was too much of a coward to face it. It wasn’t that he was unaware of his feelings—he knew exactly what they were, and the hold they had on him. He had accepted them with the same inevitability as breathing, but admitting them was a different matter entirely. Because to admit his feelings was to confront how unworthy he felt of them. Of him.
The “him” in question was Jimin.
Jimin, who carried warmth and light wherever he went. Jimin, who looked at him without flinching, who never turned away when he needed someone. Jimin, who had become his lifeline without even knowing it.
Jeongguk couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the feelings took root. Maybe it was the first time Jimin had shown him kindness in a world that had forgotten how to. When Jeongguk had been invisible, hidden beneath scars and pain, Jimin had seen him. Maybe it was when Jimin kept including him in every small thing—the morning walks to the fields, the shared tasks at the farm, the moments of companionship that needed no words. Maybe it was the way Jimin noticed every little change in him, the way he always seemed to show up when Jeongguk’s isolation became unbearable. However it happened, it had grown quietly, like the crops Jimin tended so carefully. Gradual, steady, and impossible to ignore.
But knowing he felt this way brought more anguish than relief. Loving Jimin felt like reaching for something he didn’t deserve, like taking advantage of the only friendship that had given him any hope in the past years. Jimin, with his gentle smiles and unbreakable spirit, deserved someone whole, someone unburdened by darkness and regret. Not an alpha who was barely hanging on.
Not someone like him.
Jeongguk clenched his jaw, feeling the familiar ache in his chest. How dare he feel this way? How dare someone as broken as him, someone cast aside by his own people, have feelings for someone as pure as Jimin? The shame clung to him like a second skin. And it wasn’t just that. Jeongguk knew he had hurt Jimin before, even if unintentionally. He hadn’t directly caused Jimin’s suffering, but he had stood by and done nothing when Jimin needed a friend. He hadn’t spoken out against the cruel words or the stares; he had stayed silent when he should have acted. That was a wound that would never heal.
The guilt was suffocating. How could he even dare to think of loving someone he had failed so deeply? How would Jimin react if he knew? The thought turned Jeongguk’s stomach. Would he be disgusted? Would he hate him?
Jeongguk closed his eyes, forcing himself to banish the thought. No, Jimin wasn’t that kind of person. Jimin was forgiving, kind, and compassionate. But that didn’t stop the insecurities from creeping in. It didn’t stop the fear of rejection and disgust, even if he knew, deep down, that Jimin wouldn’t treat him like that.
Sighing, Jeongguk turned his focus to the small succulent on his windowsill—the one Jimin had gifted him. He still remembered that day clearly. He had been wandering around the Park family’s garden, fascinated by the array of plants despite himself. Jimin had noticed, and before Jeongguk knew it, the omega had pressed the tiny plant into his hands. “It’s yours now,” Jimin had said with a smile that lit up his eyes. “It’s good to have something to take care of. It gives life a little more meaning.”
Jeongguk had watered it every morning since. He wasn’t much of a gardener, but he made sure to keep it alive. It wasn’t hard to take care of, just as Jimin had promised, but there was a certain satisfaction in watching it thrive under his touch. In some ways, it felt symbolic. The succulent was a reminder of Jimin’s faith in him, of his own struggle to keep going when everything seemed hopeless.
He ran a careful hand over the plant’s thick, green leaves. “You’re still here,” he murmured softly, as if the plant could hear him. “Still holding on.”
Like him. Like the hope he felt burning in his chest every time Jimin smiled at him.
Jeongguk thought of how Jimin had brought light into his life when he had thought there was none left. He had been so certain that no one, other than his hyungs, would ever accept him as he was now. He had felt dead inside, hollowed out by pain and loss. But Jimin had changed that. Under his gentle touch and quiet encouragement, Jeongguk felt like he was slowly coming back to life. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
Jeongguk traced the rim of the pot with his thumb, lost in thought. No matter how much he tried to push his feelings down, they always rose to the surface, clawing at him for acknowledgment. He wanted to be better for Jimin. He wanted to earn whatever small place he had in the omega’s life. But the weight of his past mistakes, his failures, made it hard to believe he could ever be worthy.
“I’ll prove it,” Jeongguk whispered to himself. “I’ll make things right.”
His resolve was fragile, like a sapling bending under the wind, but he clung to it all the same. For Jimin. For the chance to be someone deserving of the light Jimin brought into his life.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. The courting season loomed ahead, a reminder of everything he had lost and everything he still wanted. But this time, he wouldn’t run from it. He couldn’t. Not when Jimin was at the heart of everything he was trying to become.
After watering the succulent and talking to it softly—because Jimin had told him it was a good practice, that speaking to a plant helped it grow healthier and more resilient—Jeongguk wiped his hands and carefully placed the watering can down. He had felt a little silly talking to a plant at first, but over time, it had become comforting. The succulent, with its vibrant leaves, was a living reminder of Jimin’s warmth and encouragement, and Jeongguk wanted to do everything he could to ensure it thrived.
With the morning light streaming through the small cabin window, casting soft golden hues across the wooden floor, Jeongguk turned his attention to the chest tucked away in a corner of the room. He moved slowly, his leg aching slightly as he lowered himself to sit beside it. His fingers traced the worn edges of the chest before he lifted the lid, revealing a carefully wrapped bundle inside. His heart beat faster as he unwrapped it, exposing what he had spent weeks creating—a handmade book, its cover made of hard paper bound tightly together. Each page was proof to the hours of work and care he had poured into it.
The book was filled with intricate drawings of plants—every detail captured with precision and love. Delicate sketches of petals, leaves, and roots adorned the pages, and Jeongguk had labeled each one in neat handwriting, including notes on their properties, habitats, and uses. Jimin loved plants more than anything; they were his passion, his sanctuary, and Jeongguk knew how much they meant to him. Jimin had once mentioned, almost in passing, how he wished there were a book containing all the plants in the world. The longing in his voice had been so genuine that Jeongguk couldn’t forget it.
Of course, Jeongguk knew he couldn’t cover every plant in existence. That would be impossible. But he had done his best to include as many as he could find, asking questions, seeking out the few elders who didn’t shun him, and turning to his hyungs—especially Namjoon, who also had a love for plants, and spending hours studying every plant he encountered. It wasn’t just about the drawings—it was about understanding and appreciating the life Jimin loved so much. Each line, each stroke of his pen, had been made with Jimin in mind.
Jeongguk ran his fingers over one of the pages, feeling pride and nervousness. It was more than a gift; it was a piece of his heart, a symbol of everything he felt but was too afraid to say. The idea of presenting it to Jimin filled him with equal parts excitement and dread. What if Jimin didn’t like it? What if it wasn’t enough? The thought of rejection—or worse, disappointment—was a weight he couldn’t easily shake. He wasn’t even sure if he would have the courage to give it to Jimin when the courting season arrived. But even if he couldn’t muster the bravery now, he wanted to be ready. Even if this year wasn’t the right time, there would be other courting seasons. And until then, he would continue to try, to hope.
