Chapter Text
Jimin throws another look at the building’s entrance, heart racing.
This is such a bad idea.
In fact, Jimin has had several bad ideas in his life (including that one time he insisted on wearing his far too tight skinny jeans from high school to the club and ended up flashing everyone his full everything when the thing ripped apart while he was dancing) and this is without a doubt the worst one yet.
The only sane option is to put the car in drive right now, get the fuck out of here, and never come back.
Sadly, Jimin turns out to not be sane.
He spends some time leaning his forehead on his steering wheel, squeezing his hands around the wheel as he repeats to himself out loud that this is crazy and he should leave, and then he gets out of the car anyway, walking over to the entrance.
Fuck.
The only thing he can hope for now that might save him from his worst idea ever is that Yoongi changed his front door code.
He must have, right?
They broke up – if you can even call it that – almost three weeks ago: any smart person would have long changed their front door code.
Jimin’s heart is galloping in his chest by the time he reaches Yoongi’s front door, legs shaky, feeling completely paranoid about one of the neighbours seeing him in the hallway and calling the police like they in all honesty should.
Okay, he’ll just try the code, it won’t work, and then he’ll turn around, go home and pretend this never happened.
His hand trembles as he punches in the numbers, breaths growing more and more shallow.
Zero, six, one, three –
The lock beeps green, the soft click of it unlocking echoing through the empty hallway.
Well, fuck.
Stepping through the door, Yoongi’s scent hits Jimin like a drug, and he barely manages to stifle a whimper, inhaling as deeply as he can while moving to lean back against the closed door, eyelids fluttering closed.
This is insane.
He’d always really liked Yoongi’s scent, sure, but this feels like what Jimin imagines a hit of heroin would feel like. His body floods with warmth, his lungs feel like they finally reach full capacity again after far too long of being constricted, and the tension that seemed to be everywhere in his body dissipates, muscles growing lax.
It’s close to euphoric, and Jimin lets himself sink through his knees, sliding down the door and ending up curled up on the floor, head leaning back against the door as he just breathes.
God, he clearly has serious issues.
Very serious issues, issues that could literally get him arrested, and still all Jimin can properly focus on is how calm and safe and warm he feels, for the first time in weeks.
What the fuck did that alpha do to him?
At least it seems like Yoongi indeed isn’t home, Jimin’s ears picking up no sounds at all from inside the apartment and Yoongi’s scent not being as potent as it would be if Yoongi were home, which is a relief.
Of course, Jimin had timed this whole operation so that Yoongi would be at work during his secret visit so it’s not exactly a surprise, but you never know, and Jimin would have died of shame and embarrassment if Yoongi would have found him like this.
No, it’s perfect this way: Jimin will stay here for a little while and will breathe in Yoongi’s scent to his heart’s content like his instincts have been screaming at him to do for weeks now, and then he’ll leave, to never come back again.
It’s probably just his upcoming heat anyway: he always gets annoyingly clingy before them, and clearly his instinctual side hasn’t gotten the memo yet that Yoongi and he aren’t together anymore, and craves its alpha’s presence.
Of course, that means a heat without Yoongi will be brutal, but that’s fine: Jimin will get through it, and afterwards he’ll be back to normal, and no one will ever know about what transpired here.
Perhaps he’ll even be able to laugh about it sometime in the future, who knows.
Jimin sits there on the floor for what feels like a solid twenty minutes, only standing up when his ass starts to hurt.
Of course, the plan was to now turn around and leave, but apparently there are no ends to his stupidity, because something within Jimin pushes him to walk forwards and deeper into the apartment instead.
He’s here now anyway, why not breathe in Yoongi’s scent where it’s more intense instead of only getting the weaker hallway version of it?
Before Jimin has even fully processed it, he’s in Yoongi’s bedroom, practically drooling at the intensity of Yoongi’s scent here. There’s even a hint of arousal and come in the air, as if Yoongi perhaps masturbated this morning or last evening, and it’s heavenly.
It’s also the trigger for Jimin to properly remember how wrong this is, what an immense violation of privacy he’s committing right now, and he buries his face in his hands, whispering to himself like the lunatic that he is: “This is so not okay. So not okay, Jimin. Leave. For fuck’s sake, leave.”
