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The studio was a glass box pretending to be night.

Black lacquer floor. Rows of LED panels swallowing color until it bled electric. Fog machines breathing slowly. If you pressed your ear to the air, you could hear the electricity humming through the rafters, a thin metal song no one had time to name.

I want you to be your light, baby

You should be your light

The melodious chorus echoed against the walls, slithering through the hallways and reached backstage where Jimin was waiting. His fans were wonderful beings. His light in the end of the dark tunnel. 

This was his favorite part about the music shows and concerts. This was what he lived for. Every time he participated, they would come together to sing his songs. These beautiful melodies kept him company on lonely nights when self-doubts and online hatred tried to ravish him.

Jimin stood in the wings with his in-ears looped over one ear. He rolled his shoulders once, twice, the way he always did before they called his name—something to loosen the mask without letting it slip. 

A stylist checked the clasp at his nape. Another flattened a rebellious strand of hair. They touched up his make up one last time. The mic pack sat against the base of his spine, tape gently where his tattoos climbed—delicate moon phases and tiny constellations of stars from the small of his back to the base of his neck.

He didn’t look at the monitor. He knew the camera cues by heartbeat now.

Last Music Bank stage of the era. Last time the title track would burn through this room. One more run and then the lights could go out and he could be just a man on a couch with soft socks and an old hoodie that smelled like rain and cedar.

Then he could breathe. Maybe.

“Park Jimin, standby.”

He nodded with a smile.

The floor manager’s hand rose. Three fingers. Two. One.

Go.

He slipped into the light like fluid.

Out front, thousands of lightsticks rose like a second galaxy. The stage haze curled around his ankles. Every note came out perfect. His voice was smooth, precise. He moved through the choreography impossibly graceful, gliding on stage rather than moving.

The audience screamed and the cameras adored him. He smiled for them all.

What they couldn’t see were the tremors creeping through his muscles, the tiny shiver running up his calf when he spun, or the shallow breaths caught between lyrics. He’d been pushing his limits for weeks—music shows, late-night fittings, brand appearances stacked on top of rehearsals. Dior in Paris, Tiffany in Seoul, endless interviews where he smiled and said, I’m fine, thank you for your love.

He wasn’t fine. But exhaustion didn’t photograph well.

The company had built him into this. A living campaign.

Blue light arced across his cheekbone. He knew, without seeing, that the camera had taken him in a slow sweep from his hand to his eyes, that someone somewhere would be making a gif of the way he blinked in time with that stuttered synth.

Somewhere Jungkook would be watching.

The ending speech was emotional as always. He slightly veered off from the written and rehearsed speech, going off script to address his lights with sincerity. 

He took a deep breath before he continued, ignoring the nausea churning in the pits of his stomach and momentarily swimming vision, which he chalked it up to the lights. His chest rose under the shimmer of the stage light and his sweat glimmered like glitter.

“Thank you,” he said into the mic, in a voice way fans adored. “You’ve been my strength. I promise I’ll keep shining, so you can, too.”

The crowd screamed back in a thousand octaves of love, lightsticks painting constellations in motion. For a second, he almost forgot the burn in his lungs. He smiled wider, waving, ready to step back for group photos. Then he saw it.

A banner near the center. White cloth, purple and yellow glitter letters: JIKOOK FOREVER!

Right beside it, another read: Dior’s Muse x Calvin’s Fire.

He laughed under his breath, still amazed at how fiercely people believed in them. He wondered how they could see what their agencies tried so hard to bury. To the fans, Jimin and Jungkook weren’t a campaign or a coincidence. They were a story that made sense.

A story the companies were trying to end.

For the past month, the marketing team had been whispering about “new chemistry.” A younger idol from Jimin’s label—fresh debut, cute face, bright smile, an alpha, no tattoos or piercings, safe. The kind the public could attach to without controversy. Rumors had started in carefully chosen corners of the internet, just enough to shift attention, just enough to plant doubt.

It was textbook PR damage control.

He shouldn’t have looked at the crowd again, he wasn’t supposed to, but he did. How could he not when it was the only way he could have Jungkook’s presence here with him?

Banners everywhere now. Some subtle. Some blatant. 

Our twin stars.

Eclipse of love.

Our ace duo.

Our sun and the moon.

He blinked, heart softening with memory.

They’d been paired up for a Tiffany x Calvin Klein charity campaign two years ago. Two ambassadors, one concept: light meets shadow. Jimin in tailored Dior white, Jungkook in Calvin black. It was supposed to be an experiment. Two soloists from rival agencies, two stars with entirely different aesthetics, styles and personalities sharing the same frame.

To everyone’s delight, the fans devoured it. They saw something the cameras couldn’t decipher. They saw something even they themselves hadn’t known.

Behind that dark, brooding gaze Jungkook threw at him the entire night of the event was admiration and something that couldn’t be named just then.

Within twenty-four hours, hashtags broke global trends. Their clips hit a million likes before breakfast. Brands called it synergy.

Agencies called it an opportunity.

Instead of killing it immediately, they capitalized on it. Joint photo shoots, synchronized brand campaigns, limited-edition appearances. The “rumors” were profitable. They fed them, very carefully. They curated every gossip.

Back then, Jimin had thought Jungkook was just another Alpha the PR team handpicked because he was young, beautiful, dangerous in front of a camera and successful. But then came the long hours between takes. Jungkook’s easy warmth felt more like home than any luxury suite.

They’d been told to keep things strictly professional. The chemistry between them was only a product now. He remembered how hawk eyes watched them, warning them even if they slightly went off the script.

So they kept it quiet. They smiled when management said stand closer. Pretended when they said hold eye contact for the shot.
They’d been scripted into lovers for marketing long before they became it for real.

He remembered the first time Jungkook whispered You’re shaking, mid-shoot, when the warehouse lights were too hot and Jimin had skipped breakfast. He’d meant to laugh it off, but Jungkook had already pressed a cold bottle of water into his hand. 

Then he’d promptly disappeared between the shots and sent a breakfast tray with assorted fruits and fresh juice through his assistant. That thoughtful yet simple gesture ruined him.

From there, everything changed slowly, but dangerously.

It started with texts exchanged through assistants, stolen smiles between meetings, short elevator rides where the silence hummed with something neither of them dared to name. Then came the late-night shoots when the staff thinned, the photographers grew bored, and the two of them were left alone under dim studio lights.

Jungkook’s laughter became a dangerous sound. There was something about Jungkook’s voice, warm, steady, too honest, that cracked through the walls Jimin had built around himself. It overrode the fear of his label and all the restrictions that were supposed to stop him.

It continued with Jungkook waiting for him after rehearsals, always pretending it was a coincidence. Then came the coffee runs turned into quiet dinners in the farthest corner of Seoul where no one asked for autographs.

Then the dinners turned into nights where Jungkook would drive him home and sit in the car a few extra minutes, just to talk. 

Their agencies thought they were obedient. But real control was impossible. Not when a simple look between them could ignite the internet, or worse, stop time.

All bets were off when one night Jungkook pulled him into the stairway between the shots and kissed him against the wall.

There were no fireworks, no music swelling in the background. Just the hum of the city outside the stairwell door and the faint chatter of the camera crew laughing two floors below.

Jimin remembered the chill of the concrete wall against his back, the warmth of Jungkook’s palm against his jaw, the way their breaths tangled somewhere between disbelief and desire.

They should have stopped it. They’d told themselves hundreds of times that they couldn’t act on it. But when Jungkook’s mouth found his, it felt less like a kiss and truth.

Jungkook tasted like mint and adrenaline, a rush that went straight to Jimin’s knees. His fresh rain and cedar scent wrapped around Jimin’s senses, grounding and intoxicating at once. It shouldn’t have felt safe. It did.

When Jungkook pulled back, he didn’t apologize. He just whispered, voice low, raw, “I can’t keep pretending that I don’t love you. Because I do. With my entire being.”

Jimin had looked up at him, wide-eyed, heart beating loud enough to drown out reason. “You’re insane,” he’d murmured.

“Probably,” Jungkook had said, smiling in that reckless, boyish way that made everything hurt. “But I mean it. I don’t want to be away from you anymore.”

That was the moment the pretending died. The lines blurred. Then it vanished entirely.

Jimin inhaled deeply, his smile unwavering, the ache behind his ribs spreading like a bruise. He’d loved Jungkook in the quiet between camera flashes. Behind soundproof studio doors. 

He lifted his hand in a final wave, his vision starting to shimmer at the edges. He bowed low, thanking the fans again, voice barely carrying over the noise.

The moment he turned, the adrenaline thinned, replaced by a sudden heaviness. His breathing grew shallow, chest tight, his head pulsing in rhythm with the lights.

The roar dulled at once. He slipped past a cable nest and a cluster of rookie idols blinking under powder, past the staff who touched his shoulder in that soft way people do when they don’t know what to say except you did well. He smiled for each of them because he meant it. It wasn’t their fault the room still smelled like the cologne some intern had sprayed too generously ten minutes ago. He breathed shallow and kept moving.

“Water,” Taehyung’s voice murmured behind him, already close. Not the Taehyung the world expected in a Celine suit, but the one who’d learned to walk through chaos like he was born inside it. He pressed a bottle into Jimin’s hand. “Sip.”

Jimin obeyed. Two swallows. A third because his throat asked. The plastic cracked in his grip.

“You’re pale,” Taehyung said, eyes narrowing at him. “You need to eat, then vanish before the fans ambush the hallway.”

“I’m fine.” He was, mostly. The room just tilted a fraction more than usual when he blinked. The smell of hot lights was thicker than he liked. That was all.

He let the mic tech peel the pack from his spine. The tape tug was mild. Still, something in his body flinched. Then continued to move through the narrow pathway that led to the dressing rooms.

They’d known each other since trainee days. Back when their faces were too soft for headlines and their dreams too loud for the rooms they practiced in. Same label, same long nights on splintered floors. Both omegas, both taught early that talent wasn’t enough. You had to smile through hunger, exhaustion, and the occasional humiliation of being told your worth peaked at how pretty you looked under lighting.

Jimin stepped into the dressing room. The sudden quiet felt like a hand over water. He dropped into the chair, the vanity lights too warm, the mirror already fogged at the edges from the humidifiers humming under the table. He set the water down and reached for the hand towel.

“I’m fine,” he repeated when he sensed Taehyung’s concerned gaze on him. “Just tired.”

Taehyung crouched in front of him, close enough that their scents overlapped—black tea and sandalwood wrapping around Jimin’s rain soaked iris and white amber. It was grounding, familiar. It smelled like a version of life before fame.

“You always say that,” Taehyung murmured. “Every time you start running yourself into the ground. You think no one notices because you make it look like it’s nothing.”

He wiped along his hairline, lips curving, but his eyes stayed unfocused on the floor. “It sells.”

“Yeah, well, passing out doesn’t.”

The door knocked once and opened before anyone answered. His manager leaned in, phone in hand, eyes already calculating. “We have five minutes before the exit. The car is ready in Bay B. Use the rear stairs.”

Jimin nodded. “Fans?”

“Many. We’ll sweep. There’s also…” A pause. The kind that made him want to sigh and refuse. “Questions. Again. Keep your head down.”

The split, he meant. The rumor that was slowly being hardened into narrative because it was cheaper than the truth. Jimin’s lips shaped a polite smile for the manager’s reflection. “I always do.”

When the door closed, Taehyung’s hand found his shoulder and squeezed once. “You did beautifully,” he said. “That note on the second chorus? Clean.”

“Mm.” He watched his own mouth shape nothing in the mirror and thought of all the words he didn’t say in rooms like this. The ones that would cost other people their jobs.

The nausea crept up without drama. Not a wave but more of a slow tide licking at the edge of sand. He inhaled through his nose and the smell of hairspray hit a strange, acid-bright in a way that made his skin fizz. He pressed two fingers below his ribs. The room stayed quiet, polite, and unhelpful.

“Eat,” Taehyung said, already unwrapping something bland from a paper bag. “Bread. Don’t argue.”

“Bossy,” Jimin murmured, but he took the bite. Chewed. It sat in his mouth, tasting like nothing. He swallowed it half-heartedly. The second bite stayed longer as he convinced himself to swallow it once more. He reached for the water again.

His phone lit on the table. A message banner slid across then disappeared, replaced by his lockscreen before he could focus. He didn’t need to see the name to know who it was. He just knew by the way his chest relaxed and something lifted off his shoulder. He unlocked it anyway.

You were brilliant

He didn’t save the name. Couldn’t. The time stamp said he’d sent it during his speech. The follow-up was already there, a minute later.

On my way

Jimin’s thumb hovered over the keyboard. He pictured the long hallway, the security at the back exit, the lenses, the way a rumor turns into a riot if given enough carbon and oxygen. 

“Don’t,” he typed, then erased it. “Later,” he typed, and erased that too. He was too weak to deny.

Okay

He set the phone down. His reflection watched him pretend calm and did not object.

The manager returned with a soft knock that wasn’t a question. “It’s time,” he said, already scanning the corridor through a crack in the door like a soldier. “Let’s move.”

Taehyung handed Jimin the coat that would erase the line of his shoulders. Jimin stood and the room tugged sideways, a brief trick of light or gravity. He stayed where he was until his vision went back to normal. 

“You okay?” Taehyung asked. 

“Yeah, I’m ready,” he said, and believed it for exactly three steps.

They made it to the hall, past the cramped storage corner. A junior idol bowed deep. Someone’s laughter bounced off the cinderblock. He touched the wall with the back of his fingers as they passed, a small superstition learned from the first year. Touch the wall after a good stage, say thanks in a language no one needs to translate.

The smell hit him first. Someone’s cheap cologne scent knocked off balance by heat and poor ventilation. His stomach pitched once, twice. His vision narrowed gently at the corners like a camera lens closing. He breathed shallow and focused on Taehyung’s shoulder blade ahead, the familiar hinge of bone under fabric he’d followed for years through swarm and panic.

“Almost there,” Taehyung said, without looking back.

The world tilted again, quiet and absolute.

Jimin’s hand found the metal railing. It was cool. He studied the way his skin looked against the metal. Paler than usual, a faint tremor ran through his body. 

“Jimin?” Taehyung’s voice, this time with the question inside it. “Hey.”

He nodded. Or thought he did. 

His mouth opened to make the noise that meant I’m fine and the sound stuck somewhere behind his tongue. For a split second the corridor became a tunnel.

“Jimin!”

The last thing he felt was a palm against his shoulder, firm and warm.

White. Then nothing.

***

Taehyung had a severe dislike for hospitals. Everything looked the same shade of white. The air smelled like bleach and disinfectant. 

He stood away from the bed and the medical professionals working on Jimin in quiet urgency. 

It was only luck and instincts that led him to catch Jimin before he hit the ground. Things would have been worse if he'd tumbled down the stairs. His phone buzzed with another call. He ignored it. Must be another manager or a company staff wanting to know if the asset was safe. 

Jimin’s manager prowled outside, muttering into his phone and running his hands through his hair. Thankfully, he was an alpha and wasn’t Jimin’s best friend. Taehyung was able to easily convince the staff to send him away.

The nurses continued to work. Electrodes, IV line, pulse monitor, oxygen mask. Jimin’s lashes rested against his cheeks casting a shadow. His skin looked translucent under the hospital light, every vein drawn in fine blue.

“Blood pressure’s low,” someone said.

“Possible dehydration. Get a saline push ready.”

“Run a hormone panel. He’s an omega. Cover all bases.”

Taehyung’s heart stuttered. “Hormone panel?”

The doctor didn’t look up. “Standard protocol.”

But Taehyung knew that tone. The one that said we’re checking for more than exhaustion. His mouth went dry. He stepped back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him before pulling out his phone.fumbling for his phone.

He scrolled through the only contact that mattered.

“You need to come fast,” he said the moment Jungkook answered the call. His voice was low but urgent.

“Where? What’s going on? Where is he?”

“SNH, VIP wing. He collapsed after the show. They’re running tests. His manager is—”

“I’m coming.”

“Wait, listen—”

But the line was already dead.

***

Jungkook’s phone rang once, twice, before he picked up.
He had just passed the last turn toward Jimin’s apartment. 

The takeout Jimin liked after long rehearsals sat in the backseat of his car. Just some ramyeon, dumplings, a small cake he pretended wasn’t for any occasion. He’d planned to surprise him, to make him laugh, maybe convince him to sleep instead of watching rehearsal clips again. 

Jimin had been extremely busy and they were able to meet rarely this past month. It was Jimin’s last show and he hoped they’d be able to catch a breather before Jungkook had to leave for his next schedule. So he was looking forward to tonight. 

But Taehyung’s voice on the other end was anything but casual. It wasn’t anything like the easy tone Jungkook was used to. It was clipped and barely controlled.

“You need to come fast.”

“Where? What’s going on? Where is he?”

“SNH, VIP wing. He collapsed after the show. They’re running tests. His manager is—”

“I’m coming.”

The wheels screeched when he took the next U-turn and stepped on gas. Then he hit the indicator, swerved hard, and changed lanes without looking back. 

The takeout bag slid off the passenger seat. Something inside spilled. He didn’t notice or care for it. His mind had already jumped ahead to the hospital corridors and to Jimin.

He collapsed.

His knuckles went white around the wheel. “You don’t just collapse, Jimin,” he muttered. “You don’t.”

That sentence repeated like static. It didn’t sound right. Jimin didn’t collapse that easily. He was known to push through his exhaustion. This wasn’t his first rodeo. He smiled through migraines, danced through pulled muscles, turned sleepless nights into photo shoots. This wasn’t like him at all. 

Did they work him into exhaustion?

He should’ve stopped him. Should’ve told him to slow down when he saw the dark circles growing under his eyes during those late-night calls. But he understood because that’s what they both did. Smile through pain and exhaustion.

The GPS kept recalculating, his route a blur of red and blue lines on the screen. He should’ve called his manager. It would’ve been the logical thing to do to have someone prepare the hospital, clear the press if there were any.

But logic wasn’t winning. If he called the company, they’d call Jimin’s label. If Jimin’s label got involved, then they’d first try to stop him. Then they’d jump to do damage control. 

He knew exactly how it would play out the next day: Health complications, temporary rest, ongoing promotions remain unaffected.

That was how it always went. He wasn’t immune to it either. It was how their industry worked. They were nothing more than a commodity to their labels. And they were only useful as long as they had market value.

His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, restless and angry. The city lights bled past in its midnight rhythm, too alive. Too busy. Every red light felt like a test to his patience.

He remembered Jimin’s face from the last time they’d spoken, over video call three nights ago. Jimin had smiled, too wide, said he was fine, voice thinner than it should’ve been. Jungkook teased him, told him to sleep. Jimin had just laughed, soft and tired.

Now that laugh replayed in his head like an echo of something breaking.

Please be okay.

He pressed harder on the accelerator. The steering wheel vibrated faintly beneath his palms. His pulse thudded in time with the turn signal.

By the time the hospital building came into view, bright Seoul National Hospital looming high, his hands were slick against the steering wheel. He parked crooked, locked it hurriedly and rushed out. 

The cold hit him as soon as he stepped out. He pulled his hoodie up, adjusted the mask, and walked fast. Fortunately, there were no reporters outside. Maybe the media didn’t catch wind of it. 

The hospital lobby was too bright for his liking. A nurse at the reception glanced up, but he pulled the baseball cap down and lowered his gaze.

Every step felt too loud in the quiet corridors, his pulse louder still. He knew where the VIP wing was so he didn’t wait for anyone and just headed to the elevator.

He kept his head low. The mask scraped against his breath. His heartbeat was high enough to make his ears ring. On the VIP floor, he passed a nurse station. Someone looked up, blinked twice like they couldn’t trust their eyes. He didn’t stop.

“Sir, you can’t—”

A hand blocked his path. 

He tugged his mask down. The guard froze. He saw recognition dawning in his features and he immediately dropped his hand. “The last room to the right,” he said. 

Jungkook nodded curtly. “You didn’t see me,” he said quietly.

The man hesitated for half a breath, then nodded. “Of course, Jungkook-ssi.”

Jungkook kept moving.

The further he went, the quieter it got. The hum and beep of machines replaced the silence. A sound he despised. His shoes squeaked once against the polished floor and the sound made him wince.

Taehyung was waiting by the door, one hand on his phone, the other pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“You’re here.” Relief flickered across his face when he saw him, then melted into exhaustion. 

He stared at the closed door as if he could almost see Jimin behind it lying still and small against white sheets. 

“What happ—”

Before either of them could say more, Jimin’s manager appeared from the waiting area, voice sharp, phone still pressed to his ear. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Jungkook didn’t stop walking.

“Jeon Jungkook,” the manager hissed, lowering his voice when nurses turned to look. “You shouldn’t be here. The press—”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t care.”

“Company policy—”

“I said I don’t care,” he growled.

The alpha flinched. Jungkook didn’t shout, but his scent deepened. The cedar spiked with anger, overpowering the soft notes of rain. The air between them thickened until even the security who was still in the hall glanced their way.

The manager glared at Taehyung. “You called him?” he hissed. “Do you have any idea what you have done?” 

Taehyung straightened, his exhaustion bleeding into irritation. “Yeah, I called him,” he said, his voice steady but sharp enough to cut through the corridor’s hush. “Because while you were busy checking your emails and making phone calls, I was catching him before he cracked his skull open on those damn stairs. You don’t have the right to tell me what I should or shouldn’t be doing.”

The manager’s jaw twitched. “Watch your tone, Taehyung. You’re not part of his management team.”

“No,” Taehyung said, stepping closer, his own scent curling faintly around them. Black tea, quiet but grounding. “I’m part of his life. Which is more than I can say for you. Jimin is unconscious and he needs Jungkook now more than anything. Please don’t act like you know nothing at all. I know you do.”

The tension between them thickened until even the hum of the machines down the hall seemed to still. Jungkook didn’t add to it. He didn’t need to. He just looked at the man, and that was enough. 

The manager exhaled through his nose, trying for calm but not finding it. “If the press finds out you’re here, you’ll both be screwed. You know what this will look like.”

“I know exactly what it looks like,” Jungkook said, voice low. “It looks like I’m here for him. The public will question why I’m not by his side when he’s like this before wondering why I’m here.”

The manager gave a short, bitter laugh. “You shouldn’t be here because it’s over, Jungkook. The agency already agreed the breakup would go public after this era. You two are done.”

Jungkook froze, eyes narrowing. “Agreed?”

“You both signed off on the PR transition plan. The break up plan is already set in motion. A statement will go out any moment this week, a clean break for both of you.  We’ve spent a month redirecting attention. New chemistry, new pairings. It’s what’s best for him.”

“For him?” Jungkook repeated, flat.

“For his campaigns. For his future.” The man glanced at Taehyung, then back. “Do you know how hard we’ve worked to steer the public away from your fake relationship? The rumors were profitable. Now they’re not. The buzz is simply not there anymore. The company feels it’s time to move on.”

Jungkook’s mouth curved without warmth. “So you built a story when it sold, and now you’ll end it because the numbers say so.”

“That’s how this works.”

“No.” Jungkook’s voice didn’t rise. It pressed down. “That’s how you want it to work.”

The manager’s jaw clicked. “You think you can fight this? You think you can stand in front of two companies and say no?”

“I can stand in front of anyone when it’s my life,” Jungkook said. “And his.”

“You don’t own him.”

“I don’t,” Jungkook said. “But neither do you.” He then took a deep breath. 

The manager’s lips parted like he wanted to argue. Before he could open his mouth again, Jungkook cut him off.

“I’m not having this conversation with you. Not here. Not when he’s lying inside like that. I don’t think your label will appreciate a public confrontation right now. Not when you’re trying so hard to bury this incident without them finding out.” 

Color drained from the manager’s face. He tried to recover, but the flicker of panic gave him away. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No media is here yet. You wanted to contain it first before it spread beyond your control,” Jungkook continued. 

The man’s throat worked, but no sound came.

“I thought so,” Jungkook said. “So here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to step away from this hallway and stay out of the way. I’ll deal with him. And if you have an issue with that, then that’s your problem to deal with.”

Jungkook didn’t wait for him. Instead, he pushed the door open and entered the room. The manager tried to follow but Taehyung stopped him.

“No,” he said with a firm hand on his chest. “Jimin doesn’t want you in here. I’ll call the doctors if you insist.”

That forced the manager to back out. Taehyung shut the door in his face.

For a second Jungkook didn’t move. The smell of antiseptic and faint static from the monitor made his stomach twist. 

Jimin lay half turned toward the window. The fluorescent light caught on the edge of the IV taped to his wrist and made the veins beneath his skin stand out blue. His hair, still styled from stage, clung damply to his forehead. Even the gloss on his lips had cracked at the edges.

He looked frail in a way Jungkook had never seen. Too pale. Too quiet. The steady beeping from the heart monitor sounded indecently loud in the hush.

Jungkook took one step closer, then another. The air-conditioning stirred the blanket and that faint trace of Jimin’s scent, rain soaked iris and white amber, dulled by hospital air reached him. His throat closed around it.

Taehyung spoke from behind him, voice low and careful. “Low blood pressure, dehydration, exhaustion and stress. They’re running tests…” he drawled. “They drew hormone panels specifically.’

Jungkook’s breath caught. “A hormone panel?”

“Standard for omegas, yeah,” Taehyung said, but there was something careful in his tone, like the words themselves could shatter something fragile. “You know what that might mean. They wouldn’t run it unless they thought there was a reason.”

A silence stretched, heavy and brittle. Jungkook stared down at Jimin’s sleeping face. 

Taehyung rubbed his forehead. “He was pushing through exhaustion the last few months. The label’s schedules didn’t stop for him. He told me he was fine, same as always. You know how he is.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook murmured. “He tells everyone he’s fine until he falls apart.”

He lowered himself into the chair beside the bed, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on the slow rhythm of Jimin’s breathing. 

Jungkook reached out, fingers hovering for a second before he took Jimin’s hand gently in his. The skin was warm but fragile under his thumb, the pulse faint but there.

He brushed his thumb once over the back of Jimin’s hand. “You’re supposed to tell me when you’re not okay,” he whispered. “That was the deal.”

Taehyung sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. “He’s stubborn, but he listens to you. Maybe this time he’ll actually stay down for a while.”

“He’ll have to,” Jungkook said, voice low but firm. “I’m not giving him a choice.”

“I didn’t expect you to confront his manager like that,” Taehyung admitted in a light tone. “That man knew you were fooling around but he wouldn’t have expected you both to be serious.”

Jungkook didn’t look away from Jimin’s face. “He underestimated how far I’m willing to go for Jimin.”

Taehyung huffed, the sound small in the white room. “He always has.”

Jungkook’s thumb traced another slow arc across the back of Jimin’s hand. The skin there was warm, but it felt thinner than it should. He watched the tiny flutter in Jimin’s wrist where the pulse lived, counting it without meaning to. 

The monitor beeped in time, soft and indifferent. A curl of hair stuck to Jimin’s temple. Jungkook smoothed it back, careful not to brush the adhesive on the leads.

“They were working him to his bones, knowing well how exhausted he was.” His jaw flexed once. “They don’t give a fuck about his health.”

“I kept asking him but he wouldn’t tell me.” Taehyung sighed as he shifted, the chair legs scuffing. “You’re about to set two companies on fire.”

“Nothing is more important than him.”

The door clicked open. A doctor stepped in. He was a middle-aged man with a crisp coat, clipboard tucked under his arm. He closed the door with a soft push, checked the chart once, then looked up again, professional and precise. His gaze landed on Jungkook’s hand resting over Jimin’s, on how he wasn’t letting go.

“I’m Dr. Han,” he said, voice calm but clipped from habit. “Before I share anything further, I’ll need to confirm if you are his immediate family?”

Taehyung stepped forward, shoulders squared. “He is.”

The doctor’s brows lifted slightly, glancing at Jungkook. “And your relation?”

“Partner,” Jungkook said, without hesitation.

Dr. Han studied him a moment longer, then he nodded once, quietly accepting it. “Very well.”

He flipped open the chart. “Mr. Park’s condition has stabilized. The IV and fluids are correcting the dehydration. Blood pressure is improving, though still low. But the collapse wasn’t caused entirely by exhaustion.” His tone softened just slightly. “The hormone panel returned a while ago. It shows elevated beta-HCG and progesterone levels.” He glanced at both of them. “He’s pregnant. Approximately six weeks along.”

The words landed heavily in the otherwise silent room. For a heartbeat, nothing moved.

Taehyung let out a slow exhale, almost soundless. Jungkook didn’t even blink. The word pregnant seemed to echo inside his ribs.

Dr. Han kept his voice neutral. “The good news is that both vitals and hormone levels are stable, but his body is severely fatigued. Continued stress or inadequate rest could cause complications. He’ll need full recovery time, strict nutrition, and zero public appearances for a while.”

Jungkook finally found his voice. “Can I see the results?”

The doctor hesitated, then passed the chart across. Jungkook’s eyes flicked down the neat rows of numbers and percentages he didn’t fully understand, but the red underlines told him enough. Six weeks. Confirmed. His pulse thundered in his ears.

He returned the chart to the doctor. “Does his manager know?”

“Not yet. They’ve been requesting his results citing their rights over medical discretion. We may not be able to hold for long. I’m required to report immediately.”

“I understand.” Jungkook nodded once, sharing a worried look with Taehyung.

Dr. Han glanced at the monitor again, then back to them. “Next steps. We’ll schedule a transabdominal ultrasound first thing in the morning. I’ll also have our OB team, Dr. Seo to consult and set a plan for prenatal care. Right now, rest and fluids. Nothing strenuous. No visitors beyond… immediate family.”

His gaze flicked to the door like he could feel the manager pacing on the other side. “Can I ask for a favor? Could you restrict the visitors to the two of us until my attorney gets here? His label isn’t going to be happy about this and I’m afraid they’d push for something either of us doesn’t want.”

The doctor frowned. “Sure.” He glanced at Jimin once more and nodded slowly. “I can do that, but assuming that you’re unmated, I’d recommend getting a power of attorney for healthcare when the patient awakes. Or bring his legal guardian as soon as possible because legally his company has more discretion over him than you right now.”

Jungkook nodded once. “Thank you.” He took a step toward the doctor. “Can I ask for one more favor? If his agency tries something, could you at least let me know first? Or wait for him to wake and do nothing without his consent? Please…”

The doctor’s features softened. “I can do that.”

When he exited the room, the first thing Jungkook did was to lock it and lean against it. He could hear chatters outside and knew there wasn’t much time.

With shaking hands, he dialed the only person he could think of. Kim Namjoon, the only name he trusted with anything that needed teeth. The person who was introduced to him by his parents as his legal counsel as a trainee. Over time, the man had become more than legal counsel. He was a friend, a voice of reason, and the person Jungkook called when everything went to hell.

Namjoon answered on the fourth ring, voice gravel-soft with sleep. “Hello.”

“Hyung?” Jungkook said, a breath breaking through the word.

There was a pause. He could hear sheets ruffling before his voice filtered through his ear again. “Jungkook? You okay?”

“No. I’m not.” He took a deep breath, his hands still trembling. “Jimin is pregnant.”

“What?”

“H-He collapsed after the Music Bank. Now we’re in SNH, VIP wing. Hyung, his company is his proxy. I can’t hold them for long. Y-You know what they’ll do. Help me. I need you here.”

Silence, then he let out a low exhale. “Is he stable?”

“Yes.” He swallowed. “Yes, he is. They want an ultrasound in the morning. The doctor said it’s better to get a signed power of attorney from Jimin as soon as he wakes up or call his legal guardians.”

“Listen carefully. You need to buy time. The best way to get it is to make unilateral control impossible for the label.” All traces of sleep were gone from his voice now. 

“How?”

“I checked online. There’s no news about Jimin except for his music bank appearance. You need to change that.”

“Oh.”

“Two things. One, create an external pressure on the label. Leak just enough to the media, control your narrative. Mention nothing about the pregnancy now. Use ‘collapse due to exhaustion, under medical evaluation,’ and include that he’s currently comfortable and with immediate family. That language makes it politically ugly for anyone to yank him out or push procedures. Two, call his parents.”

Jungkook closed his eyes briefly, instant relief spreading across his chest. “His parents.”

“They’re his legal next of kin,” Namjoon said. “If they’re here and present, the hospital has a clear, human shield against agency overreach. And when the company tries to bulldoze, Mom and Dad will be in that corridor asking who exactly thinks they outrank the family. Ask them to bring an attorney.”

“O-Okay.”

“You have no legal rights over an unborn pup since you’re not married.” He heard more shuffling in the background. “But if they push too hard, you can use the other options to threaten them and hold them off until we can do something about it. I’m calling Seokjin.”

“The Busan Daily Editor-in-Chief?”

“Yes. I know you must be panicking. I’ll handle the media part. You stay with him. I’ll be there at eight with a durable medical power of attorney and a caregiver authorization. If Jimin’s lucid, he signs. It designates you as his primary health decision-maker when he’s unable or chooses not to communicate through intermediaries. It won’t erase the agency’s noise, but it will give you more power. But if he’s in no position to sign then we need his parents as a backup.”

Jungkook swallowed. The hospital air tasted metallic. “They’ll try to terminate.”

“They’ll try to make the decision before he has a chance to make one,” Namjoon said. “But here’s the thing. They can’t authorize anything invasive without patient consent or legal proxy. That’s why the document matters. We’ll also file a PIPA restriction on disclosures. And I’ll trigger a notice to your label counsel that any coercion will be construed as tortious interference with medical decisions. They hate those words.”

“Okay.” He looked down at Jimin, at the fragile map of veins under thin skin, the small flutter in his throat when he swallowed in sleep. His chest went warm and aching. “Thanks, hyung.”

“I’m sorry it’s happening like this,” Namjoon said, softer. “But you’re not alone. I’ll bring the papers, and I’ll bring coffee. Black or Iced Americano?”

“Puppuccino for me, black for you,” Jungkook said, and it made Taehyung huff a small laugh that unknotted something in the room. “One iced americano and one caramel macchiato for Taehyung.”

“Oh, he’s there too?”

“Yeah, he was the one who called me. Otherwise I wouldn’t have found out.” His throat closed. 

His body shuddered just to think how many things could have gone wrong if Taehyung hadn’t been there tonight. Jimin would have fallen down the stairs, the label would have controlled the narrative and Jimin would have had no power to stop them.

They’d have claimed it was exhaustion and whisked him to a private facility. The hormone panel would have remained hidden. The pregnancy might have been buried.

And as for him, he’d have woken up with no clue as to what happened. He’d have never known the person he loved was being pushed into a decision he didn’t even get to make.

But Taehyung was there.

He caught him before he hit the ground.

He made the call that changed everything.

Now Jungkook would protect him with everything he got. 

“Glad you aren’t alone. I’ll see you tomorrow. Take care until then. Don’t forget to call his parents.”

“Okay. Thanks again, hyung.” He ended the call, letting out a long drawn exhale. “I need to call his parents.”

Taehyung nodded.

He walked to the window, dialing Jimin’s parents. Jimin never hid anything from his parents. They knew they were seeing each other secretly. 

The call connected on the second ring.

“Hello?” Her voice was soft. Familiar in a way that made his throat close. “Jimin-ah,  I was waiting for your call. I watched the show. It was really good.”

“It’s Jungkook,” he said. “I’m sorry to call so late.”

She paused briefly. “Jungkook? Is everything okay?”

“No.” He closed his eyes for half a second. “He fainted after the show. We’re at Seoul National Hospital. He’s stable. They’re giving him fluids.” A breath. “He’s pregnant.”

There was the smallest sound of surprise. Then she asked, “Is he safe?”

“Yes,” Jungkook said. “I’m with him. Taehyung is here. The doctor is kind.”

“And the company?” she asked, like she already knew of the consequences.

“They’ll want to control the narrative,” Jungkook said. “I’m calling because…because you’re his mother. If you can come… It will help. I-I don’t have any legal control over his medical decisions.”

“We’ll come now,” she said immediately without any hesitation. “His father is awake. We’ll drive.”

“I’ll meet you downstairs when you arrive,” he said. “VIP wing. Text me when you’re close.”

“Yes,” she said. Then softer, something that felt like a hand on the back of his head. “Stay with him. We’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“I will,” he said, meaning every word. “My attorney is on the way. Drive safe.”

“Okay.”

He ended the call and leaned his forehead briefly to the window glass. Seoul glittered below like it had no idea what anybody carried.

Then without wasting another moment, he called his own parents, repeating everything he told Jimin’s parents. Namjoon could handle his label and Jimin’s label both, but having them here would mean more moral support. 

When they were alone again, Jungkook settled back into the chair, feeling worn out. 

Taehyung checked his phone, then pocketed it. “The manager’s still outside,” he said. “Probably foaming at the mouth.”

“They’ll be busy in twenty minutes,” Jungkook said, glancing at his phone screen. “Namjoon hyung is contacting his friends. He’s going to create a diversion. His label won’t have time to bother us until morning.”

Taehyung hummed, half impressed. “You really came prepared for war.”