Lost in his thoughts, Jeongguk startled at the sudden sound of knocking on his door. His heart leapt into his throat as he quickly gathered the book, clutching it tightly to his chest. Jeongguk’s head snapped up, eyes wide. He wasn’t expecting anyone. His mind raced, the realization hitting him almost immediately—it could only be one person.
“Jeongguk? You there?” Jimin’s familiar voice floated through the door, warm and curious, tinged with that easy confidence that always seemed to leave Jeongguk scrambling.
Panic surged through him. He was holding the handmade book—Jimin’s courting gift. If Jimin saw it now, before it was complete, before Jeongguk had gathered the courage to present it properly... no, that wouldn’t do. Heart pounding, he scrambled to his feet, clutching the book to his chest. For a moment, he looked around wildly, searching for a place to hide it.
“Jeongguk?” There was a hint of concern in Jimin’s voice now. “Are you okay? I thought I’d drop by.”
Jeongguk’s mind raced. He glanced at the handmade book, panic rising. If Jimin saw it now, before it was finished, before Jeongguk had gathered the courage to give it to him—it would ruin everything. “One second!” he called, his voice cracking slightly. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the protest from his injured leg, and looked for a place to hide the book. The chest. He could put it back in the chest—but the lid was still open, and there wasn’t enough time to close it properly.
He shoved the book behind a stack of blankets on the nearby shelf, praying it would stay hidden, and rushed to the door, wiping his hands nervously on his trousers. When he pulled it open, Jimin stood there, sunlight catching in his hair and making him look like he’d walked straight out of a dream.
“Hey,” Jeongguk managed, breathless and a little too flustered.
“Hey yourself,” Jimin replied, his eyes crinkling at the corners. But then, his gaze dipped, and Jeongguk followed it in horror. In his rush, he hadn’t noticed that a corner of the handmade book was sticking out, just barely visible from where he’d hastily tucked it away.
Jimin’s brows rose, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “What’s that?” He stepped forward, peering around Jeongguk, who quickly shifted to block his view.
“It’s... nothing!” Jeongguk blurted out, his voice an octave too high. He immediately regretted how unconvincing he sounded. “Just... you know, stuff.”
“Stuff?” Jimin echoed, clearly amused by Jeongguk’s frantic response. “That’s a very specific answer.”
“It’s... boring stuff. You wouldn’t be interested.” Jeongguk’s face felt like it was on fire. He was acutely aware of how close Jimin was standing, how the omega tilted his head slightly, trying to get a better look around him. Desperation made him blurt out the first thing that came to mind. “It’s just old notes! From... uh... research. Really boring stuff.”
Jimin’s lips quirked, and he leaned back, eyes studying Jeongguk’s face. “Research, huh? You’re really bad at lying, you know.”
Jeongguk swallowed hard. “I’m not lying,” he mumbled, knowing full well how unconvincing he sounded.
There was a moment of silence, and then Jimin broke into a soft laugh, the sound filling the cabin and making Jeongguk’s heart stutter. “Okay, okay,” Jimin said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’ll let it go... for now.”
Relief washed over Jeongguk, but it was short-lived when Jimin took a step closer, his eyes softening. “But you don’t have to hide things from me, you know,” he said quietly, sincerity lacing his words. “Whatever it is, whenever you’re ready... I’ll be here.”
Jeongguk’s throat tightened. He nodded, unable to find the words to respond. Jimin’s trust, his unwavering patience—it was overwhelming, in the best possible way. All he could manage was a weak, “Thank you.”
Jimin smiled again, the kind of smile that reached his eyes and made Jeongguk’s chest ache. “So, do you want to go for a walk? The wildflowers are in bloom by the riverbank.”
“Yeah,” Jeongguk said, his voice steadier now. “I’d like that.”
As they stepped out together, Jeongguk stole one last glance at the hidden book. It wasn’t ready yet. Neither was he. But one day, when he found the courage, he would show it to Jimin—every page, every carefully drawn plant, every unspoken feeling captured in ink. Until then, he would cherish moments like this, where Jimin’s presence made everything seem possible.
The sun hung higher in the sky now, signaling that morning was well underway as Jeongguk and Jimin made their way down the narrow dirt path leading to the riverbank. The soft rustling of leaves overhead mixed with the chirping of birds settling in for the evening. The path was bordered by wildflowers of every color, their delicate petals swaying gently in the breeze.
Jeongguk moved carefully, leaning on his crutch, his gaze focused on the ground ahead to avoid any roots or rocks that might trip him. Jimin kept pace beside him, offering his quiet presence without intruding on Jeongguk’s rhythm.
“So,” Jimin said, breaking the comfortable silence, his voice warm and light, “how’s your leg feeling today?”
Jeongguk paused, not expecting the question, and glanced at Jimin from the corner of his good eye. Jimin’s expression was earnest, his gaze soft and full of concern. For a moment, Jeongguk hesitated, unsure how to respond. Most people avoided talking about his injuries, skirting around the topic like it was something fragile that might shatter at any moment. But Jimin’s way of asking was different—gentle, but not pitying.
“It’s... okay,” Jeongguk said finally, shrugging a little as they resumed their slow pace. “Some days are worse than others.”
Jimin nodded thoughtfully. “I figured.” There was a short pause before he added, “My mother made some herbal tea that she thinks might help ease the pain. She’s been experimenting with different blends lately. I was supposed to bring it today, but...” He trailed off, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “I kind of forgot.”
Jeongguk stopped walking, turning slightly to look at him. “You—your mom made something for me?” The words came out softer than he intended, laced with a hint of disbelief.
Jimin nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “Yeah. She was worried, you know. Said it wouldn’t hurt to try. She always says nature has a way of healing even when other things can’t.” He tilted his head, eyes searching Jeongguk’s face. “She cares. We both do.”
Jeongguk swallowed hard, a sudden wave of emotion swelling in his chest. It had been a long time since anyone outside of his close circle of friends had shown him genuine concern—without pity, without judgment. “Thank you,” he said, his voice rough. “And... thank your mom for me. I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome,” Jimin replied softly, his smile brightening. “I’ll bring it tomorrow, I promise. Maybe it’ll help. She’s always been good at these things.”
“I’m sure it will,” Jeongguk said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. They resumed walking, the silence between them comfortable once more.
After a few moments, Jeongguk spoke again, surprising himself. “I don’t usually talk about... this,” he admitted, gesturing vaguely at his leg. “Or anything connected to... the attack.” The words felt heavy on his tongue, but there was a strange sort of relief in saying them. “It’s just... easier to pretend it doesn’t hurt sometimes. Or that it doesn’t still affect me.”