And he really wants to, he does, but his instincts rebel, not wanting to leave the addictive scent behind, and Jimin feels ashamed of himself like he has never been as he walks over to the armchair where Yoongi throws all his worn but not quite dirty clothing.
“Wrong, so wrong, so fucked up,” he whispers even as he grabs a shirt from the pile, holding it to his face and sighing in contentment when it indeed smells strongly of Yoongi.
He’s so fucked…
Jimin spends the next week alternating between finding immense comfort in the shirt he stole from Yoongi and feeling like he might need to check himself into a mental hospital soon.
He literally broke into his ex’s apartment and stole from him, even if it was just a worn shirt.
If any of his friends knew this they would be appalled. If any of his future partners found out they’d surely dump him. If his mom found out…
Well, Jimin sincerely hopes his mom will never find out because he’d be dead.
It’s therefore that Jimin doesn’t even want to think about how he ended up sitting in the same parking spot in front of Yoongi’s apartment complex again, exactly one week later.
Last time was already bad enough, he clearly doesn’t need a repeat offence added on top of it, but here he is, again wearing scent blockers and freshly washed clothing to hide his own scent as well as he can as he prepares to break in.
Because that’s what it is without a doubt, and what he should remember: he’s breaking in.
Breaking and entering, and stealing.
Fuck.
It’s not like he has any chance of convincing himself to abort mission, though, and so Jimin sighs deeply as he exits the car, running his hands through his hair and looking up at the sky for a moment as if to ask for help from above.
It’s like the cravings for chocolate he normally has in the last days of his pre-heat: no matter how much he’ll try to stop himself from buying it, he’ll find himself in the supermarket anyway, filling up his basket with ungodly amounts of chocolate.
If only he could just crave chocolate like he normally does, but no, Yoongi’s house is apparently his new supermarket, and he’s defenceless against his impulse to go there and grab the items he craves.
This time when Jimin enters Yoongi’s house, he doesn’t even pretend to only stay in the hallway but walks straight to the bedroom, keeping an ear out for any evidence that someone’s home.
Just like last time, though, the house is empty, and he’s soon in the bedroom, closing his eyes as he leans back against the door, inhaling and inhaling and inhaling like the junkie that he is.
It’s directly clear that his instincts are even stronger now, a week closer to his heat, because Jimin has to clench his fists until his nails leave deep indents in his skin to stop himself from doing something as completely ridiculous as starting to nest in Yoongi’s bed, or pulling his scent blockers off to have his scent join Yoongi’s.
He can only imagine what a disaster that would be, and so Jimin chides himself aloud as he instead walks over to the pile of worn clothing, trying to direct his attention to simply choosing the nicest piece of clothing to steal.
It’s still really bad but it’s at least better than the alternative.
He ends up with one of Yoongi’s warm, worn-out hoodies, one that he remembers Yoongi wearing a few times when they were together, the memories making him feel all warm inside, and he doesn’t hesitate to pull it on, the urge feeling too right to suppress.
Being surrounded by Yoongi’s scent from all sides is so warm and cosy that Jimin feels all gooey inside, especially once he draws up the hood and tightens the strings to make it cover most of his face.
It’s perfect.
Perfect enough that Jimin somehow manages to convince himself to leave Yoongi’s flat and drive home, instantly crawling into his nest and rubbing the hoodie over his bedding to spread Yoongi’s scent.
Yes, he’s completely insane, he knows he is, but he also feels too good to feel properly guilty about it for now.
His heat will definitely strike any moment now, and then he’ll be back to normal and all this can be forgotten.
You’ll see.
The weekend passes, and Jimin’s heat still hasn’t appeared, despite how his pre-heat symptoms just keep intensifying and intensifying, to the point of Jimin being sure he has never felt this odd and vulnerable and crazy before.
It’s worrying.
Worrying enough that Jimin keeps thinking about how unhinged he’s acting and whether there might be something seriously wrong with him.
He keeps his situation to himself for as long as he can manage, not wanting to worry his friends with how ridiculous he’s being, but then Hoseok asks him if he’s okay during their lunch break, again, and Jimin suddenly finds himself yielding.
He’s never been good at keeping secrets, always wearing his heart on his sleeve, so it’s impressive that he even lasted this long before blurting out: “Hyung, you need to promise me you’re not going to judge me or get mad.”
Hoseok’s eyes narrow.
“Okay, what did you break?”
That gets Jimin to huff in indignance.