“Not really.” Jungkook glanced at the sleeping omega. “It’s the only way. If I don’t fight then they’ll ruin him. They’re leaving me no choice.”

A silence settled between them. Outside the windows, Seoul stayed awake. Ambulance sirens echoed faintly through the still air, the city’s heartbeat still pulsing while the one that mattered most to him lay sleeping inches away.

“It’s starting,” Taehyung said, scrolling through his phone. He turned the phone screen toward Jungkook.

#GetWellJimin

#WeLoveYouJimin

#OurLightForever

Fan accounts were already dissecting the stage clip—how he’d smiled through visible exhaustion, how his voice had cracked on the final note, how he bowed longer than usual. Someone uploaded a slow-motion video of him swaying slightly as he exited the stage. It had over a million views in fifteen minutes.

Jungkook watched silently. The noise outside was rising, yet inside the room, everything was still. His eyes never left Jimin’s face. He watched the faint rise and fall of his chest, the way the heart monitor beeped steady as if unaware of the world burning around it.

Around 5 a.m. there was a soft knock on the door.

Taehyung stood first. When the door opened, Mrs. Park entered quietly, her husband right behind her. Both were dressed in simple, yet casual coats buttoned, faces pale but calm. 

“Mrs. Park,” Jungkook said, moving quickly to greet her.

She reached for him before words could form, her hands warm and trembling around his. “Thank you,” she whispered. Her eyes darted past him to the bed, and her breath caught. “Oh, my boy…”

Mr. Park stood at the foot of the bed, his hand tightening around the metal rail as he took in the sight of his son.

Dr. Han appeared a few minutes later, checking his vitals and flipping through Jimin’s chart before writing down the numbers. When he noticed Jimin’s parents, he nodded curtly.

“Doctor, these are his parents,” Jungkook introduced quickly. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Park,” he greeted, bowing slightly. “I’m Dr. Han. I’ve been overseeing your son’s care.”

Mrs. Park’s voice trembled but stayed polite. “Is he okay?”

“He’s stable now,” Dr. Han assured. “His vitals have improved since he was brought in. We’re continuing IV fluids to address dehydration and low blood pressure. I’d prefer to keep him under observation until after the ultrasound this morning.”

Her eyes lifted. “Ultrasound?”

Dr. Han hesitated for a breath. His gaze shifted to Jungkook, then back to her. “Yes, it’s just a normal procedure. We will look for the gestational sac, yolk sac, and the first signs of the embryo,” he said quietly. “He’s around six weeks, based on hormone levels. We’ll confirm it with imaging shortly after sunrise.”

Mrs. Park pressed her hand to her chest. Mr. Park exhaled hard, eyes closing. No one spoke for a long moment.

Then she nodded. “We understand,” she said softly. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

Dr. Han’s expression softened. “He’s in good hands.”

“Doctor, could you update his files so that nothing gets past without our consent?” Jimin’s dad asked. “Be it medication or any invasive procedure, it should be discussed with us first. Also could you restrict access only to his family? I don’t want any of his company people in here.”

“Sure, I can bring the necessary forms for you to sign and restrict access to family-only. I’ll also update his file with his parents’ details as his primary legal guardians.”

“Yes, please.” Jungkook bowed deeply. “Thank you, doctor.”

Dr. Han gave him a faint, knowing nod. “You did the right thing by calling them,” he said to Jungkook. “I’ll be back with the necessary paperwork.”

He left quietly, and the door shut behind him.

For a moment, it was just the sound of machines again.

Mrs. Park stepped closer to Jimin, brushing hair from his forehead the way mothers do when no one is watching. “He never tells us when he’s in pain,” she whispered. “Even as a child, he’d smile through it and say he wanted to dance.”

Jungkook’s throat closed. “He still does that,” he murmured.

She looked up at him. Whatever question lingered in her eyes wasn’t judgment. It was recognition. “You love him.”

“Yes,” Jungkook said without flinching. “I do.”

Mr. Park looked up, eyes sharp. “Then protect him from those who won’t.”

Jungkook nodded once, his determination burning brighter.

The door burst open again before anyone could say more. Jimin’s manager stumbled inside, half panicked, tie crooked, phone still glued to his hand. “Mrs. Park—sir—I didn’t know you were coming—”

“Clearly,” Mr. Park said, voice clipped.

The manager’s eyes darted between them, then toward the bed. “We’re… we’re arranging to move him to our private recovery facility for his safety.”

Mrs. Park turned to face him fully. “He’s not going anywhere,” she said softly, as if testing how the words tasted on her tongue. “Not in this condition.”

“The media and fans somehow found out. They’re outside. Ma’am, I assure you, we’re only thinking about his safety. We need to—”

“I’m aware,” she interrupted gently. “We passed them on our way in.”

The man faltered. “Then you know how serious this is. If this leaks—”

Mrs. Park stepped closer, her tone still composed but unyielding. “My son stays here,” she said. “Any further communication regarding his health must be discussed with us first, his parents and primary legal guardians. Not your PR team.”

Mr. Park added, his tone even colder, “And if your company sends anyone else here without permission, we’ll have the hospital security escort them out.”

Taehyung folded his arms, smiling faintly from the corner. “Trust me, they’d love to.”

The manager’s jaw clenched. “Mrs. Park, please. This could damage his reputation.”

Her eyes narrowed, quiet fire flickering behind them. “If his reputation means more to your company than his life, then perhaps you should reconsider whose career you’re managing.”

The manager stuttered, swallowed, then finally bowed stiffly. “Of course. I’ll… I’ll update the higher-ups.” He backed toward the door, glaring at Jungkook and Taehyung, retreating without another word.

When the door closed again, Mrs. Park let out a shaky breath, her hands still clasped tight in front of her.

Jungkook moved closer, his voice low. “They’ll try again,” he said. “I already spoke to my attorney. Dr. Han and Namjoon hyung both told me to get you here because I don’t have any legal power over him. I’m sure they’ll try again.”

She nodded. “Then we’ll be ready. I sent my son to Seoul to fulfill his dreams and follow his passion. I won’t allow them to put out his fire.”

“Nothing is worth losing him for,” his dad said. “We’ll fight back with everything we have before we let them do anything to our son.”

Outside, the sky had started to lighten, the faint silver of dawn threading through the blinds. The night had broken, but the war was far from over.

Jimin slept through it all, his lashes resting against pale skin, unaware of  everything happening around him. And Jungkook sat in the same chair, still holding his hand.

You’re safe now. I’ll make sure it stays that way.

***

For those who are curious about male omega's anatomy 🤭

Chapter Text

Words: 9k

The following hours weighed heavily on everyone inside the room. A silence had settled among them and everyone was lost in their thoughts as they waited.

Outside the door, they could hear Jimin's manager pacing like a caged animal but he didn't try to enter again. Jungkook kept vigil while Taehyung nodded off in an arm chair.

Jimin's dad looked like he had aged at least ten years in less than three hours while his mother's face looked crestfallen. She hunched in the corner of the couch with her elbows on her knees and hands clasped under her chin as if she was praying.

Jungkook didn't move from his spot next to Jimin's bed. Even when his back ached and head throbbed he stayed. He couldn't tear his gaze off his face and he continued to rub smooth circles in the back of his hand. Every so often he'd glance at the IV line, the steady drip-drip of saline and then his gaze would be back to Jimin's face.

I won't let you down.

I won't let them take you away.

He kept chanting like a prayer in his mind.

He'd memorized every line of his face before, but now it felt different. The gloss had faded from his lips. His lashes trembled occasionally, a small twitch that made Jungkook's heart leap each time.

Though he knew Jimin was just asleep due to exhaustion, it didn't lessen the heaviness he felt in his heart. If Jimin could only open his eyes just once and tell him he was fine.

Jimin's fingers twitched as if he had heard his pleads. Maybe it was a coincidence or it was his soul calling out to him. Jungkook froze as his beloved omega's lashes fluttered, slower this time before his eyes opened halfway.

Jungkook jumped to his feet, excitement and relief flooding his chest. "Baby," he whispered, cupping his face.

Jimin opened his eyes again, looking dazed, unfocused and his pupils blown wide. The alpha immediately kissed his hand, hot tears welling his eyes.

"Jimin," he breathed, leaning forward. "It's me, baby. It's me."

The omega blinked, his breathing shallow. His gaze drifted, unfocused at first, until it caught the shape of him.

"J-Jungkook?" The sound was barely audible, his cracked lips moving weakly.

"Yeah," Jungkook said, his hand tightening around him. "I'm right here. Don't try to move."

Jimin's brows creased faintly as he took in his surroundings. "I..."

"You fainted, baby."

By now Jimin's parents were already on the other side, desperate to see him awake. Taehyung stood by the foot of his bed.

"Fainted?"

"Don't talk," Jungkook said gently. "I'll tell you everything, okay?"

Jimin nodded weakly.

"You fainted after the music show and Taehyung brought you to the hospital," he said. "We're in hospital now. You're safe. I'm here. Taehyung is here and I called your parents too. We're all here. Do you need water?"

Jimin nodded again, then his gaze found his parents. "M-mom?"

"I'm here, sweetie. You're awake."

Tears filled his eyes and his chest heaved with a sob. "Dad?"

"Yes, my son." He immediately leaned forward, stroking his hair. "We're all here. You have nothing to worry about."

Jimin nodded, sniffling slightly. Jungkook adjusted his bed's height and lifted the water bottle to his lips, feeding him tiny sips. He finally licked his lips, looking somewhat relieved and let out a sigh.

"I want to use the bathroom," he said in a small voice.

"I'll help," Jungkook said and the others immediately nodded, stepping out of the room to give them privacy. "You really scared the hell out of me last night," he murmured once they were alone.

Jimin's breathing hitched. His throat worked as if he wanted to apologize, but Jungkook shook his head before the words could come.

"Don't say sorry," he murmured. "You've got nothing to be sorry for."

Jungkook helped him gently to relieve himself before pulling the sheets back in place. Jimin's fingers twitched weakly in his grip. Jungkook leaned closer, brushing the hair from his forehead, his scent quiet and steady.

"Can you scent me?" he asked and Jungkook immediately complied.

He leaned forward, running his nose along the juncture of his neck where his scent gland was, releasing comforting pheromones that slowly began to wrap the omega. Jimin sighed again, eyes falling shut as soothing rain and cedarwood invaded his senses. His grip on Jungkook's arm loosened, all visible tension from his body evaporating in an instant.

Jungkook stayed close, whispering against the curve of his throat. "You're safe, baby. I promise. No one's going to hurt you, no one's taking you anywhere. I'll take care of everything."

He could sense Jimin's body going slack even as he fought to stay awake. The doctor already said it was normal and he'd have to rest as much as possible. Jungkook cupped his face, kissing his eyes and forehead gently.

"You can sleep if you want. I'll be here when you wake up."

Jimin made a small sound of acknowledgment. Something between a sigh and a sob and turned his face toward the warmth of Jungkook's chest. His hand came up weakly, clutching the sleeve of his hoodie like an anchor.

"Sleep," Jungkook said softly, brushing a thumb under his eye where a tear had escaped. "Everything else can wait."

He could sense Jimin's omega relaxing under his assurance. Jungkook understood how vulnerable he must be feeling under current circumstances. And the first and foremost need to feel the sense of security to actually relax. After all, his last memory was fainting backstage and waking up in an unknown place.

"It must have been so scary," he whispered. "But I'm here now, baby. Let me handle this, hmm?"

Jimin nodded faintly. His fingers loosened, his breathing evened out, and within seconds he was asleep again, his face calmer than it had been all night.

Jungkook stayed where he was, one hand resting on Jimin's wrist, eyes on the slow rhythm of the monitor. The invisible weight seemed to lift off his chest and he felt like he could breathe again. For the first time, he allowed himself to exhale.

He only left Jimin's side briefly to fetch his parents and Taehyung. Then he was back in the chair, in the same position, holding Jimin's hand between his.

It was around 7.30 a.m. when the voices filtered in from the hallways. There was a knock and they didn't wait for permission.

Two men and a woman in polished suits entered the room. Executives from Jimin's label. Their gaze landed on the bed, then on Jungkook before they scanned the room with a polite smile that didn't reach their eyes.

"Mr. and Mrs. Park," one began smoothly. "We're from the label's medical management team. We'd like to transfer your son to our private care facility for better privacy. We have trained medical professionals to assist him."

Mrs. Park rose from the couch, composure firm despite her exhaustion. "He's not leaving this hospital," she said.

"Ma'am, I understand, but this will allow us to handle the press better and ensure his safety—"

"His safety?" Mr. Park cut in, voice cold. "You mean your control."

The room went silent. Even Taehyung stood, phone forgotten in his hand.

Mrs. Park stepped closer. "He's not moving," she said again, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Any decision about his health will be made by his family and his doctor. Not your company."

"The doctor said my son fainted due to exhaustion and his body is severely fatigued. He was dehydrated and his pressure was low. Is this the kind of care you promise to offer my son?" Mr. Park shot back. "I must sue your label for overworking my son and ignoring his health entirely."

The executives exchanged looks. "We'll... relay your concerns to upper management," one finally said, retreating toward the door.

"Do that," Mr. Park replied, "and tell them I won't do anything that will put my son's health at further risk."

"Sure."

The silence that fell in the hospital room was much appreciated unlike the ones before. Now that Jimin had woken up once, the mood was much lighter but it also cemented their resolve. They knew the silence wouldn't last long.

The company was only biding time because the situation was escalating. The news now spread to the international fans too, who were sending trucks and death wraths to the company, calling them out for overlooking Jimin's health.

The social media platforms flooded with clips and photos from past months, every second dissected and his exhaustion clearly addressed in those moments. The news was trending on every single platform including the international ones.

"Idol Park Jimin Hospitalized After Collapse—Family and Close Friends by His Side."

"Label Confirms Jimin Fainted Due to Exhaustion."

The public didn't know Jungkook was here yet. Some were wondering if he was with Jimin.

Early in the morning, he'd sent Taehyung to fetch his car and park it somewhere far away. This wasn't about him. He knew he'd anger his label by doing this but the least he could do was not to fuel the ongoing fire by getting caught and trend side by side with Jimin.

So far that seemed to work.

His manager was furious and told him not to leave the hospital room until the media attention had faded. And he sternly told him not to talk to anyone else. He'd turned his phone off after the last conversation.

His parents have arrived and were now in the waiting room of the hospital, after visiting Jimin briefly and talking to his parents. They didn't want to crowd the room but also wanted to keep an eye for things outside. Then he directed important calls to Taehyung's phone instead.

It was half past eight when the door opened again. The muted sounds from the corridor spilled into the room before a tall figure stepped in dressed in a crisp suit, looking intimidating as always.

"Morning," he said, voice tired but friendly. He carried a file under one arm and a tray of coffee in the other. "I brought caffeine and consequences."

Jungkook's shoulders sagged the moment he saw him. "Hyung." He immediately rushed to take the coffee tray from his hand and hugged him with the other arm. "I'm so glad you're here."

Namjoon's expression softened. "I can't think of being anywhere else other than here." He chuckled. "How is he? Did he wake up?"

"Yeah, once." Jungkook handed out coffees, two black, one caramel macchiato and one iced americano, then set down the small bag of pastries on the table. "He couldn't stay awake."

He looked at Jimin first. The omega still slept, cheeks colorless, hair damp against the pillow. A faint hum from the monitor filled the silence. Namjoon's jaw tightened. "He's too pale," he murmured. "They really ran him dry."

"He's stable now," Mrs. Park said quietly.

Namjoon nodded, then turned toward her and Mr. Park with a polite bow. "Mr. and Mrs. Park, I wish we had met under better circumstances." He extended a hand to shake. "I'm Kim Namjoon. Jungkook's lawyer. I'll be handling things from this point onward."

The door opened and Jungkook's parents walked in. His dad silently shut the door and locked it. "The manager just left after receiving a phone call. I see many suits coming and going. They're seemingly pissed," Jungkook's dad said and then glanced at Namjoon. "We better hurry and get the papers signed before they come back."

Namjoon nodded, taking the chair Taehyung slid toward him and opened his folder. "You did good. The news bought us enough time to handle the necessary paperwork."

He laid out a few sheets of paper on the coffee table. The sound of shuffling documents felt loud in the otherwise quiet room.

"This," he said, tapping one page, "is the Durable Medical Power of Attorney. Jimin needs to sign it once he's fully conscious. It gives him the right to designate someone, in this case, Jungkook, to make legal, financial or medical decisions if he's incapacitated in any form to make his own decisions. If the company tries to interfere while he's unconscious or tries to coerce him into something he doesn't want, this will come handy."

Mr. Park's brow furrowed. "I'm sure they will."

"They already have," Namjoon replied dryly. "I've received two separate calls from Jungkook's agency this morning, asking me to cooperate with them while they handle this 'little situation'. They know I'll get involved if Jungkook called and they're right to assume so.

Mrs. Park reached for the pen. "We'll sign whatever you need. Just make sure they do nothing before my son has a say."

Namjoon stopped her gently. "He has to sign when he's lucid, ma'am. It has to come from Jimin. That's the law."

"Oh, okay."

"As for his current situation, you being here itself is enough. As his next of kin, you can make automatic legal decisions by default in case of emergency medical situations. But make sure Jimin signs these as soon as he wakes up."

"Okay." Jimin's parents nodded.

He pointed to another form. "This one's a PIPA restriction. It ensures no further medical detail can be shared with his management without his or his proxy's written consent. You can sign this."

Jimin's parents wasted no time.

"I've prepared a medical non-disclosure agreement just in case." He slid the next document toward them. "It's between you and the hospital. This is to ensure all the staff are legally bound to confidentiality beyond the hospital's standard policies."

They signed it without further comment.

"And this is documentation to update the hospital record to make Jimin's immediate family members the only authorized decision-makers for Jimin's health until he's able to sign the POA."

They signed that too.

"I've prepared cease and desist letters for both of your labels to immediately halt all internal discussion or external communication about Jimin's medical states, pregnancy or relationship. I'll be sending this to both your companies."

Everything was done methodically.

Then he turned to Jungkook. "Until then, stay with him. Keep the room locked if you have to. If anyone tries to touch his chart or move him, stall until I get back."

Jungkook nodded, his expression hardening. "I'll burn the building down before I let them touch him."

Namjoon gave a faint smirk. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Once the paperwork was handled, he stood, gathering the rest of the documents. "I'll be back in an hour. I need to file the temporary injunction and talk to the hospital administration about security protocol."

"Hyung." Jungkook's voice softened. "Thank you."

Namjoon's gaze flicked to him. "Don't thank me yet. This is just round one."

He squeezed Jungkook's shoulder once, firm, grounding, nodded at the others and left.

***

Talking to Namjoon had lightened the mood considerably and filled them with a kind of assurance they really needed. Morning light now spilled through the blinds in careful streaks, pale and quiet.

His dad had brought breakfast just some simple rice porridge, soft-boiled eggs and sliced fruits from the cafeteria downstairs. They ate quietly and no one said much.

Jungkook didn't eat much. He couldn't. He just picked at the porridge and kept his eyes on Jimin.

Mrs. Park stirred her tea without drinking it. "He always hated hospital porridge," she murmured after a while, eyes on her son. "Said it smelled like punishment."

That earned a soft laugh from Jungkook, small and fleeting, but real. "Then he'll hate me for trying to feed it to him later."

"He'll forgive you," she said, the faintest smile curving her lips. "He loves you."

Jungkook only nodded, pressing his thumb against the back of Jimin's hand.

A nurse came in around ten-fifteen, quiet and professional. "Good morning," she said softly. "We'll need to take the patient for his ultrasound soon. Dr. Seo, is ready."

Mrs. Park nodded. "He's still asleep. Will that be a problem?"

The nurse smiled, going to remove his IV drips carefully. "No, we will wake him up. He's not under any form of sedatives. He's just sleeping because he's tired. His vitals are stable and he's recovering well."

She adjusted his bed as two male nurses walked in with a wheel chair. She gently tapped Jimin's shoulder, waking him up and explained that they'd have to go for an ultrasound.

“Do you think you can slowly move to the wheel chair by yourself?”

Jimin made a soft sound in his throat, but showed no signs of moving. He jutted out his lips, eyes half opened and looked around as if he just wanted to go back to sleeping.

“Do you need help?” the nurse asked again.

“I’ll do it,” Jungkook volunteered, gathering his sleepy boyfriend in his arms and gently lowering him to the wheel chair.

Jimin nuzzled into his chest, sighing in contentment and grunted when Jungkook straightened.

The nurse's smile was warm as one of the male nurses took over. They secured Jimin and made sure he wouldn't topple over.

"One of the family members can come with him," she said.

"I'll come," Jungkook said. "I'm his boyfriend."

"Sure." She tucked his chart under her arm and they were soon out of the door.

Jimin's manager was outside in the hall with two other guys Jungkook didn't recognize. They glared at each other until Jungkook tore his gaze off them to focus on Jimin. They took the elevator and went to the floor where the gynecologist was.

Dr. Seo was waiting in the dim ultrasound room, a kind-faced woman in her late forties with steady hands and calm eyes. "Hello," she greeted, voice gentle and took Jimin's chart from the nurse.

Jungkook once again picked up Jimin who was snoozing off and gently laid him down on the examination table. Dr. Seo glanced at him and gently instructed him to adjust the position before grabbing the probe.

"We'll just do an ultrasound to see how everything is," she said. "When was his last heat?"

"Two months ago," he said and gave her the exact date to which she hummed. She asked a few follow up questions to which he answered.

Is he using any form of suppressants?

Is he on birth control?

The questions were generic as she squeezed the gel. "The numbers suggest it's still early. We might not be able to see the fetus properly with a transabdominal ultrasound but let's see."

A cool gel spread over Jimin's lower abdomen. He flinched faintly in his sleep, a soft sound slipping from his throat. Jungkook reached for his hand instantly, thumb brushing slow, soothing circles against his skin. "It's okay, baby," he murmured. "The doctor is now performing a scan."

He hummed but looked happy to be back in bed.

Dr. Seo moved the probe slowly, eyes on the screen. A grainy field of grayscale filled it, shifting shapes. "Can't see anything. Guess we'll have to do an internal scan."

"What's that?" Jungkook wondered, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She grabbed the transducer and the nurse to spread Jimin's legs. "It's still too early to see the fetus clearly. This will give us a clearer image of the gestational sac, yolk sac and the embryo."

Jungkook's mouth formed a small 'o'.

The process was clinical and quick. He stepped back, allowing the nurse to adjust Jimin, whose face twisted because his sleep was being disturbed but settled as soon as they stopped moving him.

Something warm tugged at Jungkook's chest. Jimin had no rights looking that cute on an examination table. He suppressed the urge to pinch his cheek and kiss him right there.

The process was clinical. Jimin grunted, trying to move.

"Relax for me, sweetheart," Dr. Seo said. "It's okay."

Jimin mumbled something incoherent but relaxed. Jungkook grabbed his hand, holding it.

"Male omega's reproductive channel is tricky," Dr. Seo murmured, eyes on the monitor. "The uterus placement is slightly different from that of female omegas. It's positioned slightly higher."

The screen was grainy once again and Jungkook didn't understand what she was looking at or how she was even making sense of anything at all.

"There it is."

Jungkook blinked, not really seeing anything.

"There," Dr. Seo said again, adjusting the angle. "Single fetus. Around six weeks." She pointed to a spot on the screen and Jungkook saw it. "That tiny flicker you see is the heartbeat. Heartbeat's faint but consistent. Considering the collapse, that's... remarkable. We'll have to monitor closely, of course."

Jungkook's throat tightened. A child. Their child.

"The pregnancy is unstable right now. His body's still under significant stress."

The words landed like a blow before he could even process the first sight of his pup.

"W-What?"

"We'll need to keep him under observation for the next few weeks. We'll start with injections to help stabilize the pregnancy and I recommend a complete rest. No stress, travel or strenuous schedule. Nothing that puts strains on his uterus."

She printed the image and handed it to him. It was impossibly small. Just a faint blur, but the weight of it nearly buckled his knees.

"Don't worry," Dr. Seo added softly. "He just needs rest and nutrition. I'll start with the injection right away and will schedule another ultrasound in a couple of days to monitor the progress."

Jungkook swallowed, voice rough. "Thank you, doctor."

When they wheeled him back, Jungkook walked beside his, one hand braced on the rail. The corridor lights felt too bright, the air too sharp.

Back in the room, Mrs. Park accepted the printed ultrasound image with trembling fingers. She studied the tiny pea-sized fetus, her eyes filling before she pressed the paper to her chest. His parents took turns, admiring the ultrasound, talking in hushed tones while Jimin continued to sleep peacefully.

Mr. Park moved to stand by the window, silent and unreadable, watching the more media vans arrive outside the hospital gates.

Jungkook sank into the chair beside the bed again. The machines hummed, soft and steady. Jimin's chest rose and fell beneath the blanket.

He bent closer, brushed his thumb over Jimin's wrist, and whispered, "You're not alone. You're safe. I'll protect both of you."

***

As Jungkook expected, the tension arrived in less than an hour. They didn't even allow him enough time to mull over other things, or wonder about what changes this pup would bring to their lives.

He finally turned his phone on to check on what the social media and news outlets were talking about the situation.

9:12 a.m.

From Manager-nim:

Jimin's label contacted ours. They want you off-site. Immediately. I tried contacting you multiple times. Good thing the media doesn't know you're there yet. We have arranged for you to leave incognito.

11:30 a.m.

From Manager-nim:

I'm serious about this. I can't hold them back. His company is putting a lot of pressure and our management isn't happy about this situation. It was just for PR. We never confirmed you were even dating. So stop fucking around.

11:35 a.m.

From Manager-nim:

You're violating the PR gag order. Don't make this harder than it already is.

11:36 a.m.

To Manager-nim:

Too bad. We've been dating all this time and I'm not going anywhere. I don't have a dating ban as far as I'm concerned. I'm not leaving his side.

11:37 a.m.

To Manager-nim:

And tell them if they wish to remove me, they have to use force and drag me out themselves. But I won't go down quietly.

The typing dots appeared. Then vanished. Then reappeared. Then nothing. Silence. He dropped the phone back onto the table and exhaled through his nose, slow and sharp.

Across the room, Taehyung looked up from his seat. "Your label again?"

"They're losing their minds."

Taehyung hummed. "They're not the only ones. His manager contacted mine and asked me to talk to you and his parents, make you guys see the reason." He chuckled without humor. "I told them I'm off schedule and they can't dictate what I should be doing during my personal time. My manager said a few people from your agency visited them this morning. I feel like they're forming a coup."

"Let them try." Jungkook's tone was flat. "They'll have to go through me first."

The next hour passed in slow-motion. Hospital staff came and went. Jimin stirred once, mumbled something half-asleep, and settled again.

The actual storm arrived around 12:45 p.m.

The door opened without a knock.

Two men in charcoal suits and a woman in a navy pencil skirt stepped in, their shoes too loud against the linoleum. They looked out of place in the room.

Jungkook immediately recognized them. Two were from Jimin's company and one from his label. He'd seen her before during the meetings, but never really interacted with her.

"Jungkook-ssi," one said smoothly, his tone rehearsed. "Could we have a word? Privately."

Jungkook stood. "You can say whatever you want here."

The woman's smile didn't reach her eyes. "It concerns contractual matters and ongoing damage control. Perhaps it's better if we discuss it elsewhere." Her gaze slanted on Jimin. "We don't want to disturb him."

Everyone stiffened in the room, but Jungkook's dad nodded once at him. "I'll come with you," he said, standing from his corner before glancing at Jimin's parents. "Stay here. We'll be back soon."

Taehyung occupied the seat Jungkook just vacated. "Go, I'll stay with him."

Jungkook glanced back at Jimin once and he nodded before following them out.

When the door shut behind Jungkook, Taehyung swiftly dialed Namjoon.

***

The three of them took Jungkook down the hall and into an empty recovery room, the blinds half-drawn.

"Jungkook-ssi," one of Jimin's executives began. "We appreciate your concern for our artist Jimin, but you need to understand the severity of this situation. The media's running wild. We're doing everything we can to protect both of your images."

Jungkook scoffed. "You mean control."

The woman's mouth twitched, but she piped in smoothly. "You've both violated confidentiality clauses. Unauthorized contact outside company supervision, a relationship that wasn't sanctioned. These are major breaches. If this continues, we'll have no choice but to suspend both contracts pending review."

"Do what you want with mine," he said, voice low and steady. "But Jimin stays out of this."

"That's not possible, Jungkook-ssi." The second executive, older and colder, leaned forward. His voice carried the smug confidence of someone used to getting his way. "You've entangled your brands. If he's pregnant, this could end his career. Our investors won't allow an idol to go public in this condition. The only viable solution is a medical termination before it escalates further."

The air turned sharp with his pheromones spiking. His pulse roared in his ears. Jungkook's nails dug into his palm. "Say that again."

The man didn't flinch. "It's standard procedure in cases like this. We've discussed his condition with his doctors. His body's under strain, and a public fallout would be catastrophic. His contract clearly states he must maintain marketability as an active artist. Pregnancy violates the professional obligations clause."

Every muscle in Jungkook's body went rigid. His fists clenched so tightly his nails bit into his palms. The air filled with the electric tension of a wolf about to lunge.

Jungkook's jaw tightened. "You're talking about him like he's a product on a shelf." A body shook with fury. The veins in his hands bulged with how tight he was clenching his fists.

They ignored him. "He'll be compensated, of course. Paid leave, rebranding, new PR strategy post-recovery. You both knew the risks when you signed. This is the responsible route for everyone involved."

"Does Jimin know?" Jungkook leaned forward, voice quiet but dangerous. "You don't get to decide what happens to his body."

The man's smile was thin. "We don't," he said softly. "But the contract does."

The woman from his label sighed. "We cannot intervene with this, Jungkook-ssi. That's outside of our company's jurisdiction. We can only extend our protection to you, which is why we're here. A van is waiting outside to take you home without anyone noticing. Someone will bring your car home once the media is removed from the hospital premises." She leaned back. "You're not in trouble. Well, the company is disappointed but no actual damage has been done and no one knows you're here. So we can work with that."

"I'm not going anywhere," he stated again.

A beat of silence followed with tension in the atmosphere tightening. They stared each other down, no one showing signs of backing off. Jungkook's father stepped behind him in a silent show of support. Then the door opened behind them.

"What happens with Jimin is none of your business," the first man emphasized. "He's our artist. The company will decide how this matter will proceed further."

"Actually," Namjoon's voice cut through, calm but edged with steel, "the law will decide."

All heads turned.

Namjoon stood in the doorway, suit pressed sharp, dark tie knotted perfectly, a folder tucked under one arm and his phone still in the other. He walked in without waiting for an invitation. The door closed behind him with a soft click.

"I was wondering how long it would take for the corporate clean-up crew to show up," he said lightly. "Twelve hours. That's new."

The executives straightened, their rehearsed confidence faltering. One finally spoke. "And you are?"

Namjoon set his folder on the small table by the bed, his expression unreadable. "Kim Namjoon," he said simply. "Legal counsel for Jeon Jungkook. Acting proxy for the Park family. And the person you should have called before deciding to suggest a forced medical procedure."

The air went still.

"I beg your pardon?" the woman managed, her voice tight.

"You should," Namjoon replied, tone almost pleasant as he opened the folder. "Because you just confessed, on record, to coercion of a medical nature and attempted violation of patient rights. Both of which are prosecutable under Korean medical law. I have the proof right here." He waved his phone before pocketing it.

Then he withdrew a stack of papers from his folder, placing them in an orderly stack on the coffee table.

"Let's make this quick. I've already filed for a temporary injunction with the Seoul Central Court this morning." He tapped the top page. "It prohibits any non-consensual medical intervention, relocation, or interference with Park Jimin's treatment. He's legally under protection until he's conscious enough to make his own decisions."

The first executive blinked, visibly thrown. "You have no standing to—"

"Oh, I do." Namjoon's tone cut through him effortlessly. "Mr. Park's parents are his next of kin and have signed a medical confidentiality agreement this morning under my advice. They have also hired me to represent their son Park Jimin should any problems arise. That makes me their legal representative." He smiled slightly. "Which means if you so much as breathe near his chart, I'll have hospital security escort you out for obstruction and trespassing."

The second executive from Jimin's label recovered first, forcing a thin smile. "You're overreacting, Mr. Kim. We're merely discussing the safest path for our artist."

Namjoon arched an eyebrow. "You mean the most profitable one."

His smile faltered.

The woman stood. "Jungkook-ssi, this has nothing to do with us. We should leave." She tried to move but Namjoon blocked her path.

He slid another document forward. "Here's a cease-and-desist letter addressed to both labels. Effective immediately, you are to halt all internal or external discussion about Jimin's medical condition, pregnancy, or relationship. If I see so much as one speculative press leak, you'll be sued for defamation and breach of medical privacy."

The first executive looked pale now. "You can't—"

"I can," Namjoon interrupted, calm and cold. "And I already have. Hospital administration has copies. The next time any of your staff attempts to access patient records, they'll find themselves locked out and reported to the compliance board."

Jungkook, who'd stayed silent through most of it, finally stepped forward. His voice was steady but burning underneath. "You heard him. If you want to take this further, take it to court. But you're not touching him."

Namjoon gathered his papers again, his movements unhurried. "You might want to check the news before you make another move," he added mildly. "Your investors are already under fire for overworking him. The last thing you need is a lawsuit for medical coercion." Then he glanced at the woman. "My client doesn't have a dating ban. He isn't violating any of your contract terms by being here. I'd love to discuss further with your legal team if you keep insisting on removing him forcefully from his future mate's side."

The executives looked at each other—unsure, uneasy, and very aware they'd lost the upper hand.

"This isn't over," one muttered.

Namjoon smiled faintly. "Oh, I know. That's what makes it fun."

He turned to Jungkook, his tone softening slightly. "Let's go back to him."

Jungkook nodded, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. As they stepped out of the room, he caught one last glimpse of the executives standing in silence, faces drained of color.

For once, Jungkook didn't feel small next to them. And this time, he wasn't fighting alone.

"We need to talk," Namjoon said and Jungkook's dad nodded, leaving them alone.

They walked down the hall in silence until the sound of their footsteps became the only thing filling the corridor. Jungkook's hands were still clenched at his sides, faint crescent marks blooming on his palms.

Namjoon stopped near a vending machine and nodded toward the small visitors' area that was deserted. "Sit," he said quietly.

Jungkook didn't argue. He dropped into the chair, elbows on his knees, head bowed like he was trying to slow his breathing. His father was beside him, giving him space but closer.

Namjoon set his folder on the side table, loosened his tie, and leaned against the wall opposite him.

"You did good in there," he said finally. "You held the ground until I could intervene."

Jungkook let out a short, bitter laugh. "I wanted to break his jaw."

"I noticed." Namjoon's tone was calm, even faintly amused. "But you didn't. And that's why we can still fight this properly."

Jungkook rubbed a hand over his face. "They were talking about him like he's a—"

"A commodity," Namjoon finished. "Because to them, he is. To them, you both are. But that ends the second we take the legal leverage away from them."

He crossed his arms, watching Jungkook's shaking hands. "You're running on fumes. When was the last time you slept?"

"I can't," Jungkook muttered. "Not when he's like this." He swallowed, voice catching. "Now there's this. A baby. Our baby. And they're already trying to decide what happens to it."

Namjoon's expression softened. "That's exactly why you need to keep your head clear. You can't protect him if you burn yourself out first."

Jungkook didn't answer, just stared at his hands. The silence stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable.

Namjoon sighed and pushed off the wall. "Here's what's going to happen next. I'll get the injunction processed and the hospital notified through official channels. Once Jimin wakes up properly, he'll sign the POA. After that, they can't touch him without your consent. Not legally, not medically, not even for PR."

He crouched a little, forcing Jungkook to look up. "Until then, don't pick fights. Don't answer calls. Let me deal with the wolves. Your job is to stay next to him and keep him calm."

Jungkook's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "I will."

Namjoon studied him for a moment, then smiled faintly. "You're stubborn as hell, you know that?"

"Comes with loving him," Jungkook said quietly.

Namjoon's eyes softened. "Yeah. It shows." He straightened, gathering his files again. "I'll be back this evening. If anyone from either label comes near his room, call me first before you do anything heroic."

Jungkook huffed out a dry laugh. "No promises."

Namjoon chuckled, shaking his head. "Just don't end up in jail before we win. He needs you outside." He turned to leave but paused in the hallway, glancing back. "Hey, Jungkook."

"Yeah?"

"You're doing right by him," Namjoon said, his voice quiet but sure. "Don't doubt that, no matter what they say."

Then he left, the soft click of his boots echoing down the corridor.

Jungkook sat there for a long time, letting the silence settle. His pulse finally slowed, the adrenaline ebbing into a bone-deep calm. When he stood to return to Jimin's room, he wasn't just angry anymore. He was determined.

Whatever came next, they'd face it together.