Jimin’s gaze softened even more. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know,” he said quietly.
Jeongguk’s chest tightened, and he nodded, unable to find the words to express how much that meant to him. Instead, he focused on the path ahead, the crunch of dirt beneath their feet, the steady rhythm of their walk. “It’s... it’s easier, talking about it with you,” he said after a while. “I didn’t think it ever would be.”
“I’m glad,” Jimin said simply. “I want you to be able to talk about it, if you want to. No pressure. Just... I’m here.”
Jeongguk glanced at him, his good eye meeting Jimin’s warm gaze. The sincerity there was almost too much to bear. “Thank you,” he murmured again, this time with a weight that went far beyond gratitude for the tea or Jimin’s listening ear. It was a thank you for everything—every small moment of kindness, every gentle word, every time Jimin showed up when he didn’t have to.
The sun streamed through the windows of Namjoon’s cabin, casting warm light across the bustling scene inside. The place was alive with the sounds of clattering pots, laughter, and bickering as everyone worked to prepare for their upcoming trip outside the pack during the courting season.
In the small but functional kitchen, Namjoon and Seokjin hovered over an assortment of dried foods, jars of preserves, and bundles of herbs. Seokjin carefully packed everything into organized compartments, muttering under his breath about shelf life and freshness. Namjoon was measuring out portions with a thoughtful expression.
“Namjoon-ah, are you sure you measured that right?” Yoongi’s voice cut through the kitchen from where he sat on the edge of the table, arms crossed and a lazy smile on his lips. “The last time you tried helping with food, we ended up with enough salt to fill a lake.”
Namjoon huffed, turning to glare at Yoongi. “You know what, Yoongi? Why don’t you come here and help instead of sitting there making smart remarks?”
Yoongi smirked, leaning back against the wall. “Oh, no, hyung. I wouldn’t dare steal the spotlight from the culinary duo.”
Seokjin rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “He’s actually been helpful this time, Yoongi. Try to show a little faith.”
“I’ll believe it when I taste it,” Yoongi shot back, and Namjoon promptly threw a dried mushroom at him, which Yoongi caught effortlessly, chuckling.
Meanwhile, in another corner of the cabin, Hoseok, Yoongi (now having been dragged from his seat), and Taehyung worked on organizing their supplies. Hoseok, as expected, had taken command of the packing, his attention to detail shining through. He meticulously laid out each item, from camping gear to clothing, checking everything off on a list he had drawn up.
“Did anyone double-check the flint for fire-starting?” Hoseok asked, his voice clear and efficient. He rifled through a pouch before sighing in satisfaction. “Never mind. I’ve got it.”
Taehyung leaned over the stack of neatly arranged supplies with an impressed whistle. “How do you do it, Hoseok hyung? I swear, if it were me, I’d have half of this scattered everywhere already.”
Hoseok grinned, his eyes sparkling with pride. “It’s a gift, Taehyung-ah. You know, some people have brains, others have charm, and then there’s me, blessed with organizational skills.”
Taehyung laughed, slapping Hoseok’s back. “Hyung, you might be the real MVP of this trip.”
“Careful,” Yoongi deadpanned, tossing a small roll of cloth at Taehyung. “Flattery will only get you so far.”
On the other side of the cabin, Jimin and Jeongguk huddled together over the first aid kit, sorting through various salves, bandages, and vials of herbs. Jimin’s brow was furrowed in concentration as he examined a small bottle of antiseptic, his fingers nimble and precise.
“Okay, so we’ve got disinfectant, wound dressings, and the herbal ointment your mom recommended,” Jimin said, glancing at Jeongguk with a small smile. “I’m hoping we don’t need any of this, but better safe than sorry.”
Jeongguk nodded, his one good eye focused on the list they’d been ticking off. “Yeah, better safe than sorry,” he echoed, his voice soft but clear. His hand brushed against Jimin’s as he reached for a roll of bandages, and he quickly pulled back, cheeks turning pink.
Jimin noticed but didn’t comment, choosing instead to break the moment’s tension with a light-hearted remark. “You know, I’d trust you to tie a bandage over a splinter, Jeongguk, but would you be able to handle a gash?”
Jeongguk let out a laugh, the sound low and warm. “Are you doubting my skills? I might surprise you.”
“I hope I don’t have to find out,” Jimin said, his tone teasing. “But if you do surprise me, I’ll be sure to give you a round of applause.”
Jeongguk rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. “Noted. I'll make sure I get my applause-worthy moment.”
As they continued packing, Jimin’s voice dropped slightly, a hint of concern slipping in. “Are you sure you’re ready for this trip? I know it’s a long way, and I don’t want you pushing yourself too much.”
Jeongguk’s smile faltered for a moment, but he quickly nodded. “I’m ready, Jimin. I’ve been feeling better lately, thanks to… well, you know. I’ll be fine.”
The sincerity in his voice made Jimin pause, his gaze softening. “Good,” he said, his voice gentle. “But if anything changes, you let me know, okay?”
Jeongguk’s eyes met his, gratitude shining through. “I promise.”
Jeongguk found himself mesmerized by the way Jimin’s hands moved as he organized the herbs and ointments in their first aid kit. Each motion was careful and deliberate, as if Jimin were handling something infinitely precious. It was hard not to admire the competence with which he worked, and even harder not to get caught up in the gentle cadence of his voice as he explained the purpose of each herb and mixture.
“This one,” Jimin said softly, holding up a small vial of dark green oil, “is for reducing inflammation. If you ever feel any swelling, especially in your leg, just a few drops should help.” He glanced at Jeongguk with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, and Jeongguk felt his heart stutter.
Jeongguk nodded, unable to tear his gaze away. “That’s… good to know,” he replied, his voice coming out quieter than he’d intended.
Jimin continued, seemingly oblivious to the effect he was having. “And this—” he picked up a bundle of dried leaves “—is good for soothing headaches. You just steep it in hot water.”
“How do you know all this?” Jeongguk asked, genuine curiosity coloring his words. “You’re like a walking encyclopedia.”
Jimin ducked his head, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “My mom taught me most of it,” he admitted. “She says that knowledge of herbs and remedies can be the difference between life and death, especially when you’re far from home.”
Jeongguk’s admiration only deepened. “It’s amazing,” he said earnestly. “You’re amazing.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them, and he quickly averted his gaze, feeling the heat rise to his face. Jimin paused, clearly caught off guard, but the small, shy smile that graced his lips made Jeongguk’s embarrassment almost worth it.
“I’m just… doing what I can,” Jimin said softly, his voice so gentle that it made Jeongguk’s chest ache. “Anyone would do the same.”