Yes, he broke a mirror in one of their dance studios once when he thought dancing with sticks would be a cool thing to try, exactly like Hoseok warned would happen, but that was once. It’s hardly fair to directly jump to conclusions like that ever since.
“Nothing!”
Jimin’s denial only makes Hoseok’s expression turn more serious.
“Oh no, then it’s worse. What have you done?”
It’s wholly unfair to be treated this way, and Jimin can’t help but scold: “Yah! You make me sound like some sort of delinquent!”
“Well, based on past experience…” Hoseok jokes, laughing when Jimin pretends to stand up and leave and grabbing his arm to keep him in place.
“Okay, okay, tell me. I’ll do my best not to judge, however idiotic it is…”
That’s not reassuring at all, and neither is the fact that Jimin suddenly realises that he technically is a delinquent, which is why he pouts, poking at his sandwich.
“Never mind, it’s nothing…”
Of course, Hoseok doesn’t let go anymore now that he’s seen an in, though, whining and begging and generally being so persistent that Jimin huffs again, rolling his eyes.
“Fine!”
It’s silent for a long, tense moment before Jimin says, softly and hesitantly: “I went to Yoongi’s house.”
Hoseok instantly perks up.
“Oh! Why would I judge you for that? That’s great! Fucking finally, honestly… Did you guys talk it out?”
It’s pretty much the worst misunderstanding that could have happened, and Jimin feels shame colouring his cheeks bright red as he corrects: “No, uh, he wasn’t there…”
That doesn’t discourage Hoseok at all, his tone equally chipper as he says: “Oh… That’s a bummer. So are you going to try again soon?”
It’s horrible.
This whole thing is horrible, and Jimin regrets everything, wishing that the floor would open up under him and swallow him whole as he corrects for the last time: “No. I went over because he wasn’t home. I... I still know his door code, and… and I missed his scent. I stole a shirt. And a hoodie.”
It’s silent for so long that Jimin is starting to grow worried that he broke Hoseok.
“You… You stole a shirt and a hoodie?”
Hoseok sounds like he’s very much still processing, unable to wrap his head around Jimin’s words, and Jimin casts his eyes down at his lap, worrying his lip as he confirms: “Yes. On… On separate occasions. I couldn’t help myself; it’s almost my heat, and I just needed –“
He breaks off in a shrug, voice even quieter as he finishes: “I just needed his scent. I know it’s wrong…”
Again, silence stretches, until there’s finally a big sigh, Hoseok casting his eyes up to the ceiling for a moment.
“Jimin… You know you could just talk to him and fix things like a normal person instead of literally becoming a delinquent and stealing your ex’s stuff?”
It doesn’t feel great that Hoseok also noticed Jimin’s poor earlier word choice about being treated like a delinquent, and Jimin curls into himself even though he denies: “No, I can’t, you know that. He doesn’t want me, so –“
“No, I don’t know that,” Hoseok interrupts, “and you don’t know that –“
“He literally said so!”
Jimin winces at his own unintended volume, the hurt having gotten the better of him.
But apparently Hoseok doesn’t feel very forgiving today because his tone is as strict as his expression when he says: “Jimin-ah, we’ve had this conversation at least a dozen times in the past weeks, and we both know he didn’t ‘literally’ say that. Tell me, what did he literally say?”
Jimin hates strict Hoseok.
He hates him, especially because he’s often right, but he’s also slightly scared of him, always feeling like a scolded toddler, and so he pouts as he obediently mumbles: “He literally said that his parents wanted to start setting him up on blind dates so he could find a mate and settle down, and that he himself was also feeling ready to settle down, but that that didn’t mean we needed to be over.”
More fiery, he adds: “So yes, sure, he wants me as a side-piece, which is not what I’m aiming to be in life, ever, and –“
“And you could have just as well have misunderstood him,” Hoseok takes over, “and perhaps he simply meant that he wanted to date you properly instead of continuing this ridiculous ‘friends with benefits’ thing that you had going on, but noo, you were both too stubborn and prideful to actually communicate and discuss your wants and needs, and now you’re stuck breaking into his house when he’s not there to steal smelly t-shirts of all things.”
Jimin really hates strict Hoseok, and he pouts harder.
“You’re mean; I regret telling you anything at all.”
And because he can’t help himself, he adds, crossing his arms: “And his shirts are not smelly. They’re wonderful.”