***

Jungkook rented another room adjacent to Jimin's room and sent their parents to rest. They didn't want to go but Jungkook convinced them to.

"I'll stay," he said softly. "I'm not leaving him alone, but you need to rest so we can take turns."

It was enough. They finally relented. The door clicked shut behind them, and silence filled the room again. The silence wasn't heavy anymore.

Jungkook closed the curtains halfway, shutting out the afternoon son. The sounds of horns and chatter drifted faintly through the glass, a reminder that life outside didn't stop just for anyone. He could see the media lurking and fans assembled.

He once again sat beside Jimin's bed, one hand resting over his. The omega's skin felt warmer now. His lips had regained a hint of color, lashes fluttering occasionally as if he were chasing the dreams away.

Jungkook studied him like he'd been starved of the sight. His gaze traced every freckle, every curve of his face. There were faint smudges of old stage makeup still clinging near his temple. He resisted the urge to wipe them away.

He didn't realize he was dozing off until a faint sound snapped him awake.

A groan. Low, soft, almost petulant.

Then a rustle of sheets.

Jungkook blinked, straightening immediately. "Jimin?"

The omega shifted, brows furrowing as he blinked against the light. His lips parted, voice a rasp. "Where...?"

"Hospital," Jungkook said quietly, leaning forward. "You fainted after the show."

"Mm." Jimin's eyes flicked toward the IV, then the monitor, then at him. For a second, confusion flashed through them. Then relief flooded his feature. His gaze held more clarity this time. "You're here."

"Of course I am."

He reached out, brushing his thumb across Jimin's knuckles. Jimin turned his hand slightly, fingers twitching like he was trying to hold on.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a truck," Jimin muttered, throat scratchy. His voice wavered between exhaustion and disbelief. "How long was I out?"

"Since last night." Jungkook poured some water into a paper cup, helping him sit up. "Here. Small sips."

Jimin drank obediently, his lashes lowering. When he set the cup down, Jungkook caught the faint tremor in his hands.

"You don't have to talk if you don't want to," Jungkook said. "You can rest as much as you want."

"What happened?" he asked. "Did the doctor say anything? When can I go home?" Then he glanced at the door. "Where's my manager? How did he allow you to stay?" He smiled tiredly.

"I may have threatened him." Jungkook exhaled slowly. He'd been waiting for this. Rehearsing the words in his head all morning, none of them ever feeling right.

He turned the chair closer to the bed, resting his elbows on the bed. "The doctors said it was the fatigue," he said finally, voice low. "Your blood pressure was low and you were dehydrated. They ran several tests, including a hormone panel. And this morning they did an ultrasound."

Jimin blinked at him. "An ultrasound? So I wasn't dreaming this morning. They were really doing that."

"Yes."

Jimin's frown remained. "So what's the verdict? What did it say?"

He continued to stare at his beautiful boyfriend, eyes gentle but unwavering. "You're... pregnant." He pulled out the ultrasound from his wallet and handed it over to Jimin.

Silence fell between them. For a moment it was so quiet that Jungkook could hear the rhythmic beeping of the monitor again, steady and constant, like it was mocking his racing heart.

Jimin didn't move at first. His gaze stayed locked on Jungkook's face, trying to read him, to see if this was some kind of cruel joke. When it became clear it wasn't, he let out a shaky breath. Then he glanced at the ultrasound as if trying to make sense of it.

"Pregnant," he echoed.

"Six weeks," Jungkook said softly. "Dr. Seo said it's still early. The baby's heartbeat is there, but it's unstable right now. You'll need injections, rest, and continuous monitoring. They'll keep you here for observation for a few more days and schedule another ultrasound."

Jimin looked down at his hands, expression unreadable. "Unstable."

"Yeah."

He nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the blanket. His fingers twisted the fabric, restless. "So that's why I fainted." A hand rested on his abdomen, looking dazed.

"Your body's exhausted," Jungkook said quietly. "The schedules, the stress, barely eating... You didn't even know."

"I didn't think I could be," Jimin murmured. "I've been careful."

"I know."

"We used condoms."

"I know."

"But I'm somehow pregnant."

Jungkook smiled. "Well, it looks like one of my swimmers was persistent. And you know how even a precum has sperms? It could have happened anytime during your heat."

Jimin nodded. The room filled with the hum of the machines again. For a long time, neither spoke.

Then, softly, Jungkook said, "The label knows."

That made Jimin's head snap up. His eyes widened, alarm flickering across his face. "What?"

"They were here this morning. Trying to get you transferred to a different facility. Then they asked for..." He stopped himself, jaw flexing. He took a deep breath. "They wanted you to terminate."

Jimin froze. His heartbeat spiked visibly through the monitor. "They—what?"

"I said no," Jungkook said firmly. "Fortunately Taehyung called me last night and I called Namjoon. We knew what would happen so he filed the injunction. Then I called your parents and mine. They're all here. Your parents stopped them from moving you without consent. They can't touch you now."

Jimin stared at him, disbelief and dread warring across his features. "Oh my god..."

"Hey, hey." Jungkook leaned forward, cupping his face gently. "You don't have to think about any of that right now. You're safe. No one's going to make you do anything you don't want to."

"D-Does my parents know?"

"Yeah."

"Did they say anything?"

Jungkook shook his head. "They were worried for you and were glad I was here."

Jimin nodded shakily. "I'm pregnant," he repeated.

"Yes."

"There's been a shit storm while I slept."

Jungkook sighed. "Yes."

"I-I don't know what to say."

"I know and it's okay." His thumbs brushed across Jimin's cheekbones. "But I just needed you to know. All of it. Because this is your choice, baby. Not theirs. Not mine. Yours."

Jimin's eyes filled, the tears slow and reluctant, like they were fighting gravity. "You're not angry? I-I'm pregnant. We're having a baby. Like a real baby."

"Angry?" Jungkook repeated softly. "I'm terrified. But angry? No. Never."

Jimin let out a weak laugh that broke halfway through. "This could ruin everything. Life would never be the same."

"Maybe," Jungkook said. "But it won't ruin you or our pup. I'll make sure of it."

"Listen." He moved to sit on the side of his bed and shifted closer, their foreheads nearly touching now. "Don't think too much. Don't think about the label or fans or what ifs. Just think about what you really want," he said.

"W-Whatever I want?" He looked at him with such hopeful eyes that Jungkook would have given him the entire world if he'd asked for it.

Jungkook nodded fervently. "Whatever you decide, whatever it is, I'll follow. If you want to keep it, then we'll fight for it. Together. If you decide you aren't ready, then we'll do that together too. You don't have to be alone in this. You don't have to do anything just because it's what your agency wants you to do."

Jimin's breath hitched. His fingers curled weakly into Jungkook's hoodie sleeve, clutching like he was holding on to something solid for the first time all day.

"You mean that?"

"Every word." Jungkook kissed his forehead. "Nothing will change the way I feel about you. I love you, Jimin. All of you. I want to marry you some day. I want to have a family with you. It was never a temporary thing for me."

Jimin blinked rapidly, a tear slipping free and tracing the edge of his jaw. "I don't even know what to think yet."

"You don't have to," Jungkook murmured. "Not today. Just rest and leave it to me."

Jimin nodded faintly, lips trembling. He turned his face into Jungkook's palm, breathing in the scent of rain and cedar, grounding and familiar. "You always smell like home," he whispered.

Jungkook's throat tightened. "I'm not going anywhere. Even if you kicked me out, I'll sleep in front of your door and won't leave."

"Stay," Jimin whispered. "I need you."

He stayed like that, letting Jimin's scent mix with his scent, rain soaked iris and amber softer now.

Minutes passed before Jimin spoke again, voice smaller. "They're going to come after you for this, aren't they?"

Jungkook gave a tired smile. "They already are. But Namjoon hyung is handling it. By the way there's one document you have to sign when you're ready."

Jimin blinked, trying to sit up straighter. "What document?"

"Power of attorney. It gives you control over your medical decisions and lets me act on your behalf if you're unconscious again."

"Oh." His voice was faint. "That's a lot."

"I'd never use it without your consent," Jungkook said quickly. "It's just... protection. From them." He sighed. "Today I was able to stop them only because your parents were there. Since we're unmated and the pup isn't born yet, I have no legal rights over either of you. In the absence of your parents, your company holds the rights and they could have done some serious harm."

Jimin nodded slowly, processing. His eyes searched Jungkook's face for something. Maybe he was looking for hesitation, maybe just something to hold on to. Whatever he found seemed to steady him.

"Can I see it?" he asked.

Jungkook reached into the drawer beside the bed and pulled out the folder Namjoon had left behind. The papers rustled softly as he set them down.

Jimin took the pen with slightly trembling fingers, scanning the pages carefully. Jungkook didn't rush him. He just watched, heart thudding, as Jimin's eyes moved from line to line.

He paused once, glancing up. "You really meant it. Whatever I decide, you'll follow."

"I don't mince my words with you, baby. I mean everything I say."

A faint smile flickered on Jimin's lips, tired, but real. He nodded once, then bent forward and signed his name in careful strokes.

When he handed the folder back, his hand lingered briefly over Jungkook's. "Thank you," he whispered.

Jungkook met his gaze, something unspoken passing between them. "You don't have to thank me," he said quietly. "Last night scared the hell out of me." He cupped his face. "Just get better. That's all I want. We'll deal with everything else together."

Jimin leaned back against the pillows, eyes glassy but calm now. "Together," he echoed softly.

Jungkook tucked the signed papers back into the folder, his chest easing for the first time in hours. He slid it into his bag and turned back to him.

Jimin's lashes fluttered once, then again. "You should rest too," he murmured.

Jungkook adjusted the blanket around him, brushing a few stray hairs off Jimin's forehead. "I will," he said, though his voice lacked conviction.

Jimin's lashes fluttered, half-open, hazy but aware. "You're lying," he mumbled.

Jungkook smiled faintly. "Maybe a little."

"Come here," Jimin whispered.

He blinked. "What?"

"Lie with me," Jimin said, voice hoarse but certain now. "Just for a bit. Please."

Jungkook hesitated only a second before toeing off his shoes and carefully climbing onto the narrow hospital bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, drawing them closer until he could feel the steady warmth of Jimin's body against his chest.

He slid an arm around him, careful of the IV line, and Jimin immediately curled into him like he'd been waiting all day to do just that. The scent of rain soaked iris and amber met the faint trace of rain and cedar, blending quietly until it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

For the first time in hours, the monitor's steady beeping didn't sound like a countdown. It sounded like breathing.

Jimin's head rested beneath his chin, his voice muffled against the fabric of Jungkook's hoodie. "I can feel your heart."

"That's good," Jungkook said softly. "Means it's still working."

A small laugh escaped Jimin, weak but real. "You always make jokes when I'm serious."

"Because I don't know what to do when I'm scared," Jungkook admitted quietly.

Jimin's fingers found his, tracing the lines of his palm slowly, absently. "You've done more than enough today."

They stayed like that for a while, the silence turning softer, the kind that didn't demand anything from either of them. Jungkook's hand moved in slow, rhythmic circles over Jimin's back, and every few breaths, Jimin would exhale against his chest, the sound small and steady.

Then, in the quietest voice yet, Jimin said, "I want to keep it."

Jungkook froze, his hand pausing mid-motion. "What?"

"The baby," Jimin murmured. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes were still glassy from exhaustion, but they held a new kind of light now. Fragile, frightened, but kind of fierce underneath. "I want to keep it."

Jungkook's throat went dry. "You sure?"

Jimin nodded slowly. "I always thought... one day, when things calmed down, when I wasn't running from stage to stage... I wanted to be a dad." His voice cracked on the last word. "I didn't think it'd happen like this. I'm terrified really, but when you told me I didn't have to do it alone... I felt... something else."

"What?" Jungkook whispered.

"Hope," Jimin said simply. "Like maybe... This is supposed to happen. Maybe we just didn't know it yet."

Jungkook's eyes burned. He tried to speak, but his voice came out rough. "You're incredible, you know that?"

Jimin smiled faintly, thumb brushing over his chest. "No. I'm still terrified. But I also know I'll regret it if I don't try. If I don't at least give our pup a chance."

Jungkook cupped his face again, the weight of the moment anchoring him. "Then we keep it," he said softly, finality ringing in his tone. "We'll protect it. You and me." He kissed his forehead. "Whatever it takes."

Jimin nodded against his palm. "You really think we can?"

"I don't just think," Jungkook said, leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth. "I know."

Jimin's eyes fluttered shut, a single tear slipping down, caught immediately by Jungkook's thumb. "I know nothing about parenting."

"We'll figure out."

"I'm sorry you had to deal with all that while I was out," Jimin whispered. "They must have said horrible things."

"Doesn't matter anymore."

"It does." He pressed a hand against Jungkook's chest, feeling his heartbeat again. "I know how hard it is for you too. Your label—"

"Let them," Jungkook interrupted, tone calm but edged with steel. "They can strip the contracts, the money, the fame. I'll still choose you. Because you're one thing I can't lose."

Jimin looked up at him then, and whatever fear still lingered seemed to melt away in that gaze. "Don't say things like that," he said softly. "You'll make me cry again."

"Then cry," Jungkook murmured, pulling him closer. "I'll hold you anyway."

Jimin let out a shaky laugh that broke into a sigh, burying his face in Jungkook's neck. His tears dampened the collar of the hoodie, but neither moved. The moment stretched, unhurried, filled with the kind of quiet only two people who had already chosen each other could share.

"My label won't touch me," Jungkook said, resting his cheek on top of Jimin's head. "My activities contributed to 40% of revenue last quarter alone. I don't think they will risk that." He exhaled. "They might try to control me, but they really don't have a say in it. Namjoon hyung ensured I had fair terms when I signed and wasn't blindsided by them. He's taking care of this now too. You have nothing to worry about."

After a while, Jimin's breathing evened out again, his voice barely audible. "I want you there when they do the next scan."

"I'll be there for all of them," Jungkook said, pressing his lips to his hair. "You'll probably get sick of me."

"Never."

He smiled against the top of his head. "I'll remind you of this conversation when I start hovering."

"Good," Jimin whispered. "I want you to hover."

Jungkook huffed a quiet laugh and tucked him closer. "Deal."

They stayed like that, tangled up in quiet promises, until Jimin's body relaxed completely against his.

He looked down at the man sleeping against his chest, the faint rise and fall of his shoulders syncing with his own breathing. A tiny, stunned smile tugged at his lips.

"You're going to be such a good dad," he whispered, brushing a hand through Jimin's hair.

The only answer was a small hum, half-asleep, content.

Jungkook kissed his forehead, letting his eyes close finally. "Rest, baby. We'll figure the rest out later."

Outside, the noise of the city carried on but inside that quiet hospital room, it was just them, the steady sound of two heartbeats, and a hopeful beginning of something bigger than either of them had ever planned.

***

A/N: Korea doesn't have HIPAA (Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act), they have something called PIPA (Personal Information Protection Act). Both are different.

PIPA is South Korea's primary data privacy law, known for being one of the strictest in the world. It is more general and comprehensive than HIPAA, which is specific to the healthcare sector. It applies comprehensively to virtually all public and private entities that process personal information of South Korean citizens.

Though it's not the same, we will pretend it offers the same benefits as HIPAA that establishes national standards to protect sensitive patient health information (PHI) from being disclosed without the patient's consent for the sake of this fic. Korea doesn't have specific laws for this like the U.S.

Chapter Text

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The night was calm. As calm as it could get. Namjoon, the ever saving grace, had the mind to hire two bodyguards over the next few hours to guard their door.

Thanks to him, no one bothered Jungkook or Jimin again. Taehyung came over to keep watch. He too, slept on the couch with his back to the couple, giving them privacy. He was there just in case someone decided to show up.

The night passed without any incident. The morning came softly, slipping through the blinds in thin streaks of light. The hospital room was quiet and as peaceful as it could be.

Jungkook woke up first. His back ached from staying in the same position for hours, but he didn’t move. Jimin was still curled against his chest, fingers resting loosely over the fabric of his hoodie, breathing slow and even.

For the first time in what felt like days, Jungkook allowed himself to just look.

There was color in Jimin’s cheeks again. His lips weren’t cracked anymore. His scent was stronger, still soft, still sweet but without the tinge of sickness. The fear that had been clinging to Jungkook’s ribs loosened, replaced by something quieter. Something that felt a lot like peace.

He pressed a kiss to Jimin’s hair. “Morning,” he whispered.

Jimin stirred, half-asleep, mumbling something unintelligible before settling again. Jungkook smiled against his forehead. “Yeah, I thought so.”

He remembered all those times Jimin had trouble sleeping because of his constantly rotating work schedule. His omega had earned this rest. It was okay. He could sleep as long as he needed.

A soft knock broke the stillness. He carefully slid out of the bed, glancing at Taehyung curled on the couch as he tucked the blanket back around Jimin before crossing to the door. When he opened it, Namjoon stood there, coffee in one hand and a folder tucked under his arm.

“Good morning,” Namjoon said, voice low so as not to wake the patient. His tie was gone, sleeves rolled up, but his eyes were sharp. “You look like hell, but at least you don’t look ready to faint.”

“Thanks,” Jungkook muttered. “You’re glowing as always.”

Namjoon chuckled, stepping inside. “That’s the smell of legal victory.”

“Already?” Jungkook blinked.

“Already.” He set the folder down on the counter, pulling out a few stapled papers. “The injunction’s approved. The hospital received the order early this morning. It’s official. No medical procedures, transfers, or tests can be performed on Jimin without explicit consent from either him or his designated proxy. That’s you, by the way.”

Jungkook exhaled, tension leaking from his shoulders. “God, that’s… thank you.”

Namjoon waved a hand. “Save the gratitude for later. The companies are furious. Yours called me twice before sunrise. His label sent a team of PR consultants who nearly got escorted out by security.”

“They really don’t give up, do they?”

“They can’t afford to,” Namjoon said, sipping his coffee and taking a chair. “A pregnant idol is a PR nightmare for them. But legally, they’re boxed in for now. How’s he doing?”

Jungkook’s gaze softened as he turned toward the bed. “Better. He woke up last night. And we talked.”

“And?”

“He knows everything now. About the baby. About the labels. About… us.”

Namjoon studied him carefully. “How did he take it?”

“Better than I expected.” Jungkook hesitated for a heartbeat before saying, “He wants to keep it.”

That earned a slow, thoughtful nod. “Then we move forward accordingly. I’ll file an addendum to the injunction noting his intent to continue the pregnancy as an additional form of protection. It’s better to legally document everything so we’ll have an upperhand if it comes to that. Our law prohibits an employer from forcing their employee to legally terminate their pregnancy for any reason, including contractual obligations. Technically Jimin cannot be considered an employee, he’s an independent contractor. Pregnancy-based discrimination is illegal and void. Any contract clause attempting to enforce this is again illegal and void. They cannot use pregnancy as a ground for contract termination. They cannot do anything without facing criminal penalties.”

Jungkook nodded in understanding.

“Regular labor laws don't apply to you both, but it depends mostly on the reality of your working relationship. The recording I got yesterday was enough to prove their malicious intentions. But here’s what we will do going forward. Never walk into a meeting without me. If you happen to do so, do NOT sign anything, understood?”

“Yes.”

“Record every conversation. Document every email or text you receive from them. Change passwords to all your accounts, devices and home.”

“Okay.” Jungkook nodded fervently.

“Buy an additional recording device if needed. They will be careful and might not allow phones in future meetings but it’s always better to have leverage.”

“Understood.”

“As for his remaining contractual obligations, we will negotiate with the company. So far the company dictates the nature, time and location of the work. We need to gain control over that and adjust it according to him. We’ll come to some sort of agreement to fulfill that.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve been doing my research. They will try to terminate his contract citing a breach of schedule, but if they’re doing it as a pretext for pregnancy discrimination, we can file a lawsuit. And we’ll use the media once again if they tried something like that again. Seokjin is on standby. So I hope they won’t do anything of that sort, fearing public backlash.”

“Understood.”

Namjoon nodded. “Good. And Jungkook—”

“Yeah?”

Namjoon’s expression softened, the lawyer fading for a moment into the older brother. “I saw the crowd outside. Fans, reporters, vans. It’s only going to get louder from here. Don’t let it get in your head. You did the right thing.”

Jungkook’s throat tightened. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”

“It never does,” Namjoon said quietly. “But it is. You bought him time, and right now that’s everything.”

Jungkook nodded slowly, glancing back at the sleeping omega. “I just… want him to have peace. Even if it’s temporary.”

Namjoon followed his gaze, his voice softer now. “Then keep giving him that. Leave the rest to me.”

He finished his coffee, then picked up his folder again. “I’ll be back this evening with the filed papers. Security will hold off both labels for now. Try to get some more sleep if you can.”

“Sure.”

Then he left the room, door clicking shut and footsteps fading down the hall.

For a moment, Jungkook just stood there, staring at the door. Then he turned toward the bed.

Jimin was still asleep, curled toward the warm indentation Jungkook had left. Taehyung was awake now, stretching, his hair sticking out in every direction.

“Hyung left?” he asked around a yawn.

“Yeah,” Jungkook said. “Filed everything. We’re covered for now.”

Taehyung yawned, grabbing his jacket. “I’m gonna shower and change in the other room. You want anything?”

“No, I’m good. Dad brought extra clothes. You can take whatever you need.”

Taehyung hummed sleepily, dragging himself to the door. “You both need a shower too. You’re still in yesterday’s clothes.”

“I’ll do it once you’re back.”

“Okay.”

Jungkook sat again, folding his arms on the edge of the bed and resting his chin there. He watched Jimin breathe, watched his chest rise and fall beneath the thin hospital blanket, and felt the smallest flicker of normalcy return.

The world outside could keep burning. Inside this room, they finally had a moment to exist.

He leaned closer, brushing his knuckles lightly against Jimin’s wrist where the pulse fluttered strongly. “You did so well,” he murmured. “You made it through the worst part.”

Jimin shifted in his sleep, a soft sigh slipping from his lips, the faintest smile ghosting there as if he heard him.

***

The sun had climbed higher by the time the next knock came. It wasn’t frantic like before. Three measured taps, deliberate and polite.

Jungkook exchanged a glance with Namjoon, who’d just returned after filing the morning’s paperwork.

“Expecting someone?” Namjoon asked dryly, already knowing the answer.

Jungkook sighed. “My agency.”

Namjoon straightened his cuffs, voice calm. “Good. Let’s see if they came to talk or to posture.”

He opened the door. Jungkook’s manager, Seungho, stepped inside first, followed by two people Jungkook knew well from years of label briefings and PR cleanups.

Hana Kim, thirty-eight, head of Public Relations—tall, graceful, the kind of woman who could extinguish a scandal with a single sentence if she wanted to. Her sharp bob framed a face that was always unreadable, though today her tired eyes gave her away.

Behind her was Min Doyun, thirty-one, the PR strategist and Jungkook’s occasional headache—always in tailored suits too tight across his shoulders, perpetually scrolling through two phones at once. He wasn’t scrolling now, which was rare enough to signal the weight of the situation.

“Jungkook,” Seungho greeted, relief flickering across his features before he schooled it into something more professional. “You look better than I expected.”

“Define better,” Jungkook muttered, adjusting his hoodie sleeve.

The older man gave a weary half-smile. “Alive, mostly.”

Hana offered a polite nod. “Good morning, Jungkook-ssi. Mr. Kim Namjoon. I hope we’re not intruding.”

Namjoon motioned toward the chairs. “Depends. Are you here to intrude or to talk?”

That earned him the faintest curve of Hana’s mouth. “To talk. We’d like to find a path forward before things spiral further.”

“Where’s the other woman from yesterday?” Jungkook asked, showing them to their seats.

“She was removed from the case this morning. The board wasn’t pleased with how she handled your meeting.”

Namjoon arched his brow. “Good to know.”

“Can’t say I miss her,” Jungkook mumbled.

Behind them, Jimin shifted faintly on the bed. He’d been awake for an hour, sitting upright with a tray of porridge resting on his lap. His color had returned enough for him to look less like a ghost and more like himself, though his movements were still sluggish.

Hana paused to look at him and then greeted him with a polite incline of her head. “I hope you’re recovering well, Jimin-ssi.”

She gestured at Doyun, who immediately nodded as if he only remembered now and handed the two paper bags he was carrying to Jimin and Jungkook’s mothers, who were sitting beside his bed before greeting them both with an exaggerated bow.

“We brought care packages. Congratulations to you both, Jungkook-ssi and Jimin-ssi.”

“Thank you,” Jimin whispered.

Jungkook exhaled, appreciating the gesture and hoped this meeting wouldn’t be as bad as he expected.

“Would it be okay to talk here?” Hana asked. “I don’t want to disturb his rest.”

Jimin’s spoon paused mid-air. “You can talk here,” he said softly.

Jungkook nodded. “Yeah, let’s talk here. He’d want to know what the company has decided.”

Hana nodded once and took the chair. Doyun sat next to her while Seungho went to the window and leaned against it, looking outside. Namjoon flipped open his notepad and set it on top of his crossed knee without a word.

Hana adjusted her blazer, setting her tablet down on the small coffee table. “Alright,” she said, her tone professional. “I’ll get straight to it. We’re facing considerable pressure from Jimin’s agency. They’ve issued several formal statements behind closed doors, implying we’re complicit in… how do I phrase this politely… a breach of moral conduct clause.”

Jungkook’s jaw flexed. “You mean love.”

“Essentially, yes.” Doyun cleared his throat, stepping in. “They’re trying to frame this as a coordinated act that violates your exclusive contracts. They’re implying the relationship was leveraged for mutual publicity benefits, which—”

“Is bullshit,” Jungkook interrupted.

Namjoon leaned back, watching them closely. “What’s your board’s stance?”

Seungho sighed. “Honestly? They’re split. We didn’t know it was serious until Jungkook texted us.” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes flicking toward Jimin’s bed before meeting Jungkook’s. “I owe you both an apology for that. I knew you two were… close. Fooling around, maybe. I should’ve known it wasn’t just that.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything right away. His jaw worked once before he replied, quieter than before. “It’s been serious for a long time.”

Seungho nodded, face lined with guilt. “I can see that now. I should’ve stepped in differently. The company should’ve too. We were wrong to treat it like another rumor instead of protecting you.”

Jungkook exhaled, folding his hands across his chest but said nothing.

Seungho exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing a little. “At this point, all we can do is handle the fallout the right way.” He gestured toward Hana and Doyun. “That’s where they come in.”

“The PR team’s losing sleep, but the board knows better,” he continued, “You’re our highest-earning artist, Jungkook. You’re their main revenue stream. They won’t risk jeopardizing that.”

Hana nodded, picking up smoothly where he left off. “From a brand standpoint, this isn’t the disaster they think it is. If handled correctly, it can even work in your favor. You have a clean record, a loyal fanbase, and your image has matured over the years. People like the idea of stability. Family. Growth. It humanizes you.”

Jungkook arched his brow. “So, suddenly, you’re all team baby?”

Doyun actually smiled, small but genuine. “If it keeps the stock price steady, yes. Babies test extremely well in family markets.”

Namjoon snorted. “Touching.”

Seungho shot him a look but didn’t argue. “We came here because we’re facing pressure from Jimin’s label. They want us to issue a joint statement saying the relationship rumors were fabricated, that both of you are on good terms professionally, and that’s all.”

“Not happening,” Jungkook said flatly.

Hana met his gaze evenly. “Didn’t think so. That’s why we’re here to ask where you stand, officially, before we answer them.”

Namjoon cut in smoothly. “He stands exactly where he should.” He glanced at Jimin. “By his partner. And as of this morning, there’s a legal injunction that prevents any medical procedure, transfer, or public statement regarding Jimin’s health condition without his or his proxy’s written consent. Any deviation from that opens both agencies to liability.”

Hana nodded slowly. “Understood.” She exchanged a glance with Seungho. “That works for us. If your position is non-denial, we can shape the messaging accordingly. We’ll hold off on any comments for now, coordinate with your counsel, and let the narrative soften on its own. The media cycle is short. If you keep your heads down, it’ll shift within a week. So far they don’t know you’re here or how involved you’re in this.”

Doyun added, “We can also prepare a statement emphasizing mutual respect and health concerns. Something neutral. Family privacy always earns sympathy.”

Namjoon leaned forward slightly. “Make sure every word goes through me. No ad-libs, no creative interpretations. Understood?”

“Of course.” Hana’s tone remained even. “We’re not here to cause harm. Just to protect our artist. Both of them, if possible.”

That drew Jimin’s eyes up from his bowl. He’d been listening quietly, spoon tracing slow circles in the broth. “I don’t need protection,” he said softly. “I only need space.”

Hana met his gaze, her voice gentler than before. “Then that’s what we’ll make sure you get.”

For a beat, the room was quiet again. The tension had diffused, replaced by something that felt almost like understanding.

Seungho moved first. “We’ll follow your lead, Jungkook. Whatever direction you take, the company will align with it. Just… be careful. They’ll come harder next time. And text me if you need something. I’ll ensure all your requirements are met.”

Jungkook nodded once. “Thanks.”

Hana smiled faintly. “Try to rest when you can. We’ll be in touch.”

Jungkook smirked. “Sure.”

“Once again, congratulations to both of you. Just don’t name the kid after an album, okay?”

Jungkook tilted his head. “What if it’s a good one?”

Namjoon groaned softly. “Please stop giving PR ideas.”

Laughter rippled faintly through the room. It was soft, tired, but real.

Hana gathered her things. “We’ll handle everything else from our end. Just keep him safe,” she said, glancing toward Jimin.

“I intend to,” Jungkook replied.

When they left, the air felt lighter, steady in the way storms sometimes do when they’ve just passed but haven’t entirely gone.

Jimin put the spoon down, looking at Jungkook with the faintest smile. “That went better than I expected.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, sinking into the chair beside him again. “For once.”

“Progress,” Jimin murmured, leaning back against the pillows.

“Progress,” Jungkook echoed, reaching for his hand again.

***

By evening somewhat normalcy had returned in the small hospital room. Everyone looked somewhat rested, freshened up and had eaten a proper meal after several hours.

Jimin remained awake, chatting light heartedly and playing uno on the bed with Taehyung and his parents. Jungkook sent his parents home to rest while Namjoon stayed, working on his phone and answering calls from his position on the couch.

The next knock came just as the sun was about to set.Louder this time. Impatient.

Namjoon’s gaze flicked up from his phone, already knowing who it was. “Round two.”

Jungkook stood, stretching his neck. “Let them in.”

The door opened before anyone could reach it, two securities blocked the three looming figures, ready to push them back.

Three executives. Two men from yesterday and one woman Jungkook had never seen before.

Jungkook instinctively moved to the bed, blocking Jimin from their line of vision, squaring his shoulders and scent spiking with irritation. These were the same two people who had dared to recommend a medical termination with no regards to Jimin’s feelings or emotions.

He had no respect for them and still wanted to punch their faces.

“That’s Ms. Kang,” Jimin whispered. “She’s the head of artist management. To her left is Director Oh, he’s the head of legal and the other one is Executive Cha.”

Namjoon’s brows lifted slightly. “Ah. They brought the boss this time.”

The woman’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Ms. Kang Hae-rim,” she introduced herself smoothly, as if the air in the room hadn’t already turned sharp. “Head of Artist Management.”

Jimin’s parents moved closer, his father’s eyes narrowing with hostility.

“Of course you are,” Namjoon murmured, standing. He glanced at the guards. “Let them in, but one of you stays inside. The other keeps watch. Nobody else enters without clearance.”

“Yes, sir.”

The guards stepped aside but didn’t move far. The trio entered, bringing with them the smell of expensive perfume and corporate tension.

Jungkook didn’t bother to hide the glare he gave the two men. Jimin inched closer, one hand climbing up his back to hold his t-shirt.

“I don’t like them,” Jimin murmured.

“This is Executive Oh, he’s the head of our legal team and Executive Cha,” she introduced.

Jungkook’s jaw flexed. “Perfect. I was hoping for a reunion.”

Hae-rim gave him a practiced smile. “We’re not here to fight, Jungkook-ssi. We’re here to clarify our company’s expectations.”

Namjoon motioned toward the chairs. “By all means. Sit. Clarify.”

They sat. Director Oh opened his briefcase, laying down a folder thick with papers. Executive Cha leaned back, crossing his legs, trying too hard to look unbothered.

Hae-rim’s gaze drifted to Jimin, still sitting upright on the bed, UNO cards at his side. Her smile thinned. “You seem better, Jimin-ssi.”

Jimin inclined his head politely. “Rest does wonders.”

“Good. You’ll need it. There’s a lot to discuss.”

Jungkook cut in, his tone cold. His alpha bristled. “Then talk.”

Director Oh adjusted his glasses. “We’ll get straight to the point. Your relationship and now this pregnancy puts the company in a difficult position. There are moral clauses, image clauses, and brand contracts tied directly to Jimin-ssi’s reputation. As of this morning, several sponsors have already requested formal clarification.”

Namjoon leaned back in his chair, one ankle resting over his knee. “And you’re here to do what exactly?”

“To ensure this situation doesn’t destroy what we built,” Hae-rim replied. “We’re not monsters, Mr. Kim. But we have a company to run. A company that has invested a lot.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Namjoon said mildly. “The company. Not the artist. Heaven forbid you mix those up.”

Her eyes hardened. “You’re welcome to have your opinions, but business doesn’t run on sentiment. This…” she gestured vaguely between Jimin and Jungkook “...jeopardizes years of investment, global partnerships, and an image that took a decade to build. You know what happens to idols who lose public trust.”

Jimin’s voice was quiet, steady. “I do. Usually, they’re the ones who did something wrong.”

Hae-rim’s lips tightened. “Pregnancy, in our world, is wrong, Jimin-ssi. It changes everything. Your appearance schedule, choreography, stamina—”

“His life,” Jungkook interrupted sharply. “It changes his life. And that’s his to decide.”

Director Oh cleared his throat. “Be that as it may, the company reserves the right to suspend or terminate ongoing contracts if an artist fails to meet their deliverables. A pregnancy prevents that. We’re merely suggesting—”

“Suggesting what?” Jungkook snapped. “That he erase it like it’s bad PR?”

Namjoon’s voice slid between them like a blade, calm, sharp, and in control. “If this conversation is heading toward another attempt to coerce a medical procedure, I suggest you stop now. You’re already one injunction deep. Don’t test how fast I can file a second.”

Executive Cha leaned forward, his tone clipped. “You think a single injunction scares us? He’s still bound by his contractual obligations. You forget who owns his recordings, his distribution—”

“And you forget who represents him,” Namjoon said evenly. “One more threat, and I’ll have your legal team explaining to the Ministry of Culture why you’re attempting reproductive coercion against a contracted performer.” He sat back. “Director Oh, you should know first and foremost anything you do based solely on pregnancy discrimination against your employee or independent contractor automatically makes your so-called contract terms illegal or void. Your company will be facing criminal penalties if you bring up medical termination one more time in front of my client.”

Director Oh’s jaw tightened. “You’re overstepping, Mr. Kim. This is an internal contractual matter, not a human-rights case.”

Namjoon’s brows lifted. “A performer’s body and medical autonomy are human-rights matters. You may want to familiarize yourself with that distinction before you embarrass yourselves further.”

Executive Cha scoffed. “Spare us the lectures. We’re not villains. We just can’t afford to have a scandal sink an entire label.”

Jungkook’s laugh was humorless. “Then maybe you shouldn’t build your label on someone else’s exhaustion.”

Cha’s face flushed. “You think you understand how this industry works? You’re a product too, Jeon Jungkook. You sell a fantasy, not a family.”

“That fantasy pays your bills,” Jungkook snapped. “And that family’s mine.”

For a second, even the air seemed to vibrate. Jimin flinched slightly, his hand tightening around Jungkook’s t-shirt, but Jungkook didn’t back down.

Hae-rim leaned forward, voice deceptively soft. “Enough. None of this changes the fact that your situation threatens every partner we have. You think brands want to see a pregnant idol on a billboard? They’ll pull out. That affects hundreds of staff, investors, trainees. Jimin isn’t the only artist we have to think about.”

Namjoon’s eyes narrowed. “You keep using pregnant like it’s synonymous with broken. It’s not. He’s pregnant, not disabled. Yes, there are physical limits. He’ll need rest, medical supervision, maybe schedule adjustments, but that doesn’t make him unfit for work.”

He leaned back slightly, his tone calm. “If your company can’t manage a roster that accommodates an expecting performer, that’s not Jimin’s failure. That’s a management failure.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Jimin blinked, surprised, while Jungkook’s mouth twitched. Half with gratitude and half with restrained fury.

Namjoon continued. “We have countless public figures—actors, singers, executives—who work through pregnancies safely and responsibly. I’ve seen several models who walked the runway while pregnant. I can give you a list if you wish. What’s stopping you is not policy or performance. It's a stigma. You’re scared of perception, not capability.”

Hae-rim bristled. “We will lose millions.”

“Then you adapt,” Namjoon said flatly. “You build schedules around medical guidelines, and not profit margins. You make accommodations, not ultimatums.”