“Not like this,” Jeongguk whispered, but the words were swallowed by the noise around them as their hyungs moved about the cabin.
Unbeknownst to them, Namjoon, Seokjin, Hoseok, Yoongi, and Taehyung had been watching with varying degrees of amusement. Seokjin leaned against the doorframe, a wide grin on his face. “Well, well,” he drawled, his tone teasing. “Should we leave you two alone? It looks like we’re interrupting something important.”
Jeongguk’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “W-What? No, it’s not—” He stumbled over his words.
He glanced at Jimin because he was always worried about how Jimin would feel whenever their friends teased them. He was constantly searching Jimin’s face for something he dreaded seeing—discomfort or, even worse, disgust. But that was never the case. Jimin was in front of him, trying—and failing—to suppress a smile.
Namjoon chuckled, his deep voice rumbling through the cabin. “It’s like we don’t even exist, huh?”
“Completely forgotten,” Yoongi added with a smirk, crossing his arms. “It’s a bit rude, don’t you think?”
“Very rude,” Hoseok chimed in, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Here we are, slaving away, and these two are having their own private lesson.”
“Come on, guys,” Jeongguk protested, his face burning. “We were just… talking.”
“Oh, I bet you were,” Taehyung said, raising an eyebrow. “Looked like you were hanging on every word, Jeongguk-ah.”
Jimin finally burst into laughter, the sound light and melodious. He turned to Jeongguk, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Didn’t know you were so fascinated by herbal remedies.”
Jeongguk groaned, covering his face with one hand. “You’re all impossible.”
“Don’t worry,” Seokjin said, clapping him on the back. “It’s cute. You two are cute.”
Jeongguk’s ears turned red, and he looked away, muttering, “It’s not like that…”
Jimin, still smiling, placed a reassuring hand on Jeongguk’s arm. “Thank you for listening,” he said quietly, his voice sincere. “I know it’s a lot, but it means a lot too.”
Jeongguk met his gaze, the teasing from their friends fading into the background. “I’d listen to you all day,” he admitted softly.
This time, it was Jimin who blushed, and the warmth of their shared smile lingered even as their hyungs’ laughter continued around them. Despite the teasing, neither of them minded—it was a moment they’d remember, one filled with connection and the kind of light-heartedness they both needed.
“Alright, lovebirds,” Yoongi called out, breaking the moment. “Back to work. We don’t have all day.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jeongguk grumbled, but his smile never wavered as he returned to organizing the first aid kit, feeling lighter than he had in a long time with Jimin’s soft laughter echoed in his ears.
Jeongguk sat at his small, worn wooden desk, the handmade book for Jimin open before him. He traced a finger along the edges of the intricate drawings, each carefully inked leaf and petal telling a story of hours spent perfecting every line. The cover was adorned with an embossed pattern of intertwining vines, something Jeongguk had painstakingly worked on in his spare moments. His chest felt tight, both with pride for what he’d created and a gnawing anxiety about whether he’d ever be brave enough to give it to Jimin.
He was lost in thought, adding finishing touches to a drawing of a rare flower, when the door to his cabin burst open with a loud bang. Jeongguk jolted in surprise, nearly knocking over the ink bottle perched precariously on the edge of the table. In strode Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok, their boisterous laughter filling the room like sunlight on a cloudy day.
“Jeongguk-ah! You wouldn’t believe what—” Hoseok’s words trailed off as his eyes zeroed in on the book Jeongguk had barely managed to move off the table. Jeongguk’s face went pale, and he fumbled, attempting to casually cover the book with a spare piece of cloth. It was a terrible attempt.
“What’s that?” Hoseok asked, his curiosity piqued as he stepped closer, a playful glint in his eyes. “Is it a secret project?”
Jeongguk scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding. “N-No, it’s… just… you know…” he stammered, his words tripping over themselves in a rush of panic.
Namjoon, ever the perceptive one, tilted his head, a knowing smile spreading across his lips. “Is it a courting gift, Jeongguk-ah?” he asked, his voice soft but teasing.
Jeongguk froze, his cheeks flushing deep red. Silence stretched between them for a moment too long, giving away everything. Namjoon’s smile widened.
“Oh, it is, isn’t it?” Yoongi added, his voice low but carrying a hint of amusement. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, watching Jeongguk with a raised brow. “Who’s it for?”
Jeongguk’s ears burned as he tried to look anywhere but at his hyungs. “It’s… no one,” he mumbled unconvincingly.
“Is it for Jimin?” Yoongi pressed, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Jeongguk’s face felt like it was on fire. He opened his mouth to deny it, but no words came out. Instead, he hung his head, his silence speaking louder than anything else. His hyungs exchanged glances—knowing, teasing, but not unkind.
Hoseok, unable to contain himself, let out a whoop of delight. “I knew it! You’ve got it bad for him, don’t you?” He leaned closer, his eyes sparkling. “Come on, Jeongguk, this is adorable.”
Jeongguk swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as he picked up the handmade book and hugged it to his chest. “I-I’m not even sure if I’ll give it to him,” he admitted quietly. “I just… wanted to make something for him.”
Namjoon’s expression softened, and he stepped closer, placing a reassuring hand on Jeongguk’s shoulder. “Why aren’t you sure?” he asked gently.
Jeongguk’s shoulders slumped. “Because… Jimin is way out of my league,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “There’s no way… no way an omega like Jimin would ever want an alpha like me. Not after everything.”
The cabin fell silent. His hyungs exchanged glances, the weight of Jeongguk’s words settling heavily over them. Namjoon’s grip on his shoulder tightened slightly. Yoongi’s jaw clenched, and Hoseok’s usual brightness dimmed, replaced by a quiet sadness they tried to mask for Jeongguk’s sake.
Hoseok was the first to break the silence, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “Jeongguk-ah, it’s not true,” he said, his eyes earnest. “It’s wrong to think of yourself like that.”
“Way wrong,” Yoongi added, his tone firm but gentle. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit. You’ve been through so much, but that doesn’t make you any less deserving of… of happiness. Or of someone like Jimin.”
Jeongguk shook his head, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “I just… I feel like I’m not enough. I’m scared. I don’t want to hurt him, or make things worse. What if he thinks I’m pathetic?”
“Jeongguk.” Namjoon’s voice was quiet but held a strength that made Jeongguk look up. “You are not pathetic. You are strong, even if you don’t always feel like it. You’ve survived things most people couldn’t even imagine. You’re kind, and you care deeply about the people around you. Those aren’t qualities to be ashamed of—they’re what make you… you.”
Hoseok nodded, his eyes bright with emotion. “Exactly. You’re an amazing alpha, Jeongguk. You’re thoughtful, talented… have you seen this book?” He gestured to the handmade gift in Jeongguk’s arms. “Anyone would be lucky to have someone who puts that much care into what they do. And, honestly? Jimin sees you. He sees the real you, not whatever image you’re afraid of.”