Hoseok rolls his eyes at that last bit, clearly not impressed at all, but his tone is softer when he says, reaching out to take one of Jimin’s hands in his: “I’m glad you told me, and I’m sorry you feel like I’m being mean. But I feel like you might have actually needed – and perhaps wanted – someone tell it to you straight and get you down to earth a bit, and that that’s why you told me in the first place. Don’t you think? Because I’m pretty sure you also know that stealing his shirts isn’t okay and isn’t a long-term solution of any kind. Right?”
Even though it’s hard to hear, Hoseok makes an excellent point, and Jimin sighs deeply, still pouty as he says: “It’ll pass soon. My heat will finally hit today or tomorrow and then the neediness will be gone and I can leave him behind. For good. No more stolen shirts.”
Just saying it hurts, making Jimin very glad for the fact that they wear scent blockers at work, because it’d be embarrassing for Hoseok to smell him right now.
Although Hoseok seems to gauge Jimin’s emotions pretty well anyway, because he sounds worried as he says: “I still think you should just talk to him. I know you miss him and that it’s not just your upcoming heat speaking; what if he feels the same way? Wouldn’t it be worth it to at least check?”
It's clear that Hoseok won’t let go of his ‘it was all a misunderstanding’ theory anytime soon, and even though Jimin is really quite done with it, he still decides to keep the peace for now, sighing deeply before he says: “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
He won’t, because he’ll have his heat soon and after that this whole thing will be over, but for now it’s nice to have Hoseok smile at him, bending over the table to ruffle his hair as he says: “Good boy. I love you; you know that, right? Shirt-stealing delinquent or not.”
It appears that Hoseok’s advice wasn’t helpful at all, because two days later finds Jimin in the same old parking spot again, twitchy and nervous like an addict who’s about to go into withdrawal without a quick next hit.
Yes, it has only been a few days ago that he was here last, but he needs it, and Yoongi’s hoodie has lost all its scent with how much Jimin has been wearing it at home, so well, here he is again.
His heat is five days late by now, which means it really must all be over soon.
He just needs Yoongi’s scent one last time.
One time.
Punching in the door code almost feels like routine now, and Jimin is already preparing to rush to the bedroom to find himself a well-scented piece of clothing to steal when he stops in his tracks just inside the door, his stomach churning.
There’s a scent.
An omega’s scent.
In his alpha’s house. Jimin’s alpha, not theirs.
It’s like all Jimin’s rational thought turns off, his body solely guided by instinct as he marches into the living room, his heart beating in his throat.
There the scent is, on the couch, and when Jimin whirls around, there are two wine glasses on the counter of the open kitchen, lipstick stains visible on one of them.
His alpha had someone else here. Wooed someone else here.
His alpha betrayed him.
The wave of hurt and anger that hits Jimin makes him feel faint, his stomach revolting, and before he knows it he’s running for the bathroom, only barely making it in time to empty his stomach contents in the toilet.
Tears run down his cheeks as he heaves, his whole body trembling in misery and shock.
He can’t believe it.
He can’t believe his alpha would do that, would hurt him like this, would throw his mate to the side like this -
It’s only slowly that Jimin comes back to himself a bit, remembering that Yoongi isn’t his alpha and certainly not his mate and that he’s therefore completely within his rights to have an omega over, and it’s Jimin who is in the wrong here for sneaking into his house more than a month after they broke up.
That only makes the tears flow harder, though, and Jimin feels like he might just fall apart right here, never to be reassembled.
It just hurts.
It hurts that Yoongi is clearly moving on, that Jimin didn’t have the guts to go after him and talk to him like Hoseok pushed him to do before it was too late. Perhaps he could have fixed things somehow, perhaps he could have convinced Yoongi to see him as a potential mate instead of someone on the side, but now he’ll never know, because Yoongi already has someone else, and –
And Jimin is properly sobbing now, curled up against the wall opposite of the toilet, his whole body shaking.
It feels like ages pass before he manages to get himself together a bit, wiping his raw face with his sleeves and shakily pushing himself up from the floor before flushing the toilet and grabbing Yoongi’s mouthwash to rinse his mouth out a bit.
A glance in the mirror shows that he looks like absolute hell, cheeks so pale that they’re almost grey, beads of sweat dampening his hairline, his hair sticking up to all sides, his hands shaking uncontrollably.