Director Oh opened his mouth, but Namjoon cut him off. “And before you argue he can’t perform physically, remember: you’ve had him performing sixteen to eighteen hours for most days on half meals and adrenaline. Spare me the sudden concern for stamina. He wouldn’t have ended here like this if you had not put him through that stupid dietary restriction that was taking a toll on his health.”

That landed like a slap. Even Jimin’s mother, seated quietly by the window, exhaled softly, barely hiding her approval.

Director Oh shifted, bristling. “That’s easy for you to say, Mr. Kim. You don’t have a corporation to run. You don’t answer to shareholders when numbers drop.”

Namjoon’s expression didn’t change. “No, I answer to laws and my conscience. You should try it sometime.”

Hae-rim let out a tight laugh that didn’t sound amused. “Conscience doesn’t pay salaries. Investors don’t care about empathy. They care about returns. Our job is to protect the bottom line.”

“Then tell your investors to stop using people as collateral,” Namjoon cut in. “If your profit model collapses because an artist exercised basic reproductive rights, your problem isn’t PR, it’s ethics.”

Director Oh’s pen clicked repeatedly, a nervous tic. “Ethics don’t pay salaries.”

Namjoon smiled. “Neither will lawsuits.”

Cha leaned forward again, tone rising. “You think you can scare us with legal threats? You’ll drown in paperwork before we do.”

Namjoon scoffed. “Oooh, I’m scared.”

“If that’s your standpoint, then…” Executive Cha leaned forward, voice smug. “...there is another option, of course. If Jimin-ssi truly wishes to ‘choose freely,’ he can always buy out his contract.”

Jimin blinked. “Buy… out?”

Director Oh adjusted his tie. “It’s a standard procedure. Full termination with penalties. Two, maybe three times the original investment amount, plus training and promotion costs. Considering your global campaigns, that would place you roughly at…” he paused, consulting a document “...somewhere between ₩800 million and ₩1.2 billion.”

The room went still.

Jimin’s fingers tightened around the blanket. “I’ve brought more revenue than that.”

“That’s how this works,” Hae-rim said smoothly. “You want control? Pay for it. Otherwise, fulfill the terms and let us manage the fallout.”

Jungkook’s temper flared instantly. “You’re threatening him with debt because he won’t bend to you.”

“Threatening?” Director Oh scoffed. “No, it’s an exit clause. He can walk out whenever he wants.”

Namjoon’s voice cut through the rising tension, steady and surgical. “That’s not an exit clause. That’s financial coercion dressed as freedom. You’re deliberately inflating numbers to trap him. You know damn well an artist buyout takes years of negotiation and destroys their catalog in the process.”

Hae-rim’s chin lifted. “That’s the cost of independence.”

“No,” Namjoon said, his tone turning glacial. “That’s extortion. You can use this time to blacklist him from the industry and eventually kill his career. Don’t think I can’t see that far.”

The executives shifted uncomfortably, but he didn’t stop.

Let me make one thing clear. Jimin is fully committed to fulfilling his contractual obligations. Every tour, every campaign, every shoot he’s legally required to complete, he will. But he’ll do it under safe, humane conditions and within working-hour limits, with proper medical supervision, and without your company violating his privacy or pushing him into physical exertion again. That’s the law, and you will adhere to it.”

Executive Cha opened his mouth, then shut it.

Namjoon leaned forward. “If you attempt to force a buyout, freeze payments, or weaponize his pregnancy to pressure him, I’ll file for labor-law violation, coercion, and reputational damage before your board finishes lunch.”

For the first time, Hae-rim’s mask slipped. Her tone softened, wary. “We’re not looking for another lawsuit, Mr. Kim. We only want to protect the company.”

“Then start by protecting your artist,” Namjoon replied. “And let’s be real here. You can’t deny Jimin’s reach. He’s one of those artists who doesn’t need publicity to shine. Even when he disappears, the world will wait. You cannot erase his popularity overnight. He’s one of your highest earning artists too. You can either stand by him during this time or go against him and lose it all. Your choice.”

Hae-rim finally lost a fraction of her calm. “Fine. You want to play hardball? Keep the baby. But you will cooperate. There will be no public announcement, no confirmation, no leaks. You finish your promotional obligations quietly, then we negotiate the exit.”

Jimin’s eyes were dark, unreadable. “And if I refuse?”

“Then,” she said, voice turning cold, “we suspend your contract, freeze all pending payments, and blacklist you for breach of confidentiality. No one will hire an artist who can’t be trusted.”

The silence after that hit hard.

Namjoon folded his hands on the table, voice steady as glass. “Try it. You’ll be the first label in the country charged with coercive contract enforcement under the revised Fair Employment Act. I’ll file it myself before you reach your car.”

Director Oh’s mouth opened, then shut again. Even Cha’s bluster faltered.

Finally, Hae-rim exhaled through her nose, gathering the papers and stood. “We’ll… revisit this later. But until then, you both stay silent. No posts, no interviews, no confirmations.”

Namjoon leaned back, satisfied. “Silence suits us fine. Gives me time to build the next injunction.”

Her glare could have cracked marble, but she stood anyway. “You’re making this very ugly, Mr. Kim.”

Namjoon smiled pleasantly. “It already was. I’m just giving it better lighting.”

Jimin watched him, something unreadable in his eyes. For the first time all day, he looked like he was breathing easier.

That did it. She turned on her heel, heels clicking sharply across the floor. The other two scrambled to follow, leaving a trail of cold perfume and frustration behind them.

The door shut. The guards resumed their posts.

Jungkook dragged a hand down his face. “They make my blood pressure spike.”

Namjoon was already typing something on his phone. “Good. Keep that energy. You’ll need it when we file the defamation notice next.”

Jimin exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping as tension bled out of him. “I’m sorry you have to fight all this because of me.”

Jungkook turned to him, eyes soft again. “Don’t ever apologize for existing, baby. Especially not to people who think you’re a liability.”

Jimin exhaled, slumping slightly against the pillow. “I hate her voice.”

Jungkook dropped back into the chair beside the bed, still fuming. “They really think they can control everything.”

“They can’t,” Namjoon said. “Not with me here.”

Jimin reached out, brushing his fingers over Jungkook’s wrist. “You didn’t have to stand in front of me like that.”

“Yeah, I did.” Jungkook looked down at him, softer now. “That’s where I’m supposed to be.”

For a long while, no one spoke. The hum of the monitors filled the quiet, steady and calm, like the rhythm of something finally stabilizing. Outside, dusk had bled into night, painting the blinds in muted gold.

Namjoon gathered his papers, sliding them into his briefcase. “Get some rest, both of you. Let’s see what they’ll bring tomorrow.”

Jungkook nodded, eyes still fixed on Jimin. “We’ll be ready.”

Jimin’s hand found his, warm and certain. “We already are.”

***

Two days later.

The elevator ride was quiet.

Jungkook stood close enough to feel Jimin’s pulse through his sleeve, every step measured. Namjoon walked ahead of them, briefcase in hand, face carved into the sort of calm that made people nervous. He’d brought one of his assistants with him who trailed after them.

None of them spoke until they reached the twenty-second floor of the ATV Entertainment’s executive wing.

Jimin’s parents had gone ahead to Jungkook’s penthouse, preparing the home for Jimin’s stay and to restock his fridge with everything he’d need. The company didn’t need another audience.

Namjoon pushed the glass doors of the conference room open without waiting for an invitation.

Inside, the atmosphere was sterile and polished. Three executives Hae-rim again, Director Oh, and the newly added Chief Financial Officer Seo Mujin were already seated, their expressions a blend of forced professionalism and fatigue. A fresh set of documents lay stacked neatly on the table.

“Mr. Kim,” Hae-rim greeted, rising slightly before sitting back down. “Jimin-ssi, Jungkook-ssi. Thank you for coming. We’ve prepared an annexure outlining the new operational terms we discussed previously.”

Namjoon set his briefcase on the table, unhurried. “I’m sure you have.”

Director Oh slid the folder forward. “These terms acknowledge Jimin-ssi’s current condition and outline revised work parameters as per our discussion. Fewer appearances, extended preparation time, all under medical supervision. In exchange, we ask for one thing. He should refrain from any public statements regarding the pregnancy or personal matters until the contract’s completion. All Vlive or Instagram lives must be supervised and he needs to get prior approval from the management. He should only do these lives from the company premises, pre-arranged for him. He must post only curated content pre-approved by the management in all his social media. He should not engage with any online post or article related to Jungkook-ssi. He will also return to his apartment alone and will never be seen with Jungkook-ssi again. He will not risk being seen together by saesangs or the paparazzis under any circumstances.”

Jungkook’s hand tightened over Jimin’s knee under the table. Namjoon flipped through the pages, scanning, eyes narrowing with every line.

“Refrain?” he said at last. “That’s a polite word for gag order.”

Hae-rim’s smile didn’t move her eyes. “We prefer the term confidentiality clause.”

Namjoon closed the folder. “And I prefer the term overreach.”

“Mr. Kim,” she began carefully, “this protects both parties. The company can’t manage unpredictable leaks—”

“Then manage your staff,” Namjoon cut in. “Because this clause isn’t staying.”

Director Oh cleared his throat. “Without it, investors will assume acknowledgment of the pregnancy, which may trigger contract withdrawal from several partners.”

Namjoon leaned back. “You mean the same partners who were responsible for forcing him through sixteen-hour rehearsal days on an empty stomach? You can tell them Mr. Park is medically restricted for the next few months and will complete his commitments once cleared. No lies required.”

The CFO frowned. “We can’t guarantee brand compliance with vague explanations.”

“Then I’ll handle brand compliance,” Namjoon said. “And you can handle the lawsuits when this ‘annexure’ leaks as proof of coercion.”

The tension thickened. Jimin sat quietly, gaze lowered, fingers tracing the hem of his sleeve. Jungkook’s scent spiked faintly, protective and warning.

Hae-rim exhaled. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

“No,” Namjoon said evenly. “You already made it hard when you tried to dictate what goes on in a doctor’s office. This…” he tapped the folder, “...is not a negotiation. It’s damage control. Here’s what you’re going to do.”

He leaned forward, voice low, deliberate.

“Jimin will finish his scheduled obligations—every campaign, appearance, and recording he’s legally bound to. After that, he will take an indefinite hiatus. His contract states that he is required to release a minimum of six studio albums. He has dropped seven. So no more albums until the birth of this pup. You will not interfere with his healthcare, personal life, or housing. You will not separate him from his alpha, because proximity to a bonded partner during gestation is a medical necessity in Omegaverse law. I’m adding that as a legal clause effective immediately.”

Director Oh blinked. “Excuse me?”

Namjoon’s tone didn’t shift. “Clause 8(b): The artist’s bonded alpha shall maintain reasonable physical proximity during gestation for medical and psychological safety.’

Hae-rim’s jaw tightened. “That’s unprecedented.”

“So was your company trying to terminate a pregnancy without the parent’s consent. And FYI that's a precedent. Medical literature recognizes bond proximity as a stabilizing factor for both the omega and the unborn pup. Denying it constitutes emotional and physical endangerment. I’m sure you don’t want to explain that to the Ethics Board.”

For a beat, no one spoke.

Jungkook glanced sideways at Jimin. His omega was pale but steady, eyes meeting Namjoon’s in quiet gratitude.

Namjoon continued, flipping to the signature page. “You will re-draft this annexure accordingly and send it to my office. “You’ve exploited him long enough. This time, you’ll adjust to his needs and not the other way around. Jimin doesn’t sign anything until I approve the wording.”

Hae-rim looked ready to argue, but Namjoon wasn’t finished.

“And since Jimin’s condition requires security and stability, he’ll be relocating to Jeon Jungkook’s residence for the remainder of his contract. The address will be registered as his official work base. I’ve already filed the paperwork with the Artist Welfare Bureau.”

Director Oh sputtered, “That’s highly irregular—”

“So is sending PR agents to a hospital ward,” Namjoon shot back. “Consider this a preventative measure.”

The CFO tried a softer tone. “Mr. Kim, surely we can reach middle ground—”

Namjoon smiled, calm and deadly. “We just did. You agreed to everything I said by sitting in silence.”

He pushed the folder back across the table, stood, and straightened his cuffs. “You’ll hear from my office by tomorrow. Until then, no calls, no leaks, no press. And if any of you are thinking of testing the silence clause, I’d suggest checking your inbox first.”

He gestured toward the door. “I already drafted your NDAs.”

The executives sat frozen, each looking at the others for rescue that didn’t come. Jimin rose slowly, Jungkook immediately steadying him with a hand on his back.

As they turned to leave, Hae-rim spoke. Her voice was quieter this time and less certain. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Mr. Kim.”

Namjoon glanced over his shoulder. “Only if you keep losing.”

He opened the door, nodding for Jungkook and Jimin to go ahead.

Outside, the corridor was brighter, quiet except for the low hum of the air vents. Jungkook slipped his hand into Jimin’s.

“You okay?” he murmured.

Jimin nodded, exhaling. “For the first time, yeah.”

Namjoon joined them, tucking his phone into his coat. “Good. Because that was just round one. Next, we prepare the narrative.”

Jungkook’s brow furrowed. “The silence?”

“Exactly,” Namjoon said, tone dry. “If they want silence, we’ll give them one.”

***

Two days later, the mood at ATV Entertainment was… subdued.

The reception staff didn’t make eye contact when Jimin and Jungkook walked in. The usual whispers were gone, replaced by a silence that buzzed like static.

The elevator ride up was familiar, but this time, no one spoke. Even the assistant Namjoon brought—a young woman this time with a steady gaze and a stack of legal folders hugged to her chest—didn’t dare break it.

When the doors opened on the twenty-second floor, the company’s senior staff were already waiting in the glass-walled conference room. The same three executives Hae-rim, Director Oh, and CFO Seo Mujin sat in identical positions as before, but their expressions had changed. Less arrogance this time around.

Namjoon took the seat without being offered. His assistant sat at his right, flipping through the new annexure.

“Let’s begin,” Namjoon said simply.

Director Oh slid the folder forward. This time, it was thinner. “We’ve made the adjustments you requested,” he said. “The clause revisions have been reviewed by our legal team. If approved, we can proceed with signatures and officially close this matter.”

Namjoon opened the folder and skimmed the contents, methodical, silent. Jimin and Jungkook to his left.

The revised terms were exactly as Namjoon dictated two days ago:

• Jimin would fulfill the remainder of his scheduled appearances and campaigns for brand partnerships.

• He would not be obligated to release or promote any new album until post-hiatus.

• All future schedules would be reviewed jointly by his personal legal representative and physician.

• The company would provide on-site medical support and ensure regulated hours.

• Jeon Jungkook would be registered as the artist’s official bonded partner for legal and medical purposes.

No gag clause. No “confidentiality” leash.

Namjoon tapped one paragraph with his pen. “Clause 8(b). I see you’ve included it.”

“Yes,” Hae-rim replied tightly. “The bond proximity clause, as you requested.”

Namjoon smiled faintly. “Good. It’s heartwarming to see corporate empathy in print.”

Jungkook’s hand brushed Jimin’s under the table in a silent, grounding gesture.

“Now,” Namjoon said, closing the folder. “Before my client signs, I want to confirm something. The hiatus is indefinite. No deadlines, no performance clauses, no obligations to return under duress. Correct?”

Director Oh nodded reluctantly. “Correct.”

“And the agency understands that all healthcare costs, including maternity coverage and security arrangements, will be borne by the company until the hiatus officially begins?”

“That’s… correct,” Hae-rim said after a pause.

Namjoon nodded once. “Good. Then we can sign.”

He turned to Jimin, voice gentler. “Read it once yourself. Then sign only if you’re comfortable.”

Jimin pulled the folder closer, his fingers trembling slightly as he flipped through the pages. It wasn’t like the fear from before. This time, it was something quieter due to relief and control he never had before. His eyes moved slowly, absorbing each line.

When he finally reached the last page, he exhaled, the tension leaving his shoulders. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “It’s finally fair.”

Namjoon’s assistant passed him a pen. He signed his name in careful strokes right beside the company seal.

Then he turned the pen toward Jungkook. “Your turn,” he murmured.

Jungkook blinked. “Mine?”

“Clause 8(b),” Namjoon reminded him. “You’re part of this now. Legal proximity means shared accountability.”

Jungkook hesitated for a heartbeat, then signed. His name looked fierce next to Jimin’s, bold and unshaken.

Hae-rim’s eyes flicked toward Namjoon. “Is that all?”

“For now,” Namjoon said. “Until you do something stupid again.”

A muscle ticked in her jaw, but she didn’t reply.

CFO Seo stood to shake his hand. “For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “I hope this works out. He’s… remarkable.”

Namjoon’s expression softened a fraction. “He is.”

They left without another word.

Outside, the air felt different. It was lighter.

The hallway was lined with framed photos of Jimin’s debut years. Each one looked like a different lifetime. As they passed, Jimin slowed in front of one—him at twenty, bowing on stage, eyes too bright for the exhaustion behind them.

Jungkook touched his shoulder. “You’re done with this chapter,” he said.

Jimin smiled faintly. “Yeah. I think I finally am.”

Namjoon pressed the elevator button. “Now the hard part,” he said. “Staying quiet while everyone else screams.”

Jungkook arched his brow. “What do you mean?”

Namjoon nodded. “I don’t think they’ll give in that easily. They’ll still try to spin a narrative I believe. Because this isn’t what they wanted.”

Jimin looked up, a flicker of fire returning to his eyes. “What do you think they’ll do?”

Namjoon smiled. “We’ll have to wait and see. Whatever it is, you’re not alone. Just focus on your health, yeah? I’m always here to take a bullet for you.” He winked at them.

Namjoon’s wink pulled the first small laugh out of Jimin all day. It reached his eyes for once.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to bullets,” Jungkook muttered, adjusting the strap of the bag on his shoulder as the elevator chimed open.

Namjoon stepped in first, holding the door with his briefcase. “In this business? It always does.”

Jimin followed, slower, his hand unconsciously brushing Jungkook’s as he stepped inside. The contact was light but grounding. When the doors slid shut, their reflections stared back at them, tired, wary, but standing. Still together.

As the elevator hummed downward, the quiet settled again. Not the suffocating kind that had haunted hospital walls, but something different.

Jungkook turned his head slightly, voice low enough that it barely carried. “You okay?”

Jimin nodded once, eyes still on the polished steel doors. “I think so.”

Namjoon glanced up from his phone, watching them both. “Good,” he said. “Because from here on out, everything’s about patience and precision. You give them nothing. No answers, no reactions. Let them chase their own tail.”

Jungkook hummed. “And us?”

Namjoon smiled faintly, looking forward again. “You live your life. Quietly. Calmly.”

The elevator slowed. The ground-floor lights spilled in, warm and bright.

Jimin tugged his cap lower, hiding most of his face as they stepped out. There were no reporters yet, but the weight of eyes was something that never quite disappeared.

Namjoon’s car was waiting by the curb, tinted windows glinting in the late afternoon sun. The assistant slipped into the front seat, already on a call.

Namjoon turned to them before getting in. “Go home. Rest. Keep your phones off for at least forty-eight hours. If anything breaks online, I’ll handle it.”

Jimin nodded. “Thank you, hyung.”

Namjoon’s expression softened. “Don’t thank me yet. I like being right too much for it to count as altruism.”

That earned another quiet laugh from Jungkook as he opened the car door for Jimin.

They drove off first, the city passing in slow motion outside the tinted glass.

Jimin leaned his head against the seat, eyelids fluttering shut. Jungkook’s hand found his thumb tracing lazy circles over his skin. “It’s over now,” he whispered.

“Not over,” Jimin murmured, eyes still closed. “Just beginning again.”

Jungkook smiled at that. “Then let’s begin slowly.”

Outside, Seoul blurred past in streaks of gold and gray, the storm finally quiet, but only for now.

***

Jimin's hospital room:

Attorney Joon:

Chapter Text

Words: 9k

The first week at Jungkook's place unfurled unhurriedly in a soft, slow manner as if they had nothing but time in their hands for the rest of their lives.

Mornings were easiest. The city spilled light over Han like someone lifted a sheer curtain, and Jungkook would be up first as a habit, muscle memory. The stupid biological clock that refused to sleep in even when his life demanded it.

He moved quieter than anyone his size should, turning the kettle on, pan on low, rice cooker humming. He liked the way the sound filled the apartment without crowding it. It made the place feel lived-in, not watched.

Jimin slept deeper than Jungkook had ever seen him sleep. No managers calling, no alarms set for dawn choreo, no staff tapping their watch. He lay on his side, breath fogging the pillowcase, hair a dark tangle across his forehead. His scent was warmer and softer but steadier.

It still surprised Jungkook sometimes, how quickly it made his spine loosen. He'd press a kiss to Jimin's hairline and whisper, "Sleep a little longer," like his body could hear and obey.

He had the prenatal vitamins lined up by the kettle like soldiers. A chart on the fridge with check marks and tiny stars Jimin pretended to hate but secretly liked. Some mornings Jimin grumbled through all of it, face buried in Jungkook's hoodie while he took the pills with his eyes closed. Some mornings he sat up without being nudged and read the back of each bottle like he was studying for an exam.

They ate on the rug by the balcony doors, mostly simple food that was easy to digest. Today it was congee with scallions and soft-boiled eggs, grilled mackerel Jimin picked at with a wrinkled nose, toast with jam on the days he couldn't stand the smell of oil.

Jungkook kept ginger tea and crackers within arm's reach, like offerings. When nausea rolled in late and mean, he held Jimin's hair and rubbed his back, murmuring nonsense until the worst passed. Jimin would slump against the cabinet afterward, laughing weakly at himself like he was breaking some stupid record.

"Don't bully my baby," Jungkook whispered against Jimin's stomach one morning, pressing two fingers gently against the soft curve that felt, lately, a fraction more present. "You're a guest. Be polite."

"Be nice to our baby?" Jimin rasped, mouth curving even as he wiped his eyes.

"Doesn't mean he gets to bully you," Jungkook grumbled, a smile tugging at his lips.

Afternoons were quieter. Hyunwoo—their newly hired body guard cum driver, silent as stone, politely terrifying—swapped shifts with their other guard Minseok, also newly hired, in the hallway. They moved like they were part of the furniture, present but unintrusive.

If Jimin wanted sun, Jungkook opened the balcony and moved the plants so he could sit with a blanket around his shoulders. Jungkook would just sit with him, staring as if he was the 8th wonder. Today was one such day, peaceful and long.

"Stop staring," Jimin muttered, not looking at him but the city outside.

"I'm not staring," Jungkook lied.

"You're hovering."

"I'm observing."

"You're a simp."

Jungkook leaned his chin on Jimin's shoulder. "I'm your simp."

Their parents returned home after a week, promising to visit soon and only after restocking their fridge with mom's specials that would last them for weeks.

The second and third week went in similar fashion before Jimin started receiving work calls. Only after being cleared by the doctors, though. The fetus was strong and Jimin has been recovering well under careful supervision.

Jimin's stylists texted sometimes, quick check-ins. Namjoon had them add a line at the end of every schedule to notify if it was cleared by a physician. And they did.

Two weeks after the Annexure Signing, Jimin's company released a friendly dispatch. Our artist is recovering well and will return to limited activities shortly. No mention of collapse, no mention of family. They attached a photo of Jimin from months ago with clear skin, sharp jawline, and a smile that made people forget gravity that had brands breathing easier.

Hyunwoo or Minseok always accompanied Jimin everywhere he went and they were updated on everything they had to keep an eye for.

Jungkook watched the way Jimin's shoulders lowered when he saw those words. Like a lock sliding into place. Like a promise he didn't have to ask for.

As for Jungkook, he was quietly working on his album from his home studio, meeting with his producer AgustD only when required. Otherwise he didn't have any public events scheduled for the foreseeable future.

The album was Yoongi aka AgustD's idea. "I know you want to take a break and take care of your mate, but you also need to think from the label's point of view. It's better to give them something to chew on rather than ignoring them completely and cutting off all other things. Why don't you work on an EP? That way they wouldn't bother you for a few more months. Then when the pup is born you can actively take on a paternity leave or a hiatus and figure things out."

Jungkook accepted and noted that his decision seemed to please his company a lot. They seemed too eager to fulfil his wish as long as he worked on the EP. They even agreed to minimize his promotional activities post its release.

Namjoon dropped by twice a week, always with food and the same steady voice that could slice concrete. He set up a secure email pipeline. He told them which calls to ignore, which to forward, which to answer only with, "My attorney will respond."

He had Hyunwoo—and a second guard, Minseok—map the building's exits, time the elevators, and identify the blind spots where a long lens could catch them. He changed the codes on Jungkook's door and insisted on a second set of cameras inside the hallway that only he could access.

"Paranoid?" Taehyung asked one day, sprawling on the sofa with a pack of jelly candies like a cat. "I love it. Can we put lasers too?"

Namjoon didn't look up from his laptop. "We already have a tiger."

"A tiger?" Jimin lifted his head, gaze sweeping around in question.

Jungkook glanced at Jimin. "Rawr."

"Never do that again. Stop encouraging him, hyung," Jimin said softly, his smile barely there, but there, and that was enough.

The stress that was weighing him down for weeks was now gone. He looked a lot healthier and cheerful as days passed.

At night, they kept the TV on low, watching random cooking competitions, documentaries about aquariums, things that didn't have headlines slapping across the bottom.

Jungkook liked washing dishes with Jimin leaning against the counter beside him, half asleep, humming under his breath. Jimin liked the way Jungkook folded laundry.

Sometimes they argued softly about literally nothing and they made up when Jungkook slipped into bed behind him, pressed his mouth to the back of Jimin's neck, and exhaled warm, grounding pheromones that felt like home.

He whispered to the pup, too. Sweet, soft promises, stupid jokes, half-sung melodies.

Jimin often pretended to be annoyed, tugging the blanket over their heads. "He can't hear you," he would mumble.

"Then I'm practicing," Jungkook would say into skin. "For when he can."

"He?"

"She? They," Jungkook corrected, earnestly. "Our little alien."

"You're the alien," Jimin said, voice almost fond enough to break him. "Go to sleep."

He did. And for a handful of days, it felt like they could pretend the world had genuinely softened.

***

The world, of course, had not.

The first rumor was soft-footed. A blind item on an industry account: A top soloist has been placed on medical rest after collapsing post-recording. Sources say stress levels and undisclosed personal matters are involved. Brand schedules undergoing review.

It came right around when Jimin finished his first week after returning to work, shooting for two ad campaigns with necessary breaks in between.

Namjoon texted them both a simple - Don't engage.

They didn't. The account pivoted, as accounts do, to something juicier: an "insider" leaked that two major soloists had quietly split months ago, citing irreconcilable schedules and "fundamental differences."

The timing, the account noted, was suspicious. It was right before one of them began pulling out of commitments.

They paid no heed to it, but that didn't mean it didn't cause their rage to simmer under their skin. That weekend when they met, everyone looked visibly tense with how fast the articles and gossip multiplied.

The netizens were trying to connect dots. Jimin and Jungkook's names were mentioned by many as if they had solved a puzzle. Comment sections turned into group investigations overnight. Threads multiplied like wildfire, each claiming to "know the truth."

Screenshots, flight schedules, past interviews, everything suddenly became evidence.

+1056, -250 It's definitely Jimin. I knew something was wrong when he disappeared after that awards show.
+886, -120 And Jungkook's been too quiet lately. No lives, no gym sightings. Classic breakup behavior.
+423, -18 He's working on a new album, duh. Stop making up stories.
+1610, -300 Is this why we don't see them together anymore? It's been ages since they appeared in the same frame. They came alone in the last few events.
+980, -76 PR breakup to protect endorsements. They'll be back by fall.
+550, -10 If this is true, then that whole 'fainting' thing makes sense. Stress, heartbreak, same old story.
+2750, -400 They're both too professional to date anyway. Stop deluding yourselves.
+3012, -289 Idols are human too. You think heartbreak can't make someone sick?

It was surreal watching strangers dissect their lives with the same tone used to debate stock prices. Each comment stacked on another until the illusion of certainty became truth.

And through it all, Jungkook's label said nothing. A brief statement had been released that morning, carefully worded, detached, and infuriatingly polite.

"We do not comment on artists' personal lives. Jungkook is currently focusing on his upcoming music projects."

Within minutes, Jimin's agency released a statement, copying it word for word.

Taehyung threw his phone onto Jungkook's rug. "They're cowards. They won't say names, but they don't have to."

"They won't use names yet," Namjoon said, calm, clicking through screenshots like he was lining up enemies on a chessboard. "Let them spin. Every fake story they publish now becomes evidence later."

And as Namjoon predicted, within forty-eight hours, the rumor evolved like a parasite. The "split" became the reason for the collapse.

Headlines sidled up to each other with pretty, neutral words. Heartbreak. Exhaustion. Emotional distress. Fans made timelines. Fan wars ignited.

Conspiracy threads multiplied. Old videos were dissected and every interaction now had a label. That one stage where Jimin's smile didn't reach his eyes, that airport clip where Jungkook kept his head down, the night their cars didn't leave the same exit.

Namjoon's group chat pinged and pinged.

NJ: Gather everything you come across. Screenshots, timestamps, source links. Also set up a folder.

THV: Already on it. Making a folder called "Idiots."

NRJ: Professional label, please.

THV: "Bigger Idiots."

JK: Don't read comments, baby

PJM: I'm not

He wasn't. Jimin handed his phone to Jungkook most evenings without being asked. Namjoon's silence plan wasn't a request. It was a strategy. The quiet was a wall they could hide behind while he threaded a net around the label who thought they were being clever.

Behind the scenes, the attorney contacted former staff, off-the-record. He tracked emails, lined up NDAs like dominoes. A disgruntled stylist who was fired after she refused to push another crash diet gave him a date, a name, a forwarded message that used the word "marketability" twice.

A scheduler sent an anonymous packet through an encrypted link. Four pages of directives that moved Jimin's rehearsal blocks with zero food breaks. A junior manager—green, guilt hovering over his every word—recorded a meeting on his old iPhone and sent it to a newly created Gmail.

In the meantime, the label adapted, growing more bold with their silence. They were professionals at adaptation. If silence didn't produce the panic they wanted, they'd orchestrate a narrative that would.

Their next idea was to send him to an event as if testing waters.

"Small event," Hae-rim had said on the phone Namjoon recorded with her knowledge. "Closed press. Half hour. We'll send a car."

Namjoon didn't let them. He sent Hyunwoo and Minseok. He vetted the guest list, called the brand's CEO, and stated calmly that everyone working closely with Jimin was required to sign an NDA. And absolutely no questions regarding his health, personal life or online rumors during the event. Photo sessions should be limited and cannot exceed more than the allotted time limit. His client's health came first.

Jimin wore a soft-shouldered jacket and a shirt that hid the faint swell of his lower belly no one could see yet. The scent change was more obvious up close, and only to those who knew to look for the faint, tender halo that clung to him.

During the fitting, one of the assistants shot him a second look, mouth parting. When Hyunwoo cleared his throat, the assistant went back to steaming a sleeve without another word.

The event passed without incident. Jimin smiled and did the walk-through and held the product like it wasn't heavier than it was. The CEO squeezed his shoulder and said, quietly, "Take care." If he caught signs of Jimin's pregnancy, he didn't show it.

Jimin was okay until they reached the car. Then he folded softly into Jungkook's lap like someone let the air out of him. Jungkook, who was patiently waiting inside the car, unseen by anyone else, steadied him, hand beneath his elbow.

Jimin cleared his throat. "I'm fine." He wasn't. He'd been holding his back straight for two hours and his body had opinions.

They went home. They slept. Jungkook cooked again.

The second event came three days later, this time orchestrated with the nastiest kind of subtlety.

A product launch for a skincare brand under ATV's umbrella. Nothing massive, nothing headline-worthy on its own, but the invite list was suspiciously curated. The publicist had slipped in a "new guest" beside Jimin's name—an alpha model, newly signed, the same one they'd paraded around in earlier meetings like a shiny distraction.

Ahn Jaewon. Twenty-five. All teeth and dimples. Polite to a fault, the kind of man who knew exactly where to place his hands on a red carpet and how to laugh just enough to sound effortless.

"Rising star," the emails said.

When Jimin arrived, the crowd outside was small but hungry. They didn't shout questions, not yet, but they just lifted phones, eyes glinting like they knew something the world didn't.

Hyunwoo, Minseok and a small number of bodyguards Namjoon organized stopped them from getting any closer. They made a human barricade around Jimin, stopping them from getting any shots from angles they didn't want being taken.

Jungkook hid between the seats in the back of the nine-seater SUV, grumbling the entire time, once again unseen by the public. The darkly tinted windows with black screen obscured the public's view.

The event hall smelled of floral diffusers and tension.

Jaewon was waiting near the display wall, grinning like an eager intern. "Sunbae-nim! It's an honor. I've been a fan for years." He bowed deeply.

Jimin gave a polite smile, bowing. "Thank you."

"I hope you don't mind," Jaewon continued, leaning just a touch too close, "but they asked me to walk with you on stage. Something about synergy."

"Synergy," Jimin repeated under his breath, eyes flicking toward the event coordinator, who looked everywhere but at him.

Hyunwoo shifted his stance, watching.

The event lasted barely thirty minutes. Long enough for Jaewon to stay exactly one step too near, to touch Jimin's elbow like they were close, to smile for every camera like this was an introduction scene for a romance drama.

When Jimin reached the car afterward, he looked drained. His scent had gone thin, stretched, tinged with the sour fatigue that Jungkook recognized too easily.

Jungkook slithered to the middle seat and pulled him onto his lap as soon they left the event venue.

The ride home was silent until Jimin spoke, voice low. "I'm so tired."

"I know," Jungkook said. He just hugged them tighter, threading his fingers through Jimin's and didn't let go until they reached home.

The rumor sprouted within hours: unnamed sources swooning over how good Jimin looked with the new alpha. Someone posted a photo from an angle that made the gap between them look like an intimacy, not a frame.

A thread suggested gently that perhaps the collapse had been triggered by relationship stress. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe both artists deserved to move on.

That was the worst. The articles weren't all condescending. Some articles were written with such an empathy to thaw even colder hearts and in support of the artists, meanwhile fueling the rumors.

The fans were forced to see something that wasn't there. A professional smile labeled as warm and flirtatious.

Taehyung showed up like a storm. He didn't knock, just kicked the door shut behind him and dumped a paper bag of tteokbokki on the counter.

"I want to fight someone."

"Get in line," Jungkook said, setting bowls out.

"Maybe I'll accidentally trip that bastard when I see him in the hallways," Taehyung mused.

"Violence is bad," Jimin said mildly, padding into the kitchen in one of Jungkook's oversized shirts. "Also messy."

"Worth it," Taehyung shot back, leaning on the counter like he was planning a heist.

Jungkook slid him a bowl. "Eat first, plan crimes later."

Namjoon appeared from the hallway, sleeves rolled up, carrying a tray of glasses and a bottle of soju. "We're not committing crimes."

"Hypothetically speaking," Taehyung said. "If someone were to accidentally shove him down the staircase—"

"No." Jimin sat beside Jungkook on the stool, hiding a smile.

"Just once," Taehyung pouted.

"No," Jimin said again. "As much as I want to, it's what they want. They'd love a scandal. They'd spin it like I'm violent or unstable. I won't give them that."

His best friend growled.

"And I don't want them creating any trouble for you. They already increased your work load because they know you're on my side."

Taehyung rolled his eyes. "As if I give two fucks. They can do anything they want to do with me. If I'm going down I'll take them all with me. Besides, I got hyung here." He bumped into Namjoon's side playfully. "He'll save my hide." Then he turned to Namjoon. "Won't you, hyung?"

"I suppose."

"Doesn't mean you can go around causing trouble," Jimin mumbled.

Taehyung sighed dramatically and poked his food. "You've gotten boring."

"Pregnant," Jimin corrected. "There's a difference."

That made Jungkook choke on his drink. Namjoon looked mildly impressed.

"Fine," Taehyung said, leaning back in defeat. "Then at least let me glare at him at the next event."

"Knock yourself out," Jungkook muttered.

"I might."

The four of them had fallen into an easy rhythm lately. They saw each other almost every other night now, sometimes at Jungkook's apartment, sometimes at Taehyung's, always away from the public eye.

They played cards. Argued about movies. Ate too much delivery. Namjoon worked in a corner while the others bickered over snacks. It was almost domestic, almost normal, if you squinted hard enough.

After dinner, they moved to the living room, once again watching some movie Taehyung picked out while Namjoon worked in a corner.

Jimin leaned into Jungkook's side after a while, eyes half-lidded as laughter faded. "They're testing me," he said quietly.

"I know."

"They want me to slip. React. Give them something to use for contract violation."

Namjoon kept his voice level. "Let them. We have what we need."

"What do we have?" Taehyung demanded.

"Intent," Namjoon said simply. "Pattern. A paper trail. And a timeline."

That got everyone's attention.