Jeongguk’s throat tightened. “But… what if I’m not good enough?”
“You are,” Yoongi said firmly, stepping closer. “Trust us on that. And if you’re scared, that’s okay. But don’t let fear stop you from trying. Don’t let it make decisions for you.”
Jeongguk blinked back tears, feeling the warmth of their words sink into him. He wanted to believe them. He wanted to believe that he was more than the broken pieces he saw in himself.
“Try,” Namjoon said softly. “That’s all we’re saying. Just… try. See what happens.”
Jeongguk looked down at the book in his hands, the weight of his feelings pressing on him. “I… I’ll think about it,” he whispered.
“Good,” Hoseok said, a hint of his usual brightness returning. “Because if you don’t, I’ll personally drag you over to Jimin and make you hand it over.”
Jeongguk managed a weak laugh, the sound catching in his throat. “Thanks, hyung.”
The day of their travel finally came, and everyone had to wake up at the crack of dawn. The sky was still a deep navy, streaked with hints of soft pink and gold as the sun slowly made its ascent. The crisp morning air carried a chill, and the faint sounds of birds beginning to stir filled the quiet of the pre-dawn hours.
They had all agreed to spend the night at Namjoon’s cabin, rationalizing that being in the same place would make their early morning departure smoother and more efficient. It was a good excuse, but deep down, Jeongguk knew it was about more than just practicality. There was something about gathering together like this, all of them cramped into one small space, that made him feel… less alone. The thought was both comforting and oddly exhilarating.
For Jeongguk, though, there was another reason his pulse quickened—a reason that had everything to do with a certain omega with a soft smile and a scent like fresh lavender. The idea of sleeping in the same space as Jimin made his chest tighten and his palms sweat. It was ridiculous, he knew that, but he couldn’t help it. The thought of closing his eyes and still being able to catch the faint scent of Jimin in the air sent butterflies fluttering wildly in his stomach.
They had all piled into Namjoon’s modest cabin as evening fell, the air filled with the warm glow of lamplight and the buzz of excited conversation. After taking turns in the shower—an ordeal that involved plenty of teasing and shouts of, “Hurry up!”—they gathered in the living room to set up their sleeping arrangements. There wasn’t much space for seven grown men, but no one seemed to mind. Blankets and pillows were spread out on the floor, creating soft spots that would have to do for the night.
Jeongguk, carrying an armful of pillows, glanced over and caught sight of Jimin. The omega was ruffling his still-damp hair with a towel, his face flushed from the warmth of the shower. He looked relaxed, comfortable in his simple pajamas, and when he caught Jeongguk staring, he offered a soft smile that made Jeongguk’s heart pound.
Focus, Jeongguk . He swallowed hard and forced himself to look away, busying himself with arranging the pillows on his makeshift bed. But it didn’t help much. The room felt too warm, too stifling, and he could still feel Jimin’s gaze on him—or maybe he was imagining it. Either way, it was enough to keep him on edge.
“Need help with those?” Jimin’s voice was light, teasing, as he appeared beside Jeongguk, a pillow in hand.
Jeongguk fumbled for a response, nearly dropping one of the pillows. “Uh, no—I mean, yes? I’m good, but… thanks.” He winced inwardly at how awkward he sounded.
Jimin chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “You sure?”
“Totally sure.” Jeongguk forced himself to smile, hoping it looked more confident than he felt.
From across the room, Hoseok’s voice rang out, full of mischief. “Hey, what’s going on over there? Jeongguk-ah, you need help setting up your pillow fort?”
“Shut up, hyung!” Jeongguk shot back, but there was no heat in his words. He could hear Hoseok and Taehyung snickering, the sound blending with Yoongi’s low chuckle.
“Leave him alone,” Namjoon said, though there was a smile in his voice.
“I’m just saying,” Hoseok continued, grinning as he settled onto his own bedding, “some of us have perfected the art of making a comfy sleep spot, and others—” he glanced pointedly at Jeongguk, “—clearly need more practice.”
Jeongguk rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. “Next time, I’ll ask for your expert advice.”
“See that you do,” Hoseok replied with a mock-serious nod. “It’s an art form, after all.”
The banter continued as they all tried to arrange themselves in the cramped space. Seokjin complained loudly about his mat being too thin, Yoongi grumbled that everyone was too loud, and Taehyung stretched out dramatically, declaring that he needed all the space because he was “growing.”
“Growing sideways, maybe,” Seokjin muttered, earning himself a pillow to the face courtesy of Taehyung.
The truth was, Jeongguk was simply happy to be here, surrounded by his friends, sharing this rare moment. The simple act of preparing for a sleepover, of laying out sleeping mats and laughing over who would snore the loudest, felt very special. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done something like this. In the past, as the alpha-in-training with the weight of countless expectations on his shoulders, he had believed such things to be a frivolous distraction, a waste of time. He’d been too focused on perfection, too consumed by duty to allow himself these small joys.
But that was then. He wasn’t the same anymore.
As he unfolded blankets and helped lay out sleeping mats on the cabin’s wooden floor, Jeongguk realized how much he had come to cherish moments like these. They weren’t meaningless; they were precious. They were the moments that kept him grounded, the laughter and warmth of people who saw him for who he truly was. It was healing, in ways he hadn’t fully understood until now.
Namjoon was already organizing the sleeping arrangements, ensuring everyone had a place. “All right, let’s not have anyone rolling over and crushing Yoongi hyung in his sleep,” he said with a teasing grin, spreading a blanket out with careful precision. “He’s grumpy enough as it is.”
Yoongi, who had already staked out a spot and was lounging with his arms behind his head, cracked one eye open. “Please, Namjoon. I’d crush whoever got too close.”
“That’s a promise,” Hoseok quipped, tossing a pillow in Yoongi’s direction. Yoongi caught it effortlessly, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.
“Maybe if you two stopped bickering, we could actually get this done,” Seokjin interjected, folding a blanket with exaggerated care. “Some of us need our beauty sleep.”
“Hyung, we’re bonding,” Taehyung said with a laugh, nudging Seokjin’s shoulder. “Isn’t that what tonight is all about?”
Namjoon chuckled as he adjusted a pillow. “It’s about surviving the night without someone complaining about how cramped it is.”
Jeongguk smiled at their banter, but his gaze kept drifting to Jimin, who was quietly laying out his own bedding, a smile tugging at his lips. Every small movement he made seemed effortless, graceful in a way that only Jimin could be. When their eyes met yet again, Jimin offered him a soft smile, and Jeongguk’s face heated instantly. He quickly turned back to his own task, hoping no one had caught him staring.