God, he’s such a wreck.
Standing here, Jimin honestly doesn’t even know how it got this far, how things grew so badly out of hand, and he looks around himself in absolute misery, the facts properly sinking in.
He’s in his ex’s house, having infringed on Yoongi’s privacy again, but this time there’s no way he’s going to make it out unnoticed.
Not only is there still the vague scent of vomit in the air, but his burst of panic has also made him sweat like crazy, meaning that his scent blockers aren’t completely effective anymore. It’s not like his scent is strong in any way, but it’s there, there in a way that Jimin doesn’t know how to get rid of, which means Yoongi will know.
Yoongi will come home, and he’ll know that Jimin was here, and he might just call the police on him.
God, what has he done?
Why is he here?
And, a part of him can’t stop asking: why did Yoongi do this to him?
For a while, Jimin just stands there, completely unable to think of any way forwards, but then he rubs his hands over his cheeks, sighing out deeply.
“Okay, you can do this. You can fix this. Think.”
He looks around once more, now trying to actively take in his surroundings in the hope that it will give him ideas, and it works: his eyes fall on the button of the extractor fan.
Right, simple solution.
He presses the button, the fan whirring to life above him, and Jimin stares at it for a moment before springing into action.
He wipes the sweat off himself as well as he can, rinses his mouth properly and runs the water in the sink for long enough to clear out the scent of it, before he adds some bleach to the toilet and flushes it again to get rid of the sourish smell.
If he lets the fan run for a while longer, that should do it.
Maybe.
That does mean he has to stay a while longer, but he can do that, right? Without making things worse?
Nodding to himself, Jimin exits the bathroom, determined to fix this mess.
That is, until the unknown omega’s scent hits him again, and his instincts roar back to life.
Fuck.
It’s so difficult to think rationally, so difficult to stay calm, and Jimin leans back against the bathroom door, breathing deeply. That only makes things worse, though, and he squeezes his hands into tight fists as he reminds himself: he can’t. He has no right. He’s not even supposed to be here –
He’s walking before he can stop himself, ending up in the living room again, all his earlier logical thoughts getting replaced by a brightly burning anger.
The audacity of that omega to come here, in Yoongi’s house, in his den, and spread their scent; the disrespect…
Jimin doesn’t even think as he rips his scent blocker patches off, first those on his wrists and then those on his neck, throwing them on the floor without a care.
He’ll show them who Yoongi’s omega is, who’s den this is, who’s alpha Yoongi is –
It’s only by the time Jimin has spread his scent across half the living room and has thrown the lipstick-stained glass in the trash with a growl that he realises he hasn’t checked Yoongi’s bedroom yet, that the scent could possibly be there too, and he feels his nausea rise again as he hurries over, trembling at the mere idea.
But Yoongi’s bedroom is clean.
It’s only Yoongi’s scent here, his lovely, calming scent, and Jimin whimpers as he inhales deeply, eyes closing, his knees growing wobbly from sheer relief.
Thank god.
He can’t help himself: he sinks to his knees in front of the bed, laying one hand on his chest in the hope of calming his frantic heartbeat, the other coming to rest on the very edge of the bed, finding comfort in just touching Yoongi’s bed, Yoongi’s nest.
“Okay,” he mumbles to himself, voice scratchy, “it’s okay. You’re okay now, just breathe…”
He does just that, keeping his eyes closed as he breathes deeply for a few minutes, the angry, wild haze in his mind slowly clearing.
Which is when he realises what he just did, blood running cold.
Oh no.
The bathroom might have been fixable, but what he has done to the living room is not, and panic rushes through Jimin’s veins as the realisation hits him fully.
Yoongi is going to know, without a doubt.
Yoongi is going to know.
It’s the knowledge that he has completely, irrevocably fucked up that brings back the tears, and Jimin curls up as small as he can as he chokes on his sobs, utterly defeated.
He can’t leave because he needs to be here to explain things when Yoongi comes home, but he can’t stay, not like this, as such a complete mess, and he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to save himself, doesn’t even know what he’s become anymore.
The only thing he knows as he crawls over to the chair with worn clothing, putting on the nearest hoodie and curling up as small as he can within it, is that it’s over now.
Yoongi will be furious, and he’ll have lost his alpha for good.
And it’s all his own fault.