He had more than that. Emails with subject lines like, "Positioning: pivot messaging toward independent growth." Internal memos that advised staff to "encourage solo narratives." A draft concept for an upcoming magazine shoot with a copy that described Jimin as "redefining himself, alone." A brand pitch that casually suggested pairing him with "a fresh alpha face to highlight bold chemistry."

"They're positioning him for a new independent era," Namjoon said. "They're feeding gossip quietly through fan sites and PR intermediaries to build the illusion of a breakup. It's their new strategy."

Evidence didn't yell. It waited. It accumulated calmly while people talked themselves into a corner.

"I want you to hold on until you complete your commitments with them. Can you do that?" Namjoon asked.

Jimin nodded shakily. "I have to. Do we even have a choice?"

Namjoon sighed. "Maybe. But the deeper they dig their grave the better." He removed his glasses and leaned forward on the coffee table. "We have already documented unfair work conditions and unauthorized medical interference. I have a team working on gathering evidence. It takes time. And these past two events, they neglected your safety and privacy. There wasn't a single security detail available on either of these locations and the ones beside you were your own. Now if we can prove them trying to manipulate you or defaming you through their false PR narratives or gossip campaigns then I can move to the court to terminate your contract legally without you having to pay back a penny."

Jimin's eyes widened a bit but he nodded eagerly. "Anything, hyung."

***

The third event came faster than anyone expected. A magazine shoot this time with a paired concept called Opposite Energies, the concept brief said.

Yin and yang. Light and shadow.

Jaewon again.

They met at the studio's south wing, where glass ceilings bled sunlight across the floors. Jimin's side of the set was washed in cream and silver. Jaewon's in matte black, steel, and deliberate sharpness.

Jimin was styled in pale silk and muted light—all gentle folds and intention. The stylist had chosen a cream silk shirt with a subtle sheen, the fabric whisper-thin but layered smartly, draped to fall loose at the waist.

It caught the light when he moved, pooling soft shadows over the faint curve of his lower stomach that no one would have noticed unless they were looking too closely.

The shirt tucked into tailored dove-gray trousers that lengthened his frame without clinging. The entire look was finished with an open blazer in mist blue, its seams structured but the fit relaxed enough to hide what needed hiding.

The palette made him glow. They left the top button undone at his throat, just enough skin to read as sensual in print. Nothing too overt, but suggestive enough for an editor desperate to sell chemistry.

Jaewon's styling was the opposite.

He wore black-on-black, lines engineered to draw attention. His shirt was a matte satin, collar sharp, sleeves rolled once, the fabric molded to his shoulders. The pants were cut narrow, meant to emphasize movement.

They added a thin silver chain around his neck, deliberate and glinting. The kind of small rebellion that translated well in frame.

When they stood side by side, the contrast was cinematic. Jimin looked like moonlight personified. Jaewon, like the shadow trying to swallow it whole.

The moment Jimin saw it, something in him went cold.

Black has always been Jungkook's color. It wasn't just preference. It was him. The tone, the ease, the quiet danger that clung to him in every photograph. Their fans had even named them the black and white couple, a visual metaphor that had followed them everywhere.

And now, here it was again recreated, repurposed, reframed with someone else standing where Jungkook should have been.

He smiled for the camera anyway. That was what they were paying him for.

His agency wasn't even trying to be subtle anymore. They were rewriting his image line by line, until no one would remember who the original story belonged to.

The photographer, a veteran who'd shot everyone from idols to ministers, smiled with a kind of knowing mischief. "Perfect contrast," he said. "Soft and fierce. You'll balance each other."

Jimin smiled politely, nodding. "I'll follow your lead."

Jaewon, tall and predictably smug, shot him a grin. "Don't worry, I'll make you look good."

He said it loud enough for the staff to hear. A few giggled.

Namjoon wasn't present that day, but Hyunwoo was. He stood just off-camera, expression unreadable behind his dark glasses.

"Let's start gentle," the photographer said. "Eye contact first. Jaewon, turn in. Closer."

The camera clicked.

"Closer."

Jimin inhaled through his nose. The angle narrowed. Jaewon's cologne was strong, artificial. A dominance scent that was cheap, unrefined. Jimin could feel the heat of him behind his shoulder.

"Too close," Jimin said evenly, shifting his stance half a step away.

"Oh, come on," Jaewon said under his breath. A hand settled on his waist. "We're selling chemistry, not purity."

"We're selling a product," Jimin said quietly, removing his hands effortlessly. "Keep it professional."

Jaewon chuckled, low. "You're tense. Makes for good pictures, though."

Click.

The sound echoed a little too loud. Even the assistant behind the reflector stilled, pretending not to look. Someone coughed.

Jimin's jaw flexed once. His smile stayed in place, professional and polite, but his scent had thinned and cooled in a way that made the air brittle. Anyone with even a faint sense of hierarchy could tell his patience was seconds from snapping.

"Good, good," the photographer said, too bright. "That push and pull that's what we want!"

Jimin didn't move. He shifted his weight subtly, forcing Jaewon to step back half a pace. The frame reset itself.

Hyunwoo's jaw tightened. He took one step forward before Jimin shot him a tiny shake of the head.

The photographer waved them over between takes. "Perfect," he said. "Let's go again. Hand on his shoulder, maybe?"

"No hands," Jimin said immediately. His tone wasn't sharp, but it was final. "We can stage proximity without contact."

The photographer hesitated, glancing between them. "It's just a photoshoot, Jimin-ssi. You've done bold concepts before."

"Come on, sunbae-nim. Our fans would love it," Jaewon tried.

"That was different," he gritted out.

"If you insist."

"I do," Jimin said.

Jaewon tilted his head, that half-smirk still playing in his mouth. "You know, you don't have to act so cold. The camera loves when you loosen up a little."

"I'm professional," Jimin replied evenly. "I'm professional."

"Feels the same from here," Jaewon murmured, voice pitched low, just enough for nearby staff to hear. "Guess the rumors were true. You've forgotten how to play nice. Maybe the breakup really messed you up like they said."

The words were soft, but they hit sharp. A few people looked up, eyes darting between them.

Jimin's smile didn't falter. "If you're trying to be memorable, congratulations. You just made yourself forgettable."

The silence that followed cracked like ice.

Even the photographer didn't dare fill it. He simply called out, a little too briskly, "Reset! From the top, please!"

That night, the first leak dropped.

An unedited shot, clearly from an insider, cropped to look intimate. Jaewon's chin angled toward Jimin's hair. The shadows soft, the light haloing them like a couple's editorial.

The caption read, New duo alert? 👀🔥

It exploded.

Within hours, fan accounts, gossip blogs, and brand forums were running wild. Hashtags #JiminAndJaewon, #NewPowerDuo, #ChemistryLikeThat trended. Comments stacked like wildfire under every post.

+3100, -600 Is this the new campaign? They look so natural omg.
+2400, -400 RIP to whoever thought he was still with that other guy.
+990, -150 So the breakup's real then? No wonder he's been quiet.
+5800, -1000 The tension is INSANE. Ship it!
+1500, -200 You can't fake that kind of look, I'm sorry.
+4200, -600 He looks happier now tbh. That new alpha glow-up is real.
+2300, -400 He's moving on like a king. Let the past stay in the past.
+6700, -1200 Maybe Jungkook couldn't handle someone that magnetic.
+3400, -580 Can't believe I used to root for them. Jimin upgraded.
+5423, 1056 Lol Jungkook really fumbled that one. What did he even do?

People who knew nothing about real and reel commented while the other side grew quieter or angrier.

+5800, -90 You guys are so quick to believe a picture. He looks uncomfortable.
+4800, -70 This isn't chemistry, this is invasion. Stop shipping coworkers.
+7600, -200 We all know who leaked this. His agency's fingerprints are all over it.
+8900, -400 Funny how Jungkook disappears the moment these 'rumors' drop. Protect him.
+9100, -320 You really think Jungkook would stay silent if he didn't have to? They're forcing this.

By morning, the hashtags trended globally. The tabloids ran it as a soft confirmation of Jimin's "new chapter."

"Insiders close to the artist claim that he and fellow model Jaewon have been spending significant time together off-camera. Sources say their professional chemistry is translating into real connection."

No names for the "sources." No official statements. But it didn't matter. The damage was done.

That evening, Jungkook found Jimin sitting by the window, legs tucked under a blanket, phone face down beside him.

"You saw it," Jimin said quietly.

Jungkook nodded. "Yeah."

"I didn't even touch him," Jimin whispered. "Not once."

"I know."

"They'll keep doing this until I break."

Jungkook moved closer, kneeling by the couch, resting his chin against Jimin's knee. "Then don't give them what they want. They're desperate," he said. "Desperation makes people stupid."

He reached up, threading his fingers through Jimin's. "They want to sell a story. We're writing the ending."

Jimin leaned forward until their foreheads touched, eyes shut. "You promise?"

"I promise," Jungkook said. "When this is over, they'll wish they'd never touched you."

Namjoon called at 7 a.m. sharp the next day.

"I'm collecting everything," he said, his voice clipped, precise. "Every manipulated image, every falsified source, every unapproved pairing. Let them play their game. Don't panic."

He didn't stop the events. Not yet.

He needed evidence, intent, pattern, timeline. He was building a case, not a defense.

In a folder on his desktop, already labeled ATV: Violations (Final), there were now hundreds of attachments—emails, drafts, press briefs, edited image files, and unapproved social posts.

One email, dated the day before the shoot, from ATV's internal PR chain read,

"Encourage casual chemistry with Jaewon. No need to overdefine. Visual synergy sells."

Another from an executive to staff read,

"The public mood favors new beginnings. Keep pivoting narrative toward independence. Highlight contrast with past associations."

And the worst read,

"We can't control the pregnancy angle yet. Focus on distraction. Use Jaewon."

Outside, the headlines kept spinning. And somewhere, deep in a mirrored office, Hae-rim smiled thinly over her coffee cup, convinced she was winning.

For now.

***

At the ATV building, lights burned long past midnight.

In her glass office, Hae-rim stood by the window overlooking Gangnam, the city lights glittering like money. She scrolled through the trending tags, watching the numbers rise in real time—engagement spiking, mentions doubling, the brand sentiment graphs climbing exactly where she wanted them.

She'd done it again. Changed the narrative. That attorney's silence clause worked both ways. Six months were a long time to ruin someone's image. She could make or break anyone. Jimin was about to learn that the hard way.

Jaewon's face was everywhere. Jimin's name was everywhere. The agency's logo nestled right in between.

She smiled, slow and satisfied, setting her phone down.

"Good," she murmured. "Let them talk."

For the first time in months, she believed they had this under control.

***

The next scheduled photoshoot with Jaewon happened a week later. As far as Jimin knew, he was supposed to shoot with a male model. But what did he expect?

The entire week had been busy with him recording promotional materials for his upcoming brand campaigns and recording audio messages at the company. Tiring but not unbearable.

They also made him record a few guides and background vocals. He didn't refuse. He loved singing after all and the producer was good to him at least during his time working with him.

The studio was colder this time, lights harder, poses bolder. Jimin's stylist whispered, "Ignore the concept names. They just want heat."

He already knew. The wardrobe confirmed it. A low, draped silk top that clung just enough to outline the faint curve of his abdomen if he moved wrong. Jaewon's was a black leather jacket, collar sharp, his entire look deliberately opposite Jimin's palette again. Black and white, twisted parody. Underneath he was shirtless.

When he stepped on set, Jimin's gut tightened. He could feel the eyes tracking him—the managers, the PR staff, the brand reps pretending this was normal.

"Let's go for something dynamic," the photographer said. "You, Jimin-ssi, lean back slightly. Jaewon, close the distance, hover."

Jimin's voice was calm. "No touching."

The photographer smiled, brittle. "Of course, I was only suggesting."

Jaewon stepped forward anyway, close enough that his breath ghosted Jimin's ear. "You really hate being near me that much?"

"I hate being used," Jimin said.

"That's showbiz," Jaewon murmured. "If you're good, you adapt."

Jimin's eyes didn't leave the lens. "Then adapt somewhere else."

Click.

The shot caught both of them mid-breath, Jimin's chin high, Jaewon's smirk frozen somewhere between smug and startled.

When the set wrapped, Jimin didn't wait for polite bows. He walked straight past the monitors. Behind him, someone hissed, "He's impossible to manage."

Hyunwoo's voice followed, quiet but dangerous. "Keep talking and I'll make sure you find out what impossible really means."

By the time they got to the car, the unedited images were already leaking through internal group chats. "The tension is unreal," one caption said. "Maybe this is what heartbreak looks like."

+4200, -500 I hate to say it but the chemistry is 🔥

+3100, -900 Look at the way he's looking at Jaewon. You can't fake that.

+2600, -400 Maybe he really moved on. Jungkook's silence says it all.

+580, -80 Remember when he said he doesn't date coworkers? LMAO okay.

+300, -60 They're milking the breakup, I'm so done.

+7200, -1500 No way. He wouldn't move on that fast. Y'all really believe everything you see in one frame??

+6800, -1200 Jungkook's been quiet for a reason. He's protecting him. You'll see.

+6100, -700 Their silence is literally louder than this mess. They're still together, I'm not stupid.

+5400, -800 This is PR. It screams PR. The lighting, the poses, the timing. Come on.

+4800, -600 Everyone talking about chemistry like they didn't just Photoshop it.

+3500, -400 Look at his eyes. He looks tired, not in love. You can tell when someone's faking it.

+3000, -300 You guys forget how overworked he's been? He doesn't even look like he wants to be there.

+2800, -200 If you think Jimin would let some rookie replace Jungkook, you've never met Jimin.

+2300, -250 Bro... the man's wearing black again. They're literally trying to clone Jungkook 😭😭😭

+2000, -150 I miss them together. You could feel the love then. This just feels wrong.

+1700, -80 I hope Jungkook's okay seeing all this. He deserves better than watching them use Jimin like this.

+1600, -100 The way these companies treat idols like pawns... disgusting.

+1500, -50 "Chemistry"? Please. He looks like he's waiting for it to end.

+1200, -300 Jaewon is trying way too hard. It's giving rebound energy.

The online comments were piling up, fans were fighting each other all the while ATV stayed silent.

+5800, -900 So he really left Jungkook. Guess loyalty doesn't pay in this industry.

+5100, -700 "They're still together" delulus are wild 😭😭 look at him, he's glowing.

+4800, -600 I mean, Jungkook disappeared and now Jimin's thriving with a real alpha. Connect the dots.

+4200, -400 That breakup wrecked him. You can see it. The poor guy just needed attention.

+3800, -300 Maybe Jungkook couldn't keep up. Jaewon's got the confidence he never had.

+3200, -500 Remember when he said "some people don't fit forever"? Guess that was foreshadowing.

+2900, -400 He's a professional, sure, but flirting on camera like that? Yikes.

+2600, -300 Jimin's brand of heartbreak marketing is top-tier. I almost respect it.

+2400, -200 Jungkook deserves peace. Let Jimin play the PR game.

+2100, -100 Can't believe I used to defend them. What a joke.

The public opinion was divided but as the saying goes, any kind of publicity was good publicity.

+4000, -700 Hard to tell what's real anymore. Everything feels like marketing these days.

+3700, -500 Maybe they're just coworkers doing their jobs. Not everything has to be a scandal.

+3200, -400 Whoever's running ATV's PR deserves a raise. Everyone's talking about them again.

+2800, -300 He looks exhausted but still perfect. I just hope he's okay, honestly.

+2500, -200 Wild how one photo can turn the internet into a warzone.

The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the city bleeding through the balcony glass.

Inside, Jimin sat on the couch, barefoot, one of Jungkook's hoodies drowning him to his knees. It was past two. His phone screen glowed in the dark, the light pooling against his face like something fragile. He wasn't crying, but his eyes had that glassy, faraway look that said he was holding too much in his chest.

Jungkook leaned in the doorway for a moment before crossing over.
"Can't sleep?"

Jimin didn't answer right away. He just set the phone face-down on the coffee table and rubbed at his wrist. "It's all getting too much," he said finally, voice small but steady. "I wish I could say something and shut them all up."

Jungkook sat beside him without a word, close enough that their knees brushed. He didn't reach out at first. Just let the silence breathe between them until Jimin sighed, almost trembling.

"They think I moved on," Jimin whispered. "They think I left you. That I'm—"

His voice cracked and stopped there.

Jungkook shifted, turned, and pulled him into a slow embrace. Jimin went without resistance, folding into him until his cheek pressed against Jungkook's chest.

Neither spoke. The kind of silence they shared wasn't empty; it had a pulse.

Jungkook's hand found the back of his neck, fingers sliding into the soft hair there. He rubbed slow circles with his thumb, grounding.

"You're here," Jungkook murmured eventually. "That's what matters."

Jimin's breath hitched against his shirt. "I hate it."

"I know, baby," Jungkook said softly. "I know. I hate it too."
He pressed his lips to Jimin's temple, lingering there. "Let them talk. Let them choke on their own noise. Just a little more."

Jimin didn't answer, but his fingers found Jungkook's hoodie, twisting it gently. His breathing steadied. The tension in his shoulders loosened, just a little.

After a while, Jungkook spoke again, barely above a whisper.
"You're not alone in this. Not one second."

Jimin nodded against his chest, eyes closed. "I know," he murmured.

They stayed like that for a long time. No grand declarations, no promises that felt like vows, just the quiet rhythm of two people holding on while the world tried to spin without them.

Jungkook's thumb brushed the faint curve of Jimin's belly. "I don't care what they think," he said softly. "I don't care what any of them have to say. As long as you know I'm here."

Jimin hummed, half-asleep, words melting into the warmth of the moment. "I know," he breathed. "I always do."

***

Days blurred into weeks and weeks blurred into months. Two and a half months were gone in a blink of an eye.

Jimin had been working almost nonstop. Shoots stacked back-to-back, schedules shuffled at the last minute, his name attached to every brand willing to capitalize on his silence. It was clear what the company was doing. They were flooding his calendar, overexposing him just enough to remind him who controlled the narrative.

Namjoon noticed first. "They're front-loading," he muttered over the phone after reviewing the week's itinerary. "They're trying to squeeze every ounce of profit out of him before the hiatus. Don't let them push past the limits we agreed to."

"I won't," Jimin said, even though his reflection in the mirror looked tired enough to contradict him.

He worked six days straight.

The first two were for a cosmetics line that insisted on eight outfit changes under blazing white lights. The third, a fragrance campaign shot at dawn where the temperature dropped to single digits and the stylist kept insisting on "a little more collarbone."

The fourth and fifth were endorsement renewals, interviews that skirted every dangerous question with a smile and the phrase, "I'm just focusing on my work right now."
By the sixth, he'd learned how to answer everything without actually saying anything.

Jungkook hated every minute of it. He stayed nearby whenever he could, waiting in cars, hiding in back hallways, texting between takes, You've done enough.

But Jimin never stopped. Not until the seventh morning, when even his doctor frowned at the report of his fatigue.

"His vitals are stable," she said to Namjoon, "but if this pace continues, then he'll collapse again."

That was the first time Namjoon raised his voice in weeks. He called the agency and demanded an explanation.

They apologized, of course and cited a new employee, overlooking his special condition. Then smoothed it over with half-truths about rescheduled obligations, promising that the next event would be light, safe, "just a dinner."

Jimin almost believed them, but then he was waiting for it to end soon because that meant there was only one event left before he could take his maternity leave. Yes, he could stop working until a foreseeable future and withdrew to the safety of his home and into Jungkook's arms.

The brand dinner was supposed to be harmless. Limited press, indoors and just food. It sounded boring as usual. He'd have to sit through and look attentive but better than doing photoshoots.

That was what the company promised.

He almost believed them.

Until Jaewon showed up again.

He was already in the lounge when Jimin arrived, drink in hand, eyes gleaming like he knew something. The same stylist who'd fussed over their "chemistry" last time greeted them both a little too eagerly. The seating chart placed them side by side. Of course it did.

Hyunwoo had already taken position by the door, earpiece in. Jungkook hadn't come inside yet. Too public and too risky, but Jimin knew he was near. The knowledge steadied him.

Dinner began smoothly enough. Cameras clicked discreetly. The usual pleasantries floated around the table.

Then Jaewon leaned closer, voice pitched for Jimin alone. "You've been quiet lately," he said, swirling his drink. "Makes people wonder why. They talk you know and they're saying all sorts of things."

"Let them," Jimin said without looking up.

"Funny," Jaewon murmured. "You used to be better at playing the game. Now you just hide. Or maybe you don't have anyone left to perform for."

"Careful," Jimin said softly.

Jaewon smiled like it was a compliment. "Relax, sunbae. I'm just teasing. You used to have more fun. Guess the breakup really took it out of you, huh?"

Jimin's hand tightened on his napkin. "Watch your mouth."

Jaewon laughed softly. "Why? He's not here, is he?"

That did it.

Jimin stood abruptly, chair scraping against the marble floor. The room's chatter faltered for a second. He turned to the brand rep and managed a faint smile. "Excuse me. I need a moment."

Hyunwoo followed as Jimin left the table, holding the door open as he slipped into one of the adjoining lounge rooms the brand had set up for guests. The air was cooler there, quieter. A sofa sat near a window overlooking the city.

"Can you get Jungkook for me? Make sure no one sees him," he asked Hyunwoo. "I'll be here."

"Okay."

Jimin sat down slowly, pressing a hand to his abdomen as the faint nausea he'd been holding at bay all evening finally caught up. The fatigue was bone-deep. His body was screaming for rest.

He pulled out his phone and texted Jungkook.

To Jungkookie:

In the guest lounge. Not feeling great. Can you come get me?

The reply came immediately.

From Jungkookie: On my way.

Jimin exhaled, letting his head fall back. The lights were dim. His vision blurred slightly with exhaustion. He didn't even hear the door until it clicked shut again.

"Wow," Jaewon's voice came, lazy and amused. "Didn't think the mighty Park Jimin got stage fright."

Jimin's eyes opened, sharp now. "What are you doing here?"

"Relax," Jaewon said, hands up in mock surrender. "Just checking on you. You looked a little pale. I didn't want anyone to think I wasn't being considerate."

"Get out," Jimin said.

"Touchy," Jaewon teased, stepping closer instead of back. "You know, you're really good at this whole ice-prince act. Makes people forget how soft you were before."

Jimin's jaw clenched. "I said—"

Jaewon tilted his head, watching him with that smug smile that made Jimin's skin crawl. "You didn't seem to have trouble acting like that with him."

The words hit like ice water.

Jimin's fingers twitched against the armrest, but before he could move, the air changed.

A pulse of alpha pheromones rolled off Jaewon. Unrestrained, heady, the kind meant to overwhelm rather than attract. It was crude, disrespectful, the kind of thing no one did indoors unless they wanted to provoke.

Jimin's body reacted instantly. His scent flared sharp in defense, the faint sweetness of his pregnancy twisting under stress.

"Control your scent," Jimin said coldly, hand pressing against his thigh to steady himself. "You're in public."

Jaewon only smirked, taking another step closer, voice dropping. "Relax, sunbae. I'm just saying what everyone's thinking. You don't need him. You need someone who knows how to keep you relevant."

"Don't," Jimin warned.

"Come on," Jaewon murmured, fingers brushing the edge of Jimin's sleeve. He leaned forward until he was face to face with Jimin. If someone saw them now from a different angle, they'd think they were onto something. "Cooperate with me, and I'll make sure you stay on top for years. Forget him. He's not here to protect you anymore." A hand caressed his cheek.

That was it.

Jimin stood in one motion, his scent pulsing with anger.

"Don't ever touch me," he said, voice low, shaking from restraint. "And don't ever use his name again."

Jaewon blinked, lips curling like he couldn't believe he was being challenged. "You think I'm scared of him?"

"No," Jimin said. "You should be."

"You know you don't have to be such a stuck up bitch," Jaewon sneered. "You act all high and mighty while in reality you're nothing. It's all thanks to the agency. Didn't they push you onto Jungkook before? Didn't they stage this fake dating thing so you can become someone relevant in the industry? Didn't they set it all up so you could ride his coattails?"

Something in Jimin snapped. He took a step close enough that Jaewon's smirk faltered. "You don't get to say his name," Jimin said. His tone was calm, dangerously so. "You don't get to breathe it."

Jaewon chuckled, low. "Oh, come on. Everyone knows that story ended. They also know he used to fuck you in between the sets." He closed the distance, his pheromones pulsing with something entirely different now. I promise, sunbae-nim. I'm very good at those things. I can satisfy you behind the doors better than he did. And you won't face any of the issues you faced with the company. I'll even tell them to be nice to you." He grinned. One hand lifted again to settle on his waist with purpose. "Come on, omega. You don't have to pretend in front of me."

"Let go."

Jaewon's laugh was quiet and mean. He didn't even flinch at Jimin's glare. He just tilted his head, that same lazy smirk tugging at his mouth. "What's wrong, sunbae? No comeback? Maybe you're just—"

The sound cut him off.

A single, clean crack that snapped through the room like a gunshot.
Jimin's palm connected hard enough to turn Jaewon's face sideways, the echo still hanging in the air before anyone breathed again.

The sting burned up Jimin's arm, but he didn't look away. Not for a second.

Jaewon froze, cheek already reddening, hand halfway up like he couldn't decide whether to touch his face or his pride first. The hand on his waist vanished immediately and the pheromones withdrew.

Jimin's voice came out low, trembling with anger. His chest heaved with anger.

"You ever try that again," he said, "and I'll break more than your ego."

Silence swallowed the room. Even the hum of the air conditioner sounded distant, out of place.

Jaewon blinked, disbelief flickering into anger. "You—"

"Get. Out."

The words weren't loud, but they carried enough weight to pin him in place.

Something about Jimin's stance, the squared shoulders, the defiant chin, the way his scent filled the air like a warning made it clear he meant it. And for the first time that night, Jaewon hesitated.

Jimin's breathing was ragged now, shoulders tight, every nerve in his body humming. "That was your warning," he said quietly. "Next time, I won't stop there."

Jaewon's shock curdled fast into anger. "You think you can touch me and walk away? I could ruin you with one sentence."

"Try," came another voice from behind him.

Jungkook.

The door hadn't even made a sound. He was just there, suddenly, standing in the threshold like he'd always been meant to arrive at that exact second. His expression was unreadable. His posture was relaxed, but there was nothing gentle about it.

His expression was unreadable, eyes dark and steady. He wasn't angry in the loud way people expect, no shouting, no snarling. He never yelled. But that cold look of displeasure he gives people was enough to shut them up.

Even now his eyes held that quiet, coiled stillness that made everyone instinctively move back. But Jimin wanted to sag in relief because to him that was his safety net.

Jaewon turned slowly, his confidence draining. "Ah. The ghost himself," he said, unaware of what Jungkook was capable of. Or he firmly believed Jungkook wouldn't cross that line with him. Fool. His laugh didn't hold any humor but he did step back.

Jungkook's steps were unhurried as he closed the space between them. When he stopped, he was close enough that Jaewon had to tilt his head back slightly.

"You're brave," Jungkook said softly. "Touching what isn't yours. Talking about what you'll never understand."

Jaewon scoffed, trying to recover his smirk, his false bravado thinning. "Relax, hyung. We were joking—"

Up close, Jungkook didn't even need to raise his voice. "You were saying?"

Jaewon's throat worked. "I—"

"Because from where I'm standing," Jungkook said softly, "you look like a man who's about to regret every word he just spoke."

The tone wasn't loud, but it landed like a hand on the back of Jaewon's neck like a grip that was steady, inevitable, impossible to shake off.

Jaewon tried to smirk again, but the corners of his mouth wouldn't quite hold. His shoulders twitched, and for a flicker of a second, he looked like what he really was. A boy playing alpha in front of a wolf.

Jungkook's hand moved fast, grabbing the front of Jaewon's jacket and lifting him off his balance with effortless strength. "You don't joke about him," he said. The calm in his voice was colder than fury. "You don't talk about him. You don't even think about him."

Jaewon's face went pale. "I didn't mean—"

Jungkook's grip tightened. "And you sure as hell don't corner a pregnant omega when his alpha isn't in the room."

Jaewon blinked. "Preg—"

"Yeah," Jungkook said, leaning closer, voice low. "He's carrying my pup. You should be grateful I'm still talking instead of breaking your jaw."

Jaewon's mouth opened, closed. "I-I didn't know—"

"Even if you didn't, that doesn't give you permission to corner an omega," Jungkook said, releasing him with a shove that sent him stumbling back. "That's the problem with newbies like you. You never think before you act." He shook him once. "Your company might have set you up for this, but one should never surrender his conscience."

"I-I'm sorry."

"You can shove that apology up your ass. I don't want you or your scent anywhere near my omega or my pup. Listen very carefully, pup. Now you're going to go out there, smile for the cameras, and pretend this never happened. You leave and never speak to anyone about this."

Jimin's hand found Jungkook's wrist, grounding him. He could feel the tremor under his skin, his rage barely contained.

"Okay." Jaewon lifted both hands in surrender. "I will. I'm sorry. I-I'll be out of here. I won't ever talk to him again. I-I promise."

Jungkook's jaw flexed once. He lowered him slowly, never once breaking eye contact. The hard set of his jaw remained. Then he turned slightly, one hand wrapping around his mate's waist, coming to rest instinctively over Jimin's stomach. His body curved protectively, instinct overriding everything else.

He looked back at Jaewon. "You ever so much as breathe in his direction again," he said quietly, "and I'll make sure your agency knows exactly why your career ended before it began."

Jaewon's mouth worked uselessly, but no sound came out.

"Get out," Jungkook said.

Jaewon rushed out. He didn't look back.

Silence filled the room, thick and trembling with adrenaline. Jimin leaned lightly into Jungkook's touch, exhaling slowly. His hands were shaking now, the delayed shock setting in.

Jungkook pressed his forehead to Jimin's, breathing him in. "You okay?"

Jimin nodded once, though the word didn't quite make it past his throat. "Yeah. Just angry. He said your name in a way I didn't like."

Jungkook's hand slid to the back of his neck. "He won't again."

Outside, muffled chatter resumed in the dining room. But here, it was just them. Steady heartbeats and the quiet thrum of shared anger cooling into something else.

Jimin leaned into his chest, and Jungkook's arms came around him, sure and solid. The world could speculate, twist, and claw, but right here, the truth was steady and unshakable.

When they finally stepped out, Hyunwoo was waiting by the door, eyes flicking from Jimin's face to Jungkook's hand still resting protectively over his stomach. No words were needed.

They left together, quietly.

Chapter Text

Words: 8.2k

The day started with a lie unknown to Jimin.

"Just a light outdoor shoot," they'd said. "No crowd, no heavy work. Just a few clips for the Seoul tourism campaign."

That morning, Jimin had told himself, and the quiet apartment that sheltered them, that this was the last small thing. One last commitment before the hiatus breathed its clean, inevitable space into their lives.

"This is the last one," Jimin said at breakfast, voice small and hopeful. "They said it's outdoors, but controlled. Light crew. A city tourism shoot. They'll do B-roll with the skyline and a few closeups at the Han River promenade, and it's done. Then I'm done. For a while."

Jungkook looked up from his breakfast and smiled like he believed it. The smile was tired at the edges, but it reached his eyes. "Then we'll be done," he said. "I wish I could be there with you."

Jimin sighed, leaning into his side. "Too risky," he mumbled. "Too many eyes."

He felt the weight of every camera angle and every whisper that might be waiting beyond the doors. He knew how little privacy meant in their world.

"I hate that you'll be alone and away from me," Jungkook complained, nuzzling into his neck.

"Just a few hours," Jimin consoled. "After that I'm not leaving your side for the foreseeable future."

"I'll hold you to that."

Hyunwoo, the new security guard, was already a steady presence in the apartment and in their lives. He was quiet and efficient and patient in ways that Jimin couldn't explain in mere words. Hyunwoo had the look of someone who could move a crowd aside with the same calm he used to adjust a coat. Jimin trusted him.

"Call me if anything looks off," Jungkook said. "I'll hold you to the last minute."

Jimin nodded. The last minute felt like a long road. He finished his breakfast, took his vitamins and let Jungkook help him into a soft-shouldered jacket that hid the curve he was beginning to see. The jacket was safe.

He left with Hyunwoo, Minseok, and a small crew of guards Namjoon arranged just because it was an outdoor shoot. The company said they only needed him for two to three hours and they promised it to be the lightest possible.

The production van waited, pale sunlight bouncing off its side. The location was the Han River promenade. It was city-famous and public, but the company had assured them there would be a security detail to handle the public.

They had told them that everything was cleared, that PR and security would coordinate, that the crowd would be kept far enough back to let Jimin work without anyone breathing down his neck. The words had felt rehearsed, but that morning they sounded like a promise.

Namjoon had called early to double-check the clearance document. He had been in court. He had trusted the line of names on the manifest. He had been promised an onsite doctor.

When the van pulled up and they opened the side doors, the first thing Jimin noticed was how loud the city was. It had a different edge when you were out in it instead of behind curtains.

The wind tasted like plastic bags and kettle smoke from a food stall a block over. The sound of someone tuning a radio bled from an adjacent vendor. The crew bustled with a brittle energy, an undercurrent that made Jimin's ribs ache.

A production manager greeted them with a smile so fast it flashed like a camera. "We decided on this exact spot, Mr. Park. It's perfect for the new daylight sequence. Fans will love the skyline. Photogenic angle and all that."

Jimin paused in the shade of the van. He frowned at the line of people across the lawn. A cluster of bodies stood where an hour ago Hyunwoo had said there would be only a handful of staff. People leaned against the rail as if they had every right to be there. Beyond them, someone lifted a long lens. More than one, actually. Jimin's stomach dropped.

Hyunwoo's jaw tightened. He stepped in front of Jimin, hands splayed at his sides like a wall, and looked at the production manager the exact way someone looks at a piece of machinery that has been set to the wrong voltage.

"This wasn't the location we agreed to," he said. "We were told it'd be mostly private and non-accessible to the public. Who cleared this?"

"Ah, the management," the manager said, thinning his smile. "We moved it when we saw an opening in the schedule. It's fine. We got extra permits. No problem."

Hyunwoo clenched his jaw. "Where's his caravan?"

"There." The manager pointed and began to say something but Hyunwoo didn't wait.

He swiftly ushered Jimin into the caravan and shut the door behind them. Hyunwoo's phone was already in his hand, quickly shooting out a few texts probably to mobilize the security team. He looked equally tense.

Jimin continued to frown with the new development and felt the beginning of a new headache forming behind his eyelids.

The manager's voice faded under the low hum of traffic outside. Jimin sat on the small caravan couch, watching light bleed through the blinds in pale streaks. It wasn't what he'd been promised. But he had learned long ago that the word promise meant very little in this industry.

A soft knock on the caravan door followed a few minutes later. One of the company's on-site staff, a woman in a pressed beige blazer and a fixed, polite smile, stepped in holding a small paper cup and a sealed blister pack.

"Jimin-ssi," she began, tone saccharine, "this is a standard suppressant dose. It'll help with your scent regulation since the space isn't fully closed off. Just precautionary, you know? We don't want to risk drawing unnecessary attention."

Hyunwoo straightened immediately, his frame filling the doorway before Jimin could even answer. "Who authorized that?"

The woman blinked, clearly not expecting to be questioned. "It's in the new brief from the management. They said it's for his safety. His doctor cleared it."

Jimin frowned, the dull ache in his temples tightening. "My doctor didn't clear anything," he said quietly.

She hesitated, still holding the cup out. "It's just a mild suppressant, I promise. Half dose. It's standard for open venues, especially since—"

"Since what?" Hyunwoo interrupted. His tone was level, but it carried weight.

She faltered. "Since his condition could... attract attention."

Jimin's stomach turned. He looked down at the white tablets glinting against the foil, their edges too sharp. His doctor specifically warned him against these. Suppressants were not safe for pregnancy.

He shook his head. "No. I'm not taking that."

The woman's smile wavered. "Jimin-ssi, it's really better for you—"

"It's not up for discussion," Hyunwoo cut in, stepping forward. His voice didn't rise, but the temperature in the small space seemed to drop anyway. He reached out, plucked the blister pack neatly from her hand, and placed it on the counter beside the sink. "If you're concerned about his wellbeing, start by following the medical memo we circulated to the team last week. The one that explicitly prohibits any form of suppressant."

Her lips parted, ready to argue, but she caught the look in his eyes and thought better of it. "Understood," she said finally, voice thin.

"Good," Hyunwoo replied, already pulling out his phone. "Then you can leave now."

She hesitated, then turned, muttering something under her breath as she left. The door clicked softly behind her.

The silence that followed was thick. Jimin's hands had curled into the fabric of his jacket, knuckles pale.

"Hyunwoo," he said quietly, after a moment. "You think they knew?"

Hyunwoo's gaze stayed fixed on his screen as he typed, his expression hard. "They knew. Namjoon-ssi is in the court and I'm talking to his assistant. He'll call as soon as he's able to." He hit send on the text, then met Jimin's eyes. "You don't do anything until I say it's safe."