Of course, he wasn’t that lucky.
“Jeongguk-ah,” Hoseok drawled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’re looking very focused over there. Everything okay?”
Jeongguk fumbled with the pillow in his hands. “I’m—uh—fine.”
“Too fine,” Taehyung teased, leaning in with a wide grin. “Maybe he’s just making sure his spot is perfect. You know, for optimal comfort.”
“Or,” Seokjin added with a knowing smirk, “maybe he’s hoping to impress someone with his pillow-fluffing skills.”
Laughter erupted around them, warm and lighthearted, and even Jeongguk couldn’t help but laugh. He glanced at Jimin again, half-expecting to find discomfort, but instead, he saw Jimin hiding his smile behind a hand, eyes crinkling at the corners. Relief washed over Jeongguk, mingling with the warmth that had been building in his chest.
When everything was finally set, they squeezed themselves into the limited space, limbs overlapping and blankets tangled. Seokjin complained dramatically about the lack of room until Yoongi threatened to smother him with a pillow. Hoseok and Taehyung bickered about who had the better blanket, while Namjoon tried, and failed, to maintain order.
“All right, everyone,” Namjoon said, his voice slightly muffled by his own blanket. “Let’s at least try to get some sleep. We’ve got a long day ahead.”
There were a few grumbles of agreement, but the noise soon faded, replaced by the soft sounds of breathing and the occasional rustle of fabric. Jeongguk lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, his heart still pounding. He could hear Jimin’s steady breaths beside him, feel the warmth of his presence so close. It was a small, simple thing, but it filled him with a sense of peace.
For Jeongguk, however, sleep wouldn’t come. He had been tossing and turning for an hour, his mind a mess of thoughts. He couldn’t quite decide if it was excitement or nervousness that kept him awake—perhaps it was both. The idea of traveling beyond the pack’s borders, of experiencing something new after such a long time, was exhilarating. But with that came the familiar unease of his injuries slowing him down, of being a burden. And then there was Jimin—always Jimin, occupying a place in his thoughts that made his chest tighten in ways he couldn’t fully understand.
Eventually, after another bout of restless tossing, Jeongguk gave up. With a sigh, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, grabbed his crutch, and made his way to the small pile of bags he had packed the previous day.
He crouched down carefully, opening the first bag with practiced hands. Inside, neatly arranged, were his travel essentials—extra clothing, a few personal items, and a carefully folded blanket that smelled faintly of lavender, a gift from Jimin. Jeongguk’s fingers lingered on the fabric for a moment before he shook himself out of his thoughts. He moved on to the next bag, meticulously checking each item.
There was a sturdy knife wrapped in cloth for safety, a set of small carving tools he insisted on bringing (just in case he found a piece of wood worth working on during their trip), and a compact fire-starting kit. He double-checked the flint, striking it lightly to see the spark before tucking it back in place. Next, he pulled out a small leather-bound journal and a charcoal pencil. It was for sketches, he told himself, but deep down, he knew some pages might end up filled with memories he’d want to preserve from this trip.
Satisfied with that bag, Jeongguk turned his attention to the third and final one, his movements suddenly more cautious. He unzipped it slowly, a soft sigh escaping as he took a moment to check its contents. Nestled among folded clothes and carefully packed supplies was the handmade book he had been working on for weeks—his courting gift for Jimin. He didn’t dare take it out now, not when the others could wake at any moment.
Jeongguk traced the edges of the book through the fabric, feeling the slight bump of the cover underneath. It was a work of love—filled with detailed sketches of plants, each page carefully inked, each note written with painstaking attention to detail. He had poured so much of himself into it, from the sleepless nights spent hunched over his work table to the moments of hesitation, wondering if it would ever be good enough for Jimin.
He couldn’t bring himself to take it out of the bag, not even for a second. There was always the chance that someone would see, and the thought alone made his stomach twist with nerves. He had brought it with him anyway, just in case. Just in case he suddenly found the courage he’d been searching for. Just in case the fear that gripped him—fear of rejection, fear of not being enough, fear of ruining the connection he had with Jimin—miraculously faded away.
Just in case.
Jeongguk let out a shaky breath, his fingers lingering on the bag’s zipper. The idea of giving Jimin the book felt impossible and yet tantalizingly close. What would Jimin think if he saw it? Would he be touched by the effort Jeongguk had put into capturing the plants Jimin loved so much, or would he see it as too much? Too forward? Too desperate?
“Stop overthinking,” Jeongguk muttered to himself, a rueful smile pulling at his lips. He knew it wouldn’t be that simple. His heart raced at the mere idea of Jimin opening the book, of his delicate fingers flipping through the pages and his eyes—warm and bright—taking in every stroke of ink. The image was both thrilling and terrifying. Jeongguk swallowed, willing himself to calm down.
In the stillness of the cabin, he could hear the soft breathing of his sleeping friends, a reminder that he wasn’t alone. Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok—all of them had been there for him in ways he couldn’t have imagined. They would probably tell him to go for it, to not hold back. To trust in the connection he’d slowly built with Jimin. But knowing what they’d say and actually believing it were two different things.
He carefully zipped the bag shut, sealing away the book and, for now, the weight of his own doubts. “One step at a time,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. If today wasn’t the day he found the courage, then maybe tomorrow. Or the day after that. All he knew was that he had to keep trying—because Jimin was worth every moment of fear, every doubt, and every shaky breath.
Jeongguk managed to snatch a bit of sleep before the cabin came alive with the familiar sounds of his friends waking up. The morning air was cool, the kind of crispness that signaled the start of an important day, and he might have slept through it all if not for the gentle pat on his shoulder. At first, he thought he was still dreaming. Blinking groggily, he opened his eyes to find himself face-to-face with Jimin, who was crouched beside him, his soft features framed by the morning light filtering through the window. For a moment, Jeongguk could only stare, mesmerized. Jimin’s face was slightly puffy from sleep, his hair a mess, and yet Jeongguk thought he had never looked more breathtaking.
“Good morning, Jeonggukie. Wake up,” Jimin murmured, his voice soft and soothing, a gentle tug back into reality.
Jeongguk’s heart thudded loudly in his chest as he blinked the sleep away. Once. Twice. Three times, just to make sure he wasn’t still dreaming. “Oh,” he managed, his voice rough and low. “Good morning.”
A small smile played on Jimin’s lips as he straightened up, his movements graceful despite the early hour. “It’s time to leave,” he said, a hint of excitement in his tone as he glanced around the cabin, which was quickly filling with the sounds of their friends’ chatter and bustling preparations.
Jeongguk nodded, sitting up slowly. He couldn’t help but watch as Jimin moved away, joining Hoseok and Taehyung, who were already bickering playfully over their gear. For a fleeting moment, Jeongguk allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to wake up like this every day—with Jimin’s gentle touch, with his warm smile greeting him first thing in the morning. The thought made something in his chest tighten painfully, longing and hopelessness.
“Stop it,” he muttered under his breath, willing himself to push away the thought. It was just a dream, an impossible one at that. He had no right to imagine such things, no matter how badly he wanted them.
With a deep breath, Jeongguk forced himself to get up, shaking off the remnants of sleep and the weight of his own wishes. The cabin was already buzzing with energy. Namjoon was in the corner, going over their route one last time, while Seokjin checked the food supplies, making sure nothing had been forgotten. Yoongi was leaning against the doorframe, sipping a cup of tea with a sleepy scowl, and Hoseok was still trying to wrestle his pack into submission with Taehyung’s “help,” which mostly consisted of teasing him mercilessly.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty!” Hoseok called out, grinning when he saw Jeongguk standing. “Did you dream of your prince waking you up?”
Jeongguk rolled his eyes, heat creeping up his neck. Hoseok was so good at teasing him. “You wish, hyung.”
Taehyung snickered, tossing a pillow at Hoseok. “Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. Who knows? But you’re not the prince in that story, Hobi hyung.”
The teasing continued, lighthearted and familiar, as Jeongguk moved to join them, doing his best to ignore the way his heart raced whenever Jimin glanced his way. He focused on checking his gear, on steadying his breath, and on the laughter that filled the cabin. It was enough to make him forget, at least for a little while, that some dreams would always remain just out of reach.
He’d take what he could get—the warmth of his friends, the adventure ahead, and the lingering echo of Jimin’s voice wishing him a good morning. For now, that was enough.
Once everything was ready, they set out on their journey, anticipation and nervous energy buzzing among them like a current. Their destination lay to the South—a place rich with stories and steeped in memories, both known and waiting to be made. Seokjin, who walked with a confident stride, was particularly eager. It was no secret that he had roots in the South, a part of his past that never quite left him, and it was his connection with the people there that made this trip possible.
“Excited to be heading back, hyung?” Taehyung asked, adjusting the straps of his pack.
Seokjin glanced over his shoulder with a small smile, the kind that held a lifetime’s worth of memories. “I am,” he admitted, his voice soft. “There’s something about the South that stays with you, even when you’re far away.”
Jeongguk could see a glimmer of understanding in Jimin’s eyes. He had heard snippets of the stories, seen the way Seokjin’s voice softened when he spoke of that place.
“It’s true,” Jimin said, his tone filled with warmth. “Taehyung and I visited with Seokjin-hyung once. It’s… special. The hills are endless, and wildflowers bloom in colors I didn’t even know existed. The rivers sparkle in the sunlight, and the air just feels different, like it’s been untouched by time.”
Taehyung, walking alongside Jimin, nodded with a fond grin. “But it’s not just the beauty of the place. The people there have a way of making you feel at home, even if it’s your first time. They welcome you like family, no questions asked.”
Jeongguk felt a flicker of curiosity, mixed with the faintest tinge of nerves. “So… what kind of things do they do for fun?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light despite the tightness in his chest. It was hard not to feel a bit out of his element, but he wanted to know, wanted to be part of whatever lay ahead.
“Oh, you’ll see,” Taehyung said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “There are festivals, music that goes on until the stars fade, and everyone dances like no one’s watching. There’s a bonfire tradition too—people gather to share stories, some real, some made up, but all worth listening to.”
Hoseok, who had been listening quietly, let out a laugh that was bright and contagious. “Sounds like exactly what we need. And I’m not ashamed to admit I’m looking forward to the food. I’ve heard they have recipes you can’t find anywhere else.”
Seokjin chuckled, a deep, genuine sound. “Oh, you’ll be well-fed, trust me. But just know, Hobi, the locals will challenge you to eat things you might not expect.”
“Challenge accepted,” Hoseok declared with a grin, and Yoongi rolled his eyes, muttering something about Hoseok’s insatiable appetite. The playful teasing made them all laugh, and the tension in Jeongguk’s chest eased, even if only for a moment.
As they walked, the scenery began to change. The forest thickened, the air growing cooler and fresher, filled with the scent of pine and earth. The path was uneven, rocks jutting out here and there, but they moved together—carefully, thoughtfully. Jeongguk found himself watching Jimin’s every step, not out of worry, but because there was something grounding about having him nearby. His strength, the way he noticed the small things—like when he pointed out a bird’s nest hidden among the leaves—made Jeongguk’s chest feel a little fuller.
Seokjin spoke up again, voice softer this time. “The South changes you,” he said, almost to himself. “It makes you see things differently. The stars shine brighter there, and even the wind feels like it’s telling a story.”
Jeongguk let the words wash over him, lingering in the comforting thought of a place where the stars felt closer, where the weight of his past might not follow him quite so heavily. He didn’t know exactly what he hoped to find in the South—freedom, perhaps, or maybe just a little peace—but the promise of a new place to explore, to breathe, was more appealing than he wanted to admit.
Yet, the thought of what awaited him there also brought uncertainty. What would the people think when they saw him? An alpha once strong and admired, now damaged beyond repair, struggling to walk without the help of a crutch, his scars a permanent reminder of his fall from grace. In his own pack, the whispers followed him like shadows—words like “useless” and “monster” tossed around with careless disdain. The memory of their cold stares and the pity in their eyes stung more than any physical wound.
Would the people in the South see him the same way? Would they cast him out, whisper behind his back, call him a monster the way some in his own pack did? The idea made his chest tighten, fear coiling in his gut like a snake ready to strike. Jeongguk wasn’t sure he could face that kind of rejection again.
But he wanted to believe—needed to believe—in what his friends had said about the South. They spoke of warmth, acceptance, and people who looked beyond the surface. They talked about traditions that valued character and heart over appearances, about gatherings where everyone was welcome, regardless of their pasts. Jeongguk desperately wanted to trust in that vision, to hope that there was a place where he could just be himself—no expectations, no judgment.
Just Jeongguk.
As they continued down the well-worn path, their banter grew more lively, laughter bubbling up with every shared memory and teasing remark. Jeongguk adjusted the strap of his pack, feeling the weight settle on his shoulders. Seokjin was in the middle of another one of his tales about his time in the North, complete with exaggerated hand gestures and dramatic expressions that had Hoseok doubled over in laughter.
Despite the lightness of the moment, Jeongguk couldn’t shake the gnawing fear that he was slowing them down. His leg ached with every step, and he was all too aware of the way the crutches sometimes sank into the soft earth, making his pace uneven and slower than the others'. He didn’t want to be a burden—didn’t want to drag them down or make their journey more difficult. The fear that he might become a hindrance loomed over him.