Jimin exhaled slowly, trying to unclench his jaw. "It's supposed to be easy today. Just one last shoot."

"I know," Hyunwoo said, softer now. "We'll get through it. Just stay inside until the crowd clears." He took a photo of the suppressant before bagging it and pocketing it. The he went to the window

Hyunwoo tapped his earpiece and spoke into his mic. He began to register people on his phone. Names, staff IDs, license plates. He started filming the crowd with a quiet, methodical calm. Hyunwoo was always very good at turning panic into paperwork. Namjoon would need a paper trail.

The clothes they prepared for him today were loose-fitted and paired with an oversized cardigan. He finished with his make-up and waited.

But the crowd didn't clear. It grew.

Either way, after fifteen minutes, the filming crew moved Jimin through the caravan door and into a small ring of crew that tried to look casual but were not. The stylist fussed with a collar, a hand on Jimin's shoulder. The camera lens swiveled into position.

The first frames were easy. Jimin smiled, following the script posing for cameras like he was born for it. There was a steadiness to the way he held his body, a learned habit of keeping panic from the angles. The crew filmed him walking with a branded umbrella, looking at the skyline as if he had nothing else to hold.

Once done, he was immediately back into the safety of his caravan, waiting for the next call. Hyunwoo continued to be his shadow.

When they moved to the other side of the location, it was the same as before. Jimin shot and hurried back to the caravan. For a brief moment, Jimin hoped the rest of the shoot would go as quick as the previous two sets. He changed into his next outfit, which was similarly loose-fitted and waited.

A knock came and Minseok entered, whispering something in Hyunwoo's ears. He went to the caravan windows and peeked outside.

The park beyond the caravan window had filled in strange, creeping ways. People pretending to jog slowed down, phones in hand. A few couples stood too close to the barricades, pointing discreetly in their direction. Someone in a cap and mask adjusted a camera strap for the fifth time.

Hyunwoo frowned, pulling back the curtain a fraction. "They said this area was blocked off."

"It was," Minseok's voice came through the comm, taut with irritation. "The barriers are down on the west side. Looks like the press slipped in. And fans too."

"Of course they did," Hyunwoo muttered, rubbing a hand over his jaw. He turned to Jimin. "Stay put. I'll check the perimeter."

He stepped out, the door closing behind him with a quiet click. Jimin sat there with Minseok hovering by the window, keeping an eye outside. Jimin leaned forward with his hands pressed to his knees. He tried to breathe slowly, like his therapist had taught him, but every inhale felt too shallow.

Outside, voices swelled. He could hear laughter, chatter, the faint hum of someone shouting his name.

He counted to twenty, then thirty, until Hyunwoo returned. "They're insisting it's safe," Hyunwoo said. "They said they've called extra security. The producers are begging us to start before the light shifts."

Jimin looked up. "Is it safe?"

Hyunwoo hesitated. "Safe enough," he said, but his tone betrayed him. "But I don't like it. Anything could go wrong." He glanced at Jimin for a long moment. "Do you really want to continue? You can call this off and we will take you home right away."

Jimin thought for a moment and shook his head. He took one shuddering breath, then another. "I don't want to give them any reason to hold against me."

"We'll stay closer. I have already mobilized our team. If you feel unsafe, just turn to one of us and we will get you out in an instant," Hyunwoo assured.

"Okay." Jimin nodded.

He didn't want to make things harder. Didn't want to give them more reason to label him difficult. So he stood, adjusted his jacket, and followed Hyunwoo out. As he exited, Hyunwoo quickly pointed out where the other security guards were and Jimin took note of it.

The air hit him like static. It was bright and sharp and full of noise. The crew had set up reflectors, cameras, mics, and lighting rigs. A few meters beyond the taped perimeter, dozens of people had gathered with phones held high.

The area they led him too was far too crowded for a shoot like this. Jimin suppressed the frown and pulled on his professional mask, all the while feeling the tension rolling off from Hyunwoo in waves.

Someone yelled his name and he flinched. When they screamed his name at the music shows and concerts or other official events, there was a sense of safety he felt, a sense of belonging but what followed this time was pure fear.

He's had his fair share of run-ins with saessangs in the past. They'd follow him everywhere, giving him little to no privacy. They'd book rows of seats in the plane he was supposed to travel, shoving phones into his face. Then there were incidents where a few tried to hug him or touch him in any manner.

After one such incident and a public outburst, Jimin was given a proper security team by his company. But now being here it suddenly felt like one of those days where he had to worry about being groped or pulled into the crowd.

"Jimin-ssi, just a simple walk toward the camera, pause, and smile," the director called out. "We'll get the skyline behind you. Two takes tops!"

He nodded, trying to focus on the directions, on the lines he'd memorized. His team moved around him in practiced choreography but away from the cameras.

The first take started well enough. He walked to the mark, turned toward the Han River, smiled when cued. The light hit just right, warm and even. For a second, it almost felt normal.

Then someone screamed his name louder and others followed.

It was small at first, the kind of sound that usually got swallowed by the wind. But others caught it. Then more. The crowd swelled forward, pushing against the barricades.

Hyunwoo's voice cut through the comms. "We're getting movement. Pull him back, now."

The director waved him off. "It's fine! Just fans! Ready for the next shot. Jimin-ssi, now do it from this side please."

It wasn't fine. Not even close.

The familiar panic was growing inside him. The foreboding churning in the pit of his stomach right before something went wrong. He glanced around frantically, gazing at Hyunwoo who was the nearest and slowly backing toward him.

Something was about to go terribly wrong.

"Jimin-ssi, get to this side please. We are ready."

But Jimin felt the rush of something in his ears, his throat closing up as the crowd screamed.

It lasted for two minutes before something in the crowd broke. A shift of people made the perimeter wobble. Jimin didn't even see from where or how the rest of his security team materialized in front of him until all he could see was their broad backs.

"Don't let him out," Hyunwoo said through his teeth into the comms. "Get him to safety." He tightened his grip on Jimin's arm.

There was panic.

A cluster of cameras on the opposite side grew bold. It was not just regular paparazzi. There were bodies pushing from the left and right, a gathering force that tasted like calculation. Earlier the producers had promised a limited press presence. That had been true. They had not promised that a pulled thread would not unravel an entire spool of strangers.

Jimin's breath began to stutter. His pulse where Hyunwoo's hand rested felt too fast. The scent change was subtle but it mattered. He had always smelled different when he was afraid. Now it was bitter and surrounded everyone in the vicinity like a withered flower.

"Do it for thirty more seconds," the director shouted. "Just one more shot. We're almost done."

"No. We need to remove him right this instant."

Hyunwoo stood his ground. He planted himself between Jimin and the others. Through the gap Jimin spotted the company staff's poor attempt to control the crowd that were pushing them away to get to him.

Jimin didn't understand how the director could claim that they still had it under control and believe everything would be normal even after all this.

A figure slipped through the security. An arm reached. A fan or a sasaeng, you could not tell in the blur of bodies, but whoever it was had intent. They tried to close on Jimin's hand like a moth to a flame.

They began to move immediately, the guards swatting the body of people and limbs that reached for him.

Minseok and the rest of the security closed, but they were outmanned. People pressed against the rails and tried to jump the line. The sound of a camera shutter went from professional clicking to a country-wide drum. The air smelled of sweat and street food and the metallic taste of adrenaline.

One man lunged with a phone on a long selfie stick. Another tried to climb the railing. The small ring of crew that had been arranged around Jimin shuddered as the crowd pushed forward. Hands reached. Someone grabbed his jacket. Someone's shoulder slammed into his ribs.

Jimin tried to step back. He was paralyzed between the pull to flee and the shape of his responsibility. He had, until now, carried himself like the prototype of a calm idol because that was what people needed. Now his body chose its own answer. He swayed.

Hyunwoo's voice rose, sharp as a snapped wire. "Get back. Get back now." He shoved, soft hands like stone, and his team met him. For a moment it held. Then another wave pushed.

The camera on the director's rig bumped. The stunt that was supposed to be a controlled moment unspooled into a mob.

Jimin's breath shortened into something rattling. The sun pressed on his back like a hot plate. The jacket chafed the place where his ribs had been fragile since the faint. He tried to draw air in and it tasted wrong.

Someone's hand found his shoulder. It was a friendly hand, a stranger's hand and it was rough and too warm and it made him stumble forward. The world collapsed into noise and bright flashes and the hard breath of strangers. He felt his knees fold like a gate failing. Hands were there to catch him in a panic that had not been planned for. Hyunwoo's arms wrapped around him and the world narrowed to a tunnel of heavy, panicked voices.

"Hyunwoo!" he heard someone shouting. "Security!"

"I have him," Hyunwoo said into his mic. He turned, ready to pull Jimin into the van, but the crowd could not be persuaded by logic. They pushed sideways, desperate, as if they could force an intimacy by sheer force of will.

Jimin's vision went gray at the edges. He felt the hot prickling of sweat slide down his spine like a tiny betrayal. He heard the jangling of a charm bracelet and the shout of a woman trying to get closer. His knees gave.

When the crowd became unbearable, Hyunwoo scooped him up and the panic became a small earthquake beneath his ribs.

"Hyunwoo," someone screamed close and panicked and near, "we can't hold them off!"

Minseok shoved a man back. He swung an arm and the long lens of a camera cracked against someone's shoulder. The crew's soundman cried out. The director yelled for the shoot to stop. A production assistant was cursing into a phone. The crowd smelled like wet paper and cheap cologne.

Jimin's world contracted to the shape of Minseok's broad back and the press of other guards around him. They were close. Just a few more feet. He tried to blink away the black specks dancing across the edges of his vision.

He tried to picture Jungkook's face. He tried to think of their early mornings and late nights. He thought of the chart on the fridge, the tiny stars that Jimin pretended to hate. He reached for something ordinary and his hand closed on a fabric strap.

"Breathe," Hyunwoo ordered. "In. Out."

Those last few feet toward the van felt like forever to reach. The push and pull stirred his nausea.

"Jimin-ssi, now would be a great time to faint."

"Huh?" He glanced at Hyunwoo's concentrated face, safe in his arms, being carried away.

"Faint," Hyunwoo repeated. "I have a plan."

And Jimin didn't question him even though he didn't understand. He let his head lol to the side and forced his body to go slack. He didn't know if anyone would believe but he didn't have time to worry about all that.

"Medic!" Hyunwoo thundered that instant. "He fainted!"

There was a roar. Even though Jimin couldn't really see what was going on, they were moving. That was all he needed.

There were shouts, hollers and suddenly he was being hauled into the van. The familiar controlled scent of his pheromones and leather surrounded him first.

Hyunwoo sat with him on his lap before the van's doors banged.

People on the lawn toppled toward each other in a desperate sea. He cracked an eye open to see someone tried to slip a hand through the open door of the van to touch his shoulder. Hyunwoo slammed the door. The van lurched like a boat resisting a shore.

The driver stepped on gas. The crowd was forced to part, the horn blaring and making Jimin wince again. When they began to see the path ahead, the driver sped up and then slammed the van into traffic, weaving like a person who had been accosted by a storm and needed to outrun it.

Hyunwoo slowly eased him into the seat next to him and Minseok went to the backseat. Jimin's hands still held a tremble as he tried to process what just happened.

The city closed around them in a blur. The world folded into the small private darkness at the back of the vehicle.

Jimin's phone blared and he flinched at the sound. But the ringtone immediately offered a sense of security only one person in this world could.

He relaxed further, seeing Jungkook's name and photo on his screen. He swiped his thumb across the screen and pressed it to his ears.

"Hello."

"Hyunwoo—baby?" Jungkook's voice was ragged, breathless, like he'd been running. Somewhere behind him, a door slammed.

"It's me," Jimin breathed, his ribs relaxing instantly at the sound. "I'm okay."

There was a pause, short and sharp, like disbelief needed a second to catch up."B-But I saw you—you fainted. I saw Hyunwoo carrying you out. They're saying you collapsed." His words stumbled over each other, panic raw and unfiltered. "Why the fuck are you even on the phone? Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere? Tell me where you are, I'm coming—"

"Hyunwoo told me to act," Jimin said gently, cutting him off before the worry spiraled into something bigger. "I'm okay. I promise. I'm safe. We're on the road."

There was a soft exhale on the other end, part relief, part disbelief. "You... you what?"

Jimin almost smiled, voice still faint. "He told me to faint so he could get me out."

For a second, all Jungkook could do was listen to the faint hum of the car engine through the line, like proof that Jimin was still breathing, still moving through space and not lost in the chaos he'd watched on the live feed moments ago. "Holy fuck," he whispered, raking a hand through his hair. "You scared the life out of me. I saw your head lolling—" his voice cracked— "and I couldn't do anything. I thought—"

"I know," Jimin murmured, guilt softening every syllable. "I'm sorry. It was the only way out. The crowd was everywhere. Wait, let me switch you to the video call."

"Okay."

He ended the call and immediately placed another call. Jungkook's face immediately filled the frame and features relaxed with instant relief.

"Baby," he breathed.

Jungkook pressed his hand to his mouth, eyes burning. He was still standing in the middle of his company hallway. "Thank God you're okay."

Before Jimin could answer, Hyunwoo's face peeped through the frame. "Jungkook-ssi, this is Hyunwoo."

Jungkook straightened instinctively. "What happened? I thought everything was handled."

"He's fine," Hyunwoo assured him. "We're heading to the hospital anyway, just for the record. I thought it'll help us build a case for endangering his safety. Namjoon-ssi is stuck in court and I couldn't reach him. His company broke all protocols. No notice about the location change, no medical staff on-site, no perimeter control."

Jungkook's features went dark. "They what?"

"They moved the shoot without approval," Hyunwoo continued. "Fans and paparazzi were already there when we arrived. I pointed out the lack of security but they kept insisting that it was safe. They also wanted him to take a suppressant before the shoot too. Said it was for 'safety.' I have bagged it as evidence."

Jungkook's intense gaze burned through the screen. "Those bastards."

Hyunwoo's tone didn't change. "Since they violated the contract, I thought it'd be best to give them a taste of their own medicine. A very public collapse as a result of their negligence. That's twice in six months. It also gave us a chance to get him out."

Jungkook's breath hitched, then he huffed out something between a laugh and a growl. "You're a genius."

"Just doing my job," Hyunwoo said simply. "We'll be at Seoul National in fifteen minutes. I've already texted Namjoon-ssi."

"Okay. I'll meet you there," Jungkook said, already beginning to walk to his car. "Don't let anyone near him. Not a single staff member. If they show up, call hospital security and complain about trespassing."

"Understood."

"Put him on again?" Jungkook asked.

The phone shuffled for a second before Jimin's voice returned, smaller this time. "Yeah?"

"Don't hang up," Jungkook said, already locking the studio behind him. "Just keep talking to me. I'm coming."

Jimin smiled faintly, the first genuine one since morning. "Okay."

"Promise me you're okay. You're not really hurt, right? You're not hiding it from me, are you?"

"I'm really okay," Jimin whispered. Beside him, Hyunwoo angled his body away from him, looking outside the car window. "You don't need to break traffic laws to get here."

"Can't help it," Jungkook said, voice low, fierce, alive again. "Text your best friend before he breaks someone's jaw."

"Okay." He chuckled.

Through the phone, Jimin could hear the steady growl of Jungkook's engine starting, the crunch of gravel under his tires, the sound of someone who would tear the city apart just to get to him.

Maybe things hadn't gone the way they had expected but certainly it would end the way they hoped. He cradled his belly as he got comfortable in the seat, talking to Jungkook and pretended they weren't being followed by media fans.

***

At the hospital, hands moved quickly. Hyunwoo carried Jimin into triage the way someone might carry a candle through wind. They rolled him to a bed. The last time he was being wheeled in, he didn't have a clue what was going on around him.

The nurses moved with a practiced urgency. Machines hummed and bloomed into life. Hyunwoo spun a story of him waking up in the car.

Someone in scrubs asked him a hundred soft questions he could not answer. Blood pressure. Pulse. Oxygen.

A doctor leaned close with a stethoscope and the world shrank to the flat, efficient sound of a heartbeat that wanted to be steady. The doctor's face was small and focused and terrible with its lack of surprise.

"He's pregnant," the doctor said when Hyunwoo asked for certainty, because in medicine they said things plainly. "We'll do a panel to be safe. I see Dr. Han attended him the last time. We have paged him. He should be here sooner."

Hyunwoo slid into the chair by the bed and watched Jimin while they waited for Jungkook to arrive.

When he arrived, he didn't just walk in. He stormed in.

"Baby," Jungkook exhaled, voice rough and low. He cupped Jimin's face in both hands, eyes scanning him head to toe. "You said you were fine but you look pale as hell."

Jimin smiled, exhausted but amused. "I told you, I'm okay. Just tired."

"I know you faked it, but Jesus, Jimin," Jungkook said, jaw tight. "I don't ever want to see you go through that again." He let out a shaky laugh, relief cutting through the adrenaline. "You pulled it off too well."

"We—"

Before Jimin could say something, the door opened again and Namjoon appeared. He looked like he'd sprinted straight from court, jacket in one hand, tie half undone, fury still fresh on his face. His assistant followed, equally looking haggard and phone out as if she was making calls.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded, voice low but lethal.

Hyunwoo straightened immediately. "They changed the location without informing us. No medics. No security perimeter. No safety check. They even tried to make him take a suppressant. I've already checked with the doctor. This could have harmed the baby."

Namjoon froze mid-step, then his eyes flicked to Jimin. "They what?"

Hyunwoo gestured to his bag. "Here. Not sure how helpful this would be."

Namjoon exhaled sharply through his nose, looking like the very definition of a man who was trying not to swear in front of witnesses. "You did good," he said finally, turning back to Jimin. "Are you hurt?"

Jimin shook his head. "No. Just tired."

"And you faked the faint?" Namjoon's voice softened just slightly. "I saw the videos. It looked so real. Anything could have gone wrong."

"Hyunwoo's plan," Jimin said, smiling faintly.

"They knew what they were doing. I was only trying to give them a taste of their own medicine. Hoped it'll work in our favor."

Namjoon blinked once, then let out a slow, disbelieving laugh. "That's... actually brilliant."

"I thought so too," Hyunwoo said evenly, folding his hands across his chest. "I had a feeling they would brush this under the rug and pretend they didn't just put him in danger, especially in his condition. This might give us some leverage."

Namjoon looked between them, then sighed. "I swear, if you ever decide to go into law, I might lose my job."

That drew a chuckle from Jimin and Jungkook.

"Learned from observing you, sir," Hyunwoo said.

But the light-heartedness soon lulled and Namjoon's expression shifted. "They violated every clause in the contract—duty of care, medical oversight, safety compliance. They're done."

He turned to Hyunwoo. "Send me a full report tonight. We'll make our move now."

"Sure."

Namjoon nodded once, then faced Jimin again. "You listen to me, Jimin-ah," he said, lowering his voice, "I know it's hard not to feel like the world's watching you drown, but you're not alone. Rest and let me handle them for you."

Jimin nodded, expression clearing with something akin to relief. "Okay."

Namjoon squeezed his shoulder, the gesture grounding. "Just hang on a little longer, alright? I'm going to make sure this is the last time they ever touch you without permission."

He turned toward the door, already pulling out his phone. "Jungkook, stay with him. I'll have a word with the doctor and keep him here for a couple of days while we spin the media narrative in our favor. Hyunwoo, don't let anyone from the company near this room. I'll be back later."

Once he left, Jungkook sat beside the bed, brushing his thumb over Jimin's hand. His voice was softer now, edged with exhaustion and affection. "You know, for someone who says he's done with drama, you sure know how to headline it."

Jimin let out a quiet laugh. "Yeah, well... you fell for me knowing that."

Jungkook's mouth curved. "Can't argue with that."

"Did you call our parents?"

"Mhmm... Already informed them. Else they'd be on their way now. Told them this time it's planned."

"Hmm..."

He leaned down, kissed Jimin's temple, and whispered against his skin, "You did so damn well today, baby. Now let me worry for a while, okay?"

Jimin smiled faintly, eyes fluttering shut. "Okay.

For the first time since the morning, the world felt calm again. It was somewhat over. Whatever narrative the company was trying to build shouldn't hold for much longer. The media was a two edged sword. It didn't know who was on the other side.

Outside, the city was already spinning their story. But in that room, breathing in sync, holding onto the quiet before the next storm hit.

***

The world did what the world always does. It turned a moment into a movement. It loved drama. Blew up things out of proportion just for entertainment. Then it forgot and moved onto its next target.

Jimin has always been its favorite subject. All celebrity figures were, but Jimin had a special place for some reason.

He was the most loved celebrity, the IT boy of Korea, but there was a group of people who hated him just because he was loved. They despised him because of everything he represented.

No matter what the circumstances were, his name was always trending for one or other reason. No matter whatever political or other worldly events going on, his name would trend side by side.

So it was only natural when the media exploded with a live video of him being mobbed and fainting as a result.

Within an hour of the van door slamming, someone on the scene had a video up. The clip, taken from a first floor shop window, was raw. It showed Jimin walking, the Han River in gold behind him, the sun catching the line of his jaw. Then showed how the line broke, the crowd surged, and how the bodyguard's hand closed over Jimin's elbow.

The camera continued to show as someone lunged even as the shop owner who shot it dialed the emergency. It was chaos. They flocked him like flies, pushing and pushing.

Jimin swayed. The mob outnumbered his security detail. Then the bodyguard bent to hoist the omega star in his arms protectively, tried to get him to safety but they couldn't move an inch. They were closer to the van but the crowd had blocked the path from every direction.

The pop star looked panicked and then his head lolled to the side. The bodyguard yelled something and for a moment the crowd around them seemed to realize something.

They managed to break through the last of them and enter the van just in time. Still so many tried to shove their phones inside. The van door slammed.

That was the clip everyone saw. It wasn't the polished edit the company had tried to control, trying to paint it as his immense popularity. It was an artist being carried out because the company failed to do their job.

The internet did not wait for a press release. It roared.

Hashtags trended. More saesang videos went online, fueling fan's anger. Fans uploaded slow-mo frames, screengrabs, angle analyses.

An insider account posted a thread hinting that the location change had been pushed through and no proper security protocol was followed. A video compiled of him fainting from several angles. It captured the pure panic and fear on his face before it happened. That clip alone hit millions before the day was over.

Busan Daily's Chief Editor, Kim Seokjin moved like a man who knew how to start a forest fire. He used the channels to stroke the resulting fire in the right direction. He only had to release snippets of Jimin being mistreated and overworked. The world took care of the rest.

No one cared who the inside source was. Only the words mattered. ATV Entertainment will today learn the rumors and gossip mills worked both ways.

The comments poured in, ripping the label into shreds. Fans assembled in front of the ATV building with banners.

+1532, -156 That's not a crowd, that's a stampede. Who the hell thought this was safe for him?

+987, -43 He looked terrified. This isn't fan enthusiasm. This is mismanagement and neglect.

+603, -22 Why was there no security perimeter? He's one of the biggest stars in the country. How is this acceptable?

+1211, -311 The bodyguard deserves a raise. He literally carried him out while getting shoved.

+789, -95 People treat idols like zoo exhibits and then act shocked when something like this happens. Disgusting.

+2103, -65 And the company's response? "He's fine." Sure. The man collapsed and you're out here damage-controlling?

+153, -83 Don't dramatize it. He fainted. It happens to everyone. You people act like he was assaulted.

+1999, -201 No, it doesn't "happen to everyone." Not when the company moved the shoot without safety measures.

+872, -67 Wait, I just saw the uncut version. They changed the location last minute?? Who approved that?

+632, -48 Look closely at 0:27 . Someone tried to grab his arm. They were touching him. No wonder he panicked.

+1456, -202 So...no security barrier, and they let the fans flood the field? This is a lawsuit waiting to happen.

+2003, -150 It's been an hour and ATV still hasn't issued an apology. If it was one of their alpha artists, there'd be five press releases by now.

+1752, -32 When will the agency start treating him right? He's their biggest artist yet he always gets treated like this.

+999, -12 Honestly, he deserves to sue. I hope he burns that contract to ashes.

+543, -26 He's been overworked for years. Always smiling, never complains, then something like this happens and nothing ever changes.

+145, -80 Another PR stunt. That company always does that. Didn't he faint a few months ago too? He's clearly acting again.

+1987, -97 He fucking got mobbed. No one fakes a faint just to trend. Watch the full video. This body goes limp. That's not acting.

+2341, -188 I've been a fan since debut. This is on everyone who keeps consuming his pain like entertainment.

+1132, -62 His agency is already deleting tweets tagging them. They're trying to bury it. Good luck, we have receipts.

+3042, -178 You can hear someone yelling "Medic!" but no one came. Not one person from the production helped. Shameful.

+765, -41 That was company negligence.

+1856, -98 He's a person, not a commodity. When will they stop treating him like one?

+127, -11 Do you think he'll sue?

+4512, -207 Breaking: His legal team just filed a motion against ATV. It's happening.

+2302, -302 Finally. He deserves justice.

+998, -276 So he's suing now? That's career suicide. No label will touch him again.

+3211, -156 Let them not touch him. He doesn't need them. They need him. He is the industry.

+1764, -39 Imagine suing your own label because they failed to keep you safe. That says everything about how bad it must be behind the scenes.

+1202, -84 He's been hospitalized twice in six months. Twice. And they still keep scheduling him. Monsters.

+933, -33 He literally looks panicked. My heart broke watching it.

+1456, -92 If this was any other country, that label would've been dragged through hell already.

+876, -43 I hope he knows we're all behind him.

Namjoon watched the footage once, twice, then closed the player. He already had Hyunwoo's messages, timestamps, the receipts, the manifest showing changes to the shoot, and the text he'd sent the production manager at nine-ten that morning asking about the security and other arrangements. No reply had come.

He also had the annexure. He had every signed page from the conference room, the clause naming Jungkook as bonded alpha, the medical provisions, the bond-proximity protections. He had emails, he had the bottle, he had witness statements. He had a timeline that twisted the officials' story into a tight noose.

Seokjin did his part on the outside. He gave outlets the version that needed telling. He placed a headline that read simple and true. He fed reporters the facts first and then the trajectory Namjoon wanted the public to take.

Now people wanted blood. They wanted answers. A thousand small, righteous voices filled the space companies once controlled.

Then, within twenty-four hours, Namjoon went to court.

He filed an emergency motion and a civil suit simultaneously. He filed counts for breach of contract citing agency's negligence to protect the artist's safety and privacy, failure prevent harassment from fans, paparazzi, gross negligence and misconduct, infliction of emotional distress, unfair work conditions, unlawful control of personal life, planned manipulation and defamation of the artist, coercive conduct amounting to human rights violations and violation of occupational safety and health laws.

He attached the annexure, the manifest with time stamps and the altered location approvals, the bottle Hyunwoo had seized, the hospital intake sheet, and witness statements from three guards and two crew members who'd been willing to swear they had been shoved into doing the shoot despite the manifest showing a different plan.

He also filed for a legal gag order, preventing the company or anyone speaking publicly about the ongoing legal matter until the next hearing. This was to ensure that the company didn't twist the narratives or weaponize his pregnancy in any manner. It prevented them from revealing private details during the proceedings and also protected Jimin's reputation from false or misleading statements.

The judge signed it the same afternoon, citing "prima facie evidence of reputational risk." ATV's lawyers would have to swallow their words until further notice. It was a small victory, but in a war like this, small victories were currency.

Namjoon didn't go home after filing. He went straight to Seokjin's office. The older man was already halfway through coordinating media lines, typing one-handed and answering a call with the other. His desk looked like an evidence board cluttered with photos, timestamps, screenshots, half-printed PDFs, and a hand-scribbled list of journalists he trusted to leak safely.

"How long do we have before they retaliate?" Seokjin asked without looking up.

"Enough time," Namjoon said. "Maybe less than twelve hours until the summons hits their inbox."

Seokjin muttered a curse and reached for the next call. "Then let's control the oxygen. I'll make sure the coverage stays focused on safety, not scandal. If they can't talk, they can't redirect it."

"That's the point," Namjoon said, leaning against the edge of the desk. "We gagged them legally. You gag them socially."

Outside, fans were still camping near ATV's main gates, news vans circling like vultures with expensive lenses.

***

The phone at ATV's executive desk rang and rang. Hae-rim didn't answer. She just watched it flash, watched the little green light blink in accusation until it went silent, then started again.

Across the conference table, Director Oh scrolled through his phone, each refresh carving new creases into his forehead. Every headline was worse than the last. Every brand group chat was filled with the same question.

What the hell is happening at ATV?

The panic wasn't loud yet. It was there in the twitch of Hae-rim's jaw, that hard line on Director Oh's face, in the CFO's constant clicking of his pen, in the face of Executive Cha by the window whose face had gone ghost-white while watching the news ticker on his tablet.

The investors were calling every five minutes. One of the foreign brand partners had already put their upcoming campaign on hold pending clarification.

On the big screen mounted at the far end of the room, a live feed from Busan Daily showed a looping clip of Jimin fainting, the bodyguard carrying him, the van door slamming shut. The lower-third headline read,

"ATV Faces Lawsuit Following Safety Negligence Allegations. Public Outrage Mounts."

CFO Seo Mujin exhaled through his nose, pinching the bridge of it as if that could keep the headache from splitting him in half. "They filed this afternoon?"

"Yes," Hae-rim said, voice clipped. She'd already read the entire motion twice. "Civil suit. Breach of contract, negligence, gross misconduct, emotional distress, and about six other things I've never seen strung together in one case."

"And the gag order?" Director Oh asked.

"Approved."

That one word sat in the middle of the table like an open wound.

They couldn't speak. They couldn't release statements. They couldn't even leak a sob story to the gossip sites they usually fed. Every email now had to go through the legal team for their review. Every PR draft sat trapped in drafts, waiting for clearance that wouldn't come.

The irony wasn't lost on anyone. The label that had prided itself on controlling every narrative had just been legally silenced by one of its own artists.

Outside, protestors were beginning to gather again. Hae-rim could hear the muffled rhythm of chants bleeding through the glass. The fans had been merciless. They weren't just angry. They were quoting contract law and labor codes in their posts.

Director Oh scrolled through trending hashtags. #JusticeForJimin. #ATVNegligence. #ProtectArtistsNotBrands.

"I told you we should have waited for Namjoon's review," CFO Seo muttered, half to himself. "He asked for twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours would've avoided this."

Hae-rim's eyes flicked up, cold and tired. "And we would've missed the campaign window. Seoul Tourism wanted a Saturday shoot. You think they'd have waited?"

"They're not waiting now either," he shot back. "They've pulled our logo off the homepage. Have you seen it?"

She didn't answer. She didn't have to.

"Who leaked the news?" Oh asked. "Did you know this would happen?"

Hae-rim sighed, glancing at Executive Cha who cleared his throat and walked back to the table.

"One of the interns from the PR department," Executive Cha responded. "The one we had tasked with to spin the rumor mills. No one expected things to get this worse." He rubbed his temple. "The PR approved it. A last stunt before he went into hiatus. They needed a reason. A valid reason that would make our company look like Samaritans when tomorrow's press release went out about his infinite hiatus."

"So their plan was to get him mobbed?" Director Oh growled. "Do you even hear yourself?"

"No one knew he'd faint, alright?" Executive Cha argued. "It was supposed to be like other airport shit we've done so far.

"He's pregnant for fuck's sake! Do you realize how many things could have gone wrong? We can't even get any updates from the hospital because of the last time."

"There's no point in discussing this right now. We have bigger problems to handle," Hae-rim reminded.

Someone knocked and a PR manager poked her head in, holding her tablet like a shield. "The sponsors are requesting an emergency call. They want a statement. Some are asking for clarification on whether the artist is still active under ATV."

Hae-rim's composure cracked for the first time. "He is under ATV," she said sharply. "Until the court says otherwise."

Director Oh laughed without humor. "Then pray the court's slow. Because Kim Namjoon doesn't file suits he can't win."

The words lingered like prophecy in the silence of the room.

They'd all heard the stories. The man didn't bluff. He built airtight cases, waited for the right moment, then dropped them like guillotines.

And now his target was them.

The CFO ran a hand through his hair, muttering, "We should've settled when he first raised the clause. We could've avoided this. Probably let him go and be done with it."

"We didn't expect him to go this far," Hae-rim snapped, then immediately regretted it. Her voice was too loud, too sharp. It betrayed what she didn't want them to see. Her fear.

Director Oh's phone buzzed again. He turned it over. A message from a long-time investor flashed on screen.

We're reconsidering our position in Q4 unless this is contained. Your silence looks like guilt.

He set the phone down slowly. "We're already losing control," he said. "We can't make any statement without violating the court order."

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Hae-rim finally broke the silence. "We'll have to meet them. If they want a confrontation, we'll face them. Legal's prepping a response."

"Response?" Seo repeated, incredulous. "We can't speak. The gag order, remember?"

"Then we'll listen," she said through her teeth. "We'll listen, we'll document, and we'll make our counterpoints off-record if we have to. But we need to know what they have. We can't keep reacting blind."

Director Oh leaned back, rubbing at his temple. "You don't need to know what they have," he murmured. "You just need to know they've already built the coffin. At this point, it's better to try and compromise. Settle outside of the court. Terminate the contract if we have to and end things smoothly. He isn't going to extend with us anyway and it's a headache to manage his baggage. Why not let him go in peace and call it a day?"

The CFO looked thoughtful. "A settlement sounds good."

Hae-rim didn't respond. She stood, smoothed her jacket, and straightened her papers with hands that wanted to shake. "Schedule the meeting," she said to her assistant. "I want them here before this becomes unmanageable."

***

A/N: Ha ha this got bigger than I expected. It was supposed to have only 2 chapters but damn. I keep writing like a maniac. This is the reason my shoulders hurt but crap my brain won't shut up.

Someone asked what's HIPAA and PIPA. Here it is. 

HIPAA (Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act) laws establish national standards to protect sensitive patient health information (PHI), ensuring its privacy and security while also allowing for efficient health insurance portability. Key components include the Privacy Rule, giving patients rights over their data, the Security Rule, requiring safeguards for electronic PHI, and rules for insurance coverage when changing jobs

PIPA law most commonly refers to South Korea's Personal Information Protection Act, a comprehensive data privacy law governing how organizations collect, process, and protect personal data, requiring consent, security measures, and breach notifications.

I have a law degree, but I don't practice actively. And I don't follow everything to the T. I change a lot of things for extra dramatic flair for the fiction. I also combine, bend and sometimes create new things to fit my fics. So don't believe everything you read here and do your own research or contact a professional from your own country for personal purposes. That's a disclaimer.

Chapter Text

Words: 8.1k

Namjoon walked into the ATV conference room like he owned the floor.

He probably did.

The thirty-two-year old attorney didn’t hurry. Didn’t glare. Didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. The man simply entered the room with two of his assistants flanking him and a folder in his hand.

Familiar and exhausted faces greeted once more. Hae-rim, Director Oh, CFO Seo Mujin and Executive Cha looked like they were purely running on caffeine.

“Mr. Kim,” Hae-rim said, the practiced politeness threaded through with brittle nerves. “Thank you for coming.”

He could already tell by the expression on her face that he was the last person she wanted to see right now. There was a kind of displeasure in her eyes that couldn’t be masked with the fake smile she was sporting. She tried, though.

Namjoon set his folder on the table, letting his gaze move across them. He took his seat and folded his hands lightly while waiting for his assistant to set up the video conferencing with Jungkook and Jimin who were at the hospital.

“Good morning,” he greeted. “Heard you wanted to talk.”

Director Oh placed a file between wrung fingers. The label had come prepared with statements, charts, show schedules, the neat little timeline that took blame and boxed it where they could control it. Their PR playbook.

“We thought it best to… try and resolve this behind closed doors,” Hae-rim said. “It’s in everyone’s interest to—”

“In everyone’s?” Namjoon cut in, in the softest way that snapped the room taut. “Let’s not invent a morality for companies where it doesn’t yet exist.”

The room tilted like someone had nudged a table leg. Hae-rim’s lips thinned. “We have an artist contract to consider. We have investors and stakeholders who will be alarmed. For the label’s future—”

“You have a contract,” Namjoon agreed. “We all do. Contracts are not halogen lights you switch off when it gets inconvenient. They’re obligations.”

Seo Mujin attempted buoyant authority. “We are prepared to offer compensation, a settlement can be arranged, and a mutual agreement that will protect Jimin’s…” He glanced between the others. “...reputation.” His eyes looked for the right word like a surgeon scanning for a vein. “A non-disparagement clause, perhaps. Confidentiality. We can craft terms that protect his career while retaining the company’s goodwill.”

Namjoon allowed himself the barest of smiles. “You’d like to silence him.”

“No. We’d like to avoid a public battle. The media damages reputations, especially for the artist. This is for his future,” Hae-rim said.