But his friends never let him feel that way. Not once. They knew him too well, understood the silent war he fought against his own insecurities, and they did everything in their power to support him without making it obvious. Namjoon would subtly slow the group’s pace, pretending to be caught up in a riveting conversation with Yoongi or pausing to point out something interesting along the path. Hoseok and Seokjin would make jokes that required everyone to stop and catch their breath from laughing, giving Jeongguk a chance to rest without drawing attention to it. Even Taehyung, who sometimes maintained a quiet distance, would glance back now and then, his gaze soft with unspoken concern, as if checking to make sure Jeongguk was still with them.
But it was Jimin who stayed by his side. He walked at Jeongguk’s pace, never straying too far, and always finding ways to make the journey easier for him. “Here,” Jimin said gently one morning, pulling a hat from his pack and offering it to Jeongguk. “The sun's strong today. You shouldn’t strain your eyes.”
Jeongguk took the hat with a quiet nod, his throat tight with emotion. He didn't have to say thank you; Jimin could see it in his eyes. As they walked, Jimin would remind him to drink water, nudging the canteen into Jeongguk's hands with a soft smile. “You have to stay hydrated, you know,” he said, his tone light but his eyes serious. “I don’t want you passing out on me.”
Jeongguk chuckled, the sound low but genuine. “Yes, sir,” he replied, taking a long sip. The water was cool against his parched throat, and he was grateful—not just for the drink, but for the way Jimin made everything feel so… normal.
When the path grew rocky or uneven, Jimin would subtly shift closer, as if ready to catch Jeongguk if he stumbled. He never offered his arm outright—Jeongguk's pride wouldn’t have allowed it—but his presence was a quiet assurance. Every now and then, when Jeongguk paused to catch his breath, Jimin would find a reason to linger—pointing out a cluster of wildflowers, sharing a story about the last time he and Taehyung had traveled this way, or simply standing beside him in silence.
It was in those moments, when the others were just a few steps ahead, that Jeongguk felt the depth of Jimin’s care. There was no pity in his eyes, no judgment—just determination to be there. And it made Jeongguk’s heart swell in a way that was equal parts terrifying and wonderful.
“You're doing great, you know,” Jimin said quietly as they paused for a moment beneath the shade of a large tree. He handed Jeongguk another sip of water, his expression warm and encouraging.
Jeongguk looked down, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Am I? I feel like I'm just… holding everyone back.”
Jimin’s brows drew together, and he shook his head firmly. “You’re not holding anyone back, Jeongguk. We’re all here together, remember? And you’re doing more than great. You’re…” He hesitated for a second, then pressed on. “You’re strong. Stronger than you think.”
Jeongguk’s chest tightened, and he swallowed hard. “Thank you, Jimin. Really.”
Jimin’s smile softened, and he nodded, as if there was nothing more to say. He stayed close as they continued, their shoulders sometimes brushing, their steps finding a rhythm. The warmth of Jimin’s presence and the support of his friends made each step forward a little easier, the weight of his fear just a bit lighter.
For the first time in a long while, Jeongguk didn’t feel like the weight of his friends’ care was a reflection of his weakness. It wasn’t pity that drove their actions; it wasn’t the hollow sympathy he had feared or the uneasy kindness that came from obligation.
This time, when they slowed their pace to match his, when they passed around the water so that he wouldn’t tire himself out, or when Jimin quietly kept close to his side, Jeongguk felt something else entirely.
“So, the locals make this dish,” Seokjin’s voice interrupted his thoughts, gesturing animatedly with his hands, “and it involves these tiny fish that are, let’s say… an acquired taste.”
“They’re fermented,” Taehyung cut in, grinning wickedly. “And the smell, oh man, it sticks with you. You’ll be tasting it in your dreams, I swear.”
“Or your nightmares,” Jimin added with a soft laugh, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he glanced at Jeongguk. “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”
Jeongguk made a face, half-disgusted, half-intrigued. “I’m all for trying new things, but… fermented fish?”
“Oh, come on, Jeongguk,” Hoseok piped up, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“It’s still here, but I’m questioning its life choices,” Jeongguk muttered, drawing a round of laughter from everyone. He couldn’t help but smile, feeling a sense of comfort he had not felt in a while.
Yoongi, ever the pragmatist, raised an eyebrow. “Do we have to eat it, though? Like, is it a requirement for entering this so-called ‘welcoming’ community?”
“Not officially,” Seokjin said with a wink. “But they’ll make you feel like you’re missing out if you don’t. They’ll say it’s a rite of passage.”
“Ah,” Yoongi drawled, his voice dripping with dry sarcasm. “Peer pressure disguised as tradition. My favorite.”
Namjoon, who had been listening quietly, chimed in with a thoughtful smile. “I think it’s fascinating, actually. The way different communities form their own unique traditions. It’s what makes life interesting.”
“Interesting is one word for it,” Jeongguk said, shifting his gaze toward Jimin. “Have you tried it?”
Jimin nodded, his expression fond as he remembered. “Once. It was… an experience. Not as bad as Taehyung makes it sound.”
“Hey!” Taehyung protested, feigning offense. “I gave an accurate description.”
“Sure you did,” Jimin replied, his tone playful. “But I think Jeongguk can handle it.”
Jeongguk’s chest warmed at the casual confidence in Jimin’s words. “We’ll see,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “I might surprise you.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Jimin murmured with a smile that left Jeongguk feeling slightly breathless.
Hoseok, never one to let a moment pass without adding his own flavor, grinned. “Just remember, Jeongguk, if it gets too much, I’ll be here with some mint leaves to cover the taste.”
“You’re assuming you won’t be suffering, too,” Yoongi pointed out, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips.
“Me? Suffer?” Hoseok gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “I thrive under culinary challenges. I’ll make it look easy.”
Seokjin rolled his eyes affectionately. “I’ve seen you gag over mildly spicy soup, Hoseok-ah. Let’s not exaggerate.”
Laughter erupted again, the kind that made the trees around them feel less daunting and the path ahead a little less winding. Namjoon adjusted the straps of his own pack, glancing at each of them. “You know,” he said, his voice thoughtful, “this trip… it’s good for us. We’ve all been through a lot.”
The mood softened slightly, the weight of Namjoon’s words settling over them. Jeongguk felt it, too—the importance of this journey, of being together in a way that reminded him of simpler times.
“Yeah,” Jeongguk said quietly, meeting Namjoon’s gaze. “It is.”
Taehyung, never one to let things stay too serious for long, sighed dramatically. “Alright, enough of this emotional stuff. Who’s taking bets on who’ll embarrass themselves first at the North’s festival?”
“You,” Yoongi deadpanned immediately, earning a round of snickers.
Taehyung placed a hand over his heart, mock hurt in his eyes. “You wound me, hyung.”
“It’s called being realistic,” Yoongi replied with a shrug.