“Is it?” Namjoon said, low. “Let me be very clear from the start. There will be no settlement that asks Mr. Park to waive his rights after what happened. There will be no private buy-off that allows your executives to sleep under a clean conscience while you litigate your way around accountability.”

Namjoon’s words were clear, leaving no room for argument or misunderstandings. He opened the folder and laid out a short list of documents. The durable medical power of attorney signed by Jimin, the PIPA restriction Namjoon had already filed with the hospital, the nondisclosure forms signed by the family, and the cease-and-desist letters ready for dispatch. He slid them across as if offering a menu. The executives glanced at the pages and then at one another.

“We can talk civilly,” Namjoon said. “If you want a civilized outcome, you will treat this as a legal problem, not a PR problem. This isn’t about optics. This is about breach, negligence, and the likelihood of punitive damages should you proceed to coerce or conceal.”

Hae-rim inhaled, slow and carefully measured. “That’s an escalation. You’re talking about litigation.”

“Litigation is a tool,” Namjoon returned. “But let me explain the baseline of what my client will pursue if you make one single move to terminate, silence, or damage him for having been the victim of your scheduling, your failure of duty of care, and deliberate obfuscation.”

He detailed, calmly and clinically, spoke in legal nouns and statutory-eyed verbs. The room had a hard, bright silence.

Executive Cha tried to steady the ship. “You’re playing hardball, Mr. Kim. The industry is… delicate. An artist with controversy brings sponsors’ concern and brand partners will—”

“They will be told the truth,” Namjoon said. “Either you inform them transparently about his health and the fact that he is on medical leave per his physician’s advice, or I introduce the facts in an orderly, legally-bound way. You do not pick and choose what truth to weaponize. Also, keep in mind the labor law angle.”

Seo Mujin’s face hardened. “Labor law?”

“Yes,” Namjoon said. “You do not, in your employee schedules, have unlimited discretion to push someone beyond medically safe hours. If Jimin was scheduled in a way that violated the Labor Standards Act’s protected rest periods or forced hours beyond what his contract or the law allows without medical clearance, then you have exposure there. We will audit your call sheets, your scheduling memos, and your communications. If there are patterns that show willful disregard of medical or emotional safety, we will petition the court and then put all those documents into evidence.”

“We are not a hospital,” Hae-rim said. “We produce entertainment. We make judgments. This is not negligence. This is business.”

“It is both,” Namjoon said. “Businesses that employ humans are expected to meet human obligations.”

Hae-rim’s eyes flashed. “You’re twisting this,” she said. “There was no intent to harm. We’ve already issued a statement yesterday clarifying the incident as exhaustion. We’ve handled the media coverage responsibly but with his popularity it’s easy for things to get twisted. People love drama. All this rage will die in a few days. Can’t say the same about the artist. If he doesn’t cooperate with us, this will affect his career.”

“How responsible.” Namjoon snorted.

Director Oh spoke up, his tone brittle. “You’re overreacting, Mr. Kim. This isn’t about malice. This is an unfortunate situation. But dragging it through court helps no one. Especially not him.”

“Yet here you are,” Namjoon said, voice even, “summoning me to stop a petition you caused.”

Seo Mujin folded his arms, leaning back. “You can’t seriously think the court will grant contract termination without penalty. Every artist has stress. He’s not the first to collapse, and he won’t be the last. You’re setting a dangerous precedent.”

Namjoon’s mouth curved. “That’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it? That this case will become a precedent.”

The silence that followed was so heavy and tight with tension that it hummed.

Hae-rim’s voice came quieter this time, almost coaxing. “I’m sure we can find a middle ground. The company is willing to make adjustments. We can revise terms, waive penalties, offer a confidentiality clause that ensures privacy for everyone involved. We’ll release him quietly once things have settled down. You don’t want a public trial. None of us do.”

Namjoon leaned back in his chair. “A quiet release with conditions you dictate,” he said. “After everything you threw at him and forced him to take?” He shook his head. “Not happening.”

“We’re not the enemy here,” Director Oh said.

“You are if you’re trying to keep him tied to the company that broke him.”

Seo Mujin’s patience snapped. “You think a judge will sympathize? You’re talking about breach without quantifiable damage. There was no coercion, no force. Just work pressure. Every artist faces that.”

Namjoon didn’t flinch. “And every company claims that when they’re caught,” he said softly. “But this isn’t just work pressure. You had medical reports warning you of risk. You willfully ignored them. You kept him working longer than the agreed hours. I have records. You forced him to pair with another alpha while spinning the rumor mill and creating a new narrative. That’s negligence and defamation. If you think I don’t have the receipts, you’ve misunderstood me. Someone pressured him to use a suppressant knowing well he cannot use it and it’s a hazard to the baby. Whose idea was that?”

“Mr. Kim,” Hae-rim interjected quickly, a placating tone edging her voice. “We’re not trying to fight you. I’m asking you to consider the bigger picture. We can settle this amicably. The petition doesn’t have to move forward. Let us close the contract mutually. We’ll frame it as personal reasons, health-based, and ensure his reputation stays intact. That way, he walks away clean, and the company avoids damage. You get what you want.”

Namjoon studied her for a long time. “No,” he said simply.

Her smile froze. “No?”

“He doesn’t need your cooperation to walk away clean,” Namjoon said. “He needs your admission that you breached duty of care. That’s what the petition is for. That’s what you’re trying to stop.”

Seo Mujin’s tone dropped. “You’re bluffing. Courts don’t move this fast. The petition hasn’t even been heard yet. You can still withdraw before it escalates.”

“Mr. Kim, it could take years before the court comes to a conclusion,” Executive Cha pointed out. “You really don’t have to drag it that long. ATV isn’t going to lose anything. He’ll be the one who will be stuck without work and this world will soon forget him.”

Namjoon looked almost amused. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he said. “To buy time. To scramble your narrative before a judge gets to see it.” He leaned forward slightly. “It’s been filed, Mr. Seo. The motion’s stamped and entered into record. You can’t unfile it with an email. And why do you care about what happens to him when you don’t give two f-fishes about him now?”

Executive Cha muttered something under his breath, something about corporate suicide, but the room felt too still to acknowledge it.

Namjoon’s assistant quietly adjusted the laptop, and the screen at the end of the table came alive. Jungkook’s face filled one square, hard-set jaw and fury in his eyes. Beside him, Jimin appeared pale, silent on a hospital bed, his presence both grounding and haunting.

The executives straightened like schoolchildren caught mid-lie.

“Jimin-ssi,” Hae-rim started, voice soft. “You shouldn’t be part of this discussion while recovering.”

Jungkook’s jaw flexed. “He asked to be here.”

Namjoon didn’t glance at them. He kept his attention on the table. “You wanted to negotiate, so let’s negotiate.” He lifted the petition copy from his folder, sliding it toward them. “This document isn’t going away. You can either cooperate and confirm that the contract will be dissolved without penalty, or you can keep stalling and explain to a judge why you think you can get away with your actions after trying to sabotage him and his pregnancy multiple times.”

That stopped even Hae-rim. Her eyes darted toward Seo Mujin. He went very still.

“You want to protect your image?” Namjoon continued. “Then protect it by doing one decent thing. Stop pretending you’re saving him from scandal when you’re the reason it exists.”

Seo Mujin’s voice turned cold. “You think you can threaten us into compliance?”

“Threaten?” Namjoon smiled, tired but sharp. “Mr. Seo, I filed the petition because I don’t need to threaten. I’m informing you of your options. You either stand down and let the court grant termination, or you obstruct it and make yourself a defendant in a separate claim.”

Hae-rim tried again, quieter now, her authority thinning at the edges. “There’s no need for hostility. We can reframe this entire narrative. A mutual exit, a compassionate press release—”

“No.”

Her voice faltered. “You’re not giving us much room here, Mr. Kim.”

“I’m not supposed to,” Namjoon said. “You had your room. You had plenty of time to make this right, instead you used it to bury him.”

Seo Mujin’s composure cracked. “You’re making a mistake. No one will sign him again if this turns into a public war. He’ll be radioactive in the industry. Sponsors don’t like uncertainty. Companies don’t like an artist who would very well turn against them in the future.”

Namjoon rose from his chair. The sound of it scraping the floor was soft but deliberate. He straightened his cuffs, looked each of them in the eye.

“Try him.”

The words hung in the air, sharp as broken glass.

“You think he needs your industry’s permission to exist?” Namjoon continued. “He built his name once. He’ll do it again. And when he does, every headline you tried to bury him with will turn into proof of what you are.”

He gathered his folder, nodding to his assistant. “You have until noon tomorrow to submit your written confirmation of non-opposition to the petition. If not, the injunction proceeds.”

Jungkook’s voice came from the screen, low and steady. “You heard him. We’re not backing down.”

Namjoon gave a single polite bow toward Hae-rim. “Thank you for your time.”

And with that, he walked out.

***

By the next day, the news cycle had turned rabid.

“ATV Faces Lawsuit Following Safety Negligence Allegations. Public Outrage Mounts.”

The headline sat pinned on every major entertainment site like a wound that refused to close. Reporters clustered outside ATV’s glass doors, shouting questions at anyone who looked remotely employed. Cameras flashed, microphones jutted, speculations churned.

“Sources confirm a legal petition was filed yesterday…”
“The court has yet to release the details, but insiders claim the case involves medical negligence…”
“Industry experts are calling this unprecedented—”

Every network wanted a piece. No one knew the full story, but the silence from both sides made it worse. By noon, even the usually restrained broadcast anchors had started to sound breathless, running loops of Jimin’s last performance, looping it with words like collapse and accountability, but no one had anything tangible to offer.

Then a scrolling banner on Busan Daily read, “Legal gag order confirmed. Parties restricted from public comment.”

That changed everything. The moment the word gag order appeared, the frenzy doubled. Everyone wanted to know why a court would muzzle statements unless something huge was happening. However, they couldn’t really make assumptions about it because it meant they’d be violating the court orders as well.

Then the official joint statement dropped on all their official channels.

Following recent legal proceedings concerning artist welfare and workplace safety, we confirm that Mr. Park Jimin will be entering an indefinite hiatus effective immediately.

This decision has been made jointly by Mr. Park’s legal counsel and ATV Entertainment in order to prioritize his ongoing recovery and well-being.

In accordance with the provisional gag order filed by the court, neither party will comment on the details of the pending litigation against ATV Entertainment. We ask all media outlets to respect the boundaries of the ongoing case and Mr. Park’s privacy.

During this hiatus, Mr. Park will refrain from public appearances, performances, or commercial engagements until further notice.

We extend our deepest gratitude to the fans and industry peers who continue to show unwavering support and understanding during this time.

- Kim Namjoon, Kim Associates and ATV Entertainment

***

Jimin returned home two days later.

Fortunately, it was only a bit of stress and fatigue. Nothing much to worry about. Still the extended stay was just a precaution, but also a way to have his agency in a chokehold by fueling the public narrative.

Jungkook helped him out of the car, one hand hovering close but never pushing. They settled at home soon afterward and Taehyung was already on his way after finishing a campaign shoot. ATV asked him to talk to Jimin and convince him to withdraw the petition and settle indoors but he simply flipped the bird and walked out of the so-called meeting.

ATV’s public image was bleeding, investors were rattling their cages, and the internet had turned viciously protective overnight.

#JusticeForJimin trending in different languages. The international fans were a menace. Thanks to them now the entire world was watching.

People were demanding accountability. Fans were archiving old clips, pointing out all the times he was overworked, posting clips that showed the exhaustion in his eyes, the moments he’d smiled through obvious pain. Journalists had begun asking hard questions.

The label had gone dark. Their silence was the loudest thing on the internet. Not that they could speak even if they wanted to.

Inside the apartment, Jimin sank onto the couch, happy to be home. Jungkook crouched in front of him, rubbing his thumb over the back of Jimin’s hand. “Hungry?”

“Not really.” He patted the seat beside him. “Hold me?”

“Sure.”

Jungkook settled beside him, pulling him against his chest as they turned on the TV.

On screen, the crawl of a news ticker ran beneath muted footage. Clips of press conferences, an image of Namjoon walking out of the ATV building, his expression unreadable. The text read, ATV Faces Legal Injunction as Petition to Terminate Contract Gains Momentum.

Jimin watched it for a moment before switching to a different channel.

“I didn’t think people would actually care,” he said quietly. “Usually they don’t.”

Jungkook smiled faintly. “They always do. The good ones care. You didn’t deserve what they did.”

The doorbell rang. Jungkook stood, frowning. Was Taehyung already here?

“Must be Taehyung,” Jimin said as if reading his mind.

“He knows our code, though.” Jungkook climbed to his feet.

Jimin narrowed his eyes. “Maybe he doesn’t want to walk in on us like the last time.”

Jungkook only chuckled shamelessly, going to the door.

It wasn’t Taehyung.

“Hello, Jungkook-ssi,” the person greeted.

It was Lee Hanchul, the head of legal, flanked by a representative from Zenith Entertainment’s board. People from his own label. Both men held folders and what looked like another care package.

“Sorry for showing up unannounced,” Hanchul said, stepping inside. “We wanted to speak to both of you in person.”

“Both?” Jungkook frowned.

“It won’t be long,” Hanchul assured.

Jungkook motioned toward the sectional sofa in the living room. “Go ahead.”

Jimin glanced up, a small frown tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The representative, a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes, placed a document on the coffee table and took a slow breath. “Jungkook-ssi, the board met this morning. Given the situation and your boyfriend’s fallout with ATV, Zenith has decided to formally extend an offer to bring Jimin-ssi under our management.”

Jimin blinked. “What?”

She nodded. “We’re aware of the petition. We’re also aware that ATV may contest the termination. If they do, the penalty clause in your contract could be significant. Our board has voted to absorb that cost.”

Jungkook frowned. “You’d pay the penalty?”

She nodded. “Yes. In full.”

Hanchul adjusted his glasses. “We’re also willing to be filing as an interested party in the termination proceedings to prevent obstruction. We wanted to discuss this with you before we talk to your attorney. The offer includes a comprehensive care and wellness package—medical, emotional, legal support, childcare benefits, and full creative freedom. You’d retain artistic control over your projects. No restrictive clauses.”

It sounded too good to be true.

Jimin didn’t speak. His fingers twisted in the hem of his sleeve.

Jungkook looked between them. “This is… a lot.”

The representative nodded. “We know. But this isn’t about profit. The board has agreed unanimously. What happened to him shouldn’t happen to anyone. You’re already under our management, it only feels right to extend our protection to your future mate and pup, should you allow us. If ATV wants to make this difficult, let them. We’ll handle the fallout. We just need your consent to initiate a parallel agreement so we can start preparing statements and—”

Jungkook raised his hand. “Stop for a second.”

They fell silent.

He exhaled slowly, resting his palms flat on the table. “I appreciate this. Really. But I can’t give you an answer right now.”

The woman nodded in understanding. “We understand.”

“This is Jimin’s decision,” Jungkook repeated, tone calm but final. “And I have to discuss it with my attorney too. I don’t know how this will work for us.”

He glanced back toward the couch. Jimin was staring at the folder, expression unreadable.

“This isn’t a business move,” Jungkook said, softer now. “Not for him. Not for me. We’ll discuss it and get back to you.”

The representatives exchanged a look but nodded. They understood boundaries when they saw them.

“Of course,” Hanchul said. “This is only a suggestion. We’ll leave the documents here. Take your time. But please don’t let ATV push you into settlement and don’t think you have another option.”

When they left, the house was quiet again.

Jungkook sat beside Jimin, the thick folder sitting untouched between them.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he said.

Jimin smiled weakly. “It’s strange. After all that, this feels too good to be true.” He leaned his head against Jungkook’s shoulder. “They really want to sign me?”

“They’d be lucky to,” Jungkook said. “You really don’t realize your net worth, sweetheart. To most fans, Park Jimin is more than just a brand.” He caressed his cheek tenderly. “You’re an emotion. A sense of warmth in their chest. A driving force behind them. You give them a purpose, hope. But it’s sad how we tend to focus on the negativity that often overshadows the positive ones.”

Jimin swallowed, glancing away.

“You need to see this.” Jungkook opened social media, tapping away until he came across a few posts then handed it to Jimin. The omega slanted a glance at the screen half-heartedly.

It was a letter penned by a fan.

My dear Jiminie,

I’m one among millions and I don’t even know if you’ll see it, but I have to try and let you know. I hope this letter finds you in a quiet moment where you can feel it. Not just the words, but also be able to feel the gratitude behind them.

You existed when I didn’t know I needed you. There was a time I thought I was so lost in my life. Then I found you accidentally. A song playing in a coffee shop I had just joined. For some reason, I felt immediately comforted by your voice, your lyrics.

The vulnerability in your words, the struggle with self-love and self-criticism. It spoke to me in ways no one else did. It encouraged me to find comfort and happiness within myself.

That day I found myself looking you up and listening to your songs. Suddenly it reminded me of my good days. Suddenly it wasn’t hurting so badly. You made me believe someone else cared. Even when I couldn’t care for myself.

Then I saw your Serendipity concert movie. In one of the behind the stage scenes where you collapsed after dancing so hard, struggling to breathe, but you still kept smiling.

When I heard you laugh in that video, so off-guard and human, I realised, even the person on the screen gets tired. Even someone who stands in spotlights aches. And knowing you felt that, and kept going anyway, it changed something in me. I stopped hiding my exhaustion. I started letting the people who cared in. I started asking for help.

You gave me hope. When my days were gray and my heart felt hollow, I pressed play on your track, and the pain dimmed. It didn’t vanish, but it became bearable because someone else stood with me in the dark. That’s what you did. You stood. With me. With thousands of others.

It pains me to see you go through all this. I can’t sing. I can’t write lyrics like you. And I’m not popular enough to reach you. But I hope my words convey how I feel and that somehow you find this. I hope that you find comfort in these words like I did with your music.

Please be kind to yourself now. Please let your rest be real. Let the world wait a little while you’ve earned the pause. Let your body breathe and your heart remember you’re more than “artist” or “brand.” You’re someone people trust with their sorrow, their joy, their scars. Let yourself be trusted now too.

No one knows the full measure of the love you stirred. The nights you stayed up crafting a lyric, the days you carried your body into rehearsal even when your spirit felt heavy. Just know someone out there read that. I read it. And it made me feel less alone.

So thank you. Thank you for being you. Thank you for existing. Thank you for keeping going even when everything feels hard. Thank you for giving your voice when we needed to hear it. For giving your face when we needed to see something kind. For giving your soul when we needed to know someone still believed.

And now, when you look in the mirror, I hope you recognise the person I see. A sanctuary. A hope.

We are here for you. We stand for you. We hope you stand for yourself.

Always with love,
A fan who would be lost without you

Jimin read the letter twice.

The first time, his eyes only moved across the words. But the second time, it hit him. Every line. Every thank you. Every tiny plea that someone had written between the spaces.

He blinked once, then again, and still the words blurred.

Jungkook stayed silent beside him. He didn’t reach out, didn’t speak, didn’t interrupt the silence that settled around them. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was reverent.

Jimin’s fingers trembled slightly as he scrolled down. He pressed his lips together, a small sound leaving him that wasn’t quite a laugh and wasn’t quite a sob. “I never thought anyone would write something like this for me,” he whispered.

“You’ve always underestimated what you mean to people,” Jungkook said quietly.

Jimin swallowed, voice soft. “No, I didn’t underestimate it. I just didn’t think I deserved it.”

He set the phone down on his lap, staring at it like it was something alive. “When everything happened… I thought I lost everything that made me worth being seen. My voice. My work. Even my name. I thought people would only remember the rumors.”

Jungkook leaned back, eyes still on him. “Seems like they remember everything else instead.”

Jimin’s throat tightened. He ran a hand over his face. “They shouldn’t have to comfort me like this. They shouldn’t have to see me breaking.”

“They want to,” Jungkook said simply. “You gave them something when you didn’t even know it. This is them giving a little of it back.”

Jimin breathed in slowly. His chest ached. “Do you think I’ll ever get to tell them thank you?”

“You just did,” Jungkook said. “Every time you breathe. Every time you choose to get up again. That’s you saying thank you.”

A silence settled again.

Jimin reached for the phone once more, his thumb hovering over the letter. “You know,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, “I used to wonder if my songs even mattered. If people only liked them because they had to. But this…” he exhaled, shaking his head. “It feels different. It feels like… maybe I did something right.”

Jungkook smiled, small and genuine. “You did more than right, sweetheart.”

Jimin looked up at him then, his eyes glassy but steady. “I just feel… grateful. For everything that didn’t destroy me.”

Jungkook’s hand found his. “That’s what they wanted you to feel.”

Jimin smiled faintly, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Then maybe I should listen to them for once.”

“Is it even surprising now that my label wants you?” Jungkook chuckled.

Jimin huffed. “It’s really a good move on their part if you ask me.” He rolled his eyes. “They know you’d do anything for me. They know you’ll be distracted with this. So they came up with a plan to get me on board so you won’t screw them up.”

Jungkook boomed with laughter. Then shrugged. “Does it even matter? It doesn’t hurt to be treated well. Honestly, my agency is not as bad as yours. I have more autonomy than you. Namjoon hyung saw to that when I signed the contract. So you have options.”

Jimin hummed, half-asleep, half-thoughtful. “I don’t know if I should do this now.”

“We have plenty of time to decide,” Jungkook murmured. “We’ll take it slow. The world can wait.”

Jimin nodded. His fingers found Jungkook’s wrist, gentle but sure. “You think he’ll win?”

Jungkook smiled, brushing a hand through Jimin’s hair. “He already has.”

The letter was still open on the screen, glowing faintly in the dim room. Jimin tilted his head, eyes still on the light from the phone. “I want to frame it,” he said softly.

Jungkook glanced down. “The letter?”

“Yeah.” A small smile tugged at his lips. “It feels like proof that I didn’t imagine all of it… that it was real. That I mattered to someone.”

“You matter to a lot of someones,” Jungkook said.

“Maybe,” Jimin murmured. “But this one found the right words.” He turned the phone screen off, the glow fading into darkness. “You know, when I was lying in that hospital bed, I kept thinking. If this ends here, will anyone remember me kindly? Or will it just be another headline?”

“I’ll never let that happen.”

“Many people have lost their career over nothing,” Jimin reminded him. Then he exhaled. “I’m not scared of losing it. I’d gladly choose you and our pup over everything else. It’s just…you know how it feels.”

Jungkook brushed his thumb across Jimin’s knuckles. “They already remember you kindly, baby. Even the ones who’ve never met you.”

For a long moment, neither spoke. Jimin leaned against Jungkook’s shoulder again, sighing softly. “It’s strange,” he whispered. “The world feels quieter now.”

“It’s supposed to,” Jungkook said. “You fought hard for this quiet.”

Jimin closed his eyes, the exhaustion catching up to him in waves. “I’m so tired.”

“I know.”

He felt Jungkook’s hand slide up, settling on the back of his neck, warm and steady. It was enough to keep the world at bay.

“I’ll wake you when it’s time for your dinner,” Jungkook murmured.

Jimin made a small noise of acknowledgment, eyes fluttering shut. The last thing he saw before sleep claimed him was the phone screen, dark now, but reflecting just enough of his own face to remind him he was still here.

Still breathing.

Still standing.

And for the first time in a long while, that felt like enough.

***

The email arrived two weeks later.

It came in the middle of a quiet morning. The kind of morning where the world still smelled like coffee and rain, and Jimin was sitting on the balcony wrapped in one of Jungkook’s oversized sweaters, enjoying the nice weather.

He doesn't open his inbox often anymore. Namjoon had filtered most of it. News alerts, sponsorship requests, brand inquiries. But that subject line stood out.

Invitation: Dior Paris Winter Show, 2025

They had reached out again. With loyalty.

His first instinct was to laugh.

“Really?” he muttered, thumb hovering over the screen. “They must be joking.”

He read it twice. A personal invitation. Front row. Dior’s creative director himself requested his attendance, reaffirming that Jimin’s seat at their Winter Show still awaited him.

“If and when you are ready,” it read.

He smiled faintly and closed the email.

Jungkook looked up from across the room. “What’s funny?”

“Dior still wants me in Paris,” Jimin said, sipping his tea. “Winter show. They really don’t know when to quit,” he said, half-teasing, half-soft.

Jungkook blinked, then grinned. “Of course they do. You’re their face.”

Jimin shook his head. “Not if the court says otherwise,” he murmured, shutting the laptop. “They’ll twist it into breach if I show up while the petition’s still under review.”

Jungkook’s grin faded. He nodded slowly. “Fair point.”

Jimin looked down at his tea again. “Besides,” he said softly, “I’m not ready to stand under cameras again. Not yet.”

That was the end of it or so he thought.

Three days later, a black car pulled into Jungkook’s driveway.

Namjoon stepped out first, looking far too calm for someone who’d driven halfway across the city before breakfast. Behind him came a woman in a charcoal-gray suit, a man carrying garment bags.

Jungkook opened the door before they could knock. “You don’t text anymore?”

“I figured this would sound better in person,” Namjoon said, stepping inside. “Jimin, this is Amélie Laurent—Dior’s regional director.”

Jimin appeared behind him, still in sweatpants, his now grown long hair tied loosely on top of his head. He blinked at the unexpected entourage. “What is this?”

Amélie smiled warmly, offering her hand. “Bonjour, Mr. Park. I believe we’ve exchanged emails before. I hope I’m not intruding.”

Her accent was light, her tone softer than expected. Still, she carried herself like someone who’d negotiated with presidents.

They sat in the living room, sunlight spilling through the curtains. Jimin tugged at his sleeve, self-conscious in his loose clothes.

“I assume this is about the Paris show,” he said finally. “Please don’t take it personally, but I’ve already declined.”

“We know,” Amélie said. “And we wanted to talk about that.” She set a folder on the table, a silver Dior emblem glinting under the light. “The house has been following the situation closely. The board asked me to come here personally after our last discussion with your attorney.”

Jimin shot Namjoon a look. “You told them?”

Namjoon met his eyes evenly. ““They know. I told them what they needed to know, nothing more. I trust them.”

Amélie didn’t flinch. “It doesn’t change anything. If anything, it made our resolve stronger. You represent grace under scrutiny, strength under pressure. That is the spirit of Dior.”

Jimin could only nod mutely.

Amélie nodded. “You’ve been part of our family for years, Mr. Park. Your artistry and your presence is not something anyone can erase. It’s woven into the identity of Dior. We’ve never seen you as a commodity, and certainly not as a liability. Which is why I’m here to tell you that your place with us stands firm, regardless of what’s happening with your label.”

Jimin frowned. “Even if I wanted to, the company’s injunction might prevent it. If they argue that I’m breaching contract terms by appearing in public—”

Amélie interrupted softly. “We’re aware. If that happens, Dior is prepared to file an amicus brief supporting your right to autonomy and public presence. We will not use your name for publicity. You’re one of our guests and of course, we will seek legal advice to be on the safe side. There will be no press confirmation, no leaks, no photo schedules. You’ll only appear if it’s legally safe to do so.”

Jimin’s expression softened but stayed guarded. “I appreciate it,” he said quietly. “But I can’t travel like this.” He glanced down. “I’ll start showing and I can’t attend.”

“We understand,” she said. “We wanted to discuss alternatives that would allow you to attend safely. We’ve already spoken with Mr. Kim.”

Namjoon folded his arms, nodding. “We have to check a couple of things and look for loopholes.”

Jimin let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “You flew across the world to tell me you still want me at a fashion show?”

“Not just a show,” Amélie said gently. “A moment.”

She paused, then added, “We also wanted to make sure you’re taken care of. Properly.” She motioned subtly to the assistant behind her, who carried forward a slim garment bag and a cream folder of sketches.

Jungkook watched as they laid it open—muted ivory, sand, and soft pearl tones. The designs were tailored, draped beautifully, constructed with comfort in mind.

“Maternity couture,” Amélie explained, her voice low, careful. “You don’t have to hide what’s natural. You only have to be comfortable. We created a few pieces for you. Private fittings only, nothing public until you choose otherwise.”

Jimin stared at the sketches, his throat tightening. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Maybe not,” she said, smiling faintly. “But we wanted to. You gave so much of yourself to us, to your audience, to your art. Let someone give something back.”

He didn’t trust his voice enough to answer.

Jungkook reached for his hand, steadying him. “That’s… beautiful,” he murmured.

Amélie stood then, sliding a small envelope across the table. “Inside is our official statement of support. It won’t go public unless you approve it. But it’s there. For when you’re ready.”

Namjoon looked between them. “They’ll also send a personal package tomorrow.”

Jimin blinked. “What kind of package?”

Amélie’s lips curved. “A small gesture. Something to remind you that the House of Dior doesn’t abandon its own.”

She gave a polite bow, exchanged a quiet few words with Namjoon, and left as gracefully as she arrived.

The next morning, a pale ivory box arrived on the doorstep.

Inside, nestled in white silk, were two hand-tailored maternity ensembles—one a cream wrap coat lined with soft cashmere, the other a dove-gray tunic cut with quiet elegance. Beneath them, a handwritten note.

For our beloved Jimin,

You have always been part of our story, and no storm can rewrite that. The House stands with you—without condition, without pause. We will be waiting for you when you’re ready.

Your Dior Family, Paris.

Jimin ran his fingers across the letterhead. “They didn’t have to go this far,” he whispered.

“They wanted to,” Jungkook said softly.

Jimin looked down at the fabric again, the weight of it grounding him in ways words couldn’t. At that moment, it didn’t feel like the world was trying to break him. It was trying to hold him.

***

Two days later.

It started with a call Jungkook almost missed.

He was in the studio, halfway through rearranging a bridge, when his manager burst in with his phone pressed to his ear, mouthing something urgent.

“Wait—slow down,” Jungkook said, raising a brow. “Who’s calling?”

“Calvin Klein’s global team,” the manager said, panting slightly. “They’re putting together a new campaign for the winter line. They want you front and center again—global rollout. Paris, Seoul, and New York.”

Jungkook stilled. “That’s… big.”

“They also mentioned the Dior x CK charity gala,” the manager added. “Apparently, Dior’s creative director reached out personally to suggest a joint feature.”

Jungkook’s eyes flicked up. “You’re joking.”

“Nope. They said the Dior rep was very specific. They wanted you and Jimin together. Dual representation. Something about unity across houses. It’s massive.”

For a moment, Jungkook said nothing.

“Of course it is.”

His manager watched him carefully, gauging the reaction that never fully came. Jungkook just stood there, phone in hand, eyes unfocused in that way he got when his brain was already running a few steps ahead.

“You okay?” the manager asked.

Jungkook blinked. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

He set his guitar down, mind already racing. For months, every plan, every appearance had revolved around restraint. Legal caution. Silence. Now suddenly Dior and Calvin Klein wanted to put them together on the same stage.

His manager watched him carefully. “They said Dior was the one who brought it up first. Apparently, their team thinks your chemistry represents… balance, grace and rebellion.”

Jungkook huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. “That’s one way to call it.”

“They’re drafting a proposal,” the manager continued. “You’ll get details tonight. Calvin’s PR team said if you agree, they’ll coordinate with Namjoon for Jimin’s side. They want it clean—no leaks, no half-hints. Just a reveal.”

Jungkook leaned back in his chair. “Tell them I’ll call back after I speak to Jimin,” he said.

***

That evening, the apartment smelled like garlic, sesame oil and something delicious. Jimin was in the kitchen, humming under his breath, stirring sauce in a pan. The light hit his hair just right, soft, honey-gold at the edges.

Jungkook leaned against the doorway, watching him for a beat too long before speaking. “Hey,” he said. “Smells amazing here.”

Jimin glanced over his shoulder. “And you smell like you’re about to confess something.”

“Kind of,” Jungkook said, smiling. “CK called.”

Jimin turned fully, spoon still in hand. “Yeah?”

“They’re planning a new campaign. Winter line. Big one. Paris, Seoul, New York.” He paused, letting the weight of the next sentence gather. “And Dior wants in.”

Jimin blinked. “Dior?”

“Yeah. Their creative director suggested a joint feature—Dior and Calvin. A collaboration for the charity gala.” Jungkook’s voice softened. “They want us. Together.”

The spoon nearly slipped from Jimin’s fingers. “Together?”

He nodded. “Front and center.”

Jimin stared for a moment, trying to process the words. “That’s… huge.”

“It is.”

His tone was calm, but the air between them shifted. It was electric, charged with something that felt like the edge of a turning point.

Jimin exhaled slowly, setting the spoon down. “You realize what this means, right?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook said. “It means they’re done pretending.”

Jimin searched his face. “And you’re okay with that?”

“I’m more than okay,” Jungkook said, moving closer. “I’m ready.” He took his hands in his, shutting the stove and kissed Jimin’s knuckles. “I don’t want to hide. People are going to find out anyway. Why not now? Why not under our terms?”

The words came out steady, but Jimin heard the heartbeat behind them. Excitement. Fear. A kind of quiet bravery.

“I want to go public,” Jungkook repeated, slower this time. “I’m tired of pretending we’re two different people with two separate lives when everyone already knows. I’m not asking for a leak or a rumor. I’m asking for a hard launch.”

Jimin’s lips parted, a thousand thoughts crowding at once. “Now?”

“Now,” Jungkook said simply. “At the gala. CK and Dior together. It’s perfect timing. Controlled, professional, intentional. We show up as partners, not gossip. If people talk, they talk. But we have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“You sure you want that?” Jimin asked quietly. “The attention, the noise… all of it?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook said. “I’ve spent months pretending we’re strangers. I don’t want to hide anymore. I don't want to hide you or us.” He cupped his belly gently. “I want to be able to love you freely. To flaunt you, our pup without having to hide all the time.”

Jimin looked down, fingers curling lightly on the counter. His pulse fluttered in his throat.

Jungkook’s hand brushed over his, warm and certain. “You don’t have to say yes right now. I’m just telling you how I feel. They put us together when we both had no say in it. Then they wanted to break us up because it didn’t fit their narrative anymore. Now I see this as an opportunity to rewrite the ending ourselves. Just think about it.”

“I don’t need to think,” Jimin said after a moment, voice softer but sure. “I knew the moment I decided to keep the pup. I’m done with all the speculations. If you’re ready, then so am I.”

Jungkook exhaled, relief mixing with awe. “Really?”

Jimin smiled. “If the world’s going to stare, let’s give them something worth seeing.”

Jungkook laughed, a low, genuine sound and pulled him close, pressing his forehead to Jimin’s. “You have no idea how much I love you right now.”

“I might have a guess.”

The sauce on the stove was cooling, but neither of them moved.

Jungkook smiled against his skin. “Paris, then.”

Jimin’s voice was a whisper. “Paris.”

The word hung between them like a promise.

***

Two days later, Jungkook was halfway through setting the table for lunch when someone knocked. A firm, single rap.

Jimin looked up from the couch. “Expecting anyone?”

Jungkook shook his head.

Namjoon let himself in before either of them could answer. Coat still on, folder under one arm, expression carved out of focus and caffeine. He glanced around like he owned the place.

“Change of plans,” he said, without greeting.

Jungkook raised a brow. “Hi to you too, hyung.”

“Hello,” Namjoon said absently, dropping his folder on the table. “We’re altering the approach for Paris.”

Jimin straightened. “Why? Did something happen?”

Namjoon’s tone didn’t change. “ATV filed an informal inquiry with Dior’s legal team this morning. They reached out as soon as the news about their Winter Show went live. They’re fishing for grounds to claim breach of exclusivity if you appear as a guest.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened. “Of course they did.”

“Predictable,” Namjoon said. “But it's still annoying. We checked for loopholes concerning your appearance as a guest. Even if you don’t get paid, it’s better to avoid it under current circumstances as it can be considered an official appearance.” He flipped open the folder in his hand. “So here’s what we’re going to do. You’re not going as Dior’s ambassador, Jimin.”

Jimin blinked. “Then how?”

“You’re going as Jungkook’s plus one.”

Silence fell between them.

Jungkook frowned. “Plus one?”

Namjoon nodded. “Plus one, technically. Dior already agreed to retract the official invite. You’ll decline it publicly, citing recovery and personal reasons. Then, the night of the charity event, you’ll attend under Jungkook’s clearance with Calvin Klein.”

Jimin stared. “That’s allowed?”

“It’s not forbidden,” Namjoon said. “For one, it’ll be a personal appearance. You’re not representing any brands and you’re not there as Park Jimin, the IT boy of Korea. You’re only there as Jungkook’s plus one. Two, it’s a charity gala. You’re allowed to make donations. No one can stop you from living your personal life the way you see fit. The agency cannot ban you from going out or meeting people. So technically you’re not in breach of an exclusive artist contract. Three, you’re not engaging in a paid performance, brand endorsement or representation. You’re allowed to wear any outfit of your choice from any brand. Four, you’re not featured in any online campaigns, we’re not announcing your attendance and using your name for marketing. So you’ll only attend this event in a personal capacity as someone’s guest.”

Jungkook started to grin. “You’re insane.”

“I prefer efficient,” Namjoon replied. “Dior’s happy to cooperate. Their legal team predicted this and reached out to CK to specifically arrange the charity gala in such short notice. They’ll still provide your look as a back dated personal gift, not a sponsorship. No one will know. As per records, you received that outfit before your hiatus. The paperwork’s already drafted. No contracts, no pay, no breach.”

Jimin sat back slowly, processing. “So… I attend unofficially.”

“Exactly,” Namjoon said. “The contract restricts commercial representation, not personal appearances. You’ll walk beside Jungkook.” He paused, looking up at him. “But everyone will see it.”

Jungkook laughed once, low and incredulous. “You’re actually scary, hyung.”

Namjoon shrugged. “It’s time they learn how it feels to lose the narrative.”

Jimin frowned slightly. “And if they still try to claim breach?”

Namjoon smiled in that quiet way, a dangerous curve lilting his lips that never reached his eyes. “I’d like to see them argue that an omega attending a charity gala beside his partner counts as a corporate crime. It’s not Jungkook’s problem that he’s also a celebrity.”

Jungkook whistled under his breath. “You’ve thought this through.”

“Of course I have,” Namjoon said. “Dior already prepped a statement. If pressed, they’ll confirm the outfit was a personal gift. Calvin will confirm that you were Jungkook’s plus one, not an ambassador. Dior is bringing in Cha Eunwoo as their ambassador for this specific event and are also in talks with Mingyu, but there are some schedule conflicts it seems.”

“I can talk to Mingyu,” Jungkook murmured. “He’ll surely make some adjustments if I ask.”

Namjoon nodded. “You can do that. The more the merrier.” He closed the folder.

Jimin exhaled, a slow smile forming. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Maybe a little,” Namjoon admitted. “We gave them a chance to settle amicably by accepting their fault, but they decided they will contest. They started this fight with a lie. We’ll end it with the truth which is quiet, elegant, and televised before they can twist the narrative into something else.”

Jungkook looked between them, eyes bright. “So we’re doing this?”

Namjoon nodded. “You’ll fly under Calvin’s itinerary and attend other events alone as CK’s ambassador. Dior will handle Jimin’s fitting discreetly through their Paris atelier. No leaks. And when you step out of that car together for the gala, they’ll realize it’s already too late to stop you.”

Jimin leaned back in his chair, the corners of his mouth lifting. “And all I have to do is say no?”

Namjoon’s smirk widened. “Precisely.”

Jungkook laughed, shaking his head. “You’re terrifying.”

“Law school…” Namjoon said dryly. “...does things to a man.”

He straightened, gathering his folder. “I’ll send the updated statements tonight. Dior’s PR will announce the declined invitation in the morning. The media will be busy with that. After that, you two just stay quiet.”

“Quiet?” Jimin asked.

“Until Paris,” Namjoon said. “Then make some noise.”

He turned to leave, but paused at the door. “Oh, and Jungkook?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t forget to coordinate your colors. Dior’s sending something special."

Jungkook snorted. “Yes, attorney sir.”

The door closed behind him. Silence lingered in the air for a few short minutes after he left.

Jimin met Jungkook’s gaze, heartbeat steadying. “Change of plans, huh?” he echoed softly.

Jungkook smirked. “The best kind.”

Chapter Text

Well, it's not Thursday yet but I don't see anyone complaining so...

***

Words: 6.4k

A few weeks later.

In the weeks that led to the event, they moved with quiet purpose, like people carrying a secret the world wasn't yet ready to hear. Silk rustled, coffee steamed, and under it all was the quiet hum of something righteous about to unfold.

Every step was part of a plan. Documents were exchanged in silence, fittings scheduled under aliases, calls taken in rooms with the curtains drawn. The world thought Jimin was resting, healing, vanishing. But he was just waiting for the right time.

He was starting to show slightly. Even though his belly was comparatively small compared to several others at the end of five months, it was impossible to hide it. He'd always had a lean build and wore fitted clothes, so even the slightest change wasn't hard to spot.

Moreover, he was looking a healthier version of himself now. Balanced meals, rest and happiness could do that. And there was that pregnancy glow everyone was raving about. It was real. He has that.

Jimin was happy and at peace. His boyfriend doted on him. Now that they lived together, Jungkook used every moment to spoil him rotten. And the resulting happiness showed.

In between the preparations, there were quiet nights. Long walks in the apartment hallway, late dinners where laughter came easily, mornings where Jungkook would hum as he brewed coffee while Jimin sat curled on the couch with his notebook.

He was starting to write again, journaling his happy memories, lyrics that conveyed his emotions, musical notes. Jungkook had prepared a small studio for him to work on from the apartment. Everything about their life had slowed down in the best way possible.

And then it was time for their final show down.

When the plane began to descend, Paris unfolded beneath them. Rooftops stretching like a dream he almost remembered. Evening light rolled over the Seine, soft and clean.

Jimin had always loved this city, though he never quite knew why. Maybe because it carried the kind of silence that didn't feel empty. Maybe because it let him breathe.

Jimin slept on the flight, the travel sedation soft and obliging against a week of nerves. Jungkook sat with his hand wrapped around his knee, checking messages with an impatience he could not hide. Namjoon, who accompanied them, was reading a legal journal, eyes flicking between the pages.

They'd practiced restraint as strategy. The plan was simple. Deny the formal invite, and then show them the real truth and override every single rumor Jimin's agency had spun in the past.

They'd split the line between private and public so thinly the edge would slice the label when it tried to grasp for blood. It'll be a bloody mess but Jimin was ready this time. If he was going to walk out, then he'd do it on his own terms.

Dior had been steady in its cooperation and their preparation was immaculate. The atelier in Paris had insisted the garments be hand-delivered and draped and pinned in private, and the seamstresses had understood the task.

Calvin Klein had provided security and logistics that was airtight. A small black car for Jungkook, a second, unmarked vehicle where Jimin would sit behind the tinted glass until the right moment.

Jimin yawned when the private jet taxied on the runway, glassy with sleep, and blinked. The world looked large and clean through the plane's small porthole. He felt small and large at once. Small because this was an exposure he'd long feared, large because the people beside him had chosen him, again and again. That was a strange kind of triumph. To have the steady, persistent support of people who refused to let him be erased meant a lot.

Namjoon was the first to smile. "This is the quiet part," he murmured. "Good luck, guys."

Jungkook reached over, fingers finding Jimin's hand. "We'll be louder later."

Calvin Klein's liaison met them at the airport. The logistics were perfect. The suite at the Hôtel Plaza Athénée had a back entrance used only for emergencies. The photographers and press had a single designated press pit at the front of the red carpet. They would not be there.

Jimin and Jungkook parted ways at the airport, traveling in separate cars. Jimin and Namjoon entered the hotel through the back entrance while Jungkook distracted them with a very public entry and posed for photos.

Inside the suite, the air smelled of fresh roses they had put around the suite in beautiful vases. A soft, floral calm that cut through the quiet hum of jet lag and nerves. The view stretched over Hôtel Plaza Athénée, Paris glowing in the distance like a dream.

Jimin walked through the suite, fingers brushing the back of the sofa, the edge of the vanity, the petals of one rose. He loosened his coat and sank onto the couch. The silence that filled the space was comforting, not hollow. The kind of quiet that let him think.

Jungkook had a different suite room to get ready for tomorrow's main show. Since that involved shooting videos and other promotional materials, they had made arrangements prior.

If he was appearing as the guest, now his room would have been already busy with stylists, bustling around him to get him ready. The Dior show was happening today, which he will be watching live on their website. A part of him missed that, but the other part relished the rare sense of break he got.

Five months. He traced the edge of his stomach absently. It still amazed him how time could move like that. Slow and invisible, then all at once.

He wasn't used to stillness, not after years of schedules that cut days into exhaustion. But this kind of pause... this was different. He felt it in his bones. At least the air didn't buzz with panic anymore.

The door clicked open. The faint scent of rain and cedar slipped into the room like a whisper before the actual man appeared.

Jungkook's scent always reached him before the man did. Clean and grounding, like a storm passing through pine. He turned his head and there he was, undoing the buttons of his coat, still glowing faintly from camera flashes.

"Hey," Jungkook said, voice low, soft and warm.

Jimin smiled faintly. "Hey yourself."

Jungkook crossed the space without hesitation, dropping his coat on a chair as he went. When he reached the couch, he leaned down and kissed the top of Jimin's head. The scent of cedar and rain mixed with amber and iris until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

"I smiled for so long my jaw hurts," Jungkook said, half-laughing, sinking down beside him. "They're going to put my face on a building at this rate."

Jimin laughed quietly, the sound small but genuine. "I wouldn't complain."

"You wouldn't need to," Jungkook said, tilting his head to look at him properly. "You're glowing enough for both of us."

Jimin rolled his eyes, though the smile betrayed him. "That's just exhaustion."

"Sure it is." Jungkook's fingers brushed against the side of his belly, soft, reverent. "You know they were all asking about you."

"Who?"

"Everyone. Stylists, photographers, the brand execs. They kept saying 'When's Jimin coming back?' They all want to know what's going on with you."

"And what did you tell them?" Jimin asked.

"The same answer Namjoon hyung made me memorize," Jungkook said simply. "That we should respect his privacy. Hyung said it's for legal safety but I think it's really for my self-control."

He just leaned into Jungkook's shoulder, breathing him in. Rain and cedar. The scent that had become synonymous with safety.

Jungkook's arm came around him, steady and warm. Neither of them spoke. It'll be loud soon, but tonight they were allowed to have one more peaceful night before they'd have to face everything.

***

Day 1

Afternoon light pooled over the marble floor like spilled champagne. Paris hummed faintly outside the window, a city already alive with flashes and camera shutters.

Inside Calvin Klein's suite, the usual quiet chaos of the pre-show afternoon was in full swing. The stylists unpacked garment bags, curling steam rising from the steamer, and a table full of accessories.

Jungkook sat near the vanity while his hair stylist adjusted the fringe that refused to behave. The phone on the counter buzzed and Namjoon's message flashed.

From Namjoon Hyung: ATV's gone quiet. Looks like they finally relaxed after Dior wrapped last night. Apparently one of the agency's representatives was at the Dior show and kept asking if Jimin would show up for the after party.

Jungkook grinned and responded after a short pause.

To Namjoon Hyung: They don't know the actual storm's scheduled for tomorrow.

Namjoon had already warned him that the moment Jimin didn't appear at Dior's show, ATV's board had exhaled like survivors of a war. News sites and gossip columns were finally believing that the hiatus was real and that he had really stepped back from the limelight.

"Dior 2025 Paris Show Concludes Without Park Jimin Appearance."

"The breakup rumors might be true. Jungkook has arrived solo and no Park Jimin in the Dior Show."

It was everywhere.

Jungkook scrolled through one article, the words almost smug. Industry insiders confirm that the artist's legal hiatus prevents him from public appearances. Calvin Klein ambassador Jeon Jungkook is set to attend the show alone, representing the brand globally while Park Jimin remains under contract evaluation. A few fans who hoped to see them together in the Paris fashion show are left with disappointment.

He smirked, thumb hovering over the screen before locking it. "Under contract evaluation, my ass," he muttered.

His manager, seated on the sofa flipping through the day's call sheets, looked up. "What?"

"Nothing," Jungkook said again, voice even. "Just thinking how people get comfortable right before they fall."

The stylist laughed lightly, assuming it was small talk.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror. His beige suit was crisp, collar sharp, expression calm.

"They really think I'm alone in Paris?" he murmured.

"Technically, you are," his manager said without looking up. "Press spotted you checking in solo. They think Jimin's still in Seoul."

Jungkook leaned back, lips curving. "Good."

"Good?"

He smiled faintly. "Means they won't see it coming."

The Calvin Klein show started an hour later at the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. The air buzzed with chatter, the high laughter of industry elites circling the same marble floor where the runway cut through the room like a blade.

When Jungkook stepped out, the crowd erupted. Flashlights burst, camera shutters clicked like a storm of locusts. He adjusted his coat button as flashes danced across his face, the beige fabric catching gold under the afternoon light.

"Jungkook! Over here!"

"Jeon Jungkook! Look left!"

"Smile, please!"

And then, inevitably the most expected came.

"Where's Park Jimin?"

"Did he decide not to come?"

"Are you two still together?"

"Fans are saying he's still in Korea. Any comments?"

The last question landed like a thrown pebble in a glass lake. Everything rippled for a second. Jungkook didn't blink.

He turned toward the cameras, smiled politely, the kind of professional smile that didn't reveal anything, and said, "I'm here representing Calvin Klein today."

The handlers nodded approvingly, ushering him forward. Inside, the show started with gray smoke, mirrored floors, models in structured neutrals. Jungkook sat front row, posture perfect, eyes tracking the runway. He clapped when appropriate, smiled for cameras, leaned toward the creative director for a brief handshake. Every move was measured.

But behind his calm was the tension that wound tight like a spring.

After the finale, someone rushed up. "Mr. Jeon, the afterparty's starting soon. Everyone's waiting for you."

He shook his head lightly. "Not tonight."

"Sir, Vogue Paris wants a photo—"

"Tomorrow," Jungkook said, smiling politely.

The aide hesitated. "Is... Jimin joining you tomorrow?"

Jungkook's brow lifted just slightly, enough to freeze the moment. "No comments."

By nightfall, the gossip cycle had already turned.

"Jeon Jungkook Attends Calvin Klein Show Alone—Skips Afterparty."

"Speculation Rises Over Jimin's Hiatus—CK Ambassador Appears Unbothered."

"Fans Wonder If Paris Trip Is Solo or Strategic."

Screens flickered across every feed showing the lone silhouette of Jungkook on the runway seats, his empty hand resting on his lap, the press spinning absence into heartbreak.

Back at the hotel, he scrolled through the headlines once, then shut his phone off completely. Paris glowed outside the window, the Seine glinting like steel under moonlight.

He arrived late, tie loosened, jacket draped over his arm. The air smelled of dinner in progress and Jimin's warm iris and amber scent, soft and steady. Jungkook smiled at the sight of Jimin in his comfy clothes, a notebook open, scribbling on lyrics. He dropped onto the couch and ran one hand through Jimin's hair.

"Hungry?"

"Yes." Jimin leaned into the kiss with a soft smile. "I saw the news. They're once again back at the break up rumors."

Jungkook exhaled, voice low. "Let them think whatever they want tonight." He caressed Jimin's cheek, leaning in for another kiss and scented him lightly. "We won't have to after tomorrow."

Because tomorrow, they'd know.

And they'd never forget it.

***

Day 2

They woke late and had a leisurely breakfast in their suite that included croissants, café au lait and laughter between them about how they never got to do things just for themselves.

Jungkook kissed him tenderly before leaving for the other suite Calvin Klein readied for him.

Styling began in earnest at midday.

Jimin's suite was filled with a grey palette. The garment bag from Dior awaited, the men's tailoring from the 2022 or 2023 collections emphasized clean silhouettes, a quiet nod to '60s mod in muted tones. A safe choice for when ATV decided to throw a tantrum.

Jimin sat at the vanity, the satin garment bag from Dior hanging on the door behind him. He reached forward and touched the handle, breathing in the faint scent of cedar and rain that clung to him still. He wore light wool sweatpants and a loose white tee, hair damp from the shower, the calm before the transformation.

Two stylists hovered respectfully. One brought a slightly oversized, greige suit that was worn over a light brown turtleneck. The trousers were slim but accommodated the curve at his belly that was gently visible though lean.

When the jacket settled onto his shoulders, the fit was perfect. He finished the look with chunky, lace-up Dior boots that matched his blazer and trousers. The trousers fell clean, the boots a grounded contrast, heavy but beautiful. His hair was styled with a center part, looking effortlessly sophisticated and chic.

As they pinned and adjusted the jacket, Jimin's breath caught. The inside seam had been reinforced to allow him to move freely. The smell of iris and amber rose from his scent glands in gentle waves.

Jimin's fingers brushed over his stomach once, absently. He wasn't hiding anymore. The curve there was subtle but undeniable.

The stylist adjusted his lapel. "Perfect," she whispered, almost to herself.

He smiled faintly. "Yeah," he said softly. "It is."

Across the hall, Jungkook's suite was a smaller storm of preparation. He stood in front of a full-length mirror wearing a relaxed look with an oversized, beige or taupe suit, with wide-leg trousers, a matching belted shirt, and an understated grey top underneath. A clean, monochromatic palette.

His stylist ran a hand through his hair, taming the fringe that kept slipping forward.

"Relax," someone said.

"I am," he replied, though his pulse told a different story.

The anticipation hung between the air vents and the ticking of his watch. Every moment edged closer to revelation, and everyone in the room could feel it without knowing why.

When Jungkook looked at himself in the mirror, he didn't see the ambassador or the celebrity. He saw a man walking straight into the fire willingly and proudly for the person he loved.

Namjoon's voice echoed from a call earlier that morning. "Remember, don't rush. Control the timing."

He'd nodded then, but now he understood it better.

Across the hall, Jimin's phone buzzed once.

From Jungkook: You ready?

He smiled at the screen, the corner of his lip curving.

To Jungkook: Always.

The anticipation between them was palpable like two wires sparking across a city.

By the time the stylists stepped back and declared both ready, Paris outside had shifted color. The light was turning golden, the hour before dusk. It was calm before the storm.

In a few hours, they'd step into that light and rewrite the story.

***

That evening Paris held its breath like it sensed the tension in the air. It was almost time. The strange fluttering sense in his stomach made it hard to deduce if it was just nerves or his pregnancy caused chaos inside of him.

Jimin stood by the window, one hand resting lightly against the glass. Jungkook will be here soon.

A knock sounded shortly before Jungkook entered. When he turned, Jungkook was already in the doorway. Their gazes locked and a silent understanding passed between them.

Jungkook, in that relaxed taupe Calvin Klein suit, looked grounding and electric all at once.

"You're beautiful," Jungkook said simply, his appreciative gaze raking over his frame.

Jimin smiled, small and knowing. "And you look handsome as ever."

He stepped into Jungkook's orbit, gazing up at his intense gaze that was his undoing but also grounding. The alpha's face dropped to his neck and he proceeded to scent him, letting that rain and cedar wrap around him like a warm blanket.

Jimin closed his eyes, his hand automatically finding Jungkook's chest right over his heart. Jungkook's breath lingered against his skin, the faint warmth of it sending a shiver through Jimin's body.

The alpha pheromones soothed the sharp edges of his nerves. Jimin let his eyes close for a moment, just breathing in the steady comfort of it. The tension in his shoulders eased a little.

Jungkook didn't pull away right away. He stayed there, his hands resting low on Jimin's waist, thumbs moving in lazy circles through the fine fabric of his suit. When he finally lifted his head, his eyes searched Jimin's face.

"You're nervous," he murmured.

"Maybe a little," Jimin admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "It feels like... everyone's waiting outside for something to happen. And I'm not even sure I'm ready for it."

"You are," Jungkook said, steady and sure. "You've been ready for a long time. The rest of the world's just catching up."

Jimin's lips curved faintly, his gaze softening. "You always say things like that."

"Because they're true."

The air between them thickened, quieter now, more intimate. Jungkook's thumb brushed over the edge of his jaw, a small, tender touch that made Jimin look up.

"You look at me like that and it's hard to breathe," Jimin murmured, half teasing, half serious.

Jungkook smiled, his voice low. "Then maybe I should give you something better to breathe through."

And before Jimin could reply, Jungkook leaned in, his mouth finding Jimin's, reminding him of that first kiss in that dim staircase that left him breathless. Jungkook had been too sure of everything then too.

Thinking back, he has always had that quiet confidence when it came to their relationship. It was as if he knew what was waiting.

The kiss wasn't urgent or hungry. It was warm. Steady. The kind of kiss that said I'm here. The kind that anchored rather than ignited.

Jimin melted into it, hands slipping up to Jungkook's chest, fingers brushing the cool metal of the pendant hidden beneath his shirt. Their breaths mingled, soft and uneven, the faint taste of coffee and mint between them.

When they pulled apart, Jimin was smiling, looking slightly dazed, but feeling lighter somehow.

"Better?" Jungkook asked quietly, his forehead resting against Jimin's.

Jimin nodded, his voice barely audible. "Much."

Jungkook's hands stayed on his waist, protective. "You know, the world's going to lose its mind in a few minutes."

"I know," Jimin whispered. "Let them."

Jungkook's lips brushed the corner of his mouth, a smile ghosting there. "That's my omega. Just know that I'm so fucking proud of you and also hopelessly in love with you. And while I'm still adjusting to my future role as a father, I'd never have it otherwise." He cupped his belly with both hands. "Both you and our pup are my pride. I'll keep telling you that until both of you get tired of it. Then I'll say it some more."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He pecked his lips in a silent promise.

"I'll never be tired of hearing it."

"Then I'll not get tired of saying it either."

Jimin huffed softly, his laugh breaking the tension, and the sound filled the room like something sacred.

***

The streets were packed when their car got closer to the venue. Jimin's hand tightened around Jungkook's as their car drew closer.

Hundreds of journalists stood pressed outside the Tuileries gardens, where the Dior x Calvin Klein Gala for Global Arts was minutes from beginning. And they were the last to arrive.

Inside the car, the silence wasn't silence at all. It pulsed. Jimin's fingers tapped rhythmically on his knee, the soft brush of Jungkook's thumb over his hand grounded him.

"Almost there," Jungkook murmured, glancing once through the tinted window. "You good?"

"I think so." Jimin exhaled. His hand instinctively rested over his stomach, the small curve beneath the Dior suit pressing against the turtleneck. "Feels strange... to be this calm before walking into hell."

"It's not hell tonight." Jungkook's voice was quiet, certain. "It's home turf."

He reached across the seat, adjusted the lapel of Jimin's jacket with steady fingers, smoothing the fabric like it mattered more than breathing.

The scent of rain and cedar mixed with iris and amber, something intimate and grounding in the small space. Outside, the crowd's roar was growing, the sounds muffled, rhythmic, then sudden bursts of screams as the celebrities arrived.

Jimin spotted several fans holding Jungkook's posters, slogans, boards etc., He even saw a few holding their past Dior x Calvin Klein campaign photos.

Namjoon's message buzzed on Jungkook's phone.

From Namjoon Hyung: The press pit is packed. Wait for the cue. Don't rush. Remember to control the timing.

From Namjoon Hyung: Okay.

Jungkook locked his phone and looked up. "It's time."

Jimin nodded shakily.

"I'll be there with you every step of the way."

He nodded again, squeezing his boyfriend's hand once.

The car slowed. The driver pulled up near the velvet barricades. Flashes painted the air outside like lightning. The bodyguards surrounded them, waiting for their cue. When it was time, Hyunwoo opened the door, and the roar of the world flooded in.

Jungkook stepped out of the car first. He allowed the crowd to take him, smiling at the cameras as he casually adjusted his clothes.

"Jeon Jungkook! Jungkook over here!"

The crowd erupted. The fans screamed and the reporters yelled for him to look in their direction. The sound of hundreds of voices layered together. Cameras blinked in rapid-fire rhythm.

He looked unbothered. Professional. Every inch the ambassador he'd been trained to be. A few reporters shouted over the noise. "Where's Jimin? Is Park Jimin still in Seoul?"

He ignored it. One practiced glance at the cameras, one subtle adjustment of his cufflinks. His gaze met Hyunwoo's and the guard nodded curtly, giving him the clearance to bring Jimin outside.

Then he turned to look back toward the car. The crowd's noise began to taper, puzzled by the pause. The security detail shifted subtly. The air stilled.

The mere thought of him arriving with a date seemed to grip the atmosphere with tension.

Does he have a date?

Is it Park Jimin?

What if it's someone else?

Jungkook ignored the whispers. With a faint curl of his mouth, and a soft exhale, he opened the door all the way, extending a hand toward Jimin.

Soft, delicate fingers slipped into his and then carefully, but gracefully Jimin slid out of the car. For a heartbeat, no one breathed.

Then the world around them absolutely detonated.

Instead of turning toward the flashing cameras, Jimin lifted his chin and looked lovingly into his eyes. Then smiled.

"PARK JIMIN?!" someone screamed.

Another voice followed, hoarse with shock. "Jimin's here. He's here!"

The press pit imploded.

Jimin stood beside the open car door, the soft golden lights cutting along the edges of his Dior suit—the tailored greige jacket falling perfectly over his shoulders, the turtleneck warm against his skin. His hair was parted down the middle, smooth and dark, the Paris wind catching the strands as if on cue.

The cameras clicked like rain hitting glass.

He blinked against the light once, then smiled, small and steady, the kind of expression that made even the loudest chaos pause for half a second.

The lenses didn't seem to know where to focus. On the Dior suit that no one expected to see again this season? On the Calvin Klein ambassador who had just broken protocol by turning his red-carpet moment into a duet? On the fact that Jimin's belly, faint but visible, curved softly against the line of his turtleneck?

"Are you—are you together?" someone shouted.

Another voice broke in, frantic. "Jimin, are you returning to Dior officially?"

"Is the lawsuit settled?"

None of them answered.

Jungkook only looked at Jimin, his thumb brushing along the inside of his wrist. The alpha scent of rain and cedar wrapped around him again in a protective and familiar way.

Jimin tilted his chin up slightly, meeting the flash storm like he'd been born under it. The light caught in his eyes, turning them molten.

The crowd had gone feral. They chanted their names together.

One journalist whispered, almost in awe, "He's glowing."

And he was. The pregnancy glow, the serenity that came after breaking, the quiet defiance of showing up after being told to disappear, all of it clung to him like light.

Jungkook's arm slipped around his back, the move instinctive and protective. He slightly tilted his body, shifting half-behind Jimin so the omega's shoulder brushed his chest. Then his hand came to rest briefly, reverently, over the curve of Jimin's belly. The photographers went wild.

If they had any sense of doubt, then it vanished in that instant. Jimin was indeed pregnant. The telltale swell of his belly and the alpha's protective arm cradling it as they posed for the photos confirmed it.

That was the shot.

The one that would run on every screen, every magazine cover, every social post for weeks.

Then they began to walk together.

Jungkook guided him through the red carpet, his hand steady on the omega, eyes forward. Jimin's other hand rested lightly at his side, his every movement elegant.

Namjoon, who was already at the venue, watched from across the carpet, a faint smile ghosting over his face as he murmured to a Dior executive, "And that's how you win without saying a single word."

The gala's photographers, stunned, turned their lenses toward one another for confirmation, as if to ask, Did we really just see that?

They stopped halfway down the carpet for the official pose.

Jungkook angled slightly behind him, one hand still at Jimin's waist. Jimin tilted toward him, faintly smiling. It wasn't a performance. It was a declaration.

Cameras exploded again. Hundreds of white bursts flashed at them. The sound was deafening.

Jimin blinked against it, his heart thrumming fast. Jungkook leaned close, whispering without moving his lips, "You okay?"

"Yeah," Jimin breathed, the word fogging faintly in the cool air.

"Good," Jungkook said. "Then let's burn this city down."

The photographers called their names again, voices climbing over one another like waves. "Over here! Look this way! Jungkook, Jimin, together—!"

And they did.

For a moment, they looked right into the lens. Together. Calm. Radiant. Unshakable.

The photos would later be described as a romantic statement. A perfect alpha x omega couple framed in golden light, love translated into symmetry. Jungkook in structured beige and storm-gray, Jimin in Dior's greige and warmth. Opposites that looked like they were designed for harmony.

But none of that mattered in the moment.

In that single, infinite stretch of time between one flash and the next, it was just them. When Jimin gazed into Jungkook's eyes, the noise fell away. For a moment, the world blurred into color and light. Jimin could only hear Jungkook's breath near his ear, steady and alive.

Then the sound rushed back. A flood of shouts, camera clicks, distant sirens.

They had already won.

Inside, the gala hall was dim and gold, filled with the faint hum of string music and the soft clink of champagne flutes. The Dior and Calvin Klein teams pretended to be composed but their eyes betrayed them.

Amélie Laurent hugged and greeted Jimin with a bright smile. "What a surprise!" she said loudly, but in his ears she whispered, "That was epic! So glad to have you with us."

The other Dior executives swarmed him, everyone pretending to be surprised at his appearance, catching up with him like old friends would. Other celebrities reached out too, congratulating him and exchanging pleasantries.

No one could stop the ripple. The internet had already taken hold. Within minutes, hashtags trended across languages.

#JikookInParis
#ParkJiminReturns
#DiorxCalvinKleinGala
#PregnantJimin
#DaddyJungkook
#FathersJikook
#JikookParis
#JikookNationRise

Tweets poured in:

"THEY WALKED HAND IN HAND."

"He's pregnant!"

"They're still together OMG!"

The photos reached Seoul before the champagne was even poured. The media was fired up in a matter of seconds, comments flooding almost every platform at once.

Posted on TheQoo, 9:41 PM KST

[+5210, -21] Wait. WAIT. zoom in. that's... that's not just lighting. That's a BUMP.

[+4601, -46] Don't. Touch. Me. He's glowing. He's literally glowing.

[+4100, -10] Jungkook HELPED HIM OUT OF THE CAR??? His hand on waist?? His hand on BELLY??

[+3466, -11] I thought I was hallucinating when I saw him get out. I screamed so loud my cat jumped.

[+3102, -5] You can see it. He's almost 5 or 6 months, right? It fits perfectly with the timeline. His hiatus makes sense.

[+2897, -12] The hand placement wasn't random. Jungkook covered his stomach like a shield.

[+2412, -9] Dior x Calvin Klein wasn't a fashion moment, it was an announcement.

[+2009, -101] This is not PR. This is personal. They made the statement without saying a single word.

Posted on PANN 9:52 PM KST

[+3790, -26] You can tell by the way Jungkook's hand automatically went to his stomach. That's not a PR stunt. They're still very much together.

[+3512, -32] He looks HEALTHY. His cheeks, his color, his energy.

[+3304, -41] Dior must've known. They sent maternity modifications on that suit. Look at the waistline stitching.

[+2999, -4] Jungkook's face when Jimin stepped out... he looked in love. not PR-love. Real love.

[+2875, -15] The agency said he was on "hiatus for recovery" — okay, so who's exhausted now? ATV or their lies?

[+2630, -3] Bro the WORLD stopped moving for 5 seconds. Even reporters forgot to scream.

[+2402, -10] When fathers parent so hard!

[+2133, -8] "He's pregnant." I said it out loud and now my mom's crying.

[+2961, -96] My timeline's on fire. Everyone's using "He's pregnant" as a battle cry now.

[+1533, -6] The only one disliking these comments are ATV employees

Posted on Naver News

[+1523 | -210] He's pregnant. There's no other explanation. And Jungkook's reaction confirmed it.

[+1320 | -198] I thought it was edited. Then I watched the live show, but it's not edited

[+1281 | -155] ATV should be ashamed. Did they overwork a pregnant omega?

[+1004 | -79] They didn't just attend. They ended every single rumor with one public appearance. Wow!

[+822 | -61] This is the most respectful way to say "we won."

Posted on Dispatch

[+9120 | -180] Calvin Klein met Dior and gave birth to peace.

[+8411 | -134] When Jungkook turned and offered his hand, my heart actually stopped.

[+7990 | -90] People thought the actual confirmation would be messy. They made it sacred.

[+7233 | -72] That's not a scandal. That's history.

Posted on Instagram

@minbloom: My heart can't handle the way Jungkook looked at him.

@jeonsafehaven: The hand on his belly broke me in half.

@taetaevante: All this time he was pregnant and the company made us believe they broke up.

@museofrain: You can't bury light. It always finds a way back.

@ambernmoon: This isn't fashion week anymore. This is Jikook world and we live in it.

@lovemin95: My lungs left the chat.

@karminkoo: That's not a reveal, that's a resurrection.

@kookieline: When Jungkook cupped his belly, I ascended.

@floraldior: Every other PR stunt just died quietly tonight.

Posted on Weverse

[+7012] You don't even have to explain. We saw. We understand.

[+6431] Thank you for standing by him when others didn't.

[+5983] The world didn't deserve to see him this radiant but I'm glad we did.

[+5602] Dior understood the assignment. The grace, the tailoring, the warmth.

[+5120] He's carrying life and still carrying the world's softness in his smile.

And somewhere inside ATV headquarters, executives stared at their screens in disbelief as the very artist they'd tried to erase stood radiant in Dior under the Paris lights with the global face of Calvin Klein's arms around him.

They had relaxed too soon.

***

At the event, they settled into their seats as if the world outside hadn't just exploded and they weren't the cause of it. The murmur of the gala wrapped around them—champagne flutes chiming, silk gowns whispering past, polite laughter from tables filled with people pretending not to stare.

Jimin leaned slightly toward Jungkook, fingers finding his hand under the table, their palms meeting like it was instinct. His thumb traced slow circles on Jungkook's skin. The adrenaline was finally beginning to ebb, replaced by something lighter, steadier.

"You were right," Jimin murmured, voice low enough that only Jungkook could hear.

Jungkook turned his head slightly. "About what?"

"The timing," he said, smiling faintly. "The world needed to see this."

Jungkook's gaze softened. "They saw you. That's what mattered most."

Jimin laughed quietly, the sound slipping easily between them. "And you," he said, nudging him gently.

Jungkook squeezed his hand. "And us."

They let the moment stretch. Around them, Dior executives continued to offer congratulations, Calvin Klein reps raised glasses, fashion editors whispered in delighted disbelief.

Someone leaned over from the next table to tell Jimin how breathtaking he looked, another praised Jungkook for his elegance. The two just nodded, gracious but faintly amused.

Jimin's eyes found Jungkook's again. "We really did it," he said softly.

Jungkook leaned closer, lips curving. "Of course we did. We planned this to the last breath."

The orchestra began a slow waltz somewhere behind them. Light spilled through the chandelier, scattering gold across their joined hands. The noise around them became background—press, politics, speculation, all dulled by the quiet certainty between them.

For once, there was no weight. No fear. Just air, music, and the hum of something that felt like freedom.

Jungkook tilted his head, whispering, "Look at them pretending they're not watching us."

Jimin grinned, eyes glinting. "Let them. I'm done hiding."

Jungkook responded by kissing his lips softly, making sure to stay until a few flashes were sent their way.

Jimin could only smile as they parted, reaching for his water glass, sipping delicately as another round of camera flashes popped somewhere in the distance. He didn't flinch. Jungkook didn't look away.

The gala continued and the dinner went smoothly. Somewhere Namjoon was busy with his phone. When dessert arrived, lavender and lemon mousse served on porcelain, Jungkook lifted a spoon and offered him the first bite. Jimin rolled his eyes but leaned in anyway, the gesture small, domestic, and oddly intimate for the setting. Someone nearby gasped quietly. A camera flashed. But Jimin didn't care.

Jungkook chuckled. "They're going to write poetry about this, you know."

"Let them try," Jimin murmured, licking the spoon clean. He was suddenly feeling defiant on every level. The urge to flaunt their relationship more than ever overtook him. "They'll never get the taste right."

For a long moment, it felt like the two of them existed in a glass bubble, untouched by the frenzy beyond those walls. The chaos could wait. The statements could come tomorrow. Tonight, they had won.

As the night deepened and the lights dimmed over the tables, Jungkook leaned close again, voice warm against Jimin's ear. "You're so beautiful and glowing like a star."

Jimin's smile was soft, his eyes tired but content. "Isn't it too early for the praises?"

"Never."

They ate the last spoonful of lavender mousse like a secret between them. Jungkook made ridiculous faces, making him laugh every other minute and asked for another serving of the dessert as if they were on a private date.

Around them the gala hummed on, but the sound felt filtered now, like music through a closed door. Jungkook kept his hand warm over Jimin's, thumb tracing the same lazy circle it had all evening, and Jimin let himself breathe into that small, steady motion until his chest unclenched.

Someone at a nearby table raised their glass and cheered, a polite ripple of congratulations that felt almost private. Cameras still blinked, notifications still screamed across screens, but here, in the slice of light over their hands, none of that mattered. They traded quiet jokes, the kind that belong only to people who've spent too many long nights together, and laughed until their eyes watered. It was domestic and tender and entirely theirs.

When they finally rose to leave, Jungkook slipped an arm around Jimin's waist and guided him softly through the room. Fans cheered in the streets below, candles and banners flickering under the Paris sky.

Jimin swore the numbers have multiplied since they arrived. Now they chanted both their names, carried their posters and hollered congratulations. A few had tears streaming down their cheeks and Jimin waved shyly at them, soaking it all in.

They stepped into the night together, modest and stubborn and incandescent, and for the first time in a long while the future felt like something they could hold.

Tomorrow would bring headlines, lawyers, and the long arithmetic of consequences. But tonight, in the quiet after the light, they entered the car hand-in-hand and went to the hotel room. Let the world catch up slowly. They had closed the chapter and ended the rumors that claimed they had broken up. The next one would be harder, but necessary.

And they were ready.

***

A/N: This wasn't supposed to get this big OMG! I only planned for a 20k one shot but now it's 57k. Bless me. I haven't written something this fast since 2020 lol. It happens very rarely but let's make hay while the sun shines and suffer later. See ya later!